THE

HISTORY

CHRISTIANITY,

FROM

THE BIRTH OF CHRIST TO THE ABOLITION OF
PAGANISM IN THE ROMAN EMPIRE.

B\T ?

THE REV. H^HrMfLM AN,

PKEBSNDARY OF ST. . PETER’S, AND M N1STER OF ST. MARGARET’S,
WESTMINSTER.

WITH A PREFACE AND NOTES

BY JAMES MURDOCK, D.D.

NEW-YORK:

PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS

1 S 7 2.Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841, bv
Harper & Brothers,

In the Clerk’s Office of the Southern District of New York.s if %r zx

PREFACE.

The History of the Jews was that of a nation, the History of Christianity is that
of a religion. Yet, as the Jewish Annals might be considered in their relation to
the general history of man, to the rank which the nation, bore among the various
families of the human race, and the influence which it exercised on the civilization
of mankind, so Christianity may be viewed either in a strictly religious, or, rather,
in a temporal, social, and political light. In the former case the writer will dwell
almost exclusively on the religious doctrines, and will bear continual reference to
the new relation established between man and the Supreme Being: the predominant
character will be that of the theologian. In the latter, although he may not al-
together decline the examination of the religious doctrines, their development and
their variations, his leading object will be to trace the effect of Christianity on the
individual and socia.1 happiness of man, its influence on the Polity, the Laws and In-
stitutions, the opinions, the manners, even on the Arts and the Literature of the
Christian world : he will write rather as an historian than as a religious instructed
Though, in fact, a candid and dispassionate survey of the connexion of Christianity
with the temporal happiness, and with the intellectual and social advancement of"
mankind, even to the religious inquirer, cannot but be of high importance and inter-
est; while with the general mass, at least of the reading and intelligent part of .
the community, nothing tends so powerfully to the strengthening or weakening of
religious impression and sentiment, nothing acts so extensively, even though per-
haps indirectly, on the formation of religious opinions, and on. the speculative or
practical belief or rejection of Christianity, as the notions we entertain of its influ-
ence on the history of man, and its relation to human happiness and social improve-
ment. This latter is the express design of the present work, of which the plan and
scope will be more fully explained at the close of the Introductory Chapter.

If at any time I entertained doubts as to the expediency of including an historical
view of the Life of the Saviour in the history of his religion, those doubts have been
set at rest by the appearance of the recent work of Strauss. Though, for reasons
stated in a separate Appendix to this work, I have no hesitation in declaring my con-
^ .viction that the theory of Strauss is an historical impossibility, yet the extraordinary
sensation which this book has produced in the most learned and intellectually active
^ nation of Europe gives it an undeniable importance. Though, till recently, only
accessible to the small, yet rapidly increasing number of students of German liter-
^ ature in this country, and, from its enormous length and manner of composition,
not likely to be translated into English, it has, however, already appeared in a
French translation.* After reading with much attention the work of Strauss., I
turned back to my own brief and rapid outline, which had been finished some time
beforehand found what appeared to me a complete, though, of course, undesigned
jgj : refutation of his hypothesis. In my view, the Life of Christ (independent of its su-
pernatural or religious character) offers a clear, genuine, and purely historical nar-
rative, connected by numberless fine and obviously inartificial links with the history
of the times, full of local and temporary allusions, perfectly unpremeditated,-yet of
surprising accuracy, to all the events, characters, opinions, sentiments, usages, to
the whole life, as it were, of that peculiar period ; altogether, therefore, repudiating
that mythic character which Strauss has endeavoured to trace throughout the Evan-
gelic narrative. In all its essential character it is true and unadulterated History.*f

* The only good view of Strauss’s work with which I a,m acquainted, in a language accessible to the
ordinary reader, is in ah article in the Revue des Deux Mondes, by M. E. Quinet.

I I agree on this point with the author of a work which appeared last year in Paris, M. Salvador. He
is speaking of the Evangelic History, une oeuvre enfir? dans laquelle le lieu de la scene, le heros, les fig-:
sires accessoires, tout .e materiel, appartiermemt acetU nation nraeme.et ou chaque ligne exige, pour etreIV

PREFACE,.

In this, however* as in all respects, I have been anxious and studious not to give
my work a controversial tone. My “ Life of Christ” remains- exactly as it was
originally written, excepting in one or two notes. I have reserved entirely my
reference to the work of Strauss for a separate Appendix. In these animadversions
and in some scattered observations which I have here and there ventured to malur
in my notes on foreign, chiefly German writers, I shall not be accused of that nar-
row jealousy, and, in my opinion, unworthy and timid suspicion, with which the
writers of that country are proscribed by many. I am under too much obligation
to their profound research and philosophical tone of thought not openly to express
my gratitude to such works of German writers as I have been able to obtain which
have had any bearing on the subject of my inquiries.

I could wish most unfeignedly that our modern literature were so rich in wri-
tings displaying the same universal command of the literature of all ages and all
countries, the same boldness, sagacity, and impartiality in historical criticism, as to
enable us to dispense with such assistance. Though, in truth, with more or less of
these high qualifications, German literature unites religious views of every shade
and character, from the Christliche Mystik of Goerres, which would bring back the
faith of Europe to the Golden Legend and the Hagiography of what we still ven
ture to call the dark ages, down, in regular series, to Strauss, or, if there be anything
below Strauss, in the descending scale of Christian belief.

On all other points, especially those which are at present agitated in this country,
though of course I cannot be, yet I have written as if in total ignorance of the ex-
istence of such discussions. I have delivered, without fear and without partiality,
what I have conscientiously believed to be the truth. I write for the general reader
rather than for the members of my own profession, as I cannot understand why-
such subjects of universal interest should be secluded as the peculiar objects of study
to one class or order alone.

In one respect, the present possesses an advantage, in which the former work of
the author, from its size and form, was unavoidably deficient—the greater copious-
ness of confirmatory and illustrative quotation. I trust that I have .avoided the op-
posite error of encumbering and overloading either my text or my notes with the
conflicting opinions of former writers. Nothing is more easy than this prodigal
accumulation of authorities ; it would have been a very light task to have swelled
the notes to twice the size of the volumes. The author’s notion of history is, that
it should give the results, not the process of inquiry ; and, however difficult this may
be during the period of which he now writes, where the authenticity of almost every
document is questioned and every minute point is a controversy, he has with his ut-
most diligence investigated, and with scrupulous fidelity repeated, what appeared to
him to be the truth. Once or twice only, where the authorities are so nicely bal-
anced that it is almost impossible to form a satisfactory conclusion, he has admitted
the conflicting arguments into the text; and he has always cautiously avoided to
deliver that which is extremely problematical as historical certainty. Where he
lias deviated from his ordinary practice of citing few rather many names in his notes,
it is on certain subjects, chiefly Oriental, on which the opinions of well-known
scholars possess, in themselves, weight and authority.

If he should be blessed with life and leisure, the author cannot but look forward to
the continuation of this History with increasing interest, as it approaches the period
of the re-creation of European society under the influence of Christianity.* As
Christian History, surveyed in a wise and candid spirit, cannot but be a useful school
for the promotion of Christian faith, so no study can tend more directly to, or more im-
peratively enforce on all unprejudiced and dispassionate minds, mutual forbearance,
enlightened toleration, and the greatest even of Christian virtues, Christian charity.

comprise, la connaissance rigoureuse de son histoire, de ses lois, et de ses mceurs anciennes, des local-
ities, prejuges, du langage, des opinions populaires. des sectes, du gouvernement, et des diverses classes de
Juifs exis tant. aux epoques on les eveneinents sont rapportes.—Jesus Christ, sa Doctrine, &c., tom., i. p, 159.

* Some points in the latter part of the volume are but imperfectly developed, their full investigatior
having been reserved for a later part of the work.ERE F A C E

T O’ T II E AMERICAN EDI T I O N .
BY JAMES MURDOCK, D-D.

'The author of this work, if we may judge from his writings, is one of
the most learned, candid, and indefatigable of the British historians of the
-present age. In his own country, like Southey, he is known also as a poet.
But in this country he is chiefly known as the author of a popular History
of the Jews, which passed to a second edition, in London in 1830, and then
was republished in this country as a*-part of Harpers’ Family Library.
Notwithstanding some objections to the author’s views ^f Inspiration and
of the Miracles of the Old Testament, that work, it is believed, is gen-
erally regarded, both in England and America, as the best history of the
Jews in the English language ; especially the third volume, which embra-
ces the period since the destruction of the second temple, and in which
good use is made of the first and larger work of Dr. Jost, of Berlin. This,
we suppose, was Mr. Milraan’s first essay in historical composition. More
recently, and after attaining greater maturity in this department of/knowj-
cdge, he has published an edition of Gibbon’s History of the Decline and
Fall of the Roman Empire, with an admirably well written preface, and
numerous learned notes, which are of great value, especially as antidotes
to the irreligious and infidel tendency of the work. The London Quar-
terly Review says : “ There can be no question that this edition of Gibbon
is the only one extant to which parents, and guardians, and academical
-authorities ought to ' give any measure of countenance.” And the
Monthly Review says : “ It never before was a work which could bo
safely put into the hands of the young, or of those whose opportunities
and means for detecting its perversions are few. Now, however, the er-
rors of this luminous and imposing history have been skilfully and con-
vincingly noticed. The poison, if not extracted, has been made palpable.’5
The notes of Milman, which fill 120 closely-printed 8vo pages, are partly
original, and partly derived from Guizot, Wenck, St. Martin, and others;
and they not only expose the author’s base insinuations and sarcasms
against Christianity, but also cast much additional light on the history it-
self. This edition of Gibbon has been recently issued from the press of
the Messrs. Harper,in four neat 8vo volumes, with Mil-man’s notes placed
at the end of each volume. Mr. Milman has likewise published the Life
Edward Gibbon, with Selections from his Correspondence, &c.-, andv| PREFACE,

notes by the editor. This work is favourably noticed by the English re-
viewers : but it has not fallen in my way.

After this experience, and having acquired an established reputation as
an historical writer, Mr. Milman has ventured upon the new and more
difficult work, the first part of which is here presented to the American
public.

The title given to this work does not distinctly indicate its peculiar
design or object. It may be said to promise more than the book con-
tains, and also matter of a different kind. According to established usage,
this common and well-known title would include the more theological and
spiritual part of Ecclesiastical History. But it is not so in the work be-
fore us* Of this, however, distinct notice is given in the author’s preface.
“ Christianity,” it is there said, “ may be viewed either in a strictly reli-
gious, or, rather, in a temporal, social, and political light. In the former
case the writer will dwell almost exclusively on the religious doctrines,
and will bear continual reference to the new relation established between
man and the Supreme Being: the prominent character will be that of the
Theologian. In the latter, although he may not altogether decline the
examination of the religious doctrines, their development and their vari-
ations, his leading object will be to trace the effect of Christianity on the
individual and social happiness of man, its influence on the Polity, the
Laws and Institutions, the opinions, the manners, even on the Arts and
the Literature of the Christian world : he will write rather as an historian
than as a religious instructed55 So, at the close of his first chapter,
where he again states the design of his work, he says: “ The History of
Christianity has usually assumed the form of a History of the Church,
more or less controversial, and confined itself to annals of the internal
feuds and divisions in the Christian community, and the variations in doc-
trine and discipline, rather than to its political and social influences.
Our attention, on the other hand, will be chiefly directed to its effects on
the social and even political condition of man.” “ It is the author’s object,
the difficulty of which he himself fully appreciates, to portray the genius
of the Christianity of each successive age in connexion with that of the
age itself; in short, to exhibit the reciprocal influence of civilization on
Christianity, of Christianity on civilization.” This work, then, was not
intended to be an Ecclesiastical History, in the ordinary sense of the
term. The author assumes the character, less of an ecclesiastical his-
torian than of a philosopher and a politician: he treats of Christianity,
considered as an element of civil society, or as affecting the social, civil,
and secular condition of man.

In its conception and plan, although on a kindred subject, this is a very
different work from Guizot’s History of Civilization. The learned
Frenchman seizes upon certain great and fundamental principles, and,
by placing them distinctly before the reader, he makes him comprehendPREFACE. y|j

the whole subject philosophically, without going into .a detail of facts and
occurrences. Mr. Milman, on the contrary, endeavours to spread out all
the historical facts in the case, or to exhibit the beneficial influences of
Christianity by the detail of the actual occurrences, rather than by a
course of solid reasoning based on philosophical principles. This work,
therefore, bears a genuine historical character. Indeed, it is a pretty full
Ecclesiastical History, although, as we have before, observed, one of a pe-
culiar character. It details all those facts in ecclesiastical history which
the author supposed would be generally interesting in a secular point of
view; and, by the splendour of its style, and the fulness and accuracy of
its statements, it is well adapted to afford both pleasure and profit. At
the same time, its religious tendency is salutary : it is a safe book for all
to read. The divine origin of, Christianity, and the authority of the holy
Scriptures, are everywhere maintained. Indeed, a large part of the book
—all that relates to the history of Jesus Christ and his apostles—seems to
have been written chiefly for the purpose of rescuing this poition of sa-
cred history from the exceptions of infidels and the perversions of Ration-
alists. In addition to this fundamental point, the book distinctly main-
tains the divine mission of Christ, his equality with the Father, and his
ability to save all who believe in and obey him ; also, the reality and the
necessity or the new birth; the future judgment, and the retributions of
the world to come. These and other Christian doctrines are not, indeed,
kept continually before the reader’s mind, and urged upon him with the
zeal of a “ religious teacher ;” but they are distinctly recognised as taught
by Christ and his apostles, and as being essential and vital principles of
the Christian religion. This book, therefore, though not professing to
teach articles of faith, or to inculcate piety, is a safe book for all classes
of readers ; and, while it is an appropriate work for the use of statesmen,
philanthropists, and literary men, it deserves a place in most of our social
and circulating libraries, and in all those of our higher literary institutions. *
F.or clergymen, also, and for all who cultivate sound theological learn-
ing, this work will be valuable. Though not embracing the whole ground
of Church History, and, therefore, not meeting all their necessities, it
takes up many subjects of no small importance, and treats them in a very
able and interesting manner. On most of the topics which come within
the range of his plan, Mr. Milman makes good use of what he justly de-
nominates “ the unwearied industry, the universal command of the litera-
ture of all ages and all countries, and the boldness, sagacity, and impar-
tiality in historical criticism” of the modern German writers ; and he in-
genuously acknowledges himself “ under too much obligation to them not
openly to express his gratitude.” Yet he is far from adopting all their
conclusions. He is aware of the wild aberrations to which they are in-
cident, and he is sedulous, and, for the most part, successful in selecting
frojm them only what appears sound and valuableviii

PREFACE.

Among the subjects of interest to theologians which Mr; Milman has
discussed, are, the character of the different Pagan Religions, and their in-
fluences on society; the Grecian Philosophy, and its effects ; the Oriental
Philosophy, and its legitimate offspring, the Gnostic and Manichsean sects ;
the influences of this philosophy on the prevailing opinions and modes of
thinking among the Jews, at the time of Christ’s advent, and, consequently,
upon the language of the New Testament, and on the conceptions and
the belief of Christians in the early ages, and even down to modern times ;
the origination of asceticism,*penance, celibacy, and bodily mortifications
from this philosophy; the progress of Christianity in the four first centu-
ries, and the decline and fall of Paganism in the Roman empire ; the long
struggles of the latter, first for victory, and then for existence, its artifices,
its assumption of new forms, new principle's, and a new organization bor-
rowed from the Church; the origin of the Christian Hierarchy, and its
advances in power and wealth, and its complete dominion over the Church
and the consciences of men; the spread of monkery in the fourth and
fifth centuries, and its effects ; the changes in legislation and government,
in the manners and customs of the people, in the arts, literature, and the
general state of society, in consequence of the prevalence of Christianity.
Besides these subjects, which properly fall within the scope or design of the
work, Mr. Milman, as already stated, has gone over the entire history of
the Saviour and his apostles. Fie likewise gives a pretty full and interest-
ing account of the principal schisms and controversies in the Church, and
particularly of the early disagreements between the Jewish and Gentile
converts, and of the Donatist and Arian controversies. He also gives us
biographies of several of the most eminent fathers, Chrysostom, Basil, the
two Gregories,. Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, &c.; and he even recites
some of the more interesting martyrdoms.

The style of this work is always vigorous and animated, and often truly
rich and splendid. Yet it is not unfrequently obscure, either from loose-
ness and negligence in the structure of the sentences, or from an unrea-
sonable indulgence of the imagination. Mr. Milman seems to have become
so habituated to poetic composition, that he unconsciously assumes a poetic
style and manner when he becomes highly interested. His use of corn
junctions, too, is often faulty ; and I have ventured to alter one of his ex-
pressions wherever it occurs. It is the use of directly in the sense of as
soon as, Thus on p. 32, speaking of the Pagan mysteries, he says :
“Directly they ceased to be mysteries they lost their power.” I have in-
troduced the slightest change that would render the meaning obvious, thus :
“ Directly, as they ceased to be mysteries, they lost their power.”

The history terminates near the beginning of the fifth century. Its
continuation—which we are encouraged to expect—will open a wide and
important field for such investigations and discussions as come within the
author’s plan, and for which he has shown so much ability.According to the wishes of the publishers, at whose request this preface
is written, I have made some additions to the notes and references, in
different parts of the work, which are distinguished by brackets. Mr.
Milman’s frequent references to his History of the Jews, and to his edi-
tion of Gibbon, are also adapted to the American editions of those works.

JAMES MURDOCK.

New-Haven, January 1st, 1841.CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.—STATE AND VARIOUS FORMS OF
PAGA.N RELIGION AND OF PHILOSOPHY.

Page

FEra of Augustus Csesar . . . .21

Roman Civilization...........................21

Appearance of Christianity . . . .22

The older Religions..........................22

Policy of Alexander..........................22

Policy of Rome ...... 22

Universality of Christianity . . . . .23

Dissociating Principle of old Religions . . 23

Fetichism ....... 24

Tsabaism ....................................24

Nature-worship...............................25

'Poets.......................................25

Priestly Caste...............................25

Anthropomorphism of the Greeks . . .26

Religion of Rome . . . . . .27

Moral Element of Roman Religion . <» 27

Religion of the Jews.........................28

God under the old and new Religion . . 28

Preparation for new Religion .-in the Heathen

World....................................28

Preparation for new Religion among the Jews 29

Expansion of Judaism.........................29

Effects of Progress of Knowledge upon Poly-
theism ......................................29

“ “ “ beneficial 29'

“ “ “ prejudicial 30

Philosophy................................31

The Mysteries.............................31

Philosophy...................................32

Varieties of Philosophic Systems . . .32

Epicureanism accordant to Greek Character,
Stoicism to Roman . . . . 32,33

Academics....................................33

Philosophy fatal to popular Religion . . 33

Literature...................................33

Future Life..................................34

Reception of foreign Religions . . .34

Poetry ceases to be Religious . . . .35
Superstitions . . . . . . .35

Revolution effected by Christianity . . 36

Immortality of the Soul......................36

Design of this History . . . .37

Christianity different in Form in different Pe-
riods of Civilization . . . . 37

Christianity not self-developed . . .37

CHAPTER II.

LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.—STATE OF JUDAEA.—THE
BE LIEF IN THE MESSIAH.

Life of Christ necessary to a History of Chris-
tianity ................................. . 38

•“ “ its Difficulty . . . .38

State of Judsea. Herod the Great . . .39

Intrigues and Death of Antipater . . .39

vSons of Herod...............................39

General Expectation of the Messiah . . 39

Nature of the Belief in the Messiah . . 40

The Prophets . . ..............40

Tradition....................................40

Foreign Connexions of the Jews . . .41

Babylonia....................................41

Cabala.............................

Syrian Religions ....

Religion of Persia . . .

Completeness of the Zoroastrian System
The Zendavesta ....

The Angels.........................

Principle of Evil
The Supreme Deity removed from all Connex-
ion with the material World

Mediator...........................

The Word...........................

Future State.......................

Jewish Notion of the Messiah
Messiah, National ....
Judseo-Grecian System .

Reign of Messiah, according to Alexandrean

Jews........................

Belief different, according to the Characti

the Believer.....................

Popular Belief.....................

State of political Confusion
Birth of Christ ....

Belief in preternatural Interpositions

(B.C. 5) .... .51
Vision of Zachariah 51
Return of Zachariah to Hebron 52
Annunciation .... 52
Incarnation of the Deity . 53
Birth from a Virgin . 54
Visit to Elizabeth 55
Birth of John the Baptist 55
Journey to Bethlehem 55
Decree of Augustus . 56
Birth of Christ .... 57
Simeon : his Benediction 58
The Magi .... , , 58
The Magi in Jerusalem . 59
Flight into Egypt 5.)
Return to Galilee APPENDIX TO CHAPTER II. 59
I. Recent Lives of Christ . 59
11. Origin of the Gospels . . . III. Influence of the more imaginative Inci- 63

er of

Riga

50
50
50

dents of the early Evangelic History on
*the Propagation and Maintenance of
the Religion.................68

CHAPTER III.

COMMENCEMENT OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS.

Period to the Assumption of Public Character
Visit to Jerusalem

Political Revolutions during the preceding Pe-
riod .........................

Reign of Archelaus . • .

Reduction to a Roman Province
Sanhedrin ....

The Publicans ....

Insurrections ....

Judas the Galilean .

John the Baptist

Baptism......................

Multitudes who attend his Preaching
Expectation of the Messiah

70
*71

72CONTENTS.

xii

PaKe

Mysterious Language of the Baptist . . 73

Deputation of the Priesthood concerning the

Pretensions of John.......................73

Avowed inferiority of John to Jesus . . 73

Baptism of Jesus.............................74

Temptation of Jesus..........................74

Deputation from Jerusalem to John . . 76

Jesus designated by John as the Messiah . 76

First Disciples of Jesus.....................77

Jesus commences his Career as a Teacher . 77
First Miracle. Anti-Essenian . . .77

Capernaum....................................78

First Passover (A.D. 27).....................78

Jesus at Jerusalem...........................78

The Temple a Mart............................78

Expulsion of the Traders . . . .79

Expectations raised by this Event . . .79

Reverence of the Jews for the Temple . . 80

Their Expectations disappointed . . .80

Nicodemus . . . ... . .80

CHAPTER IV.

PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS FROM THE FIRST TO THE

SECOND PASSOVER.

Departure from Jerusalem . . . .82

John the Baptist and Herod . . . .82

Jesus passes through Samaria . . .82

Hostility of the Jews and Samaritans . . 82
Samaritan Belief in the Messiah . . .83

Samaritan Sanhedrin ..........................84

Second Miracle in Capernaum . . .85

Nazareth. Inhospitable Reception of Jesus . 85

Jesus in the Synagogue . . . . .85

Violence of the Nazarenes . . . .86

Capernaum the chief Residence of Jesus . 86

Apostles chosen...............................86

Jesus in the Synagogue of Capernaum . . 86

His Mode of Teaching different from that of

the Rabbins................................87

Causes of the Hostility of the ordinary Teach-
ers .........................................87

Progress through Galilee.....................88

Populousness of Galilee......................88

Herod Antipas................................88

Jesus passes unmolested through Galilee . 89
Comparison with Authors of other Revolu-
tions . . . , . . . .89

Teaches in the Synagogues and in the ouen

Air . ............................... 89

Manner of his Discourses Quotation from

Jortin....................................89

Sermon on the Mount..........................90

Principles of Christian Morality. Not in Uni-
son with the Age.............................90

Its Universality.............................91

Its original Principles . . . . * . 92

Conduct of Jesus with regard to his Country-
men ........................................,92

Healing the Leper............................92

Second Miracle '.................93

The Publicans ....... 93

Close of first Year ot Public Life of Jesus . 93

CHAPTER V.

SECOND YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS.

Jesus in Jerusalem (A.D. 28) . . . .94'

Change in Popular Sentiment . . .94

Breach of the. Sabbath .... . .94

Jewish Reverence for the Sabbath . . .94

Healing of the Sick Man at the Pool of Beth-

esda . ................................. . . . .95

Judicial Investigation of the Case . . .95

Defence of Jesus , . ... . . .95

Second Defence of Jesus . . . .96

, Difficult Position of the Sanhedrin . . .96

Hostility of the Pharisaic Party
They follow him into Galilee .

New Violation of the Sabbath
Jesus withdraws beyond the Sea of Galilee .
Jesus retires from public view
Reappears at Capernaum .

Organization of his Followers .

The Twelve Apostles.........................

Healing of the Centurion’s Servant
Message of John the Baptist ....
Contrast between Jesus and John the Baptist

Dsomoniacs..................................

The Pharisees demand a Sign
Conduct of Jesus to his Relatives .

Parables....................................

Rebukes the Storm...........................

Destruction of the Swine .

The Apostles sent out.......................

Conduct of Herod............................

Death of John the Baptist ....

Jesus withdraws from Galilee .

The Multitudes fed in the Desert
Enthusiasm of the People .

Jesus in the Synagogue of Capernaum .

97
97

98
98

99
99

100

101

102

103

104

CHAPTER VL

THIRD YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS.

Passover (A.D. 29)........................105

Massacre of the Galileans at the Passover . 105

Concealment of Jesus......................106

The Syro-Phoenician Woman .... 106

Jesus still in partial Concealment . . . 107

Perplexity of the Apostles .... 107
Jesus near Caesarea Philippi .... 108
The Transfiguration . 108

Tribute-money.............................109

Contention of the Apostles .... 109
Jesus commends a Child to the Imitation of the

Apostles................................109

Feast of Tabernacles ‘....................109

Jesus in the Temple at Jerusalem . . . 110

Perplexity of the Sanhedrin .... 110
Woman taken in Adultery . . . .111

Jesus teaches in the Temple .... Ill

Healing the Blind Man........................112

Conduct of the Sanhedrin • . . . . 113

Jesus near Samaria . . . . . 114

Feast of Dedication. Jesus again in Jerusalem 115
Period between the Feast of Dedication and the

Passover •.................................116

Raising of Lazarus...........................117

CHAPTER VII.

THE LAST PASSOVER.—THE CRUCIFIXION.

Last Passover (A.D. 30)...................118

Zaccheus..................................118

All Sects hostile to Jesus .... 119

The Pharisees.............................119

The Lawyers...............................119

The Sadducees............................J19

Jesus the Messiah ...... 120

The Essenes...............................121

The Rulers................................121

Demeanour of Jesus........................122

Difficulty of Chronological Arrangement . 122

Jesus at Bethany ■...................; 122

Jesus enters Jerusalem in Triumph . . 123

Monday, Nisan 2 (March) . . ' . 123

Acclamations in the Temple .... 123

The Greeks................................124

Cursing the barren Fig-tree .... 124
Second Day in Jerusalem ■ . . . 124

The Third Day • ..........................125

Deputation from the Rulers .... 125
The Fourth Day . , . . . . 125CONTENTS.

The Herodians

”The Sadducees . . . .

The Pharisees . .

The Crisis in the Fate of Jesus
Jesus on the Mount of Olives .

Evening View of Jerusalem and the Temple
Necessity for the Destruction of the Temple .
Jesus contemplates with Sadness the future
Ruin of Jerusalem

The Ruin of the Jews the Consequence of their

Character.....................

Immediate Causes of the Rejection of Jesus by
the Jews . . . .

Distinctness with which Jesus prophesied the
Fall of Jerusalem . . . . .

Embarrassment of the Sanhedrin
Treachery and Motives of Judas
The Passover f .

The Last Supper...........................

Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane

Betrayal of Jesus ........................

Jesus led Prisoner to the City ...

The High-priest . . . .

House of Annas ...........................

First Interrogatory . . . ...

Second, more public, Interrogatory .

Jesus acknowledges himself the Messiah
Conduct of the High-priest .

Jesus insulted by the Soldiery

Denial of Peter...........................

Question of the Right of the Sanhedrin to in-
flict Capital Punishment .

Real/Relation of the Sanhedrin to the Govern
ment . . ‘ . . . . .

The Case of Jesus new and unprecedented ' .
Motives of the Rulers in disclaiming their
Power . . . . .

Jesus before Pilate.......................

Remorse and Death of Judas . . . .

Astonishment of Pilate....................

“ “ at the Conduct of the

Sanhedrin . . . .

. “ “ at the Nature of the

Charge • . . . ...

The Deputation refuse to communicate with
Pilot from fear of legal Defilement
Examination before Pilate ....

Pilate endeavours to save Jesus

Clamours of the Accusers ....

Jesus sent to Herod . . .

Jesus sent back with Insult . . .

Barabbas . . . . .

Jesus crowned with Thorns ....

The People demand his Crucifixion
Intercession of Pilate’s Wife ....

Last Interrogatory of Jesus . . . .

Condemnation of Jesus ......

Insults offered to Jesus by the Populace
Circumstances of the Crucifixion .

The Two Malefactors . . .

Spectators of the Execution . . . .

Conduct of Jesus .........................

Preternatural Darkness....................

Death of Jesus ...........................

Burial of Jesus . . . .

The Religion apparently at an End

Page

125

126
127

127
12*

128
128

128

. 129

129

130
130

130

13 i

131

132

133
133
133
133

133

134
134
134

134

. 134

135

136

137
137

137

138
138
138

138

139
139
139

139

140
140

140

141

142
142

142

143
143
143

BOOK II.

CHAPTER 1

THE RESURRECTION, AND FIRST PROMULGATION
OF CHRISTIANITY

Christian Doctrine of the Immortadity of the
Soul , „ ... 145

Page

Effects of this Doctrine . . . .145

Style of the Evangelists . . . 146

The Women at the Sepulchre . .* 146

Arrival of Peter and John . . . . 147

First Appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdelenc 147
Later Appearances . . . . . .148

Incredulity of the Apostles : its Cause . .148

Return of the Apostles to Galilee . . . 148
Apostles in Judsea . . . . . 149

Ascension . . . . . . . 149

Election of a; new Apostle . . * . .149

Reappearance of the Religion of Jesus . . 150

Disciples near the Temple. Gift of Tongues . 150

Speech of Peter .............................150

Common Fund, not Community of Goods . 151

Conduct of the Sanhedrin . . . . 151

Second Speech of Peter . . . . 151

Sadducees predominant in the Sanhedrin 152

Apostles before the Sanhedrin . , 152

Gamaliel ....................................152

Institution of Deacons . . . . . 153

Death of the Proto-martyr (A.D. 34) . . 154

Paul of Tarsus............................155

Paul in Arabia . . . . . . . 156

Persecution of the Jews by Caligula . . 157

Death of James . . . . . . 157

Death of Herod............................157

CHAPTER II.

CHRISTIANITY AND JUDAISM.

Piogitss of Christianity..................158

Gradual Enlargement of the Views of the

Apostles................................158

Christianity a universal Religion . . . 158

External and internal Conflict of Christianity
with Judaism '. . . ... 159

Paul and Barnabas ...... 159

Differences between Jew and Gentile partially
abrogated by Peter . . . . .159

Cornelius....................................J59

State of Judssa . ... . . 160

Paul and Barnabas Apostles .... 161

Cyprus . . . . . . . .161

Sergius Paulus . . . . . .161

Jews in the City of Asia Minor . . .162

Jewish Attachment to the Law . . . 162

Council of Jerusalem (A.D. 49) . . . 163

Second Journey of Paul (A.D. 50) . . . 163
Third Journey of Paul . . ... 164

Paul in Jerusalem (A.D. 58) .... 165

“ in the Temple ...... 165

“ Apprehended . . . . . . 165

“ before the Sanhedrin . . . .166

“ sent to Ceesarea.........................166

“ before Felix . . . . . . 166

“ in Prison at Caesarea . . . .167

“ before Agrippa ... . . . 167

“ sent to Rome.............................167

Martyrdom of James (A.D. 62) . . . 168

Jewish War . . ... . . . 1G8

Probable Effect of the Fall of Jerusalem on
Christianity . . . . . . .169

Effect on the Jews ... . . 169

Jewish Attachment to the Law . . . 170

The Law . . . . . . . 170

Strength of internal Judaism within the Church
opposed by St. Paul . . : . .171

Belief i*n the approaching End of the World . 172
Hostility of Judaism and Christianity . . 172

Mark, bishop of Jerusalem . ■. 173

CHAPTER III.

CHRISTIANITY AND PAGANISM.

Relationship between Judaism and Christianity 174
Direct Opposition of Christianity to Paganism 174
Universality of Paganism . , , 175XIV

CONTENTS.

Page

Christianity in Cyprus .... 176

Antioch in Pisidia.........................176

Lystra.....................................176

Phrygia....................................177

Galatia .....................................177

Philippi . . . . . . . . 177

Contrast of Polytheism at Lystra, Philippi, and

Athens..................................178

Thessalonica . . . , . . .178

Athens . w.................................178

Paul on the Areopagus . . . * . . 178

Speech of Paul...............................178

Corinth (A D. 52)............................180

Gallio (A.D. 53)...........................181

Ephesus (A.D. 54)..........................181

Disciples of John the Baptist .... 181

Ephesian Magic 182

Jewish Exorcists 182

Demetrius, the Maker of Silver Shrines (A.D.

57).....................................183

St. Paul leaves Rome (A.D. 63) . . .184

Burning of Rome (A.D. 64) .... 184

Probable Causes which implicated the Chris-
tians with this Event ...................185

Martyrdom of Paul..........................188

Ephesus............................. .

Svt. John ; his Gospel.................

Nicolaitans............................

Cerinthus..............................

Later Gnostics.........................

The primal Deity of Gnosticism

The Pleroma............................

The H3on Christ........................

Malignity of Matter ....
Rejection of the Old Testament
“ of some Parts of the New

Saturninus.............................

Alexandrea'............................

Basilides..............................

Valentinus . ...

Bardesanes.............................

Marcion of Pontus .....
Varieties of Gnosticism ....
Gnosticism not popular . ■

“ conciliatory towards Paganism

Page
. 206
. 206
. 207
. 207
. 208
. 208
. 208
. 2C
. 201
. 208
. 209
. 209
. 210
. 210
. 211
. 213
. 214
. 215
. 216
. 216

CHAPTER VI.

CHRISTIANITY DURING THE PROSPEROUS PERIOD
OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE.

CHAPTER IV.

CHRISTIANITY TO CLOSE OF FIRST CENTURY.—
CONSTITUTION OF CHRISTIAN CHURCHES.

Great Revolutions slow and gradual . . 189

Imperial History divided into Four Periods . 189
First Period, to the Death of Nero . . 189

Second Period to the Accession of Trajan , 191

Stoic Philosophers .........................191

Temple Tax..................................191

Change in the Condition and Estimation of the

Jews after the War.......................192

The Descendants of the Brethren of our Lord
brought before the Tribunal . . . 192

Flavius Clemens . . . . . 193

Legends of the Missions of the Apostles into
different Countries . . . ■. . 193

Death of St. John...........................193

Constitution of Christian Churches . . 194

Christian Churches formed from, and on the
Model of, the Synagogue .... 194
Essential Difference between the Church and

Synagogue................................195

Christian Church formed round an Individual 196

Authority of the Bishop.....................196

The Presbyters . . . . . .197

Church of Corinth an exception . . . 198

CHAPTER V.

CHRISTIANITY AND ORIENTALISM.

Oriental Religions..........................199

Situation of Palestine favourable for a new

Religion.................................200

Judaism.....................................200

General Character of Orientalism . . .200

Purity of Mind. Malignity of Matter . .200

The universal Primary Principle . . . 200

Source of Asceticism........................201

Celibacy....................................201

“ unknown in Greece and Rome . 202

Plato'......................................202

Rome...................................... 202

Orientalism in Western Asia . . . 203

Combination of Orientalism with Christianity 203

Simon Magus.................................204

“ “ his real Character and Tenets . 205

“ “ his Helena .... 205

“ Probability of his History . .205

Gnosticism connects itself with Christianity , 206

Roman Emperors at the Commencement of the
Second Century . . . . .217

Characters of the Emperors favourable to the
Advancement of Christianity . . .217

Trajan Emperor (A.D. 98-116) . . .218

Hadrian Emperor (A.D. 117-138) . . .218

Antoninus Pius Emperor (A.D. 138-161) . 218

Christianity in Bithyniaand the adjacent Prov-
inces ....................................218

Letter of Pliny...........................219

Answer of Trajan..........................219

The Jews not averse to Theatrical Amuse-
ments ....................................220

Christians abstain from them .... 220
Their Danger on Occasions of Politial Rejoi-
cings ....................................220

Probable connexion of the Persecution under
Pliny with the State of the East . . . 221

Hadrian Emperor (A.D. 117) .... 222

Character of Hadrian......................222

Hadrian’s Conduct towards Christianity . 223
Hadrian incapable of understanding Christian-
ity ......................................223

Antoninus Pius Emperor (A.D. 138) . . 224

CHAPTER VII.

CHRISTIANITY AND MARCUS AURELIUS THE PHI-
LOSOPHER.

Three Causes of the Hostility of Marcus Aure-
lius and his Government to Christianity . 225

1. Altered Position of Christianity in regard to

Paganism................................225

Connexion of Christianity with the Fall of the

Roman Empire . • . • • • . 226

Tone of some Christian Writings confirmatory

of this Connexion.......................226

The Sibylline Books........................227

2. Change in the Circumstances of the Times 229

Terror of the Roman World .... 230

3. The Character of the Empejor . . . 230

Private Sentiments of the Emperor m his Med-
itations .................................231

Calamities of the Empire (A.D. 166) . . 232

Christian Martyrdoms.......................232

Persecution in Asia Minor . 233

Polycarp...................................233

Miracle of the Thundering Legion . . .235

Martyrs of Vienne (A.D. 177) . . . 236

Martyrdom of Blandina ... . 237CONTENTS

CHAPTER VIL*.

FOURTH PERIOD. CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SUC-

CESSORS OF MARCUS AURELIUS. pao>e

Fourth Period..............................238

Rapid Succession of Emperors (A.D. 180-284) 238
Insecurity of the Throne favourable to Christi-
anity ....................... . . 238

Causes of Persecutions during this Period . 238
Commodus(A.D. 180-193) * . ■ . . .239

Reign of Severus (A.D. 194-210) . . . 240

Infancy of Caracalla ..... 240
'Peaceful Conduct of the Christians . . 240

Persecution in the East . . . .240

Christianity not persecuted in the West . . 240

Probable Causes of Persecution . . . 240

Egypt...............................241

Africa..............................241

African Christianity................242

Montanism ....... 242

Apology of Tertullian...............243

Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas . . 243

Caracalla. Geta (A.D. 211-217) . . . 246

Elagabalus Emperor (A.D. 218) . . . 246

Worship of the Sun in Rome . . . . 247

Religious Innovations meditated by Elagabalus 247
Alexander Severus Emperor (A.D. 222) . . 248

Mammaea...................................... 248

Change in the Relation of Christianity to Soci-
ety ........................................248

First Christian Churches .... 248
[nfluencq of Christianity on Heathenism . 249
Change in Heathenism ..... 249

Paganism becomes serious .... 250

Apollonius of Tyana.................250

Porphyrius..........................250

Life of Pythagoras . . . . ... 250

Philosophic Paganism not popular . . . 250

Maxirnm (A.D. 235)................. 251

Gordian (A.D. 238-244)............. 251

Philip (A.D. 244).................. 251

Secular Games) A.D. 247)........... 251

Decius (A.D. 249-251) ..... 251

Causes of the Decian Persecution . . . 251

Fabianus, bishop of Rome .... 252
Enthusiasm of Christianity less strong . . 252

Valerian (A.D. 254)................ 252

Cyprian, bishop of Carthage .... 253

Plague in Carthage . 254

< hnduct of Cyprian and the Christians . . 254

Cyprian’s Retreat...................254

“ Return to Carthage .... 254

Miserable Death of the Persecutors of Christi-
anity . . . . . . . . 255

Gallienus alone (A.D. 260) .... 255

Aurelian (A.D. 271-275)............ 256

Paul of Samosata....................256

CHAPTER IX.

THE PERSECUTION UNDER DIOCLESIAN.

Peace of the Christians (A.D. 284) . . . 257

Progress of Christianity.....................257

Relaxation of Christian Morals . . . 257

“ of Christian Charity . . . 257

Dioclesian . . . . . . . 258

Change in the State of the Empire . . 258

Neglect of Rome ...... 258

Religion of Dioclesian .... 259

New Paganism . . . . . 259

Worship of the Sun...........................260

Sentiments of the Philosophic Party . . 260

Deliberations concerning Christianity . . 261

Council summoned by Dioclesian . . . 261

Edict of Persecution . . . . .261

'* “ its Publication . . 261

Page

Edict of Persecution, its Execution in Nico-

media....................................262

“ “ torn down . . . 262

Fire in the Palace at Nicomedia . . . 262

The Persecution becomes general . . . 263

IllneSs and Abdication of Dioclesian (A.D. 304) 264

General Misery..............................264

Galerius, emperor of the East . . 264

Maximin Daias...............................264

Maxentius................................. 264

Constantine . 264

Sufferings of the Christians .... 265
Edict of Galerius (A.D. 311, April 30) . . 265

Conduct of Maximin in the East . . . 266

Maximin hostile to Christianity . . . 266

Reorganization of Paganism .... 267
Persecutions in the Dominions of Maximin . 267
The Pagans appeal to the flourishing State of
the East in support of their Religion . . 267

Reverse ....................................268

Tyranny of Maximin..........................268

War with Armenia............................268

Famine . 268

Pestilence..................................268

Maximin retracts his persecuting Edict . . 269

Death of Maximin............................269

The new Paganism falls with Maximin . . 269

Rebuilding of the Church of Tyre . . .269

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

CONSTANTINE.

Reign of Constantine.........................271

Change in the Empire.........................271

Degradation of Rome..........................271

Unity of the Empire still preserved . . .271

New Nobility . . '....................272

State of the Religion of Rome . . . 272

Motives for the Conversion of Constantine . 272
Revival of Zoroastrianism .... 273

Restoration of the Persian Monarchy by Ardes-
chir Babhegan . . . . . 274

Restoration of the Religion of Zoroaster . 274
Vision of Erdiviraph . . . . 271

Intolerance of the Magian Hierarchy . . 274

Destruction of Christianity in Persia . . 275

Connexion of the Throne and the Hierarchy . 275
Armenia the first Christian Kingdom . . 275

Gregory the Illuminator ..... 276
Murder of Khosrov . . . . . . 276

Tiridates, king of Armenia .... 276

Persecution of Gregory ..... 277

Conversion of the King...................277

Persecution by the Christians . . . 277

Manicheism . . . ' . . . . 277

Mani ■................................... . 277

“ various Sources of his Doctrines . . 277

“ his Paintings . . . . . . 278

“ his Life and Opinions . . .. .279

“ his Death...........................282

“ Propagation of his Religion . . .282

Triumph of Christianity..................283

Numbers of the Christians . . .283

Different State of. the East with regard to the
Propagation of Christianity .... 284
“ “ of the West .... 284

End of the Persecutors of Christianity . . 285

War of Constantine against Maxentius . 285
Religion of Maxentius . . . , . 285

His Paganism . . . . . . . 286

Religion of Constantine . . . . . 287

Vision of Constantine . , . 287Xvl

CONTENTS.

Conduct of Constantine after his Victory over

Maxentius..............................

Edict .of Constantine from Milan .

Earlier Laws of .Constantine ....

Sanctity of the Sunday.....................

Law against Divination . . . . .

Constantine’s Encouragement of Christianity

Churches in Rome...........................

Dissensions of Christianity ....

Donatism...................................

The Christian Hierarchy different from the
Pagan Priesthood ......

The Traditors.....................’

Contest for the See of Carthage
Appeal to the Civil Power .

Council of Rome............................

Donatists persecuted.......................

The Circumcellions.........................

Passion for Martyrdom......................

Page

288

289

289
*290

290

291
291

291

292

293

294

295
295

CHAPTER II. ‘

CONSTANTINE BECOMES SOLE EMPEROR.

The East still Pagan..........................296

Clerical Order recognised by the Law . . 297

Exemption from the Decu donate . . . 297

Wars with Licinius............................297

Licinius becomes more decidedly Pagan . 298
Battle of Hadrianopie (A.D. 323) . . .299

Conduct of Constantine to his Enemies . . 299

Crispus, son oi Constantine .... 300
Death of Crispus (April, A.D. 326) . . . 300

Death of Fausta ..............................300

Pagan Account of the Death of Crispus . . 301

Page

Conduct of the Arian Prelates in Antioch A.D.

328)........................... . 318

Athanasius ..................................319

Charges against Athanasius . . . .319

Synod of Tyre (A.D. 335) , . . . .320

Athanasius in Constantinople . . . 320

New Accusations..............................320

Death of Sopater, the Philosopher . . .321

Banishment of Athanasius to Treves (A.D, 336,

February).................................321

Arius in Constantinople......................321

Death of Arius...............................321

Baptism of Constantine.......................322

Extent to which Paganism was suppressed . 322
Legal Establishment of Christianity . . 321

Effects of this on the Religion . . .321

“ “ Civil Power . . .321

How far the Religion of the Empire . . 321

Effect of the legal Establishment of Christian-
ity on Society...........................325

Laws relating to Sundays .... 325

“ tending to Humanity .... 325

“ concerning Slavery .... 326

“ against Rape and Abduction . . . 326

“ against Adultery..................326

“ concerning Divorce .... 327

“ against Paederasty................327

“ against making of Eunuchs . . .327

“ favourable to Celibacy .... 327

Burial of Constantine .... 328

Conversion of ^Ethiopia......................329

“ of the Iberians .... 329

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER III.

FOUNDATION OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

Rise of Constantinople favourable to Christi-

anity .....................................303

Constantinople a Christian City . . . 303

Building of the City . . . . . 303

Ceremonial of the Foundation . . .304

Statue of Constantine.......................305

Progress of Christianity....................305

The Amphitheatre............................306

Ancient Temples ............................306

Basilicas .... . . . . . . 307

Relative Position of Christianity and Paganism 308
Temples suppressed ..... 308
Christianity at Jerusalem .... 308
Churches built in Palestine .... 309

CHAPTER IV.

TRINITARIAN CONTROVERSY..

Origin of the Controversy .... 310
Constant Struggle between the intellectual
and devotional Conception of the Deit.y .311

Controversy commences at Alexandrea . .312

Noetus . 312

Sabellianism................................312

Trinitarianism . 312

Alexander, patriarch of Alexandrea . . .313

Arius .................................... 313

' Letter of Constantine.....................314

Council of Nice (A D. 325) . . . .315

Controversy about keeping Easter . . .315

Number of Bishops present .... 315
First Meetings of the Council . . 316

Behaviour of Constantine . 316

Nice.ne Creed . . . 316

Five Recusants . . . . . 317

Banishment of Arius . * . 317

Change in the Opinions of Constantine . .317

Eusebius of Nicomedia.......................318

CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SONS OF CONSTANTINE.

Accession of the Sons of Constantine . ■ .329
Religious Differences of the two surviving Sons 330
Moral more slow than Religious Revolution . 330

Athanasius ..................................331

Restoration of Athanasius to Alexandrea (A.D.

338)..................................... 332

Council of.Antioch (A.D.341) . . . 332

Athanasius flies to Rome .... 332

Usurpation of Gregory........................333

Bloody Quarrel at Constantinople . . . 333

Effects of the Trinitarian Controversy in the

West . . . *....................333

Athanasius at Rome...........................334

Julius, bishop of Rome ... . 334

Synod at Rome : at Milan (A.D. 343) . . 334

Council of Sardica (A.D. 345, 346) . . . 334

Rival Council at Philippopolis . . . 334

Reconciliation of Constantius with Athanasius

(A.D. 349)............................... 334

Persian War..................................335

Death of Constans............................335

War with Magnentius (A.D. 351) . . .335

Battle of Mursa..............................335

Paul deposed from the Bishopric of Constanti-
nople : Macedonius reinstated . . . 335

Councils of Arles and Milan . . . .336

Persecution of Liberius, bishop of Rome . 336
New Charges against Athanasius . . .336

Council of Milan.............................336

Fall of Liberius.............................337

“ of Hosius...............................337

Reception of Constantius at Rome . . . 337

Orders to remove Athanasius .... 337
Tumult in the Church of Alexandrea . . 338

George of Cappadocia . . . 338

Escape and Retreat of Athanasius . . 339

Hilary of Poictiers . . . . . . 339

Lucifer of Cagliari . . 340

Mutual Accusations of Cruelty . 340

Athanasius as a Writer - . . , 341C O N T

Page

Necessity of Creeds during the succeeding

__^ 0X0

Centuries.................................342

influence of the Athanasian Controversy on the
Growth of the Papal Power . . . 342

Superiority of Arianism . . . • . . 343

Heresy of Aetius . . . . . . 343

“ of Macedonius..........................343

Council of Rimini ...... 344

CHAPTER VI.

JULIAN.

Short Reign of Julian (A.D. 361-363) . . 345

His Character................................345

His Religion.................................346

Unfavourable State of Christianity . . . 347

Julian’s Education . . . . . . 347

“ Intercourse with the Philosophers . 348
Conduct of Constantius towards him . . 349

Julian at Athens.............................349

“ initiated at Eleusis .... 349
Julian’s Elevation to the rank of Csesar . . 350

Death of Constantius . . . . . . 350

Conduct of Julian............................350

Restoration of Paganism......................351

Julian’s new Priesthood......................352

“ charitable Institutions imitated from

Christianity . 353

Julian’s Ritual..............................353

“ Respect for Temples .... 353
“ Plan of Religious Instruction . . 353

“ animal Sacrifices . . . . 353

Philosophers ................................354

Maximus . . 354

/ulian’s Toleration..........................355

“ sarcastic Tone.........................355

“ Taunts of the Christians’ Professions

of Poverty.............................. 355

Julian’s Withdrawal of their Privileges . . 356

Exclusion of them from public Education . 356
Education of the higher Classes . . . 356

Arts of Julian to undermine Christianity . 357

Persecutions............................... 357

Restoration of Temples.......................357

Julian contends on ill-chosen Ground . . 358

Constantinople. Antioch .... 358

Julian at Antioch............................358

Temple on Mount Casius. Grove of Daphne 359
Remains of Babylas ..... 359
Fire in the new-built Temple .... 359

Alexandrea ..................................359

George, the Arian Bishop .... 359

His Death 360

Athanasius . . . . . . . 360

Death of Mark of Arethusa . . . .361

Julian courts the Jews.......................361

“ determines to rebuild the Temple at Je-
rusalem ............................ 361

Writings of Julian ..... .362

His Work against Christianity . . . 362

The “ Misopogon”.............................363

Julian sets forth on his Persian Expedition . 363

Death of Julian..............................363

Probable Results of his Conflict with Christi-
anity ....................................364

CHAPTER VII.

VALENTINIAN AND VALENS.

Lamentations of the Pagans at the Death of

Julian.......................................364

Reign of Jovian . . . . . . 365

Valentinian and Valens.......................365

Toleration of Valentinian (A.D. 364) . . 365

Laws of Valentinian..........................365

Persecutions for Magic .... 365

E N T S. xvii

Pa^a

Cruelty of Valentinian ..... 366
Trials in Rome before M aximin . . . 360

Connexion of these crimes with Paganism . 367
Rebellion of Procopius in the East (A.D. 365) 367
State of Christianity in the East . . . 369

Interview of Valens with Basil . . . 370

Effects of Christianity in mitigating the Evils

of Barbarism................................37Q

Influence of the Clergy........................371

Their Importance in the new State of Things 371
Influence of Christianity on Literature . . 371

“ “ on Language . . 372

“ “ on the Municipal In-
stitutions . . . . . . . 372

Influence of Christianity on general Habits . 372
Early Christianity among the Goths . • . 373

Ulphilas’s Version of the Scriptures . . 373

Arianism of the Goths ..... 374

CHAPTER VIII.

THEODOSIUS. ABOLITION OF PAGANISM.

Hostility of Theodosius to Paganism . . 375

Alienation of the Revenue of the Temples . 376
Oration of Libanius . . . . . 377

Syrian Temples destroyed . . . . 377

Temple of Serapis at Alexandrea . . . 377

Worship of Serapis.............................378

Statue of Serapis..............................378

The first Attacks on Paganism . . . 378

Olympus the Philosopher .... 378

War in the City.............................. 379

Flight of Olympus............................ 379

Rescript of Theodosius . . . . 379

The Temple assailed . . . . . 379

The Statue .................................. 379

Paganism at Rome ..............................381

Gratian Emperor (A.D. 367) . . . .381

“ refuses the Pontificate . . . 382

Statue of Victory..............................382

Apology of Symmachus ..... 384

Reply of Ambrose...............................384

Murder of Valentinian (A.D. 392) . . . 38-4

Accession of Eugenius . . „ . . 385

Law of Honorius................................386

Capture of Rome by Alaric ... . . 38^

CHAPTER IX

THEODOSIUS. TRIUMPH OF TRINITARIANISM. THE.
GREAT PRELATES OF THE EAST.

Orthodoxy of Theodosius . . . 388

Laws against Heretics (A.D. 380) . . . 388

All the more powerful ecclesiastical Writers fa-
vourable to Trinitarianism .... 389
Theophilus of Alexandrea, Bishop (A.D. 385-

412).................................389

St. Ephrem, the Syrian . . . . . 290

Cappadocia.............................391

St. Basil . ...... 391

Gregory of Nazianzum . . . . . 392

His Poems . . • . . . . . 392

Characteristic Difference between Greek and
Christian Poetry . . . . . . 392

Value of Gregory’s Poems .... 393

Gregory, bishop of Sasima (A.D. 372) . . 393

Gregory, bishop of Constantinople A.D. 339-
379) . . . .■ . „ . .393

Chrysostom . -.......................395

“ his Life ... . . 395

Riots in Antioch . . . . . 397

Intercession of Flavianus for the Rioters . 397
Sentence of Theodosius . . . . . 398

Issue of the Interview of Flavianus with the

Emperor.............................. 398

Chrysostom, bishop of Constantinople (A.D. .

398).................................. 399xviii

CONTENTS.

Difference of the Sacerdotal Power in Rome

and Constantinople.......................

Political Difficulties of Chrysostom .
Interference of the Clergy in secular Affairs .

Eutropius the Eunuch......................

Right of Asylum . • • . ♦

Chrysostom saves the Life of Eutropius

“ is governed by his Deacon Sera-

pion.....................................

Cheophilus.of Alexandrea .

Council of the Oak........................

Condemnation of Chrysostom

He leaves Constantinople . . . •

Earthquake............................

Return of Chrysostom......................

Statue of the Empress.....................

Second Condemnation of Chrysostom
Tumults in the Church (AD. 404) .

Chrysostom surrenders.....................

His Seclusion and Death . • #

His Remains transported to Constantinople .

399

400

401

402

403
403
403

403

404
404

404

405
405
405

CHAPTER X.

THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE WEST.

Ambrose, archbishop of Milan

“ his Youth...........................

“ is made bishop (A.D. 374)

“ an Advocate of Celibacy .

“ his Redemption of Captives

“ disputes with the Empress Justina .

“ compels the Emperor to yield .

“ his second Embassy to the Usurper

Maximus . .......................

Accession of Theodosius (A. D. 338)

Jewish Synagogue destroyed ....
Conduct of Ambrose........................

Massacre of Thessalonica (A.D. 390)

First Capital Punishment for 'Religion (A.D.

385) . .......................

Priscilhan and his Followers ....
Martin of Tours ....

Death of Valentinian (A.D. 392)

“ of Theodosius (A.D. 395)

“ of Ambrose (A.D. 397) ....

Augustine.................................

Augustinian Theology......................

Augustine’s Baptism (A.D. 387)

“ controversial Writings .

“ •* City of God”

“ Life and Character

406

407
407

407

408

409

410

411
411

411

412

413
413
413
413

413

414

417

418

419

CHAPTER XI.

JEROME. THE MONASTIC SYSTEM.

Jerome......................

Monachism ....

Ccenobitism .

Origin of Monachism

Celibacy....................- -

Causes which tended to promote Monachism .
Antony .

Daemonology

Self-torture ; • •

Influence of Antony .

Ccsnobitic Establishments
Dangers of Ccenobitism .

Bigotry . ;

Fanaticism .

Ignorance ......................... : . -

General Effects of Monachism on Christianity
■ a ■ “ “ on Political Af-

tairs...............................

Some of its Advantages ....
Effect on the Maintenance of Christianity
Influence on the Clergy

“ in promoting Celibacy

420

422

423

424

425

426
426

427

428
428

428

429

, 429

430
430

, 431
432

Life of Jerome ....

Trials in his Retreat

His classical Studies

His Return to Rome

Morality of the Roman Clergy

Jerome’s Influence over the Females

Character of Roman Females

Paula..............................

Controversies of Jerome .

Retreat to Palestine .

Jovinian and Vigilantius .
Vigilantius .

ras*

. 433
. 433
. 433
. 434
. 434
. 434
. 435 1
. 435
. 435
. 435
. 436
. 437

BOOKIV.

CHAPTER I.

TIIE ROMAN EMPIRE UNDER CHRISTIANITY.

General Survey of the Change effected by
Christianity .

Sources of Information
Theodosian Code
Christian Writers
Slavery .

Manners of the Court
Government of Eunuchs
The Emperor .

The Aristocracy
Their Manners

The Females . . - -

Gradual Development of the Hierarchical

Pow-

Priesthood

Expulsion or Excommunication
Increase of Priestly Civil Influence
The Bishop in the early Community
Dissensions in the Church the cause of Increase
of Sacerdotal Power .

Language of the Old Testament
Clergy and Laity

Change in the Mode of electing the
Metropolitan Bishops
Formation of the Diocese. .

Chorepiscopi ...»

Archbishops and Patriarchs
Church of Rome
New sacred Offices .

Unity of the Church
General Councils
Increase in Pomp
Wealth of the Clergy

Uses to which it was applied . . - -

Law of Constantine empowering the Church
to receive Bequests . •

Restrictive Edict of Valentinian
Pope Damasus

Application of Church Wealth
Celibacy of the Clergy
Married Bishops and Clergy .

Moral Consequences of Celibacy
Mulieres subintroductse .

Union of Church and State . . -

The State under Ecclesiastical Discipline
Divorce .

Wills ...

Penitential Discipline
Excommunication .

Ecclesiastical Censures chiefly confined to Her-
esy ...•••••

« “ executed by the state

Civil Punishment for Ecclesiastical Offences .
Objects of the great Defenders of the Hierar-
chical Power . . • • • . •

Dignity and Advantages of the Clerical Station
General Influence of the Clergy .

438

439
439

439

440

441

442

443

444

445

446
446
446

446

447

448
448-

448

449

450
450

450

451
451

451

452

453

454
454
456

456

457

458

459

460
460

460

461

462CHAPTER II.

PUBLIC SPECTACLES.

Public Spectacles.................

Religious Ceremonial .

Divisions of the Church . ...

The Porch.........................

The Penitents.................' .

The Narthex.......................

The. Preacher.....................

Secrecy of the Sacraments

Baptism...........................

Eucharist ......

Christian Funerals................

Worship of the Martyrs ....

Festivals.......................

Profane Spectacles . . . . .

Heathen Calendar..................

The Theoretica....................

Four Kinds of Spectacles

Gymnastic Games...................

Tragedy and Comedy ....

Mimes.............................

Pantomimes ......

Amphitheatre. Gladiatorial Shows
The Circus. Chariot Races .

CHAPTER III

CHRISTIAN LITERATURE.

Fate of Greek Literature and Language
“ Roman Literature and Language
Christian Literature .

Poetry ...........................

Sacred Writings . . . .

liege nds .......

Spurious Gospels ,

Lives of Saints .

History

Apologies

Hermeneutics . „ » • ' •

Expositions of Faith Fas* . 483
Polemical Writings . 483
Christian Oratory . 483
CHAPTER IV.
CHRISTIANITY AND THE FINE ARTS.
Fine Arts
Architecture . 486
Windows • . . 486
Subdivisions of the Church .486
Sculpture . . . ’ . . 487
Symbolism ..... . 489
Person of the Saviour . 490
Earliest Images Gnostic . . 492
Earliest Portraits of the Saviour . 492
The Father rarely represented . 493
The Virgin . . . . 493
The Apostles . 494
Martyrdom not represented . 494
The Crucifix . 495
Paintings at Nola .... . 495
Music
CHAPTER V. CONCLUSION.
Christian Theology of the Period . . 498
Separation of Christian Faith and Christian
Morals never complete . . 499
Christian Feelings never extinct . 499
Mythic Age of Christianity . 500
Faith
Imaginative State of the Human Mind . 500
The Clergy . . • . 50 i
Religious Impressions . 50 i
Effect on Natural Philosophy . . 50!
Polytheistic Form of Christianity . . 502
Worship of Saints and Angels . 503
w of the Virgin . . , 5-94

ra*e

462

463

464

465

466

46?

468

470

471

473

474

475

477

478

479

481

482

482HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.-STATE AND VARIOUS FORMS OF PAGAN RELIGION, AND OF PHILOSOPHY.

The reign of Augustus Caesar is the
of most remarkable epoch in the his-
Augustus tory of mankind. For the first1
CjBsar. tjme> a large part of the families,1
tribes, and nations, into which the human
race had gradually separated, were united
under a vast, uniform, and apparently per-
manent social system. The older Asi-
atic empires had, in general, owed their
rise to the ability and success bf some ad-
venturous conqueror; and, when the mas-
ter-hand was withdrawn, fell asunder, or
were swept away to make room for some
new kingdom or dynasty, which sprang
up with equal rapidity, and in its turn ex-
perienced the same fate. The Grecian
monarchy established by Alexander, as!
though it shared in the Asiatic principle of
vast and sudden growth and as rapid de-
cay, broke up at his death into several
conflicting kingdoms ; yet survived in its
influence, and united, in some degrep,
Western Asia, Egypt, and Greece into one
political system, in which the Greek lan-
guage and manners predominated. But
the monarchy of Rome was founded on
principles as yet unknown ; the kingdoms,
which were won by the most unjustifiable
aggression, were, for the most part, gov-
erned with a judicious union of firmness
and conciliation, in which the conscious
strength of irresistible power was temper-
ed with the wisest respect to national
usages. The Romans conquered like sav-
ages, but ruled like philosophic states-
men.* Till, frrm the Euphrates to the
Atlantic, from t\ e shores of Britain, and
the borders of tl $ German forests, to the
sands of the At icari Desert, the whole
Western world w is consolidated into one

♦ On the capture of city, promiscuous massacre
was the general order, which descended even to
brute animals, until a certain signal.—Polyb., x.,
15. As to the latter point, I mean, of course, the
general policy, not the local tyranny, which was so
often exercised by the individual provincial governor.

great commonwealth, united by the bonds
of law and government, by facilities of
communication and commerce, and by the
general dissemination of the Greek and
Latin languages.

For civilization followed in the train
of Roman conquest: the feroci- Roman civ-
ty of her martial temperament Nation,
seemed to have spent itself in the civil
wars : the lava flood of her ambition had
cooled; and, wherever it had spread, a
rich and luxuriant vegetation broke forth.
At least down to the time of the Anto-
nines, though occasionally disturbed by
the contests which arose on the change
of dynasties, the rapid progress of im-
! provement was by no means retarded
Diverging from Rome as a centre, mag
nificent and commodious roads connected
the most remote countries; the free nav-
igation of the Mediterranean united the
most flourishing cities of the empire ; the
military colonies had disseminated the
language and manners of the South in the
most distant regions; the wealth and pop-
ulation of the African and Asiatic provin-
ces had steadily increased; while, amid
the forests of Gaul, the morasses of Brit-
ain, the sierras of Spain, flourishing cities
arose ; and the arts, the luxuries, the or-
der, and regularity of cultivated life were
introduced into regions which, a short
time before, had afforded a scanty and pre-
carious subsistence, to tribes scarcely ac-
quainted with agriculture. The frontiers
of civilization seemed gradually to ad-
vance, and to drive back the still-receding
barbarism ;* while within the pale, nation-
al distinctions were dying away; all tribes
and races met amicably in the general re-
lation of Roman subjects or citizens, and

* Quse sparsa congregaret imperia, ritnsque molli-
ret, et tot populorum discordes ferasque linguas ser
monis commercio contraheret ad colloquia, et hv
manitatem homini daret.—Plin., Nat. Hist., iii., 522

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

mankind seemed settling down into one
great federal society.*

About this point of time Christianity ap-
*ppearance peared. As Rome had united
jf christi- the whole Western world into
army. onej as it might almost seem,
lasting social system, so Christianity was
the first religion which aimed at a uni-
versal and permanent moral conquest.
The older The religions of* the older world
religions. were content with their domin-
ion over the particular people which were
their several votaries. * Family, tribal,
national deities were universally recog-
nised ; and, as their gods accompanied the
migrations or the conquests of different
nations, their worship was extended over
a wider surface, but rarely propagated
among the subject races. To drag in tri-
umph the divinities of a vanquished peo-
ple was the last and most' insulting mark
of subjugation.f Yet, though the gods of
the conquerors had thus manifested their
superiority, and, in some cases, the sub-
ject nation might be inclined to desert their
inefficient protectors, who had been found
wanting in the hour of trial, still the god-
head even of the defeated divinities was
not denied : though their power could not
withstand the mightier tutelar deity of the
invaders, yet their right to a seat in the
crowded synod of heaven, and their rank
among the intermediate rulers of the world,
was not called in question.J The con-
queror might indeed take delight in show-
ing his contempt, and, as it were, tram-
pling under foot the rebuked and impotent
deities of his subject; and thus religious
persecution be inflicted by the oppressor,
and religious fanaticism excited among the
oppressed. Yet, if the temple was des-
ecrated, the altar thrown down, the priest-
hood degraded or put to the sword, this
was done in the fierceness of hostility or
the insolence of pride or from policy,

* “Unum esse reipubliese corpus, atque unius
animo regendum.” Such was the argument of
Asinius Gallus, Tac., Ann., i., 12.

f Tot de diis, quot de gentibus triumphi. Ter-
tullian.' Compare Isaiah, xlvi., 1, and Gesenius’s
note. Jerv, xlvin., ? ; xlix.,3. Hos.,x.,5,6. Dan.,
xi., 8.

i There is a curious passage in Lydus de Osten-
tis, a book which probably contains some parts of
the ancient ritual of Rome. A certain aspect of a
comet not merely foretold victory, but the passing
over of the hostile gods to the side of the Romans:
teal avra de ra d-ela KaTaketyovoi rovg noTie^iovg,
&OT8 hi izepicoov Trpocjred^vat rolg vuirjralg
Lydus, de Ostentis, lib. 12.

$ Such was the conduct of Cambyses in Egypt.
Xerxes had, before his Grecian invasion, shown the
proud intolerance of his disposition, in destroying
the deities of the Babylonians, and slaying their
priesthood (Herod., i., 183, and Arrian, vii , 19);
though, in this case, the rapacity which fatally in-

lest the religion should become the rally-
ing-pojnt of civil independence :* rarely,
if ever, for the purpose of extirpating a
false, or supplanting it by a true, system
of belief; perhaps in no instance with the
design of promulgating the tenets of a
more pure and perfect religion. A wiser
policy commenced with Alexan- Policy of
der. The deities of the conquer- Alexander;
ed nations were treated with uniform rev-
erence, the sacrilegious plunder of their
temples punished with exemplary severi-
ty.! According to the Grecian system,
their own gods were recognised in those
of Egypt and Asia; they were called by
Grecian names,J and worshipped with the
accustomed offerings; and thus all reli-
gious differences between Macedonian,
and Syrian, and Egyptian, and Persian at
once vanished away. On the same prin-
ciple, and wflth equal sagacity, ofRome
Rome, in this as in other respects, 0 ome'
aspired to enslave the mind of those na-
tions which had been prostrated by her
arms. The gods of the subject nations
were treated with every mark of respect:
sometimes they were admitted within the
walls of the conqueror, as though to ren-
der their allegiance, and rank themselves
in peaceful subordination under the su-
preme divinity of the Roman Gradivus, or
the Jupiter of the Capitol till, at length,
they all met in the amicable synod of the
Pantheon, a representative assembly, as
it were, of the presiding deities of all na-
tions, in Rome, the religious as well as the
civil capital of the world.|| The state, as

duced him to pillage and desecrate the temples of
Greece may have combined with his natural arro-
gance—Herod., viii , 53. #

* This was most likely the principle of the hor-
rible persecution of the Jews by Antiochus Epiph
anes, though a kind of heathen bigotry seems to
have mingled with his strange character.-—1 Macc ,
i., 41, et seqq. 2 Macc., vi. Diod. Sic, xxxiv., ].
Hist, of the dews, vol. ii., p. 37.

+ Arrian, lib. vi., p. 431, 439 (edit. Amst., 1668)
Polyb., v., 10.

t Arrian, lib. iii., p. 158; vii., p. 464 and 486
Some Persian traditions, perhaps, represent Alex-
ander as a religious persecutor; but these are of no
authority against the direct statement of the Greek
historians. The Indian religious usages, and the
conduct of some of their faquirs, excited the won-
der of the Greeks.

(} Solere Romanos Deos omnes urbium superh-
tarum parlim privatim per familias spargere, par-
tim publice consecrare.—Arnob., iii., 38.

It was a grave charge against Marcellus, that, by
plundering the temples in Sicily, he had made the
state an object of jealousy (hi<pQovov), because not
only men, but gods, were led in triumph. The older
citizens approved rather the conduct of Fabius
Maximus, who left to the Tarentines their offended
gods.—Pint., Vit Marc.

11 According to Verrius Flaccus, cited by Pliny
(xxviii.,2), the Romans used to invoke the tutelary
deity of ever^ place which they besieged, and bribulHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Cicero shows in his Book of Laws, re-
tained the power of declaring what forms
of religion were permitted by the law
(licitae) ;* but this authority was rarely
exercised with rigour, excepting against
such foreign superstitions as were consid-
ered pernicious to the morals of the peo-
ple, in earlier times, the Dionysiac ;f in
later, the Isiac and Serapic rites.J

Christianity proclaimed itself the reli-
Uaiversaii gion, not of family, or tribe, or
ty of Chris- nation, but of universal man. It
tiamty. admitted within its pale, on equal
terms, all ranks and all races. It address-
ed mankind as one brotherhood, sprung
from one common progenitor, and raised
to immortality by one Redeemer. In this
respect Christianity might appear singu-
larly adapted to become the religion of a
great empire. At an earlier period in the
annalc of the world, it would have encoun-
tered obstacles apparently insurmounta-
ble, in passing from one province to an-
other, in moulding hostile and jealous na-
tions into one religious community. A
fiercer fire was necessary to melt and fuse
the discordant elements into one kindred
mass before its gentler warmth could pen-
etrate and permeate the whole with its
vivifying influence. Not only were the
circumstances of the times favourable to
the extensive propagation of Christianity,
from the facility of intercourse between
the most remote nations, the cessation of
hostile movements, and the uniform sys-

him to their side by promising greater honours.
Macrobius has a copy of the form of Evocation.
The name of the tutelar deity of Rome was a se-
cret.—-Pliny, Nat. Hist., iii., 5. Bayle, Art. So-
ranus. PJut., Quaest. Rom. Note on Hume’s
Hist. Nat. Rel. Essays, p. 450.

Roma triumphantis quotiens ducis inclita currum
Plausibus excepit, totiens altaria Divum
Addidit, et spoliis sibimet nova numina fecit.

Prudkntius.

Compare Augustin., de Cons. Evang., i., 18.

For the Grecian custom on this subject, see Thu-,
cyd., iv., 98. Philip, the king of Macedon, defeated
ny Flaminius in his wars with the Grecian states,
paid little respect to the temples. His admiral Di-
caearchus is said to have erected and sacrificed on
two altars to Impiety and Lawlessness, ’AceSeia and
napavd/na. This fact would be incredible on less
grave authority than that of Polybius, lib. xviii., 37.
Qn the genefal respect to temples in war, compare
Grot, de Jur. Bell et Pac , iii., 12, 6.

* The question is well discussed by Jortin, Dis-
courses, p. 53, note Dionysius Hal distinguishes
between religions permitted and publicly received,
lib. ii., vol. i., p. 275, edit. Reiske.
f Livy, x5rix., 12, et seqq.
t During the republic, the temples of Isis and
Serapis were twice ordered to be destroyed, Dion.,
xl., p. 142, xlii , p. 196, also liv., p. 525. Val.
Max., i., 3. Prop., ii.. 24. On the Roman law on
this subject, compare Jortin, Discourses, p. 53.
Gibbon, vol. i., p. 21, with Wenck’s note

tern of internal police, but the state of
mankind seemed imperiously to demand
the introduction of a new religion, to sat-
isfy those universal propensities of human
nature which connect man with a higher
order of things. Man, as history and ex-
perience teach, is essentially a religious
being; there are certain faculties and
modes of thinking and feeling apparently
inseparable from his mental organization,
which lead him irresistibly to seek some
communication with another and a higher
world. But at the present juncture the
ancient religions were effete: they be-
longed to a totally different state of civ-
ilization ; though they retained the strong
hold of habit and interest *on different
classes of society, yet the general mind
was advanced beyond them; they could
not supply the religious necessities of the
age. Thus the world, peaceably united
under one temporal monarchy, might be
compared to a vast body without a soul:
the throne of the human mind appeared
vacant; among the rival competitors for
its dominion, none advanced more than
claims local, or limited to a certain class.
Nothing less was required than a religion
co-extensive with the empire of Rome,
and calculated for the advanced state of in-.
tellectual culture : and in Christianity this
new element of society was found ; which,
in fact, incorporating itself with manners,
usages, and laws, has been the bond which
has held together, notwithstanding the in-
ternal feuds and divisions, the great Eu-
ropean commonwealth ; maintained a kind
of federal relation between its parties,
and stamped its peculiar character on the
whole of modern history.

Christianity announced the appearance
of its Divine Author as the era Dissociating
of a new moral creation ; and principle ot
if we take our stand, as it were, old rel,s,ona*
on the isthmus which separates the an-
cient from the modern world, and survey
the state of mankind before and after the
introduction of this new power into human
society, it is impossible not to be struck
with the total revolution in the whole as-
pect of the world. If from this point of
view we look upward, we see the dissoci-
ating principle at work both in the civil
and religious usages of mankind; the hu-
mah race breaking up into countless inde-
pendent tribes and nations, which recede
more and more from each other as they
gradually spread over the surface of the
earth ; and in some parts, as we adopt the
theory of the primitive barbarism,* or that

* The notion, that the primeval state of man was
altogether barbarous and uncivilized, so generally■■24

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of the degeneracy of man from an earlier
state of culture, either remaining station-
ary at the lowest point of ignorance and
rudeness, or sinking to it; either resuming
the primeval dignity of the race, or rising
gradually to a higher state of civilization.
A certain diversity of religion follows the
diversity of race, of people, and of coun-
try. In no respect is the common nature
of human kind so strongly indicated as in
the universality of some kind of religion;
in no respect is man so various, yet so
much the same. All the religions of an-
tiquity, multiform and countless as 'they
appear, may be easily reduced to certain
classes; and, independent of the tradi-
tions which they may possess in common,
throughout the whole reigns something
like a family resemblance. Whether all
may be rightly considered as depravations
of the same primitive form of worship;
whether the human mind is necessarily
confined to a certain circle of religious no-
tions ; whether the striking phenomena of
the visible world, presented to the imagi-
nation of various people in a similar state
Of civilization, will excite the same train
of devotional thoughts and emotions, the
philosophical spirit and extensive range of
inquiry, which in modern times have been
carried into the study of mythology, ap-
proximate in the most remarkable manner
the religions of the most remote coun-
ries.# The same primary principles ev-

prevalent in the philosophy of the last two centu-
ries (for Dryden’s line,

Since wild in woods the noble savage ran,
contains the whole theory of Rousseau), has en-
countered a strong reaction. It is remarkable that
Niebuhr in Germany, and Archbishop Whateley in
this country, with no knowledge of each other’s
■’dews, should at the same time call in question this
almost established theory. Dr. Whateley’s argu-
ment, that there is no instance in history of a na-
tion self-raised from savage life, is very strong. I
have been much struck by finding a very strong
and lucid statement to the same effect, in an un-
published lecture of the late Lord Stowell (Sir
William Scott), delivered when professor of history
at Oxford.

*' The best, in my opinion, and most comprehen-
sive work on the ancient religions, is the (yet un-
finished) translation of Creuzer’s Symbolik, by M.
De Guigniaut, Religions de l’Antiquite, Paris, 1825,
1835. It is far superior in arrangement, and does
not appear to me so obstinately wedded to the sym-
bolic theory as the original of Creuzer. The Ag-
laophamus of Lobeck, as might be expected from
that distinguished scholar, is full of profound and
accurate erudition. Yet I cannot but think that
the Grecian polytheism will be better understood
when considered in connexion with the other reli-
gions of antiquity than as an entirely independent
system; and surely the sarcastic tone in which M.
Lobeck speaks of the Oriental studies of his con-
temporaries is unworthy of a man of consummate
learning. The work of the late M. Constant, Sur
la Religion, extensive in research, ingenious in ar-1

erywhere appear, modified by the social
state, the local circumstances, the civil
customs, the imaginative or practical char-
acter of the people. Each state- of social
culture has its characteristic theology,
self-adapted to the intellectual and moral
condition of the people, and coloured in
some degree by the habits of life. In the
rudest and most savage races we find a
gross superstition, called by modern-for-
eign writers Fetichism,* in which Fet,-chism
the shapeless stone, the meanest
reptile, any object however worthless oi
insignificant, is consecrated by a vague
and mysterious reverence as the repre-
sentative of an unseen Being The be-
neficence of this deity is usually limited
to supplying the wants of the day, or to
influencing the hourly occurrences of a
life, in which violent and exhausting la-
bour alternates either with periods of slug-
gish and torpid indolence, as among some
of the North American tribes; or, as
among the Africans, with wild bursts of
thoughtless merriment.f This Fetichism
apparently survived in more polished na-
tions, in the household gods, perhaps in
the Teraphim, and in the sacred stones
(the Boetylia), which were thought either
to have fallen from heaven, or were sane
tified by immemorial reverence.

In the Oriental pastoral tribes, Tsaba-
ism,J the simpler worship of the TaabaSsm
heavenly bodies, in general pre-
vailed; which among the agricultural
races grew up into a more complicated
system, connecting the periodical revolu-

gument, and eloquent in style, is, in my, perhaps
partial, judgment, vitiated by an hostility to every
kind of priesthood, better suited to the philosophy
of the last than of the present century. M. Con-
stant has placed the evils of sacerdotal influence in
the strongest light, and disguised or dissembled its
advantages. The ancient priestly castes, I con-
ceive, attained their power over the rest of their
race'by their acknowledged superiority; they were
the benefactors, and thence the rulers of their peo
pie: to retain their power, as the people advanced,
they resorted to every means of keeping men in ig-
norance and subjection, and so degenerated into
the tyrants of the human mind. A t all events, sacer-
dotal domination (and here M. Constant would have
agreed with us) is altogether alien to genuine
Christianity.

* The Fetiche of the African is the Manitou of
the American Indian. The word Fetiche was first,

I believe, brought into general use in the curious
volume of the President De Brosses, Du Culte des
Dieux Fetiches. The word was formed by the tra-
ders to Africa, from the Portuguese, Fetisso, chose
fee, enchantee, divine, ou rendant des oracles.—
De Brosses, page 18.

f Hume (History of Nat. Religion) argues that a
pure and philosophical theism could never be the
creed of a barbarous nation struggling with want.

t The astral worship of the East is ably and
clearly developed in an Excursus at the end of Ge-
senius’s Isaiah.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

nous ol the sun and moon with the pur-
Nature- suits of husbandry. It. was Na-
worship, ture-worship, simple in its primary
elements, but branching out into mytho-
logical fables, rich and diversified in pro-
portion to the poetic genius of the people.
This Nature-worship in its simpler, prob-
ably its earlier form, appears as a sort of
dualism, in which two great antagonist
powers, the creative and destructive, Light
and Darkness, seem contending for the
sovereignty of the world, and, emblemat-
ical of moral good and evil, are occupied
in pouring the full horn of fertility and
blessing, or the vial of wrath and misery,
upon the human race. Subordinate to, or
as a modification of, these two conflicting
powers, most of the Eastern races concur-
red in deifying the active and passive pow-
ers of generation. The sun and the earth,
Osiris and Isis, formed a second dualism.
And it is remarkable how widely, almost
universally extended throughout the ear-
lier world, appears the institution of a
solemn period of mourning about the au-
tumnal, and of rejoicing about the vernal,
equinox.* The suspension, or apparent
extinction of the'greatf vivifying power of
nature, Osiris or lacchus; the destitution
of Ceres, Isis, or the Earth, of her hus-
band or her beautiful daughter, torn in
pieces or carried away into their realms by
the malignant powers of darkness; their
reappearance in all their bright and fertil-
izing energy; these, under different forms,
were the great annual fast and festival of
Poets early heathen worship. J But the
oe s’ poets were the priests of this Na-
ture-worship ; and from their creative im-
agination arose the popular mythology,

* Plutarch, de Isideet Osiride: Qpvyegrov &£ov
olofievoc xeL^vog fiev Kadevdeiv, '&spovg S’ kyprj-
yopevai, Tore /lev Karevvaupovg tote d’ aveyepaeig
fiaKxevovreg avrCp reXovac. UatyTiayoveg de Kara-
(hladat Kal KaQeCpywoQai xst-P’tivog, rjpog 6s ava-
’kveoQat (bacKOVGL.

f Bohlen (das Alte Indien,p. 139, et seq.) gives a
long list of these festivals of the sun. Lobeck (i.,
690) would altogether deny their symbolical char-
acter. It is difficult, however, to account for the
remarkable similarity between the usages of so
many distinct nations in the New World as well as
the Old, in Peru and Florida, in Gaul and Britain,
as in India and Syria, without some such common
origin.—See Picart’s large work, Ceremonies et
Coutumes Religieuses, passim.

Compare likewise Dr. Pritchard’s valuable work
on Egyptian Mythology; on the Deification of the
Active and Passive Powers of Generation; the
Marriage of the Sun and the Earth, p. 40 and p.
62-75.

X Nam rudis ante illos, nullo discrimine, vita

In speciem conversa, operum ratione carebat,

Et stupefacta novo pendebat lumine mundi.

Turn velut amissis mcerens, turn lata renatis

Sideribus, &c. Manil., i., 67.

which gave its separate deity to every part
of animate or inanimate being; and, de-
parting still farther from the primitive al-
legory, and the symbolic forms under
which the phenomena of the visible world
were imbodied, wandered into pure fic-
tion, till Nature-worship was almost sup-
planted by religious fable : and hence, by
a natural transition, those who discerned
God in everything, multiplied every separ-
ate part of creation into a distinct divini-
ty. The mind fluctuated between a kind
of vague and unformed pantheism, the de-
ification of the whole of nature, or its an-
imation by one pervading power or soul,
and the deification of every object which
impressed the mind with awe or admira-
tion.* While every nation, every tribe,
every province, every town, every village,
every family had its peculiar local or tu-
telar deity, there was a kind of common
neutral ground on which they all met, a
notion that the gods, in their collective
capacity, exercised a general controlling
providence over the affairs of men, inter-
fered, especially on great occasions, and,
though this belief was still more vague and
more inextricably involved in fable, ad-
ministered retribution in another state of
being. And thus even the common lan-
guage of the most polytheistic nations ap-
proached to monotheism.f

Wherever, indeed, there has been a
great priestly caste, less occupied priestly
with the daily toils of life, and ad- caste.

* Some able writers are of opinion that the re-
verse of this was the case—that the variety was
the primary belief; the simplification the work of a
later and more intellectual age. On this point A.
W. Schlegel observes, “ The more I investigate the
ancient history of the world, the more I am con-
vinced that the civilized nations set out from a
purer worship of the Supreme Being; that the
magic power of Nature over the imagination of the
successive human races, first, at a later period, pro
duced polytheism, and, finally, altogether obscured
the more spiritual religious notions in the popular
belief; while the wise alone preserved within the
sanctuary the primeval secret. Hence mythology
appears to me the last developed and most change-
able part of the old religion. The divergence of
the various mythologies, therefore, proves nothing
against the descent of the religions from a common
source. The mythologies might be locally formed
according to the circumstances of climate or soil:
it is impossible to mistake this with regard fo the
Egyptian myths.”—Schlegel, p. 16. Preface to
Pritchard’s Egyptian Mythology. My own views,
considering the question in a purely historical light,
coincide with those of M. Schlegel.

f This is strikingly expressed by a Christian wri
ter : “ Audio vulguscum ad ccelum manus tendunt,
nihil aliud quam Deum dicunt, et Deus magnus
est, et Deus verus est, et si Deus dederit. Vulgi
iste naturalis sermo est, an Christiani confitentis
oratio Min. Fel. Octavius. The same thought
maybe found in Cyprian, de Van. Idol., and Tertul
Ilian, Apolog.26

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

vanced beyond the mass of the people,
the primitive Nature-worship has been
perpetually brought back, as it were, to
its original elements ; and, without dis-
turbing the popular mythological religion,
furnished a creed tg the higher and more
thinking part of the community, less wild
and extravagant.* * In, Persia the Magian
order retained or acquired something like
a pure theism, in which the Supreme De-
ity was represented under the symbol
of the primal uncreated fire; and their
Nature-worship, under the form of the
two conflicting principles, preserved much
more of its original simplicity than in most
other countries. To the influence of a
distinct sarcerdotal order may be traced,!
in India, the singular union of the sub-
limest allegory, and a sort of lofty poeti-
cal religious philosophy, with the most
monstrous and incoherent superstitions;
and the appearance of the profound polit-
ical religion of Egypt in strange juxtapo-
sition with the most debasing Fetichism,
the worship of reptiles and vegetables.!

* This is nowhere more openly professed than in
China. The early Jesuit missionaries assert that
the higher class (the literatorum secta) despised
the idolatry of the vulgar. One of the charges
against the Christians was their teaching the wor-
ship of one God, which they had full liberty to wor-
ship themselves, to the common people; “ Non Eeque
placere, rudem plebeculam rerum novarum cupidb
t.ate, cceli Dominum venerari.”—Trigault, Exped.
in Sinas, p. 438-575.

f “ The learned Brahmins adore one God, with-
out form or quality, eternal, unchangeable, and oc-
cupying all space; but they carefully confine these
doctrines to their own schools, as dangerous; and
teach in public a religion, in which, in supposed
compliance with the infirmities and passions of hu-
man nature, the deity is brought more to a level
with our prejudices and wants. The incomprehen-
sible attributes ascribed to him are invested with
s m'sible and even human forms. The mind, lost in
meditation, and fatigued in the pursuit of some-
thing, which, being divested of all sensible quali-
ties, suffers the thoughts to wander without finding
a resting-place, is happy, they tell us, to have an
object on which human feelings and human senses
may again find repose. To give a metaphysical
deity to ignorant and sensual men, absorbed in the
cares of supporting animal existence, and entangled
in the impediments of matter, would be to condemn
them to atheism. Such is the mode in which the
Brahmins excuse the gross idolatry of their reli-
gion.”—William Erskine, Bombay Transactions, i.,
199. Compare Colebrooke, Asiat. Res., vii., 279 :
and other quotations in Bohlen, Das Alte Indien, i.,
153, which, indeed, might be multiplied without
end. Mr. Mill (Hist, of India), among the ablest
and most uncompromising opponents of the high
view of Indian civilization, appears to me not to pay
sufficient attention to this point.

t Heeren has conjectured, with his usual inge-
nuity, or rather, perhaps,- has adopted from De
Brosses, the theory that the higher part of the
Egyptian religion was that of a foreign and domi-
nant caste; the worship of plants and brutes, the
original undisturbed Fetichism of the primitive <nd

From this Nature-worship arose tne
beautiful anthropomorphism of the AMh
Greeks, of which the Homeric morphism
poetry,, from its extensive and of the
lasting popularity, may in one Gree's-
sense be considered the parent. The
primitive traditions and the local supersti-
tions of the different races were moulded
together in these songs, which, dissemi-
nated throughout Greece, gave a kind of
federal character to the religion of which
they were, in some sort, the sacred books.
But the genius of the people had already
assumed its bias : few, yet still some, ves-
tiges remain in Homer of the earlier theo-
gonie fables.’* Conscious, as it w ere, and
prophetic of their future pre-eminence in
all that constitutes the physical and men-
tal perfection of our race, this wonderful
people conformed their religion to them-
selves. The cumbrous and multiform idol,
in which wisdomj or power, or fertility
wrere represented by innumerable heads,
or arms, or breasts, as in the Ephesian
Diana, was refined into a being, only
distinguished from human nature by its
preterhuman development of the noblest
physical qualities of man. The imagina-
tion here took another and a nobler course ;
it threw an ideal grandeur and an unearth-
ly loveliness over the human form, and
by degrees, deities became men, and men
deities, or, as the distinction between the
godlike (deoeinelog) and'the'divine (tferof)
became more indistinct, were united in
the intermediate form of heroes and demi-
gods. The character of the people here,
as elsewhere, operated on the religion ;
the religion reacted on the popular char-
acter. The religion of Greece was the
religion of the Arts, the Games, the Thea-
tre ; it was that of a race, living always
in public, by whom the corporeal perfec-
tion of man had been carried to the high-
est point. In no other country w?ould the
legislator have taken under his protection

barbarous African race. (Compare Von Hammer,
Geschichte der Assassinen, p. 57.) On the whole,
I prefer this theory to that of Cicero (Nat. I)eor., i.,
36), that it was derived from mere usefulness;
to the political reason suggested by Plutarch (de
Jsid.et Osir); to that of Porphyry (de Abst., iv., 9).
which, however, is adopted, and, I think, made
more probable by Dr. Pritchard in his Egyptian
Mythology, from the transmigration of the soul into
beasts;, of Marsham and Warburton, from hiero-
glyphics; of Lucian (de Astro!.) and Dupuis, from
the connexion with astronomy; or, finally, that of
Bohlen (Das Alte Indien. i., 186), who traces its ori-
gin to the consecration of particular animals to par
ticular deities among their Indian ancestors.

* Nothing can be more groundless or unsuccess
ful than the attempt of later writers to frame an al
legorical system out of Homer; the history and de-
sign of this change are admirably traced by Lobeek,
Aglaopbamus, i, 158.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the physical conformation, in some cases
the procreation, in all the development of
the bodily powers by gymnastic educa-
tion; and it required the most consum-
mate skill in the sculptor to preserve the
endangered pre-eminence of the gods, in
whose images were imbodied the perfect
models of power, and grace, and beauty.* * * * §
The religion of Rome was political and
Religion of military.f Springing originally
Rome. from a kindred stock to that of
earlier Greece, the rural gods of the first
cultivators of Italy,J it received many of
its rites from that remarkable people, the
Etruscans; and rapidly adapted itself, or
was forced by the legislator into an adap-
tation to the character of the people.§
Mars or Gradivus was the divine ancestor
of the race.|| The religious calendar was
the early history of the people; a large
part of the festivals was not so much the
celebration of the various deities, as the
commemoration of the great events in
their annals.The priesthood was united
with the highest civil and military offices;
and the great occupation of Roman wor-
ship seems to have been to secure the
stability of her constitution, and, still more,
to give a religious character to her wars,
and infuse a religious confidence of suc-
cess into her legionaries. The great of-
fice of the diviners, whether augurs or
aruspices, was to choose the fortunate day
of battle; the Feciaies, religious officers,
denounced war : the standards and eagles

* Maximus Tyrius (Dissert, viii.)defends the an-
thropomorphism of the Greeks, and distinguishes it
from the symbolic worship of barbarians : “ If the
soul of man is the nearest and most like to God, God
would not have enclosed in an unworthy taberna-
cle that which bears the closest resemblance to
himself.” Hence he argues that God ought to be
represented under the noblest form, that of man.

f Dionysius Halicarn. compares the grave and
serious character of the Roman as contrasted with
the Greek religion. The Romans rejected many
of the more obscene and monstrous fables of the
Greeks. But it is as part of the civil polity that he
chiefly admires the Km pan religion, lib. ii., c. 7.

X The Palilia and otaer rural rites. The stat-
ues of the goddesses Seja and Segesta, of seed and
of harvest, stood in the great Circus in the time of
Pliny, H N , xviii., 2.

<5> Beaufort’s Republique Romaine, b. i., ch. 5.
Compare the recent and valuable work of Walter,
Geschichte des Rbmischen Rec.hts, p. 177.

|| Et tauten ante omnes Martem coluere priores,
Hoc dederat studiis bellica turba suis.

After reciting the national deities of other cities, the
religious poet of Rome proceeds,

Mars Latio venerandus erat; quia prsesidet armis,
Arina ferae gcnti remque decusque dabant.

' Ovid, Fasti, iii., 79.

The month of Mars began the year.—Ibid.

11 Compare the proportion of Roman and of reli-
gious legend in the Fasti of Ovid. See, likewise,
Constant, I., 21, &c. ■

possessed a kind of sanctity; the eagle
was, in fact, a shrine.* The altar had its
place in the centre of the camp, as the
ark of God in that of the Israelites. The
Triumph may be considered as the great
religious ceremony of the nation ; the god
Terminus, who never receded, was, as it
were, the deified ambition of Rome. At
length Rome itself was impersonated and
assumed her rank in heaven, as it were
the representative of the all-conquering
and all-ruling republic.

There was a stronger moral element in
the Roman religion than in that Moral cle_
of Greece.f In Greece the gods mem of*
had been represented, in their col-

t religion

iective capacity, as the avengers
of great crimes ; a kind of general retribu
tive justice was assigned to them ; they
guarded the sanctity of oaths. But, in the
better days of the republic, Rome had, as
it were, deified her own virtues. Tem-
ples arose to Concord, to Faith, to Con-
stancy, to Modesty (Pudor), to Hope.
The Penates, the household deities, be-
came the guardians of domestic happi-
ness. Venus Verticordia presided over
the purity of domestic morals,J and Jupi-
ter Stator over courage. But the true
national character of the Roman theology
is most remarkably shown in the various
temples, and various attributes assigned to
the good Fortune of the city, who might
appear the Deity of Patriotism.$ Even
Peace was at length received among the
gods of Rome. And as long as the wor-
ship of the heart continued to sanctify
these impersonations of human virtues,
their adoration tended to maintain thb
lofty moral tone ; but, as soon as that
was withdrawn, or languished into apa-
thy, the deities became cold abstractions,
without even that reality which might ap-
pear to attach itself to the other gods of
the city : their temples stood, their rites
were perhaps solemnized, but they had
ceased to command, and no longer re-
ceived the active veneration of the peo-
ple. What,- in fact, is the general result
of the Roman religions calendar, half a
year of which is described in the Fasti of
Ovid 1 There are festivals founded on old

* fO yap aeroc 6vop.a<7jLievo(; (earl ds vec,>c
fufcpog) teat ev avrcp asrog xpvcrove htbpvrac,
Dion. Cassius, xl., c. 18. Gibbon, i., 7. Moyle's
Works, ii., 86. Compare Tac., Ann , L, 39.

t The distinction between the Roman and Greek
religions is drawn with singular felicity in the two
supplemental (in my opinion the most valuable and
original), but, unfortunately, unfinished volumes of
M.’ Constant, Du Polytheisme Romain.

X The most virtuous woman in Rome was cho-
sen to dedicate her statue. Val. Max., viii . 15.

§ Constant, i., 16.28

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Ita lian and on picturesque Grecian legends;
others commemorative of the great events
of the heroic days of the republic ; others
instituted in base flattery of the ruling dy-
nasty ; one ceremonial only, that of the
Manes,* which relates to the doctrine of
another life, and that preserved, as it were,
from pride, and as a memorial of older
times. Nothing can show more strongly
the nationality of the Roman religion, and
its almost complete transmutation from a
moral into a political power, f

Amid all this labyrinth, we behold the
Religion of sacred secret of the Divine Unity
the Jews, preserved inviolate, though some-
times under the most adverse circumstan-
ces, and, as it were, perpetually hovering
on the verge of extinction, in one narrow
district of the world, the province of
Palestine. Nor is it there the recondite
treasure of a high and learned caste, or
he hardly worked-out conclusion of the
,hiiiking and philosophical few, but the
plain and distinct groundwork of the pop-
ular creed. Still, even there, as though in
its earlier period, the yet undeveloped mind
of man was unfit for the reception, or, at
least, for the preservation of this doctrine,
in its perfect spiritual purity; as though
the Deity condescended to the capacities
of the age, and it were impossible for the
Divine nature to maintain its place in the
mind of man without some visible repre-
sentative ; a kind of symbolic worship
still enshrines the one great God of the
Mosaic religion. There is a striking
analogy between the Shechinahf or lumi-
nous appearance which “ dwelt between
the cherubim,’’ and the pure, immaterial
fire of the Theism, which approaches
nearest to the Hebrew, that of the early
Persians. Yet even here likewise is
found the great indelible distinction be-
tween the religion of the ancient and of
the modern world ; the characteristic
which, besides the general practice of
propitiating the Deity, usually by animal

* ii, 533. The Lemuria (Remuria) were insti-
tuted to appease the shade of Rerrms, v., 451, &c.

Ovid applies on another occasion his general
maxim, A

Pro magna teste vetustas
Creditur : acceptam parce movere fidem.

Fasti, iv., 203.

f See the fine description of Majestas (Fasti, v.,
25-52), who becomes, at the end, the tutelar deity
of the senate and matrons, and presides over the
triumphs of Rome.

t Even if the notion of a visible Shechinah was
of a later period (note to Iieber’s Bampton Lectures,
p. 278), God was universally believed to have a lo-
cal and personal residence behind the veil, in the
unapproachable Holy of Holies ; and the imagina-
tion would thus be even more powerfully excited
than by a visible symbol.

sacrifices, universally prevails in the prag
Christian ages. The physical predomi *
nates over the moral character of the
Deity. God is Power in the old God under
religion, he is Love under the the old and
new. Nor does his pure and Jfei01111ew Re~
essential spirituality, in the more lgl0n*
complete faith of the Gospel, attach itself
to, or exhibit itself under any form. “ God,”
says the divine author of Christianity, “ is
a Spirit, and they that worship him must
worship him in spirit and in truth.” In
the early Jewish worship, it was the phys-
ical power of the Deity which was pre-
sented to the mind of the worshipper : he
was their temporal king, the dispenser
of earthly blessings, famine and plenty,
drought and rain, discomfiture or success
in war. The miracles recorded in the
Old Testament, particularly in the earlier
books, are amplifications, as it were, or
new directions of the powers of nature;
as if the object were to show that the
deities of other nations were but subordi-
nate and obedient instruments in the hand
of the great self-existent. Being, the Jeho-
vah of Jewish worship.

Yet, when it is said that the physical
rather than the moral character of the
Deity predominated, it must not be suppo-
sed that the latter was altogether exclu-
ded. * It is impossible entirely to dissoci-
ate the notion of moral government from
that belief, or that propensity to believe in
the existence of a God, implanted in the
human mind; and religion was too useful
an ally not to be called in to confirm the
consciously imperfect authority of human
law. But it may be laid, down as a prin-
ciple, that the nearer the nation approach-
es to barbarism, the childhood of the hu-
man race, the more earthly are the con-
ceptions of the Deity; the moral aspect
of the Divine nature seems gradually to
develop itself with the development of the
human mind. It is at first, as in Egypt
and India, the prerogative of the higher
class; the vulgar are left to their stocks
and their stones, their animals and their
reptiles. In the republican states of
Greece, the intellectual aristocracy of the
philosophers, guarded by no such legally
established distinction, rarely dared open-
ly to assert their superiority; but conceal-
ed their more extended views behind a
prudential veil, as a secret or esoteric
doctrine, and by studious conformity to
the national rites and ceremonies.

Gradually, however, as the period ap-
proaches in which the religion Preparation
of civilization is to be introdu- {^on huhe1
ced into the great drama of hu- heathen e
man life, as we descend nearer worldHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

towards the point of separation between
the ancient and modern world, the human
mind appears expanding. Polytheism is
evidently relaxing its hold upon all class-
es : the monarch maintains his throne, not
from the deep-rooted, or rational, or con-
scientious loyalty of his subjects, but from
the want of a competitor; because man-
kind were habituated to a government
which the statesman thought it might be
dangerous, and the philosopher, enjoying,
perfect toleration, and rather proud of his
distinctive superiority than anxious to
propagate his opinions throughout the
world, did not think it worth while, at the
hazard of popular odium, to disturb.

Judaism gave manifest indications of a
Among the preparation for a more essential-
Jews. ly spiritual, more purely' moral
faith. The symbolic presence of the Dei-
ty (according to their own tradition)*
ceased with the temple of Solomon; and
the heathen world beheld with astonish-
ment a whole race whose Deity was rep-
resented under no visible form or likeness.
The conqueror Pompey, who enters the
violated temple, is filled with wonder at
finding the sanctuary without image or
emblem of the presiding Deity ;f the poet
describes them as worshipping nothing
but the clouds and the divinity that fills
the heaven the philosophic historian,
whose profounder mind seems struggling
with hostile prejudices, defines, with his
own inimitable compression of language,
the doctrine, to the sublimity of which he
has closed his eyes. “The worship of
the Jews is purely mental; they acknowl-
edge but one God, and that God supreme
and eternal, neither changeable nor per-
ishable.”^ The doctrine of another life
(which derived no sanction from the Law,
and was naturally obscured by the more
immediate and intelligible prospect of
temporal rewards and punishments) dawns
in the prophetic writings; and from the
apocryphal books and from Josephus, as
well as from the writings of the New
Testament, clearly appears to have be-
come incorporated with the general senti-
ment. Retribution in another life has al-
ready taken the place of the immediate or
speedy avenging or rewarding providence
of the Deity in the land of Canaan.||

Judaism, however, only required to ex-

* Hist, of the Jews, ii., 11. f lb., ii., 73.

$ Nil prater nubes et coeli numen adorant.—Juv.,
xiv., 97.

§ Judaei ment.e sola, unumque numen intelligent.
* * * Summum illud et setemum, neque mutabile,
neque interiturum.—Tac , Hist., v., 5.

11 See Chap ii,, in which this question is resu-
med.

pand with the expansion of the Expansion
human mind ; its sacred records of Judaism,
had preserved, in its original simplicity,
the notion of the Divine Power; the preg
nant definitions of the one great self-ex-
isting Being, the magnificent poetical am
plifications of his might and providence
were of all ages • they were eternal poe-
try, because they were eternal truth. If
the moral aspect of the Divine nature was
more obscurely intimated, and, in this re-
spect, had assumed the character of a lo-
cal or national Deity, whose love was
confined to the chosen people, and dis-
played itself chiefly in the beneficence of
a temporal sovereign, yet nothing was
needed but to give a higher and more ex-
tensive sense to those types and shadows
of universal wisdom ; an improvement
which the tendency of the age manifestly
required, and which the Jews themselves,
especially the Alexandrean school, had al-
ready attempted, by allegorizing the whole
annals of their people, and extracting a
profound moral meaning from all the cir-
cumstances of their extraordinary his-
tory.*

But the progress of knowledge was fatal
to the popular religion of Greece Effects of
and Rome. The awe-struck im-
agination of the older race, which uporTpo^f-
had listened with trembling be-.theism,
lief to the wildest fables, the deep feeling
of the sublime and the beautiful, which,
uniting with national pride, had assembled
adoring multitudes before the Parthenon
or the Jove of Phidias, now gave place to
cold and sober reason. Poetry had been
religion, religion was becoming mere po-
etry. Humanizing the Deity, and bring-
ing it too near the earth, naturally produ-
ced, in a less imaginative and more re-
flecting age, that familiarity which de-
stroys respect. When man became more
acquainted with his own nature, the less
was he satisfied with deities cast in his
own mould. In some respects .
the advancement of civilization 1 ene cia'
had no doubt softened and. purified the
old religions from their savage and licen-
tious tendencies. Human sacrifices had
ceased,f or had retired to the remotest

* Philo wrote for the unbelievers among ms own
people, and to conciliate the Greeks. (De Conf.
Linguar., vol. i., p. 405.) The same principle
which among the heathens gave rise to the system
of Euhemerus, who resolved all mythology into
history, and that of the other philosophers who at
tempted to reduce it to allegory, induced Philo, and
no doubt his predecessor Aristobulus, thus to en-
deavour to accommodate the Mosaic history to an
incredulous age, and to blend Judaism and Plato
nism into one harmonious system.

f Human sacrifices sometimes, but rarely, occui30

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

parts of Germany, or to the shores of the
Baltic.* Though some of the secret rites
were said to be defiled with unspeakable
pollutions,! yet this, if true, arose from
the depravation of manners rather than

in the earlier periods of Grecian history. Accord-
ing to Plutarch, Vit. Arist.,9, and Vit. Thcmistoclis,
three sons of.Sandauke, sister of the King of Per-
sia, were offered, in obedience to an oracle, to Bac-
chus Oiriestes. The bloodstained altar of Diana of
Tauris was placed by the tragedians in a barbarous
region. Prisoners were sometimes stain on the
tombs of warriors in much later times, as in the
Homeric age, even on that of Philopcemen.—Plut.,
V it. PhiSop., c. 21. Compare Tschirner, Fall des
Heidenthums, p. 34.

Octavius is said (Suet., Vit. Octav ) to have sacri-
ficed 300 Perugian captives on an altar sacred to
the deified Julius (Divd Julio). This may be con-
sidered the sanguinary spirit of the age of proscrip-
tions taking for once a more solemn and religious
form. As to the libation of the blood of the gladia-
tors (see Tertullian, Apolog., c. 9. Scorpiac., 7.
Cyprian, De Spectaculis. Compare Porphyr., de
Abstin. Lactant., 1-21), I should agree with M.
Constant in ascribing this ceremony to the barbari-
ty of the Roman amusements rather than to their
religion. All public spectacles were, perhaps, to a
certain degree, religious ceremonies ; but the gladi-
ators were the victims of the sanguinary pleasures
of the Roman people, not slain in honour of then
gods.—Constant, iv., 335. Tschirner, p. 45.

* Tac., Ann., i., 61. Tac., Germ., 10, 40. Com-
pare, on the gradual abolition of human sacrifices,
Constant, iv., 330. The exception, which rests on
the authority of Pliny, xxviii., 2, and Plutarch, Vita
Marii. in init., Quaest. Rom., appears to me very
doubtful. The prohibitory law of Lentulus, AU.
DCLVII., and Livy’s striking expression, more non
Romano, concerning the sacrifice said to be con-
tinued to a late period, as well as the edict of Tibe-
rius, promulgated in the remoter provinces, indicate
the general sentiment of the time. Non satis assti-
mari potest quantum Romanis debeatur, qui sostu-
iere monstra in quibus hominem occidere religio-
sissimum erat, mandi vero saluberrimum.— Plin.,
H. N., xxx., 1. See in Ovid, Fasti, iii., 341, the
reluctance of Numa to offer human sacrifice.. Ha-
drian issued an edict prohibiting human sacrifices ;
this was directed, according to Creuzer (Symb., i.,
363), against the later Mithriac rites, which had re-
introduced the horrible practice of consulting fu-
turity in the entrails of human victims. The sav-
age Gommodus (Lamprid. in Comm.) offered a hu-
man victim to Mithra. The East, if the accounts
are to be credited, continually reacted on the reli-
gion of Rome. Human sacrifices are said to have
taken place under Aurelian(Aug. Hist., Vit. Aurel.),
and even under Maxentius.

f The dissolute, rites against which the Fathers
inveigh were of foreign and Oriental origin : Isiac,
Bacchanalian, Mithriac. — Lobeck, i., 197. See
Constant, vol. iv , c. 11. Compare the Confession
of Hispala in Livy. I cannot refrain from transcri-
bing an observation of M. Constant on these rites,
which strikes me as extremely profuund and just:
“ La mauvaise influence des fables licencieuses
commence avec le mepris et le ridicule verse sur
ces fables. II en est de meme des ceremonies.
Des rites indecens pouvent Atre pratiques par un
peuple religieux avec une grande purete de caeur.
Mais quand 1’incredulite atteint ces. peuples, ces
rites sont pour lui la cause et la pretexte de la plus
revoltante corruption.”—-Du Polyth, Rom., ii., 102.

from religion. The orgies of the Bonp
Dea were a profanation of the sacred rite,
held up to. detestation by the indignant
satirist, not, as among some of the early
Oriental nations, the rite itself.

But with the tyranny, which could thus
extort from reluctant human na- p . ,

ture the sacrifice of all humanity
and all decency, the older religions had
lost their more salutary, and, if the ex-
pression may be ventured, their constitu-
tional authority. They had been driven
away, or silently receded from their post,
in which, indeed, they had never been
firmly seated, as conservators of public
morals. The circumstances of the times
tended no less to loosen the bonds of the
ancient faith. Peace enervated the deities
as well as the soldiers of Rome : their oc-
cupation was gone ;* the augurs read no
longer the signs of conquest in the en-
trails of the victims ; and though, down to
the days of Augustine,! Roman pride clung
to the worship of the older and glorious
days of the republic, and denounced the
ingratitude of forsaking gods, under whose
tutelary sway Rome had become the em-
press of the world, yet the ceremonies had
now no stirring interest ; they were pa-
geants in which the unbelieving aristocra-
cy played their parts with formal cold-
ness, the contagion of wjjich could not
but spread to the lower classes. ’The
only novel or exciting rite of the Roman
religion , was that which probably tended
more than any other, when the immediate
excitement was over, to enfeeble the reli-
gious feeling, the deification! of the living,

* Our generals began to wage civil wars against
each other as soon as they neglected the auspices.
—Cic., Nat. Deor., ii., 3. This is good evidence to
the fact; the cause lay deeper.

f This was the main argument of his great work,
De Civitate Dei. It is nowhere more strongly ex-
pressed than in the oration of Symmachus to Theo-
dosius. Hie cultus in leges meas orbern redegit;
hsec sacra Annibalem a moenibus, a Capitolio Sen-
nonas repulerunt. This subject will frequently re-
cur in the course of our History.

X The deification of Augustus found some oppo-
nents. Nihil Deorurn honoribus relictum, cum se
templis et effigie numinum, per flamines et sacer-
dotes coli vell'et.—Tac., Ann., i., 10. The more sa.
gacious Tiberius shrunk from such honours. In
one instance he allowed himself to be joined in
divine honours with his mother and the senate, but
in general he refused them.—Tac., Ann.,iv., 15,37,
v., 2. The very curious satire of Seneca, the
A-TroKoXvvTwiris, though chiefly aimed at Claudius,
throws ridicule on the whole ceremony. Aligns?
tus, in his speech to the gods, says: Denique dum
tales deos facitis, nemo vos deos esse credet. A
later writer complains: Aliquant! pari libidine in
eoelestium numerum referuntur, segre exequiis dig-
ni.—Aur. Victor, Caesar, in Gallieno. M. Ranke, in
the first chapter of whose admirable work (Die Ro-
mischen Papste) I am not displeased to find someHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

or the apotheosis of the dead emperor,
whom a few years, or perhaps a few days,
abandoned to the open execration or con-
tempt of the whole people. At the same
time, that energy of mind, which had con-
sumed itself in foreign conquest or civil
faction, in carrying the arms of Home to
the Euphrates or the Rhine, or in the mor-
tal conflict for patrician or plebeian su-
premacy, now that the field of military or
civil distinction was closed, turned inward
and preyed upon itself for, compressed by
the iron hand of despotism, made itself a
vent in philosophical or religious specula-
tions. The noble mind sought a retreat
from the degradation of servitude in the
groves of the Academy, or attempted to
find consolation for the loss of personal
dignity by asserting, with the Stoic, the
dignity of human nature.* * * * * §

But Philosophy aspired in vain to fill
, that void in the human mind
p which had been created by the
expulsion or secession of religion. The
objects of Philosophy were twofold: ei-
ther, 1. To refine the popular religion into
a more rational creed; or, 2. To offer it-
self as a substitute. With this first view,
it endeavoured:to bring back the fables to
their original meaning ;f to detect the la-
tent truth under the allegoric shell: but
in many cases the key was lost, or the
fable had wandered so far from its pri-
mary sense as to refuse all rational inter-
pretation ; and, where the truth had been
less encumbered with fiction, it came, forth
cold and inanimate : the philosopher could
strip off the splendid robes in which the
moral'or religious doctrine had been dis-
guised, but he could not instil into it the
breath of life. The imagination refused
the unnatural alliance of cold and calcula-

coincidences of view, even of expression, with my
own, seems to think that much of the strength of
the old religion lay in the worship of the emperor.

I am not disposed to think so ill of human nature.

* Cicero, no doubt, speaks the language of many
of the more elevated minds when he states that he
took refuge in philosophy from the afflictions of life
at that dark period of civil contention. . Hortata
etiam est, ut me ad heec conferrem, animi asgritudo,
magn& et gravi commota injuria: cujus si majorem
aliquam levationem reperire potuissern, non ad haec
potissimum confugissem.—Be Nat. Deor., i., 4.

t UpayfiaTuv vif avdpwrdvrjg auQeveiag ov
KaOopufievcov oafy&g evoxv^oveoTepog kpprjvevg 6
fivQog.—Max. Tyr., Dissert, x. The whole essay
ts intended to prove that poetry and philosophy
held the same doctrine about the gods. This pro-
cess, it should be observed, though it had already
commenced, was not carried to its height until phi-
losophy and polytheism coalesced again, from the
sense of their common danger, and endeavoured to
array a. system, composed of the most rational and
attractive parts of both, against the encroachments
of Christianity

ting reason; and the religious feeling, when
it saw the old deities reduced into inge-
nious allegories, sank into apathy, or
vaguely yearned for some new excite-
ment, which it knew not from what quar-
ter to expect.

The last hopes of the ancient religion
lay in the Mysteries. Of them TheMys-
alone, the writers about the time teries-
of the appearance of Christianity, speak
with uniform reverence, if not with awe.
They alone could bestow happiness in life
and hope in death.* In these remarkable
rites} the primitive Nature-worship had
survived under a less refined and less hu-
manized form ; the original and more sim-
ple, symbolic forms (those of the first ag-
ricultural-inhabitants of Greece}) had been
retained by ancient reverence : as its alle-
gory was less intricate and obscure,$ it
accommodated itself better with the ad-
vancing spirit of the age. It may indeed
be questioned whether the Mysteries did
not owe much of their influence to their
secrecy, and to the impressive forms un-
der which they shadowed forth their more
recondite truths.|| These, if they did not
satisfy, yet kept the mind in a state of pro-
gressive and continued excitement. They
were, if it may be so said, a great religious
drama, in which the initiated were at once
spectators and actors ; where the fifth act
was designedly delayed to the utmost pos-
sible point, and of this still suspended ca-
tastrophe, the dramatis personas, the only
audience, were kept in studied ignorance.®[f

* Neque solum cum lsetitia vivendi rationem ac-
cepimus, sed etiam cum spe meliore moriendi.—
Cic., de Leg., ii., 14. The theory of Warburton on
the Mysteries is now universally exploded ; but
neither, with the utmost deference to his erudition,
can I enter altogether into the views of Lobeck.
In my judgment, his quotations do not bear him out
as to the publicity of the ceremonies; nor can I con-
ceive that there was none, or scarcely any, secret.

Vetabo qui Cereris sacrum
Vulgarit arcanse, sub iisdem

Sit trabibus, fragilemque mecum
Solvat phaselum. Hor., Cam., iii., 2.

f The theories of Maier, Warburton, Plessing,
Boulanger, Dupuis, Meiners, Villoison, P. Knight,
Heeren, St. Croix, Creuzer, may be found briefly
stated, Lobeck, i., 6, 8.

t Quibus explicatis, ad rationemque revocatis,
rerum rnagis natura cognoscitur, quam deorum.—
Cic., de Nat. Deor., i., 42.

§ See Varro’s View of the Eleusinian Mysteries,
preserved by Augustin, De Civ. Dei, vii., 15.

II '’kyvcdoLa <jep,v6rrig knl teTietuv icai vv^. 6lu
TOVTO 7UGT£VeTCU TO, pLVGT7)pia,.Kal 0,6(170, GTCTjXaiO
dia TOVTO bpVTTETai, icaipol KOI TOITOL KpVKTElV
eldoTeg ap^Tovpytav evQeov.—Synes., de Prov.
Compare the splendid passage in Dio Chrys., Or. 12,

% Non semel quasdam sacra traduntur: Eleusis
servat, quod ostendat revisentibus. Rerum natura,
sacra sua non simul tradit. Initiatos nos eredimus:
in vestibulo ejus Ineremus.—Sen., Nat. Quaest.,32

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

The Mysteries had, perhaps, from an early
period, associated a moral* * * * § * purport with
their sacred shows; and with the progiess
of opinion, the moral would more and
more predominate over the primitive reli-
gious meaning.f Yet the morality of the
Mysteries was apparently that of the an-
cient Nature-worship of the East. It
taught the immortality of the soul, as a
part of that vast system of nature which,
emanating from the Supreme Being, pass-
ed through a long course of deterioration
or refinement, and at length returned and
resolved itself into the primal source of all
existence. But the Mysteries, from their
very nature, could only act upon the pub-
lic mind in a limited manner:} directly, as
they ceased to be mysteries, they lost their
power.§ Nor can it be doubted, that while
the local and public Mysteries, particularly
the greatest of all, the Eleusinian, were
pure and undefiled by licentiousness, and,
if they retained any of the obscene sym-
bols, disguised or kept them in the back-
ground, the private and moveable mys-
teries, which, under the conduct of vaga-
bond priests, were continually flowing in
from the East, displayed those symbols in
unblushing nakedness, and gave occasion
for the utmost license and impurity.||

II. Philosophy, as a substitute for reli-

Phiiosoohv &ion’ was sti11 more manifestly
deficient. For, in the first place,
it was unable, or condescended not, to
reach the body of the people, whom the
progress of civilization was slowly bring-
ing up towards the common level; and
where it found or sought proselytes, it
spoke without authority, and distracted

vii., 31. Ut opinionem suspendio cognitionis sedifi-
cent, atque ita tantam majestatem adhibere vide-
antur, quantum prasstruxerunt cupiditatem.—Tert.
adv. Valent., c. 1.

* Pindar, Frag. 116. Sophocles, Fragm. Luc.
LVIH. Isoc., Pan. VII. Plato, Men.

f Even Lobeck allows this of the Eleusinian
Mysteries : Sacerdotesinterdumaliquid de metemp-
sychosi dixisse largiar,” i, 73.

X The Jews were forbidden to be initiated in the
Mysteries. In the Greek text of the LXX., a text
was interpolated or mistranslated (Deut., xxiii.,
17), in which Moses, by an anachronism not un-
common in the Alexandrean school, was made dis-
tinctly to condemn these peculiar rites of paganism.

§ Philo demands why, if they are so useful, they
are not public: “ Nature makes all her most beau-
tiful and splendid works, her heaven and all her
stars, for the sight of all; her seas, fountains, and
rivers, the annual temperature of the air, and the
winds, the innumerable tribes and races of animals,
and fruits of the earth, for the common use of man ;
why, then, are the Mysteries confined to a few, and
those not always the most wise and most virtu
ous?” This is the general sense of a long passage,
vol. ii., p 260, ed. Mang.

{| The republic severely prohibited these prac-
tices, which were unknown in its earlier and better
days.—Dionys. H?l., ii., viii.

with the multitude of its conflicting sects
the patient but bewildered inquirer.* Phi-
losophy maintained the aristocratic tone,
which, while it declared that to a few elect
spirits alone it was possible to communi-
cate the highest secrets of knowledge,
more particularly .the mysteries of the
great Supreme Being, proclaimed it vain
and unwise to attempt to elevate the many
to such exalted speculations.! “ frhe Fa-
ther of the worlds,” says Plato in this tone,
“ it is difficult to discover, and, when dis-
covered, it is impossible to make him
known to all.” So, observes a German
historian of Christianity, think the Brah-
mins of India. Plato might aspire to the
creation of an imaginary republic, which
if it' could possibly be realized, might stand
alone, an unapproachable model of the
physical and moral perfection of man ; but
the amelioration of all nations, orders, and
classes to a higher degree of moral ad-
vancement, would have been a vision from
which even his imagination would have
shrunk in despair. This remained to be
conceived and accomplished by one who
appeared to the mass of mankind, in his
own age, as si peasant of Palestine.

It cannot be denied, that to those Vhom
it deigned to address, philosophy varieties of
was sufficiently accommodating; philosophic
and, whatever the bias of the in- systems-
dividual miftd, the school was open, and
the teacher at hand, to lead the inquirer
either to the luxurious gardens of Epicu
rus, or among the loftier spirits of the
Porch. In the two prevalent systems of
philosophy, the Epicurean and the‘Stoic,
appears a striking assimilation to the na-
tional character of the two predominant
races which constituted the larger part of
the Roman world. The Epicu- Epicurean-
rean, with its subtle metaphys- ism accord-
ics, its abstract notion of the to Greek
Deity, its imaginative material- c aracer>
ism, its milder and more pleasurable mor-
als, and, perhaps, its propensity to degen-
erate into indolence and sensuality, was
kindred and congenial to that of Greece,
and the Grecian part of the Roman socie-
ty. The Stoic, with its more practical

* 'Opag to ttXfjdog rtiv owd^paruv ; irq Tig
TpaTTTjTCU ; 7volov CLVTCOV mTeXe^opev ; TLVl TTUG-

r&v Tcapayyelftdrcjv ; Max. Tyr., xxxv., sub fin.

f Neander has likewise quoted several of the
same authorities adduced in the following passage.
Seethe translation ©f Neander, which had not been
announced when the above was written. It is cu-
rious that Strabo remarks, on another point, the
similarity of the Indian opinions to Platonism, and
treats them all as p60ot : TLapcnrliicovoi Sh ml
ftvOovg, oxnrep ml HXdrov^ nape re a<f>8apaia{
Kat Ka& Rpiaewv ml uXka rot
avra.—L. xv., p. 713.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

stoicism to character, its mental strength
Roman. and self-confidence, its fatalism,
its universally-diffused and all-governing
Deity, the soul of the universe (of which
the political power of the all-ruling re-
public might appear an image), bore the
same analogy to that of Rome. While
the more profound thinkers, who could
not disguise from themselves the insuffi-
ciency of the grounds on which the philo-
sophical systems rested, either settled
into a calm and contented skepticism, or,
with the Academics, formed an
ca emics. ecjectjc creed from what appear-
ed the better parts of the rest.

Such, on all the great questions of reli-
gion, the Divine nature, Providence, the
origin and future state of the soul,* was
the floating and uncertain state of the
human mind. In the department of mor-
als, Philosophy nobly performed her part;
but perhaps her success in this respect
more clearly displayed her inefficiency.
The height to which moral science was
carried in the works of Cicero, Seneca,
Epictetus, and Marcus Antoninus, while it
made the breach still wider between the
popular religion and the advanced state of
the human mind, more vividly displayed
the want of a faith which would associate
itself with the purest and loftiest morality;
and remarry, as it were, those thoughts
and feelings, which connect man with a
future state of being, to the practical du-
ties of life.f

For, while these speculations occupied
Philosophy the loftier and more thinking
fatal to popa- minds, what remained for the
lar religion. vu]gar 0f fog higher and of the

lower orders 1 Philosophy had shaken
the old edifice to its base ; and, even if it
could have confined its more profound and
secret doctrines within the circles of its
own elect; if its contempt for the old
fables of the popular creed had been
more jealously guarded, it is impossible
but that the irreligion of the upper order
must work downward upon the lower.

* Augustin, speaking of the great work of Varro,
concludes thus: In hac tota serie pulcherrimse et
subtilissimse disputationis, vitam seternam frustra
quaen et sperari, facillime apparet.—Civ. Dei, vi., 3.

f Gibbon and many other writers (Law, Theory
of Religion, 127, 130 ; Sumner, Evidences, p. 76)
have adduced the well-known passages from Sal-
lust and Cicero which indicate the general state of
feeling on the great question of the immortality of
the soul. There is a striking passage, in a writer
whose works have lately come to light through the
industry of Angelo Mai. The author is endeavour-
ing to find consolation for the loss of a favourite
grandson: Si maxirrA esse animas immoctales
constet, erit hoc philosophis disserendi argvinen
tum,nonparentibusdesiderandi remedium.—Front.,
le Nep, Amiss.

When religion has, if not avowediy, yet
manifestly, sunk into an engine of state
policy, its most imposing and solemn rites
will lose all their commanding life and
energy. Actors will perform ill who do
not feel their parts. “It is marvellous,”
says the Epicurean in Cicero, “ that one
soothsayer (haruspex) can look another
in the face without laughing.” And, when
the Epicurean himself stood before the
altar, in the remarkable language of Plu-
tarch, “ he hypocritically enacted prayer
and adoration from fear of the many ; he
uttered words directly opposite to his phi-
losophy. While he sacrifices, the minis-
tering priest seems to him no more than
a cook, and he departs uttering the line
of Menander, ‘ I have sacrificed to gods
in whom I ha*m no concern.’ ”*

Unless, indeed, the literature as well as
the philosophy of the age imme- Literature
diately preceding Christianity had
been confined to the intellectual aristoc-
racy, the reasoning spirit, which rejected
with disdain the old imaginative fables,
could not but descend at least as l#w as
the rudiments of liberal education. When
the gravest writers, like Polybius and
Strabo, find it necessary to apologize to
their more learned and thinking readers
for the introduction of those mythic le-
gends which formed the creed of_ theii
ancestors, and to plead the necessity of
avoiding offence, because such tales are
still sacred among the vulgar, this defer-
ence shows rather the increasing indiffer-
ence than the strength of popular opinion.
“ Historians,” says the former writer,
“ must be pardoned, if, for the sake of
maintaining piety among the many, they
occasionally introduce .miraculous or fab-
ulous tales ; but they must not be permit-
ted on these points to run into extrava-
gance.” “ Religion,” he declares in an-
other passage, “ would perhaps be unne-
cessary in a commonwealth of wise men.
But, since the multitude is ever fickle, full
of lawless desires, irrational passions, and
violence, it is right to restrain it by the
fear of the invisible world and such tragic
terrors. Whence our ancestors appear to
have introduced notions concerning the
gods, and opinions about the infernal re-
gions, not rashly or without considera-
tion. Those rather act rashly and incon-
siderately who would expel them.”* “ It is
impossible,” observes the inquiring geog-
rapher, “ to govern a mob of women, or
the whole mixed multitude, by philosophic

* Quoted also by Neander from Plutarch.—(Non
poss. suav. viv. sec. Epic.) I have adopted Re
iske’s reading of the latter clause,

t Polyb., vi., 56.34

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

reasoning, and to exhort them to piety,
holiness, and faith ; we must also employ
superstition, with its fables and prodigies.
For the thunder, the 88gis, the trident, the
torches, the serpents, the thyrsi of the
gods are fables, as is all the ancient the-
ology ; but the legislature introduced these
things as bugbears to those \^ho are chil-
dren in understanding.”* In short, even,
when the Roman writers professed the
utmost respect for the religious institu-
tions of their country, there was a kind
of silent protest against their sincerity.
It was an evident, frequently an avowed
condescension to the prejudices of the
vulgar. Livy admires the wisdom of
Numa, who introduced thq fear of the
gods as a “ most efficacious means of
controlling an ignorant and barbarous
populace.”! Even the serious Dionysius
judges of religion according to its useful-
ness, not according to its truth > as the*
wise scheme of the legislator rather than
as th# revelation of the Deity.J Pausa-
nias, while he is making a kind of reli-
gious survey of Greece, expressing a
grave veneration for all the temples and
rites of antiquity, frequently relating the
miraculous intervention of the several
deities,§ is jealous and careful lest he
should be considered a believer in the fa-
bles which he relates. || The natural con-
sequence of this double doctrine was not
unforeseen. “ What,” says the Academic
in Cicero, “ when men maintain all be-
lief in the immortal gods to have been
invented by wise men for the good of the
state, that religion might lead to their duty
those who would not be led by reason, do
they not sweep away the very foundations
of all religion l”®|f

The mental childhood of the human
Future race was passing away, at least it
Iife* had become wearied of its old toys.**
The education itself, by which, according
to these generally judicious writers, the
youthful mind was to be impregnated with
reverential feelings for the objects of na-
tional worship, must have been coldly
conducted by teachers conscious that they

* Strabo, lib. i., p. 19. f PI. R., i., 19.

t Ant. Rom., ii., 8, 9.

§ Bceotica, 25 ; Laconica, 4.

II T ovrov ~bv hoyov, ical oa a ioucora elpT}--
rat, ovk aftodexoiievog ypatyu, yputyo de ovdev
rjcaov. — Corinth., xvii. In another place he re-
peats that he gives the popular legend as he finds
it.—Arcad., viii. De Nat. Deor., i., 42,

** Gibbon has a striking sentence in his juvenile
Essai sur la Litterature (Misc. Works, iv., 61):

“ Les Romains etaient eclaires : cependant ces
m&mes Romains ne furent pas choques de voir re-
unir dans la persorme de Cesar un dieu, un pr£tre, ;
et un athee ” He adds atheist, as disbelieving with
the Epicureans die pr.>vid<mr« cf God. ,

were practising a pious fraud upon their
disciples, and perpetually embarrassed by
the necessity of maintaining the gravity
befitting such solemn subjects, and of
suppressing the involuntary smile which
might betray the secret of their own im-
piety. One class of fables seems to have
been universally exploded, even in the
earliest youth—those which related to an-
other life. The picture of the unrivalled
satirist may be overcharged, but it corre-
sponds strictly with the public language
of the orator and the private sentence of
the philosopher:

The silent realm of disimbodied ghosts,

The frogs that croak along the Stygian coasts ,

The thousand souls in one crazed vessel steer’d,

Not boys believe, save boys without a beard.*

Even the religious Pausanias speaks, of
the immortality of the soul as a foreign
doctrine, introduced by the Chaldeans and
the Magi, and embraced by some of the
Greeks, particularly by Plato.f Pliny,
whose Natural History opens with a dec-
laration that the universe is the sole dei-
ty, devotes a separate chapter to a con-
temptuous exposure of the idle notion of
the immortality of the soul, as a vision of
human pride, and equally absurd, whether
under the form of existence in another
sphere or under that of transmigration. J

We return, then, again to the question,
What remained for minds thus en- Reccplion
lightened beyond the poetic faith of foreign
of their ancestors, yet not ripe for reIisions’
philosophy 1 How was the craving for re-
ligious excitement to be appeased, which
turned with dissatisfaction or disgust from
its accustomed nutriment! Here is the
secret of the remarkable union between
the highest reason and the most abject
superstition which characterizes the age
of Imperial Rome. Every foreign reli-
gion found proselytes in the capital of the
world; not only the pure and rational the-
ism of the Jews, which had made a prog-
ress, the extent of which it is among the
most difficult questions in history to esti-
mate, but the Oriental rites of Phrygia,
and the Isiac and Serapic worship of
Egypt, which, in defiance of the edict of

•* Esse aliquid manes et subterranea regna,

Et contum, et Stygio ranas in gurgite nigras;
At.que una transire vadum tot millia cymba.

Nec pueri credunt nisi qui nondum oere lavantur.

Pro Sat., ii., 149.

Nisi forte ineptiis ac fabulis ducimur, ut existi-
memus apud inferos impiorum supplicia' perferre
* * * quae si falsa sunt, id quod omnes mtelligunt.
—Cic., Pro Cluent., c. 61. Nemo tarn puer esfc ut
Cerberum timeat, et tenebras et larvarum habitum
midis ossihus cohssrentem Mors nos aut con.su-
mit. ant ernitt.it.— Sen., Ed. 21.
t Messemtfm c. xxxii. t Lib. mi., 5$HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tlie magistrate* * * § ** * * and the scorn of the phi-
losopher, maintained their ground in the
capital, and were so widely propagated
among the provinces that their vestiges
may be traced in the remote districts of
Gaulf and Britain;% and, at a later period,
the reviving Mithriac Mysteries, which in
the same manner made their way into the
western provinces of the empire.^ In the
capital itself, everything that was new, or
secret, or imposing, found a welcome re-
ception among a people that listened with
indifference to philosophers who reason-
ed, and poets who imbodied philosophy in
the most attractive diction. For in Rome,
poetry had forsworn the alliance of the
old imaginative faith. The irreligious
system of Euhemerus|| had found a trans-
lator in Ennius; that of Epicurus was
commended by the unrivalled powers of
Poetry ceas- Lucretius. Virgil him self, who,
»s to be reii- as he collected from all quarters
gious. the beauties of ancient poetry,
so he inlaid in his splendid tesselation
the noblest images of the poetic faith of
Greece; yet, though at one mona'ent he
transfuses mythology into his stately
verse with all the fire of an ardent votary,
at the next he appears as a pantheist, and
describes the Deity but as the animating
soul of the universe.®[[ An occasional fit
of superstition crosses over the careless
and Epicurean apathy of Horace.** As-
trology and witchcraftff led captive minds

* See ante, p. 23.

f As late as the time of Julian, the son of a Ger-
man king had changed his barbarous name of Age-
nario for that of Serapion,'having been instructed in
certain Mysteries in Gaul.—Amm. Marc.,xvi., c. 12.

11 have been informed, that in some recent exca-
vations at York, vestiges of Isiac worship have been
discovered.

§ Religions de l’Antiquite, i., 363 ; and note 9, p.
743.

|| Euhemerus, either of Messina in Sicily, or of
Messene in Peloponnesus (he lived in the time of
Cassander, king of Macedon), was of the Cyrenaic
school of philosophy, and was employed on a voy-
age to the Red Sea by Cassander. But he was
still more celebrated for his theologic innovation:
he pretended to have discovered during this voyage,
on an island in the Eastern Ocean, called Panchaia,
a register of the births and deaths of the gods in-
scribed on a golden column in the temple of the
Triphylian Jupiter. Hence he inferred that all the
popular deities were mere mortals deified on ac-
count of their fame, or their benefactions to the hu-
man race.—Cic., de Nat. Deor., i., 42. Plut., de
Isid. et Osir., p. 421. Brucker, i., 604.

Ain., vi., 724. According to his life by Dona-
tus, Virgil was an Epicurean.

**Insanientis dum sapientias
Consultus erro, nunc retrorsum
Vela dare, atque iterare cursus
Cogor relictos.

And this because he heard thunder at noonday.

ft See the Canidia of Horace. According to Gib-
bon’s just criticism, a “ vulgar witch,” the Erictho

which boasted themselves emancipated
from the idle terrors of the avenging gods.
In the Pharsalia of Lucan, which mani-
festly soars far above the vulgar theology,
where the lofty Stoicism elevates the
brave man who disdains, above the gods
who flatter, the rising fortunes of Caesar:
yet, in the description of the witch Erictho
evoking the dead (the only purely imagin-
ative passage in the whole rhetorical po-
em), there is a kind of tremendous truth
and earnestness, which show that if the
poet himself believed not “the magic
wonders which he drew,” at least he well
knew the terrors that would strike the
age in which he wrote.

The old established traders in human
credulity had almost lost their oc- supersii-
cupation, but their place was sup- tions-
plied by new empirics, who swarmed from
all quarters. The oracles were silent,
while astrology seized the administration
of the secrets of futurity. Pompey, and
Crassus, and Caesar, all consulted the
Chaldeans,* whose flattering predictions
that they should die in old age, in their
homes, in glory, so belied by their miser-
able fates, still brought not the unblush-
ing'science into disrepute. The repeated
edicts which expelled the astrologers and
“ mathematicians” from Rome, was no
less an homage to their power over the
public mind, than their recall, the tacit
permission to return, or the return in de-
fiance of the insulted edict. Banished by
Agrippa,f by Augustus,{ by Tiberius,§ by
Claudius,|| they are described, in the inim-
itable language of Tacitus, as a race who,
treacherous to those in power, fallacious
to those who hope for power, are ever
proscribed, yet will ever remain. They
were at length taken under the avowed
patronage of Vespasian and his success-
ors.** All these circumstances were
manifest indications of the decay, and of
the approaching dissolution of the old re-
ligion. The elegiac poet had read, not
without sagacity, the signs of the times.

of Lucan, is “ tedious, disgusting, but sometimes
sublime.”—Note, ch. xxv., vol. ii., p. 86. It is the
difference between the weird sisters in Macbeth
and Middleton’s “ Witch,” excepting, of course, the
prolixity of Lucan.

* Chal'deis sed major erit fiducia, quicquid
Dixerit astrologus, credent de fonte relatum
Hammonis; quoniam Delphis oracula cessant,
Et genus humanurn damnat caligo futuri.

Juv., vi., 553.

f Dio., xlix., c. 43. t Ibid., Ivi., c. 25.

$ Tac., Ann., ii., 32. || Ibid., xii., 52.

Genus hominum, potentibus infidum, speranti-
bus fallax, quod in civitate nostra et vetabitur sem-
per et retinebitur.—Tac., Hist., i., 22.

** Tac, Hist., ii., 77. Sueh in Vesp.

Ixviii. Suet, in Dom xiv., xv.36

HISTORY QF CHRISTIANITY.

None sought the aid of foreign gods, while bow’d
Before their native shrines the trembling crowd.*

And thus, in this struggle between the old
household deities of the established faith,
and the half-domiciliated gods of the stran-
ger, undermined by philosophy, supplanted
by still darker superstition, Polytheism
seemed, as it were, to await its death-
blow ; and to be ready to surrender its an-
cient honours to the conqueror, whom
Divine Providence should endow with suf-
ficient authority over the human mind to
seize upon the abdicated supremacy.

Such is the state in which the ancient
Revolution world leaves the mind of man.
effected by On a sudden a new era com-
Cnristiamty, mences . a rapi<} yet gradual

revolution takes place in the opinions,
sentiments, and principles of mankind;
the void is filled ; the connexion between
religion and morals re-established with an
intimacy of union yet unknown. The
unity, of the Deity becomes, not the high
and mysterious creed of a privileged sa-
cerdotal or intellectual oligarchy, but the
common property of all whose minds are
fitted to receive it: all religious distinc-
tions are. annihilated ; the jurisdictions of
all local deities abolished; and impercep-
tibly the empire of Rome becomes one
great Christian commonwealth, which
even sends out, as it were, its peaceful
colonies into regions beyond the limits of
the Imperial power. The characteristic
distinction of the general revolution is
this, that the physical agency of the Deity
seems to recede from view, while the spir-
itual character is more distinctly unfolded;
or, rather, the notion of the Divine Power
is merged in the more prevailing senti-
ment of his moral goodness. - The re-
markable passage in the Jewish history, in
which God is described as revealing him-
self to Elijah, “ neither in the strong wind,
nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but
in the still small voice,” may be consider-
ed, we will not say prophetic, but singu-
larly significant of the sensations to be ex-
cited in the human mind by the successive
revelations of the Deity.

The doctrine of the, immortality of the
immortality soul partook, in the same change
of the soul. the notion of the Deity ; it

* Nulli curafuit externos quasrere Divos,

Cum tremeret patrio pendula turba foro.

Prop., iv., 1-17.

Propertius may be considered, in one sense, the
most religions poet of this period: his verses teem
with mythological allusion, but it is poetical orna-
ment rather than the natural language of piety ; it
has much of the artificial school of the Alexandrean
Callimachus, his avowed model, nothing of the sim-
plicity of faith which breathed in Pindar and Soph-
ocles.

became at once popular, simple, and spir-
itual. It was disseminated throughout all
orders of society: it admitted no aristo
cratic elysium of heroes and demi-gods.
like that of the early Greeks ;* it separa-
ted itself from that earlier and widely prev.
alent form, which it assumed in the the-
ogonies of the Nature-worship, where the
soul, emanating from the source of Being,
after one or many transmigrations, was re
absorbed into the Divine Essence. It an
nounced the resurrection of all mankind to
judgment, and the reunion of the spirit to
a body, which, preserving the principle of
identity, nevertheless should be of a purer
and more imperishable nature. Such are
the great primary principles which be-
came incorporated with the mind of man ;
and, operating on all human institutions,
on the common sentiments of the whole
race, form the great distinctive difference
between the ancient and the modern, the
European and the Asiatic world. During
the dark ages there was a strong reaction
of barbarism : in its outward form Chris-
tianity might appear to recede towards the
polytheism of older times; and, as has
been shown, not in a philosophic, but in a
narrow polemic spirit of hostility to the
Church of Rome, many of the rites and
usages of heathenism were admitted into
the Christian system; yet the indelible
difference between the two periods re-
mained. A higher sense and meaning
was infused into these forms; God was
considered in his moral rather than his
physical attributes—as the Lord of the fu-
ture as much or even more than of the
present world. The saints and angels,
who have been compared to the interme-
diate deities of the older superstitions, had,‘
nevertheless, besides their tutelar power
against immediate accidents and temporal:
calamities, an important influence over the
state of the soul in the world to come;
they assumed the higher office of minis-
tering the hopes of the future, in a still
greater degree than the blessings of the
present life.

To the more complete development of
this fact we shall descend in the course of

* It is curious to see, in another mythology, the
same martial, aristocratic spirit which, in the earlier
religions, excluded the dfxevrjva Kaprjva, the inglori-
ous vulgar, from the seats of bliss, where Achilles
and Diomed pursued their warlike amusements. It
was not proper to appear poor before Odin; and it
is very doubtful whether a poor man was thought
worthy of any place in bis dwellings, unless he
came from the field of battle in the bloody train of
some great chieftain. Slaves at least, were dis-
tinctly excluded, and, after death, turned away from
the doors of Valhalla. - Geijer, History of Sweden
Germ, transl., i., 103.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Design of our history, which will endeav-
ails history. our t0 trace all the modifications
of Christianity by which it accommodated
itself to the spirit of successive ages ; and
by this apparently almost skilful, but, in
fact, necessary condescension to the pre-
dominant state of moral culture, of which
itself formed a constituent element, main-
tained its uninterrupted dominion. It is
the author’s object, the difficulty of which
he himself fully appreciates, to portray the
genius of the Christianity of each success-
ive age, in connexion with that of the
age itself; entirely to discard all polemic
views ; to mark the origin and progress of
all the subordinate diversities of belief;
their origin in the circumstances of the
place or time at which they appeared;
their progress from their adaptation to the
prevailing state of opinion or sentiment,
rather than directly to confute error or to
establish truth; in short, to exhibit the re-
ciprocal influence of civilization on Chris-
tianity, of Christianity on civilization. To
the accomplishment of such a scheme
he is well aware, that, besides the usual
high qualifications of a faithful historian,
is requisite, in an especial manner, the
union of true philosophy with perfect char-
ity, if, indeed, they are not one and the
same. This calm, impartial, and dispas-
sionate tone he will constantly endeavour,
he dares scarcely hope, with such warn-
ings on every side of involuntary prejudice
and unconscious prepossession, uniformly
to maintain. In the honesty of his pur-
pose he will seek his excuse for all imper-
fection or deficiency in the execution of
his scheme. Nor is he aware that he en-
ters on ground preoccupied by any writers
of established authority, at least in our
own country, where the History of Chris-
tianity has usually assumed the form of a
History of the Church, more or less con-
troversial, and confined itself to annals of
the internal feuds and divisions in the
Christian community, and the variations
in doctrine and discipline, rather than to
its political and social influence. Our at-
tention, oil the other hand, will be chiefly
directed to its effects on the social and
even political condition of man, as it ex-
tended itself throughout the Roman world,
and at length entered into the administra-
tion of government and of law; the grad-
ual manner in which it absorbed and in-
corporated into the religious common-
wealth the successive masses of popula-
tion, which, after having overthrown the
temporal polity of Rome, were subdued to
the religion of the conquered people ; the
separation of the human race into the dis-
tinct castes of the clergy and laity; the

former at first an aristocracy, afterward a
despotic monarchy: as Europe Christianity
sank back into barbarism, the different in
imaginative state of the human fe™tinpeif*
mind, the formation of a new odsofcivii-
poetic faith, a mythology, and a izaliorl-
complete system of symbolic worship;
the interworking of Christianity with bar-
barism, till they slowly grew into a kind
of semi-barbarous heroic period, that of
Christian chivalry ; the gradual expansion
of the system, with the expansion of the'
human mind; and the slow, perhaps not
yet complete, certainly not general, devel-
opment of a rational and intellectual reli-
gion. Throughout his work the author will
equally, or, as his disposition inclines, even
more diligently, labour to show the good
as well as the evil of each phasis of Chris-
tianity ; since it is his opinion that, at ev-
ery period, much more is to be attributed
to the circumstances of the age, to the
collective operation of certain principles
which grew out of the events of the time,
than to the internal or accidental influence
of any individual or class of men. Chris-
tianity, in short, may exist in a certain
form in a nation of savages as well as in a
nation of philosophers, yet its specific
character will almost entirely depend upon
the character of the people who are its
votaries.* It must be considered, there-
fore, in constant connexion with that char-
acter : it will darken with the darkness,
and brighten with the light of each suc-
ceeding century; in an ungenial time it
will recede so far from its genuine and es-
sential nature as scarcely to retain any
sign of its Divine original: it will advance
with the advancement of human nature,
and keep up the moral to the utmost height
of the intellectual culture of man.

While, however, Christianity necessa-
rily submitted to all these modifi- chrisiiani-
cations, I strongly protest against ty not seir-
the opinion, that the origin of the dcvel0Ped-
religion can be attributed, according to a
theory adopted by many foreign writers,
to the gradual and spontaneous develop-
ment of the human mind.f Christ is as
much beyond his own age, as his own age
is beyond the darkest barbarism. The

* By the accounts of Bruce, Salt, and recently
of Pearce, the Christianity of Abyssinia may be ad-
duced as an instance of the state to which it may
be degraded among a people at a very low state of
barbarism. The conversions among the South Sea
islanders, it will of course be remembered, were
effected, and are still superintended by strangers in
a very different stage of civilization.

t This theory is sketched by no means with an
unfair though unfriendly hand by Chateaubriand,
Etudes sur l’Histoire; a book of which, I am con-
strained to add, the meager performance contrasts
strangely with the loftinese of its pretensions.38

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

time, though fitted to receive, could not,
by any combination of prevalent opinions,
or by any conceivable course of moral im-
provement, have produced Christianity.
The conception of the human character of
Jesus, and the simple principles of the new
religion, as they were in direct opposition
to the predominant opinions and temper of
his own. countrymen, so they stand com-
pletely alone in the history of our race;
and, as imaginary no less than as real, al-
together transcend the powers of man’s
moral conception. Supposing the Gospels
purely fictitious, or that, like the “ Cyro-
psedia” of Xenophon, they imbody on a
groundwork of fact the highest moral and
religious notions to which man had attain-
ed, and show the utmost ideal perfection
of the Divine and human nature, they can
be accounted for, according to my judg-

ment, on none of the ordinary princi-
ples of human nature.* When we behold
Christ standing in the midst of the wreck
of old religious institutions, and building,
or, rather, at one word commanding to
arise, the simple and harmonious structure
of the new faith, which seems equally
adapted for all ages—a temple to which
nations in the highest degree of civiliza-
tion may bring their offerings of pure
hearts, virtuous dispositions, universal
charity—our natural emotion is the recog-
nition of the Divine goodness, in the pro-
mulgation of this beneficent code of reli-
gion, and adoration of that Being in whom
that Divine goodness is thus imbodied and
made comprehensible to the faculties of
man. In the language of the apostle,
“ God is in Christ, reconciling the world
unto himself.”f

CHAPTER II.

LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST. — STATE OF JUDEA.-THE BELIEF IN THE MESSIAH.

The history of Christianity without the
r r - . life of its Divine Author ap-
necessary to a pears imperfect and mcom-
history of plete, particularly considering
Christianity, ^ dose connexion of that

life, not only with the more mysterious
doctrines, but with the practical, and even
political influence of the religion; for
even its apparently most unimportant in-
cidents have, in many cases, affected most
deeply the opinions and feelings of the
Christian world. The isolation of the
history of Christ in a kind of sacred se-
clusion has no doubt a beneficial effect on
the piety of the Christian, which delights
in contemplating the Saviour, undisturbed
and uncontaminated by less holy associa-
tions ; but it has likewise its disadvanta-
ges, in disconnecting his life from the
general history of mankind, of which it
forms an integral and essential part. Had
the life of Christ been more generally
considered as intimately and inseparably
connected with the progress and develop-
ment of human affairs, with the events
and opinions of his time, works would
not have been required to prove his ex-
istence ; scarcely, perhaps, the authenti-
city of his history. The real historical
evidence of Christianity is the absolute
necessity of his life, to fill up the void in
the annals of mankind, to account for the
effects of his religion in the subsequent
history of man.

Yet to write the life of Christ, though

at first sight it may appear the ,tsdiffiettIty
most easy, is perhaps the most
difficult task which an historian can un-
dertake. Many lives have been compo-
sed with a devotional, none, at least to my
knowledge, in this country,! with an his-
toric design; none in wffich the author
has endeavoured to throw himself com-
pletely back into the age when Jesus of
Nazareth began to travel as the teacher
of a new religion through the villages of
Greece; none which has attempted to
keep up a perpetual reference to the cir-
cumstances of the times, the habits, and
national character of the people, and the
state of public feeling; and thus, identi-
fying itself with the past, to show the ori-
gin and progress of the new faith, as it
slowly developed itself, and won its way
through the adverse elements which it
encountered in Judea and the adjacent
provinces. To depart from the evangelic

* Dirons nous que Phistoire de PEvangile est in-
vents a plaisir ? Ce n’est pas ainsi qffon invente.:
et les faits de Socrate, dont personne ne doute, sont
bien moins attests que ceux de Jesus Christ. Au
fond c’est reculer la difficulty sans la detruire; ill
seroit plus inconcevable que plusieurs hommes
d’accord eussent fabrique ce livre, qu’il ne Pest
qu’un seul en a fourni le sujet. Et PEvangile a des
caract^res de v6rite si frappans, si parfaitement i»-
imitables, que Pinventeur en seroit plus etonnan't
que le heros.—Rousseau, Emile, liv. iv.
t 2 Cor., v., 19.

! See Appendix 1., on the recent Lives of
Christ.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

simplicity in the relation of the facts
would not merely offend the reverential
feelings of the reader, but tend likewise
to destroy the remarkable harmony be-
tween the facts and doctrines which char-
acterizes the narrative of the Gospels, and
on which their authenticity, as genuine
historical documents, might, to an intelli-
gent mind, be safely rested. The first
three Gospels, unless written at a very
early period, could scarcely have escaped
the controversial, or, at least, argumenta-
tive tone which enters into the later
Christian writings, and with which the
relation of St. John is imbued.* The
plan, then, which the author will pursue,
will be to presume, to a certain degree,
on the reader’s acquaintance with the
subject on which he enters : he will not
think it necessary to relate at length all
the discourses, or even all the acts of
Christ, but rather to interweave the his-
toric illustration with the main events,
disposed, as far as possible, in the order
of time, and to trace the effect which
each separate incident, and the whole
course of the life of Jesus, may be sup-
posed to have produced upon the popular
mind. In short, it will partake, in some
degree, of the nature of an historical
comment, on facts which it will rather
endeavour to elucidate than to draw out
to their full length.

The days of the elder Herod were
state of Ju- drawing to a close ; his pros-
^erod perous and magnificent reign
® reaL was ending in darkness and
misery, such as the deepest tragedy has
rarely ventured to imagine. His last
years had revealed the horrible, the hu-
miliating secret, that the son, at whose
instigation he had put to death the two
noble and popular princes, his children by
Mariamne the Asmonean, had almost all
his life been overreaching him in that
dark policy of which he esteemed him-
self the master; and now, as a final re-
turn for his unsuspecting confidence, had
conspired to cut short the brief remainder
of his days. Almost the last, and the
most popular exercise of Herod’s royal
intrigues authority, was to order the exe-
and death of cution of the perfidious Antipa-
mpaier. ter> Fearful times! when the
condemnation of a son by a father, and
that father an odious and sanguinary ty-
rant, could coincide with the universal
sentiment of the people! The attach-
ment of the nation to the reigning family
might have been secured, if the sons of
Mariamne, the heiress of the Asmonean

* See Appendix II., on the Origin of the Gospels.

line, had survived to claim the succession.
the foreign and Idumean origin of the fa-
ther might have been forgotten in the na-
tional and splendid descent of the mother.
There was, it should seam, a powerful
Herodian party, attached to the fortunes
of the ruling house ; but the body of the
nation now looked with ill-concealed aver-
sion to the perpetuation of the Idumean
tyranny in the persons of the sons Sous of
of Herod. Yet to those who con- Rerod.
templated only the political signs of the
times, nothing remained but the degrading
alternative, either to submit to the line of
Herod, or to sink into a Roman province.
Such was to be the end of their long ages
of national glory, such the hopeless ter-
mination of the national independence.
But, notwithstanding the progress of Gre-
cian opinions and manners, with which
the politic Herod had endeavoured to
counterbalance the turbulent and unruly
spirit of the religious party, the great
mass of the people, obstinately wedded
to the law and the institutions of their fa-
thers, watched with undisguised jealousy
the denationalizing proceedings of their
king. This stern and inextinguishable
enthusiasm had recently broken out into
active resistance, in the conspiracy to tear
down the golden eagle, which Herod had
suspended over the gate of the temple.*
The signal for this daring act had been a
rumour of the king’s death; and the ter-
rific vengeance which, under a temporary
show of moderation, Herod had wreaked
on the offenders, the degradation of the
high-priest, and the execution of the pop-
ular teachers, who were accused of hav-
ing instigated the insurrection, could not
but widen the breach between the dying-
sovereign and the people. The greater
part of the nation looked to the death of
Herod with a vague hope of liberation and
independence, which struck in with the
more peculiar cause of excitement pre-
dominant in the general mind.

For the principle of this universal fer-
ment lay deeper than in the im- Generai ex_
patience of a tyrannical govern- pectation of
ment, which burdened the peo- the Messiah,
pie with intolerable exactions, or the ap-
prehension of national degradation, if Ju-
daea should be reduced to the dominion of
a Roman proconsul: it was the confidence
in the immediate coming of- the Messiah,
which was working with vague and mys-
terious agitation in the hearts of all or-
ders.f The very danger to which Jewish

* Hist, of the Jews, vol. ii., p. 105.

f Whoever is curious in such inquiries will find
a fearful catalogue of calamities, which were to pre-
cede, according to the Rabbinical authorities, the40

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

independence was reduced was associated
with this exalted sentiment; the nearer
the ruin, the nearer the restoration of
their Theocracy. For there is no doubt,
that, among other predictions, according
to the general Belief, which pointed to the
present period, a very ancient interpreta-
tion of the prophecy, which declared that
the sceptre, the royal dominion, should
not- depart from the race of Israel until
the coming of the Shiloh, one of the titles
uniformly attributed to the Messiah, con-
nected the termination of the existing pol-
ity with the manifestation of the Deliver-
er.* This expectation of a wonderful
revolution to be wrought-! by the sudden
appearance of some great mysterious per-
son, had been so widely disseminated as
to excite the astonishment, perhaps the
jealousy of the Romans, whose historians,
Suetonius and Tacitus, as is well known,
bear witness to the fact. “ Among many,”
writes the latter, “ there was a persuasion,
that in the ancient books of the priesthood
it was written that, at this precise time,
the East should become mighty, and that
the sovereigns of the world should issue
from Judaea.”! “ In the East an ancient
and consistent opinion prevailed, that it
was fated there should issue, at this time,
from Judaea those who should obtain uni-
versal dominion. ”§

Yet no question is more difficult than
Nature of to ascertain the origin, the ex-
the belief in tent, the character of this belief,
ihe Messiah. as prevailed at the time of our
Saviour’s coming; how far it had spread
among the surrounding nations; or, how
far, on the other hand, the original Jewish
creed, formed from the authentic prophet-
coming of the Messiah, either in Lightfoot’s Har-
mony, vol. v., p. 180 (8vo edit.), or in Schoetgen,
Horae Hebraicse, vol. ii., p. 509, or Eisenmenger,
das entdecktes Judenthum, ii., p. 711. The notion
may have been grounded on the last chapter of the
Prophecy of Daniel. Compare Bertholdt, c. 13.—
The Rabbins deliver, “ In the first year of that
week (of years) that the Son of David is to come,
shall that be fulfilled, ‘ I will rain upon one city,
but I will not rain upon another.’ ”—Amos, iv., 7.
“ The second year the arrows of famine shall be
sent forth. The third, the famine shall be griev-
ous, and men, and women, and children, holy men
and men of good works, shall die; and there shall
be a forgetfulness of the Law among' those that
learn it. The fourth year, fulness and not fulness.
The fifth year, great fulness: they shall eat, and
('link, and rejoice, and the Law shall return to its
scholars. The sixth year, voices.” (The gloss is,
‘ a fame shall be spread that the Son of David
comes,” or, “they shall sound with the trumpet.”)
“ The seventh year, wars ; and, in the going out of
that year, the Son of David shall come.”—Light-
foot, xi., 421.

* Casaubon, Exercit. anti*Baron., ii.

j 2 Esdras, vi., 25. $ Tac., Hist., v , 13.

6 Suet., Yes., p. 4*

ical writings, had become impregnateu
with Oriental or Alexandrean notions. It
is most probable that there was no con-
sistent, uniform, or authorized opinion on
the subject: all was vague and indefinite ;
and in this vagueness and indefiniteness
lay much of its power over the general
mind.* Whatever purer or loft- The Propb-
ier notions concerning the great els-
Deliverer and Restorer might be imparted
to wise and holy men, in whatever sense
we understand that u Abraham rejoiced to
see the day” of the Messiah, the intima-
tions on this subject in the earlier books
of the Old Testament, though distinctly
to be traced along its whole course, are
few, brief, and occurring at long intervals.
But from the time, and during the whole
period of the prophets, this mysterious
Being becomes gradually more prominent.
The future dominion of some great king,
to descend from the line of David, to tri-
umph over all his enemies, and to estab-
lish a universal kingdom of peace and
happiness, of which the descriptions of
the golden age in the Greek poets are but
a faint and unimaginative transcript: the
promise of the Messiah, in short, comes
more distinctly forward. As early as the
first chapters of Isaiah, he appears to as-
sume a title and sacred designation, which
at least approaches near to that of the
Divinity ;f and in the later prophets, not
merely does this leading characteristic
maintain its place, but, under the splendid
poetical imagery, drawn from existing cir-
cumstances, there seems to lie hid a more
profound meaning, which points to some
great and general moral revolution to be
achieved by this mysterious Being.

But their sacred books, the Law and the
Prophets, were not the clear and .
unmingled source of the Jewish ra mon‘
opinions on this all-absorbing subject.
Over this, as over the whole system of
the law, tradition had thrown a veil; and
it is this traditionary notion of the Mes-
siah which it is necessary here to develop;
but from whence tradition had derived its
apparently extraneous and independent
notions becomes a much more deep and

* The Jewish opinions concerning the Messiah
have been examined with great diligence and accu-
racy by Professor Bertholdt, in his Christologia Ju-
daRorum. Bertholdt is what may be called a mod-
erate Rationalist. To his work, and to Lightfoot,
Schoetgen, Meuschen, and Eisenmenger, l am in-
debted for most of my Rabbinical quotations.

f Such is the opinion of Rosenmiiller (on Isaiah,
ix., 5. Compare likewise, on Psalm xlv., 7). On
a point much contested by modern scholars, Gese-
nius, in his note on the same passages, espouses
the opposite opinion. Neither of these authors, it
may be added, discuss the question on theological,
but purely on historical and critical grounds.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

embarrassing question.* It is manifest
from the Evangelic history,! that, although
there was no settled or established creed
upon the subject, yet there was a certain
conventional language : particular texts
of the sacred writings were universally
recognised as bearing reference to the
Messiah; and there were some few char-
acteristic credentials of his title and office
which would have commanded universal
assent.

There are two quarters from which the
Foreign con- Jews> as they ceased to be an
nexions of insulated people, confined in the
the Jews, narrow tract of Palestine, and
by their captivity and migrations becom-
ing more-mingled with other races, might
insensibly contract new religious notions,
the East and the West, Babylonia and
Alexandrea. The latter would be the
chief, though not, perhaps, the only chan-
nel through which the influence of Gre-
cian opinions would penetrate into Pales-
tine and of the Alexandrean notions of
the Messiah we shall hereafter adduce
two competent representatives, the author
of the Book of Wisdom and Philo. But
the East, no doubt, made a more early,
profound, and lasting impression on the
popular mind of the Jews. Unfortunate-
ly, in no part does history present us with
so melancholy a blank as in that of the
great Babylonian settlement of

liabyloma. ^ peQple Qf jgraeL ^

* Bertholdt, p. 8.

t The brief intimations in the Gospels are almost
the only absolutely certain authorities for the nature
of this belief at that particular period, except, per-
haps, the more genuine part of the Apocrypha. Jo-
sephus, though he acknowledges the existence and
the influence of this remarkable feature in the na-
tional character, is either inclined to treat it as a
popular delusion or to warp it to his own purposes,
its fulfilment in the person of Vespasian. For his
own school, Philo is a valuable witness ; but among
the Alexandrean Jews the belief in a personal Mes-
siah was much more faint and indistinct than in
Palestine. The Rabbinical books, even the oldest
Targumin or comments on the Sacred Writings,
are somewhat suspicious, from tne uncertainty of
their date: still, in this as in other points of com-
mence, where their expressions are similar to
those of the Christian records, there seems so man-
ifest an improbability that these should have been
adopted, after the two religions had assumed an
hostile position towards each other, that they may
be fairly considered as vestiges of an earlier system
of opinions, retained from ancient reverence, and
indelible even by implacable animosity. - It is far
more likely that Christianity should speak the cur-
rent language of the time, than that, the Synagogue
should interpolate their own traditionary records
with terms or notions borrowed from the Church.

t Even as early as the reign of Antiochus the
Great, certain Jews had attempted to introduce
Grecian manners, and had built a Grecian school
or gymnasium at Jerusalem.—1 Macc., i., 11, 16.
2 Macc., ii., 4, 11, 12.

portance m the religious, and even in the
civil affairs of the nation cannot but have
been very considerable. It was only a
small part of the nation which returned
wijh the successive remigrations under
Ezra and Nehemiah to their native land ;
and, though probably many of the poorer
classes had remained behind at the period
of the Captivity, and many more returned
singly or in small bodies, yet, on the other
hand, it is probable that the tide of emi-
gration, which at a later time was perpet-
ually flowing from the valleys of Palestine
into Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor, and even
more remote regions, would, often take the
course of the Euphrates, and swell the
numbers of the Mesopotamian colony.
In the great contest between Alexander
and the Persian monarchy, excepting from
some rather suspicious stories in Jose-
phus, we hear less than we might expect
of this race of Jews.* But as we ap-
proach the era of Christianity, and some-
what later, they emerge rather more into
notice. While the Jews were spreading
in the West, and, no doubt, successfully
disseminating their Monotheism in many
quarters, in Babylonia their proselytes
were kings ; and the later Jewish Temple
beheld an Eastern queen (by a singular
coincidence, of the same name with the
celebrated mother of Constantine, the
patroness of Christian Jerusalem) lavish-
ing her wealth on the structure on Mount
Moriah, and in the most munificent chari-
ty to the poorer inhabitants of the city.
The name of Helena, queen of the Adia-
beni, was long dear to the memory of the
Jews ; and her tomb was one of the most
remarkable monuments near the walls of
the city. Philo not only asserts that Bab-
ylon and other Eastern satrapies were full
of his countrymen,! but intimates that the

* There may be truth in the observation of St.
Croix : “ Les Grecs et les Romains avoient tant de
haine et de m6pris pour le peuple .Tuif, qu’ils affec-
toient n’en pas parlerdans leurs ecrits.” (Histo
riens d’Alex., p. 555.) This, however, would apply
only to the later writers, which are all we now pos-
sess ; but if in the contemporary historians there
had been much more, it would probably, at least if
to the credit of his countrymen, have been gleaned
by Josephus.

f See, on the numbers of the Jews in the Asiatic
provinces, particularly Armenia, at a later period
(the conquest of Armenia by Sapor, A.D. 367), St
Martin’s additions to Le Beau’s Hist, du Bas Em-
pire. The death of this valuable writer, it is to be
feared, will deprive the learned world of his prom-
ised work on the History of the! Birth and Death
of Jesus. Christ, which was to contain circumstan-
tial accounts of the Jews beyond the Euphrates.

Of the different races of Jews mentioned in the
Acts, as present in Jerusalem, four are from this
quarter: Parthians, Medes, Elamites, dwellers in
Mesopotamia.42

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

apprehension of their taking up arms in
behalf of their outraged religion and
marching upon Palestine weighed upon
the mind of Petronius, when commanded,
at all hazards,'to place the statue of Cal-
igula in the Temple.* It'appears from
some hints of Josephus, that, during the
last war, the revolted party entertained
great hopes of succour from that quarter ;f
and there is good ground for supposing
that the final insurrection in the time of
Hadrian was connected with a rising' in
Mesopotamia.^ At the same period, the
influence of this race of Jews on the reli-
gious character of the people is no less
manifest. Here was a chief scene of the
preaching of the great apostle and we
cannot but think that its importance in
early Christian history, which has usual-
ly been traced almost exclusively in the
West, has been much underrated. Hence
came the mystic Cabala|| of the Jews, the
chief parent of those gnostic opinions out
of which grew the heresies of the early
Church : here the Jews, under the Prince
of the Captivity, held their most famous
schools, where learning was imbodied in
the Babylonian Talmud; and here the
most, influential heresiarch, Manes, at-
tempted to fuse into one system the ele-
ments of Magianism, Cabalism, and* Chris-
tianity. Having thus rapidly traced the
fortunes of this great Jewish colony, we
must reascend to the time of its first estab-
lishment. ‘

From a very early period the Jews seem
to have possessed a Cabala, a' tradition-

,.* Leg. ad Caium, vol. ii., p. 578, edit. Mang.

f Dio (or Xiphilin) asserts that they received con-
siderable succours from the East —L. lxvi., c. 4.

X Hist, of Jews, iii., 96, &c.

§ Nothing but the stubborn obstinacy of contro-
versy could have thrown a doubt on the plain date
in the first Epistle of St. Peter (v. 13). Philo in
two places (ii., p. 578, 587), Josephus in one (Ant.,
xv-iii.,. 9, 8), expressly name Babylon as the habita-
tion of the great Eastern settlement. It is not cer-
tain whether the city was then entirely destroyed
(Gesenius on Isaiah, xiii., 22), but, in fact, the
name was extended to the province or satrapy.
But it was equally the object of the two great con-
flicting parties in Christianity to identify Rome with
Babylon. This fact established, the Roman Cath-
olic had an unanswerable argument to prove the
contested point of St. Peter’s residence in the
Western metropolis ; Babylon, therefore, was deci-
ded to mean pagan Rome. The Protestant at
once concurred; for if Rome was Babylon, it was
the, mystic spiritual Babylon of the Apocalypse.
The whole third chapter of the second Epistle ap-
pears to me full of Oriental allusions, and the ex-
ample of Balaam seems peculiarly appropriate, if
written in that region.

Lucan’s “ Cumque superba foret Babylon spoli-
anda” may indeed be mere poetic license, or may
allude to Seleucia.

|| Cabala is used here in its most extensive sense.
—See Chiarini, p, 97.

ary comment or interpretation of Cabala
the sacred writings. Whether it
existed before the Captivity, it is impossi-
ble to ascertain; it is certain that many
of their books, even those written by dis-
tinguished prophets, Gad and Iddo, were
lost at that disastrous time. But whether
they carried any accredited tradition to
Babylonia, • it seems evident, from the
Oriental cast which it assumed, that they
either brought it from thence on their re-
turn to their native land, or received it
subsequently during their intercourse with
their Eastern brethren.* Down to the
Captivity the Jews of Palestine had been
in contact only with the religions of the
neighbouring nations, which, however dif-
ferently modified, appear to have been es-
sentially the same, a sort of Nature-wor-
ship, in which the host of Heaven, especial-
ly the sun and moon, under different names,
Baal and Moloch, Astarte and Syrian Reii-
Mylitta, and probably as sym- g‘ons-
bols or representatives of the active and
passive powers of nature, no doubt with
some distinction of their attributes, were
the predominant objects. These religions
had long degenerated into cruel or licen-
tious superstitions ; and the Jews, in fall-
ing off to the idolatry of their neighbours,
or introducing foreign rites into their own
religious system, not merely offended
against the great primal distinction of
their faith, the unity of the Godhead, but
sunk from the pure, humane, and com-
paratively civilized institutes of their law-
giver, to the loose and sanguinary usages
of barbarism. In the East, how- Reii gion of
ever, they encountered a religion Persia-
of a far nobler and more regular struc-
ture :f a religion which offered no temp-
tation to idolatrous practices; for the Ma-
gian rejected, with the devout abhorrence
of the followers of Mdses, the exhibition
of the Deity in the human form; though
it possessed a rich store of mythological
and symbolical figures, singularly analo-
gous to those which may be considered
the poetic machinery of the later Hebrew
prophets.J The religion of Persia seems

* Mosheim, De Rebus Christ., ii., 1-8. 4

f In Asia Persarum religionem caeteris esse no-
biliorem.—Mosheim, Instit., p. 58, and Grot., de
Ver., ii., 10.

% This, it may be observed, has no connexion
whatever with the originality or authority of these
predictions. It should be borne in mind, that in
these visions it is the moral or religious meaning
alone which can be the object of faith, not the
figures through which that meaning is conveyed.
There is no reason why the images of Daniel and
. Ezekiel should not be derived from, or assimilate
to, the present forms around them, as well as those
I of the rustic Amoz be chiefly drawn from pastoralHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

to have held an intermediate rank between
the Pantheism of India, where the whole
universe emanated from the Deity, and
was finally to be reabsorbed into the Dei-
ty, and ■ the purer 'Theism of the Jews,
which asserted the one omnific Jehovah,
and .seemed to place a wide and impassa-
ble interval between the nature of the
Creator and that of the created being.
In the Persian system, the Creation owed
its existence to the conflicting powers of
evil and good. These were subordinate
to, or proceeding from, the Great Primal
Cause (Zeruane Akerene), Time without
bounds,* * which in fact appears, as Gibbon
observes, rather as a metaphysical ab-
straction than as an active and presiding
Deity. The Creation was at once the
work and the dominion of the two antag-
onist creators, who had balanced against
each other in perpetual conflict a race of
spiritual and material beings, light and
darkness, good and evil. This Magian-
ism, subsequent to the Jewish Captivity,!
and during the residence of the captives
in Mesopotamia,- either spread, with the
conquests of the Persians, from the re-
gions farther to the East, Aderbijan and
Bactria, or was first promulgated by Zo-
roaster, who is differently represented as
the author or as the reformer of the faith.
From the remarkable allusions or points
of coincidence between some of the Ma-
gi an tenets and the Sacred Writings,!
Hyde and Prideaux laboured to prove
that Zoroaster^ had been a pupil of Dan-
iel, and derived those notions, which seem
more nearly allied to the purer Jewish
faith, from his intercourse with the He-
brew prophet, who held a high station
under the victorious Medo-Persian mon-
archy. || But, in fact, there is such an

or rural life.—See, e. g., Chiarini’s Ezekiel. Pref-
ace to Talmud, p. 90 and 101.

* So translated by Du Perron and Kleuker.
There is a learned dissertation of Foucher on this
subject.—Acad, des Ins., vol. xxix. According to
Bohlen, it is analogous to the Sanscrit Sarvam
akaranam, the Uncreated Whole; according to
Fred. Schlegel, Sarvam akharyam, the Unum In-
divisibile.

f The appearance of the Magian order, before
the conquest of Babylon by the Medo-Persian
kings, is an extremely difficult question. Nebu-
chadnezzar’s army was attended (Jer., xxxix., 3)
by Nergal-sharezer, the Rab-mag, (Archi-

magus).—Compare Bertholdt, Daniel, Excurs. iii.

f Isaiah, xlvii., 7.

The name of Zoroaster (Zerotoash) has been
deduced from words signifying “ the star of gold”
or “ the star of splendour,” and may have been a
title or appellative.

|| The hypothesis which places Zoroaster under
the reign of Darius Hystaspes, identified with the
Gushtasp of Persian mythological history, l's main-
tained by Hyde, Prideaux, Anquetil du Perron,
Kleuker, Herder, Goerres, Malcolm, Von Hammer,

originality and completeness coapieteness
in the Zoroastrian system, and of theZoroa*
in its leading principles, espe- tnan syslem
dally that of the antagonist powers ol
good and evil; it departs so widely from
the ancient and simple Theism of the
Jews, as clearly to indicate an independ
ent and peculiar source, at least in its
more perfect development; if it is not, as
we are inclined to believe, of much more
ancient date, and native to a region much
farther to the East than the Persian court,
where Zoroaster, according to one tradi-
tion, might have had intercourse, in his
youth, with the Prophet Daniel.

If, as appears to be the general opinion
of the Continental writers, who The ze»-’
have most profoundly investigated davesta-
the subject, we have authentic remains, or.
at least, records which, if of later date, con-
tain the true principles of Magianism, in
the Liturgies and Institutes of the Zenda-
vesta ;* it is by no means an improbable

and apparently by De Guigniaut. The silence of He-
rodotus appears to me among the strongest objec-
tions to this view.

Foucher, Tychsen, Heeren, and recently Hoity,
identify Gushtasp with Cyaxares I., and place the
religious revolution under the previous Median dy-
nasty.

A theory which throws Zoroaster much higher
up into antiquity is developed with great ability by
Rhode, in his Heilige Sage. The earlier date of
the Persian prophet has likewise been maintained
by Moyle, Gibbon, and Volney.

These views may in some degree be reconciled
by the supposition that it was a reformation, not a
primary development of the religion, which took
place under the Medo-Persian, or the Persian mon-
archy. The elements of the faith and the caste of
the Magi were, I should conceive, earlier. The
inculcation of agricultural habits on a people
emerging from the pastoral life, so well developed
by Heeren, seems to indicate a more ancient date.
Consult also Gesenius on Isaiah, Ixv., 5." Constant,
sur la Religion, ii., 187.

* It may be necessary, in this country, briefly to
state the question as to the authenticity or value ot
these documents. They were brought from the
East by that singular adventurer, Anquetil du Per-
ron. Sir W. Jones, in a letter, not the most suc-
cessful of the writings of that excellent and accom-
plished man, being a somewhat stiff and laboured
imitation of the easy irony of Voltaire, threw a
shade of suspicion over the character of Du Perron,
which in England has never been dispelled, and,
except among Oriental scholars, has attached to all
his publications. Abroad, however, the antiquity'
of the Zendavesta, at least its value as a trustwor-
thy record of the Zoroastrian tenets, has been gen-
erally acknowledged. If altogether spurious, those
works must be considered as forgeries of Du Per-
ron. But, I., they are too incomplete and imper-
fect for forgeries ; if it had been worth Du Perron’s
while to fabricate die Institutes of Zoroaster, we
should, no doubt, have had something more elabo-
rate than several books of prayers, and treatises of
different ages, from which it required his own in-
dustry, and that of his German translator, Kleuker,
to form a complete system. II. Du Perron must
have forged the language in which the books are44

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

source in which we might discover the or-
igin of those traditional notions of the
Jews, which were extraneous to their ear-
lier system, and which do not appear to
rest on their sacred records.* It is un-
doubtedly remarkable, that among the
Magian tenets we find so many of those
doctrines, about which the great schism in
the Jewish popular creed, that of the tra-
ditionists and anti-traditionists, contended
for several centuries. It has already been
observed, that in the later prophetic wri-

written, as well as the books themselves. But the
Zend is universally admitted by the great Oriental-
ists and historians of language to be a genuine and
•very curious branch of the Eastern dialects. (See
Sopp., Vergleichende Grammatik.) It should be
added, that the publication of the Zendavesta, in
the original, has been commenced by M. Bournouf
in Paris, and by M. Olshausen in Germany.

III. These documents may be considered as more
modern compilations, of little greater authority
than the Sadder, which Hyde translated from the
modem Persian. That they are of the age of Zo-
roaster it may be difficult to prove ; but their inter-
nal evidence, and their coincidence with the other
notices of the Persian religion, scattered among the
writings of the Greeks and Romans (see Du Per-
ron’s and Kleuker’s illustrations, especially the
Persica of the latter), afford sufficient ground for
supposing that they contain the genuine and unadul-
terated elements of the Zoroastrian faith, and, if
not of primitive, are of very high antiquity. The
traces of Mohammedanism, which Brucker (vol. vi.,
p. 68) supposed that he had detected, and which
are apparent in the Sadder, are rather notions bor-
rowed by Mohammed from the Jews ; but whence
obtained by the Jews is the question. Mr. Er-
skine, the highest authority on such subjects, con-
siders the existing Zendavesta to have been com-
piled in the age of Ardeshir Babhegan, the great re-
storer of the Magian faith. (Bombay Transac-
tions.) In Professor Neuman’s translation of Var-
tan there is a curious sentence, which seems to in-
timate that the books of the Magian faith either did
not exist at that time, or were inaccessible to the
generality.

IV. A thought has sometimes crossed my own
mind (it has been anticipated by Du Perron), wheth-
er they can be the sacred books of a sect formed
from a union of Gnostic or Manichaean Christian-
ity with the ancient Persian religion. But there is
no vestige of purely Christian tradition ; and those
points in which Parseism seems to coincide with
Christianity are inseparable parts of their great sys-
tem. And against all such opinions must be weigh-
ed the learned paper of Professor Rask, who gives
strong reasons for the antiquity both of the language
and of the books. The language he considers the
vernacular tongue of ancient Media. (Trans, of
Asiatic Society, iii., 524.) Still, while I appeal to
the Zendavesta as authority, I shall only adduce
the more general leading principles of the faith, of
which the antiquity appears certain; and rarely
any tenet for which we have not corroborative au-
thority in the Greek and Latin writers. The testi-
monies of the latter have been collected both by Du
Perron and Kleuker.

* xMosheim has traced with brevity, but with his
usual good sense and candour, this analogy between
the traditional notions of the Jews and those of the
Magians.—De Reb. ant& Const. M., ii., 7 [and In-
stit. of Eccl. Hist., i., p. 59, &c.].

tings, many allusions, and much of what
may be called the poetic language and ma-
chinery, is strikingly similar to the main
principles of the Magian faith. Nor can
it be necessary to suggest how completely
such expressions as the “ children of light”
and the “ children of darkness” had be-
come identified with the common language
of the Jews at the time of our Saviour:
and when Jesus proclaimed himself “ the
Light of the world,” no doubt he employed
a term familiar to the ears of the people,
though, as usual, they might not clearly
comprehend in what sense it was applica-
ble to the Messiah, or to the purely moral
character of the new religion.

It is generally admitted, that the Jewish
notions about the angels,* one Thean<rels
great subject of dispute in their eanges*
synagogues, and what may be called their
Daemonology, received a strong foreign
tinge during their residence in Babylonia.
The earliest books of the Old Testament
fully recognise the ministration of angels ;
but in Babyloniaf this simpler creed grew
up into a regular hierarchy, in which the
degrees of rank and subordination were
arranged with almost heraldic precision.
The seven great archangels of Jewish tra-
dition correspond with the Amschaspands
of the Zendavesta :J and in strict mutual
analogy, both systems arrayed against
each other a separate host of spiritual be-

* La doctrine de l’existence des anges, fonde sur
la revelation, a ete beau coup modifiee par les opin-
ions des peuples qui habitaient sur les rivages du
fleuve Cobar, dans la Babylonie, et dans les autres
pays de l’Orient, ou les deux royaumes d’Israel et
de Juda furent disperses. Sous ce point de v-ue on
pent regarder les Mehestani, ou les sectateurs de
Zoroastre, comme ceux qui ont appris beaucoup
des choses aux depositaries de la tradition, et dont
les rnaximes se retrouvent aujourd’hui dans les
deux Talmuds.—Chiarini, Le Talmud de Babylone,
torn, i., p. 101.

f Even the traditionists among the Jews allowed
that the names of the angels came from Babylon ;
they are, nevertheless, pure Hebrew or Chaldean.
Mich-a-el (who is as God), Gabri-el, the Man of
God.—Gesen., Lex. in verb. Bellerman, iiber die
Essaer, p. 30. The transition from the primitive
to the Babylonian belief may be traced in the apoc
ryphal book of Tobit, no doubt of Eastern origin.
On the Notions of Daemons, see Jortin, Eccl. Hist.,

1., 161.

% Jonathan, the Chaldean paraphrast, on Gen.,

11., 7: “ The Lord said to the seven angels that
stand before him.”—Drusius, on Luke,.i., 19. Sev-
en, however, seems to have been the number of per-
fection among the Jews from the earliest period.—
Old Testament, passim. ,

Six seems the sacred number with the Persians.
The Amschaspands are usually reckoned six; but
Oromasd is sometimes included to make up seven.
See the Yesht of the Seven Amschaspands, in the
Zendavesta of Du Perron or Kleuker. Compare
also Foucher’s Disquisition, translated in Kleuker,
Anhang., i., p. 294.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

mgs, with distinct powers and functions.
Each nation, each individual had in one
case his Ferver, in the other his guardian
angel ;* and was exposed to the malice of
the hostile Dev or Daemon. In apparent
allusion to or coincidence with this sys-
tem, the visions of Daniel represent Mi-
chael, the tutelar angel or intelligence of
the Jewish people, in opposition to the
four angels of the great monarchies ; and
even our Saviour seems to condescend to
the popular language, when he represents
the parental care of the Almighty over
children, under the significant and beauti-
ful image, “ that in Heaven their angels do
always behold the face of my father which
is in Heaven.”f

The great impersonated Principle of
Principle Evil appears to have assumed
of Evil, much of the character of the an-
tagonist power of darkness. The name
itself of Satan,J which in the older poeti-
cal book of Job is assigned to a spirit of
different attributes, one of the celestial
ministers who assemble before the throne
of the Almighty, and is used in the earlier
books of the Old Testament in its simple
sense of an adversary, became appropri-
ated to the prince of the malignant spirits
—the head and representative of the spir-
itual world, which ruled over physical as
well as moral evil.

Even the notion of the one Supreme De-
The supreme ity had undergone some modifi-
Deity remo- cation consonant to certain pre-
connexiona" vailing opinion's of the time,
with the ma- Wherever any approximation
terial world, been made tO the SUblillie

truth of the one great First Cause, ei-
ther awful religious reverence or philo-
sophic abstraction had removed the pri-
mal Deity entirely beyond the sphere of
human sense, and supposed that the in-
tercourse of the Divinity with man, the
moral government, and even the original
creation, had been carried on by the in-
termediate agency, either in Oriental lan-

* In the LXX. the doctrine of guardian angels is
interpolated, into the translation of Deutl, xxxii., 8.
Plato adopted the notion either mediately or im-
mediately from the East.—Polit. et in Critia (in
init.). Compare Max. Tyrius, xv., 17. Hostanes
the Magian held the same opinions.—Cypr., de Van.
Idol., Min. Fel.

f Matt., xviii., 10.

t Schleusner, Lex. voc. Satan. Dr. Russell, in
a Dissertation prefixed to his Connexion of Sa-
cred and-Profane History, has traced the gradual
development of this tenet. It is rather singular that
in the work of Theodoras of Mopsuestia on Ma-
gianism (quoted Photii Bibliotheca, num. 81), Ze-
ruan is said to have produced Tbv-’OpfiioSav * * koi
rbv Haravav. On the other side of this question may
be consulted Rosenmiiller on Job, chap, i., and Mi-
chaelis, Epimetron in Lowth, de Sacra Poesi.

guage of an Emanation, or in Platonic of
the Wisdom, Reason, or Intelligence of
the one Supreme. This Being was more
or less distinctly impersonated, according
to the more popular or more philosophic,
the more material or more abstract no-
tions of the age or people.* This Mediator>
was the doctrine from the Ganges,
or even the shores of the Yellow Sea,j
to the Ilissus; it was the fundamental
principle of the Indian religion and Indian
philosophy;{ it was the basis of Zoroas-
trianism^, it was pure Platonism,|| it was
the Platonic Judaism of the Alexandrean
school. Many fine passages might be
quoted from Philo, on the impossibility
that the first self-existing Being should
become cognizable to the sense of man;
and even in Palestine, no doubt, John the
Baptist, and our Lord himself, spoke no
new doctrine, but rather the common sen-
timent of the more enlightened, when they
declared that “no man had seen*God at
any time.”T[ In conformity with this prin-
ciple, the Jews, in the interpretation of
the older Scriptures, instead of direct and
sensible communication from the one great
Deity, had interposed either one or more
intermediate beings as the channels of
communication. According to one ac
credited tradition alluded to by St. Ste-
phen, the law was delivered “ by the dispo-
sition of angels ;”** * * * § ** according to another,
this office was delegated to a single angel
sometimes called the angel of the Law,f*j

* It is curious to trace the development of this
idea in the .older and in the apocryphal books of the
Old Testament. In the book of Proverbs, the Wis-
dom is little more than the great attribute of the
Deity, an intellectual personification: in Ecclesias-
ticus it is a distinct and separate being, and “ stands
up beautiful” before the throne of God, xxv., 1.

t M. Abel Remusat says of the three Chinese
religions, “ Parmi leurs dogmes fundamentaux, en-
seignes six siecles avant notre ere par Lao-tseu,
Pun de leurs maitres, est celui de 1’existence da la
raison grimor diale, qui a cree le monde, le Logos des
Platoniciens.— Rech.Asiat., 2d ser., i., 38

X In the Indian system, Brahm, in the neuter, is
the great Primal Spirit. See Baron W. Von Hum-
boldt, fiber den Bhagavat Gita. Compare Bopp.,
Conjugations System, 290, 301.

§ See above.

U ndv to daifiovibv fiera^v sen Osov kclI d-vr}-
rov—Qeog 6s dvdp6tto ov {liyvvmt, dWa did
tovtov Tcacra sgtiv rj o/niXca.—Plato, in Symp.
f John, i, 18. Compare John, i., 4, 18; vi., 46.

** Compare LXX. transl. of Dent., xxxiii., 2,
where the angels are interpolated. 'Hfitiv ra
XiGTCL t&v doyfidrov Kal rd ooLurara rtiv ev rolg
vojloig 6C dyyeXov irapd rov Qsov fiadsvTov.—
Joseph , Ant., xv., 5, 3. Compare Chiarini, i., 307.
And on the traces of the Jud^eo-Alexandrean phi-
losophy in the LXX., Dahne, Judisch-Alexandri-
anische Religions Philosophic, part ii., p. 49-56.

f t Compare Gal., iii., 19. Deus Mosen legem do-
cuit: cum autem descenderet, tarito timore percul-4(3

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

at others the Metatron. But the more ordi-
nary representative, as it were, of God to
the sense and mind of man, was the Mem-
' The Word ra, or the Divine Word ; and it is
remarkable that the same appel-
lation is found in the Indian,* * * * § the Persian,!
the Platonic, and the Alexandrean systems.
By the Targumists, the earliest Jewish
commentators on the Scriptures, this term
had been already applied to the Messiah ;J
nor is it necessary to observe the manner
in which it has been sanctified by its in-
troduction into the Christian ■ scheme.§
From this remarkable uniformity of con-
ception and coincidence of language has
sometimes been assumed a common tra-
dition, generally disseminated throughout
the race of man. I should be content with
receiving it as the general acquiescence

sus est, ut omnium oblivisceretur. Deus autem
statim Jesifiam, Angelum legis, vocavit, qui ipsi le-
gem tradidit bene ordinatam et custoditam, omnes-
que angeli amici ejus facti sunt. Jalkut Ruben,
quoted by Wetstein and Schoetgen, in loco. See
also Eisenmenger, 1-56. Two angels seem to be
introduced in this latter tradition, the angelus Me-
tatron, and Jesifya, angelus Legis.

Philo, de Prsem., rationalizes farther, and consid-
ers the commandments communicated, as it were,
by the air made articulate, ii., 405.

* It appears in the Indian system : Yach signify-
ing speech. She is the active power of Brahma,
proceeding from him: she speaks a hymn in the
Yedas, in praise of herself as the supreme and uni-
versal soul. (Colebrooke, in Asiatic Researches,
viii., p. 402.) La premiere parole, que profera le
Createur, ce fut Gum : Oum parut avant toutes
choses, et il s’appelle le premier ne du Createur.
Oum ou Prana, pared au pur ether renfermant en
soi toutes les qualites, tous elemens, est le nom, le
corps de Brahm, et par consequent infini comme
lui, createur et maitre de toutes choses. Brahm
mdditant sur le Verbe divin y trouva l’eau primi-
tive.—Oupnek-Hat, quoted in De Guigniaut, p. 644.

Origen, or, rather, the author of the Philosophou-
mena inserted in his works, was aware of this fact.
’Auroi (Brachmanes) rov fiedv ty&g elv&L Xeyovcnv
ovx ottolov ng 6pd, olov rjXiog ical 7xvp- IlTJm

eariv avrolg 6 Qedg Xoyog, ovx 6 evapOpog, d?Jid
o rfjg yvcooeog, 6C ov rd KpvTXTa Trjg yvdaeog pva-
T'fjpia opuTcu (jotyoig.—De Brachman.

According to a note, partly by M. le Normant,
partly by M. Champollion, in Chateaubriand (Etu-
des sur rHistoire), Thoth is, in the hieroglyphicai
language of Egypt, the Word.

f In the Persian system, the use of the term Hon-
overis by no means consistent; strictly speaking, it
occupies only a third place. Ormuzd, the good
Principle, created the external universe by his Word
(Honover): in another sense, the great primal spirit
is the Word ; in another, the Principle of Good.

t It is by the latter, as may be seen in the works
of Lightfoot, Schoetgen, and other Talmudic wri-*
ters, and in Bertholdt (Christologia Judaica), that
it is applied to the Messiah, not by Philo, who, as
will appear, scarcely, if ever, notices a personal
Messiah.

§ Dr. Burton (in his Bampton Lectures) ac-
knowledges, of course, the antiquity of the term,
and suggests the most sensible mode of reconciling
this fact with its adoption into Christianity.

of the human mind, in the necessity of
some mediation between the pure, spirit-
ual nature of the Deity, and the intellect-
ual and moral being of man, of which the
sublimest and simplest, and, therefore, the
most natural development, was the reve-
lation of God in Christ; in the inadequate
language of our version of the original,
“ the brightness of (God’s) glory, and the
express image of his person.”*

No question has been more strenuously
debated than the knowledge of F
a future state entertained by the rts a e-
earlier Jews. At all events, it is quite
clear that, before the time of Christ, not
merely the immortality of the soul, but,
what is very different, a final resurrec-
tion,! had become completely interwoven
with the popular belief. Passages in the
later prophets, Daniel and Ezekiel, par-
ticularly a very remarkable one in the
latter, may be adduced as the first distinct
authorities on which this belief might be
grounded. It appears, however, in its
more perfect development, soon after the
return from the Captivity. As early as
the revolt of the Maccabees, it was so
deeply rooted in the public mind, that we
find a solemn ceremony performed for the
dead.J From henceforth it became the
leading article of the great schism be-
tween the traditionists and the anti-tradi-
tionists, the Pharisees andihe Sadducees :
and in the Gospels we cannot but discov-
er, at a glance, its almost universal preva-
lence. Even the Roman historian was
struck by its influence on the indomitable
character of the people.§ In the Zoroas-
trian religion, a resurrection holds a place
no less prominent than in the later Jewish
belief.|| On the day of the final triumph
of the Great Principle of Light, the chil-
dren of light are to be raised from the
dead, to partake in the physical splen-
dour, and to assume the moral perfection
of the subjects of the triumphant Princi-
ple of Good. In the same manner, the
Jews associated together the coming of
the Messiah with the final resurrection
From many passages quoted by Lightfoot,

* ’krzavyaopa rfjg dofyg feat xaPaKTVp TVC
vizoardueag avrov.—Hebrews, i., 3.

f It is singular how often this material point of
difference has been lost sight of in the discussions
on this subject. f 2 Macc., xii., 44.

§ Animasque prselio et suppliciis peremptorum
seternas putant.—Tac., Hist., v., 5.

|| Hyde, de Vet. Pers. Relig., 537 and 293.
Beausobre, Hist, du Manicheisme, i., 204. ’Ava~
§t6aeaBai Kara rovg Mdyovg rovg dvOp&Tzovg
nal eaeodai ddavdrovg.—Theopomp. apud Diog.
Laert. Kleuker’s Zendavesta and Anhang., part
ii., p. 110. Bounciehesch, xix., xxxi., &c. Com-
pare Gesenius on Isaiah, xxvi., 19.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

I select the following: “ The righteous,
whom thfe Lord shall raise from the dead
in the days of the Messiah, when they are
restored to life, shall not again return to
their dust, neither in the days of the Mes-
siah, nor in the following age, but their
flesh shall remain upon them.”*

Out of all these different sources, from
Jewish no- whence they derived a knowl-
tion of the edge of a future state, the passa-
Messiah. ges 0p their prophets in their
own sacred writings (among which that
in the book of Daniel, from its coinci-
dence with the Zoroastrian tenet, might
easily be misapplied), and the Oriental
element, the popular belief of the Pales-
tinian Jews had moulded up a splendid
though confused vision of the appearance
of the Messiah, the simultaneous regen-
eration of all things, the resurrection of
the dead, and the reign of the Messiah
upon earth. All these events were to
take place at once, or to follow close
upon each other. In many passages, the.
language of the apostles clearly intimates
that they were as little prepared to ex-
pect a purely religious renovation at the
coming of the Messiah as the rest of their
countrymen; and throughout the apostolic
age this notion still maintained its ground,
and kept up the general apprehension that
the final consummation was immediately
at hand.f It is no doubt impossible to as-
sign their particular preponderance to
these several elements, which combined
to form the popular belief: yet, even if
many of their notions entirely originated
in the Zoroastrian system, it would be
curious to observe how, by the very ca-
lamities of the Jews, Divine Providence
adapted them for the more important part
which they were to fill in the history of
mankind; and to trace the progressive
manner in which the Almighty prepared
the development of the more perfect and
universal system of Christianity.

For, with whatever Oriental colouring
Messiah, Jewish tradition might invest the
national, image of the great Deliverer, in
Palestine it still remained rigidly national
and exclusive. If the Jew concurred with
the worshipper of Ormuzd in expecting a
final restoration of all things through the
agency of a Divine Intelligence,} that Be-

* Lightfoot, v., 255 ; x., 495; xi., 353.
t Compare 2 Esdras, vi., 24, 25.
t The Persians long preserved the notion of a
restoration of the law of Zoroaster by a kind of
Messiah. “ Suivant les traditions des Parses, rap-
port£es dans la Zerdouscht-nameh et dans le
Djamaspi-nazem, Pashoutan, l’un des personnages
destines a faire refleurir la religion de Zoroastre, et
Fempire des Perses dans les derniers temps, de-
rneure en attendant ce moment dans le Kangue-

ing, according to the promise to their fa-
thers, was to be intimately connected with
their race ; he was to descend from the
line of David ; he was to occupy Sion, the
holy city, as the centre of his govern-
ment ; he was to make his appearance in
the temple on Mount Moriah; he was to
reassemble all the scattered descendants
of the tribes, to discomfit and expel their
barbarous and foreign rulers. The great
distinction between the two races of man-
kind fell in completely with their heredi-
tary prejudices : the children of Abraham
were, as their birthright, the children of
light; and even the doctrine of the resur-
rection was singularly harmonized with
that exclusive nationality. At least the
first resurrection* * was to be their separate
portion ;f it was to summon them, if not
all, at least the more righteous, from Par-
adise, from the abode of departed spirits ;
and under their triumphant King they
were to enjoy a thousand years of glory
and bliss upon the recreated and renova-

ted earth.}

dez, pays qui paroit repondre en partie a Khorassan.
II en sortira a l’ordre, qui lui sera apporte par un
ized (i. e,, spiritus celestis) nomme Serosch, et re-
viendra dans l’lran. Par Fefficace des paroles sa-
crees de FAvesta, il mettra en fuite les barbares,
qui desoloient ce pays, y retablira la.religion dans
toute sa purete, et y fera renaitre Fabondance, le
bonheur, et la paix.—Silvestre de Sacy, sur div.
Ant. de la Perse, p. 95.

* 2 Esd., xi., 10-31. All Israelites (says the
Mischna. Tract. Sanh., c. xi., 12) shall partake in
the life to dome, except those who deny the resur-
rection of the dead (the Sadducees?) and that the
law came from Heaven, and the Epicureans. R.
Akiba added, he who reads foreign books; Aba
Schaul, he who pronounces the Ineffable Name
(Jehovah). Three kings and four private individu-
als have no share in the life to come : the kings,
Jeroboam, Ahab, Manasseh; the four private men,
Balaam, Doeg, Achitophel, -—- ?

f It is good (says the martyred youth in the book
of Maccabees), being put to death by men, to be
raised up again by him; as for thee, thou shall
have no resurrection to life.—2 Macc., vii., 14 ;
xii., 44 ; also 2 Esd., ii., 23. Compare the speech
of Josephus, Hist, of the Jews, vol. ii., p. 312.
Quotations might be multiplied from the rabbini-
cal writers.

$ Tanchuma, fol. 255. Quot sunt dies Messise?
R. Elieser, filius R. Jose, Galilseus, dixit Messise
tempora sunt mille anni, secundum dictum, Jer.,
xxiii., 4. Dies enim Dei mille est annorum.—
Bertholdt, p. 38.

The holy blessed God will renew the world for
a thousand years—quoted by Lightfoot, iii., 37. If
I presume to treat the millennium as a fable “ of
Jewish dotage,” I may remind my readers that this
expression is taken from what once stood as an ar-
ticle (the forty-first) of our Church. [“ They who
endeavour to revive the fable of the Millenarians,
are therein contrary to the Holy Scriptures, and
cast themselves down headlong into Jewish dota-
ges.”] See Collier for the Articles in Edward the
Sixth’s reign. Atque de hujus in his terris regno,
mille annos* duraturo, ejusdemque deliciis et volup-
tatibus, de bellis ejus cum terribili quodam adver48

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

We pass from the rich poetic imperson-
Judaeo-Gre- ations, the fantastic but ex-
cian system, pressive symbolic forms of the
East, to the colder and clearer light of
Grecian philosophy, with which the West-
ern Jews, especially in Alexandrea, had
endeavoured to associate their own reli-
gious truths. The poetic age of Greece
had long passed away before the two na-
tions came into contact; and the same
rationalizing tendency of the times led the
Greek to reduce his religion, the Jew the
history of his nation, to a lofty moral al-
legory.* * * § Enough of poetry remained in
the philosophic system, adopted in the
great Jewish Alexandrean school, that of
Plato, to leave ample scope for the ima-
gination ; and, indeed, there was a kind of
softened Orientalism, probably derived by
Plato from his master Pythagoras, by
Pythagoras from the East, which readily
assimilated with the mystic interpreta-
tions of the Egypto-Jewish theology. The
Alexandrean notions of the days of the
Messiah are faintly shadowed out in the
book “ of the Wisdom of Solomon,”! in
terms which occasionally remind us of
some which occur in the New Testament.
The righteous Jews, on account of their
acknowledged moral and religious supe-
riority, were to “judge the nations,” and
have “ dominion over all people.” But
the more perfect development of these
views is to be found in the works of Philo.
This writer, who, however inclined to soar
into the cloudy realms of mysticism, often
rests in the middle region of the moral
sublime; and abounds in passages which
would scarcely do discredit .to his Athe-
nian master, had arrayed a splendid vision
of the perfectibility of human nature, in
which his own nation was to take the most
distinguished part. From them knowl-
edge and virtue wmre to emanate through
(he universal race of man. The whole
world, convinced at length of the moral
superiority of the Mosaic institutes, inter-
preted, it is true, upon the allegorical sys-
tem, and so harmonized with the sublimest
Platonism of the Greeks, was to submit in
voluntary homage, and render their alle-
giance to the great religious teachers and
examples of mankind. The Jews them-
selves, thus suddenly regenerated to more

sario quem Antichristum dicebant, de victoriis de-
nique earumque fructibus mirabilia narrabant som-
nia, quorum deinde pars ad Christianos transfere-
batur.—Mosheim, ii., 8.

This was the kingdom of heaven, the kingdom
of God—of Christ, or, emphatically, “the king-
dom.”—See Kuinoel, vol. i., p. 61. Schoetgen,
Hor. Heb., p. 1147.

* Compare Bertholdt, ch. vi.

t Wisdom, iii., 8; v., 1C; viii., 14.

than the primitive purity and loftiness of
their Law (in which the Divine Reason,
the Logos, was, as it were, imbodied), were
to gather together from all quarters, and
under the guidance of a more than human
being, unseen to all eyes but those of the
favoured nation* (such was the only ves-
tige of the Messiah), to reas- Rejan of Meg
semble in their native land, sialf”accorct"
There the great era of virtue, ingtoAiexan-
and peace, and abundance, pro- drean Jews’
ductiveness of the soil, prolificness in the
people, in short, of all the blessings prom-
ised in the book of Deuteronomy, was to
commence and endure for ever. This
people were to be invincible, since true
valour is inseparable from true virtue. By
a singular inference, not out of character
with allegoric interpreters, who, while they
refine the plainest facts and precepts to a
more subtle and mystic meaning, are apt
to take that which is evidently figurative
in a literal sense, the very wild beasts in
awe and wonder at this pure and passion-
less race, who shall have ceased to rage
against each other with bestial ferocity,
were to tame their savage hostility to man-
kind.! Thus the prophecy of Isaiah, to
which Philo seems to allude, though he
does not adduce the words, was to be ac-
complished to the letter; and that para-
disaical state of amity between brute and
man, so beautifully described by Milton,
perhaps from this source, was finally to
be renewed. And as the Jewish philoso-
pher, contrary to most of his own coun-
trymen, and to some of the Grecian sects,
denied the future dissolution of the world
by fire, and asserted its eternity,! he prob-
ably contemplated the everlasting duration
of this peaceful and holy state.

Such—for no doubt the Alexandrean
opinions had penetrated into Pal- Belief differ-
estine, particularly among the entaccordills
Hellenist Jews—such were the icterof^he
vast, incoherent, and dazzling believer,
images with which the future teemed to
the hopes of the Jewish people.§ Thev

* De Exerc., ii., 435, 436.

f De Praem., ii., p. 422.

! De Mundi Incorruptibilitate, passim.

§ The following passages from the apocryphal
books may be consulted ; I do not think it necessa-
ry to refer to all the citations which might be made
from the Prophets : the “faithful prophet” is men-
tioned, 1 Macc., xiv., 41 ; the discomfiture of the
enemies of Israel, Judith, xvi., 17 ; universal peace,
Ecclesiast., 1., 23, 24; the reassembling of the
tribes, Tobit, xiii., 13-18; Baruch, ii., 34, 35; the
conversion of many nations, Tobit, xiii., 11; xiv.,
6, 7 : see particularly the second apocryphal book of
Esdras, which, although manifestly Judaeo-Chris-
tian, is of value as illustrating the opinions of the
times: “ Thou madest the world for our sakes ; as.
for the other people, which also come of Adam, thouHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

admitted either a part or the whole of the
common belief, as accorded with their tone
of mind and feeling. Each region, each
rank, each sect; the Babylonian, the Egyp-
tian, the Palestinian, the Samaritan ; the
Pharisee, the lawyer, the zealot, arrayed
the Messiah in those attributes which suit-
ed his own temperament. Of that which
was more methodically taught in the syn-
agogue or the adjacent school, the popu-
lace caught up whatever made the deeper
impression. The enthusiasm took an ac-
tive or contemplative, an ambitious or a
religious, an earthly or a heavenly tone,
according to the education, habits, or sta-
tion of the believer ; and to different men
the Messiah was man or angel, or more
than angel; he was king,* * * * § conqueror, or
moral reformer; a more victorious Josh-
ua, a more magnificent Herod, a wider-
ruling Caesar, a wiser Moses,f a holier
Abraham ;J an angel, the Angel of the Cov-
enant, the Metatron, the Mediator between
God and man;§ Michael, the great tutelar
archangel of the nation, who appears by
some to have been identified with the
mysterious Being who led them forth from
Egypt; he was the Word of God ;|| an
Emanation from the Deity; himself par-
taking of the Divine nature. While this
was the religious belief, some others were,
no doubt, of the Sadducaic party, or the
half-Grecised adherents of the Herodian
family, who treated the whole as a popu-

hast said that they are nothing, but be like unto
spittle; and hast likened the abundance of them
unto a drop that falleth from a vessel. * * If the
world now be made for our sakes, why do we not
possess an inheritance with the world? How long
shall this endure?—2 Esdras, vi., 56-59.

* The Gospels, passim; 2 Esdras, xii., 32.

f Thou wilt proclaim liberty to thy ,people, the
house of Israel, by the hand of Messias, as t.hou
didst by the hand of Moses and Aaron, on the day
of the Passover.—Chald. Par. on Lament., ii., 22,
quoted by Lightfoot, v., 161.

Among others to the same purport, the following,
of a later date, is curious. Moses came out of the
wilderness, and King Messias out of tne midst of
Rome ; the one spake in the head of a cloud, *and
the other spake in the head of a cloud, and the
Word of the Lord speaking between these, and they
walking together.—Targ. Jer. on Exod., xii.

X “ Behold, glorious shall be my servant King
Messiah, exalted, lofty, and very high: more exalt-
ed than Abraham, for it is written of him, I have
lifted up my hand to the Lord (Gen., xiv,, 22); and
more exalted than Moses, for it is written of him,
He saith of me, take him unto thy bosom, for he is
greater than the fathers.”—Jalkut Shamuni; see
Bertholdt, 101.

Some of the titles of the Messiah, recognised by
general belief and usage, will be noticed as they oc-
cur in the course of the history.

§ Sohar, quoted by Bertholdt, p. 121,133.

J| Many of the quotations about the Me.mra, or
Divine Word, may be found in Dr Pye Smith’s
vork on the Messiah.

lar delusion; or, as Josephus to Vespa-
sian, would not scruple to employ it as
a politic means for the advancement of
their own fortunes. While the robber-
chieftain looked out from his hill-tower to
see the blood-red banner of him whom he
literally expected to come “from Edom
with dyed garments from Bozrah,” and
“ treading the wine-press in his wrath,”
the Essene in his solitary hermitage, or
monastic fraternity of husbandmen, look-
ed to the reign of the Messiah, when the
more peaceful images of the same prophet
would be accomplished, and the Prince of
Peace establish his quiet and uninterrupted
reign.

In the body of the people, the circum-
stances of the times powerfully popular
tended both to develop more fully, belief,
and to stamp more deeply into their
hearts, the expectation of a temporal de-
liverer, a conqueror, a king. As misgov-
ernment irritated, as exaction pressed, as
national pride was wounded by foreign
domination, so enthusiasm took a fiercer
and more martial turn: as the desire of
national independence became the pre-
dominant sentiment, the Messiah was
more immediately expected to accomplish
that which lay nearest to their hearts.
The higher views of his character, and
the more unworldly hopes of a spiritual
and moral revolution, receded farther and
farther from the view; and as the time
approached in which the . Messiah was to
be born, the people in general were in a
less favourable state of mind to listen to
the doctrines of peace, humility, and love,
or to recognise that Messiah in a being so
entirely divested of temporal power or
splendour. In the ruling party, on the
other hand, as-will hereafter appear, the
dread of this inflammable state of the pub-
lic mind, and the dangerous position of
affairs, would confirm that jealousy of in-
novation inseparable from established gov-
ernments. Every tendency to commotion
would be repressed with a strong hand, pr,
at least, the rulers would be constantly on
the watch, by their forward zeal in con-
demning all disturbers of the public peace,
to exculpate themselves, with their for-
eign masters, from any participation in
the tumult. Holding, no doubt, with de-
vout, perhaps with conscientious earnest-
ness, the promised coming of the Messiah
as an abstract truth and as an article of
their religious creed, their own interests,
their rank and authority, were so connect-
ed with the existing order of things, po-
litical prudence would appear so fully te
justify more than ordinary caution, that,
while they would have fiercely resented50

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

any imputation on their want of faith in
the Divine promises, it would have been
difficult, even by the most public and im-
posing “ signs,” to have satisfied their cool
incredulity.

With all these elements of political
state of an(* religious excitement stirring
political through the whole fabric of so-
confusion, ciety, it would be difficult to con-
ceive a nation in a more extraordinary
state of suspense and agitation than the
Jews about the period of the birth of
Christ. Their temporal and religious for-
tunes seemed drawing to an immediate
issue. Their king lay slowly perishing
of a lingering and loathsome disease ; and
his temper, which had so often broken out
into paroxysms little short of insanity,
now seemed to be goaded by bodily and
mental anguish to the fury of a wild beast.
Every day might be anticipated the spec-
tacle of the execution of his eldest son,
now on his way from Rome, and known
to have been detected, in his unnatural
treasons. It seemed that even yet the
royal authority and the stern fanaticism
of the religious party, which had for many
years lowered upon each other with hos-
tile front, might grapple in a deadly strug-
gle. The more prudent of the religious
leaders could scarcely restrain the indig-
nant enthusiasm of their followers, which
broke out at once on the accession of
Archelaus ; while, on the other hand, the
almost incredible testamentary cruelty,
by which Herod commanded the heads of
the principal Jewish families to be assem-
bled in the Hippodrome, at the signal of
his death to be cut down in a promiscuous
massacre, may reasonably be ascribed to
remorseless policy as well as to frantic
vengeance. He might suppose that, by
removing all opponents of weight and in-
fluence, he could secure the peaceable
succession of his descendants, if the em-
peror, according to his promise, should
ratify the will by which he had divided
his dominions among his surviving sons.*

In the midst of this civil confusion/that
Birth of great event took place which was
Christ, to produce so total a revolution in
the state of all mankind. However stri-
king the few incidents which are related
of the birth of Christ, when contemplated
distinct and separate from the stirring
transactions of the times, and through the
atmosphere, as it were, of devotional feel-
ings, which at once seem, to magnify and
harmonize them; yet, for this very rea-
son, we are, perhaps, scarcely capable of
judging the effect which such events ac-

+ Compare Hist. cF the Jews, vo1 ii., p. 106

tually produced, and the relative magni-
tude in which they appeared to the con-
temporary generation. For, if we endeav-
our to cast ourselves back into the period
to which these incidents belong, and place
ourselves, as it were, in the midst of the
awful political crisis, which seemed about
to decide at once the independence or
servitude of the nation, and might, more
or less, affect the private and personal
welfare of each family and individual, it
will by no means move our wonder, that
the commotion excited by the appearance
of the Magians in Jerusalem, and the an-
nouncement of the birth of the Christ,
should not have made a more deep im-
pression on the public mind, and should
have passed away, it should seem, so
speedily from the popular remembrance.
In fact, even if generally credited, the in-
telligence that the Messiah had appeared
in the form of a newborn infant would
rather, perhaps, have disappointed than
gratified the high-wrought expectation,
which looked for an instant, an immediate
deliverance, and would .be too impatient
to await the slow development of his man-
hood. Whether the more1 considerate
expected the Deliverer suddenly to reveal
himself in his maturity of strength and
power may be uncertain : but the last
thing that the more ardent and fiery look-
ed for, particularly those who supposed
that the Messiah would partake of the di-
vine or superhuman nature, was his ap-
pearance as a child; the last throne to
which they would be summoned to render
their homage would be the cradle of a
helpless infant.**

Nor is it less important, throughout the
early history of Christianity, to Belief in }re_
seize the spirit of the times, tematurai in-
Events which appear to us so terPosU10!iS-
extraordinary, that we can scarcely con-
ceive that they should either fail in ex-
citing a powerful sensation, or ever be
obliterated from the popular remembrance,
in fheir own day might pass off as of little
more than ordinary occurrence. During
the whole life of "Christ, and the early
propagation of the religion, it must be
borne in mind that they took place in an
age and among a people which supersti-
tion had made so familiar with what were
supposed to be preternatural events, that
wonders awakened no emotion, or werfc
speedily superseded by some new demand
on the ever-ready belief. The Jews of
that period not only believed that the Su-
preme Being had the power of controlling
the course of nature, but that the same

* “When Christ cometh, no man knoweth

whence he is ’’—John, vii 27.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

51.

influence was possessed by multitudes of
subordinate spirits, both good and evil.
Where the pious Christian in the present
day would behold the direct agency of the
Almighty, the Jews would invariably have
interposed an angel as the author or min-
isterial agent in the wonderful transaction.
Where the Christian moralist would con-
demn the fierce passion, the ungovernable
lust, or the inhuman temper, the Jew dis-
cerned the workings of diabolical posses-
sion. Scarcely a malady was endured,
or crime committed, but it was traced to
the operation of one of these myriad
daemons, who watched every opportunity
of exercising their malice in the suffer-
ings and the sms of men.

Yet the first incident in Christian his-
Conception tory, the annunciation of the
n?dTnhnhthP conception and birth of John
Baptist the Baptist,* as its wonderful
(B.c. 5). circumstances took place in a
priestly family, and on so public a scene
as the temple, might be expected to excite
the public attention in no ordinary degree.
The four Levitical families who returned
from the Captivity had been distributed
into twenty-four courses, one of which
came into actual office in the temple every
week: they had assumed the old names,
as if descended in direct lineage from the
original heads of families ; and thus the
regular ministrations of the priesthood
were reorganized on the ancient footing,
coeval with the foundation of the temple.
In the course of Abia, the eighth in order,f
was an aged priest named Zachariah.
The officiating course were accustomed
to cast lots for the separate functions.
Some bf these were'considered of higher
dignity than others, which were either of
a more menial character, or, at least, were
not held in equal estimation. Almost the
most important was the watching and
supplying with incense the great brazen
altar, which stood within the building of
the temple, in the first or holy place.
Into this, at the sound of a small bell,
which gave notice to the worshippers at
a distance, the ministering priest entered
alone; and in the sacred chamber, into
which the light of day never penetrated,
but where the dim fires of the altar, and
the chandeliers, which were never extin-
guished, gave a solemn and uncertain
light, still more bedimmed by the clouds

* Luke, i., 5-22.

t As each came into office twice in the year,
and there is nothing to indicate whether this was
the first or second period, it appears to me quite
impossible to. calculate the time of the year in which
this event took place. Of this ordering of the
courses, observes Lightfoot, both Talmuds speak

■irgeJy ijj gf

of smoke arising from the newly-fed altar
of incense, no doubt, in the pious mind,
the sense of the more immediate presence
of the Deity, only separated by the veil,
which divided the Holy place from the
Holy of Holies, would constantly have
awakened the most profound emotions.
While the priest was employed within
the gates, the multitude of worshippers
in the adjacent court awaited his return;
for it should seem that the offering of in-
cense was considered emblematic of the
prayers of the whole nation; and though
it took place twice every day, at morning
and evening, the entrance and return ol
the priest from the mysterious precincts
was watched by the devout with some-
thing of awful anxiety.

This day, to the general astonishment,
Zachariah, to whom the function had
fallen, lingered far beyond the customary
time. For it is said of the high-priest’s
annual entrance into the Holy of Holies,
that he usually stayed within as short a
time as possible, lest the anxious people
should fear that, on account of some
omission in the offering, or guilt in the
minister, or perhaps in the nation, of which
he was the federal religious head, he might
have been stricken with death. It may
be supposed, therefore, that even in the
subordinate ceremonies there was a cer-
tain ordinary time, after which the de-
vouter people would begin to tremble,
lest their representative, who, in their be-
half, was making the national offering,
might have met with some sinister or
fatal sign of the Divine disfavour. When
at length Zachariah appeared, he could not
speak; and it was evident that in some
mysterious manner he had been struck
dumb, and to the anxious inquiries he
could only make known by signs that
something awful and unusual had taken
place within the sanctuary. At what
period he made his full relation of the
wonderful fact which had occurred does
not appear; but. it was a relation of ab-
sorbing interest both to the aged man him-.
self, who, although his wife was far ad-
vanced in years, was to be blessed with
offspring, and to the whole people, as in-
dicating the fulfilment of one of the pre-
liminary signs which were universally
accredited as precursive of the Messiah.

In the vision of Zachariah he had be-
held an angel standing on the vision of
right side of the altar, who an- Zachariah.
nounced that his prayer was heard,* and

* Grotius and many other writers are of opin-
ion that by this is mdant, not the prayer of Zacha-
riah for ofchng, but the general national orayer,52

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

that his barren house was to be blessed ;
that his aged wife should bear a son, and
that son be consecrated from his birth to
the service of God, and observe the strict-
est austerity; that he.was to revive the
decaying spirit of religion, unite the dis-
organized nation, and, above all, should
appear as the expected harbinger, who
was to precede and prepare the way for
the approaching Redeemer. The angel
proclaimed himself to be the messenger
of God (Gabriel), and both as a punish-
ment for his incredulity, and a sign of the
certainty of the promise, Zachariah was
struck dumb, but with an assurance that
the affliction should remain only till the
accomplishment of the Divine prediction
in the birth of his son.* * If, as has been
said, the vision of Zachariah was in any
manner communicated to the assembled
people (though the silence of the evan-
gelist makes strongly against any such
supposition), or even to his kindred the
officiating priesthood, it would no doubt
have caused a great sensation, falling in,
as it would, with the prevailing tone of
the . public mind. For it was the general
belief that some messenger would, in the
language of Isaiah, “ prepare the way of
the Lord and the last words which had,
as it were, sealed the book of prophecy,
intimated, as many supposed, the personal
reappearance of Elijah, the greatest, and,
in popular opinion, a sort of representa-
tive of the whole prophetic community.
The ascetic life to which the infant proph-
et was to be dedicated, according to the
Nazaritish vow of abstinence from all
wine or strong drink, was likewise a
characteristic of the prophetic order,
which, although many, more particularly
among the Essenes, asserted their in-
spired knowledge of futurity, was gener-
ally considered to have ceased in the per-
son of Malachi, the last whose oracles
were enrolled in the sacred canon.f
It does not appear that dumbness was a
Retarn of legal disqualification for the sa-
Zachariah cerdotal function, for Zachariah
to Hebron. remaine(q among his brethren, the

offered by him in his ministerial function,for the ap-
pearance of the Messiah.

* According to Josephus, Ant., xiii., J8, Hyr-
canus, the high-priest, heard a voice from heaven
while he was offering on the altar of incense.

f The mythic interpreters (see Strauss, p. 138)
assert that this “ short poem,” as they call it, was
invented out of the passages in the Old Testament
relating to the births of Isaac, Samson, and Sam-
uel, by a Judaizing Christian, while there were still
genuine followers of John the Baptist, in order to
conciliate them to Christianity. This is admitting
very high antiquity of the passage ; and, unless it
coincided with their own traditions, was it likely to
have any influence upon that sect ?

priests, till their week of ministration eiiu
ed. He then returned to his usual resi
deuce in the southern part of Judaea, mosj
probably in the ancient and well-known
city of Hebron,* which was originally a
Levitical city ; and although the'sacerdo-
tal order do not seem to have resumed the
exclusive possession of their cities at the
return from the Captivity, it might lead
the priestly families to settle more gener-
ally in those towns ; and Hebron, though
of no great size, was considered remark-
ably populous in proportion to its extent.
The Divine promise began to be accom-
plished ; and, during the five first months
of her pregnancy, Elizabeth, the wife of
Zachariah, concealed herself, either avoid-
ing the curious inquiries of her neighbours
in these jealous and perilous times, or in
devotional retirement, rendering thanks to
the Almighty for the unexpected bless-
ing.f

It was on a far less public scene that
the birth of Christ, of whom the Ammnci-
child of Zachariah was to be the
harbinger, was announced to the Virgin
Mother. The families which traced their
descent from the house of David had fallen
into poverty and neglect. When, after the
return from the Babylonian Captivity, the
sovereignty had been assumed, first by
the high-priests of Levitical descent, sub-
sequently by the Asmonean family, who
were likewise of the priestly line, and
finally by the house of Herod, of Idu-
mean origin, but ingrafted into the Mac-
cabean line by the marriage of Herod with
Mariamne, it was the most obvious policy
to leave in the obscurity into which they
had sunk that race which, if it should pro-
duce any pretendant of the least distinc-
tion, he might advance an hereditary
claim, as dear to the people as it would
be dangerous to the reigning dynasty.
The whole descendants of the royal race
seem to have sunk so low, that even the
popular belief, which looked to the line of
David as that from which the Messiah
was to spring,J did not invest them with

* Yet, as there seems no reason why the city ol
Hebron should not be. named, many of the most
learned writers, Yalesius, Reland, Haremberg,
Kuinoel, have supposed that Jutta (the name of a
small city) is the right reading, which, being little
known, was altered into a city (of) Judah.

+ Luke, i., 23-25.

t This opinion revived so strongly in the time oj
Domitian, as, according to the Christian historian,
to awaken the apprehension of the Roman emperor,
who commanded diligent search to be made for ali
who claimed descent from the line of David. It
does not appear how many were discovered, as Eu-
sebius relates the story merely for the purpose of
showing that the descendants of our Lord’s breth-
ren were brought before the emperor, and dismisse/HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

sufficient importance to awaken the jeal-
ousy or suspicion of the rulers. Joseph,
a man descended from this royal race, had
migrated, for some unknown reason, to a
distance from the part of the land inhabit-
ed by the tribe of Benjamin, to which,
however, they were sffll considered to be-
long. He settled in Nazareth, an obscure
town in Lower Galilee, which, independ-
ent of the general disrepute in which the
whole of the Galilean provinces were held
by the inhabitants of the more holy dis-
trict of Judaea, seems to have been mark-
ed by a kind of peculiar proverbial con-
tempt. Joseph had been betrothed to a
virgin of his own race named Mary, but,
according to Jewish usage, some time was
to elapse between the betrothment and the
espousals. In this interval took place the
annunciation of the Divine conception to
the Virgin.* * In no part is the singular
simplicity of the Gospel narrative more
striking than in the relation of this inci-
dent ; and I should be inclined, for this
reason alone, to reject the notion that
these chapters were of a later date.f So
early does that remarkable characteristic
of the evangelic writings develop itself;
the manner in which they relate, in the
same calm and equable tone, the most
extraordinary and most trivial events; the
apparent absence either of wonder in the
writer, or the desire of producing a strong
effect on the mind of the‘reader.J To il-
lustrate this, no passage can be more stri-
king than the account of her vision : “And
the angel came in unto her, and said,
Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the
Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among
women. And when she saw him, she was

as simple labourers, too humble to be regarded with
suspicion. Many families of this lineage may have
perished in the exterminating war of Titus, between
the birth of Christ and this inquiry of Domitian. In
later times the Prince of the Captivity, with what
right it would be impossible to decide, traced his
descent from the line of the ancient kings. —Conf.
Casaubon, Exercit. anti-Baron., ii., p. 17.

* Luke, i., 26, 38.

f I cannot discover any great force in the critical
arguments adduced to disjoin these preliminary
chapters from the rest of the narrative. There is
a very remarkable evidence of their authenticity in
the curious apocryphal book (the Ascensio Isaige,
published from the AEthiopic by Archbishop Law-
rence).—Compare Gesenius, Jesaias, Einleitung,
p. 50. This writing marks its own date, the end of
the reign of Nero, with unusual certainty, and con-
tains distinct allusions to these facts, as forming in-
tegral parts of the life of Christ. The events were
no doubt treasured in the memory of Mary, and
might by her be communicated to the apostles.

t I may be in error, but this appears to me the
marked and perceptible internal difference between
the genuine and apocryphal Gospels. The latter
are mythic, not merely in the matter, but also in
their style.

troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind
what manner of salutation this should be.
A nd the angel said unto her, Fear not,
Mary; for thou hast found favour with
God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in
thy womb, and bring forth a Son, and shalt
call his name Jesus. He shall be great,
and shall be called the Son of the High-
est : and the Lord God shall give unto him
the throne of his father David : and he
shall reign over the house of Jacob for
ever; and of his kingdom there shall be
no end. Then said Mary unto the angel,
How shall thig be, seeing I know not a
man ? And the angel answered and said
unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come
upon thee, and the power of the Highest
shall overshadow thee: therefore also
that holy thing which shall be born of
thee shall be called the Son of God. And,
behold, thy cousin Elizabeth, she hath also
conceived a son in her old age ; and this
is the sixth month with her, who was call-
ed barren. For with God nothing shall
be impossible. And Mary said, Behold
the handmaid of the Lord ; be it unto me
according to thy word. And the angel
departed from her/’

The incarnation of the Deity, or the
union of some part of the Divine incarnation
Essence with a material or hu- ofthe Deity,
man body, is by no means an uncommon
religious notion, more particularly in the
East. Yet, in the doctrine as subsequently
developed by Christianity, there seems
the same important difference which char-
acterizes the whole system of the ancient
and modern religions. It is in the former
a mythological impersonation of the pow-
er, in Christ it is the goodness of the De-
ity, which, associating itself with a human
form, assumes the character of a repre-
sentative of the human race; in whose
person is exhibited a pure model of moral
perfection, and whose triumph over evil is
by the slow and gradual progress of en-
lightening the mind, and softening and pu-
rifying the heart. The moral purpose of
the descent of the Deity is by no means
excluded in the religions, in which a sim-
ilar notion has prevailed, as neither is that
of Divine power, though confining itself to
acts of pure beneficence, from the Chris-
tian scheme. This seems more particular-
ly the case, if we may state anything with
certainty concerning those half-mythologi-
cal, half-real personages, the Buddh, Gau-
tama, or Somalia Codom of the remoter
East.* In these systems likewise the

* The characteristic of the Budhist religion,
which in one respect may be considered (I depre
cate misconstruction) the Christianity of the re-
moter East, seems a union r.f political with reli-54

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

overbearing excess of human wickedness
demands the interference, and the restora-
tion of a better order of things is the ob-
ject, which vindicates the presence of the
imbodied Deity; yet there is invariably a
greater or less connexion with the Orien-
tal cosmogonical systems; it is the tri-
umph of mind over matter, the termination
of the long strife between the two adverse
principles. The Christian scheme, how-
ever it may occasionally admit the current
language of the time, as where Christ is'
called the “ Light of the World,” yet in its
scope and purport stands plear and inde-
pendent of all these physical notions : it is
original, inasmuch as it is purely, essen-
tially, and exclusively a. moral revelation;
its sole design to work a moral change ;
to establish a new relation between man
and the Almighty Creator, and to bring to
light the great secret of the immortality
of man.

Hence the only deviation from the
Sirih from course of nature was the birth of
a virgin, this Being from a pure virgin.* *

gious reformation ; its end to substitute purer mo-
rality for the wild and multifarious idolatry into
which Brahminism had degenerated, and to break
down the distinction of castes. But Budhism ap-
pears to be essentially monastic ; and how different
the superstitious regard for life in the Budhist from
the enlightened humanity of Christianity 1—See
Mahony, in Asiat. Research., vii., p. 40.

M. Klaproth has somewhere said that, “next to
the Christian, no religion has contributed more to
ennoble the human race than the Buddha religion.”
Compare likewise the very judicious observations
of Wm. Humboldt, fiber die ICawi Sprache, p. 95.

* According to,a tradition known in the West at
an early period, and quoted by Jerom (Adv. Jovin.,
c. 26), Budh was bom of a virgin. So were the
Fohi of China and the Schaka of Thibet, no doubt
the same, whether a mythic or a real personage.
The Jesuits in China were appalled at finding in
the mythology of that country the counterpart of
the “ Virgo Deipara.” (Barrow’s Travels in China,
i.) There is something extremely curious in the
appearance of the same religious notions in remote
and apparently quite disconnected countries, where
it is impossible to trace the secret manner of their
transmission. Certain incidents, for example, in
the history of the Indian Crishna, are so similar to
those of the life of Christ, that De Guigniaut is al-
most inclined to believe that they are derived from
some very early Christian tradition. In the present
instance, however, the peculiar sanctity attributed
to virginity in all countries, where the ascetic prin-
ciple is held in high honour as approximating the
pure and passionless human being to the Divinity,
might suggest such an origin for a Deity in human
form. But the birth of Budh seems purely mythic:
he was bom from Maia, the virgin goddess of the
imaginative world—as it were the Phantasia of the
Greeks, who was said by some to have given birth
to Homer. The Schaka of Thibet was born from
the nymph Lhamoghinpral.—Georgi. Alph. Tibet.
Compare Rosenmiiller, das Alte und Neue Morgen-
land, v. iv.; on Budh and his birth, Bohlen, i., 312.

. I am inclined to think that the Jews, though par-
tially Orientalized in their opinions, were the peo-

Much has been written on this suDjeet,
but it is more consistent with our object to
point out the influence of this doctrine
upon the human mind, as hence its har-
mony with the general design of Christi-
anity becomes more manifest.

We estimate very inadequately the in
fluence or the value of any religion, if we
merely consider its dogmas, its precepts,
or its opinions. - The impression it makes,
the emotions it awakens, the sentiments
which it inspires, are perhaps its most
vital and effective energies : from these
men continually act; and the character of
a particular age is more distinctly marked
by the predominance of these silent but
universal motives, than by the professed
creed or prevalent philosophy, or, in gen-
eral, by the opinions of the times. Thus
none of the primary facts in the history of
a widely-extended religion can be without
effect on the character of its believers.
The images perpetually presented to the
mind, work, as it were, into its most inti-
mate being, become incorporated with the
feelings, and thus powerfully contribute to
form the moral nature of the whole race.
Nothing could be more appropriate than
that the martial Romans should derive
their origin from the nursling of the wolf
or from the god of war; and whether those
fables sprung from the national tempera-
ment, or contributed to form it, however
these fierce images were enshrined in the
national traditions, they were at once the
emblem and example of that bold and re-
lentless spirit, which gradually developed
itself until it had made the Romans the
masters of the world. The circumstances
of the birth of Christ were as strictly in
unison with the design of the religion.
This incident seemed to incorporate with
the general feeling the deep sense of holi-
ness and gentleness which was to char-
acterize the followers of Jesus Christ. It
was the consecration of sexual purity and
maternal tenderness. No doubt by falling
in, to a certain degree, with the ascetic
spirit of Oriental enthusiasm, the former
incidentally tended to confirm the sanctity

pie among whom such a notion was least likely to
originate of itself. Marriage by the mass of the
people was considered in a holy light; and there
are traces that the hopes of becoming the mother of
the Messiah was one of the blessings which, in
their opinion, belonged to marriage ; and, after ali,
before we admit the originality of these notions in
some of the systems to which they belong, we must
ascertain (the most intricate problem in the history
of the Eastern religious opinions) their relative an-
tiquity, as compared with the Nestorian Christian-
ity, so widely prevalent in the East, and the effects
of this form of Christianity on the more remote
Oriental creeds. Jerome’s testimony is the most
remarkable.hiSTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ol celibacy, which for so many ages reign-
ed paramount in the Church; and in the
days in which the Virgin Mother was as-
sociated with her divine Son in the gen-
eral adoration, the propensity to this wor-
ship was strengthened by its coincidence
with the better feelings of our nature, es-
pecially among the female sex. Still the
substitution of these images for such as
formed the symbols of the older religions
was a great advance towards that holier
and more humane tone of thought and
feeling with which it was the professed
design of the new religion to imbue the
mind of man.*

In the marvellous incidents which fol-
visit to low, the visit of the Virgin Mother
Elizabeth, to her cousinf Elizabeth,J when
the joy occasioned by the miraculous
conception seemed to communicate itself
to the child of which the latter was preg-
nant, and called forth her ardent expres-
sions of homage ; and in the Magnificat,
or song of thanksgiving, into which, like
Hannah in the older Scriptures, the Virgin
broke forth, it is curious to observe how
completely and exclusively consistent
every expression appears with the state
of,belief at that period; all is purely Jew-
ish, and accordant with the prevalent ex-
pectation of the national Messiah there
is no word which seems to imply any ac-
quaintance with the unworldly and purely
moral nature of the redemption which
was subsequently developed. It may per-
haps appear too closely to press the terms
of that which was the common, almost
the proverbial, language of the devotional

* The poetry of this sentiment is beautifully ex-
pressed by Wordsworth:

Mother ! whose virgin bosom was uncross’d
With the least shade or thought to sin allied;
Woman, above all women glorified,

O’er-tainted Nature’s solitary boast:

Purer than foam on central ocean toss’d,

Brighter than Eastern skies at daybreak strewn
With forced roses, than th’ unblemish’d moon
Before her wane begins on heaven’s blue coast,
Thy image falls to earth. Yet sure, I ween,

Not unforgiven the suppliant here might bind,

As to a visible power, in whom did blend
All that was mixed and reconciled in thee
Of mother’s love and maiden purity,

Of high with low, celestial with terrene,
f Elizabeth must have been farther removed
than a first cousin; for as it is clear that Mary, as
well as her husband, were of the line of David, and
Elizabeth of the priestly line, the connexion must
have been formed in a preceding generation.

1 Luke, i., 39, 56.

§ Agreeing so far as the fact with Strauss, I
should draw a directly opposite inference, the high
improbability that this remarkable keeping, this pure
Judaism, without the intervention of Christian no-
tions, should have been maintained, if this passage
had been invented or composed after the complete
formation of the Christian scheme.

feelings : yet the expressions which* in-
timate the degradation of the mighty from
their seat, the disregard of the wealthy,
the elevation of the lowly and the meek,
and respect to the low estate of the poor,
sound not unlike an allusion to the rejec-
tion of the proud and splendid royal race
which had so long ruled the nation, and
the assumption of the throne of David by
one born in a more humble state.* §

After the return of Mary to Nazareth,
the birth of John the Baptist ex- Birth of.John
cited the attention of the whole the Baptist,
of Southern Judaea to the fulfilment of the
rest of the prediction.! When the child
is about to be named, the dumb father in-
terferes ; he writes on a tablet the name
by which he desires him to be called, and
instantaneously recovers his speech. It
is not unworthy of remark, that in this
hymn of thanksgiving, the part which was
to be assigned to John in the promulgation
of the new faith, and his subordination to
the unborn Messiah, are distinctly an
nounced. Already, while one is but a
newborn infant, the other scarcely con-
ceived in the womb of his mother, they
have assumed their separate stations : the
child of Elizabeth is announced as the
prophet of the Highest, who shall go ** be-
fore the face of the Lord, to prepare his
ways.” Yet even here the Jewish notion
predominates: the first object of the Mes-
siah’s coming is that the children of Israel
“ should be saved from their enemies and
from the hand of all that hate them ; that
they, being delivered from the hand of their
ememies, might serve him without fear.”!

As the period approaches at which the
child of Mary is to be born, an ap- journey to
parently fortuitous circumstance Bethlehem
summons both Joseph and the Virgin
Mother from their residence in the un
popular town of Nazareth, in the province
of Galilee, to Bethlehem, a small village
to the south of Jerusalem.§ Joseph, on
the discovery of the pregnancy of his be-

* Neander, in his recently-published work, has
made similar observations on the Jewish notions
in the Song of Simeon.—Leben Jesu, p. 26.

t Luke, i., 57, 80.

t Even the expression the “ remission of sins,”
which to a Christian ear may bear a different sense,
to the Jew would convey a much narrower mean-
ing. All calamity, being a mark of the Divine dis-
pleasure, was an evidence of sin: every mark of
Divine favour, therefore, an evidence of Divine for
giveness. The expression is frequently used in its
Jewish sense in the book of Maccabees.. 1 Macc.,
iii., 8. 2 Macc., viii., 5, 27, and 29 ; vii., 98. Le
Clerc has made a similar observation (note in loc.),
but is opposed by Whitby, who, however, does not
appear to have been very profoundly acquainted
with Jewish phraseology.

§ Matt., i., 18, 25.56

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

trottied, being a man of gentle* character,
had been willing to spare her the rigorous
punishment enacted by the lav/ in such
cases, and determined on a private dis-
solution of the marriage.f A vision, how-
ever, warned him of the real state* of the
case, and he no longer hesitated, though
abstaining from all connexion, to take
her to his home; and accordingly, being
of the same descent, she accompanied
him to Bethlehem. This town, as the
birthplace of David, had always been con-
secrated in the memory of the Jews with
peculiar reverence; and no prediction in
the Old Testament appears more distinct
than that which assigns Aor the nativity
of the great Prince, who was to perpetuate
the line of David, the same town which
had given birth to his royal ancestor*!

The decree of the Emperor Augustus,§
Decree of in obedience to which the whole
Augustus, population of Palestine was to be
enrolled and registered, has been, and still
remains, an endless subject of controver-
sy.|| One point seems clear, that the en-

* Grotius, in loc. from Chrysostom.

f A bill of divorce was necessary, even when
the parties were only betrothed, and where the
marriage had not actually been solemnized. It is
probable that the Mosaic law, which in such cases
adjudged a female to death (Deut., xx., 23-25),-was
riot at this time executed in its original rigour. It
appears from Abarbanel (Buxtorf, de Uivort.), that,
in certain cases, a betrothed’ maiden might be di-
vorced without stating the cause in the bill of di-
vorce. This is the meaning of the word \d6pa, se-
cretly. % Micah, v., 2. § Luke, ii., 1,7.

11 The great difficulty arises from the introduc-
tion of the name of Cyrenius as the governor, under
whose direction the enrolment, or, as it is no doubt
mistranslated in our version, the taxation, took
place. But it is well known that Cyrenius did not
become governor of Syria till several years later.
The most usual way of accounting for this difficul-
ty, adopted by Lardner and Paley, is the natural
one of supposing that Cyrenius conducted the trans-
action while holding a subordinate situation in the
province, of which he afterward became governor,
and superintended a more regular taxation. But
Mr. Greswell has recently adduced strong reasons
for questioning whether Cyrenius could have been
at this time in Palestine; and I agree with him,
that such a census must have been made by the
native authorities under Plerod. The alternative
remains, either to suppose some error in the Gospel
of St. Luke as it now stands, or to adopt another
version. That followed by Mr. Greswell, notwith-
standing his apparent authorities, sounds to me quite
irreconcilable with the genius of the Greek lan-
guage. There cannot, perhaps, be found a more
brief and satisfactory summary of the different opin-
ions on this subject than in the common book, Els-
ley’s Annotations on the Gospels. Tholuck, jn his
answer to Strauss, has examined the question at
great,length, p. 162-198. Neander fairly admits
the possibility of a mistake in a point of this kind
on the part of the evangelists, Leben Jesu, p. 19.
Wj'-,h him, I am at a loss to conceive how Dr.
Sti mss can imagine a myth in such a plain, prosaic
sentence.

rolment must have been oi the nature oi x
papulation census ; for any property pos-
sessed by Joseph or Mary must have been
at Nazareth; and the enrolment, which
seems to have included both husband and
wife, was made at the place where the
genealogical registers of the tribes were
kept. About this period Josephus gives
an account of an oath of allegiance and of
fidelity to Caesar and to the interests of
the reigning sovereign, which was to be
taken by the whole Jewish nation. The
affair of this oath is strangely mingled up
with predictions of a change of dynasty,
and with the expected appearance of a
great king, under whose All-powerful
reign the most extraordinary events were
to take place. Six thousand of the Phari-
sees, the violent religious party, resolute-
ly refused to take the oath. They were
fined, and their fine discharged by the low-
born wife of Pheroras, the brother of Her-
od, into whose line certain impostors or
enthusiasts, pretending to the gift of proph-
ecy, had declared that the succession was
to pass.* A eunuch, Bagoas, to whom
they had promised peculiar and miracu-
lous advantages during the reign of the
great predicted king,! was implicated in
this conspiracy, and suffered death, with
many of the obstinate Pharisees and of
Herod’s kindred. It is highly probable
that the administration of the oath of alle-
giance in Josephus, and the census in St.
Luke, belong to the same transaction ; for,
if the oath was to be taken by all the sub-
jects of Herod, a general enrolment would
be necessary throughout his dominions ;
and it was likely, according to Jewish
usage, that this enrolment would be con-
ducted according to the established divis-
ions of the tribes.! If, however, the ex-
pectation of the Messiah had penetrated
even into the palace of Herod; if it had
been made use of in the intrigues and dis-
sensions among the separate branches o 1

* Though inclined to agree with Lardner in sup-
posing that the census or population-return men-
tioned by St. Luke was connected with the oath of
fidelity to Augustus and to Herod, I cannot entei
into his notion, that the whole circumstantial and
highly credible statement of Josephus is but a ma
liciously-disguised accour. t of the incidents which
took place at the birth of Christ.—Lardner’s Works,
vol. i. (4to edit.), p. 152.

t Independent of the nature of this promise, on
which I am intentionally silent, the text of Jose-
phus (Ant., xvii., 2, 6) is unintelligible as it stands;
nor is the emendation proposed by Ward, a friend
of Lardner’s, though ingenious, altogether satisfac
tory.—Ibid.

t The chronological difficulties in this case do
not appear to me of great importance, as the whole
affair of the oath may have occupied some time,
and the enrolment may have taken place somewhat
later in the provinces than in the capital.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

rns family; if the strong religious faction
had! not scrupled to assume the character
of divinely-inspired prophets, and to pro-
claim an immediate change of dynasty,
the whole conduct of Herod, as described
by the evangelists, harmonizes in a most
singular manner with the circumstances
of the times. Though the birth of Jesus
might, appear to Herod but as an insignifi-
cant episode in the more dangerous tragic
plot which was unfolding itself in his own
family, yet his jealous apprehension at
the very name of a newborn native King
would seize at once on the most trifling
cause of suspicion ; and the judicial mas-
sacre of many of the most influential of
the Pharisees, and of his own kindred in
Jerusalem, which took place on the dis-
covery of this plot, was a fitting prelude
for the slaughter of all the children under
a certain age in Bethlehem.

But whether the enrolment which sum-
Binh of moned Joseph and Mary to the town
Christ, where the registers of their descent
were kept was connected with this oath
of fidelity to the emperor and the king,
or whether it was only a population-re-
turn, made by the command of the em-
peror, in all the provinces where the Ro-
man sovereignty or influence extended,*
it singularly contributed to the completion
of the prophecy to which we have allu-
ded, which designated the City of David
as the birthplace of the Messiah. Those
who claimed descent from the families
whose original possessions were in the
neighbourhood of Bethlehem, crowded the
whole of the small town ; and in the sta-
ble, of the inn or caravansera was born
THE CHILD, whose moral doctrines, if
adopted throughout the world, would de-
stroy more than half the misery by de-
stroying all the vice and mutual hostility
of men; and who has been for centuries
considered the object of adoration, as the
Divine Mediator between God and Man,
by the most civilized and enlightened na-
tions of the earth. Of this immediate
epoch only one incident is recorded ; but,
in all the early history of Christianity, no-
thing is more beautiful, nor in more per-

* This view is maintained by Tholuck, and seems
to receive some support from the high authority of
Savigny, writing on another subject; it is support-
ed by two passages of late writers, Isidore and Cas-
siodorus. Augusti siquidem temporibus orbis Ro-
rnanus agris divisus censuque descriptus est, ut
possessio sua nulli haberetur incerta, quam pro trib-
utorum susceperat quantitate solvenda. Of itself,
the authority of Cassiodorus, though a . sensible
writer, would have no great weight; but he may
have read many works unknown to us on this pe-
riod of history, of which, we possess singularly im-
perfect informp.fi m.

feet unison with the future character of
the religion, than the first revelation of its
benign principles by voices from Heaven
to the lowly shepherds.* The proclama-
tion of “ Glory to God, Peace on earth,
and good-will towards men,” is not made
by day, but in the quiet stillness of the
night ;f not in the stately temple of the
ancient worship, but among the peaceful
pastures ; not to the religious Senate of
the Jewish people, or to the priesthood
arrayed in all the splendour of public
ministration, but to peasants employed
in their lowly occupation.;];

In eight days, according to the law, the
child was initiated into the race of Abra-
ham by the rite of circumcision: and
when the forty days of purification, like-
wise appointed by the statute, are over,
the Virgin Mother hastens to make the
customary presentation of the firstborn
male in the temple. Her offering is that
of the poorer Jewish females, who, while
the more wealthy made an oblation of a
lamb, were content with the least costly,
a pair of turtle doves, or two young pi-
geons.^ Only two persons are recorded
as having any knowledge of the future
destiny of the child, Anna, a woman en-
dowed with a prophetical character, and
the aged Simeon. That Simeon|| was not

55 Luke, ii, 8, 20.

t Neander has well observed, that the modesty
of this quiet scene is not in accordance with what
might be expected from the fertility and boldness
of mythic invention.

X The year in which Christ was born is still con-
tested. There is still more uncertainty concerning
the time of the year, which learned men are still
labouring to determine. Where there is and can
be no certainty, it is the wisest course to acknowl-
edge our ignorance, and not to claim the authority
of historic truth for that which is purely conjectu-
ral. The two ablest modem writers who have in-
vestigated the chronology of the life of Christ, Dr.
Burton and Mr. Gres well, have come to opposite
conclusions, one contending for the spring, the
other for the autumn. Even if the argument of ei-
ther had any solid ground to rest on, it would be
difficult (would it be worth while?) to extirpate the
traditionary belief so beautifully imbodied in Mil-
ton’s Hymn :

It was the winter wild

When the Heaven-born child, &c.

Were the point of the least importance, we should,
no doubt, have known more about it. Quid tan-
dem refert annum et diem exorti luminis ignorare,
quum apparuisse illud, et c?ecis hominum mentibus
illuxisse constet, neque sit, quod obsistat nobis, ne
splendore ac calore ejus utamur.—Mosbeim. There
is a good essay in the Opuscula of Jablonski, iii.,
317, on the origin of the festivity of Christmas-day

£ Luke, ii., 21, 39.

il This was the notion of Lightfoot, who, though
often invaluable as interpreting the New Testa,
ment from Jewish usages, is sometimes misled by
his Rabbinism into fanciful analogies and illustia
tions,—Hist. Jews, iii., 83, note.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

ft8

the celebrated master of the schools of
Jewish learning, the son of Hillel, and the
father of Gamaliel, is fairly inferred from
the silence of St. Luke, who, though chief-
ly writing for the Greek converts, would
scarcely have omitted to state distinct-
ly the testimony of so distinguished a
man to the Messiahship of Jesus. There
are other insurmountable historical objec-
tions.* Though occurrences among the
more devout worshippers in the temple

Simeon wpre perhaps less likely to reach
..imeon. ^ car 0f Herod than those in any

other part of the city, yet it was impossi-
ble that the solemn act of recognising the
Messiah in the infant son of Mary, on so
public a scene, by a man whose language
and conduct was watched by the whole
people, could escape observation. Such
an acknowledgment, by so high an author-
ity, would immediately have been noised
abroad ; no prudence could have suppress-
ed the instantaneous excitement. Besides
this, if alive at this time, Simeon, Ben
Hillel, would have presided in the court
of inquiry, summoned by Herod, after
His bene- the appearance of the Magi. The
diction, most remarkable point in the ben-
ediction of Simeon is the prediction that
the child, who, it would have been sup-
posed, would have caused unmingled pride
and joy, should also be the cause of the
deepest sorro w to his mother, and of the
most fearful calamities, as well as of glo-
ry, to the nation.f

The intercommunion of opinions be-
tween the Jewish and Zoroastrian reli-
gions throws great light on the visit of
TllpMa(ri the Magi, or Wise Men, to Jeru-
salem. The impregnation of the
Jewish notions about the xMessiah with
the Magi an doctrines of the final triumph
of Ormusd, makes it by no means improb-
able that, on the other side, the national
doctrines of the Jews may have worked
their way into the popular belief of the

* Our first and not least embarrassing difficulty
in harmonizing the facts recorded in the several
Gospels is the relative priority of the presentation
in the temple and the visit of the Magians to Beth-
lehem. On one side there appears no reason for
the return of the parents and the child, after the
presentation, to Bethlehem, where they appear to
have had no friends, and where the object of their
visit was most probably effected : on the other hand,
it is still more improbable that, after the visit of the
Magians, they should rush, as it were, into the
very jaws of danger, by visiting Jerusalem after the
jealousy of Herod was awakened. Yet in both
cases, it should be remembered, that Bethlehem
was but six miles, or two hours’journey, from Je-
rusalem.—Reland, Palestine, p. 424. See, on one
side, Schleiermacher’s Essay on St. Luke, p. 47,
though I entirely dissent on this point from the ex-
planation of this author; on the other, Hug’s In-
■t/oduction. f Matt., ii., 1-12.

East, or, at least, into the opinions of those
among the Magian hierarchy who had
come more immediately into contact with
the Babylonian Jews.* From them they
may have adopted the expectation of the
Great Principle of Light in a human form,
and descending, according to ancient proph-
ecy, from the race of Israel; and thus have
been prepared to set forth at the first ap-
pearance of the luminous body by which
they were led to Judaea.f The universal
usage of the East, never to approach the
presence of a superior, particularly a sov-
ereign, without some precious gift, is nat-
urally exemplified in their costly but port-
able offerings of gold, myrrh, and frank-
incense. x

The appearance of these strangers in
Jerusalem at this critical period, Magi in
particularly if considered in con- Jerusalem
nexion with the conspiracy in the family
of Herod and among the religious faction,
as it excited an extraordinary sensation
through the whole city, would reawaken
all the watchfulness of the monarch. The
assemblage of the religious authorities, in
order that they might judicially declare the
place from which the Messiah was expect-
ed, might be intended not merely to direct
the ministers of the royal vengeance to
the quarter from whence danger was to
be apprehended, but to force the acknowl-

* The communication with Babylonia at this
period was constant and regular; so much so,
that Herod fortified and garrisoned a strong castle,
placed under a Babylonian commander, to protect
the caravans from.this quarter from the untameable
robbers of the Trachonitis, the district east of the
Jordan and of the Sea of Tiberias.

f What this luminous celestial appearance yvas
has been debated with unwearied activity. I would
refer more particularly to the work of Ideler, Hand
buch der Chronologie, ii., 399. There will be found,
very clearly stated, the opinion of Kepler (adopted
by Bishop Miinter), which explains it as a conjunc-
tion between Jupiter and Saturn.

For my own part, l cannot understand why the
words of St. Matthew, relating to such a subject,
are to be so rigidly interpreted ; the same latitude
of expression may be allowed on astronomical sub-
jects as necessarily must be in the Old Testament.
The vagueness and uncertainty, possibly the sci-
entific inaccuracy, seem to me the inevitable con-
sequences of the manner in which such circum-
stances must have been preserved, as handed down,
and subsequently reduced to writing, by simple per-
sons, awe-struck under such extraordinary events.

t It is the general opinion that the Magi came
from Arabia. Pliny and Ptolemy (Grotius, in loc.)
name Arabian Magi; and the gifts were considered
the produce of that country. But, in fact, gold,
myrrh, and frankincense are too common in the
East, and too generally used as presents to a supe-
rior, to indicate, with any certainty, the place from
whence they came. If, indeed, by Arabia be meant
not the peninsula, but the whole district reaching
to the Euphrates, this notion may be true; but it is
more probable that they came from beyond the Eu-
phrates.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

5C)

edged interpreter of the sacred writings
to an authoritative declaration as to the
circumstances of the Messiah’s birth; so,
if any event should occur contrary to
their version of the prophecies, either to
commit them on the side of the ruling
powers, or altogether to invalidate the ex-
pectation that was dangerously brooding
in the popular mind. The subtlety of
Herod’s character is as strikingly exhib-
ited in his pretended resolution to join the
Magians in their worship of the newborn
king, as his relentless decision, when the
Magians did not return to Jerusalem, in
commanding the general massacre of all
the infants under the age of two years in
Bethlehem and its district.*

Egypt, where, by Divine command, the
Flight into parents of Jesus took refuge, was
Esypt. but a few days’ journey, on a line
perpetually frequented by regular cara-
vans ; and in this country, those who fled
from Palestine could scarcely fail to meet
with hospitable reception among some

of that second nation of Jews who inhab-
ited Alexandrea and its neighbourhood.*
On their return from Egypt after the
death of Herod (which took place Return to
in the ensuing year, though the csaiiiee.
parents of Jesus did not leave Egypt till
the accession of Archelaus), Joseph, justly
apprehensive that the son might inherit
the jealousy and relentless disposition oi
the father, of which he had already given
fearful indications, retired to his former'
residence in Galilee, under the less sus-
picious dominion of Herod Antipas.f
There the general prejudice against Gali-
lee might be their best security; and the
universal belief that it was in Judaea that
that great king was to assume his sov-
ereignty, would render their situation less
perilous; for it was the throne of the
monarch of Judah, the dominion of the
ruler in Jerusalem, rather than the gov-
ernment of the Galilean tetrarch, which
would have been considered in danger
from the appearance of the Messiah.

APPENDIX TO CH AFTER II.

I. RECENT LIVES OF CHRIST.

At the time* when this part of the pres-
ent work was written, the ultra-rationalist
work of Professor Paulus, the Leben Jesu
(Heidelberg, 1828), was the most recent
publication. Since that time have ap-
peared the Life of Jesus, Das Leben Jesu,
by Dr. D. F. Strauss (2d edition, Tubingen,
1837), and the counter publication of Ne-
ander, Das Leben Jesu (Berlin, 1837): to
say nothing of a great number of contro-
versial pamphlets and reviews arising
out of the work of Dr. Strauss.

This work (consisting of two thick and
closely-printed volumes of nearly 800
pages each) is a grave and elaborate ex-

* The murder of the innocents is a curious in-
stance of the reaction of legendary extravagance
on the plain truth of the evangelic history. . The
Greek Church canonized the 14,000 innocents; and
another notion, founded on a misrepresentation of
Revelations (xiv., 3), swelled the number to 144,000.
The former, at least, was the common belief of the
church, though even in our liturgy the latter has in
some degree been sanctioned, by retaining the chap-
ter of Revelations as the epistle for the day. Even
later, Jeremy Taylor, in his Life of Christ, admits
the 14,000 without scruple, or, rather, without
thought. The error did not escape the notice of
the acute adversaries of Christianity, who, im-
peaching this extravagant tale, attempted to bring
the evangelic narrative into discredit. Yossius, 1
believe, was the first divine who pointed out the
monstrous absurdity of supposing such a number of
infant children in so small a village —Matth., ii.,

position of ail extraordinary hypothesis,
which Dr. Strauss offers in order to rec-
oncile Christianity with the advancing
intelligence of mankind, which is weary
and dissatisfied with all previous philo-
sophical and rationalist theories. Dr.

* Some of the rabbinical stories accuse Jesus of
haying brought “ his enchantments” out of Egypt
(Lightfoot, xi., 45). There is no satisfactory evi-
dence to the antiquity of these notions, or, absurd
as they_ are, they might be some testimony to the
authenticity of this part of the Christian history
See also Eisenmenger, i., p. 150.

The Jewish fiction of the birth of Jesus is at
least as old as the time of Celsus (Origen contra
Cels., 1), but bears the impress of hostile malice,
in assigning as his parent a Roman soldier. This
is the fable which was perpetuated from that time
by Jewish animosity, till it assumed its most ob-
noxious form in the Toldoth Jesu. How much
more natural and credible than the minute detail
which so obviously betrays later and hostile inven-
tion, the vague inquiry of his own compatriots:
“ is not this the carpenter’s son?”—Matt., xiii., 55.

The answer of Origen to this Jewish invention
is sensible and judicious. The Christians, if such
a story had been true, would have invented some-
thing more directly opposed to the real truth; and
they would not have agreed so far with the relation,
but rather carefully suppressed every allusion to
the extraordinary birth of Jesus. 'Edvvavro yap
dTdkGig ‘ipevdorroieicrdcu dtd to ofyodpa ■yrapddo^ov
t?]v iaropcav, Kal pr) uoTrepei aKova'uoc, ovyuara-
devdai ore ovk iiTco ovvrjBtiv avOpunotg ydpQV 6
’Iwove eyevndt]—Contra Cels , i„ 32

f Matth., xi., 19, 23. Luke, xi., 4060

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Strauss solemnly declares that the es-
sence of Christianity is entirely independ-
ent of his critical remarks. “ The super-
natural birth of Christ, his miracles, his
resurrection and ascension, remain eternal
truths, however their reality as historical
facts may be called in question.”* He re-
fers to a dissertation at the close of his
work, “ to show that the doctrinal con-
tents of the Life of Jesus are uninjured;
and that the calmness and cold-blooded-
ness with which his criticism proceeds in
its dangerous operations can only be ex-
plained by his conviction that it is not in
the least prejudicial to Christian faith.”
That dissertation, which opens (t. ii., p.
691) with a singularly eloquent description
of the total destruction which this re-
morseless criticism has made in the or-
dinary grounds of Christian faith and prac-
tice, I have read with much attention.
But what resting-place it proposes to sub-
stitute for Christian faith I have been un-
able to discover ; and must acknowledge
my unwillingness to abandon the firm
ground of historical evidence, to place
myself on any sublime but unsubstantial
fioud which may be offered by a mystic
and unintelligible philosophy; especially
as I find Dr. Strauss himself coolly con-
templating, at the close of his work, the
desolating effects of his own arguments,
looking about in vain for the unsubstantial
tenets which he has extirpated by his un-
compromising logic, and plainly admit-
ting that, if he has shattered to pieces the
edifice of Christianity, it is not his fault.

But Christianity will survive' the criti-
cism of Dr. Strauss.

1 would, however, calmly consider the
first principles of this work, which appear
to me, in many respects, singularly narrow
and unphilosophical; by no means formed
on an extensive and complete view of the
whole case, and resting on grounds which,
in my judgment, would be subversive of
all history.

The hypothesis of Dr. Strauss is, that
the whole history of our Lord, as related
in the Gospels, is mythic; that is to say,
a kind of imaginative amplification of cer-
tain vague and slender traditions, the germe
of which it is now impossible to trace.
These myths are partly what he calls his-
torical, partly philosophic, formed with
the design of developing an ideal charac-
ter of Jesus, and to harmonize that char-
acter with the Jewish notions of the Mes-

* Christi libernatiirliche .Geburt, seine Wunder,
seine Auferstehung und Himrnelfahrt. bleiben ewige
Wahrheiten, so sehr ihre Wirklichkeit als histor-
ische Facta angezweifelt werden mag—Vorrede,
jd*

siah. In order to prove this, the whole
intermediate part of the work is a most
elaborate, and, it would be uncandid not
to say, a singularly skilful examination ol
the difficulties and discrepances in the
Gospels; and a perpetual endeavour to
show in what manner and with what de-
sign each separate myth assumed its
present form.

Arguing on the ground of Dr. Strauss,

I would urge the following objections,
which appear to me fatal to his whole
system:

First, The hypothesis of Strauss is un-
philosophical, because it assumes dog-
matically the principal point in dispute.
His first canon of criticism is (t. i., p. 103),
that wherever there is anything super-
natural, angelic appearance, miracle, or
interposition of the Deity, there we may
presume a myth. Thus he concludes,
both against the supernaturalists, as they
are called in Germany, and the general
mass of Christian believers of all sects in
this country, that any recorded interfe-
rence with the ordinary and experienced
order of causation must be unhistorical
and untrue ; and even against the rational-
ists, that those wonders did not even ap-
parently take place, having been supposed
to be miraculous from the superstition or
ignorance of physical causes among the
spectators : they cannot be even the hon-
est, though mistaken, reports of eyewit-
nesses.

• But, secondly, The belief in some of
those supernatural events, e. g., the resur-
rection, is indispensable to the existence
of the religion ; to suppose that this belief
grew up, after the religion was formed, to
assume these primary facts as _ after-
thoughts, seems to me an absolute impos-
sibility. But if they, or any one of them,
were integral parts of the religion from its
earliest origin, though they may possibly
have been subsequently embellished or
unfaithfully recorded in the Gospels, their
supernatural character is no evidence that
they are so.

Thirdly, Besides this inevitable infer-
ence that the religion could not have sub-
sequently invented that which was the
foundation of the religion—that these
things must have been the belief of the first
Christian communities—there is distinct
evidence in the Acts of the Apostles
(though Dr. Strauss, it seems, would in-
volve that book in the fate of the Gospels),
in the apostolic Epistles, and in every writ-
ten document and tradition, that they were
so. The general harmony of these three
distinct classes of records as to the main
preternatural facts in the Gospels, provesHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

incontestably that they were not the slow
growth of a subsequent period, imbodied
in narratives composed in the second cen-
tury.

For, fourthly, Dr. Strauss has by no
means examined the evidence for the early
existence of the Gospels with the rigid dil-
igence which characterizes the rest of his
work. I think he does not fairly state
that the early notices of the Gospels, in
the works of the primitive fathers, show
not only their existence, but their general
reception among the Christian communi-
ties, which imply both a much earlier com-
position and some strong grounds for their
authenticity. As to the time when the
Gospels were composed, his argument
seems to me self-destructive. The later
he supposes them to have been written,
the more impossible (considering that the
Christians were , then so widely dissemi-
nated in Europe and Asia) is their accord-
ance with each other in the same design
or the same motives for fiction : if he takes
an earlier date, he has no room for his long
process of mythic development. In one
place he appears to admit that the first
three, at least, must have been completed
between the death of our Lord and the de-
struction of Jerusalem, less than forty
years. (I myself consider their silence,
or, rather, their obscure and confused pro-
phetic allusions to that event, as absolute-
ly decisive on this point with regard to
all the four.) But is it conceivable that in
this narrow period this mythic spirit
should have been so prolific, and the prim-
itive simplicity of^ the Christian history
have been so embellished, and then uni-
versally received by the first generation of
believers 1

The place, as well as the period of their
composition, is encumbered with difficul-
ties according to this system. Where
were they written! If all, or, rather, the
first three, in Palestine, whence their gen-
eral acceptance without direct and ac-
knowledged authority! If in different
parts of the world, their general accept-
ance is equally improbable ; their similar-
ity of design and object altogether unac-
countable.

Were they written with this mythic lat-
itude by Judaizing or Hellenizing Chris-
tians ! If by Judaizing, I should expect
to find far more of Judaism, of Jewish tra-
dition, usage, and language, as appears to
have been the case in the Ebionitish Gos-
pel; if by Hellenizing, the attempt to
frame the myths in accordance with Jew-
ish traditions is inconceivable.* They Ju-

Dr. Strauss, for instance asserts all the pas- j

daize too little for the Petrine Christians
(that is, those who consider the Gospel in
some sort a re-enactment of the Mosaic
law), too much for the followers of St.
Paul, who rejected the law.

The other canons of Dr. Strauss seem
to me subversive of all history. Every-
thing extraordinary or improbable, the pro-
phetic anticipations of youthful ambition.,
complete revolution in individual charac-
ter (he appears to allude to the change in
the character of the apostles after the res
urrection,.usually, and, in my opinion, just-
ly considered as one of the strongest ar-
guments of the truth of the narrative),
though he admits that this canon is to be
applied with caution, are presumptive of a
mythic character.

If discrepances in the circumstances
between narratives of the same events, or
differences of arrangement in point of
time, particularly among rude and inarti-
ficial writers, are to be admitted as proof
of this kind of fiction, all history is myth-
ic ; even the accounts of every transaction
in the.daily papers, which are never found
to agree precisely in the minute details,
are likewise mythic.

To these, which appear to me conclu-
sive arguments against the hypothesis of
Dr. Strauss, I would add some observa-
tions, which to my mind are general max-
ims, which must be applied to all such dis-
cussions.

. No religion is in its origin mythic. My-
thologists embellish, adapt, modify, ideal
ize, clothe in allegory or symbol, received
and acknowledged truths. This is a latei
process, and addressed to the imagination,
already excited and prepared to receive
established doctrines or opinions in this
new form. But in Christianity (according
to Dr. Strauss’s hypothesis), what was the
first impulse, the gerrne of all this high-
wrought and successful idealization! No-
thing more than the existence of a man
named Jesus, who obtained a few follow-
ers, and was put to death as a malefactor,
without any pretensions on his part to a
superior character, either as a divine or a
divinely-commissioned being, or as the ex-
pected Messiah of the Jews. Whatever

sages relating to the miraculous birth of Christ (the
first chapters of St. Matthew and St. Luke), and
those which relate his baptism by St. John, to have
•proceeded from two distinct classes of Christians,
differing materially, or, rather, directly opposed to
each other in their notions of the Messiah, a Juda
izing and an anti-docetic sect.— See vol. i., p.
446-448. We must find time not merely for the
growth and development of both notions, but for
their blending into one system, and the general
adoption of that system by the Christian commu
nities.62

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

extorted by the necessity of the case, is
added to this primary conception of the
character of Jesus, in order sufficiently to
awaken the human mind to a new religion
connected with his name, belief of his mi-
raculous powers, of his resurrection, of his
Messiahship, even of his more than human
virtue and wisdom, tends to verify the de-
lineation of his character in his Gospels,
as the original object of admiration and
belief to his followers; and to anticipate
and preclude, as it were, its being a sub-
sequent mythic invention.

Can the period in which Jesus appeared
be justly considered a mythic age '? If by
mythic age (and I do not think Dr. Strauss
very rigid and philosophical in the use of
the term) be meant an age, in which there
was a general and even superstitious be-
lief in wonders and prodigies, mingled up
with much cool incredulity, this cannot be
denied. The prodigies which are related
by grave historians as taking place at the
death of Caesar; those which Josephus,
who is disposed to rationalize many of
the miracles of the early history of his
people, describes during the capture of
Jerusalem, are enough, out of the count-
less instances which could be adduced, to
determine the question. But if the term
mythic be more properly applied to that
idealization, that investing religious doc-
trines in allegory or symbol; above all,
that elevating into a deity a man only dis-
tinguished for moral excellence (the deifi-
cation of the Roman emperors was a po-
litical act), this appears to me to be repug-
nant to the genius of the time and of the
country. Among the Jewish traditions in
the Talmud, there is much fable, much par-
able, much apologue ; as far as I can dis-
cern, nothing, strictly speaking, mythic.
Philo’s is a kind of poetico-philosophic ra-
tionalism. The later legends of Simon
Magus, Alexander in Lucian, and Apollo-
nius of Tyana, are subsequent inventions,
after , the imaginative impulse given by
Christianity, possibly imitative of the Gos-
pels.'*

I would be understood, however, as lay-
ing the least stress upon this argument, as
this tendency to imitative excitement and
creation .does not depend so much on the
age as on the state of civilization, which
perhaps in the East has never become
c >mpletely exempt from this tendency.

But I cannot admit the spurious Gos-
pels, which seem to me the manifest off-
spring of Gnostic and heretic sects, and to

* The nearesc approach to the mythic would
perhaps be the kind of divine character assumed
by Simon Magus among the Samaritans, and al-
luded to in the Acts.

have been composed at periods which his-
torical criticism might designate from in-
ternal evidence, though clearly mythical, to
involve the genuine Gospels in the same
proscription. To a discriminating and un-
prejudiced mind, I would rest the distinc-
tion between mythical and lion-mythical
on the comparison between the apocry-
phal and canonical Gospels.

Neander, in my opinion, has exercised
a very sound judgment in declining direct
controversy with Dr. Strauss ; for contro-
versy, even conducted in the calm and
Christian spirit of Neander, rarely works
conviction, except in those who are al-
ready convinced. He has chosen the bet-
ter course of giving a fair and candid view
of the opposite side of the question, and of
exhibiting the accordance of the ordinary
view of the origin and authority of the
Gospels with sound reason and advanced
philosophy. ’ He has dissembled no diffi-
culties and appealed to no passions. It
affords me much satisfaction to find that,
although my plan did not require or admit
of such minute investigation, I have anti-
cipated many of the conclusions of Nean-
der. In many respects, the point of view
from which I have looked at the subject
is altogether different; and, as I have pre-
ferred to leave my own work in its original
form, though some of the difficulties and
discrepances on which Dr. Strauss dwells
may, I trust, be reasonably accounted for
in the following chapters of my work, this
will be only incidentally ; the full counter-
statement, prepared with constant refer-
ence to Dr. Strauss’s book, must be sought
in the work of Neander. ,

It accords even less with the design of
my work, which is rather to trace the in-
fluence and effect of Christian opinions
than rigidly to investigate their origin or
to establish their truth, to notice the va-
rious particular animadversions on Dr.
Strauss which might suggest themselves ;
yet I have added some few observations
on certain.points when they have crossed
the course of my narrative.

The best answer to Strauss is to show
that a clear, consistent, and probable nar-
rative can be formed out of that of the
four Gospels, without more violence, I
will venture to say, than any historian
ever found necessary to harmonize four
contemporary chronicles of the same
events; and with a general accordance
with the history, customs, habits, and
opinions of the times altogether irrecon-
cilable with the poetic character of mythic
history.

The inexhaustible fertility of German
speculation has now displayed itself inHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

another original and elaborate work, Die
Evangelische Geschichte,. Kritisch und
Philosophisch bearbeitet, Yon. Ch. Her-
mann Weisse, 2 bande, Leipsic, 1838. Dr.
Weisse repudiates the theory of Strauss.
If he does not bring us to the cold and
dreary conclusion of Strauss, or land us
on the Nova Zembla of that writer, he
leaves us enveloped in a vague and indis-
tinct mist, in which we discern nothing
clear, distinct, or satisfactory.

The critical system of Weisse rests on
two leading points: The assumption of
the Gospel of St. Mark as the primitive
gospel—a theory which has been advan-
ced before, but which no writerhas wrought
out with so much elaborate diligence as
Weisse—and a hostility which leads to
the virtual rejection of the Gospel of St.
John as almost entirely spurious. With
regard to St. Mark’s Gospel he receives
the tradition of Papias, that it was written
from the dictation, or, at least, from in-
formation obtained from St. Peter. • St.
Matthew’s was formed from the incorpo-
ration of the Gospel of the Hebrews with
the Tioyia, a collection of speeches attribu-
ted to our Lord. As to St. John’s, he sub-
mits it to the test of his own arbitrary,
and it appears to me, however they may
be called critical, very narrow and unphil-
osophical laws of probability.

The theory by which Weisse would rec-
oncile and harmonize what he retains of
the evangelic history with what he consid-
ers the highest philosophy, I must con-
fess my inability to comprehend, and must
plead as my excuse that he admits it to
be unintelligible to those who are not ac-
quainted with some of his former philo-
sophical works, which I have not at my
command. What I do comprehend it
would be impossible to explain, as the
philosophical language of Germany would,
if retained, be entirely without meaning to
most readers, and is untranslatable into a
foreign tongue.

Weisse retains a much larger and more
solid substratum of historic fact than
Strauss; and, though he may be called a
mythic interpreter, his mythic system
seems to me entirely different from that
of Strauss. With the latter the historic
facts are, in general, pure fictions, wrought
out of preconceived Jewish notions; with
Weisse they are symbolic rather than
mythic. In some cases they arise from
the mistake of symbolic action for real
fact; as, for instance, the notion of the
feeding the multitudes in the desert arose
out of the mystic language of the Saviour
relating to spiritual nourishment by the

Bread of Life. In other parts he adopts
the language of Yico, which has found so
much favour in Germany, but which, I
confess, when gravely applied to history,
and followed out to an extent, I conceive^
scarcely anticipated by its author, appears
to me to be one of the most monstrous
improbabilities which has ever passed cur-
rent under the garb of philosophy. Indi-
vidual historical characters are merely
symbols of the age in which they live";
ideal personifications, as it were, of the
imagination, without any actual or per-
sonal existence. Thus the elder Herod
(Weisse is speaking of the massacre of
the innocents) is the symbol, the repre-
sentation of worldly power. And so the
tyrant of the Jews is sublimated into an
allegory.

_ Weisse, however, in his own sense, dis-
tinctly asserts the divinity of the religion
and of our Lord himself.

I mention this book for several reasons:
first, because, although it is written in a
tone of bold, and, with us it would seem,
presumptuous speculation, and ends, in
my opinion, in a kind of unsatisfactory
mysticism, it contains much profound and
extremely beautiful thought.

Secondly, because in its system of in-
terpretation it seems to me to bear a re-
markable resemblance to that of Philo and
the better part of the Alexandrean school:
it is to the New Testament what they
were to the Old.

Lastly, to show that the German mind
itself has been startled by the conclusions
to which the stem and remorseless logic
of Strauss has pushed on the historical
criticism of rationalism; and that, even
where there is no tendency to return to
the old system of religious interpretation,
there is not merely strong discontent with
the new, but a manifest yearning for a
loftier and more consistent harmony be-
tween the religion of the Gospels and true
philosophy than has yet been effected by
any of the remarkable writers who have
attempted this reconciliation.

II. ORIGIN OF THE GOSPELS.

The question concerning the origh, >f
the first three Gospels, both before and
subsequent to the publication of Bishop
Marsh’s Michaelis, has assumed every
possible form ; and it may be safely as-
serted that no one victorious theory has
gained anything like a general assent
among the learned. Every conceivable
hypothesis has found is advocates; tne64

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

priority of each of the Evangelists has
been maintained with erudition and inge-
nuity ; each has been considered the pri-
mary authority, which has been copied by
the others. But the hypothesis of one or
more' common sources, from which all
three derived their materials (the view
supported with so much ingenuity and
erudition by the Bishop of Peterborough),
has in its turn shared the common fate.

This inexhaustible question, though less
actively agitated, still continues to occupy
the attention of biblical critics in Germa-
ny. I cannot help suspecting that the
best solution of this intricate problem lies
near the surface.* The incidents of the
Saviour’s-life and death, the contents of
the Gospels, necessarily formed a consid-
erable part of the oral teaching, or, if not
of the oral teaching, of oral communica-
tion, among the first propagators of Chris-
tianity.! These incidents would be re-
peated, and dwelt upon with different de-
grees of frequency and perhaps distinct-
ness, according to their relative impor-
tance. While, on the one hand, from the
number of teachers scattered at least
through Palestine, and probably in many
other parts of the Roman empire, many
varieties of expression, much of that un-
intentional difference of colouring which
every narrative receives by frequent rep-
etition, would unavoidably arise; on the
other, there would be a kind of sanctity
attributed to the precise expressions of
the apostles, if recollected, which would
ensure on many points a similarity, a per-

* It would be difficult to point out a clearer and
more satisfactory exposition of any controversy than
that of this great question in biblical criticism, by
Mr. Thirlwall, in his preface to Schleiermacher’s
Essay on St. Luke.

+ I have considered the objections urged by Hug,
an! more recently, with great force, by Weisse (p.
20, et seq.), to this theory, the more important of
which resolve themselves into the undoubted fact,
that it was a creed, and not a history, which, in all
the accounts we have in the Acts of the Apostles
and elsewhere, formed the subject of oral teaching.
This is doubtless true; but resting, as the creed did,
upon the history, containing, no doubt, in its prim-
itive form a very few simple articles, would it not
necessarily awaken curiosity as to the historic facts,
and would not that curiosity demand, as it were, to
be satisfied ? The more belief warmed into piety,
the more insatiably would it require, and the more
would the teacher be disposed, to gratify this awa-
kened interest and eagerness for information on ev-
ery point that related to the Redeemer. The for-
mal public teaching no doubt confined itself to- the
enforcement of the creed, and to combating Jewish
or heathen objections, and confuting Judaism or
idolatry. But in private intercourse, when the
minds of both instructer and hearer were exclusive-
ly full of these subjects, would not the development
of the history, in more or less detail, be a necessary
and unavoidable consequence ?

feet identity of language. We cannot sup-
pose but that these incidents and events
in the life of Christ, these parables and
doctrines delivered by himself, thus oral-
ly communicated in the course of public
teaching and in private, received with such
zealous avidity, treasured as of such ines-
timable importance, would be perpetually
written down, if not as yet in continuous
narratives, in numerous and accumulating
fragments, by the Christian community,
or some one or more distinguished mem-
bers of it. They would record, as far as
possible, the ipsissima verba of the primi-
tive teacher, especially if: an apostle ora
personal follower of Jesus. But these
records would still be liable to some inac-
curacy, from misapprehension or infirmi-
ty of memory ; and to some discrepance,
from the inevitable variations of language
in oral instruction, or communication fre-
quently repeated, and that often by differ-
ent teachers. Each community or Church,’
each intelligent Christian, would thus pos-
sess a more or less imperfect Gospel,
which he would preserve with jealous
care, and increase with zealous activity,
till it should be superseded by some more
regular and complete narrative, the au-
thenticity and authority of which he might
be disposed to admit. The evangelists,
who, like St. Luke, might determine to
write in order, either to an individual like
Theophilus, to some, single church, or to
the whole body of Christians, “ those
things which were most surely believed
among them,” would naturally have ac-
cess to, would consult, and avail them-
selves of many of those private or more
public collections. All the three, or any
two, might find many coincidences of ex-
pression (if, indeed, some expressions had
not already become conventional and es-
tablished, or even consecrated forms of
language with regard to certain incidents)
which they would transfer into their own
narrative; on the other hand, incidents
would be more or less fully developed, or
be entirely omitted in some, while retain-
ed in others.

Of all points on which discrepances
would be likely to arise, there would be
none so variable as the chronological or-
der and consecutive series of events. The
primitive teacher or communicator of
the history of the life and death of Jesus,
would often follow a doctrinal rather than
an historical connexion; and this would,
in many instances, be perpetuated by
those who should endeavour to preserve in
writing that precious information commu-
nicated to them by the preacher. HenceHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 05

the discrepances and variations in order
and arrangement, more especially, as it
may be said Without irreverence, these
rude and simple historians, looking more
to religious impression than to historic
precision, may have undervalued the im-
portance of rigid chronological narrative.
Thus, instead of one or two primary, either
received or unauthoritative, sources of the
Gospels, I should conceive that there
would be many, almost as many as there
were Christian communities, all in them-
selves imperfect, but contributing more or
less to the more regular and complete nar-
ratives extant in our Gospels. The gen-
eral necessity, particularly as the apostles
and first followers were gradually with-
drawn from the scene, would demand a
more full and accurate narrative; and
these confessedly imperfect collections
would fall into disuse, directly as the want
was supplied by regular Gospels, compo-
sed by persons either considered as divine-
ly commissioned, or, at least, as authorita-
tive and trustworthy writers. The almost
universal acceptance of these Gospels is
the guarantee for their general conformity
with these oral, traditional, and written
records of the different communities, from
which if they had greatly differed, they
would probably have been rejected; while
the same conformity sufficiently accounts
for the greater or less fulness, the varia-
tion in the selection of incidents, the si-
lence on some points, or the introduction
of others, in one Gospel alone. Whether
or not either of the evangelists saw the
work of the other, they made constant use
of the same or similar sources of informa-
tion, not merely from the personal knowl-
edge of the evangelists, but likewise from
the general oral teaching and oral commu-
nications of the apostles and first preach-
ers of Christianity, thus irregularly and in-
completely, but honestly and faithfully,
registered by the hearers. Under this
view, for my own part, I seem rationally
to avoid all embarrassment with the diffi-
culties of the subject. Iam not surprised
at exact coincidences of thought or lan-
guage, though followed by, or accompa-
nied with, equally remarkable deviations
and discrepances. I perceive why one is
brief and the other full; why one omits,
while the other details, minute circum-
stances. I can account for much apparent
and some real discrepance. I think that I
discern, to my own satisfaction, sufficient
cause for diversity in the collocation of
different incidents: in short, admitting
these simple principles, there flows a
natural harmony from the whole, which
blends and reunites all. the apparent dis-

cords which appear to disturb the minds
of others.

There is one point which strikes me for-
cibly in all these minute and elaborate ar-
guments, raised from every word and let-
ter of the Gospels, which prevails through*
out the whole of the modern German crit-
icism. It is, that, following out their rigid
juridical examination, the most extreme
rationalists are (unknowingly) influenced
by the theory of the strict inspiration of
the evangelists. Weisse himself has
drawn very ably a distinction between ju-
ridical and historical truth, that is, the sort
of legal truth which we should require in
a court of justice, and that which we may
expect from ordinary history. But in his
own investigations he appears to me con-
stantly to lose sight of this important dis-
tinction ; no cross-examination in an Eng-
lish court of law was ever so severe as
that to which every word and shade of ex-
pression in the evangelists is submitted.
Now this may be just in those who admit
a rigid verbal inspiration; but those who
reject it, and consider the evangelists
merely as ordinary historians, have no
right to require more than ordinary his-
toric accuracy. The evangelists were,
either,

I. Divinely inspired in their language
and expressions, as well as in the facts and
doctrines which they relate. On this the-
ory the inquirer may reasonably endeav-
our to harmonize discrepances ; but if he
fails, he must submit in devout reverence,
and suppose that there is some secret way
of reconciling such contradictions, which
he wants acuteness or knowledge to com-
prehend.

II. We may adopt a lower view of in-
spiration, whether of suggestion or super-
intendence, or even that which seems to
have been generally received in the early
ages, the inflexible love of truth, which,
being inseparable from the spirit of Chris-
tianity, would of itself be a sufficient guar-
antee for fidelity and honesty. Under any
of these notions of inspiration (the defini-
tion of which word is, in fact, the real dif-
ficulty), there would be much latitude for
variety of expression, of detail, of chrono-
logical arrangement. Each narrative (as
the form and language would be uninspi-
red) would bear marks of the individual
position, the local circumstances, the edu-
cation, the character of the writer.

III. We may consider the evangelists
as ordinary historians, credible merely in
proportion to their means of obtaining ac-
curate knowledge, their freedom from prej-
udice, and the abstract credibility of their
statements. If, however, so considered66

HISTuRY OF CHRISTIANITY

(as is invariably the case in the German
school of criticism), they should undoubt-
edly have all the privileges of ordinary his-
torians, and, indeed, of historians of a sin-
gularly rude and inartificial class. They
would be liable to all the mistakes into
which such writers might fall; nor would
trifling inaccuracies impeach the truth of
their general narrative. Take, for in-
stance, the introduction of Cyrenius, in re-
lation to the census in the beginning of St.
Luke’s Gospel; in common historical in-
quiry, it would be concluded that the au-
thor had made a mistake* as to the name,
yet his general truth would remain un-
shaken, nor would any one think of build-
ing up an hypothesis on so trivial and nat-
ural an inaccuracy. But there is scarcely
a work of this school without some such
hypothesis. I confess that I am constant-
ly astonished at the elaborate conclusions
wdiich are drawn from trifling discrepan-
ces or inaccuracies in those writers, from
whom is exacted a precision of language,
a minute and unerring knowledge of facts
incident to, but by no means forming con-
stituent parts of, their narrative, which is
altogether inconsistent with the want of
respect in other cases shown to their au-
thority. The evangelists must have been
either entirely inspired, or inspired as to
the material parts of their history, or alto-
gether uninspired. In the latter, and, in-
deed, in the more moderate view of the
second case, they would, we may safely
say, be read, as other historians of their
inartificial and popular character always
are; and so read, it would be impossible,
I conceive, not to be surprised and con-
vinced of their authenticity, by their gen-
eral accordance with all the circumstances
of their age, country, and personal char-
acter.

* Non nosdebere arbitrary mentiri quemquam, si
pluribus rem quam audierunt vei viderunt reminis-
centibus, non eodem modo atque eisdem verbis,
eadem tamen res fuerit indicata.: aut. sive mutetur
ordo verborum, sive alia pro alii!, quse tamen idem
valeant, verba proferantur, sive aliquid vel quod re-
cordanti non occurrit, vel quod ex aliis quse dicun-
tur possit intelligi minus dicatur, sive aliorum quse
magis dicere statuit narrandorum gratia, ut con-
gruus temporis modus sufficiat, aliquid sibi non to-
tum explicandum, sed ex parte tangendum quisque
suscipiat; sive ad illuminandam declarandamque
sententiam, nihil quidem rerum, verborum tamen
aliquid addat, cui au^oritas narrandi concessa est,
sive rem bene tenens, non assequatur quamvis id co-
netur. mcmoriter etiam verba qua audivit ad integrum
enuntiare—Augustin., De Consens. Evangelist., ii.,
28. Compare the whole passage, which coincides
with the general view of the fathers as to this ques-
tion, in c. 50. St. Augustine seems to admit an in-
spiration of guidance or superintendence. In one
passage he seems to go farther, but to plunge (with
respect be it spoken) into inextricable nonsense, iii.,
30 ; see also 48.

III. INFLUENCE OF THE MORE IMAGINATIVE

INCIDENTS OF THE EARLY EVANGELIC HIS-
TORY ON THE PROPAGATION AND MAINTE-
NANCE OF THE RELIGION.

A curious fact occurs to those who trace
the progress of religious opinion, not mere-
ly in the popular theology, but in the works
of those, chiefly foreign writers, who in-
dulge in bolder speculations on these sub-
jects. Many of these are men of the pro-
foundest learning, and, it would be the
worst insolence of uncharitableness to
doubt, with the most sincere and ardent
aspirations after truth. The fact is this:
Certain parts of the evangelic history,
the angelic appearances, the revelations
of the Deity addressed to the senses ol
man (the Angelo-phaniai and Theophaniai,
as they have been called), with some,
though not with all this class of writers,
everything miraculous appears totally in-
consistent with historic truth. These in-
cidents, being irreconcilable with our ac-
tual experience, and rendered suspicious
by a multitude of later fictions, which are
rejected in the mass'by most Protestant
Christians, cannot accord with the more
subtle and fastidious intelligence of the
present times. Some writers go so far
as to assert that it is impossible that an
inquiring and reasoning age should receive
these supernatural facts as historical veri-
ties. But if we look back we find that
precisely these same parts of the sacred
narrative were dearest to the believers of
a more imaginative age ; and they are still
dwelt upon by the general mass of Chris-
tians with that kind of ardent faith which
refuses to break its old alliance with the
imagination. It was by this very super-
natural agency, if I may so speak, that
the doctrines, the sentiments, the moral
and religious influence of Christianity
were implanted in the mind on the
first promulgation of the Gospel, and the
reverential feeling thus excited, most
powerfully contributed to maintain the
efficacy of the religion for at least seven-
teen centuries. That which is now to
many incredible, not merely commanded
the belief, but made the purely moral and
spiritual part of Christianity, to which few
of these writers now refuse their assent,
credible.

An argument which appears to me o!
considerable weight arises out of these
considerations. Admit, as even the ra-
tionalist and mythic interpreters seem to
do, though in vague and metaphysical
terms, the Divine interposition, or, at
least, the pre-arrangement, and effective
though remote agency of the Deity, in theHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Introduction of Christianity into the world.
These passages, in general, are not the
vital and essential truths of Christianity,
but the vehicle by which these truths were
communicated; a kind of language by
which opinions were conveyed, and senti-
ments infused, and the general belief in
Christianity implanted, confirmed, and
strengthened. As we cannot but suppose
that the state of the world, as well during
as subsequent to the introduction of Chris-
tianity, the comparative rebarbarization
of the human race, the long centuries in
which mankind was governed by imagina-
tion rather than by severe reason, were
within the design, or, at least, the fore-
knowledge of all-seeing Providence ; so,
from the fact that this mode of communi-
cation with mankind was for so long a
period so effective, we may not unreason-
ably infer its original adoption by Divine
Wisdom. This language of poetic inci-
dent, and, if I may so speak, of imagery,
interwoven, as it was, with the popular
belief, infused into the hymns, the ser-
vices, the ceremonial of the Church, im-
bodied in material representation by paint-
ing or sculpture, was the vernacular tongue
of Christianity, universally intelligible, and
responded to by the human heart, through-
out these many centuries. Revelation
thus spoke the language, not merely of
its own, but of succeeding times; because
its design was the perpetuation as well as
the first propagation of the Christian re-
ligion.

Whether, then, these were actual ap-
pearances, or impressions produced on the
mind of those who witnessed them, is of
slight importance. In either case they
are real historical facts; they partake of
poetry in their form, and, in a certain
sense, in their groundwork, but they are
imaginative, not fictitious; true, as rela-
ting that which appeared to the minds of
the relators exactly as it did appear.*
Poetry, meaning by poetry such an ima-
ginative form, and not merely the form, but
the subject-matter of the narrative, as,
for instance,, in the first chapters of St.
Matthew and St. Luke, was the appropri-
ate and perhaps necessary intelligible dia-
lect ; the vehicle for the more important
truths of the Gospel to later generations.
The incidents, therefore, were so ordered,

* This, of coarse, does not apply to facts which
must have been either historical events or direct
fictions, such as the resurrection of Jesus. The
reappearance of an actual and well-known bodily
form cannot be refined into one of those airy and
unsubstantial appearances which may be presented
to, or may exist solely through, the imaginative
faculty. I would strictly maintain this important
distinction.

that they should thus live in the thoughts
of men; the revelation itself was so ad-
justed and Arranged, in order that it might
ensure its continued existence throughout
this period.* . Could, it may be inquired,
a purely rational or metaphysical creed
have survived for any length of time du-
ring such stages of human -civilization ?

I am aware that this may be considered
as carrying out what is called accommoda-
tion to an unprecedented extent, and that
the whole system of what is called ac-
commodation is looked upon with great
jealousy. It is supposed to compromise,
as it were, the truth of the Deity, or, at
least, of the revelation; a deception, it is
said, or, at least, an illusion, is practised
upon the belief of man.

I cannot assent to this view.

From the necessity of the case, there
must be some departure from the pure
and essential spirituality of the Deity, in
order to communicate with the human
race; some kind of condescension from
the infinite and inconceivable state of
Godhead, to become cognizable, or to
enter into any kind of relation with ma-
terial and dimly-mental man. All this is,
in fact, accommodation; and the adaptation
of any appropriate means of addressing,
for his benefit, man in any peculiar state
of intelligence, is but the wise contrivance,
the indispensable condition, which renders
that communication either possible, or, at
least, effective to its manifest end. Re-
ligion is one great system of accommoda-
tion to the wants, to the moral and spirit-
ual advancement of mankind; and I can-
not but think that, as it has so efficaciously
adapted itself to one state of the human
mind, so it will to that mind during all its
progress ; and it is of all things the most
remarkable in Christianity, that it has, as
it were, its proper mode of addressing
with effect every age and every conceiv-
able state of man. Even if (though I con-
ceive it impossible) the imagination should

t By all those who consider the knowledge of
these circumstances to have reached the evange-
lists (by whatever notion of inspiration they may
be guarantied) through the ordinary sources of in-
formation, from the reminiscences of Mary herself,
or from those of other contemporaries, it would be
expected that these remote incidents would be
related with the greatest indistinctness, without
mutual connexion or chronological arrangement,
and different incidents be preserved by different
evangelists. This is precisely the case: the very
marvellousness of the few circumstances thus pre-
served accounts in some degree for their preserva-
tion, and, at the same time, for the kind of dimness
and poetic character with which they are clothed.
They are too slight and wanting in particularity to
give the idea of invention: they seem like a few
scattered fragments preserved from oral tradition.68

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

entirely wither from the human soul, and
a severer, faith enter into an exclusive
alliance with pure reason, Christianity
would still have its moral perfection, its
rational promise of immortality, its ap-
proximation to the one pure, spiritual, in-
comprehensible Deity, to satisfy that rea-

son, and to infuse those sentiments oi
dependance, of gratitude, of love to God,
without which human society must fall to
ruin, and the human mind, in humiliating
desperation, suspend all its noble activity,
and care not to put forth its sublime and
eternal energies

CHAPTER IIL

COMMENCEMENT OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS:

Nearly thirty years had passed away
Period to the since the birth in Bethlehem,
assumption during which period there is but
or public one incident recorded, which
c arac er. coujd direct the public attention
to the Son of Mary.* All religious Jews
made their periodical visits to the capital at
the three great festivals, especially at the
Passover. The more pious women, though
exempt by the law from regular attendance,
usually accompanied their husbands or
kindred. It is probable that, at the age of
twelve, the children, who were then said
to have assumed the rank of “ Sons of the
Law,” and were considered responsible for
their obedience to the civil and religious
institutes of the nation, were first permit-
ted. to appear with their parents in the
metropolis, to be present, and, as it were,
to be initiated in the religious ceremonies.f
Accordingly, at this age, Jesus went up
visit to Je- with his parents at the festival to
rusaiem. Jerusalem;{ but on their return,
after the customary residence of seven
days, they had advanced a whole day’s
journey without discovering that the
youth was not to be found in the whole
caravan, or long train of pilgrims, which
probably comprised almost all the religious
inhabitants of the populous northern prov-

* There is no likelihood that the extant apocry-
phal Gospel of the Infancy contains any traditional
truth. This work, in my opinion, was evidently
composed with a controversial design, to refute the
sects which asserted that Jesus was no more than
an ordinary child, and that the Divine nature de-
scended upon him at his baptism. Hence his child-
hood is represented as fertile in miracles as his
manhood; miracles which are certainly puerile
enough for that age. But it is a curious proof of
the vitality of popular legends, that many of these
stories are still current, even in England, in our
Christmas carols, and in this form are disseminated
among our cottages.

f Lightfoot. Wetstein, in loc. “A child was
free from presenting himself in the temple at the
three feasts, until (according to the school of Hil-
lel) he was able, his father taking him by the hand,
to go up with him intf the mount of the temple.”—
Lightfoot, x., 71. t Luke, ii., 41, 52.

inces. In the utmost anxiety they re-
turned to Jerusalem, and, after three days,*
found him in one of the chambers, within
the precincts of the temple, set apart for
public instruction. In these schools, the
wisest and most respected of the rabbis
or teachers, were accustomed to hold their
sittings, which were open to all who were
desirous of knowledge. Jesus was seat-
ed, as the scholars usually were ; and at
his familiarity with the law, and the depth
and subtlety of his questions, the learned
men were in the utmost astonishment:
the phrase may, perhaps, bear the stronger
sense, they were “ in an ecstasy of ad-
miration.” This incident is strictly in ac-
cordance with Jewish usage. The more
promising youths were encouraged to the
early development and display of their ac-
quaintance with the Sacred Writings and
the institutes of the country. Josephus
the historian relates, that in his early
youth he was an object of wonder, for his
precocious knowledge, with the Wise Men,
who took delight in examining and devel-
oping his proficiency in the subtler ques-
tions of the law. Whether the impres-
sion of the transcendent promise of Jesus
was as deep and lasting as it was vivid,
we have no information; for, without re-
luctance, with no more than a brief and
mysterious intimation that public instruc-
tion was the business imposed upon him by
his Father, he returned with his parents to
his remote and undistinguished home.
The Law, in this, as in all such cases, har-
monizing with the eternal instincts of na-
ture, had placed the relation of child and
parent on the simplest and soundest prin-
ciples. The authority of the parent was
unlimited, while his power of inflicting
punishment on the person, or injuring the
fortunes of the child by disinheritance, was
controlled; and while the child, on the

* According to Grotius, they had advanced one
day’s journey towards Galilee, returned the second,
and found him the third: in loc.69

HISTORY* OF CHRISTIANITY.

one Band, was bound to obedience by the
strongest sanctions, on the other the duty
of maintaining and instructing his offspring
was as rigidly enforced upon the father.
The youth then returned to the usual sub-
jection to his parents; and for nearly
eighteen years longer we have no knowl-
edge that Jesus was distinguished among
the inhabitants of Nazareth, except by his
exemplary piety, and by his engaging de-
meanour and conduct, which acquired him
the general good-will. The law, as some
suppose, prescribed the period of thirty
years for the assumption of the most im-
portant functions; and it was not till he
had arrived at this age that Jesus again
emerged from his obscurity;* nor does it
appear improbable that John had previous-
ly commenced his public career at the
same period in his life.

During these thirty years, most impor-
Poiitieai rev- tant revolutions had taken place
elutions du- in the public administration of
rin<; the pre- affairs in Judaea, and a deep

ceding period. ^ chaQge had been

slowly working in the popular mind. The
stirring events which had rapidly succeed-
ed each other were such as no doubt
might entirely obliterate any transient im-
pressions made by the marvellous circum-
stances which attended the birth of Jesus,
if indeed they had obtained greater pub-
licity than we are inclined to suppose.
As the period approached in which the
new Teacher was to publish his mild and
benignant faith, the nation, wounded in
their pride, galled by oppression, infuri-
ated by the promulgation of fierce and tur-
bulent doctrines more congenial to their
temper, became less and less fit to receive
any but a warlike and conquering Messiah.
Reign of The reign of Archelaus, or, rath-
Archeiaus. er, the interregnum, while he
awaited the ratification of his kingly pow-
ers from Rome, had commenced with a
bloody tumult, in which the royal soldiery
had attempted to repress the insurrection-
ary spirit of the populace. The passover
had been interrupted: an unprecedented
and ill-omened event! and the nation, as-
sembled from all quarters, had been con-
strained to disperse without the comple-
tion of the sacred ceremony.f After the
tyrannical reign of Archelaus as ethnarch
for more than nine years, he had been
Reduction banished into Gaul, and Judaea
to a Roman was reduced to a Roman prov-
provmce. ince, under a governor (procura-

* Or entering on his thirtieth year. According
to the Jewish mode of computation, the year, the
week, or the day which had commenced was in-
cluded in the calculation.—Lightfoot.

t Hist, of the Jews, ii., 112

tor) of the equestrian order, who was sub-
ordinate to the President of Syria. But
the first Roman governors, having taken
up their residence in Herod’s magnificent
city on the coast, Caesarea, the municipal
government of Jerusalem had apparently
fallen into the hands of the native author-
ities. The Sanhedrin of seventy- Sanhedrin>
one, composed of the chief priests
and men learned in the law, from a court
of judicature, to which their functions
were chiefly confined, while the executive
was administered by the kings, had be-
come a kind of senate. Pontius Pilate,
the first of the Roman governors, who, if
he did not afflict the capital with the spec-
tacle of a resident foreign ruler, seems to
have visited it more frequently, was the
first who introduced into the city the
u idolatrous” standards of Rome, and had
attempted to suspend certain bucklers,
bearing an image of the emperor, in the
palace of Herod.* In his time the San-
hedrin seems to have been recognised as
a sort of representative council of the na-
tion. But the proud and unruly people
could not disguise from itself the humili-
ating consciousness that it was reduced
to a state of foreign servitude. Through-
out. the country the publicans, the The pub-
farmers or collectors of the tribute Ilcans-
to Rome, a burden not less vexatious in its
amountf and mode of collection than of-
fensive to their feelings, were openly ex-
ercising their office. The chief priest was
perpetually displaced at the order of the
Roman prefect, by what might be jealous
or systematic policy, but which had all the
appearance of capricious and insulting vi-
olence.;}; They looked abroad, but with-
out hope. The country had, without any
advantage, suffered all the evils of insurrec
insurrectionary anarchy. At the tions-
period between the death of Herod and
the accession of his sons, adventurers of
all classes had taken up arms, and some of
the lowest, shepherds and slaves, whether
hoping to strike in with the popular feel-
ing, and, if successful at first, to throw the
whole nation on their side, had not scru-
pled to assume the title and ensigns of
royalty. These commotions had been
suppressed; but the external appearance,
of peace was but a fallacious evidence of
the real state of public feeling. The reli-
gious sects which had long divided the na-

* Hist, of the Jews, ii., 132.
f About this period Syria and Judaea petitioned
for a remission of tribute, which was described as
intolerably oppressive.—Tac., Ann , ii., 42.

$ There wpre twenty-eight, says Josephus, from
the time of Herod to the burning of the temple by
Titus.—Ant., xx., 810

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tion, those of the Pharisees and Saddu-
cees, no longer restrained by the strong
hand of power, renewed their conflicts :
sometimes one party, sometimes the oth-
er, obtained the high-priesthood, and pre-
dominated in the Sanhedrin; while from
the former had sprung up a new faction, in
whose tenets the stern sense of national
degradation, which rankled in the hearts of
so many, found vent and expression.

The sect of Judas the Gaulonite, or, as
Judas the he was called, the Galilean, may
Galilean. considered the lineal inheritors
of that mingled spirit of national independ-
ence and of religious enthusiasm which
had in early days won the glorious tri-
umph of freedom from the Syro-Grecian
kings, and had maintained a stern though
secret resistance to tho later Asmoneans
and to the Idumean dynasty. Just before
the death of Herod, it had induced the six
thousand Pharisees to refuse the oath of
allegiance to the king and to his imperial
protector, and had probably been the se-
cret incitement in the other acts of resist-
ance to the royal authority. Judas the
Galilean openly proclaimed the unlawful-
ness, the impiety of God’s people submit-
ting to a. foreign yoke, and thus acknowl-
edging the subordination of the Jewish
theocracy to the empire of Rome. The
payment of tribute, which began to be en-
forced on the deposition of Archelaus, ac-
cording to his tenets, was not merely a
base renunciation of their liberties, but a
sin against their God. To the doctrines
of this bold and eloquent man, which had
been propagated with dangerous rapidity
and success, frequent allusion's are found
in the Gospels. Though the Galileans
slain by Pilate may not have been of this
sect, yet probably the Roman authorities
would look with more than usual jealousy
on any appearance of tumult arising in the
province which was the reputed birth-
place of Judas ; and the constant attempts
to implicate Jesus with this party appear
in their insidious questions about the law-
fulness of paying tribute to Caesar. The
subsequent excesses of the Zealots, who
were the doctrinal descendants of Judas,
and among whom his own sons assumed
a dangerous and fatal pre-eminence, may
show that the jealousy of the rulers was
not groundless; and indicate, as will here-
after appear, under what unfavourable im-
pressions with the existing authorities, on
account of his coming from Galilee, Jesus
was about to enter on his public career.

Towards the close of this period of
John the thirty years, though we have no
Baptist, evidence to fix a precise date, while
Jesus was growing up in the ordinary

course of nature in the obscurity of the
Galilean town of Nazareth, which lay to
the north of Jerusalem, at much the same
distance to the south John had arrived at
maturity, and suddenly appeared as a pub-
lic teacher, at first in the desert country in
the neighbourhood of Hebron, but speed-
ily removed, no doubt for the facility of
administering the characteristic rite, from
which he was called the Baptist, at all
seasons, and with the utmost publicity and
effect.* In the southern desert of J’u.daea
the streams are few and scanty, probably
in the summer entirely dried up. The
nearest large body of water was the Dead
Sea. Besides that the western banks of
this great lake are mostly rugged and pre-
cipitous, natural feeling, and, still more, the
religious awe of the people, would have
shrunk from performing sacred ablutions
in those fetid, unwholesome, and accursed
waters.f But the banks of the great na-
tional stream, the scene of so many mir-
acles, offered many situations in every
respect admirably calculated for this pur-
pose. The Baptist’s usual station was
near the place Bethabara, the ford of the
Jordan, which tradition pointed out as that
where the waters divided before the ark?
that the chosen people might enter into
the promised land. Here, though the ad-
jacent region towards Jerusalem is wild
and desert, the immediate shores of the
river offer spots of great picturesque beau-
ty. The Jordan has a kind of double
channel. In its summer course, the shelv-
ing banks, to the top of which the waters
reach at its period of flood, are. covered
with acacias and other trees of great lux-
uriance ; and amid the rich vegetation and
grateful shade afforded by these scenes,
the Italian painters, with no less truth than
effect, have delighted to represent the Bap-
tist surrounded by listening multitudes, or
performing the solemn rite of initiation.
The teacher himself partook of the ascetic
character of the more solitary of the Es~
senes, all of whom retired from the tumult
and license of the city, some dwelt alone
in remote hermitages, and not rarely pre-
tended to a prophetic character. His rai-
ment was of the coarsest texture, of
camel’s hair; his girdle (an ornament often
of 4he greatest richness in Oriental cos-
tume, of the finest linen or cotton, and em-
broidered with silver or gold) was of un-
tanned leather ;* his food the locustsJ and

* Matt., iii., 1-12. Mark, i., 2-8. Luke, iii,, 1-38.

i The Aulon, or Valley of the Jordan, is mostly
desert. ALarifivec rr\v VevvrjGap (jlegtjv, hreira
7co?i?i7]v avaperpovfzevog hprpiiav elg rrjv ’A ccpaA-
rlrtv e^eigi lipvTjv.— Joseph., B. T. iii., 10,1.

t That locusts are no uncommon food is so wellHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

wild honey, of which there is a copious
supply both in ilie open and the wooded
regions in which he had taken up his
abode.

No question has been more strenuously
debated than the origin of the rite
baptism. |3aptjsm> The practice of the
external washing of the body, as emble-
matic of the inward purification of the soul,
is almost universal. The sacred Ganges
cleanses all moral pollution from the In-
dian; among the Greeks and Romans
even the murderer might, it was supposed,
wash the blood “ clean from his hands
and in many of their religious rites, lus-
trations or ablutions, either in the running-
stream or in the sea, purified the candidate
for divine favour, and made him fit to ap-
proach the shrines of the gods. The per-
petual similitude and connexion between
the uncleanness of the body and of the
soul, which ran through the Mosaic law,
and had become completely interwoven
with the common language and sentiment,
the formal enactment of ablutions in many
cases, which either required the cleansing
of some unhealthy taint, or more than
usual purity, must have familiarized the
mind with the mysterious effects attributed
to such a rite ; and of all the Jewish sects,
that of the Essenes, to which, no doubt,
popular opinion associated the Baptist,
were most frequent and scrupulous in
their ceremonial ablutions. It is strongly
asserted on the one hand, and denied with
equal confidence on the other, that bap-
tism was in general use among the Jews
as a distinct and formal rite ; and that it
was by this ceremony that the Gentile
proselytes, who were not yet thought
worthy of circumcision, or, perhaps, re-
fused to submit to it, were imperfectly in-
itiated into the family of Israel.f Though
there does not seem very conclusive evi-
dence in the earlier rabbinical writings to
the antiquity, yet there are perpetual al-
lusions to the existence of this rite, at least
at a later period; and the argument that,
after irreconcilable hostility had been de-
clared between the two religions, the Jews
would be little likely to borrow their dis-
tinctive ceremony from the Christians,
applies with more than ordinary force.
Nor, if we may fairly judge from the very

known from all travellers in the East, that it is un-
necessary to quote any single authority. There is
a kind of bean, called in that country the locust-
bean, which some have endeavoured to make out
to have been the food of John.

* Ah nimium faciles, qui tristia crimina ceedis
Tolli fluminea posse putatis aqua.—Ovid.

t Lightfoot, Harmony of Evang., iii., 38; iv.,
407, &c. Danzius, in Meuschen, Talmudica, &c.
Schoetgen and Wetstein, in loc.

rapid and concise narrative of the evan-
gelists, does the public administration of
baptism by John appear to have excitea
astonishment as a new and unprecedented
rite.

For, from every quarter, all ranks and
sects crowded to the teaching Multitudes
and to partake in the mystic who attend
ablutions performed by the hlspreachlIlg
Baptist. The stream of the Jordan re-
flected the wondering multitudes of every
class and character, which thronged
around him with that deep interest and
high-wrought curiosity, which could not
fail to be excited, especially at such a
crisis, by one who assumed the tone and
authority of a divine commission, and
seemed, even if he were not hereafter to
break forth in a higher character, to renewr
in his person the long silent and inter-
rupted race of the ancient prophets. Of
all those prophets Elijah was held in the
most profound reverence by the descend-
ants of Israel.f He was the representa-
tive of their great race of moral instruct-
ors and interpreters of the Divine Will,
whose writings (though of Elijah nothing
remained) had been admitted to almost
equal authority with the law itself, were
read in the public synagogues, and, with
the other sacred books, formed the canon
of their Scripture. A mysterious intima-
tion had closed this hallowed volume of
the prophetic writings, announcing, as
from the lips of Malachi, on which the
fire of prophecy expired, a second coming
of Elijah, which it should seem popular
belief had construed into the personal re-
appearance of him who had ascended into
heaven in a car of fire. And where, and
at what time, and in what form was he
so likely to appear, as in the desert, by
the shore of the Jordan, at so fearful a

* Some of the strange notions about Elias may
be found in Lightfoot, Harm, of Evang., iv , 399.
Compare Rcclesiast., xlviii, 10,11. “ Elias, who is
written of for reproofs in these times, to appease the
anger of him that is ready for wrath (or before
wrath TrpoOvfxov, or 7rpd Mpou), to turn the heart of
the father to the son, and to restore the tribes of
Jacob. Blessed are they that see thee, and are
adorned with love ; for we too shall live the life.'1* *
In the English translation the traditionary allusion
is obscured. “ In that day, when the Lord shall
deliver Israel, three days before the coming of the
Messiah, Elias shall come, and shall stand on the
mountains of Israel mourning and wailing concern-
ing them, and saying. How long will ye stay in the
dry and wasted land? And his voice shall be heard
from one end of the world to the other; and after
that he shall say unto them, ‘ Peace Cometh to the
world, as it is written (Isaiah, lii., 7), How beauti-
ful upon the mountains are the feet of him that
bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace.’”—
Jalkut Schamuni,fol. 53, c. 6. Quoted in Bertholdt.
See other quotations. Schoetgen, Hor. Heb., ii.,
533, 534. Justin. Dial., cum Tryph.72

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

crisis in the national destinies, and in the
wild garb and with the mortified demean-
our so frequent among the ancient seers 1
The language of the Baptist took the bold,
severe, and uncompromising tone of those
delegates of the Most High. On both the
great religious factions he denounced the
same maledictions, from both demanded
the same complete and immediate reform-
ation. On the people he inculcated mutual
charity; on the publicans, whom he did
not exclude from his followers, justice ; on
the soldiery,* humanity, and abstinence
from all unnecessary violence and pillage.
These general denunciations against the
vices of the age, and the indiscriminate
enforcement of a higher moral and re-
ligious standard, though they might gall
the consciences of individuals or wound
the pride of the different sects, yet, as
clashing with no national prejudice, would
excite no hostility which could be openly
avowed ; while the fearless and impartial
language of condemnation was certain to
secure the wonder, the respect, the venera-
tion of the populace.

But that which no doubt drew the whole
Expectation population in such crowds to the
oythe Mes- desert shores of the Jordan, was
8ia1, the mysterious yet distinct as-
sertion that the “ kingdom of Heaven was
at hand ;”f that kingdom of which the be-
lief was as universal as of the personal
coming of the Messiah ; and as variously
coloured by the disposition and tempera-
ment of every class and individual, as the
character of the sovereign who was thus
to assume dominion. All anticipated the
establishment of an earthly sovereignty,
but its approach thrilled the popular bosom
with mingled emotions. The very proph-
ecy which announced the previous appear-
ance of Elijah, spoke of the “great and
dreadful day of the Lord,” and, as has been
said, according to the current belief, fear-
ful calamities were to precede the glorious

* Michaelis has very ingeniously observed, that
these men are described not merely as soldiers
(cTpajmrai), but as on actual service (arparevojxivot);
and has conjectured that they were part of the forces
of Herod Antipas, who was at this time at war, or
preparing for war, with Aretas, king of Arabia.
Their line of march would lead them to the ford of
the Jordan.

f This phrase is discussed by Kuinoel, vol. i., p.
73. According to its Jewish meaning, it was equiv-
alent'to the kingdom of the Messiah (the kingdom of
God or of Heaven), Schoetgen, Hor. Hebr., p. 1147,
which was to commence and endure for ever, when
the law was to be fully restored, and the immutable
theocracy of God’s chosen people re-established for
eternity. In its higher Christian sense .it assumed
the sense of the moral dominion to be exercised by
Christ over his subjects in this life; that dominion
which is to be continued over his faithful in the
state of immortal existence beyond the grave.

days of the Messiah : nor was it till after
a dark period of trial that the children of
Abraham, as the prerogative of their birth,
the sons of God,* the inheritors of his
kingdom, were to emerge from their ob-
scurity ; their theocracy to be re-estab-
lished in its new and more enduring form ;
the dead, at least those who were to share
in the first resurrection, their own ances-
tors, were to rise; the solemn judgment
was to be held ; the hostile nations were
to be thrust down to hell; and those only
of the Gentiles, who should become pros-
elytes to Judaism, were to be admitted to
this earthly paradisiacal state.f

The language of the Baptist at once fell
in with and opposed the popular feeling;
at one instant it raised, at the next it cross-

* Compare Justin Martyr, Dial. 433, ed. Thirlby.
Grotius on Matt., x., 28 ; xiv., 2. James, ii , 14.
Whitby on Acts, i., 23. Jortin’s Discourses, p. 26.

t See Wetstein, in loc. The following passage
closely resembles the language of John : “ Whose
fan is in his hand, and he will thoroughly purge his
floor, and gather his wheat into the garner; but he
will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”—
Matt., iii., 12. The Jer. Talmud adduces Isaiah,
xvi., 12. “ The morning cometh and also the night;
it shall be morning to Israel, but night to the na-
tions of the world.” (Taanith, fol. 64, 1.) “The
threshing is come : the straw they cast into the fire,
the chaff unto the wind, but preserve the wheat in
the floor, and every one that sees it, takes it and
kisses it. So the nations of the world say, The
world was made for our sakes ; but Israel say to
them, Is it not written, But the people shall be as
the burning of the lime-kiln, but Israel in the time
to come (z. <?., the time of the Messiah) shall be left
only ; as it is said, The Lord shall be with him alone,
and there shall be no strange God.”—Mid. Tell, on
Psalm ii. Lightfoot, iii., 47.

Some of these and similar expressions may be-
long to the period of the obstinate, we may surely
add, the patriotic struggle of the Jews against the
tyranny of Rome, after what Tacitus terms their
“ hatred of the human race” had been imbittered
by years of contempt and persecution; and while,
in Gibbon’s language, “ their dreams of prophecy
and conquest” were kept: alive by the bold resist-
ance to Titus, and the successes of Bar-coehab un-
der Hadrian. But there can be little doubt that pride
had already drawn these distinctions between them-
selves and the rest of mankind, which were deep-
ened by the sense, of persecution, and cherished as
the only consolation of degradation and despair.

Le Judaisme est un systAme de misanthropic, qui
en veut a tous les peuples de la terre sans aucune
exception. * * * II n’etend 1’amour du prochain
qu’aux seuls Juifs, tandis que la Mosaisme l’etend
a tous les homines, sans aucune distinction (vide
note). II commande en outre qu’on envisage tous
les autres peuples de la terre, comme dignes de
haine et de mepris, pour la seule raison qu’ils n’ont
pas et6, ou qu’ils ne sont pas Juifs.—Chiarini, Pref-
ace to Translation of Talmud, p. 55.

Passages of the Talmud will certainly bear out
this harsh conclusion; but I think better of human
nature than to suppose that this sentiment was not
constantly counteracted by the humane feelings to
which affliction would subdue hearts of better
mould, or which would be infused by the gentlei
spirit of the genuine religion of Moses.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Mysterious ed their hopes. He announced
language of the necessity of a complete moral
the Baptist. changej while he repudiated the
claims of those who rested their sole title
to the favours of God on their descent
from the chosen race, for “ God even of
the stones could raise up children to Abra-
ham.” But, on the other hand, he pro-
claimed the immediate, the instant coming
of the Messiah; and on the nature of the
kingdom, though he might deviate from
the ordinary language in expressly inti-
mating that the final separation would be
made, not on national, but moral grounds—
that the bad and good, even of the race of
Israel, were to be doomed according to
their wickedness or virtue—yet there was
nothing which interfered with the prevail-
ing belief in the personal temporal reign
of the Son of David.

The course of our history will show
how slowly Christianity attained the pure-
ly moral and spiritual notion of the change
to be wrought by the coming of Christ, and
how perpetually this inveterate Judaism
has revived in the Christian Church,
where, in days of excitement, the old Jew-
ish tenet of the personal reign of the Mes-
siah has filled the mind of the enthusiast.
Nor were the Jews likely to be more em-
barrassed than mankind in general by the
demand of high moral qualifications; for,
while one part would look on their own
■state with perfect complacency and satis-
faction, another would expect to obtain
from Heaven, without much-effort or ex-
ertion on their own part, that which Heav-
en required. God, who intended to make
them happy, would first make them virtu-
ous.

Such was the general excitement at the
Deputation appearance, the teaching, and
of the priest- the baptizing of John. So great
ingdthenpre"" was t^e influence which he had
tensions of obtained throughout the eoun-
Jesus. try, that, as we shall speedily
see, a formal deputation from the national
authorities was commissioned to inquire
into his pretensions, and to ascertain
whether he limited himself to those of a
prophet, or laid claim to the higher title of
“the Christ.” And the deep hold which
he had taken upon the popular feeling is
strongly indicated by the fact, that the ru-
lers did not dare, on the occasion of a
question proposed to them at a much later
period by Jesus, openly to deny the pro-
phetic mission of John, which was not
merely generally acknowledged, but even
zealously asserted by the people.

How long the preaching of John had
lasted before the descent of the Son of
Mary to the shores of the Jordan, rests
iK-

on somewhat uncertain evidence.* * * § We
can decide with as little confidence on
some other more interesting questions.
There is no precise information whether
any or what degree of intercourse had
been kept up between the family of Zeeh
ariah and that of Joseph, who resided at
a considerable distance from each other,
and were not likely to meet unless at the
periodical feast; nor how far John might
be previously acquainted with the person
of Jesus.f But it is undoubtedly a re-
markable fact in the history of Christian-
ity, that from the very first appearance of
Jesus on the shores of the Jordan, un-
questionably before he had displayed his
powers, or openly asserted his title to the
higher place, John should invariably retain
his humbler relative position. Avowed infe.
Such was his uniform language rioriiy of John
from the commencement of t0 Jesus-
his career; such it continued to the end.
Yet at this period the power and influence
of John over the public mind were at
their height; Jesus, humanly speaking,
was but an unknown and undistinguished
youth, whose qualifications to maintain
the higher character were as yet untried.
John, however, cedes at once the first
place: in the strongest languagef he de-
clares himself immeasurably inferior to
him who stood among the crowd, un-
marked and unregarded; whatever his
own claims, whatever the effect of his in-
itiatory rite, Jesus was at once to assume
a higher function, to administer a more
powerful and influential baptism.§ This

* Matt., iii., 13-17. Mark, i., 9, 11. Luke, iii.,
21,23. John, i., 15, 18.

t The discrepances between the different evan-
gelists as to the language of John on several oc-
casions with regard to Jesus, appear to me charac-
teristic of the dim and awestruck state of the gen-
eral mind, which would extend to the remembrance
and the faitful record of such incidents. It is as-
sumed, I think without warrant, that John himself
must have had a distinct or definite notion of the
Messiahship of Jesus: he may have applied some
of the prophetic or popular sayings supposed to
have reference to the Messiah, without any precise
notion of their meaning ; and his conception of the
Messiah’s character, and of Jesus himself, may
‘have varied during different passages of his own
life. If the whole had been more distinct and sys-
tematic, it would be more liable, according to my
judgment, to suspicion. The account of John in
Josephus is just as his character would be likely to
appear to a writer in his character and situation.

f The remarkable expression, “ whose shoes’
latchet I am not. able to unloose,” is illustrated by
a passage in the Talmud. (Tract. Kidduschin,
xxii., 2.) “Every office a servant will do for his
master, a scholar should perform for his teacher,
excepting loosing his sandal thong.”

§ Strauss (i., 396) argues that this concession of
the higher place by the ascetic John (and asceticism,
he justly observes, is the most stern and unyielding
principle in the human character) is so contrary to74

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ha% always appeared to me one of the
most striking incidental arguments for the
truth of the evangelic narrative, and con-
sequently of the Christian faith. The
recognition appears to have been instant
and immediate. Hitherto the Baptist had
insisted on the purification of all who had
assembled around him ; and, with the
commanding dignity of a Heaven-com-
missioned teacher, had rebuked, without
distinction, the sins of all classes and all
sects. In Jesus alone, by his refusal to
baptize him, he acknowledges the im-
maculate purity, while his deference as-
sumes the tone of homage, almost of
adoration.* * * * * §

Jesus, however, perhaps to do honour
Baptism of to a rite which was hereafter to
.Jesus. be that of initiation into the new
religion, insists on submitting to the usual
ablution. As he went up out of the water,
which wound below in its deep channel,
and was ascending the shelving shore, a
light shone around with the rapid and un-
dulating motion of a dove, typifying the
descent of the Holy Spirit on the Son of
Man ; and a voice was heard from Heaven,
which recognised him as the Son of God,
well pleasing to the Almighty Father of
the universe. This light could scarcely
have been seen, or the voice heard, by
more than the Baptist and the Son of
Mary himself,f as no immediate sensation
appears to have been excited among the
multitudes, such as must have followed
this public and miraculous proclamation
of his sacred character; and at a subse-
quent period, Jesus seems to have appear-

the principles of human nature and to all historical
precedent, that the whole must be fictitious ; a
singular canon, that everything extraordinary and
unprecedented in history must be untrue. I suspect
the common phrase, “ truth is strange—stranger
than fiction,” to he founded on deeper knowledge
of human nature and of the events of the world

* The more distinct declarations of inferiority
contained in several passages are supposed bymost.
harmonists of the Gospels to have been made after
the baptism of Jesus.

f This appears from John, i., 32. Neander (Leben
Jesu, p. 69) represents it as a symbolic vision.

It may he well to observe, that this explanation
of voices from heaven, as a mental perception, not
as real articulate sounds, but as inward impressions,
is by no means modern, or what passes-under the
unpopular name of rationalism. There is a very
full and remarkable passage in Origen cont. Cel-
sum, i, 48, on this 'point.. He is speaking of the
offence which may be given to the simple, who,
from their great simplicity, are ready on every oc-
casion to shake the world, and cleave the compact
firmament of heaven. Kav rrpoaiconry to tolov-
tov rolg aTcXovGT^poLr, ol dia aTchoTTjTa

tUVOVGL TOV KOGflOV, GX'i^OVTEg TO T7]klKOVTOV

Gtifici TjVQfievov rov tu'lvtoq ovpavov. See like-
wise, in Suicer’s Thesaur., voc. kxJovrjy the passages
from St. Basil and Gregory of Nyssa,

ed among the followers of John unrecog.
nised, or at least unhonoured, until he
was pointed out by the Baptist, and an-
nounced as having been proclaimed from
Heaven at his baptism. The calmness
and comparatively unimposing peaceful-
ness of this scene, which may be de-
scribed as the inauguration of this “greater
than Moses” in his office as founder of a
new religion, is strikingly contrasted with
the terrific tempests and convulsions of
nature at the delivery of the law on Sinai,
and harmonizes with the general tone and
character of the new faith. The image
of the Dove, the universal symbol of in-
nocence and peace,* even if purely illus-
trative, is beautifully in keeping with the
gentler character of the whole transac-
tion.

The Temptation of Jesus is the next
event in the history of his life ;f Temptation
and here, at the opening, as it of Jesus*
wTere, of his career, appears shadowed out
the sort of complex character under which
Christianity represents its Divine Author,
as a kind of federal representative of man-
kind. On the interpretation of no incident
in the Gospels do those who insist on the
literal acceptation of the evangelists’ lan-
guage, and those who consider that, even
in the New Testament, much allowance is
to be made for the essentially allegoric
character of Oriental narrative, depart so
far asunder.J While the former receive
the whole as a real scene, the latter sup-
pose that the truth lies deeper; and that
some not less real, though less preter-
natural transaction is related, either from
some secret motive, or, according to the
genius of Eastern narrative, in this figu-
rative style. As pretending to discover
historical facts of much importance in the
life of Christ, the latter exposition de-
mands our examination. The Tempta-
tion, according to one view, is a parabolic
description of an actual event according

* Ennius ap. Cic., de Div., i., 48. Tibull., i, 8, 9.

f Matt., iv., 1, 11. Mark, iv., 12, 13. Luke, iv.,
1-13.

t Some of the old writers, as Theodore of Mop-
suestia, explained it as a vision : to this notion Le
Clerc inclines. Schleiermacher treats it as a para-
ble, p. 58. Those who are most scrupulous in de-
parting from the literal sense, cannot but be embar-
rassed with this kind of personal conflict, with a
Being whom the devil must have known, accord-
ing to their own view, to have been divine. This
is one of those points which will be differently un-
derstood, according to the turn and cast of mind of
different individuals. I would therefore deprecate
the making either interpretation an article of faith,
or deciding with dogmatic certainty on so perplex-
ing a passage.

§ This theory, differently modified, is embraced
by Herman Von der Hardt, by the elder Rosenrniil-
ler (schol., in loc.), and by Kuinoel.70

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

to another, of a kind of inward mental
trial, which continued during the public
career of Jesus. In the first theory, the
tempter was nothing less than the high-
priest, or one of the Sanhedrin, delegated
by their authority to discover the real pre-
tensions of Jesus. Having received intel-
ligence of the testimony borne to Jesus by
John, this person was directed to follow
him into the wilderness, where he first
demanded, as the price of his acknowledg-
ment by the public authorities, some dis-
play of miraculous power, such as should
enable him, like Moses, to support the life
of man by a preternatural supply of food
in the wilderness. He then held out to
him the splendid prospects of aggrandize-
ment, if he should boldly place himself, as
a divinely-commissioned leader, at the
head of the nation ; and even led him in
person to the pinnacle of the temple, and
commanded him to cast himself down, as
the condition, if he should be miraculously
preserved, of his formal recognition by
the Sanhedrin. To this view, ingenious
as it is, some obvious objections occur:
the precise date apparently assigned to the
transaction by the evangelists, and the
improbability that, at so early a period, he
would be thought of so much importance
by the ruling powers ; the difficulty of
supposing that, even if there might be pru-
dential motives to induce St. Matthew,
writing in Judma, to disguise, under this
allegoric veil, so remarkable an event in
the history of Christ, St. Luke, influenced
by no such motives, would adopt the same
course. Though, indeed, it may be repli-
ed that, if the transaction had once as-
sumed, it would be likely to retain its par-
abolic dress, still it must seem extraor-
dinary that no clearer notice of so extra-
ordinary a circumstance should transpire
in any of the Christian records. Nor does
it appear easily reconcilable with the cau-
tious distance at which the authorities ap-
pear to have watched the conduct of Je-
sus, thus, as it were, at once to have com-
mitted themselves, and almost placed
themselves within his power.

The second theory is embarrassed with
fewer of these difficulties, though it is lia-
ble to the same objection as to the pre-
cise date apparently assigned to the inci-
dent. According to this view, at one par-
ticular period of his life, or at several
times, the earthly and temporal thoughts,
thus parabolically described as a personal
contest with the Principle of Evil, passed
through the mind of Jesus, and arrayed
before him the image constantly present
to the minds of his countrymen, that of
the author of a new tempora theocracy.

For so completely were the suggestions in
unison with the popular expectation, that
ambition, if it had taken a human or a
worldly turn, might have urged precisely
such displays of supernatural power as
are represented in the temptations of Je-
sus. On no two points, probably, would
the Jews have so entirely coincided, as in
expecting the Messiah to assume his title
and dignity before the view of the whole
people, and in the most public and impo-
sing manner ; such, for instance, as spring-
ing from the highest point of the temple,
to have appeared floating in the air, or
preternaturally poised upon the unyielding
element; any miraculous act, in short, of
a totally opposite character to those more
private, more humane, and, if we may so
speak, more unassuming signs, to which
he himself appealed as the evidences of
his mission. To be the lord of all the
kingdoms, at least of Palestine, if not of
the whole world, was, according to the
same popular belief, the admitted right of
the Messiah. If, then, as the history im-
plies, the Saviour was tried by the intru-
sion of worldly thoughts, whether, accord-
ing to the common literal interpretation,
actually urged by the Principle'of Evil in
his proper person, or, according to this
more modified interpretation of the pas-
sage, suggested to his mind, such was
the natural turn which they might have
taken.

But, however interpreted, the moral pur-
port of the scene remains the same: the
intimation that the strongest and most
lively impressions were made upon the
mind of Jesus, to withdraw him from the
purely religious end of his being upon
earth; to transform him from the author of
a moral revolution, to be slowly wrought
by the introduction of new principles of
virtue, and new rules of individual and so-
cial happiness, to the vulgar station of one
of the great monarchs or conquerors of
mankind; to degrade him from a being
who was to offer to man the gift of. eter-
nal life, and elevate his nature to a pre
vious fitness for that exalted destiny, to
one whose influence over his own genera-
tion might have been more instantaneous-
ly manifest, but which could have been as
little permanently beneficial as that of any
other of those remarkable names which,
especially in the East, have blazed for a
time and expired.

From the desert, not improbably sup-
posed to be that of Quarantania, lying be-
tween Jericho and Jerusalem, where tra-
dition, in Palestine unfortunately of no
great authority, still points out the scene
of this great spiritual conflict, and where a76

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

mountain,* commanding an almost bound-
less prospect of the valleys and hills of
Judaea, is shown as that from whence Je-
sus looked down unmoved on the king-
doms of the earth, the Son of Man return-
ed to the scene of John’s baptism.

In the mean time, the success of the new
Deputation prophet, the Baptist, had excited
from Jem- the attention, if not the jealousy,
aiem to 0f the ruling authorities of the
,olin’ Jews. The solemn deputation
appeared to inquire into his pretensions.
The Pharisees probably at this time pre-
dominated in the great council,' and the
delegates, as of this sect, framed their
questions in accordance with the popular
traditions, as well as with the prophetic
writings :f they inquire whether he is the
Christ, or Elias, or the prophet.% John at
once disclaims his title to the appellation
of the Christ; nor is he Elijah, personally
returned, according to the vulgar expecta-
tion nor Jeremiah, to whom tradition
assigned the name of “ the prophet,” who
was to rise from the dead at the coming
of the Messiah, in order, it was supposed,
to restore the tabernacle, the ark, and the
altar of incense, which he was said to have
concealed in a cave on the destruction
of the Temple by Nebuchadnezzar, and
which were to be brought again to light at
the Messiah’s coming.||

The next day John renewed his decla-
ratiorTthat he was the harbinger^f descri-
bed in the prophet Isaiah, who, according
to the custom in the progresses of Oriental
monarchs, was to go before, and, cutting
througli mountains and bridging valleys, to
make a wide and level way for the ad-
vancement of the Great King. So John
was to remove some of the moral imped-
iments for the reception of Christ. At the
same time, as Jesus mingled undistin-
guished among the crowd, without directly
designating him, he declared the actual
presence of the mightier teacher who was
about to appear. The next day, in the
Jesus desi*- more Priyate circle of his be-
nated by lievers, John did not scruple to
■John as the point out more distinctly the per-
ebSia * son of the Messiah.** The oc-
casion of his remarkable speech (it has
been suggested with much probability)
was the passing of large flocks of sheep

* The best description of this mountain is in the
Travels of the Abbe Mariti.

f The Sanhedrin alone could judge a tribe, the
high-priest, or a prophet (Sanhedrin Paroch., i.).
Hence “a prophet could not perish out of Jerusa-
lem.”^—Luke, xiii., 33. Lightfoot, Harm. Ev.
t John, i., 19-28.

6 Wetstein. Nov. Test., in loc. i

|] 2 Macc., ii., 4-8; xv., 14. % John,!,, 29-34.

** John, i.,35, 36. I

and lambs, which, from the rich pastoral
districts beyond the river, crossed the Jor-
dan at the ford and were driven on to the
metropolis, to famish either the usual daily
sacrifice or those for the approaching Pass-
over. The Baptist, as they were passing,
glanced from them to Jesus, declared him
to be that superior Being, of whom he was
but the humble harbinger, and described
him as “ the Lamb of God,* which taketh
away the sins of the world.” Unblemish-
ed and innocent as the meek animals that
passed, like them he was to go up as a
sacrifice to Jerusalem, and in some mys-
terious manner to “ take away” the sins
of mankind. Another title, by which he
designated Jesus yet more distinctly as
the Messiah, was that of the “ Son of
God,” one of the appellations of the Deliv-
erer most universally admitted, though no
doubt it might bear a different sense to
different hearers.

Among the more immediate disciples of
John, this declaration of their master could
not but excite the strongest emotions ; nor
can anything be more characteristic of the
feelings of that class among the Jews than
the anxious rapidity with which the won-
derful intelligence is propagated, and the
distant and awestruck reverence with
which the disciples slowly present them-
selves to their new master. The first of

* Supposing (as is the general opinion) that this
term refers to the extraordinary sacrifice of Christ,
according to the analogy between the death of Je-
sus and the sacrificial victims, subsequently devel-
oped by the apostles (and certainly the narrower
sense maintained by Grotius and the modern learn-
ed writers (see Rosenmiiller and Kuinoel, in loc.)
are by no means satisfactory), to the hearers of John
at this time such an allusion must have been as un-
intelligible as the intimations of Jesus about his fu-
ture sufferings to his disciples. Indeed, if under-
stood by John himself in its full sense, it is difficult
to reconcile it with the more imperfect views of the
Messiah evinced by his doubt during his imprison-
ment. To the Jews in general it can have convey-
ed no distinct meaning. That the Messiah was to
be blameless was strictly accordant with their no-
tions, and “ his taking away sins” bore an intelli-
gible Jewish sense; but taking them away by his
own sacrifice was a purely Christian tenet, and but
obscurely and prophetically alluded to before the
death of Christ. How far the Jews had any notion
of a suffering Messiah (afterward their great stum-
bling-block) is a most, obscure question. The Chal-
daic parapnrast certainly refers, but in very vague
and contradictory language (Isaiah, lii., 13, et seq.),
to the Me'ssiah. See on one side Schoetgen, Hor.
Heb., ii., 181, and Danzius, de Avrpy, in Meuschen ;
on the other, Rosenmiiller and Gesenius on Isaiah.
The notion of the double Messiah, the suffering
Messiah, the son of Joseph, and the triumphant, the
son of David (as in Pearson on the Creed, vol. ii.),
is of most uncertain date and origin ; but nothing,
m my opinion, can be more incredible than that it
should have been derived, as Bertholdt would im-
agine, from the Samaritan belief.—Bertholdt, a.
29.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Firstdis- these were Andrew, the brother of
cipies of Simon (Peter), and probably the
Jesus> author of the narrative, St. John.*
Simon, to whom his brother communi-
cates the extraordinary tidings, immediate-
ly follows, and on him Jesus bestows a
new name, expressive of the firmness of
his character. All these belonged to the
same village, Bethsaida, on the shore of
the Lake of Gennesareth. On the depar-
ture of Jesus, when he is returning to Gal-
ilee, he summons another, named Philip.
Philip, like Andrew, hastened away to im-
part the tidings to Nathanael, not improb-
ably conjectured to be the apostle Barthol-
omew (the son of Tolmai or Ptolemy), a
man of blameless character, whose only
doubt is that the Messiah should come
from a town of such proverbial disrepute
as Nazareth.f But the doubts of Nathan-
ael are removed by the preternatural
knowledge displayed by Jesus of an inci-
dent which he could not have witnessed;
and this fifth disciple, in like manner, does
homage to the Messiah, under his titles
“the Son of God, the King of Israel.”
Yet this proof of more than human knowl-
edge Jesus declares to be as nothing in
comparison with the more striking signs
of the Divine protection and favour, which
he asserts, under the popular and signifi-
cant image of the perpetual intervention of
angels, that his chosen followers are here-
after to witness.

Jesus had now commenced his career:
Jesus corn- disciples had attached themselves
mences his to this new master, and his claim
teachei*as a t0 a Divine mission must neces-
sarily be accompanied by the
signs and wonders which were to ratify
the appearance of the Messiah. Yet even
his miraculous powers had nothing of the
imposing, the appalling, or public charac-
ter looked for, no doubt, by those who ex-
pected that the appeal would be made to
their senses and their passions, to their
terror and their hope, not to the more
tranquil emotions of gratitude and love.
But of this more hereafter.

The first miracle of Jesus was the
First miracle, changing the water into wine
Anti-Essenian. at the marriage feast at Cana
in Galilee.J This event, however, was
not merely remarkable as being the first
occasion for the display of supernatural
power, but as developing in some degree
the primary principles of the new religious
revelation. The attendance of Jesus at a
marriage festival, his contributing to the
festive hilarity, more particularly his
sanctioning the use of wines on such oc-

* John, i., 37-42. t Id , i, 43-51. t Id , ii., 1-L1.

casions, at once separated and set him
apart from that sect with which he was
most likely to be confounded. John no
doubt passed with the vulgar for a stricter
Essene, many of whom, it has been before
said, observed the severest morality, and
in one great point differed most widely
from all their brethren. They disregarded
the ceremonies of the law, even the solemn
national festivals, and depreciated sacri-
fices. Shut up, in short, in their own
monastic establishments, they had sub-
stituted observances of their own for those
of the Mosaic institutes. In all these
points, John, who nowhere appears to
have visited Jerusalem, at least after his
assumption of the prophetic office (for his
presence there would doubtless have ex-
cited much commotion), followed the Es-
senianpractice. Like them,he was severe,
secluded, monastic, or, rather, eremitical
in his habits and language. But among
the most marked peculiarities of the Es-
senian fraternity was their aversion to
marriage. Though some of the less rigid
of their communities submitted to this in-
evitable evil, yet those who were of higher
pretensions, and doubtless of higher esti-
mation, maintained inviolable celibacy,
and had fully imbibed that Oriental prin-
ciple of asceticism which proscribed all
indulgence of the gross and material body
as interfering with the purity of the im-
maculate spirit. The perfect religious
being was he who had receded to the ut-
most from all human passion; who had
withdrawn his senses from all intercourse
with the material world, or, rather, had
estranged his mind from all objects of
sense, and had become absorbed in the
silent and ecstatic contemplation of the
Deity.* This mysticism was the vital
principle of the Essenian observances in
Judsea, and of those of the Therapeutae,
or Contemplatists, in Egypt, the lineal
ancestors of the Christian monks and her-
mits. By giving public countenance to a
marriage ceremony, still more by sanc-
tioning the use of wine on such occasions
(for wine was likewise proscribed by Es-
senian usage), Jesus thus, at the outset
of his career, as he afterward placed him-

* It may be worth observing (for the connexion
of Jesus with the Essenes has been rather a favour-
ite theory), that his illustrations, so perpetually
drawn from the marriage rite and from the vine-
yard, would be in direct opposition to the Essenian
phraseology. All these passages were peculiarly
embarrassing to the Gnostic ascetics. Noluit
Marcion sub imagine Domini a nuptiis redeuntis
Christum cogitari “detestatorum nuptiarum,” he
rejected from his Gospel, Luke, xiv., 7-11. See the
Gospel of Marcion by Hahn, in Thilo. Cod. Apoc.
Nov. Testam , p 444 and 449.78

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

self in direct opposition to the other pre-
vailing sects, so he had already receded
from the practice of these recluse mystics,
who formed the third, and, though not in
numbers, yet in character and influence,
by no means unimportant religious party.

After this event in Cana,* Jesus, with
his mother, his brethren, and some of his
disciples, took up their abode, not in their ;
native town of Nazareth, but in the village
^ of Capernaum,f which was situ-'

apernaum. ate(j not far from the rising city

of Tiberias, on the shore of the beautiful
lake, the Sea of Gennesareth. It was
called the Village of Comfort, or the Love-
ly Village, from a spring of delicious water,
and became afterward the chief residence
of Jesus, and the great scene of his won-
derful works.J

The Passover approached,§ the great
First passo- festival || which assembled, not
ver, a.d. 27. only from all parts of Pales-
tine, but even from remoter regions, the
more devout Jews, who at this period of
the year constantly made their pilgrimage
to the Holy City : regular caravans came
from Babylonia and Egypt; and no doubt,
as we shall explain hereafter, considerable
numbers from Syria, Asia Minor, and the
other provinces of the Roman empire.
There can be no doubt that at least vague
rumours of the extraordinary transactions
which had already'excited public attention
towards Jesus of Nazareth must have
preceded his arrival at Jerusalem. The
declaration of the Baptist, however neither
himself nor many of his immediate dis-
ciples might attend the feast, could not
but have transpired. Though the single
miracle wrought at Cana might not have
been distinctly reported at Jerusalem—

* Maundrell places Cana northwest of Nazareth ;
it was about a day’s journey from Capernaum.
Josephus (De Vita Sua) marched all night from
Cana, and arrived at Tiberias in the morning,
f John, ii., 12.

i Among the remarkable and distinctive pecu-
liarities of the Gospel of St. John, is the much
greater length at which he relates the events which
occurred during the earlier visits of Jesus to Jeru-
salem, about which the other evangelists are either
entirely silent or extremely brief. I cannot help
suspecting a very natural reason for this fact, that
John was then the constant companion of his Mas-
ter during these journeys, and that the other apos-
tles were much less regular in their attendance
upon him during these more distant excursions,
especially at the earlier period. The Gospel of. St.
John (some few passages omitted) might be de-
scribed as the acts of Jesus in Jerusalem and its
neighbourhood. § John, ii., 13.

H Many writers suppose that about half a year
passed between the baptism of Jesus and this pass-
over. This is possible ; but it appears tome that
there is no evidence whatever as to the length of
the neriod.

though the few disciples who may have
followed him from Galilee, having there
disseminated the intelligence of his con-
duct and actions, might have been lost in
the multitude and confusion of the crowd-
ed city—though, on the other hand, the.
impressions thus made would be still
farther counterbalanced by the general
prejudice against Galilee, more especially
against a Galilean from Nazareth, still the
son of Mary, even at his first ap- jeSus at
pearance in Jerusalem, seems to Jerusalem,
have been looked on with a kind of rev-
erential awe. His actions were watched ;
and though both the ruling powers, and
as yet, apparently, the leading Pharisees
kept aloof—though he is neither molested
by the jealousy of the latter, nor excites
the alarm of the former, yet the mass of
the people already observed his words
and his demeanour with anxious interest.
The conduct of Jesus tended to keep up
this mysterious uncertainty, so likely to
work-on the imagination of a people thus
ripe for religious excitement. He is said
to have performed “ many miracles,” but
these, no doubt, were still of a private,
secret, and unimposing character; and on
all other points he maintains the utmost
reserve, and avoids with the most jealous
precaution any action or language which
might directly commit him with the rulers
or the people.

One act alone was public, commanding,
and authoritative. The outer The Tem-
court of the Temple had become, pie a mart,
particularly at the period of the greatest
solemnity, a scene of profane disorder and
confusion. As the Jews assembled from
all quarters of the country, almost of the
world, they were under the necessity of
purchasing the victims for their offerings
on the spot; and the rich man who could
afford a sheep or an ox, or the poor who
was content with the humbler oblation of
a pair of doves, found the dealer at hand
to supply his wants. The traders in sheep,
cattle, and pigeons had therefore been
permitted to establish themselves within
the precincts of the Temple, in the court of
the Gentiles ;* and a line of shops (taber-
nae) ran along the outer wall of the inner
court. Every Jew made an annual pay-
ment of a half-shekel to the’Temple ; and
as the treasury, according to ancient usage,
only received the coin of Palestine,! those

* John, ii., 14, 25.

f According to Hug, “ the ancient imposts which
were introduced before the Roman dominion were
valued according to the Greek coinage, e.g., the
taxes of the temple, Matt., xvii., 24. Joseph., B J.
vii., 6, 6. The offerings were paid in these, Mark,
xii., 42. Luke, xxi., 2. A payment which pro-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

who came from distant provinces were
obliged to change their foreign money, the
relative value of which was probably lia-
ble to considerable fluctuation. It is evi-
dent, from the strong language of Jesus,
that not only a fair and honest, but even a
questionable and extortionate traffic was
conducted within the holy precincts. Nor
is it impossible that even in the Temple
courts trade might be carried on less con-
nected with the religious character of the
place. Throughout the East, the periodi-
cal assemblages of the different tribes of
the same descent at some central temple,
is intimately connected with commercial
views.* The neighbourhood of the Holy
Place is the great fair or exchange of the
tribe or nation. Even to the present day,
Mecca, at the time of the great concourse
of worshippers at the tomb of the Prophet,
is a mart for the most active traffic among
the merchant pilgrims, who form the car-
avans from all quarters of the Mohamme-
dan world.f

We may conceive how the deep and
awful stillness which ought to have pre-
vailed within the inner courts, dedicated to
the adoration of the people—how the quiet
prayer of the solitary worshipper, and the
breathless silence of the multitude, while
the priests were performing the more im-
portant ceremonies, either offering the na-
tional sacrifice or entering the Holy Place,
must have been interrupted by the close
neighbourhood of this disorderly market.
How dissonant must have been the noises
of the bleating sheep, the lowing cattle,
the clamours and disputes, and all the tu-
mult and confusion thus crowded into a
space of no great extent. No doubt the
feelings of the more devout must long be-
fore have been shocked by this desecra-
tion of the holy precincts ; and when Je-
Expuision of sus commanded the expulsion
these traders. 0f these traders out of the court
of the Temple, from the almost unresist-
ing submission with which they abandon-
ed their lucrative posts at the command
of one invested in no public authority, and
who could have appeared to them no more
than a simple Galilean peasant, it is clear

ceeded from the Temple treasury was made ac-
cording to the ancient national payment, by weight,
Matt., xxvi., 15. [This is very doubtful.] But in
common business, trade, wages, sale, &c., the assis,
and denarius, and Roman coin were usual, Matt.,
x., 29. Luke, xii., 6. Matt., xx., 2. Mark, xiv.,
5. John, xii, 5 ; vi., 7. The more modern state
taxes are likewise paid in the coin of the nation
which exercises at the time the greatest authority,
Matt., xxii., 19. Mark, xii., 15. Luke, xx., 24.”—
Vol. i., p. 14. After all, however, some of these
words may be translations.

* Heeren, Ideen, passim.

t Burckhardt, Travels in Arabia.

that this assertion of the sanctity of the
Temple must have been a popular act
with'the majority of the worshippers.*
Though Jesus is said personally to have
exerted himself, assisting with a light
scourge, probably, in driving out the cattle,
it is not likely that if he had stood alone,
either the calm and commanding dignity
of his manner, or even his appeal to the
authority of the Sacred Writings, which
forbade the profanation of the Temple as
a place of merchandise, would have over-
powered the sullen obstinacy of men en-
gaged in a gainful traffic, sanctioned by
ancient usage. The same profound ven-
eration for the Temple, which took such
implacable offence at the subsequent lan-
guage of Jesus, would look with unallayed
admiration on the zeal for “the Fathers
House,” which would not brook the intru-
sion of worldly pursuits or profane noises
within its hallowed gates.

Of itself, then, this act of Jesus might

not amount tO the assumption Of Expectations
authority over the Temple of raised by this
God : it was, perhaps, no more event'
than a courageous zealot for the law might
have done ;f but, combined with the for-
mer mysterious rumours about his char-
acter and his miraculous powers, it in-
vested him at once in the awful charactei
of one in whose person might appear the
long-desired, the long-expected Messiah.
The multitude eagerly throng around him,
and demand some supernatural sign of his
Divine mission. The establishment of the
Lav/ had been accompanied, according to
the universal belief, with the most terrific
demonstrations of Almighty power: the
rocking of the earth, the blazing of the
mountain. Would the restoration of the
Theocracy in more ample power and more
enduring majesty be unattended with the
same appalling wonders ? The splendid
images in the highly figurative writings of
the prophets, the traditions, among the
mass of the people equally authoritative,
had prepared them to expect the coming
of the Messiah to be announced by the
obedient elements. It would have been

* I think these considerations make it less im-
probable that this event should have taken place on
two separate occasions, and under similar circum-
stances. The account of St. John places this inci-
dent at this period of our Lord’s life; the other
evangelists during his last visit to Jerusalem. 1
confess, indeed, for my own part, that even if it be
an error of chronological arrangement in one or
other of the evangelists, my faith in the historical
reality of the event would not be in the least
shaken.

+ Legally only the magistrate (£. e, the Sanhe-
drin) or a prophet could rectify abuses in the Tern
pie of God. A prophet must, show his commission by
some miracle or prediction.—-Grotius and Whitby.80

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

difficult, by the most signal convulsions of
nature, to have come up to their high-
wrought expectations. Private acts of
benevolence to individuals, preternatural
cures of diseases, or the restoration of dis-
ordered faculties, fell far beneath the no-
tions of men, blind, perhaps, to the moral
beauty of such actions. They required
public, if we may so speak, national mira-
cles, and those of the most stupendous na-
ture. To their demand, Jesus calmly an-
swered by an obscure and somewhat orac-
ular allusion to the remote event of his
own resurrection, the one great “ sign” of
Christianity, to which it is remarkable that
Christ constantly refers when required to
ratify his mission by some public miracle.*
The gesture, by which he probably con-
fined his meaning to the temple of his
body, which, though destroyed, was to be
raised up again in three days, was seen,
indeed, by his disciples, yet even by them
but imperfectly understood; by the peo-
ple in general his language seemed plainly
to imply the possible destruction of the
Temple. An appalling thought, and feebly
counterbalanced by the assertion of his
power to rebuild it in three days !

This misapprehended speech struck on
Reverence of the most sensitive chord in the
the Jews for high-strung religious tempera-
the Temple. ment Qf Jewish people.

Their national pride, their national exist-
ence, were identified with the inviolability
of the Temple. Their passionate and
zealous fanaticism on this point can scarce-
ly be understood but after the profound
study of their history. In older times, the
sad and loathsome death of Antiochus
Kpiphanes; in more recent, the fate of
Crassus, perishing amid the thirsty sands
of the desert, and of Pompey, with his head-
less trunk exposed to the outrages of the
basest of mankind on the strand of Egypt,
had been construed into manifest visita-
tions of the Almighty, in revenge for the
plunder and profanation of his Temple.
Their later history is full of the same spir-
it ; and even in the horrible scenes of the
fatal siege of Titus, this indelible passion
survived all feelings of nature or of hu-
manity : the fall of the 'Temple was like
the bursting of the heart of the nation.

From the period at which Herod the
Great had begun to restore the dilapidated
work of Zorobabel, forty-six years had
elapsed, and still the magnificence of the
king, or the wealth and devotion of the
principal among the people, had. found
some new work on which to expend those
incalculable riches, which, from these

sources, the tribute of the whole nation
and the donations of the pious continued
to pour into the Temple treasury. And
this was the building of which Jesus, as he
was understood, could calmly contemplate
the fall, and daringly promise the immedi-
ate restoration. 'To their indig- Their expec-
nant murmurs, Jesus, it should taiions disap-
seem, made no reply. The ex- pointed'
planation would perhaps have necessarily
led to a more distinct prediction of his
own death and resurrection than it was
yet expedient to make, especially on so
public a scene. But how deeply this mis-
taken speech sunk into the popular mind
may be estimated frbm its being adduced
as the most serious charge against Jesus
at his trial; and the bitterest scorn with
which be was followed to his crucifixion
exhausted itself in a fierce and sarcastic
allusion to this supposed assertion of
power.

Still, although with the exasperated
multitude the growing veneration of Jesus
might be checked by this misapprehended
speech, a more profound impression had
been made among some of the more think-
ing part of the community. Already one
member, if not more, of the Sanhedrin
began to look upon him with interest, per-
haps with a secret inclination to espouse
his doctrines. That one, named
Nicodemus, determined to satis- lco emub‘
fy himself by a personal interview as to
the character and pretensions of the new
Teacher.* Nicodemus had hitherto been
connected with the Pharisaic party, and
he dreaded the jealousy of that powerful
sect, who, though not yet in declared hos-
tility against Jesus, watched, no doubt,
his motions with secret aversion; for
they could not but perceive that he made
no advances towards them, and treated
with open disregard their minute and
austere observance of the literal and tra-
ditionary law, their principles of separa-
tion from the “ unclean” part of the com-
munity, and their distinctive dress and
deportment. The popular and accessible
demeanour of Jesus showed at once that
he had nothing in common with the spirit
of this predominant religious faction. Nic-
odemus therefore chooses the dead of
the night to obtain his secret interview
with Jesus; he salutes him with a title,
that of rabbi, assumed by none but those
who were at once qualified and authorized
to teach in public; and he recognises at
once his Divine mission, as avouched by
his ’wonderful works. But, with astonish-
ment almost overpowering, the Jewish

Compare Matt., xii., 40.

* John, iii., 1, 21HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ruler hears the explanation of the first
principles of the new religion. When the
heathen proselyte was admitted into Juda-
ism, he was considered to be endowed
with new life : he was separated from all
his former connexions ; he was born again
to higher hopes, to more extended knowl-
edge, to a more splendid destiny.* But
now, even the Jew of the most unim-
peachable descent from Abraham, the Jew
of the highest estimation, so as to have
been chosen into the court of Sanhe-
drin, and who had maintained the strict-
est obedience to the law, in order to be-
come a member of the new community,
required a change no less complete. He
was to pass through the ceremony em-
blematic of moral purification. To him
as to the most unclean of strangers, bap-
tism was to be the mark of his initiation
into the new faith ; and a secret internal
transmutation was to take place by Divine
agency in his heart, which was to com-
municate a new principle of moral life.
Without this, he could not attain to that
which he had hitherto supposed either the
certain privilege of his Israelitish descent,
or, at least, of his conscientious adherence
to the law. Eternal life, Jesus declared,
was to depend solely on the reception of
the Son of God, who, he not obscurely in-
timated, had descended from heaven, was
present in his person, and was not univer-
sally received only from the want of
moral fitness to appreciate his character.
This light was too pure to be admitted
into the thick darkness which was brood-
ing over the public mind, and rendered it
impenetrable by the soft and quiet rays of
the new doctrine. Jesus, in short, almost
without disguise or reservation, announced
himself to the wondering ruler as the Mes-
siah, while, at the same time, he enigmat-
ically foretold his rejection By'the people.
The age was not ripe for the exhibition
of the Divine Goodness in his person; it
still yearned for a revelation of the terri-

* A Gentile proselyted, and a slave set free, is.as
a child new born : he must know no more of his
kindred.—Maimonides. Lightfoot. Harm. Ev.

This notion of a second moral birth is by no
means uncommon in the East. The Sanscrit namo
of a Brahmin is dwija, the twice born.—Bopp.,
Gloss. Sanscr.

ble, destructive, revengeful Power of the
Almighty: a national deity which should
imbody, as it were, the prevailing senti-
ments of the nation. Nor came he to ful-
fil that impious expectation of Jewish
pride, the condemnation of the world, oi
all Gentile races, to the worst calamities,
while on Israel alone his blessings were
to be showered with exclusive bounty.1*
Tie came as a common benefactor, as a
universal Saviour, to the whole human
race. Nicodemus, it should seem, left the
presence of Jesus, if not a decided convert,
yet impressed with still deeper reverence.
Though never an avowed disciple, yet,
with other members of the Sanhedrin, he
was only restrained by his dread of the
predominant party: more than once we
find him seizing opportunities of showing
his respect and attachment to the teachei
whose cause he had not courage openly
to espouse; and perhaps his secret in-
fluence, with that of others similarly dis-
posed, may for a time have mitigated oi
obstructed the more violent designs of the
hostile party.

Thus ended the first visit of Jesus to
Jerusalem since his assumption of a pub-
lic character. His influence had in one
class, probably, made considerable, though
secret progress ; with others, a dark feel-
ing of hostility had been more deeply
rooted ; while this very difference of sen-
timent was likely to increase the general
suspense and interest afe to the future
development of his character. As yet, it
should seem, unless in that most private
interview writh Nicodemus, he had not
openly avowed his claim to the title of
the Messiah : an expression of St. John,f
“ he did not trust himself to them,” seems
to imply the extreme caution and reserve
which he maintained towards all the con-
verts which he made during his present
visit to Jerusalem.

* Q.uae sequuntur inde a versiculo decimo septimo
proprie ad Judseos spectant, et haud dubie dicta
sunt a Domino contra opinionem illam impiam et
in genus hnmanum iniquam, cum existimarent Mes-
siam non nisi Judaicurn populum liberaturum, re-
liquas vero gentes omnes suppliciis atrocissimis
affecturum, pemtusque perdituruin esse.—Titman,
Mel. in Joan , p. 128.

f Jchn, ii , 24, ovk imarsvev lavrov; be did nol
trust himself to them, he c.id not commit himself..82

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

CHAPTER IV.

PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS FROM THE FIRST TO THE SECOND PA 3SOVER.

On the dispersion of the strangers from
Departure the metropolis at the close of the
from Jem- Passover, Jesus, with his more
saiem. immediate followers, passed a
short time in Judsea, where such multi-
tudes crowded to the baptism administer-
ed by his disciples, that the adherents of
John began to find the concourse to their
master somewhat diminished. The Bap-
tist had removed his station to the other
side of the Jordan, and fixed himself by a
stream, which afforded a plentiful supply
of water, near the town of Salim, in Persea.
The partisans of John, not, it should seem,
without jealousy, began, to dispute con-
cerning the relative importance of the
baptism of their master, and that of him
whom they were disposed to consider his
rival. But these unworthy feelings were
strongly repressed by John. In terms still
more emphatic, he reasserted his own sec-
ondary station: he was but the para-
nymph, the humble attendant on the bride-
groom, Christ the bridegroom himself: his
doctrine was that of earth, that of Christ
was from Heaven ; in short, he openly an-
nounces Jesus as the Son of the Almighty
Father, and as the author of everlasting
life.* * * * §

The career of John was drawing to a
John the close. His new station in Peraea
Baptist, was within the dominions of Her-
and Herod. 0(j Antipas. On the division of
the Jewish kingdom at the death of Herod
the Great, Galilee and Perasa had formed
the tetrarchate of Antipas. Herod was
engaged in a dangerous war with Aretas,
king of Arabia Petraca, whose daughter he
had married. But, having formed an in-
cestuous connexion with the wife of his
brother, Herod Philip, his Arabian queen
indignantly fled to her father, who took
up arms to revenge her wrongs against
her guilty husband.f How far Herod
could depend in this contest on the loyalty
of his subjects was extremely doubtful.
It is possible he might entertain hopes
that the repudiation of a foreign alliance,
ever hateful to the Jews, and the union
with a branch of the Asmonean line (for
Herodias was the daughter of Herod the
Great, by Mariamne), might counterbal-
ance in the popular estimation the injus-

* John, iii., 22, 36.

t Luke, iii., 19. Matt., xiv., 3, 5. Mark, vi,
17,20

tice and criminality of his marriage with
his brother's wife.* The influence of
John (according to Josephus) was almost
unlimited. The subjects, and even the
soldiery, of the tetrarch crowded with de-
vout submission around the prophet. On
his decision might depend the wavering
loyalty of the whole province. But John
denounced with open indignation the royal
incest, and declared the marriage with a
brother’s wife to be a flagrant violation of
the law. Herod, before long, ordered him
to be seized and imprisoned in the strong
fortress of Machaerus, on the remote bor-
ders of his transjordanic territory.

Jesus, in the mean time, apprehensive
of the awakening jealousy of the Phari-
sees, whom his increasing success infla-
med to more avowed animosity, left the
borders of Judaea, and proceeded on his re-
turn to Galilee.f The nearer Jesus passes
road lay through the province of through sa-
Samaria.J The mutual hatred ^-[^o/the
between the Jews and Samari- Jews and
tans, ever since the secession of Samaritans.
Sanbaliat, had kept the two races not
merely distinct, but opposed to each other
with the most fanatical hostility. This
animosity, instead of being allayed by
time, had but grown the more inveterate,
and had recently been imbittered by acts,
according to Josephus, of wanton and un-
provoked outrage . on the Samaritans.
During the administration of Coponius,
certain of this hateful race, early in the
morning on one of the days of the Pass-
over, had stolten into the Temple at Jeru-
salem, and defiled the porticoes and courts
by strewing them with dead men’s bones :
an abomination the most offensive to
the Jewish principles of cleanliness and
sanctityStill later, they had frequently
taken advantage of the position in which
their district lay, directly between Judaea
and Galilee, to interrupt the concourse of
the religious Galileans to the capital. ||
Jealous that such multitudes should pass

* This natural view of the subject appears to me
to harmonize the accounts in the Gospels with that
of Josephus. Josephus traces the persecution of
the Baptist to Herod’s dread of popular tumult and
insurrection, without mentioning the real cause of
that dread, which we find in the evangelic narra
tive.

f Matt., iv., 12. Mark, i., 14. Luke, iv., 14.

t John, iv., 1, 32

§ Hist, of the Jews, ii., 130. || Ibid.. ].VHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

heir sacred mountain, Gerizim, to wor-
ship in the Temple at Jerusalem, they often
waylaid the incautious pilgrim, and thus
the nearest road to Jerusalem had become
extremely- insecure. Our history will
show how calmly Jesus ever pursued his
course through these conflicting elements
of society, gently endeavoured to allay the
implacable schism, and set the example of
that mild and tolerant spirit so beautifully
imbodied in his precepts. He passed on
in quiet security through the dangerous
district, and it is remarkable that here, safe
from the suspicious vigilance of the Phar-
isaic party, among these proscribed aliens
from the hopes of Israel, he, more distinct-
ly and publicly than he had hitherto done,
avowed his title as the Messiah, and de-
veloped that leading characteristic of his
religion, the abolition of all local and na-
tional deities, and the promulgation of one
comprehensive faith, in which the great
Eternal Spirit was to be worshipped by all
mankind in “ spirit and in truth.”

There was a well* near the g'ates of
Sichem, a name which by the Jews had
been long perverted into the opprobrious
term Sichar.f This spot, according to im-
memorial tradition, the patriarch Jacob
had purchased, and here were laid the
bones of Joseph, his elder son, to whose
descendant, Ephraim, this district had been
assigned. Sichem lay in a valley between
the two famous mountains Ebal and Geri-
zim, on which the law was read, and rati-
fied by the acclamations of the assembled
tribes; and on the latter height stood the
rival temple of the Samaritans, which had
so long afflicted the more zealous Jews by
its daring opposition to the one chosen
sanctuary on Mount Moriah. The well
bore the name of the patriarch; and while
his disciples entered the town to pur-
chase provisions,! a traffic from which
probably few, except the disciples of
Christ, would not have abstained,§ except

* Tradition still points to this well, about a mile
distant from the walls of Sichar, which Maundrell
supposes to have extended farther. A church was
built, over it by the Empress Helena, but it is now
entirely destroyed. “ It is dug in a firm rock, and
contains about three yards in diameter, and thirty-
five in depth, five of which we found full of water.”
—Maundrell, p. 62.

f From a Hebrew word meaning a “ lie” or an
u idol.” The name had no doubt grown into com-
mon use, as it could not be meant by the evange-
lists in an offensive sense.

t According to the traditions, they might buy of
them, use their labour, or say amen to their bene-
dictions (Beracoth, i., §), lodge in their towns, but
not receive any gift or kindness of them.—Buxtorf,
Lex Talm., 1370. Lightfoot, in loc.

$ Probably the more rigid would have refrained,
even from this permitted intercourse, unless in
cases of absolute necessity.

in extreme necessity, Jesus reposed by its
margin. It was the sultry hour of noon,
about twelve o’clock,* when a woman, as
is the general usage in the East, where the
females commonly resort to the wells or
tanks to obtain water for all domestic
uses, approached the well. Jesus, whom
she knew not to be her countryman, either
from his dress, or perhaps his dialect or
pronunciation, in which the inhabitants of
the Ephraimitish district of Samaria dif
fered both from the Jews and Galileans, to
her astonishment, asked her for water to
quench his thirst. For, in general, the lip
of a Jew, especially a Pharisaic Jew,
would have shrunk in disgust from the
purest element in a vessel defiled by the
hand of a Samaritan. Drawing, as usual,
his similitudes from the present circum-
stances, Jesus excites the wonder of the
woman by speaking of living waters at his
command, waters which were tb nourish
the soul for everlasting life : he increases
her awe by allusions which show more
than mortal knowledge of her own private
history (she was living in concubinage,
having been married to five husbands), and
at length clearly announces that the local
worship, both on Gerizim and at Jerusa-
lem, was to give place to a more sublime
and comprehensive faith. The astonished
woman confesses her belief that, on the
coming of the Messiah, ' truths equally
wonderful may be announced. Jesus, for
the first time, distinctly and unequivocally
declares himself to be the Messiah.f On
the return of the disciples from the town,
their Jewish prejudices are immediately
betrayed at beholding their master thus
familiarly conversing with a woman of the
hateful race : on the other hand, the intel-
ligence of the woman runs rapidly through
the town, and the Samaritans crowd forth
in eager interest to behold and listen to
the extraordinary teacher.

The nature and origin of the Samaritan
belief in the Messiah is even a Samaritan
more obscure question than that belief in the
of the Jews.J That belief was Messiah-

* This is the usual opinion. Dr. Townson, in
his ingenious argument to prove that the hours of
John are not Roman or Jewish, but Asiatic, ad-
duces this passage as in his favour, the evening be-
ing the usual time at which the women resort to the
wells. On the other hand it is observed that noon
was the usual time of dinner among the Jews, and
the disciples probably entered the town for provis-
ions for that meal.

f Leclerc observes that Jesus spoke with more-
freedom to the woman of Samaria, as he had no fear
of sedition, or violent attempts to make him a king.
—On John, iv., 26.

t Bertholdt, ch. vii., which contains extracts
from the celebrated Samaritan letters, and refer-
ences to the modern writeis-who have translated84

HISTORY UF CHRISTIANITY.

evidently more clear and defined than
the vague expectation which prevailed
throughout the East, still it was probably,
like that of the Jews, by no means dis-
tinct or definite. It is generally supposed
that the Samaritans, admitting only the
law, must have rested their hope solely
on some ambiguous or latent prediction
in the books of Moses, who had foretold
the coming of another and a mightier
prophet than himself. But, though the
Samaritans may not have admitted the
authority of the prophets as equal to that
of the law; though they had not installed
them in the regular and canonized code of
their sacred books, it does not follow that
they were unacquainted with them, or
that they did not listen with devout belief
to the more general promises, which by
no means limited the benefits of the Mes-
siah’s coming to the local sanctuary of
Jerusalem, or to the line of the Jewish
kings. There appear some faint traces
of a belief in the descent of the Messiah
from the line of Joseph, of which, as be-
longing to the tribe of Ephraim, the Sa-
maritans seem to have considered them-
selves the representatives.* * Nor is it im-
probable, from the subsequent rapid prog-
ress of the doctrines of Simon Magus,
which were deeply impregnated with
Orientalism,! that the Samaritan notion
of the Messiah had already a strong
Magian or Babylonian tendency. On the
other hand, if their expectations rested on
less definite grounds, the Samaritans were
unenslaved by many of those fatal preju-

them and discussed their purport. Quse vero fuerit
spei Messianse ratio neque ex hoc loco, neque ex
ullo alio antiquiore monumento accuratius inteliigi
potest, et ex recentiorum dernum Samaritanorum
epistolis innotuit. Atque his testibus prophetam
quemdam illuslrem venturum esse sperant, cui ob-
servaturi sint populi ac credituri in ilium, et in
legem et in montem Garizim, qui fidem Mosa'icam
evecturus sit, tabernaculurn restituturus in monte
Garizim, populurn sunm beaturus, postea moriturus
et sepeliendus apud Joseptfbm (i. e., in tribu
Ephraim). Quo tempore venturus sit, id nemini
prajter Deum cognitum esse. Gesenius, in his note
to the curious Samaritan poems which he has pub-
lished (p. 75), proceeds to say that his name is to
be “ Hasch-hab or Hat-hab,” which he translates
conversor (converter), as converting the people to
a higher state of religion. The Messiah Ben Joseph
of the Rabbins, he observes, is of a much later date.
Quotations concerning the latter may be found in
Eisenmenger, ii., 720.

* We still want a complete and critical edition
of the Samaritan chronicle (the Liber Josuae), which
may throw light on the character and tenets of this
remarkable branch of the Jewish nation. Though
in its present form a compa~atively modern com-
pilation, it appears to me,, from the fragments
hitherto edited, to contain manifest vestiges of very
ancient tradition. See an abstract at the end of
Hottinger’s Dissertationes anti Morinianse.

f Mosheim, ii., 19.

dices of the Jews, which so completely
temporalized their notions of the Messiah,
and were free from that rigid and exclusive
pride which so jealously appropriated the
Divine promises. If the Samaritans could
not pretend to an equal share in the splen-
did anticipations of the ancient prophets,
they were safer from their misinterpreta-
tion. They had no visions of universal
dominion ; they looked not to Samaria or
Sichem to become the metropolis of some
mighty empire. They had some legend
of the return of Moses to discover the
sacred vessels concealed near Mount
Gerizim,* but they did not expect to see
the banner raised, and the conqueror go
forth to beat the nations to the earth, and
prostrate mankind before their re-estab-
lished theocracy. They might even be
more inclined to recognise the Messiah in
the person of a purely religious reformer,
on account of the overbearing confidence
with which the rival people announced
their hour of triumph, when the Great
King should erect his throne on Zion, and
punish all the enemies of the chosen race,
among whom the “ foolish people,” as they
were called, “who dwelt at Sichem,”i
would not be the last to incur the terrible
vengeance. A Messiah who would dis-
appoint the insulting hopes of the Jews
would, for that very reason, be more ac-
ceptable to the Samaritans.

The Samaritan commonwealth was gov -
erned, under the Roman suprem- Samaritan
acy, by a council or sanhedrin: Sanhedrin,
but this body had not assumed the preten-
sions of a divinely-inspired hierarchy;
nor had they a jealous and domineering
sect, like that of the Pharisees, in posses-
sion of the public instruction, and watch-
ing every new teacher who did not wear
the garb, or speak the Shibboleth of their
faction, as guilty of an invasion of their
peculiar province. But, from whatever
cause, the reception of Jesus among the
Samaritans was strongly contrasted with
that among the Jews. They listened with
reverence, and entreated him to take up
his permanent abode within their province;
and many among them distinctly acknowl-
edged him as the Messiah and Saviour of
the world.

Still, a residence longer than was ne-
cessary in the infected air, as the Jews
would suppose it, of Samaria, would have
strengthened the growing hostility of the

* Hist, of the Jews, ii., 135.
f There be two manner of nations which my
heart abhorreth, and the third is no nation. They
that sit upon the mountain of Samaria, and they
that dwell amons; the Philistines, and that foolish
people that dwell at Sichem.—Ecr.lesiast.. l.,25,20.Hid TORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ruling powers, a/,d of the prevailing sect
among the Jews. After two days, there-
fore, Jesus proceeded on his journey, re-
entered Galilee, and publicly assumed, in
that province, his office as the teacher of
Second mira- a new religion. The report of a
cie in Caper- second, a more public, and more
naum. extraordinary miracle than that
before performed in the town of Cana,
tended to establish the fame of his actions
in Jerusalem, which had been disseminated
by those Galileans who had returned more
quickly from the Passover, and had ex-,
cited a general interest to behold the per-
son of whom such wonderful rumours were
spread abroad A The nature of the mira*
ele, the healing a youth who lay sick at
Capernaum, about twenty-five miles dis-
tant from Cana, where he then was; the
station of the father, at whose entreaty
he restored the son to health (he was
probably on the household establishment
of Herod), could not fail to raise the ex-
pectation to a higher pitch, and to prepare
the inhabitants of Galilee to listen with
eager deference to the new doctrines.!

One place alone received the son of
Nazareth Mary with cold and inhospita-
Inhospii.able ble unconcern, and rejected his
reception or claims with indignant violence
esiis. —his native town of Nazareth.

The history of this transaction is singular-
ly true to human nature % Where Jesus
was unknown, the awestruck imagination
of the people, excited by the fame of his
wonderful works, beheld him already ar-
rayed in the sanctity .of a prophetical, if
not of a Divine, mission. Nothing in-
truded on their thoughts to disturb their
reverence for the commanding gentleness
of his demeanour, the authoritative per-
suasiveness of his language, the holiness
of his conduct, the celebrity of his mira-
cles : he appeared before them in the pure
and unmingled dignity of his public char-
acter. But the inhabitants of Nazareth
had to struggle with old impressions, and
to exalt their former Jfamiliarity into a
feeling of deference or veneration. In
Nazareth he had been seen from his child-
hood ; and though gentle, blameless, popu-
lar, nothing had occurred, up to the period
of his manhood, to place him so much
above the ordinary level of mankind. His
father’s humble station and employment
had, if we may so speak, still farther un-
dignified the person of Jesus to the mind
of his fellow-townsmen. In Nazareth Jesus

* Matt., iv., 13, 17. Mark, i., 14, 15. Luke, iv.,
14,15. John, iv., 43-45. f John, iv., 4C-54.

t Luke, iv., 16-30. There appears to be an al-
lusion (John, iv., 44) to this incident, which may
have taken place before the second miracle.

was still the “ carpenter’s son.” We think,
likewise, that we discover in the language
of the Nazarenes something of local jeal-
ousy against the more favoured town of
Capernaum. If Jesus intended to assume
a public and distinguished character, why
had not his native place the fame of his
splendid works I why was Capernaum
honoured, as the residence of the new
prophet, rather than the city in which he
had dwelt from his youth 1 '

It was in the synagogue of Nazareth,
where Jesus had hitherto been Jesus in tlie
a devout listener, that he stood synagogue,
up in the character of a Teacher. Ac-
cording to the usage, the chazan or minis-
ter of the synagogue,* whose office it was
to deliver the volume of the law or the
prophets appointed to be read to the per-
son to whom that function had fallen, or
who might have received permission from
the rulers of the synagogue to address the
congregation, gave it into the hands of Je-
sus. Jesus opened on the passage in the
beginning of the 16th chapter of Isaiah,f
by universal consent applied to the coming
of the Messiah, and under its beautiful im-
ages describing with the most perfect truth
the character of the new religion. It
spoke of good tidings to the poor, of con-
solation in every sorrow, oft deliverance
from every affliction : “ He hath anointed
me to preach the Gospel to the poor; he
hath sent me to heal the broken hearted;
to preach deliverance to the captives, and
recovering of sight to the blind ; to set at
liberty them that are bound.”. It went on,
as it were, to announce the instant fulfil-
ment of the prediction, in the commence-
ment of the “ acceptable year of the Lord;”
but before it came to the next clause,
which harmonized ill with the benign
character of the new faith, and spoke of
“ the day of vengeance,” he broke off and
closed the book. He proceeded, probably
at some length, to declare the immediate
approach of these times of wisdom and
peace.

* It is said that on the Sabbath the law was read
in succession by seven persons—a priest, a Levite,
and five Israelites—and never on any other day by
less than three. The prophets were read by any
one; in general, one of the former readers, whom
the minister might summon to the office.

f It is of some importance to the chronology of
the life of Christ, to ascertain whether this periodic
or portion was that appointed in the ordinary course
of reading, or one selected by Jesus. But we can-
not decide this with any certainty ; nor is it clear
that the distribution of the lessons, according to the
ritual of that period, was the same with the present
liturgy of the Jews. According to that, the 16th
chapter of Isaiah would have been read about the
end of August. Macknight and some other harmo-
nists lay much stress on this point.86

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

The whole assembly was in a state of
pleasing astonishment at the ease of his
delivery, and the sweet copiousness of his
language ; they could scarcely believe that
it was the youth whom they had so often
seen, the son of an humble father, in their
streets, and who had enjoyed no advan-
tages of learned education. Some of
them, probably either by their counte-
nance, or tone,* or gesture, expressed their
« incredulity, or even their contempt, for
Joseph’s son; for Jesus at once declared
his intention of performing no miracle to
satisfy the doubts of his unbelieving coun-
trymen : “ No prophet is received with
honour in his own country.” This avow-
ed preference of other places before the
dwelling of his youth ; this refusal to grant
to Nazareth any share in the fame of his
extraordinary works, imbittered, perhaps,
by the suspicion that the general prejudice
against their town might be strengthened,
at least not discountenanced, as it might
have been, by the residence of so distin-
guished a citizen within their walls ; the
reproof so obviously concealed in the
words and conduct of Jbsus, mingled, no
violence doubt, with other fanatical mo-
oftheNaz- tives, wrought the whole assem-
arenes. a 0f phrensy,

that they expelled Jesus from the syna-
gogue. Nazareth lies in a valley, from
which a hill immediately rises ; ,they hur-
ried him up the slope, and were preparing
to cast him down from the abrupt cliff on
the other side, when they found that the
intended victim of their wrath had disap-
peared.

Jesus retired to Capernaum, which from
Capernaum this time became, as it were, his
the chief headquarters.'* ' This place was
residence of admirably situated for his pur-
pose, both from the facility of
communication, as well by land as by the
lake, with many considerable and flourish-
ing towns, and of escape into a more se-
cure region in case of any threatened per-
secution. It lay towards the northern ex-
tremity of the Lake or Sea of Gennesa-
reth.f On the land side it was a centre
from which the circuit of both Upper and
Lower Galilee might begin. The count-
less barks of the fishermen employed upon
the lake, many of whom became his ear-
liest adherents, could transport him with
the utmost ease to any of the cities on the
western bank; while, if danger approach-

* Luke, iv., 31, 32.

f This is the usual position of Capernaum, but
it rests on very uncertain grounds, and some cir-
cumstances would induce me to adopt Lightfoot’s
opinion, that it was much nearer to the southern end
of the lake.

ed from Herod or the ruling powers of
Galilee, he had but to cross to the opposite
shore, the territory, at least at the com-
mencement of his career, of Philip, the
most just and popular of the sons of Her-
od, and which, on his death, reverted to the
Roman government. Nor was it an un-
favourable circumstance that he had most
likely secured the powerful protection of
the officer attached to the court of Herod,
whose son he had healed, and who proba-
bly resided at Capernaum.

The first act of his public career was
the permanent attachment to his Apostles
person, and the investing in the chosen,
delegated authority of teachers of the new
religion, four out of the twelve who after-
ward became the apostles. Andrew and
Peter were originally of Bethsaida, at the
northeastern extremity of the lake, but the
residence of Peter appears to have been
at Capernaum. James and John were
brothers, the sons of Zebedee.* All these
men had united themselves to Jesus im-
mediately after his baptism ; the latter, if
not all, had probably attended upon him
during the festival in Jerusalem, but had
returned to their usual avocations. Jesus
saw them on the shore of the lake : two
of them were actually employed in fishing;
the others, at a little distance, were mend-
ing their nets. At the well-known voice
of their master, confirmed by the sign of
the miraculous draught of fishes,f which
impressed Peter with so much awe, that
he thought himself unworthy of standing
in the presence of, so wonderful a Being,
they left their ships and followed him into
the town ; and though they appear to have
resumed their occupations, on which, no
doubt, their humble livelihood depended,
it should seem that from this time they
might be considered as the regular at-
tendants of Jesus.

The reception of Jesus in the synagogue
of Capernaum was very differ- tiesus in the
ent from that which he encoun- synagogue o*
tered in Nazareth. He was aPemaum*
heard on the regular day of teaching, the
Sabbath, not only undisturbed, but with in-
creasing reverence and awe.J And, in-
deed, if the inhabitants of Nazareth were
offended, and the Galileans in general as-
tonished at the appearance of the humble
Jesus in the character of a public teacher,
the tone and language which he assumed
was not likely to allay their wonder. The
remarkable expression, 44 he speaks as one

+ Matt., iv., 22. Mark, i., 17-20. Luke, v.,
1-11.

f This supposes, as is most probable, that Lus^
v., 1-11, refers to the same transaction.

t Luke. iv.. 31-38. Mark, i.. 21, 2?HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

having authority and mot as the scribes,”
seems to imply more than the extraordi-
nary power and persuasiveness of his lan-
guage.

The ordinary instructers of the people,
His mode of whether under the name of
f-remnfromf" scribes> lawyers, or rabbis, rest-
that of the ed their whole*claim to the pub-
Rabbins. lie attention on the established
Sacred Writings. They were the conser-
vators, and, perhaps, personally ordained
interpreters of the law, with its equally sa-
cred traditionary comment; but they pre-
tended to no authority not originally de-
rived from these sources. They did not
stand forward as legislators, but as accred-
ited expositors of the law; not as men di-
rectly inspired from on high, but as men
who, by profound study and intercourse
with the older wise men, were best en-
abled to decide on the dark, or latent, or
ambiguous sense of the inspired writings ;
or who had received, in regular descent,
the more ancient Cabala, the accredited
tradition. Although, therefore, they had
completely enslaved the public mind,
which reverenced the sayings of the mas-
ters or rabbis equally with the original
text of Moses and the prophets ; though it
is quite clear that the spiritual rabbinical
dominion, which at a later period estab-
lished so arbitrary a despotism over the
understanding of the people, was already
deeply rooted, still the basis of their su-
premacy rested on the popular reverence
for ’the sacred writings. “ It is written,”
was the sanction of all the rabbinical de-
crees, however those decrees might misin-
terpret the real meaning of the law, or
“ add burdens to the neck of the people,”
by no means intended by the wise and hu-
mane lawgiver.

Jesus came forth as a public teacher in
a new and opposite character. His au-
thority rested on no previous revelation,
excepting as far as his Divine commission
had been foreshown in the law and the
prophets. He prefaced his addresses with
the unusual formulary, “ I say unto you.”
Perpetually displaying the most intimate
familiarity with the Sacred Writings, in-
stantly silencing or baffling his adversaries
by adducing, with the utmost readiness
and address, texts of the law and. the
prophets according to the accredited inter-
pretation, yet his ordinary language evi-
dently assumed a higher tone. He was the
direct, immediate representative of the
wisdom of the Almighty Father; he ap-
peared as equal, as superior to Moses ; as
the author of a new revelation, which, al-
though it was not to destroy the law, was
in a certain sense to supersede it, by the

introduction of anew and. original faith
Hence the implacable hostility manifested
against Jesus, not merely by the fierce, the
fanatical, the violent, or the licentious, bv
all who might take offence at the purity
and gentleness of his precepts, but by the
better and more educated among the peo-
ple, the scribes, the lawyers, the Pharisees.
Jesus at once assumed a superiority not
merely over these teachers of the law,
this acknowledged religious aristocracy,
whose reputation, whose interests, and
whose pride were deeply pledged to the
maintenance of the existing system, but he
set himself above those inspired teachers,
of whom the rabbis were but the inter-
preters. Christ uttered commandments
which had neither been registered on the
tablets of stone, nor defined in the more
minute enactments in the book of Leviti-
cus. He superseded at once by his simple
word all that they had painfully learned,-
and regularly taught as the eternal, irre
pealable word of God, perfect, complete,
enduring no addition. Hence „
their perpetual endeavours to hostility of-
commit Jesus with the multi- lhe oLiimny
tude, as disparaging or infrin- teachers-
ging the ordinances of Moses ; endeavours
which were perpetually baffled on his part
by his cautious compliance with the more
important observances, and, notwithstand-
ing the general bearing of his teaching to-
wards the development of a higher and in-
dependent doctrine,* his uniform respect
for the letter as well as the spirit of the
Mosaic institutes. But as the strength of
the rabbinical hierarchy lay in the pas-
sionate jealousy of the people about the
law, they never abandoned the hope of
convicting Jesus on this ground, notwith-
standing his extraordinary works, as a
false pretender to the character of the
Messiah. At all events, they saw clearly
that it was a struggle for the life and death
of their authority. Jesus once acknowl-
edged as the Christ, the whole fabric of
their power and influence fell at once.
The traditions, the Law itself, the skill of
the scribe, the subtlety of the lawyer, the
profound study of the rabbi, or the teacher
in the synagogue and in the school, be-
came obsolete: and the pride of superior
wisdom, the long-enjoyed defence, the
blind obedience with which the people had
listened to their decrees, were gone by for
ever. The whole hierarchy were to cede

* Compare the whole of the Sermon on the
Mount, especially Matt., v., 20-45—the parables of
the leaven and the grain of mustard seed—the fre-
quent intimations of the comprehensiveness of the
“ kingdom of God,” as contrasted with the Jewish
theocracy *88

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

at once their rank and estimation to an
humble and uninstructed peasant from
Galilee, a region scorned by the better ed-
ucated for its rudeness'and ignorance,* and
from Nazareth, the most despised town in
the despised province. Against such deep
and rooted motives for animosity, which
combined and kn.it together every feeling
of pride, passion, habit, and interest, the
simple and engaging demeanour of the
Teacher, the beauty of the precepts, their
general harmony with the spirit, however
they might expand the letter of the law,
the charities they breathed, the holiness
they inculcated, the aptitude and imagin-
ative felicity of the parables under which
they were couched, the hopes*they excited,
the fears they allayed, the blessings and
consolations they promised, all which
makes the discourses of Jesus so confess-
edly superior to human morality,, made
little impression on this class, who in
some respectsj as the most intellectual,
might be considered as in the highest state
of advancement, and therefore most likely
to understand the real spirit of the new
religion. The authority of Jesus could
not coexist with that of the Scribes and
Pharisees ; and this was the great princi-
ple of the fierce opposition and jealous
hostility with which he was in general
encountered by the best instructed teach-
ers of the people.

In Capernaum, however, no resistance
seems to have been made to his success :
the synagogue was open to him on every
Sabbath; and wonderful cures, that of a
demoniac in the synagogue itself, that of
Simon’s wife’s mother, and of many
others within the same town, established
and strengthened his growing influence.!
From Capernaum he set forth to make a
Progress regular progress through the whole
through populous province of Galilee, which
oaiiiee. was crowded, if we are to receive
the account of Josephus, with flourishing
towns and cities beyond almost any other
region of the world.J According to the
Populousness statements of this author, the
of Galilee. number of towns, and the pop-

* See in the Compendium of the Talmud by Pin-
ner of Berlin, intended as a kind of preface to an
edition and translation of the whole Talmudical
b >oks, the curious passage (p. 60) from the Erubin,
m which the Jews and Galileans are contrasted.
I'he Galileans did not preserve the pure speech,
therefore did not preserve pure doctrine—the Gali-
leans had no teacher, therefore no doctrine—the
Galileans did not open the book, therefore they
had no doctrine.

f Mark, i., 23-28. Luke, iv., 33-37. Matt., viii.,
14, 15. Mark, i, 29-31. Luke, iv., 28-39.

t Matt., iv., 23-25. Mark, i , 32-39. Luke iv..
40-44.*

ulation of Galilee, id a district of between
fifty and sixty miles in length, and be-
tween sixty and seventy in breadth, was
no less than 204 cities and villages, the
least of which contained 15,000 souls.*
Reckoning nothing for smaller communi-
ties, and supposing each town and village
to include the adjacent district, so as to
allow of no scattered inhabitants in the
country, the population of the province
would amount to 3,060,000; of these
probably much the larger proportion were
of Jewish descent, and spoke a harshe
dialect of the Aramaic than that which
prevailed in Judaea, though in many of the
chief cities there was a considerable num-
ber of Syrian Greeks and of other foreign
races.f Each of these towns had one or
more synagogues, in which the people
met for the ordinary purposes of worship,
while the more religious attended regular-
ly at the festivals in Jerusalem. The
province of Galilee, with Peraaa, He.rod
formed the tetrarchate of Herod Antipas.
Antipas, who, till his incestuous marriage,
had treated the Baptist with respect, if
not with deference, and does not appear
at first to have interfered with the pro-
ceedings of Jesus. Though at one time
decidedly hostile, he appears neither to
have been very active in his opposition,
nor to have entertained any deep or violent
animosity against the person of Jesus,
even at the time of his final trial. No
doubt Jerusalem and its adjacent province
were the centre and stronghold of Jewish
religious and political enthusiasm; the
pulse beat stronger about the heart than
at the extremities. Nor, whatever per-
sonal apprehensions Herod might have
entertained of an aspirant to the name of
the Messiah, whom he might suspect of
temporal ambition, was he likely to be ac-
tuated by the same jealousy as the Jew-
ish Sanhedrin of a teacher who confined
himself to religious instruction.J His
power rested on force, not on opinion;
on the strength of his guards and the pro-
tection of Rome, not on the respect which
belonged to the half religious, half politi-

* Josephi Vita, ch. xlv. B. J., 111-111, 2.
f According to Strabo, Galilee was full of Egyp
tians, Arabians, and Phoenicians, lib. xvi. Josephus
states of Tiberias in particular, that it was inhabited
by many strangers; Scythbpolis was almost a Greek
city. In Caesarea and many of the other towns,
.the most dreadful conflicts took place, at the com-
mencement of the war, between the two races.—
Hist, of the Jews, ii., 196-198.

t The supposition of Grotius, adopted by Mr.*
Greswell, that Herod was absent at Rome during
the interval between the imprisonment and the
death of John, and therefore during the first prog
ress of eesus, appears highly probable.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

cal pre-eminence of the rulers in Jerusa-
lem. That which made Jesus the more
odious to the native government in Judaea,
his disappointment of their hopes of a
temporal Messiah, and his announcement
of a revolution purely moral and religious,
would allay the fears and secure the in-
difference of Herod; to him Christianity,
however imperfectly understood, would
•appear less dangerous than fanatical Juda-
ism. The Pharisees were in considerable
numbers, and possessed much influence
over the minds of the Galileans ;* but it
was in Judaea that this overwhelming fac-
tion completely predominated, and swayed
the public opinion with irresistible power.
Hence the unobstructed success of Jesus
in this remoter region of the Holy Land,
and the wisdom of selecting that part of
the country where, for a time at least, he
might hope to pursue unmolested his
, career of blessing. During this

unmolested first progress he seems to have
through Gal- passed from town to town un-
llee‘ interrupted, if not cordially wel-

comed. Either astonishment, or prudent
caution, which dreaded to offend his nu-
merous followers; or the better feeling
which had not yet given place to the
fiercer passions ; or a vague hope that he
might yet assume all that they thought
wanting to the character of the Messiah,
not only attracted around him the popula-
tion of the towns through which he passed,
but as he approached the borders, the in-
habitants of Decapods (the district beyond
the Jordan), of Judaea, and even of Jeru-
salem, and the remoter parts of Peraea,
thronged to profit both by his teaching,
and by the wonderful cures which were
wrought on all who were afflicted by the
prevalent diseases of the country.f

How singular the contrast (familiarity
with its circumstances, or deep and early
reverence, prevent us from appreciating
it justly) between the peaceful progress
of the Son of Man, on the one hand heal-
ing maladies, relieving afflictions, resto-
ring their senses to the dumb or blind; on
the other, gently instilling into the minds
of the people those pure, and humane,
and gentle principles of moral goodness,
to which the wisdom of ages has been
able to add nothing, and every other event
to which it can be compared in the his-
. tory of human kind. Compare
wiX'authors the men who have at different
of other rev- periods wrought great and bene-
oiutions. ficiai revolutions in the civil or
the moral state of their kind; or those
mythic personages, either deified men or

* Luke, v ,17. f Matt., iv., 25.

humanized deities, which appear as the
parents, or at some marked epoch in the
history of different nations, imbodying
the highest notions of human nature or
Divine perfection to which the age or the
people had attained; compare all these,
in the most dispassionate spirit, with the
impersonation of the Divine Goodness
in Jesus Christ. It seems a conception,
notwithstanding the progress in moral
truth which had been made among the
more intellectual of the Jews and the
nobler reasoners among the Greeks, so
completely beyond the age, so opposite
to the prevalent expectations of the times,
as to add no little strength to the belief of
the Christian in the Divine origin of his
faith. Was the sublime notion of the
Universal Father, the God of Love, and
the exhibition of as much of the Divine
nature as is intelligible to the limited
faculties of man, his goodness and benef-
icent power, in the “ Son of Man,” first
developed in the natural progress of the
human mind among the peasants of Gali-
lee V* Or, as the Christian asserts with
more faith and surely not less reason, did
the great Spirit, which created and ani-
mates the countless worlds, condescend
to show this image and reflection of his
own inconceivable nature for the benefit
of one race of created beings, to restore
them to, and prepare them for, a higher
and eternal state of existence 1
The synagogues, it has been said, ap-
pear to have been open to Jesus Teaches in
during the whole of his progress the syna-
through Galilee ; but it was not goguesand m
within the narrow walls of ne <>pei1 air
these buildings that he confined his instruc-
tions. It was in the open air, in the field,
or in th® vineyard, on the slope of the hill,
or by the side of the lake, where the deck
of one of his followers’ vessels formed a
kind of platform or tribune, that he de-
lighted to address the wondering multi-
tudes. His language.teems with allusions
to external nature, which, it has often been
observed, seem to have been drawn from
objects immediately around him. It would
be superfluous to attempt to rival, and un-
just to an author of remarkable good sense
and felicity of expression to alter the lan-
guage in which this peculiarity of Christ’s
teaching has already been de- Mannerofhl,
scribed: “ In the spring our Surges
Saviour went into the fields and Quotation
sat down on a mountain, and from ortm'
made the discourse which is recorded in
St. Matthew, and which is full of observa-

* Compare the observations at the end of the
first chapter.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

lions arising from the tilings which offered
themselves to his sight. For when he ex-
horted his disciples to trust in God, he
bade them behold the fowls of the air,
which were then flying about them, and
were fed by Divine Providence, though
they did 4 not sow nor reap, nor gather
into barns.’ He bade them take notice of
the lilies of the field which were then
blown, and were so beautifully clothed by
the same power, and yet 4 toiled not’ like
the husbandmen who were then at work.
Being in a place where they had a wide
prospect of a cultivated land, he bade them
observe how God caused the sun to shine,
and the rain to descend upon the fields and
gardens, even of the wicked and ungrate-
ful. And he continued to convey his doc-
trine to them under rural images, speaking
of good trees and corrupt trees ; of wolves
in sheep's clothing; of grapes not growing
upon thorns, nor figs on thistles ; of the
folly of casting precious things to dogs and
swine; of good measure pressed down,
and shaken together, and running over.
Speaking at the same time to the people,
many of whom were fishermen and lived
much upon fish, he says, What man of you
will give his son a serpent if he ask a fish ?
Therefore, when he said in the same dis-
course, Ye are the light of the world; a city
that is set on a hill, and cannot be hid, it is
probable that he pointed to a city within
their view, situated upon the brow of a
hill. And when he called them the salt of
the earth, he alluded, perhaps, to the hus-
bandmen, who were manuring the ground:
and when he compared every person who
observed his precepts to a man who built
a house upon a rock, which stood firm;
and every one who slighted his word to a
man who built a house upon the sand,
which was thrown down by the winds and
floods—when he used this comparison, ’tis
not improbable that he had before his eyes
houses standing upon high ground and
houses standing in the valley in a ruinous
condition, which had been destroyed by
inundations.”*

It was on his return to Capernaum, ei-
Sermon on ther at the close of the present or
the Mount. 0f a later progress through Gali-
lee, that among the multitudes who had
gathered around him from all quarters, he
ascended an eminence, and delivered in a
long continuous address the memorable
Sermon on the Mount.f It is not our cle-

* Jortin’s Discourses. The above is quoted and
the idea is followed out at. greater length and with
equal beauty in Bishop Law’s Reflections on the
Life of Christ, at the end of his Theory of Religion.

f Scarcely any passage is more perplexing to the
harmonist of the Gospels than the Sermon on the

sign to enter at length on the trite, though,
in our opinion, by no means exhausted
subject of Christian morality, principles ot
We content ourselves with in- Christian
dicating some of those charac- raorallt>'-
teristic points which belong, as it were, to
the historical development of the new re-
ligion, and cannot be distinctly compre-
hended unless in relation to the circum-
stances of the times: I. The i. Not in
morality of Jesus was not in unison with
unison with the temper or feel- the age'
ings of his age. II. It was universal mo-
rality, adapted for the wdiole human race,
and for every period of civilization. III.
It was morality grounded on broad and
simple principles, which had hitherto nev-
er been laid down as the basis of human
action. I. The great principle of the Mo-
saic theocracy was the strict apportion-
ment of temporal happiness or calamity,
at least to the nation, if not to the indi-
vidual, according to his obedience or his
rebellion against the Divine laws. The
natural consequence of this doctrine seem-
ed to be, that prosperity was the invari-
able sign of the Divine approval, adversity
of disfavour. And this, in the tim e of Jesus,
appears to have been carried to such an ex-
treme, that every malady, every infirmity
was an evidence of sin in the individual, or
a punishment inherited from his guilty fore-
fathers. The only question which arose
about the man born blind was, whether his
affliction was the consequence of his own
or his parents’ criminality: he bore in his
calamity the hateful evidence that he was
accursed of God. This principle was per-
petually struggling with the belief in a fu-
ture state, and an equitable adjustment of
the apparent inequalities in the present
life, to which the Jewish mind had gradu-
ally expanded ;*and with the natural hu-
manity inculcated by the spirit of the Mo-
saic law towards their own brethren.
But if the miseries of this life were an ev-
idence of the Divine anger, the blessings
were likewise of his favour.* Hence the

Mount, which appears to be inserted at two differ-
ent places by St. Matthew and St. Luke. That
the same striking truths should be delivered more
than once in nearly the same language, or even that
the same commanding situation should be more
than once selected from which to address the peo-
ple, appears not altogether improbable; but the
difficulty lies in the accompanying incidents, which
are almost the same, and could scarcely have
happened twice. No writer who insists on the
chronological order of the evangelists has, in my
judgment, removed the difficulty. On the whole,
though I have inserted my view of Christian mo
rality as derived from this memorable discourse, in
this place I am inclined to consider the chronology
of St. Luke more accurate.—Matt., v., vi., vii.
Luke, vi., 20, to the end.

* Compare Mosheim, ii.. 12. He considers thisHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

prosperous, the wealthy, those exempt
from human suffering and calamity, were
accustomed to draw even a more false and
dangerous line of demarcation than in or-
dinary cases between themselves and
their humble and afflicted brethren. The
natural haughtiness which belonged to
such superiority acquired, as it were, a
Divine sanction ; nor was any vice in the
Jewish character more strongly reproved
by Jesus, or more hostile to his reception
as the Messiah. For when the kingdom
of Heaven should come—when the theoc-
racy should be restored in more than its
former splendour—who so secure of its
inestimable blessings as those who were
already marked and designated by the Di-
vine favour! Among the higher orders,
the expectation of a more than ordinary
share in the promised blessings might
practically be checked from imprudently
betraying itself, by the natural timidity of
those who have much to lose, and by their
reluctance to hazard any political convul-
sion. Yet nothing could be more inex-
plicable, or more contrary to the universal
sentiment, than that Jesus should disre-
gard the concurrence, and make no par-
ticular advances towards those who form-
ed the spiritual as well as the temporal
aristocracy of the nation ; those whose
possession of the highest station seemed
in a great degree to prove their designa-
tion for such eminence by the Almighty.
“ Have any of the rulers believed in
him !”* * was the contempfuous, and, as they
conceived, conclusive argument against
his claims adduced by the Pharisees. Je-
sus not only did not condescend to favour,
he ran directly counter to this prevailing
notion. He announced that the kingdom
of Heaven was peculiarly prepared for the
humble and the afflicted ; his disciples
were chosen from the lowest order; and
it was not obscurely intimated that his
ranks would be chiefly filled by those who
were undistinguished by worldly prosper-
ity. Yet, on the other hand, there was
nothing in his language to conciliate the
passions of the populace, no address to
the envious and discontented spirit of the
needy to inflame them against their supe-
riors. Popular, as he was, in the highest
sense of the term, nothing could fte farther
removed than the Prophet of Nazareth
from the demagogue. The “ kingdom of

feelingalmost exclusively prevalent among the Sad-
ducees; but from many passages of our Lord’s dis-
courses with the Pharisees, it should seem to have
been almost universal. Pauperes et miseros exis-
timare debebant Deum criminibus et peccatis of-
fendisse, justamque ejus ultionem sentire.

* John, vii., 48.

Heaven” was opened only to those who
possessed and cultivated the virtues oi
their lowly station: meekne'ss, humility,
resignation, peacefulness, patience ; and
it was only because these virtues were
most prevalent in the humbler classes
that the new faith was addressed to them.
The more fierce and violent of the popu-
lace rushed into the ranks of the zealot,
and enrolled themselves among the parti-
sans of Judas the Galilean. They throng-
ed around the robber chieftain, and secret-
ly propagated that fiery spirit of insurrec-
tion which led at length to the fatal war.
The meek and peaceful doctrines of Jesus
found their way only into meek and peace-
ful hearts ; the benevolent character of his
miracles touched not those minds which
had only imbibed the sterner, not the hu-
maner, spirit of the Mosaic law. Thus it
was lowliness of character, rather than of
station, which qualified the proselyte for
the new faith; the absence, in short, of
all those fierce passions which looked only
to a conquering, wide-ruling Messiah : and
it was in elevating these virtues to the
highest rank, which to the many of all or-
ders was treason against the hopes of Is-
rael and the promises of God, that Jesus
departed most widely from the general
sentiment of his age and nation. He went
still farther ; he annihilated the main prin-
ciple of the theocracy—the administration
of temporal rewards and punishments in
proportion to obedience or rebellion—a
notion which, though, as we have said, by
no means justified by common experience,
and weakened by the growing belief in an-
other life, nevertheless still held its ground
in the general opinion. Sorrow, as in one
sense the distinguishing mark and portion
of the new religion, became sacred; and
the curse of God w7as, as it wrere, removed
from the afflictions of mankind. His own
disciples, he himself, were to undergo a
fearful probation of suffering, which could
only be secure of its reward in another
life. The language of Jesus confirmed
the truth of the anti-Sadducaic belief of
the greater part of the nation, and assumed
the certainty of another state of existence,
concerning which, as yet, it spoke the cur-
rent language ; but which it was hereafter
to expand into a more simple and univer-
sal creed, and mingle, if it may be so said,
the sense of immortality with all the feel-
ings and opinions of mankind.

II. Nor was it to the different classes
of the Jews alone that the uni- itsuniver-
versal precepts of Christian mo- sality-
rality expanded beyond the narrow and
exclusive notions of the age and people.
Jesus did not throw down the barrier92

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

which secluded the Jews from the rest of
mankind, but he shook it to its base.
Christian morality was not that of a sect,
a race, or a nation, but of universal man :
though necessarily delivered at times in
Jewish language, couched under Jewish
iigures, and illustrated by local allusions,
in its spirit it was diametrically opposite
to Jewish. However it might make some
provisions suited only to the peculiar state
of the first disciples, yet in its essence it
may be said to be comprehensive as the
human race, immutable as the nature of
man. It had no political, no local, no
temporaly precepts ; it was, therefore,
neither liable to be abrogated by any
change in the condition of man, nor to
fall into disuse, as belonging to a passed
and obsolete state of civilization. It may
dwell within its proper kingdom, the heart
of man, in every change of political rela-
tion : in the monarchy, the oligarchy, the
republic. It may domesticate itself in any
climate, amid the burning sands of Africa,
or the frozen regions of the North; for it
has no local centre, no temple, no Caaba,
no essential ceremonies impracticable un-
der any conceivable state of human ex-
istence. In fact it is, strictly speaking,
no law; it is no system of positive enact-
ments ; it is the establishment of certain
principles, the enforcement of certain dis-
positions, the cultivation of a certain tem-
per of mind, which the conscience is to
apply to the ever-varying exigences of
time and place. This appears to me to
be the distinctive peculiarity of Christian
morals, a characteristic in itself most re-
markable, and singularly so when we find
this free and comprehensive system ema-
nating from that of which the mainspring
was its exclusiveness.

III. The basis of this universality in
its original Christian morals was the broad
principles. and original principles upon
which it rested. If we were to glean
from the later Jewish writings, from the
beautiful aphorisms of other Oriental na-
tions, which we cannot fairly trace to
Christian sources, and from the Platonic
and Stoic philosophy, their more striking
precepts, we might find, perhaps, a coun-
terpart to almost all the moral sayings of
Jesus. But the same truth is of different
importance as an unconnected aphorism,
and as the groundwork of a complete sys-
tem. No doubt the benevolence of the
Creator had awakened grateful feelings,
and kindled the most exquisite poetry of
expression in the hearts and from the lips
of many before the coming of Christ; no
doubt general humanity had been impress-
ed upon mankind in the most vivid and

earnest language. But the Gospel first
placed these two great principles as the
main pillars of the new moral structure :
God the universal Father, mankind one
brotherhood; God made known through
the mediation of his Son, the image and
humanized type and exemplar of his good-
ness ; mankind of one kindred, and there-
fore of equal rank in the sight of the
Creator, and to be united in one spiritual
commonwealth. Such were the great
principles of Christian morals, shadowed
forth at first, rather than distinctly an-
nounced, in condescension to the preju-
dices of the Jews, who, if they had been
found worthy of appreciating the essential
spirit of the new religion—if they had're-
ceived Jesus as the promised Saviour—
might have been collectively and nation-
ally the religious parents and teachers of
mankind.

Such was the singular position of Jesus
with regard to his countrymen; Conduct of
the attempt to conciliate them jesUs with
to the new religion was to be regard to m
fairly made; but the religion, coun,rymen'
however it might condescend to speak
their language, could not forfeit or com-
promise, everr-for such an end, its primary
and essential principles. Jesus therefore
pursues his course, at one time paying the
utmost deference, at another unavoidably
offending the deep-rooted prejudices of the
people. The inveterate and loathsome
nature of the leprosy in Syria, the deep
abhorrence with which the wretched vic-
tim of this disease was cast forth from all
social fellowship, is well known to all who
are even slightly acquainted with the Jew-
ish law and usages. One of these Healing
miserable beings appealed, and not the leper,
in vain, to the mercy of Jesus.* He was
instantaneously cured ; but Jesus, whether
to authenticate the cure and to secure the
readmission of the outcast into the rights
and privileges of society, from which he
was legally excluded,! or, more probably,
lest he should be accused of interfering
with the rights or diminishing the dues of
the priesthood, enjoined him to preserve
the strictest secrecy concerning the cause

* Matt., viii., 2-4. Mark, i., 40-45. Luke, v.,
12-1G. *

I have retained what may be called the moral
connexion of this cure with the Sermon on the
Mount; if- the latter is inserted, as in St. Luke,
after the more solemn inauguration of the Twelve,
this incident will retain, perhaps, its present place,
but lose this moral connexion.—See Luke, v., 12-
15.

f 1 am inclined to adopt the explanation of Gro
tius, that “ the testimony” was to be obtained frorpi
the priest, before he knew that he had been healed
by Jesus, lest, in his jealousy, he should declare
, the cure imperfect.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of his cure; to submit to the regular ex-
amination of his case by the appointed
authorities, and on no account to omit the
second customary offering. The second
miracle, incident was remarkable for its pub-
licity, as having taken place in a crowded
house, in the midst of many of the scribes,
who were, at this period at least, not
friendly to Jesus.* The door of the house
being inaccessible on account of the crowd,
the sick man was borne in his couch along
the fiat terrace roofs of the adjacent build-
ings (for in the East the roofs are rarely
pointed or shelving), and let down through
an aperture, which was easily made, and
of sufficient dimensions to admit the bed,
into the upper chamber,! where Jesus
was seated in the midst of his hearers.
Jesus complied at once with their request
to cure the afflicted man, but made use of
a new and remarkable expression, “ Thy
sins are forgiven thee,” which, while it
coincided with the general notion that
such diseases were the penalties of sin,
nevertheless, as assuming an unprecedent-
ed power, that which seems to belong to
the Deity alone, struck his hearers, more
especially the better instructed, the scribes,
with astonishment. Their wonder, how-
ever, at the instantaneous cure, for the
present, overpowered their indignation,
yet no doubt the whole transaction tended
to increase the jealousy with which Jesus
began to be beheld.

• The third incident! jarred on a still more
The pub- sensitive chord in the popular feel-
licans. jng# On no point were all orders
among the Jews so unanimous as in their
contempt and detestation of the publicans.
Strictly speaking, the persons named in
the evangelists were not publicans. These
were men of property, not below the
equestrian order, who farmed the public
revenues. Those in question were the

* Matt., ix., 2-8. Mark, ii., 1-12. Luke, v., 18-26.

t Or they may merely have enlarged the door of
communication with tne terrace roof.

f Matt., ix., <1 Mark, ii., 13, 14. Luke, v.,
27, 28.

agents of these contractors, men, often
freed slaves, or of low birth and station,
and throughout the Roman world prover-
bial for their extortions, and in Judoaa still'
more hateful, as among the manifest signs
of subjugation to a foreign dominion. The
Jew who exercised the function of a publi-
can was, as it were, a traitor to the na-
tional independence. One of these, Mat-
thew, otherwise called Levi, was summon-
ed from his post as collector, perhaps at
the port of Capernaum, to become one of
the most intimate followers of Jesus ; and
the general astonishment was still farther
increased by Jesus entering familiarly into
the house, and* even partaking of food with
men thus proscribed by the universal feel-
ing ; and, though not legally unclean, yet
no doubt held in even greater abhorrence
by the general sentiment of the people.

Thus ended the first year of the public
life of Jesus. The fame of his Close of first
wonderful works ; the authority year of public
with which he delivered his llfe‘
doctrines; among the meeker and more
peaceful spirits, the beauty of the doctrines
themselves; above all, the mystery which
hung over his character and pretensions,
had strongly excited the interest of the
whole nation. From all quarters—from
Galilee, Persea, Judoea, and even the remo-
ter Idumea—multitudes approached him
with eager curiosity. On the other hand,
his total secession from, or, rather, his
avowed condemnation of, the great pre-
vailing party, the Pharisees, whiie his doc-
trines seemed equally opposed to the less
numerous yet rival Saddueaie faction;
his popular demeanour, which had little in
common with the ascetic mysticism of the
Essenes; his independence of the ruling
authorities ; above all, notwithstanding his
general deference for the law, his manifest
assumption of a power above/he law, had
no doubt, if not actively arftyed against
him, yet awakened to a secret and brood-
ing animosity the interests and passions
of the more powerful and influential
throughout the country.94

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

CHAPTER V.

SECOND YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS.

The second year of the public life of
a n 28 Christ opened, as the first, with
Passover, his attendance at the Passover.*
Jesus in He appeared again amid the as-
jerusaiem. semb}e(j populace of the whole
race of Israel, in the place where, by com-
mon consent, the real Messiah was to as-
sume his office, and to claim the allegiance
of the favoured and chosen people of God.f
Change in ^ is clear that a considerable
popular change had taken place in the
sentiment. p0pU}ar sentiment, on the whole,
at least with the ruling party, unfavoura-
ble to Jesus of Nazareth. The inquisi-
tive wonder, not unmingled with respect,
which on the former occasion seemed to
have watched his words and actions, had
turned to an unquiet and jealous vigilance,
and a manifest anxiety on the part of his
opponents to catch some opportunity of
weakening his influence over the people.
The* misapprehended speech concerning
the demolition and restoration of the Tem-
ple probably rankled in the recollection of
many; and rumours no doubt, and those
most likely inaccurate and misrepresent-
ed, must have reached Jerusalem of the
mysterious language in which he had
spoken of his relation to the Supreme Be-
ing. The mere fact that Galilee had been
chosen, rather than Jerusalem or Judaea,
for his assumption of whatever distin-
guished character he was about to sup-
port, would work, with no doubtful or
disguised animosity, among the proud
and jealous inhabitants of the metropolis.
Nor was his conduct, however still cau-
tious, without farther inevitable collision
with some of the most inveterate preju-
dices of his countrymen. The first year
the only public demonstration of his supe-
riority had been the expulsion of the

* My language on this point is to be taken with
some latitude, as a certain time elapsed between
the baptism of Jesus and the first Passover.

I adopt the opinion that the feast in the 5th chap-
ter of St. John (verse 1) was a Passover. This
view is not without objection, namely, the long in-
terval of nearly a whole year, which would be over-
leaped at once by the narrative of St. John. But
if this Gospel was intended to be generally supple-
mentary to the rest, or, as it seems, intended espe-
cially to relate the transactions of Jerusalem, omit-
ted by the other evangelists, this total silence on
the intermediate events in Galilee would not be al-
together unaccountable. t John, v., 1-15.

buyers and sellers from the temple, nod
his ambiguous and misinterpreted speech
about that sacred edifice. His converse
tion with Nicodemus had probably not
transpired, or, at least, not gained general
publicity ; for the same motives which
would lead the cautious Pharisee to con-
ceal his visit under the veil of night, would
induce him to keep within his own bosom
the important and startling truths, which
perhaps he himself did not yet clearly'
comprehend, but which, at all events, were
so opposite to the principles of his sect,
and so humiliating to the pride of the ruling
and learned oligarchy.

During his second visit, however, at the
same solemn period of national assem-
blage, Jesus gave a new cause of aston-
ishment to his followers, of offence to his
adversaries, by an act which could not but
excite the highest wonder and the strong-
est animadversion. This was Breach of
no less than an assumption of
authority to dispense with the erence for
observance of the Sabbath. Of the Sabbath.
all their institutions, which, after having
infringed or neglected for centuries of cold
and faithless service, the Jew#, on the re-
turn from the Captivity, embraced with
passionate and fanatical attachment, none
had become so completely identified with
the popular feeling, or had been guarded
by such minute and multifarious provis-
ions, as the Sabbath., 1 n the early days of
the Maccabean revolt against Antiochus,
the insurgents, having been surprised on a
Sabbath, submitted to be tamely butchered
rather than violate the sanctity of the day
even by defensive warfare. And though
the manifest impossibility of recovering or
maintaining their liberties against the in-
roads of hostile nations had led to a relax-
ation of the law as far as self-defence, yet,
during the siege of Jerusalem by Pompey,
the wondering Romans discovered that,
although on the seventh day the garrison
would repel an assault, yet they would do
nothing to prevent or molest the enemy in
carrying on his operations in the trenches.
Tradition, “ the hedge of the law,” as it
was called, had fenced this institution with
more than usual care • it had noted with
jealous rigour almost every act of bodily
exertion within the capacity of man, ar-
ranged them under thirty-nine heads.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

winch were each considered to compre-
hend a multitude of subordinate cases, and
against each and every one of these had
solemnly affixed the seal of Divine con-
demnation. A Sabbath day’s journey was
a distance limited to 2000 cubits, or rath-
er less than a mile; and the carrying
any burden was especially denounced as
among the most flagrant violations of the
law. This Sabbatic observance was the
stronghold of Pharisaic rigour; and, en-
slaved as the whole nation was in volun-
tary bondage to those minute regulations,
in no point were they less inclined to
struggle with the yoke, or wore it with
greater willingness and pride.

There was a pool,* situated most likely
Heaiin<* of to t^e north of the Temple, near
the sick man the sheep-gate, the same, proba-
?ep1oolof bly, through which the animals
e les d’ intended for sacrifice were usu-
ally brought into the city. The place was
called Beth-esda (the house of mercy), and
the pool was supposed to possess remark-
able properties for healing diseases. At
certain periods there was a strong com-
motion in the waters, which probably bub-
bled up from some chymical cause con-
nected with their medicinal effects. Pop-
ular belief, or rather, perhaps, popular lan-
guage, attributed this agitation of the sur-
face to the descent of an angel ;f for. of
course the regular descent of a celestial
being, visible to the whole city, cannot for
an instant be supposed. Around the pool
were usually assembled a number of dis-
eased persons, blind or paralytic, who
awaited the right moment for plunging
into the water, under the shelter of five
porticoes, which had been built, either by
private charity, or at the public cost, for
the general convenience. Among these
lay one who had been notoriously afflicted
for thirty-eight years by some disorder
which deprived him of the use of his
limbs.} It was in vain that he had watch-
ed an opportunity of relief; for, as the sick
person who first plunged into the water
when it became agitated seems to have
exhausted its virtues, this helpless and
friendless sufferer was constantly thrust

* John, v., 1-15.

f The verse relating to the angel is rejected as
spurious by many critics, and is wanting in some
manuscripts. Perhaps it was silently rejected from
a reluctance to depart from the literal interpreta-
tion ; and, at the same time, the inevitable convic-
tion that, if taken literally, the fact must have been
notorious and visible to all who visited Jerusalem.
—Grotius. Lightfoot. Doddridge, in loc.

t We are not, of course, to suppose, as is assu-
med by some of the mythic interpreters, that the
man had been all this time waiting for a cure at
this place.

aside, or supplanted by some more active
rival for the salutary effects of the spring.
Jesus saw and had compassion on the af-
flicted man, commanded him to rise, and,
that he might show the perfect restoration
of his strength, to take up the pallet on
which he had lain, and to bear it away.
The carrying any burden, as has been
said, was specifically named as one of the
most heinous offences against the la>v:
and the strange sight of a man thus openly
violating* the statute in so public a place,
could not but excite the utmost attention.
The man was summoned, it should seem,
before the appointed authorities, and ques-
tioned about his offence against public de-
cency and the established law. His de-
fence was plain and simple ; he acted ac-
cording to the command of the wonderful
person who had restored his limbs with a
word, but who that person was he had no
knowledge ; for immediately after the mi-
raculous cure, Jesus, in conformity with
his usual practice of avoiding whatever
might lead to popular tumult, had quietly
withdrawn from the wondering crowd.
Subsequently, however, meeting Jesus in
the temple, he recognised his benefactor,
and it became generally known that Jesus
was both the author of the cure and of the
violation of the Sabbath. Jesus, in his
turn, was called to account for his conduct.

The transaction bears the appearance,
if not of a formal arraignment Judicial in_
before the high court of the San- vestigution
hedrin, at least of a solemn and °rthecasc.
regular judicial inquiry. Yet, as no ver-
dict seems to have been given, notwith-
standing the importance evidently attach-
ed to the affair, it may be supposed either
that the full authority of the Sanhedrin
was yet wanting, or that they dared not,
on such insufficient evidence, condemn
with severity one about wffiom the popu-
lar mind was at least divided. The de-
fence of Jesus, though apparently Defence
not given at full length by the of Jesus,
evangelist, was of a nature to startle and
perplex the tribunal: it was full of mys-
terious intimations, and couched in lan-
guage which it is difficult to decide how
far it was familiar to the ears of the more
learned. It appeared at once to strike at
the literal interpretation of the Mosaic
commandment, and, at the same time, to
draw a parallel between the actions of
Jesus and those of God.* On the Sab-
bath the beneficent works of the iUnughty
Father are continued as on any other day;
there is no period of rest to Him whose
active power is continually employed in

* John, v., 16-47.96

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

upholding, animating, maintaining in its
uniform and uninterrupted course the uni-
verse which he has created. The free
course of God’s blessing knows no pause,
no suspension.* It is far from improbable
that the healing waters of Bethesda oc-
casionally showed their salutary virtues
on the Sabbath, and might thus be an ac-
knowledged instance of the unremitting
benevolence of the Almighty. In the
same manner, the benevolence of Jesus
disdained to be confined by any distinc-
tion of days ; it was to flow forth as con-
stant and unimpeded as the Divine bounty.
The indignant court heard with astonish-
ment this aggravation of the offence. Not
only had Jesus assumed the power of dis-
pensing with the law, but, with what ap-
peared to them profane and impious bold-
ness, he had instituted a comparison be-
tween himself and the great ineffable De-
ity. With one consent they determine to
press with greater vehemence the capital
charge.

The second defence of Jesus is at once
•Second more full and explicit, and more
defence of ala’rming to the awestruck assem-
Jesus. bly. It amounted to an open as-
sumption of the title and offices of the
.Messiah; the Messiah in the person of
the commanding and fearless, yet still,
as they supposed, humble Galilean who
stood before their tribunal. It commenced
by expanding and confirming that parallel
which had already sunk so deep into their
minds. The Son was upon earth, as it
were, a representation of the power and
mercy of the invisible Father—of that
great Being who had never been compre-
hensible to the senses of man. It pro-
ceeded to declare his Divine mission and
his claim to Divine honour, his investment
with power, not only over diseases, but
over death itself. From thence it passed
to the acknowledged offices of the Mes-
siah, the resurrection, the final jugdment,
the apportionment of everlasting life. All
these recognised functions of the Messiah
wefe assigned by the Father to the Son,
and that Son appeared in his person. In
confirmation of these as yet unheard-of
pretensions, Jesus declared that his right
to honour and reverence rested not on his
own assertion alone. He appealed to the
testimony which had been publicly borne

* If the sublime maxim which was admitted in
the school of Alexandrea had likewise found its way
into the synagogues of Judeea, the speech of Jesus
(my Father worketh hitherto, and I work), in its
first clause, appealed to principles acknowledged by
his auditory. “God,” says Philo, “never ceases
from action; but as it is the property of fire to burn,
of snow to chill, so to act (or to work) is the in-
alienable function of the Deity.”—De Alleg., lib. ii.

to his character by John the Baptist. The
prophetic authority of John had been, if
not universally, at least generally recog-
nised ; it had so completely sunk'into the
popular belief, that, as appears in a sub-
sequent incident, the multitude would have
resented any suspicion thrown even by
their acknowledged superiors on one thus
established in their respect and veneration,
and perhaps farther endeared by the per-
secution which he was now suffering un-
der the unpopular tetrarch of Galilee. He
appealed to a more decisive testimony,
the public miracles which he had wrought,
concerning which the rulers seem scarcely
yet to have determined on their course,
whether to doubt, to deny, or to ascribe
them to daemoniacal agency. Finally, he
appealed to the last unanswerable author-
ity, the sacred writings, which they held
in such devout reverence; and distinctly
asserted that his coming had been pre-
figured by their great.lawgiver, from the
spirit, at least, if not" from the express
letter of whose sacred laws they were de-
parting, in rejecting his claims to the title
and honours of the Messiah. There is an
air of conscious, superiority in the whole
of this address, which occasionally rises
to the vehemence of reproof, to solemn
expostulation, to authoritative admonition,
of which it is difficult to estimate the im-
pression upon a court accustomed to issue
their judgments to a trembling and humili-
ated auditory. But of their subsequent
proceedings we have no infor- Dlmcult po.
mation whether the Sanhedrin siiion of the
hesitated or feared to proceed; sanhedrin,
whether they were divided in their opin-
ions, or could not reckon upon the support
of the people ; whether they doubted their
own competency to take so strong a meas-
ure without the concurrence or sanction
of the Roman governor; at all events, no
attempt was made to secure the person of
Jesus. He appears, with his usual cau-
tion, to have retired towards the safer
province of Galilee, where the Jewish
senate possessed no authority, and where
Herod, much less under the Pharisaic in-
fluence, would not think it necessary to
.support the injured dignity of the Sanhe-
drin in Jerusalem; nor, whatever his politi-
cal apprehensions, would he entertain the
same sensitive terrors of a reformer who
confined his views to the religious im-
provement of mankind.

But from this time commences the de
dared hostility of the Pharisaic Hostility ot
party against Jesus. Every op- theTharisau-
portunity is seized of detecting {Slow hirru
him in some farther violation of Sfio Galilee
the religious statutes. We now perpetuHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ally find the Pharisees watching his foot-
steps, and, especially on the Sabbath, lay-
ing hold of every pretext to inflame
the popular mind against his neglect or
open defiance of their observances. Nor
was their jealous vigilance disappointed.
Jesus calmly pursued on the Sabbath,
as on every other day, his course of be-
nevolence. A second and a third time,
immediately after his public arraignment,
that which they considered the inexpiable
offence was renewed, and justified in
terms which were still more repugnant to
their inveterate prejudices. The Passover
was scarcely ended, and, with his-disciples,
he was probably travelling homeward,
when the first of these incidents occurred.
New viola- On the first Sabbath after the
tion of the second day of unleavened bread,
Sabbath, tpe disciples, passing through a
field, of corn, and being hungry, plucked
some of the ears of corn, and, rubbing them
in their hands, eat the grain.* This, ac-
cording to Jewish usage, was no violation
of the laws of property, as, after the wrave-
offeringhad been made in the Temple, the
harvest was considered to be ripe : and
the humane regulation of the lawgiver
permitted the stranger who was passing
through a remote district thus to satisfy
his immediate wants. But it was the
Sabbath, and the act directly offended
against another of the multifarious pro-
visions of Pharisaic tradition. The vin-
dication of his followers by their master
took still higher ground: it not merely ad-
duced the example of David, who, in ex-
treme want, had not scrupled, in open vio-
lation of the law, to take the shewbread,
which was prohibited to all but the priest-
y order, and thus placed his humble dis-
ciples on a level with the great king,
whose memory was cherished with the
most devout reverence and pride, but dis-
tinctly asserted his own power of dispen-
sing with that which was considered the
eternal, the irreversible commandment—
he declared himself Lord of the Sabbath.
Rumours of this dangerous innovation
accompanied him into Galilee. Whether
some of the more zealous Pharisees had
followed him during his journey, or had
accidentally returned at the same time
from the Passover, or whether, by means
of that intimate and rapid correspondence
likely to be maintained among the mem-
bers of an ambitious and spreading sect,
they had already communicated their ap-
prehensions of danger and their animosity
against Jesus, they already seem to have
arrayed against him in all parts the vigil-

* Matt., xii., 1-8. Mark ii., 23-28. Luke, vi.,
1-5.

ance and enmity of their brethren. It
was in the public synagogue, in some
town which he entered on his return to
Galilee, in the face of.the whole assem-
bly, that a man with a withered hand re-
covered the strength of his limb at the
commandment of Jesus on the Sabbath
day.* And the multitude, instead of being
inflamed by the zeal of the Pharisees, ap-
pear at least to have been unmoved by then-
angry remonstrances. They heard without
disapprobation, if they did not openly tes-
tify their admiration, both of the power
and goodness of Jesus ; and listened to the
simple arguments with which he silenced
his adversaries, by appealing to their own
practice in extricating their own property
or delivering their own cattle from jeop-
ardy on the sacred day.f

The discomfited Pharisees endeavour-
ed to enlist in their party the followers,
perhaps the magistracy of Herod, and to
organize a formidable opposition to the
growing influence of Jesus. So success-
ful was their hostility, that Jesus Jegus wi(h
seems to have thought it pru- draws be-
dent to withdraw for a short yondtheSea
time from the collision. He ot Gaillee'
passed towards the lake, over which he
could at any time cross into the district
which was beyond the authority both of
Herod and of the Jewish Sanhedrin.J A
bark attended upon him," which might
transport him to any quarter he might de-
sire, and on board of which he seems to
have avoided the multitudes which con-
stantly thronged around, or, seated on the
deck, addressed with greater convenience
the crowding hearers who lined the shores.
Yet concealment, or, at least, jeSus retires
less frequent publicity, seems from public
now to have been his object vievv‘
for, when some of those insane persons
the daemoniacs as they were called, openly
addressed him by the title of Son of God,
Jesus enjoins their silence,|| as though he
were yet unwilling openly to assume this
title, which was fully equivalent to that of
the Messiah, and which, no doubt, was al-
ready ascribed to him by the bolder and
less prudent of his followers. The same
injunctions of secrecy were addressed to
others who at this time were relieved or
cured by his beneficent power; so that
one evangelist considers that the cautious
and unresisting demeanour of Jesus, thus
avoiding all unnecessary offence or irrita-
tion, exemplified that characteristic of
the Messiah so beautifully described by

* Matt., xii., 9-14 Mark, iii., 1-6. Luke, vi.,
6-11. f Matt., xii., 15-21. Mark, iii., 7-12.

t Mark, iii, 7. § Matt.,xii., 16.

|| Mark, iii., 11, 12.

N.98

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Isaiah,* * * § “ He shall neither strive nor cry,
neither shall any man hear his voice in the
streets ; a bruised reed shall he not break,
and smoking* flax shall he not quench, till
he send forth judgment unto victory.”

This persecution, however, continues
Reappears at but a short time, and Jesus ap-
oapernaum. pears again openly in Caperna-
um and its neighbourhood. After a night
passed in solitary retirement, he takes the
Organization decided step of organizing his
ofhiis foi- followers, selecting and solemn-
iowers. jy inaugurating a certain num-
ber of his more immediate disciples, who
were to receive an authoritative commis-
sion to disseminate his doctrines.f Hith-
erto he had stood, as it were, alone:
though doubtless some of his followers
had attended upon him with greater zeal
and assiduity than others, yet he could
scarcely be considered as the head of a
regular and disciplined community. The
twelve apostles, whether selected with
that view, could not but call to mind the
number of the tribes of Israel. Of the
earlier lives of these humble men, little
can be gathered beyond the usual avoca-
tions of some among them ; and even tra-
dition, for o'nce, preserves a modest and
almost total silence. They were of the
lower, though perhaps not quite the low-
est, class of Galilean peasants. What
previous education they had received we
can scarcely conjecture ; though almost
all the Jews appear to have received some
kind of instruction in the history, the re-
ligion, and the traditions of the nation.
The twelve First among the twelve appears
apostles. Simon, to whom Jesus, in allu-
sion to the firmness of character which he
was hereafter to exhibit, gave a name, or
rather, perhaps, interpreted a name by
which he was already known, Cephas,J
the Rock ; and declared that his new reli-
gious community was to rest on a founda-
tion as solid as that name seemed to sig-
nify. Andrew, his brother, is usually asso-
ciated with Peter. James and John§ re-

* Matt., xii., 19, 20.

+ Mark, iii., 13-19. Luke, vi., 12-19.

% The equivocal meaning of the word was, no
doubt, evident in the original Aramaic dialect spo-
ken in Galilee. The French alone of modern lan-
guages exactly retains it. “ Vous etes Pierre, et
sur cette pierre.” The narrative of St. John as-
cribes the giving this appellative to an earlier peri-
od.—See suprh, p. 77.

§ John must have been extremely young when
chosen as an apostle; there is so constant a tradi-
tion of his being alive at a late period in the first
century, that the fact can scarcely be doubted. Je-
rome may perhaps have overstrained the tradition
“ ut autern sciamus Johannen turn fuisse puerum,
cum a Jesu electus est, manifestissime docent ec-
clesiasticaB historic, quod usque ad TraKni vixerit
imperium.,,— Hieronym. in Joum , i., 1.

ceivedthe remarkable name of Boanerges,
the Sons of Thunder, of which it is not
easy to trace the exact force ; for those
who bore it do not appear remarkable
among their brethren either for energy o)
vehemence: the peculiar gentleness oi
the latter, both in character and in the
style of his writings, would lead us to doubi
the correctness of the interpretation gen-
erally assigned to the appellation. The
two former were natives of one town,
Bethsaida ; the latter either of Bethsaida
or Capernaum, and obtained their liveli-
hood as fishermen on the Lake of Gennes-
areth, the waters of which were extraor-
dinarily prolific in fish of many kinds.
Matthew or Levi, as it has been said, was
a publican. Philip was likewise of Beth-
saida ; Bartholomew, the son of Tolmai or
Ptolemy, is generally considered to have
been the same , with Nathaniel, and was
distinguished, before his knowledge of Je-
sus, by the blamelessness of his character,
and, from the respect in which he was
held, may be supposed to have been of
higher reputation, as of a better instructed
class. Thomas or Didymus (for the Syr-
iac and Greek words have the same signi-
fication), a twin, is remarkable in the sub-
sequent history for his coolness and re-
flecting temper of mind. Lebbeus, or
Thaddeus, or Judas, the brother of James,
are doubtless the same person ; Judas in
Syriac is Thaddai. Whether Lebbaios is
derived from the town of Lebba, on the sea-
coast of Galilee, or from a word denoting
the heart, and, therefore, almost synon-
ymous with Thaddai, which is interpreted
the breast, is extremely doubtful. James,
the son of Cleophas or Alpheus, concern-
ing whom and his relationship, to Jesus
there has been much dispute. • His father
Cleophas was married to another Mary,
sister of Mary the mother of Jesus, to
whom he would therefore be cousin-ger-
man. But whether he is the same with
the James who in other places is named
the brother of the Lord—the term of broth-
er, by Jewish usage, according to one opin-
ion, comprehending these closer ties of
kindred—and whether either of these two,
or which, was the James who presided
over the Christian community in Jerusa-
lem, and whose cruel death is described
by Josephus, must remain among those
questions on which we can scarcely ex-
pect farther information, and cannot, there-
fore, decide with certainty. Simon the
Canaanite was so called, not, as has been
supposed, from the town of Cana, still less
from his Canaanitish descent, but from a
Hebrew word meaning a zealot, to which
fanatical and dangerous body this apostleHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

had probably belonged, before he joined
the more peaceful disciples of Jesus. The
last was Judas Iscariot, perhaps so named
from a small village named Iscara, or,
more probably, Carioth, a town in the tribe
of Judah.

It was after the regular inauguration of
the twelve in their apostolic office that,
according to St. Luke, the Sermon on the
Mount was delivered, or some second out-
line of Christian morals repeated in nearly
Healing of similar terms. Immediately af-
the centuri- ter, as JeSUS returned to Caper-
on’s servant. naum? a cure was wrought, both

from its circumstances and its probable
influence on the situation of Jesus, highly
worthy of remark.* * * * § It was in favour of a
centurion, a military officer of Galilean
descent, probably in the service of Herod,
and a proselyte to Judaism, for he could
scarcely have built a synagogue for Jew-
ish worship unless a convert to the reli-
gion.f This man was held in such high es-
timation, that the Jewish elders of the city,
likewise, it should seem, not unfavour-
ably disposed towards Jesus, interceded in
his behalf. The man himself appears to
have held the new teacher in such pro-
found reverence, that in his humility he
did not think his house worthy of so illus-
trious a guest, and expressed his confi-
dence that a word from him would be as.
effective, even uttered at a distance, as the
orders that he was accustomed to issue to
his soldiery. Jesus not only complied
with his request by restoring his servant
to health, but took the opportunity of de-
claring that many Gentiles, from the most
remote quarters, would be admitted within
the pale of the new religion, to the exclu-
sion of many who had no title, but their
descent from Abraham. Still there was
nothing, at least in the earlier part of this
declaration, directly contrary t o the estab-
lished opinions; for at least the more lib-
eral Jews were not unwilling to entertain
the splendid ambition of becoming the re-
ligious instructers of the world, provided
the world did homage to the excellence
and Divine institution of the Law ; and at
all times the Gentiles, by becoming Jews,
either as proselytes of the age, if not pros-
elytes by circumcision, might share in
most, if not in all, the privileges of the
chosen people. This incident was likewise
of importance, as still farther strength-
ening the interest of Jesus with the ruling
authorities and with another powerful offi-
cer in the town of Capernaum. A more
extraordinary transaction followed. As

* St. Matthew as well as St. Luke places this
cure as immediately following the Sermon on the
Mount f Matt., viii., 5-13. Luke, vii., 1-10.

yet, Jesus had claimed authority over the
most distressing and obstinate maladies ;
he now appeared invested with power over
death itself. As he entered the Raising the
town of Nain, between twenty widow’s son.
and thirty miles from Capernaum, he met.
a funeral procession, accompanied with
circumstances of extreme distress. It
was a youth, the only son of a widow,
who was borne out to burial; so great
was the calamity, that it had excited the
general interest of the inhabitants. Jesus
raises the youth from his bier, and re-
stores him to the destitute mother.*

The fame of this unprecedented miracle
was propagated with the utmost rapidity
through the country; and still vague, yet
deepening rumours that a prophet had ap-
peared ; that the great event which held
the whole nation in suspense was on the
instant of fulfilment, spread throughout
the whole province. It even reached the
remote fortress of Machserus, in which
John was still closely guarded, though it
seems the free access of his followers was
not prohibited.f John commis- Messaged
sioned two of his disciples to in- John the
quire into the truth of these won- Baptlst-
derful reports, and to demand of Jesus
himself whether he was the expected
Messiah. But what was the design of
John in this message to Jesus 1 The
question is not without difficulty. Was it
for the satisfaction of his own doubts or
those of his followers Was it that., in
apprehension of his approaching death, he
would consign his disciples to the care of
a still greater instructer I Was it that he
might attach them before his death to Je-
sus, and familiarize them with conduct, in
some respects, so opposite to his own
Essenian, if not Pharisaic habits'! He
might foresee the advantage that would be
taken by the more ascetic to alienate his
followers from Jesus, as a teacher who fell
far below the austerity of their own; and
who, accessible to all, held in no respect
those minute observances which the usage
of the stricter Jews, and the example of
their master, had arrayed in indispensable
sanctity. Or was it that John himself,,
having languished for nearly a year in
his remote prison, began to be impatient
for the commencement of that splendid
epoch,§ of which the whole nation, even
the apostles of Jesus, both before and af-
ter the resurrection, had by no means

* Luke, vii., ] 1-18.

f Matt., xi., 2-30. Luke, vii., 17-35.

i Whitby. Doddridge, in loc.

§ Hammond inclines to this view, as does .Tor*
tin ; Discourses on the Truth of the Christian Re-
ligion.100

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

abandoned their glorious, worldly, and
Jewish notions! Was John, like the rest
of the people, not yet exalted above those
hopes which wTere inseparable from the
national mind! If he is the king, why
does he hesitate to assume his kingdom'!
If the Deliverer, why so tardy to com-
mence the deliverance! “If thou art in-
deed the, Messiah (such may appear to
have been the purport of the Baptist’s mes-
sage), proclaim thyself at once; assume
thy state ; array thyself in majesty ; dis-
comfit the enemies of holiness and of God!
My prison doors will at once burst open ;
my trembling persecutors will cease from
their oppressions. Herod himself will
yield up his usurped authority ; and even
the power of Rome will cease to afflict
the redeemed people of the Almighty !”
What, on the other hand, is the answer of
Jesus! It harmonizes in a remarkable
manner with this latter view. It declares
at once, and to the disappointment of these
temporal hopes, the purely moral and re-
ligious nature of the dominion to be estab-
lished by the Messiah. He was found dis-
playing manifest signs of more than human
power, and to these peaceful signs he ap-
peals as the conclusive evidence of the
commencement of the Messiah’s kingdom,
the relief of diseases, the cessation of sor-
rows, the restoration of their lost or de-
cayed senses to the deaf or blind, the equal
admission of the lowest orders to the same
religious privileges with those more espe-
cially favoured by God. The remarkable
words are added, “ Blessed is he that shall
hot be offended in mehe that shall not
consider irreconcilable with the splendid
promises of the Messiah’s kingdom, my
jowly condition, my calm and unassuming
course of mercy and love to mankind, my
total disregard of worldly honours, my re-
fusal to place myself at the head of the
people as a temporal ruler. Violent men,
more especially during the disturbed and
excited period since the appearance of
John the Baptist, would urge on a kingdom
of violence. How truly the character of
the times is thus described, is apparent
from the single fact, that shortly after-
ward the people would have seized Jesus
himself and forced him to assume the royal
title, if he had not withdrawn himself from
his dangerous adherents. This last ex-
pression, however, occurs in the subse-
quent discourse of Jesus, after his disci-
ples had departed, when in those striking
images he spoke of the former concourse
of the people to the Baptist, and justified
it by the assertion of his prophetic charac-
ter. It was no idle object which led them
Into the wilderness, to see, as it were, “ a

reed shaken by the wind,” nor to behold
any rich or luxurious object; for such they
would have gone to the courts of their
sovereigns. Still he declares the meanest
of his own disciples to have attained some
moral superiority, some knowledge, prob-
ably, of the real nature of the new reli-
gion, and the character and designs of the
Messiah, which had never been possessed
by John. With his usual rapidity of
transition, Jesus passes at once to his
moral instruction, and vividly shows that,
whether severe or gentle, whether more
ascetic or more popular, the teachers of a
holier faith had been equally unacceptable.
The general multitude of the Jews had re-
jected both the austerer Baptist and him-
self, though of so much more benign and
engaging demeanour. The whole dis-
course ends with the significant words,
“ My yoke is easy, and my burden is
light.”

Nothing, indeed, could offer a more
striking contrast to the secluded Co be_
and eremitical life of John, than tween Jesus
the easy and accessible manner and John the
with which Jesus mingled with BaptiSt‘
all classes, even with his bitterest oppo-
nents, the Pharisees. He accepts the in-
vitation of one of these, and enters into
his house to partake of refreshment.*
Here a woman of dissolute life found her
way into the chamber where the feast was
held; she sat at his feet, anointing him,
according to Eastern usage, with a costly
unguent, which was contained in a box of
alabaster ; she wept bitterly, and with her
long locks wiped away the falling tears.
The Pharisees, who shrunk not only from
the contact, but even from the approach,
of all whom they considered physically or
morally unclean, could only attribute the
conduct of Jesus to his ignorance of her
real character. The reply of Jesus inti-
mates that his religion was intended to
reform and purify the worst, and that some
of his most sincere and ardent believers
might proceed from those very outcasts
of society from whom Pharisaic rigour
shrunk with abhorrence.

After this, Jesus appears to have made
another circuit through the towns and vil
lages of Galilee. On his return to Caper
naum, instigated, perhaps, by his adversa-
ries, some of his relatives appear to have
believed, or pretended to believe, that he
was out of his senses ; and, therefore, at-
tempted to secure his person. This
scheme failing, the Pharisaic party, who
had been deputed, it. should seem, from
Jerusalem to watch his conduct, endeav-

* Luke, vii., 36-50; xi. H-26HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

101

our to avail themselves of that great prin-
ciple of Jewish superstition, the belief in
the power of evil spirits, to invalidate his
growing authority.* On the occasion of
the cure of one of those lunatics, usually
, ■ called daemo.niacs.f who was

seme macs. dumb and blind, they ac-

cused him of unlawful dealings with the
spirits of evil. It was by a magic influ-
ence, obtained by a secret contract with
Beelzebub, the chief of the powers of
darkness, or by secretly invoking his All-
powerful name, that he reduced the sub-
ordinate daemons to obedience. The an-
swer of Jesus struck them with confu-
sion. Evil spirits, according to their own
creed, took delight in the miseries and
crimes of men ; his acts were those of the
purest benevolence: how gross the incon-
sistency to suppose that malignant spirits
would thus lend themselves to the cause
of human happiness and virtue. Another
more personal argument still farther con-,
founded his adversaries. The Pharisees
were professed exorcists ; j if, then, exor-

* Matt., xii., 22-45. Mark, iii., 19-30.
t l have no scruple in avowing my opinion on the
subject of the dsemoniacs to be that of Joseph Mede,
Lardner, Dr. Mead, Paley, and all the learned mod-
ern writers. It was a kind of insanity not unlikely
to be prevalent among a people peculiarly subject
to leprosy and other cutaneous diseases; and no-
thing was more probable than that lunacy should
take the turn and speak the language of the prevail
ing superstition of the times. As the belief in witch-
craft made people fancy themselves witches, so the
belief in possession made men of distempered minds
fancy themselves possessed. The present case, in-
deed, seems to have been one rather of infirmity
than lunacy: the afflicted person was blind and
dumb; but such cases were equally ascribed to
malignant spirits,- There is one very strong rea*
son, which 1 do not remember to have seen urged
with'sufficient force, but which may have contrib-
uted to induce Jesus to adopt the current language
on this point. The disbelief in these spiritual in-
fluences was one^of the characteristic tenets of the
unpopular sect of the Sadducees, A departure from
the common language, or the endeavour to correct
this inveterate error, would have raised an imme-
diate outcry against him from his watchful and
malignant adversaries as an unbelieving Sadducee.
Josephus mentions a certain herb which had the
power of expelling daemons, a fact which intimates
that it was a bodily disease. Kuinoel, in Matt., iv.,
24, referring to the latter fact, shows that in Greek
authors, especially Hippocrates, madness and de-
moniacal possession are the same ; and quotes the
various passages in the New Testament where the
same language is evidently held ; as, among many
others, John, x., 20. Matt., xvii., 15. Mark, v., 15
I have again the satisfaction of finding myself to
have arrived at the same conclusion as Neander.

t The rebuking subordinate daemons, by the in-
vocation of a more powerful name, is a very ancient
and common form of superstition. The later anti-
Christian writers among the Jews attribute the
power of Jesus over evil spirits to his having ob-
tained the secret, and dared to utter the ineffable
name, '“the Senuham-phorash.” To this name

cism, or the ejection of these evil spirits,
necessarily implied unlawful dealings with
the world of darkness, they were as open
to the charge as he whom they accused.
They had, therefore, the alternative of
renouncing their own pretensions, “or of
admitting that those of Jesus were to be
judged on other principles. It was, then,
blasphemy against the Spirit of God to
ascribe acts which bore the manifest im-
press of the Divine Goodness in their es-
sentially beneficent character to any other
source but the Father of Mercies ; it was
an offence which argued such total obtuse-
ness of moral perception, such utter inca-
pacity of feeling or comprehending the
beauty either of the conduct or the doc-
trines of Jesus, as to leave no hope that
they would ever be reclaimed from their
rancorous hostility to his religion, or be
qualified for admission into the pale and
to the benefits of the new faith.

The discomfited Pharisees now demand
a more public and undeniable sign P{iarisees
of his Messiahship,* which alone demand a
could justify the lofty tone assu- sign-
med by Jesus. A second time Jesus ob-
scurely alludes to the one great future
sign of the new faith—his resurrection;
and, refusing farther to gratify their curi-
osity, he reverts, in language of more than
usual energy, to the incapacity of the age
and nation to discern the real and intrinsic
superiority of his religion.

The followers of Jesus had now been
organized into a regular sect or party.
Another incident distinctly showed that
he no longer stood alone ; even the social
duties, which up to this time he had, no
doubt, discharged with .the utmost affec-
tion, were to give place to the sublimer
objects of his mission. While he sat en-
circled by the multitude of his Conduct of
disciples, tidings were brought Jesus to his
that his mother and his breth- reIatives-
ren desired to approach him.f But Jesus
refused to break off his occupation; he
declared himself connected by a closer
tie even than that of blood with the great
moral family of which he was to be the
parent, and with which he was to stand

wonderful powers over the whole invisible world
are attributed by the Jewish Alexandrean writers,
Artapanus and Ezekiel, the tragedian; and it is
not impossible that the more superstitious Phari-
sees may have hoped to reduce Jesus to the dilem- '
ma either of confessing that he invoked the name
of the prince of the demons, or secretly uttered
that which it was still more criminal to make use
of for such a purpose, the mysterious and unspeak-
able Tetra gramma ton—See Eisenmenger, i., 154.
According to Josephus, the art of exorcism descend-
ed from King Solomon.—Antiq., viii., 2.

* Matt., xii., 38-45.

f Matt., xii., 46-49. Mark, iii., 31-35.102

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

in the most intimate relation, He was
the chief of a fraternity, not connected by
common descent or consanguinity, but by
a purely moral and religious bond ; not by
any national or local union, but bound to-
gether by the one strong but indivisible
link of their common faith. On the in-
crease, the future prospects, the final des-
tiny of this community, his discourses
now dwell, with frequent but obscure al-
lusions.* * * * § His language more constantly
assumes the form of parable. Nor
dra es- was this merely in compliance
with the genius of an Eastern people, in
order to convey his instruction in a form
more attractive, and, therefore, both more
immediately and mo -e permanently im-
pressive ; or, by awakening the imagina-
tion, to stamp his doctrines more deeply
on the memory, and to incorporate them
with the feelings. These short and lively
apologues were admirably adapted to sug-
gest the first rudiments of truths which it
was not expedient openly to announce.
Though some of the parables have a pure-
ly moral purport, the greater part deliver-
ed at this period bear a more or less cov-
ert relation to the character and growth
of the new religion; a subject which,
avowed without disguise, would have re-
volted the popular mind, and clashed too
directly with their inveterate nationality.
Yet these splendid, though obscure anti-
cipations singularly contrast with occa-
sional allusions to his own personal des-
titution : “ The foxes have holes, and the
birds of the air have nests, but the Son of
Man hath not where to lay his head.”!
For, with the growth and organization of
his followers, he seems fully aware that
his dangers increase; he now frequently
changes his place, passes from one side
of the lake to the other, and even endeav-
ours to throw a temporary concealment
over some of his most extraordinary mir-
acles. During one of these expeditions
across the lake, he is in danger from one
of those sudden and violent tempests which
often disturb inland seas, particularly in
Rebukes mountainous districts. He re-
the storm, bukes the storm, and it ceases.
On the other side of the lake, in the dis-
trict of Gadara, occurs the remarkable
scene of the daemoniacs among the tombs,

Destruc- an(^ t^le ^ier(^ sw“le 5 on]y

tionofthe act in the whole life of Jesus in
swine. the ]east, repugnant to the uni-
form gentleness of his disposition, which
would shrink from the unnecessary de-

* Matt,, xiii. Mark, \v., 1-34. Luke, viii., 1-18.
f Matt., viii., 18-27. Mark, iv., 35-41. Luke,
viii., 22-25.

struction even of the meanest and mo&
loathsome animals.* On his return from
this expedition to Capernaum took place
the healing of the woman with the issue
of the blood, and the raising of Jairus’s
daughter.! Concerning the latter, as like-
wise concerning the relief of two blind
men,J he gives the strongest injunctions
of secrecy, which, nevertheless, the active
zeal of his partisans seems by no means
to have regarded.

But a more decisive step was now ta-
ken, than the organization of the The apostles
new religious community. The sent out.
twelve apostles were sent out to dissemi-
nate the doctrines of Jesus throughout the
whole of Galilee.§ They were invested
with the power of healing diseases ; with
cautious deference to Jewish feeling, they
were forbidden to proceed beyond the
borders of the Holy Land, either among
the Gentiles or the heretical Samaritans;
they were to depend, on the hospitality of
those whom they might address for their
subsistence ; and he distinctly anticipates
the enmity which they would perpetually
encounter, and the dissension which would
be caused, even in the bosom of families,
by the appearance of men thus acting on
a commission unprecedented and unrec-
ognised by the religious authorities of the
nation, yet whose doctrines were of such
intrinsic beauty, and so full of exciting
promise.

It was most likely this open proclama-
tion, as it were, of the rise of a conduct
new and organized community, «f i^rod.
and the greater publicity which this simul-
taneous appearance of two of its delegates
in the different towns of Galilee could not
but give to the growing influence of Jesus,
that first attracted the notice of the gov-
ernment. Up to this period, Jesus, as a
remarkable individual, must have been
well known by general report; by this
measure he stood in a very different char-
acter, as the chief of a numerous fraternity.
There were other reasons, at this critical
period, to excite the apprehensions and
jealousy of Herod. During the short in-
terval between the visit of John’s disciples
to Jesus and the present time, the tetrarch

* The moral difficulty of this transaction has al-
ways appeared to me greater than that of reconci-
ling it. with the more rational view of dsemoniacism.

Both are much diminished, if not entirely removed,
by the theory of Kninoel, who attributes to the lu -
natics the whole of the conversation with Jesus,
and supposes that their driving the herd of swine
down the precipice was the last paroxysm in which
their insanity exhausted itself. —Matt., viii., 28-34.
Mark, v , 1-20. Luke, viii., 26-39.

f Luke, viii., 40-56. f Matt., xx , 27-31.

§ Matt., x. Mark, vi.. 7 13. Lake, ix., 1-6,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ioa

Death of John had at B. ugth, at the instigation
me Baptist. of his wife, perpetrated the mur-
der of the Baptist. Whether his reluct-
ance to shed unnecessary blood, or his
prudence, had as yet' shrunk from this
crime, the condemnation of her marriage
oOuld not but rankle in the heart of the
wife. The desire of revenge would be
strengthened by a feeling of insecurity,
and an apprehension of the precariousness
of a union, declared, on such revered
authority, null and void. As long as this
stern and respected censor lived, her in-
fluence over her husband, the bond of
marriage itself, might, in an hour of pas-
sion or remorse, be dissolved. The com-
mon crime would cement still closer, per-
haps for ever, their common interests.
The artifices of Herodias, who did not
scruple to make use of the beauty and
grace of her daughter to compass her end,
had extorted from the reluctant king, in
the hour of festive carelessness—the .cele-
bration of Herod’s birthday—the royal
promise, which, whether for good or for
evil, was equally irrevocable.* * * § * The head
of John the Baptist was the reward for the
dancing of the daughter. of Herodias. j
Whether the mind of Herod, like that of
his father,J was disordered by his crime,
and the disgrace and discomfiture of his
arms contributed to his moody terrors;
or whether some popular rumour of the
reappearance of John, and that Jesus was
the murdered prophet restored to life, had
obtained currency, indications of hostility
from the government seem to have put
Jesus upon his guard.§ For no sooner
had he been rejoined by the apostles, than
he withdrew into the desert country about
Bethsaida, with the prudence which he
now thought fit to assume, avoiding any
sudden collision with the desperation or
the capricious violence of the tetrarch.

But he now filled too important a place
Je^us with_ in the public mind to remain con-
draws from cealed so near his customary
Galilee. residence and the scene of. his
extraordinary actions. The multitude
thronged forth to trace his footsteps, so

* Matt., xiv., 1-12. Mark, vi., 14-29. Luke, ix.,
7-9.

t Josephus places the scene of this event in
Machserus. Macknight would remove the prison
of John to Tiberias. But the circumstances of the
war may have caused the court to be held in this
strong frontier town, and the feast may have been
intended chiefly for the army, the “ Chiliarchs” of
St. Mark.

X According to Josephus, the Jews ascribed the
discomfiture of Herod’s army by Aretas, king of
Arabia, to the wrath of Heaven for the murder of
John.

§ Matt., xiv., 13, 14. Mark, vi., 30-34. Luke,
ix., 10, 11. John, vi., 1, 2.

that five thousand persons had preoccu-
pied the place of his retreat; and so com-
pletely were they possessed by profound
religious enthusiasm, as entirely to have
forgotten the difficulty of obtaining pro-
visions in that desolate region. The man-
ner in which their wants were The muUi.
preternaturally supplied, and the tudos fed i»
whole assemblage fed by five the desert
loaves and two small fishes, wound up at
once the rising enthusiasm to the highest
pitch. It could not but call to the mind
of the multitude the memorable event in
their annals, the feeding the whole nation
in the desert by the multiplication of the
manna.* Jesus, then, would no longer
confine himself to those private and more
unimposing acts of beneficence, of which
the actual advantage was limited to a
single object, and the ocular evidence of
the fact to but few witnesses. Here was
a sign performed in the presence of many .
thousands, who had actually participated
in the miraculous food. This, then, they
supposed, could not but be the long-desired
commencement of his more public, more
national career. Behold a second Moses !
behold a Leader of the people, under whom
they could never be afflicted with want!
behold at length the Prophet, under whose
government the people \yere to enjoy,
among the other blessings of the Mes-
siah’s reign, unexampled, uninterrupted
plenty.f

Their acclamations clearly betrayed
their intentions; they would Enthusiasm
brook no longer delay; they of the people
would force him to assume the royal title ;
they would proclaim him, whether con-
senting or not, the King of Israel.J Jesus
withdrew from the midst of the dangerous
tumult, and till the next day they sought
him in vain. On their return to Caper-

* Matt., xiv., 15-23. Mark, vi., 35-45. Luke,
ix., 12-17. John, vi., 3-14.

f He made manna to descend for them, in which
were all manner of tastes; and every Israelite
found in it what his palate was chiefly pleased with.
If he desired fat in it, he had it. In it the young
men tasted bread ; the old men, honey: and the
children, oil. So it shall be in the world to come
(the days of the Messias); he shall give Israel
peace, and they shall sit down and eat in the garden
of Eden ; all nations shall behold their condition ;
as it is said, “ Behold my servants shall eat, but ye
shall be hungry.”—Isaiah, lxv. Kambain in San-
hed., cap. 10.

Many affirm that the hope of Israel is, that Mes-
siah should come and raise the dead; and they
shall be gathered together in the garden of Eden,
and shall eat and drink, and satiate themselves all
the days of the world . . . ; and that there are
houses built all of precious stones, beds of silk and
rivers flowing with wine and spicy oil.—Shen otll
F abba, sect. 25. Lightfoot, in loc., vol. xii., 29.1
X John, vi., 15.104

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

naum-, they found that he had crossed the
lake, and entered the city the evening be-
fore. Their suspense, no doubt, had not
been allayecUby his mysterious disappear-
ance on the other side of the lake. The
circumstances under which he had passed
over,* if communicated by the apostles
co the wondering multitude (and, unless
positively prohibited by their master, they
could not have kept silence on so won-
derful an occurrence), would inflame still
farther the intense popular agitation.
While the apostles were passing the lake
in their boat, Jesus had appeared by their
side, walking upon the waters.

When, therefore, Jesus entered the syn-
jesua in ihe agogue of Capernaum,"no doubt
synagogue of the crisis was immediately ex-
lapernaum. pecje(j. at length he will avow
himself; the declaration of his dignity
must now be made ; and where with such
propriety as in the place of the public wor-
ship, in the midst of the devout and ado-
ring people If The calm, the purely reli-
gious language of Jesus was a deathblow
to these high-strung hopes. The object
of his mission, he declared in explicit
terms, was not to confer temporal bene-
fits ; they were not to follow him with the
hope that they would obtain without la-
bour the fruits of the earth, or be secured
against thirst and hunger: these were
mere casual and incidental blessings.J
The real design of the new religion was
the improvement of the moral and spirit-
ual condition of man, described under the
strong but not unusual figure of nourish-
ment administered to the soul. During
the whole of his address, or, rather, his
conversation with the different parties, the
popular opinion was in a state of fluctua-
tion ; or, as is probable, there were two
distinct parties, that of the populace, at
first more favourable to Jesus, and that
of the Jewish leaders, who were altogeth-
er hostile. The former appear more hum-
bly to have inquired what was 'demanded
by the new teacher in order to please God :
of them Jesus required faith in the Mes-
siah. The latter first demanded a new
sign,§ but broke out into murmurs of dis-
approbation when “the carpenter’s son”
began in his mysterious language to speak
of his descent, his commission from his
Father, his reascension to his former inti-
mate communion with the Deity; still
more when he seemed to confine the hope
of everlasting life to those only who were
fitted to receive it; to those whose souls

* Matt., xiv., 24-33. Mark, vi., 47-53. John,
vi., 16-21. + John, vi., 22-71.

+ Ibid., 26-29. $ Ibid., 30.

would receive the inward nutriment, of his
doctrines. No word in the whole address
fell in with their excited, their passionate
hopes * however dark, however ambigu-
ous his allusions, they could not warp or
misinterpret them into the confirmation o 1
their splendid views. Not only did they
appear to discountenance the immediate,
they gave no warrant to the remote, ac-
complishment of their visions of the Mes-
siah’s earthly power and glory.* At all
events, the disappointment was universal;
his own adherents, baffled and sinking at
once from their exalted hopes, cast off
their unambitious, their inexplicable Lead-
er; and so complete appears to have been
the desertion, that Jesus demanded of the
twelve whether they too would abandon
his cause, and leave him to his fate. In
the name of the apostles, Peter replied
that they had still full confidence in his
doctrines, as teaching the way to eternal
life; they still believed him to be the
promised Messiah, the Son of God. Je-
sus received this protestation of fidelity
with apparent approbation, but intimated
that the time would come when one even
of the tried and chosen twelve would
prove a traitor.f

* There is some difficulty in placing the conver-
sation with the Pharisees (Matt., xv., 1-20. Mark,'
vii., 1-23), whether before or after the retreat of Je-
sus to the more remote district. The incident,
though characteristic, is n.ot of great importance,
and seems rather to have been a private inquiry of
certain members of the sect, than the public appeal
of persons deputed for that purpose.

f The wavering and uncertainty of the apostles,
and, still more, of the people, concerning the Mes-
siahship of Jesus, is urged by Strauss as an argu-
ment for the later invention and inconsistency of
the Gospels. It has always appeared to me one of
those marks of true nature and of inartificial com-
position which would lead me to a conclusion di-
rectly opposite. The first intimation of the defer-
ence and homage shown to him by John at his bap-
tism, grows at once into a welcome rumour that
the Christ has appeared. Andrew imparts the joy-
ful tidings to his brother. “We have found the
Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ;”
so Philip, verse 46. But though Jesus, in one part of
the Sermon on the Mount, speaks of himself as the
future judge, in general his distinct assumption of
that character is exclusively to individuals in private,
to the Samaritan woman (John, iv., 26-42), and in
more ambiguous language, perhaps, in his private
examination before the authorities in Jerusalem
(John, v., 46). Still the manner in which he assu-
med the title and asserted his claims was so totally
opposite to Jewish expectation ; he appeared to de-
lay so long the open declaration of his Messiahship,
that the populace constantly fluctuated in their
opinion, now ready by force to make him a king
(John, vi, 15), immediately after this altogether de-
serting him, so that even the apostles’ faith is se-
verely tried. (Compare with John, vi., 69, Luke, ix.,
20, Matt., xvi., 16, Mark, viii., 29, where it appears
that rumours had become prevalent, that, though
not the Messiah, he was either a prophet or a forp.105

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Thus the public life of Jesus closed its
second year. On one side endangered by
the zeal of the violent, on the other en-
feebled by the desertion of so many of his
followers, Jesus, so long as he spoke the
current language about the Messiah, might
he instantly taken at his word, and against
his will be set at the head of a daring in-
surrection ; immediately that he departed
from it, and rose to the sublimer tone of
a purely religious teacher, he excited the
most violent animosity even among many

of his most ardent adherents. Thus his
influence at one moment was apparently
most extensive, at the next was confined
to but a small circle. Still, however, it
held the general mind in unallayed sus-
pense ; and the ardent admiration, the at-
tachment of the few, who were enabled
to appreciate his character, and the ani-
mosity of the many, who trembled at his
progress, bore testimony to the command-
ing character and the surprising works of
Jesus of Nazareth.

CHAPTER YI.

THIRD YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS.

The third Passover had now arrived

plover s* *nce Jesus °f Nazareth had ap-
assover. peare(j as a public teacher, but,

as it should seem, his u appointed hour”
was not yet come; and, instead of de-
scending with the general concourse of the
whole nation to the capital, he remains in
Galilee, or, rather, retires to the remotest
extremity of the country ; and, though he
approaches nearer to the northern shore
of the lake, never ventures down into the
populous region in which he more usually
fixed his residence. The avowed hos-
tility of the Jews, and their determination
to put him to death; the apparently grow-
ing jealousy of Herod, and the desertion
of his cause, on one hand, by a great num-
ber of his Galilean followers, who had
taken offence at his speech in the syna-
gogue of Capernaum, with the rash and
intemperate zeal of others, who were pre-
pared to force him to assume the royal
title, would render his presence at Jerusa-
lem, if not absolutely necessary for his
designs, both dangerous and inexpedient.*
But his absence from this Passover is still
more remarkable, if, as appears highly
probable, it was at this feast that the
event occurred which is alluded to in St.
Lukef as of general notoriety, and at a

runner of the Messiah). The real test of the fidel-
ity of the apostles was their adherence, under all
the fluctuation of popular opinion, to this convic-
tion, which at last, however, was shaken by that
which most completely clashed with their precon-
ceived notions of the Messiah, his ignominious
death, and undisturbed burial.

As a corrective to Strauss on this point, I would
recommend the work of one who will not be sus-
pected of loose and inaccurate reasoning—Locke
on the Reasonableness of Christianity.

* The commencement of the 7th chapter of St.
John’s Gospel appears to me to contain a manifest
reference to his absence from this Passover.

t John, vii., 1.

. O

later period was the subject of a con-
versation between Jesus and his Mass of
disciples, the slaughter of cer- the Galileans
tain Galileans in the Temple of at
Jerusalem by the Roman gov- over‘
ernor.* The reasons for assigning this
fact to the period of the third Passover ap-
pear to have considerable weight. Though
at all times of the year the Temple was
open, not merely for the regular morning
and evening offerings, but likewise for the
private sacrifices of more devout worship-
pers, such an event as this massacre was
not likely to have occurred, even if Pilate
was present at Jerusalem at other times,
unless the metropolis had been crowded
with strangers, at least in numbers suffi-
cient to excite some apprehension of dan-
gerous tumult; for Pontius Pilate, though
prodigal of blood if the occasion seemed
to demand the vigorous exercise of power,
does not appear to have been wantonly
sanguinary. It is therefore most proba-
ble that the massacre took place during
some public festival; and, if so, it must
have been either at the Passover or Pente-
cost, as Jesus was present at both the
later feasts of the present year, those of
Tabernacles and of the Dedication: nor
does the slightest intimation occur of any
disturbance of that nature at either.f Who

* Luke, xiii., 1.

f The point of time at which the notice of this
transaction is introduced in the narrative of St.
Luke, may appear irreconcilable with the opinion
that it took place so far back as the previous Pass-
over. This circumstance, however, admits of an
easy explanation. The period at which this fact is
introduced by St. Luke, was just before the last
fatal visit to Jerusalem. Jesus had now expressed
his fixed determination to attend the approaching
Passover; he was actually on his way to the me-
tropolis It was precisely the time at which some
who might take an interest in his personal safety^
might, think it well to warn him of his danger,106

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

these Galileans were, whether they had
been guilty of turbulent or seditious con-
duct, or were the innocent victims of the
governor’s jealousy, there is no evidence.
It Las been suggested, not without plausi-
bility. that they were of the sect of Judas
the Galilean ; and, however they may not
have been formally enrolled as belonging
to this sect, they may have been in some
degree infected with the same opinions;
more especially, as properly belonging to
the jurisdiction of Herod, these Galileans
would scarcely have been treated with
such unrelenting severity, unless impli-
cated, or suspected to be implicated, in
some designs obnoxious to the Roman
sway. If, however, our conjecture be
right, had he appeared at this festival,
Jesus might have fallen undistinguished
in a general massacre of his countrymen,
by the direct interference of the Roman
governor, and without the guilt of his re-
jection and death being attributable to the
rulers or the nation of the Jews.

Yet, be this as it may, during this period
Concealment of the life of Jesus it is most
of Jesus. difficult to trace his course ; his
rapid changes have the semblance of con-
cealment. At one time he appears at the
extreme border of Palestine, the district
immediately adjacent to that of Tyre and
Sidon ; he then seems to have descended
again towards Bethsaida, and the desert
country to the north of the Sea of Tibe-
rias; he is then, again, on the immediate
frontiers of Palestine, near the town of
Caesarea Philippi, close to the fountains
of the Jordan.

The incidents which occur at almost all
these places coincide with his singular
situation at this period of his life, and
perpetually bear almost a direct reference
to the state of public feeling at this par-:
The svro- ticular time. His conduct to-
Phcenician wards the Greek or Syro-Phceni-
vy°rnan. cjan woman may illustrate this.*
Those who watched the motions of Jesus
with the greatest vigilance, either from

These persons may have been entirely ignorant of
his intermediate visits to Jerusalem, which had
been sudden, brief, and private. He had appeared
unexpectedly; he had withdrawn without notice.
They may have supposed, that, having been absent
at the period of the massacre in the remote parts of
the country, he might be altogether unacqu-ainted
with the circumstances, or, at'least, little impressed
with their importance ; or even, if not entirely ig-
norant, the*y might- think it right to remind him of
the dangerous commotion which had taken place
at the preceding festival, and to intimate the possi-
bility that, under a governor so reckless of human
life as Pilate had shown himself, and by recent cir-
cumstances not predisposed towards the Galilean
name, he was exposing himself to most serious
peril. * Matt., xv., 21-28. Mark, vii., 24-30

attachment or animosity, must have De*
held him with astonishment, at this period,
when every road was crowded with trav-
ellers towards Jerusalem, deliberately pro-
ceeding in an opposite direction; thus, at
the time of the most solemn festival,
moving, as it were, directly contrary to
the stream, which flowed in one current
towards the capital. There appears at
one time to have prevailed among some
an obscure- apprehension, which, though
only expressed during one of his later
visits to Jerusalem,* might have begun to
creep into their minds at an earlier period;
that, after all, the Saviour might turn his
back on his ungrateful and inhospitable
country, or, at least, not fetter him sell
with the exclusive nationality inseparable
from their conceptions of the true Mes-
siah. And here, at this present instant,
after having excited their hopes to the
utmost by the miracle which placed him,
as it were, on a level with their lawgiver,
and having afterward afflicted them with
bitter disappointment by his speech in the
synagogue—here, at the season of the
Passover, he was proceeding towards, if
not. beyond, the borders of the Holy Land,
placing himself, as it were, in direct com-
munication with the imcircumcised, and
imparting those blessings to strangers and
aliens which were the undoubted, inalien-
able property of the privileged race.

At this juncture, when he was upon the
borders of the territory of Tyre and Sidon,
a woman of heathen extraction,! having-
heard the fame of his miracles, determined
to have recourse to him to heal her daugh-
ter, who was suffering under diabolic pos-
session. Whether adopting the common
title which she had heard that Jesus had
assumed, or from any obscure notion of
the Messiah, which could not but have
penetrated into the districts immediately
bordering on Palestine, she saluted him
by his title of Son of David, and implored
his mercy. In this instance alone, Jesus,
who on all other occasions is described as
prompt and forward to hear the cry of the
afflicted, turns, at first, a deaf and. regard-
less ear to her supplication : the mercy is,
as it were, slowly and reluctantly wrung
from him. The secret of this apparent
but unusual indifference to suffering no

* John, vii., 35.

f She is called in one place a Canaanite, in an-
other a Syro-Phoenician and a Greek. She was
probably of Phoenician descent, and the Jews con-
sidered the whole of the Phoenician race as descend-
ed from the remnant of the Canaanites, who were
not extirpated. She was a Greek as distinguished
from a Jew, for the Jews divided mankind into
Jews and Greeks, as the Greeks did into Greeks
and Barbarians.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

107

doubt lies in the ci .■cumstances of the case.
Nothing would h?we been so repugnant to
Jewish prejudice, especially at this junc-
ture, as his admitting at once this recog-
nition of his title, or his receiving and re-
warding the homage of any stranger from
the blood of Israel, particularly one de-
scended from the accursed race of Canaan.
The conduct of the apostles shows their
harsh and Jewish spirit. They are in-
dignant at her pertinacious importunity ;
they almost insist on her peremptory dis-
missal. That a stranger, a Canaanite,
should share in the mercies of their mas-
ter, does not seem to have entered into
their thoughts : the brand of ancient con-
demnation was upon her; the hereditary
hatefulness of the seed of Canaan marked
her as a lit object for malediction, as the
appropriate prey of the evil spirits, as
without hope of blessing from the God of
Israel. Jesus himself at first seems to
countenance this exclusive tone. He de-
clares that he is sent only to the race of
Israel; that dogs (the common and oppro-
brious term by which all religious aliens
were* described) could have no hope of
sharing in the blessings jealously reserv-
ed for the children of Abraham. The
humility of the woman’s reply, u Truth,
Lord, but the dogs eat of the crumbs which
fall from the master’s table,” might almost
disarm the antipathy of the most zealous
Jew. That the Gentiles might receive a
kind of secondary and inferior benefit from
their Messiah, was by no means in oppo-
sition to the vulgar belief; it left them in
full possession of their exclusive religious
dignity, while it was rather flattering to
their pride than debasing to their preju-
dices, that, with such limitation, the power
of their Redeemer should be displayed
among the Gentile foreigners. By his
condescension, therefore, to their preju-
dices, Jesus was enabled .to display bis
own benevolence, without awakening, or
confirming, if already awakened, the quick
suspicions of his followers.

After this more remote excursion, Je-
Jesus stiii in sus appears again, for a short
partial con- time, nearer his accustomed res-
ceaiment. j^ence ; but still hovering, as it
were, on the borders, and lingering rather
in the wild, mountainous region to the
north and east of the lake, than descend-
ing to the more cultivated and populous
districts to the west.* JBut here his fame
follows him ; and even in these desert re-
gions, multitudes, many of them bearing
their sick and afflicted relatives, perpet-

* This may be assigned to the period between
the Passover and the Pentecost.

ually assemble around him.* His coin
duct displays, as it were, a continual strug-
gle between his benevolence and his cau-
tion : he seems as if he could not refrain
from the indulgence of his goodness, while,
at the same time, he is aware that every
new cure may reawaken the dangerous
enthusiasm from which he had so recently
withdrawn himself. In the hill country
of Decapolis, a deaf and dumb man is re-
stored to speech; he is strictly enjoined,
though apparently without effect, to pre
serve the utmost secrecy. A second time
the starving multitude in the desert appeal
to his compassion. They are again mi
raculously fed ; but Jesus, as though re-
membering the immediate consequences
of the former event, dismisses them at
once, and, crossing in a boat to Dalma-
nutha or Magdala, places, as it were, the
lake between himself and their indiscreet
zeal or irrepressible gratitude.f At Mag-
dala he again encounters some of the
Pharisaic party, who were, perhaps, re-
turned from the Passover. They reiter-
ate their perpetual demand of some sign
which may satisfy their impatient incre-
dulity, and a third time Jesus repels them
with an allusion to the great “ sign” of his
resurrection.^

As the Pentecost draws near, he again
retires to the utmost borders of the land.
He crosses back to Bethsaida, where a
blind man is restored to sight, with the
same strict injunctions of concealment.^
He then passes to the neighbourhood of
Caesarea Philippi, at the extreme verge of
the land, a modern town, recently built on
the site of the older, now named Paneas,
situated almost close to the fountains of
the Jordan.||

Alone with his immediate disciples in
this secluded region, he begins to unfold
more distinctly, both his real character
and his future fate, to their wondering
ears. It is difficult to conceive perplexity oi
the state of fluctuation and em- the apostles,
barrassment in which the simple minds of
the apostles of Jesus must have been con-
tinually kept by what must have appeared
the inexplicable, if not contradictory, con-
duct and. language of their master. At
one moment he seemed entirely to lift the
veil from his own character; the next, it
fell again, and left them in more than
their former state of suspense. Now all
is clear, distinct, comprehensible ; then,
again, dim, doubtful, mysterious. Here
their hopes are elevated to the highest,

* Matt., xv.. 29-31. Mark, vii., 31-37.

t Matt., xv., 32-39. Mark, viii., 1-9.

t Matt, xvi., 1_12. Mark, viii., 11-22

$ M*rk, viii., 22-26. || Mark, viii., 27.108

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

and all their preconceived notions of the
greatness of the Messiah seem ripening
into reality ; there, the strange foreboding
of his humiliating fate, which he commu-
nicates with more than usual distinctness,
thrills them with apprehension. Their
own destiny is opened to their prospect,
crossed with the same strangely mingling
lights and shadows. At one time they are
promised miraculous endowments, and
seem justified in all their ambitious hopes
of eminence and distinction in the ap-
proaching kingdom ; at the next, they are
warned that they must expect to share in
the humiliations and afflictions of their
teacher.

Near Caesarea Philippi Jesus questions
Jesus near his disciples as to the common
Caesarea view of his character. By some,
Philippi, jj. seemSj ]ie was supposed to be
John the Baptist restored from the dead;
by others, Elias, who was to reappear on
earth previous to the final revelation of
the Messiah ; by others, Jeremiah, who,
according to a tradition to which we have
before alluded, was to come to life : and
when the ardent zeal of Peter recognises
him under the most sacred title, which was
universally considered as appropriated to
the Messiah, “the Christ, the Son of the
Living God,” his homage is no longer de-
clined ; and the apostle himself is com-
mended in language so strong, that the
pre-eminence of Peter over the rest of the
twelve has been mainly supported by the
words of Jesus employed on this occa-
sion. The transport of the apostles »at
this open and distinct avowal of his char-
acter, although at present confined to the
secret circle of his more immediate adhe-
rents, no doubt before long to be publicly
proclaimed, and asserted with irresistible
power, is almost instantaneously checked ;
the bright, expanding prospects change
in a moment to the gloomy reverse, when
Jesus proceeds to foretel to a greater
number of his followers* his approaching
lamentable fate, the hostility of all the
rulers of the nation, his death, and that
which was probably the least intelligible
part of the whole prediction—his resur-
rection.! The highly-excited Peter can-
not endure the sudden and unexpected re-
verse ; he betrays his reluctance to be-
lieve that the Messiah, whom he had now,
he supposed, full authority to array in the
highest temporal splendour which his im-
agination could suggest, could possibly
apprehend so degraded a doom. Jesus
not only represses the ardour of the apos-

* Mark, viii., 34.

f Matt., xvi., 21-28. Mark, viii., 31; ix., 1.
Luke, iv., 18-27,

! tie, but enters at some length into the
| earthly dangers to which his disciples
would be exposed, and the unworldly na-
ture of Christian reward. They listened,
but how far they comprehended these sub-
lime truths must be conjectured from their
subsequent conduct.

It was to minds thus preoccupied, on
one hand full of unrepressed hopes of the
instantaneous revelation of the Messiah in
all his temporal greatness, on the other,
embarrassed with the apparently irrecon-
cilable predictions of the humiliation of
their Master, that the extraordinary scene
of the Transfiguration was pre- The Trans-
sented.* Whatever explanation figuration,
we adopt of this emblematic vision, its
purport and its effect upon the minds of
the three disciples who beheld it remain
the same.f .Its significant sights and
sounds manifestly announced the equality,
the superiority of Jesus to the founder,
and to him who may almost be called the
restorer of the Theocracy, to Moses the
lawgiver, and Elias the representative of
the prophets. These holy personages
had, as it were, seemed to pay homage to
Jesus; they had vanished, and he alone
had remained. The appearance of Moses
and Elias at the time of the Messiah was
strictly in accordance with the general
tradition and when, in his astonishment,
Peter proposes to make there three of
those huts or cabins of boughs which the
Jews were accustomed to run up as tem-
porary dwellings at the time of the Feast
of the Tabernacles, lie seems to have sup-
posed that the spirits of the lawgiver and
the prophet were to make their permanent
residence with the Messiah, and that this
mountain was to be, as it were, another
sacred place, a second Sinai, from which
the new kingdom was to commence its
dominion and issue its mandates.

The other circumstances of the transac-
tion, the height on which they stood, their
own half-waking state, the sounds from
heaven (whether articulate voices or thun-
der, which appeared to give the Divine as-
sent to their own preconceived notions of

* Tradition has assigned this scene to Mount
Tabor, probably for no better reason than because
Tabor is the best known and most conspicuous
height in the whole of Galilee. The order of the
narrative points most distinctly to the neighbour-
hood of Caesarea Philippi, and the Mons Paneus is
a much more probable situation.

f Matt., xvii., 1-21; Mark, ix., 2-29. Luke,ix.,
28-42.

% Dixit sanctus benedictus Mosi, sicut vitam
tuam dedisti pro Israele in hoc seculo, sic tempore
futuro, tempore Messise, qnando mittam ad eos
Eliam prophetam vos duo venietis simuL—Debar.
Rab., 293. Compare Lightfoot, Schoetgen, and
Eisenmenger, in loco.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the Messiah), the wonderful change in the
appearance of Jesus, the glittering cloud
which seemed to absorb the two spirits,
and leave Jesus alone upon the mountain
—all the incidents of this majestic and
mysterious scene, whether presented as
dreams before their sleeping, or as visions
. before their waking senses, tended to ele-
vate still higher their already exalted no-
tions of their master. Again, however,
they appear to have been doomed to hear
a confirmation of that which, if their re-
luctant minds had not refused to entertain
the humiliating thought, would have de-
pressed them to utter despondency. A fter
healing the dsemoniac, whom they had in
vain attempted to exorcise, the assurance
of his approaching death is again renewed,
and in the clearest language, by their
master.*

From the distant and the solitary scenes
where these transactions had taken place,
Jesus now returns to the populous district
about Capernaum. On his entrance into
Tribute the city, the customary payment of
money. hajf a shekel for the maintenance of
the Temple, a capitation tax which was
levied on every Jew, in every quarter of
the world, is demanded of Jesus.f How,
then, will he act, who but now declared
himself to hi? disciples as the Messiah, the
Son of God % Will lie claim his privilege
of exemption as the Messiah 1 Will the
Son of God contribute to the maintenance
of the Temple of the Father 1 or will the
long-expected public declaration at length
take place 1 Will the claim of immunity
virtually confirm his claim to the privi-
leges of his descent% He again reverts to
his former cautious habit of never unne-
cessarily offending the prejudices of the
people ; he complies with the demand, and
the. money is miraculously supplied.

But on the minds of the apostles the
Contention of recent scenes are still working
ttie apostles, with unallayed excitement. The
dark, the melancholy language of their
Master appears to pass away and leave no
impression upon their minds ; while every
circumstance which animates or exalts
is treasured with the utmost care ; and in
a'short time, on their road to Capernaum,
they are fiercely disputing among them-
selves their relative rank in the instanta-
neously expected kingdom of the Messiah.}

* Matt, xvii., 22, 23. Mark, ix., 30-32. Luke,
ix., 44, 45. f Matt., xvii., 24-28.

X It is observable that the ambitious disputes of
the disciples concerning primacy or preference,
usually .follow the mention of Christ’s death and
'resurrection.—Luke, ix., 44-46. Matt, xx., 18-20.
Luke, xxii., 22-24. They had so strong a prepos-
session that the resurrection of Christ {which they
t<*> doubt understood in a purely Jewish sense, compare-

10R

The beauty, of the significant action b}’
which Jesus repressed the rising emotions
of their pride, is heightened by consider-
ing it in relation to the immediate circum-
stances.* Even now, at this crisis of their
exaltation, he takes a child, Jesus com-
places it in the midst of them,
and declares that only those in tjon of tiio *
such a state of innocence and apostles,
docility are qualified to become members
of the new community. Over such hum-
ble and blameless beings, over children,
and over men of childlike dispositions, the
vigilant providence of God would watch
with unsleeping care, and those who in-
jured them would be exposed to his strong
displeasure.f The narrow jealousy of the
apostles, which would have prohibited a
stranger from making use of the name of
Jesus for the purpose of exorcism, w7as
rebuked in the same spirit: all who would
embrace the cause of Christ were to be
encouraged rather than discountenanced.
Some of the most striking sentences, and
one parable which illustrates, in the most
vivid manner, the extent of Christian for-
giveness and mutual forbearance, close,
as it were, this period of the Saviour’s
life, by instilling into the minds of his fol-
lowers, as the time of the final collision
with his adversaries approaches, the mild-
er and more benignant tenets of the evan-
gelic religion.

The Passover had come, and Jesus had
remained in the obscure borders Feast of Tab-
of the land ; the Pentecost had ernacies.
passed away, and the expected public as-
sumption of the titles and functions of the
Messiah had not yet been made. The
autumnal Feast of Tabernacles} is at
hand; his incredulous brethren again as-
semble around him, and even the impatient
disciples can no longer endure the sus-
pense : they urge him with almost imperi-
ous importunity to cast off at length his
prudential, his mysterious reserve ; at
least to vindicate the faith of his follow-
ers, and to justify the zeal of his partisans,
by displaying those works, which he seem-
ed so studiously to conceal among the ob-
scure towns of Galilee, in the crowded
metropolis of the nation, at some great
period of national assemblage.§ In order
to prevent any indiscreet proclamation of

Mark, ix , 10) should introduce the earthly kingdom
of the Messiah, that no declaration of our Lord
could remove it from their minds: they always
“ understood not what was spoken.”—Lightfoot, in
loco. * Matt, xviii., 1-6. Mark, ix., 33-37

t Matt., xviii., 6-10. Mark, ix., 37.

| On the fifteenth day of the seventh month,—
Deut., xxiii., 39-43. About the end of our Septem
her or the beginning of October.

§ John, vii., 2, to viii., 59.110

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

his app\ oach, or any procession of his fol-
lowers through the country, and probably
lest the rulers should have time to organize
their hostile measures, Jesus disguises
under ambiguous language his intention
of going up to Jerusalem ; he permits his
brethren, who suppose that he is still in
Galilee, to set forward without him. Still,
however, his movements are the subject
of anxious inquiry among the assembling
multitudes in the capital; and many secret
and half-stifled murmurs among the Gali-
leans, some exalting his virtues, others
representing him as a dangerous disturber
of the public peace, keep up the general
curiosity about his character and designs.*
Jesus in the a sudden, in the midst of the
Temple at festival, he appears in the Tem-
Jerusaiem. p]Gj ail(] takes his station as a
public teacher. The rulers seem to have
been entirely off their guard ; and the mul-
titude are perplexed by the bold and, as
yet, uninterrupted publicity with which
a man, whom the Sanhedrin were well
known to have denounced as guilty of a
capital offence, entered the court of the
Temple, and calmly pursued his office of
instructing the people. The fact that he
had taken on himself that office was of it-
self unprecedented and surprising to many.
As we have observed before, he belonged
to no school, he had been bred at the feet
of none of the recognised and celebrated
teachers, yet he assumed superiority to
all, and arraigned the whole of the wise
men of vainglory rather than of sincere
piety. His own doctrine was. from a :
higher source, and possessed more un- <
deniable authority. He even boldly an- <
ticipated the charge, which he knew would '
be renewed against him, his violation of ’
the Sabbath by his works of mercy. He :
accused them of conspiring against his 1
life; a charge which seems to have ex- ]
cited indignation as well as astonishment.! <
The suspense and agitation of the assem- i
hi age are described with a few rapid but i
singularly expressive touches. It was part 1
of the vague popular belief that the Mes- 1
siah would appear in some strange, sud- i
den, and surprising manner. The circum- i
stances of his coming were thus left to '
the imagination of each to fill up, accord- i
ing to his own notions of that which was I
striking and magnificent. But the extra- c
ordinary incidents which attended the birth >
of Jesus were forgotten, or had never been 1
generally known; his origin and extrac- t
lion were supposed to be ascertained : he s
appeared but as the legitimate descendant c
of an hu ruble Galilean family; his ackno wl- t

- edged brethren were ordinary and undis-
t tinguished men. “ We know this man
3 whence he is ; but when Christ cometh
? no man knoweth whence he is.” His
i mysterious allusions to his higher descent
5 were heard with mingled feelings of in-
i dignation and awe. On the multitude his
, wonderful works had made a favourable
; impression, which was not a little in-
; creased by the inactivity and hesitation
; of the rulers. The Sanhedrin, Perplexity of

■ in which the Pharisaic party the sanhedrin,
still predominated, were evidently unpre-

■ pared, and had concerted no measures
either to counteract his progress in the
public mind, or to secure his person. Their
authority in such a case was probably, in
the absence of the Roman prefect, or with-
out the concurrence of the commander of
the Roman guard in the Antonia., by no
means clearly ascertained. With every
desire, therefore, for his apprehension,
they at first respected his person, and
their non-interference was mistaken fpr
connivance, if not as a sanction for his
proceedings. They determine at length
on stronger measures; their officers are
sent out to arrest the offender, but seem
to have been overawed by the tranquil dig-
nity and commanding language of Jesus,
and were, perhaps, in some degree controll-
ed by the manifest favour of the people.*

On the great day of the feast, the agita-
tion of the assembly, as well as the per-
plexity of the Sanhedrin, is at its height.
Jesus still appears publicly; he makes a
striking allusion to the ceremonial of the
day. Water was drawn from the hallow-
ed fountain of Siloah, and borne into the
Temple with the sound of the trumpet and
with great rejoicing. “ Who,” say the
rabbins, “ hath not seen the rejoicing on
the drawing of. this water, hath seen no
rejoicing at all.” They sang in the pro-
cession, “with joy shall they draw water
from the wells of salvation.”! In the
midst of this tumult, Jesus, according to
his custom, calmly diverts the attention
to the'great moral end of his own teach-
ing, and, in allusion to the rite, declares that
from himself are to flow the real living
waters of salvation. The ceremony al-
most appears to have been arrested in its
progress; and open discussions of his
claim to be considered as the Messiah di
vide the wondering multitude. The San
hedrin find that they cannot depend On
their own officers, whom they accuse of
surrendering themselves to the popular
deception, in favour of one condemned by
the rulers of the. nation. Even within

♦ John, vii.. JJ-13

t Id., 19-24.

John, vii., 32. f Id. ib., 32-39. Lightfoot, in luc.History of Christianity.

ill

their council, Nicodemus, the secret pros-
elyte of Jesus, ventures to interfere in his
behalf; and though, with the utmost cau-
tion, he appeals to the law, and asserts
the injustice of condemning Jesus without
a hearing (he seems to have desired that
Jesus might be admitted publicly to plead
his own cause before the Sanhedrin), he
is accused by the more violent of leaning
to the Galilean party—the party which
bore its own condemnation in the simple
fact of adhering to a Galilean prophet.
The council dispersed without coming to
any decision.

On the next day, for the former transac-
Woman tions had taken place in the earlier
taken in part of the week, the last, the most
a UI®ry* crowded and solemn day of the
festival, a more insidious attempt is made,
whether from a premeditated or fortuitous
circumstance, to undermine the growing
popularity of Jesus; an attempt to make
him assume a judicial authority in the case
of a woman taken in the act of adultery.
Such an act would probably have been re-
sisted by the whole Sanhedrin as an inva-
sion of their province ; and as it appeared
that he must either acquit or condemn the
criminal, in either case he would give an
advantage to his adversaries. If he in-
clined to severity, they might be able, not-
withstanding the general benevolence of
his character, to contrast their own leni-
ency in the administration of the law
(this was the characteristic of the Phar-
isaic party which distinguished them
from the Sadducees, and of this the Rab-
binical writings furnish many curious illus-
trations) with the rigour of the new teach-
er, and thus to conciliate the naturally
compassionate feelings of the people,
vhich would have been shocked by the
inusual spectacle of a woman suffering
death, or even condemned to capital pun-
ishment, for such an offence.* If, on the
other hand, he acquitted her, he abrogated
the express letter of the Mosaic statute ;
and the multitude might be inflamed by
this new evidence of that which the ruling-
party had constantly endeavoured to instil
into their minds, the hostility of Jesus to
the law of their forefathers, and his secret
design of abolishing the whole long-rev-
erenced and heaven-enacted code. No-
thing can equal, if the expression may be
ventured, the address of Jesus in extri-
cating himself from this difficulty; his

* Grotius has a different view : Ut eurn accusa-
rent ant apud Romanos incirninutae majestatis, ant
apud populum imminutse libertatis. That they
mi"ht accuse him to the Romans of encroaching on
their authority, or to the people of surrendering
their rights and independence.

turning the current of popular odium, or
even contempt, upon his assailants; the
manner in which, by summoning them to
execute the law, he extorts a tacit confes-
sion of their own loose morals : “ He that
is without sin among you, let him first cast
a stone at her” (this being the office of the
chief accuser) ; and finally shows mercy
to the accused, without in the least inval-
idating the‘decision of the law against the
crime, yet not without the most gentle and
effective moral admonition.

After this discomfiture of his opponents,
Jesus appears to have been per- jeSusteach-
mitted to pursue his course of e* in tne
teaching undisturbed, until new Temple’
circumstances occurred to inflame the re-
sentment of his enemies. He had taken
his station in a part of the Temple court
called the Treasury. His language be-
came more mysteiious, yet, at the same
time, more authoritative; more full of
those allusions to his character as the
Messiah,Ho his Divine descent, and at
length to his pre-existence. The former
of these were in some degree familiar to
the popular conception ; the latter, though
it entered into the higher notion of the
Messiah, which was prevalent among
those who entertained the loftiest views of
his character, nevertheless, from the man-
ner in which it was expressed, jarred with
the harshest discord upon the popular ear.
They listened with patience to Jesus while
he proclaimed himself the light of the
world: though they questioned his right
to assume the title of “ Son of the Heav-
enly Father” without farther witness than
he had already produced, they yet permit-
ted him to proceed in his discourse : they
did not interrupt him when he still farther
alluded, in dark and ambiguous terms, to
his own fate : when he declared that God
was with him, and that his doctrines were
pleasing to the Almighty Father, a still
more favourable impression was made,
and many openly espoused his belief; but
when he touched on their rights and priv-
ileges as descendants of Abraham,' the sub-
ject on which, above all, they were most
jealous and sensitive, the collision became
inevitable. He spoke of their freedom,
the moral freedom from the slavery or
their own passions, to which they were to
be exalted by the revelation of the truth;
but freedom was a word which to them
only bore another sense. They broke it;
at once with indignant denial that the race
of Abraham, however the Roman troops
were guarding their Temple, had ever for-
feited their national independence.* He

* John, viii, 33.112

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

spoke as if the legitimacy of their descent
from Abraham depended not on their he-
reditary genealogy, but on the moral evi-
dence of their similarity in virtue to theiy
great forefather. The good, the pious, the
gentle Abraham was not the father of
those who were meditating the murder of
an innocent man. If their fierce and san-
guinary dispositions disqualified them from
being the children of Abraham-* how much
more from being, as they boasted, the
adopted children of God ; the spirit of evil,
in whose darkest and most bloody temper
they were ready to act, was rather the
parent of men with dispositions so diabol-
ic.* At this their wrath bursts forth in
more unrestrained vehemence ; the worst
and most bitter appellations by which a
Jew could express his hatred, were heaped
on Jesus; he is called a Samaritan, and
declared to be under dasmoniac possession.
But when Jesus proceeded to assert his
title to the Messiahship, by proclaiming
that Abraham had received some intima-
tion of the future great religious revolu-
tion to be effected by him ; when he was
“not fifty years old” (that is, not arrived
at that period when the Jews, who assu-
med the public offices at thirty, were re-
leased from them on account of their age),
declared that he had existed before Abra-
ham ; when he thus placed himself, not
merely on an equality with, but asserted
his immeasurable superiority to, the great
father of their race ; when he uttered the
awful and significant words which identi-
fied him, as it were, with the great self-
existent Deity, “ Before Abraham was, I
am,” they immediately rushed forward to
crush‘without trial, without-farther hear-
ing, him whom they considered the self-
convicted blasphemer. As there was al-
ways some work of building or repair go-
ing on within the Temple, which was not
considered to be. finished till many years
after, these instruments for the fulfilment
of the legal punishment were immediately
at hand; and Jesus only escaped from be-
ing stoned on the spot by passing, during
the wild and frantic tumult, through the
midst of his assailants, and withdrawing
from the court of the Temple.

But even in this exigency he pauses at
Healing the no great distance to perform an
blind man. act of mercy.'f There was a

* John, viii,, 44.

f I hesitate at the arrangement of no passage in
the whole narrative more than this history of the
blind man. Many harmonists have placed it du-
ring the visit of Jesus to Jerusalem at, the Feast of
Dedication. The connexion in the original, how-
ever, seems more natural, as a continuation of the
Preceding incident; yet at first sight it seems ex-

man, notoriously blind from his birth, who
seems to have taken his accustomed sta-
tion in some way leading to the Temple.
Some of the disciples of Jesus had accom-
panied him, and perhaps, as it were, cov-
ered his retreat from his furious assail-
ants ; and as by this time, probably, being
safe from pursuit, they stopped near the
place where the blind man stood. The
■whole history of the cure of this blind
man is remarkable, as singularly illustra-
tive of Jewish feeling and opinion, and on
account both of the critical juncture at
which it took place, and the strict judicial
investigation which it seems to have un-
dergone before the hostile Sanhedrin. The
common popular belief ascribed every
malady or affliction to some sin, of which
it was the direct and providential punish-
ment : a notion, as we have before hinted,
of all others the most likely to harden the
bigoted heart to indifference, or even con-
tempt and abhorrence of the heaven-visit-
ed, and, therefore, heaven-branded sufferer.
This notion, which, however, was so over-
powered, by the strong spirit of national-
ism as to obtain for the Jews in foreign
countries the admiration of the heathen
for their mutual compassion towards each
other, while they had no kindly feeling for
strangers, no doubt, from the language of
Jesus on many occasions, exercised a
most pernicious influence on the general
character in their native land, where the
lessons of Christian kindliness and human-
ity appear to have been as deeply needed
as they were unacceptable. But how was
this notion of the penal nature of all suffer-

tremely improbable that Jesus should have time,
during his hurried escape, to work this miracle:
and, still more, that he should again encounter his
enraged adversaries without dangerous or fatal con-
sequences. We may, however, suppose that this
incident took place without the Temple, probably
in the street leading down from the Temple to the
Valley of Kidron and to Bethany, where Jesus
spent the night. The attempt to stone him was an
outburst, of popular tumult: it is clear that he had
been guilty of no offence legally capital, or it would
have been urged against him at his last trial, since
witnesses could not have been wanting -0 hi?
words : and it seems quite clear that, however they
might, have been glad to have availed themselves
of any such ebullition of popular violence, as a court,
the Sanhedrin, divided and in awe of the Roman
power, was constrained to proceed with regularity
and according to the strict letter of the law. Mac
knight would place the cilre immediately after the
escape from the Temple; the recognition of the
man, and the subsequent proceedings, during the
visit at the Dedication. But, in fact, the popular
feeling seems to have been in a perpetual state of
fluctuation ; at one instant their indignation was in-
flamed by the language of Jesus; at the next, some
one of his extraordinary works seems to have caused
as strong a sensation, at least with a considerable
party, in his favour.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

113

mg to be reconciled with the fact of a man
being born subject to one of*the most
grievous afflictions of our nature—the
want of sight 1 They were thus thrown
back upon those other singular notions
which prevailed among the Jews of that
period : either his fathers or himself must
have* sinned. Was it, then, a malady in-
herited from the guilt of his parents! or
was the soul, having sinned in a pre-exist-
ent state, now expiating its former of-
fences in the present form of being 1 This
notion, embraced by Plato in the West,
was more likely to have been derived by
the Jews from the East,* where it may be
regularly traced from India through the
different Oriental religions. Jesus at once
corrected this inveterate error; and, having
anointed the eyes Of the blind man with
clay, sent him to wash in the celebrated
pool of Siloam, at no great distance from
the street of the Temple. The return of
the blind man restored to sight excited so
much astonishment, that the by-standers
began to dispute whether he was really
the same who had been so long familiarly
known. The man set their doubts at rest
by declaring himself to be the same. The
Sanhedrin, now so actively watching the
actions of Jesus, and, indeed, inflamed to
the utmost resentment, had no course but,
if possible, to invalidate the effect of such
a miracle on the public mind ; they hoped
either to detect some collusion between
the parties, or to throw suspicion on the
whole transaction: at all events, the case
was so public, that they could not avoid
bringing it under the cognizance of their
tribunal.! The man was summoned, and,
as it happened to have been the Sabbath,
the stronger Pharisaic party were in hopes
of getting rid of the question altogether
by the immediate decision, that a man
guilty of a violation of the law could not
act under the sanction of God. But a con-
siderable party in the Sanhedrin were still
either too prudent, too just, or too much
impressed by the evidence of the case to
concur in so summary a sentence. This
decision of the council appears to have led
to. a more close investigation of the whole
transaction. The first object appears to

* It may be traced in the Egypto-Jewish book of
lue Wisdom of Solomon, viii., 19, 20. The Phari-
sees’ notion of the transmigration of souls may be
found in Josephus, Ant., xviii., 1.

t It is a curious coincidence, that anointing a
blind man’s eyes on the Sabbath is expressly for
oidden m the Jewish traditiqnal law —Kuinoel, m
ioc. According to Grotius, opening the eyes of the
blind was an acknowledged sign of the Messiah.
—Midrash in Psalm cxlvi., 8. Isa,, xlii., 7, It was
a miracle never known to be wrought by Moses or
bv any other prophet

have been, by questioning the man him-
self, to implicate him as an adherent of
Jesus, and so to throw discredit upon his
testimony. The man, either from caution,
or ignorance of the character assumed by
Jesus, merely replied that he believed him
to be a prophet. Baffled on this point,
the next step of the. Pharisaic party is to
inquire into the nature of the malady and
the cure. The parents of the blind man
are examined ; their deposition simply af-
firms the fact of their son having been
born blind, and having received his sight;
for it was now notorious that conduct of
the Sanhedrin had threatened the .sanhedrin,
all the partisans of Jesus with the terrible
sentence of excommunication; and the
timid parents, trembling before this awful
tribunal, refer the judges to their son for
all farther information on this perilous
question.

The farther proceedings of the Sanhe
drin are still more remarkable : unable to
refute the fact of the miraculous cure, they
endeavour, nevertheless, to withhold from
Jesus all claim upon the gratitude of him
whom he had relieved, and all participa-
tion in the power with which the instan-
taneous cure was wrought. The man is
exhorted to give praise for the blessing to
God alone, and to abandon the cause of
Jesus of Nazareth, whom they authorita-
tively denounce as a sinner. He rejoins,
with straightforward simplicity, that he
simply deposes to the fact of his blindness,
and of his having received his sight: on
such high questions as the character of
Jesus, he presumes not at first to dispute
with the great legal tribunal, with the
chosen wisdom of the nation. Wearied,
however, at length with their pertinacious
examination, the man seems to. discover
the vantage ground on which he stands ;
the altercation becomes more spirited on
his part, more full of passionate violence
on theirs. He declares that he has al-
ready again and again repeated the cir-
cumstances of the transaction, and that it
is in vain for them to question him farther,
unless, they are determined, if the truth of
the miracle should be established, to ac-
knowledge the Divine mission of Jesus.
This seems to have been the object at
which the more violent party in the San-
hedrin aimed; so far to throw him off his
guard as to make him avow himself the',
partisan of Jesus, and by this means.,to.
shake his whole testimony. On
stant they begin to revile him, to appeal
to the popular clamour, to declare.him.,a\
secret adherent of Jesus while theyvw;ere
the steadfast disciples or Mc&ei '' Gqd
was acknowledged to have spoken by.114

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Moses, and to compare Jesus with him
was inexpiable impiety : Jesus, of whose
origin they professed themselves ignorant.
The man rejoins in still bolder terms,
“ Why, herein is a marvellous thing, that
ye know not from whence he is, but yet
he hath opened mine eyes.” He continues
in the same strain openly to assert his
conviction that no man, unless commis-
sioned by God, could work such wonders.
Their whole history, abounding, as it did,
with extraordinary events, displayed no-
thing more wonderful than that which had
so recently taken place in his person. This
daring and disrespectful language excites
the utmost indignation in the whole as-
sembly. They revert to the popular opin-
ion, that the blindness with which the man
was born was a proof of his having been
accursed of God. “ Thou wast altogether
born in sin, and dost thou teach us 1” God
marked thy very birth, thy very cradle,
with the indelible sign of his displeasure ;
and therefore the testimony of one branded
by the wrath of Heaven can be of no
value. Forgetful that, even on their own
principle, if, by being born blind, the man
was manifestly an object of the Divine
anger, his gaining his sight was an evi-
dence equally unanswerable of the Divine
favour. But, while they traced the hand
of God in the curse, they refused to trace
it in the blessing; to close the eyes was
a proof of Divine power, but to open them
none whatever. The fearless conduct,
however, of the man appears to have
united the divided council; the formal and
terrible sentence of excommunication was
pronounced, probably for the first time,
against any adherent of Jesus. The evan-
gelist concludes the narrative, as if to show
that the man was not as yet a declared
disciple of Christ, with a second interview
between the blind man and Jesus, in which
Jesus openly accepted the title of the Mes-'
siah, the Son of God, and received the
homage of the now avowed adherent.
Nor did Jesus discontinue his teaching on
account of this declared interposition of
the Sanhedrin; his manifest superiority
throughout this transaction rather appears
to have caused a new schism in the coun-
cil, which secured him from any violent
measures on their part until the termina-
tion of the festival.

Another collision takes place with some
of the Pharisaic party, with whom he now
seems scarcely to keep any measure : he
. openly denounces them as misleading the
people, and declares himself the “ one true
Shepherd.” Whither Jesus retreated after
this conflict with the ruling powers, we
have no distinct information ; most proba-

bly, however, into Galilee nor is it pos-
sible with certainty to assign those events,
which filled up the period between the
autumnal Feast of Tabernacles and that
of the Dedication of the Temple, which
took place in the winter. Now, however,
Jesus appears more distinctly to have
avowed his determination not to remain
in his more concealed and private charac-
ter in Galilee; but, when the occasion
should demand, when, at the approaching
Passover, the whole nation should be as-
sembled in the metropolis, he would con-
front them, and at length bring his accept-
ance or rejection to a crisis.f He now,
at times at least, assumes greater state ;
messengers are sent before him to pro-
claim his arrival in the different towns and
villages; and, as the. Feast of Dedication
draws near, he approaches the N
borders of Samaria, and sends JNearfeam‘,ru
forward some of his followers into a neigh-
bouring village to announce his approach.^
Whether the Samaritans may have enter-
tained some hopes, from the rumour of
his former proceedings in their country,
that, persecuted by the Jews, and avow-
edly opposed to the leading parties in Jeru-
salem, he might espouse their party in the
national quarrel, and were therefore in-
stigated by disappointment as well as jeal-
ousy ; or whether it was merely an acci-
dental outburst of the old irreconcilable
feud, the inhospitable village refused to
receive him.§ The disciples were now
elate with the expectation of the approach-
ing crisis ; on their minds all the dispirit-
ing predictions of the fate of their Master

* From this period, the difficulty of arranging a
consistent chronological narrative out of the sep-
arate relations of the evangelists increases to the
greatest degree. Mr. Greswell, to establish his sys-
tem, is actually obliged to make Jesus, when the
Samaritans refuse to receive him because “ his face
was as though he would go to Jerusalem,” to be
travelling in the directly opposite direction. He
likewise, in my opinion, on quite unsatisfactory
grounds, endeavours to prove that the “village of
Martha and Mary was not Bethany.” Any arrange-
ment which places (Luke, x., 38-42) the scene in
the house of Mary and Martha after the raising of
Lazarus, appears highly improbable.

f By taking the expression of St. Luke, “ he
steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem,” in this
more general sense, many difficulties, if not avoided,
are considerably diminished. $ Luke, ix., 51-5C.

§ The attendance of the Jews at the Feast of
the Dedication, a solemnity of more recent institu-
tion, was not unlikely to be still more obnoxious to
the possessors of the rival temple than the.other
great national feasts. This consideration, in the
want of more decisive grounds, may be some argu-
ment for placing this event at the present period.
I find that Doddridge had before suggested this al-
lusion. The inhabitants of Ginea (Josephus, Ant.,
xx , ch. 6) fell on certain Galileans proceeding to
Jerusalem for one of the feasts, and slew many ot
them.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

115

passed away without the least impression;
they were indignant that their triumphant
procession should be arrested; and with
these more immediate and peculiar mo-
tives mingled, no doubt, the implacable
spirit of national hostility. They thought
that the hour of vengeance was now come;
that even their gentle Master would resent,
on these deadliest foes of the race of Is-
real, this deliberate insult on his dignity;
that, as he had in some respects resem-
bled the ancient prophets, he would now
not hesitate to assume that fiercer and
more terrific majesty, with which, accord-
ing to their ancient histories, these holy
men had at times been avenged; they en-
treated their Master to call down fire from
heaven to consume the village. Jesus
simply replied by a sentence which at
once established the incalculable differ-
ence between his own religion and that
which it was to succeed. This sentence,
most truly sublime and most character-
istic of the evangelic religion, ever since
the establishment of Christianity has been
struggling to maintain its authority against
the still-reviving Judaism, which, insep-
arable, it should seem, from uncivilized and
unchristian man, has constantly endeav-
oured to array the Deity rather in his at-
tributes of destructive power than of pre-
serving mercy : “ The Son of Man is not
2ome to destroy men’s lives, buy to save
/hem.!’ So speaking, he left the inhospi-
table Samaritans unharmed, and calmly
passed to another village.

It appears to me probable that he here
left the direct road to the metropolis
through Samaria, and turned aside to the
district about Scythopolis and the valley
of the Jordan, and most likely crossed
into Pereea.* From hence, if not before,
he sent out his messengers with greater
regularity ;f and, it might seem, to keep up
some resemblance with the established
institutions of the nation, he chose the
number of Seventy, a number already
sanctified in the notions of the people as
that of the great Sanhedrin of the nation,
who deduced their o wn origin and author-
ity from the Council of Seventy establish-
ed by Moses in the wilderness. The Sev-
enty, after a short absence, returned and
made a favourable report of the influence
which they had obtained over the people. J
The language of Jesus, both in his charge
to his disciples and in his observations
on the report of their success, appears to

* After the visit to Jerusalem at the Feast of the
Dedication, he went again (John, x., 40) into the
''ountry beyond Jordan; he must therefore have
Doen there before the Feast.

♦ Luke, x., 1-16. t h>id., 17-20.

indicate the still approaching crisis; it
should seem that even the towns in which
he had wrought his mightiest works, Cho-
razin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum, at least
the general mass of the people and the
influential rulers,now had declared against
him. They are condemned in terms of
unusual severity for their blindness ; yet
among the meek and humble he had a
still increasing hold; and the days were
now at hand which the disciples were per-
mitted to behold, and for which the wise
and good for many ages had been looking
forward with still baffled hopes.*

It was during the absence of the Seven-
ty, or immediately after their Feast of the
return, that Jesus,-who perhaps ^sus aiSn
had visited, in the interval, many m jerusa-
towns and villages both of Gal- lem.
ilee and Peraea, which his central position
near the Jordan commanded, descended
to the winter Festival of the Dedication.!
Once it is clear that he drew near to Je-
rusalem, at least as near as the village of
Bethany; and, though not insensible to
the difficulties of this view, we cannot but
think that this village, about two miles’
distance from Jerusalem, and the house
of the relations of Lazarus, was the place
where he was concealed during both his
two later unexpected and secret visits to
the metropolis, and where he, in general,
passed the nights during the week of the
last Passover.J His appearance at this
festival seems to have been, like the for-
mer, sudden and unlooked-for. The mul-
titude probably at this time was not so
great, both on account of the season, and
because the festival was kept in other pla-

* Luke, x., 24. The parable of the good Samar-
itan may gain in impressiveness if considered in
connexion with the recent transactions in Samaria,
and as perhaps delivered during the journey to Je-
rusalem, near the place where the scene is laid:
the wild and dangerous country between Jericho
and Jerusalem.

t This feast was instituted by Judas Maccabeus,
I Macc., iv., 52-56. It was kept on the 25th of the
month Cisleu, answering to our 15th of December.
The houses were illuminated at night during the
whole period of the feast, which lasted eight days.
—John, x., 22-39.

! In connecting Luke, x., 38-42, with John, x.,
22-39, there is the obvious difficulty of the former
evangelist mentioning the comparatively unimpor-
tant circumstance which he relates, and being en-
tirely silent about the latter. But this objection is
common to all harmonies of the Gospels. The si-
lence of the three former evangelists concerning
the events in Jerusalem is equally remarkable un
der every system, whether, according, to Bishop
Marsh and the generality of the great German
scholars, we suppose the evangelists to have com-
piled from a common document, or adhere to any
of the older theories, th^t each wrote either entire-
ly independently or $s supplementary to the prece-
ding evangelists.116

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ces besides Jerusalem,* though, of course,
with the greatest splendour and concourse
.in the Temple itself. Jesus was seen
walking in one of the porticoes or arcades
which surrounded the outer court of the
Temple, that to the east, which, from its
greater splendour, being formed of a triple
instead of a double row of columns, was
called by the name of Solomon’s. The
leading Jews, whether unprepared for
more violent measures, or with some in-
sidious design, now address him, seem-
ingly neither in a hostile nor unfriendly
tone. It almost appears that, having be-
fore attempted force, they are now incli-
ned to try the milder course of persuasion;
their language sounds like the expostula-
tion of impatience. Why, they inquire,
does he thus continue to keep up this
strange excitement 1 Why thus persist in
endangering the public peace 1 Why does
he not avow himself at once 1 Why does
he not distinctly assert himself to be the
Christ, and by some signal, some public,
some indisputable evidence of his being
the Messiah, at once set at rest the doubts,
and compose the agitation of the troubled
nation 1 The answer of Jesus is an ap-
peal to the wonderful works which he had
already wrought; but this evidence the
Jews, in their present state and disposi-
tion of mind, were morally incapable of
appreciating. He had already avowed
himself, but in language unintelligible to
their ears; a few had heard him, a few
would receive the reward of their obedi-
ence, and those few were, in the simple
phrase, the sheep who heard his voice.
But, as he proceeded, his language assu-
med a higher, a more mysterious tone.
He spoke of his unity with the great Fa-
ther of the worlds. “ I and my Father
are one.”f However understood, his
words sounded to the Jewish ears so like
direct blasphemy, as again to justify on
the spot the summary punishment of the
law. Without farther trial, they prepared
to stone him where he stood. Jesus ar-
rested their fury on the instant by a calm
appeal to the manifest moral goodness, as
well as the physical power, of the Deity
displayed in his works. The Jews, in
plain terms, accused him of blasphemous-
ly ascribing to himself the title of God.
He replied by reference to their sacred
books, in which they could not deny that
the Divine name was sometimes ascribed
to beings of an inferior rank; how much
less, therefore, ought they to be indignant
at that sacred name being assumed by
him, in whom the great attributes of Di-

* Lightfcot, in loco. f John, x , 30.

vmity, both the power and the goodness
had thus manifestly appeared. His won-
derful works showed the intercommunion
of nature in this respect between himself
and the Almighty. This explanation, fai
beyond their moral perceptions, only ex:
cited a new burst of fury, which Jesus
eluded, and, retiring again from the capi-
tal, returned to the district beyond the
Jordan.

The three months which elapsed be-
tween the Feast of Dedication periodhe-
and the Passover* were no doubt tween the
occupied in excursions, if not in Dedication
regular progresses, through the and the
different districts of the Holy Passover-
Land, on both sides of the river, which his
central position, near one of the most cel-
ebrated fords, was extremely well suited
to command. Wherever he went, multi-
tudes assembled around him ; and at one
time the government of Herod was seized
with alarm, and Jesus received informa-
tion that his life was in danger, and that
he might apprehend the same fate which
had befallen John the Baptist if he re-
mained in Galilee or Peraea, both which
districts were within the dominions of
Herod. It is remarkable that this intelli-
gence came from some of the Pharisaic
party,| whether suborned by Herod, thus
peacefully, and without incurring any far-
ther unpopularity, to rid his dominions of
one who might become either the design-
ing or the innocent cause of tumult and
confusion (the reflection of Jesus on the
crafty character of _ HerodJ may confirm
the notion that the Pharisees were acting
under his insidious direction), or whether
the Pharisaic party were of themselves
desirous to force Jesus, before the Pass-
over arrived, into the province of Judaea,
where the Roman government might ei-
ther, of itself, be disposed to act with de-
cision, or might grant permission to the
Sanhedrin to interpose its authority with
the utmost rigour. But it was no doubt in
this quarter that he received intelligence
of a very different nature, that led to one
of his preternatural works, which of itself

* Luke, xi., xii., xiii., to verse 30, also to xviii ,
34. Matt., xix., xx., to verse 28. Mark, x., 1-31.

f Luke, xii., 31-35.

t Wetstein has struck out the character of Her-
od with great strength and success: “Hie, ut
plerique ejus temporis principes et prsesides, mores
ad exemplum Tiberii imperatoris, qui nullain ex
virtutibus suis magis quam dissimulationem dilige
bat, composuit; tunc autem erat armosa vulpes,
cum jam triginta annos principatum gessisset, et
diversissimas personas egisset, personam servi apud
Tiberium, domini apud Galileam, amici Sejano, Ar-
tabano, fratribus suis Archelao, Philippo, Herodi al-
teri, quorum studia erarit diversissima, et inter se
et a studiis Herodis ipsius.”—In loe.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

117

was the most extraordinary, and evidently
made the deepest impression upon the
public mind.* The raising of Lazarus
may he considered the proximate cause
of the general conspiracy for his death, by
throwing the popular feeling more deci-
dedly on his side, and thereby deepening
the fierce animosity of the rulers, who
now saw that they had no alternative but
to crush him at once, or to admit his tri-
umph.

We have supposed that it was at the
Raising of house of Lazarus, or of his rela-
Lazarus. tives, in the village of Bethany,
that Jesus had passed the nights during
his recent visits to Jerusalem: at some
distance from the metropolis he receives
information of the dangerous illness of
that faithful adherent, whom he seems to
have honoured with peculiar attachment.
He at first assures his followers, in ambig-
uous language, of the favourable termina-
tion of the disorder; and, after two days’
delay, notwithstanding the remonstrances
of his disciples, who feared that he was
precipitately rushing, as it were, into the
toils of his enemies, and who resolve to
accompany him, though in acknowledged
apprehension that his death was inevita-
ble, Jesus first informs his disciples of the
actual death of Lazarus, yet, nevertheless,
persists in his determination of visiting
Bethany. On his arrival at Bethany, the
dead man, who, according to Jewish usage,
had no doubt been immediately buried, had
been four days in the sepulchre. The
house was full of Jews, who had come to
console, according to their custom, the af-
flicted relatives ; and the characters as-
signed in other parts of the history to the
two sisters are strikingly exemplified in
their conduct on this mournful occasion.
The more active Martha hastens to meet
Jesus, laments his absence at the time of
her brother’s death, and, on his declara-
tion of the resurrection of her brother, re-
verts only to the general resurrection of
mankind, a truth imbodied in a certain
sense in the Jewish creed. So far Christ
answers in language which intimates his
own close connexion with that resurrec-
tion of mankind. The gentler Mary falls
at the feet of Jesus, and, with many tears,
expresses the same confidence of his pow-
er, had he been present, of averting her
brother’s death. So deep,1 however, is
their reverence, tint neither of them ven-
tures the slightest word of expostulation
at his delay; nor does either appear to

have entertained the least hope of farther
relief. The tears of Jesus himself appear
to confirm the notion that the case is ut-
terly desperate ; and some of the Jews, in
a less kindly spirit, begin to murmur at
his apparent neglect of a friend, to whom,
nevertheless, he appears so tenderly at-
tached. It should seem that it was in the
presence of some of these persons, by no
means well-disposed to his cause, that Je-
sus proceeded to the sepulchre, summoned
the dead body to arise, and was obeyed.

The intelligence of this inconceivable
event spread with the utmost rapidity to
Jerusalem : the Sanhedrin was instantly
summoned, and a solemn debate com-
menced, finally to decide on their future
proceedings towards Jesus. It had now
become evident that his progress in the
popular belief must be at once arrested, or
the power of the Sanhedrin, the influence
of the Pharisaic party, was lost for ever.
With this may have mingled, in minds en-
tirely ignorant of the real nature of‘the
new religion, an honest and conscientious,
though blind dread of some tumult or in-
surrection taking place, which would give
the Romans an excuse for wresting away
the lingering semblance of national inde-
pendence, to which they adhered with
such passionate attachment. The high-
priesthood was now filled by Caiaphas,
the son-in-law of Annas or Ananus ; for
the Roman governors, as has been said,
since the expulsion of Archelaus, either in
the capricious or venal wantonness of
power, or from jealousy of his authority,
had perpetually deposed and reappointed
this chief civil and religious magistrate of
the nation. Caiaphas threw the weight
of his official influence into the scale of
the more decided and violent party; and
endeavoured, as it were, to give an ap-
pearance of patriotism to the meditated
crime, by declaring the expediency of sac-
rificing one life, even though innocent, for
the welfare of the whole nation.* His
language was afterward treasured in the
memory of the Christians, as inadvertently
prophetic of the more extensive benefits
derived to mankind by the death of their
Master. The death of Jesus was deliber-
ately decreed; but Jesus for the present
avoided the gathering storm, withdrew
from the neighbourhood of the metropolis,
and retired to Ephraim, on the border of
Judaea, near the wild and mountainous
region which divided Judaea from Sa-
maria.f

* John, xf, 1-46.

* John, xi., 47-53.

f Ibid., 54.118

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

CHAPTER VIL

THE LAST PASSOVER.—THE CRUCIFIXION.

The Passover rapidly approached ; the
Last Pass- roads from all quarters were al-
°ver- ready crowded with the assem-
bling worshippers. It is difficult for those
who are ignorant of the extraordinary
power which local religious reverence
holds over Southern and Asiatic nations,
to imagine the state of Judaea and of Je-
rusalem at the time of this great periodi-
cal festival.* The rolling onward of
countless and gathering masses of popu-
lation to some of the temples in India;
the caravans from all. quarters of the
Eastern world, which assemble at Mecca
during the Holy Season; the multitudes
which formerly flowed to Loretto or
Rome at the great ceremonies, when the
Roman Catholic religion held its unenfee-
bled sway over the mind of Europe, do
not surpass, perhaps scarcely equal, the
sudden, simultaneous confluence, not of
the population of a single city, but of the
whole Jewish nation, towards the capital
of Judaea at the time of the Passover.
Dispersed as they were throughout the
world, it was not only the great mass of
the inhabitants of Palestine, but many
foreign Jews, who thronged from every
quarter—from Babylonia, from Arabia,
from Egypt, from Asia Minor and Greece,
from Italy, probably even from Gaul and
Spain. Some notion of the density and
vastness of the multitude may be formed
from the calculation of Josephus, who,
having ascertained the number of paschal
lambs sacrificed on one of these solemn
.occasions, which amounted to 256,500,f
and assigning the ordinary number to a
company who could partake of the same
victim, enumerated the total number of
the pilgrims and residents in Jerusalem
at 2,700,000. Through all this concourse
of the whole Jewish race, animated more
or less profoundly, according to their pe-
culiar temperament, with the same na-
tional and . religious feelings, rumours
about the appearance, the conduct, the
pretensions, the language of Jesus, could

* Mvpioi airo pvpLov offov ttoIsqv, oi jusv Sta
YVC, oi 6e dia e% avaroTirjg Kal dvoeog,

kal ap/cTOv Kal fiearjpdplac, KaO’ eKaarriv koprrjv
ek to lepov KaTaipovoiv.—Philo, de Monarch.,
821.

1 Or, according to Mr. Gres well’s reading,
266,500,

not but have spread abroad, and be com-
municated with unchecked rapidit)7-. The
utmost anxiety prevails throughout the
whole crowded city and its neighbour-
hood, to ascertain whether this new
prophet—this more, perhaps, than proph-
et—will, as it were, confront at this sol-
emn period the assembled nation, or, as
on the last occasion, remain concealed in
the remote parts of the country. The
Sanhedrin are on their guard, and strict
injunctions are issued that they may re-
ceive the earliest intelligence of his ap-
proach, in order that they may arrest him
before he has attempted to make any im-
pression on the multitude.*

Already Jesus had either crossed the
Jordan, or descended from the hill coun-
try to the north. He had passed through
Jericho, where he had been recognised by
two blind men as the Son of David, the
title of the Messiah, probably the most
prevalent among the common people
and, instead of disclaiming the homage
he had rewarded the avowal by the res-
toration of their sight to the suppliants.f

On his way from Jericho to Jerusalem,
but much nearer to the metropo-
lis, he was hospitably received acc ens'
in the house of a wealthy publican named
Zaccheus, who had been so impressed
with the report of his extraordinary char-
acter, that, being of small stature, he had
climbed a tree by the roadside to see
him pass by; and had evinced the sin-
cerity of his belief in the just and gener-
ous principles of the new faith, both by
giving up at once half of his property to
the poor, and offering the amplest, restitu-
tion to those whom he might have op-
pressed in the exercise of his function as
a publican.J It is probable that Jesus
passed the night, perhaps the whole of
the Sabbath, in the house of Zaccheus,
and set forth, on the first day of the week,
through the villages of Bethphage and
Bethany to Jerusalem.

Let us, however, before we trace his
progress, pause to ascertain, if possible,
the actual state of feeling at this precise
period among the different ranks and or-
ders of the Jews.

* John, xi., 55, 57.

t Matt., xx , 30. Mark, x., 46. Luke, xviik, 35

j Luke, xix , 1-10.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

119

jesus of Nazareth had now, for three
years, assumed the character of a public
teacher ; his wonderful works were gen-
erally acknowledged; all, no doubt, con-
sidered him as an extraordinary being;
but whether he was the Messiah still, as
it were, hung in the balance. .His lan-
guage, plain enough , to those who could
comprehend the real superiority, the real
divinity of his character, was necessarily
dark and ambiguous to those who were
insensible to the moral beauty of his
words and actions. Few, perhaps, be-
yond his more immediate followers, look-
ed upon him with implicit faith; many
with doubt, even with hope ; perhaps still
greater numbers, comprising the more
turbulent of the lower class, and almost
all the higher and more influential, with
incredulity, if not with undisguised ani-
mosity. For, though thus for three years
he had kept the public mind in suspense
as to his being the promised Redeemer,
of those circumstances to which the pop-
ular passions had looked forward as the
only certain signs of the Messiah’s com-
ing ; those which, among the mass of the
community, were considered inseparable
from the commencement of the kingdom
of heaven—the terrific, the awful, the na-
tional—not one had come to pass. The
deliverance of the nation from the Ro-
man yoke was as remote as ever; the
governor had made but a short time, per-,,
haps a year, before, a terrible assertion
of his supremacy, by defiling the Temple
itself with the blood of the rebellious or
unoffending Galileans. The Sanhedrin,
imperious during his absence, quailed and
submitted whenever the tribunal of Pilate
was erected in the metropolis. The pub-
licans, those unwelcome remembrancers
of the subjugation of the country, were
still abroad in every town and village, lev-
ying the hateful tribute ; and, instead of
joining in the popular clamour against
these agents of a foreign rule, or even
reprobating their extortions, Jesus had
treated them with his accustomed equa-
ble gentleness ; he had entered familiarly
into their houses ; one of his constant
followers, one of his chosen twelve, was
of this proscribed and odious profession.

Thus, then, the fierce and violent, the
ah sectshos- avowed or the secret partisans
me to Jesus. 0f the Galilean Judas, and all
who, without having enrolled themselves
in his sect, inclined to the same opinions,
if not already inflamed against Jesus,
were at least ready to take fire on the in-
stant that his success might appear to en-
danger their schemes and visions of inde-
pendence : and their fanaticism once in-

flamed, no considerations of humanity or
justice would arrest its course or assuage
its violence. To every sect Jesus had
been equally uncompromising; to the
Pharisees he had always pro- ThePhar-
clsCimed the most undisguised op- im-
position ; and if his language rises from
its gentle and persuasive, though authori-
tative tone, it is ever in inveighing against
the hypocrisy, the avarice, the secret vices
of this class, whose dominion over the
public mind it was necessary to shake
with a strong hand; all communion with
whose peculiar opinions it was incumbent
on the teacher of purer virtue to disclaim
in the most unmeasured terms.* But this
hostility to the Pharisaic party was likely
to operate unfavourably to the cause of
Jesus, not only with the party itself, but
with the great mass of the lower orders.
If there be in man a natural love of inde-
pendence both in thought and action, there
is among the vulgar, especially in a nation
so superstitious as the Jews, a reverence,
even a passionate attachment to religious
tyranny. The bondage in which the mi-
nute observances of the traditionists, more
like those of the Brahminical Indians than
the free and more generous institutes of
their lawgiver, had fettered the whole life
of the Jew, was nevertheless a source of
satisfaction and pride; and the offer of
deliverance from this inveterate slavery
would be received by most with unthank-
fulness or suspicion. Nor can any teach-
er of religion, however he may appeal to
the better feelings and to the reason, with-
out endangering his influence over the
common people, permit himself to be out-
done in that austerity which they ever
consider the sole test of favour and sin-
cerity. Even those less enslaved to the
traditionary observances, the law- The law-
yers (perhaps the religious ances- yers-
tors of the Karaites!), who adhered more
closely, and confined their precepts to the
sacred books, must have trembled and re-
coiled at the manner in which Jesus as-
sumed an authority above that of Moses
or the prophets. With the Sad- The sad-
ducees Jesus had come less fre- ducees-
quently into collision: it is probable that
this sect prevailed chiefly among the aris-
tocracy of the larger cities and the me-
tropolis, while Jesus in general mingled
with the lower orders ; and the Sadducees
were less regular attendants in the syna-

* Luke, xi., 39-54.

+ The Karaites among the later Jews were the
Protestants of Judaism (see Hist, of Jews, iii., p.‘
223). It is probable that a party of this nature ex-
isted much earlier, though by no means numerous
or influential.120

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

gogues and schools, where he was wont
to deliver his instructions. ■ They, in all
likelihood, were less possessed than the
rest of the nation with the expectation of
the Messiah; at all events, they rejected
as innovations not merely the Babylonian
notions about the angels and the resurrec-
tion, which prevailed in the rest of the
community, but altogether disclaimed
these doctrines, and professed themselves
adherents of the original simple Mosaic
Theocracy. Hence, though on one or two
occasions they appear to have joined in
the general confederacy to arrest his prog-
ress, the Sadducees in general would look
on with contemptuous indifference ; and
although the declaration 01 eternal life
mingled with the whole system of the
teaching of Jesus, yet it was not till his
resurrection had become the leading arti-
cle of the new faith—till Christianity was
thus, as it were, committed in irreconci-
lable hostility with the main principle of
their creed—that their opposition took a
more active turn; and, from the accidental
increase of their weight in the Sanhedrin,
came into perpetual and terrible collision
with the apostles. The only point of
union which the Sadducaic party would
possess with the Pharisees would be the
most extreme jealousy of the abrogation
of the law, the exclusive feeling of its su-
perior sanctity, wisdom, and irrepealable
authority: on this point the spirit of na-
tionality would draw together these two
conflicting parties, who would vie with
each other in the patriotic, the religious
vigilance with which they would seize on
any expression of Jesus which might im-
ply the abrogation of the divinely-inspired
institutes of Moses, or even any material
innovation on the strict letter. But, be-
sides the general suspicion that Jesus was
assuming an authority above, in some cases
contrary to, the law, there were other tri-
fling circumstances which threw doubts
on that genuine and unconstrained Juda-
ism which the nation in general would
have imperiously demanded from their
Messiah. There seems to have been some
apprehension, as we have before stated, of
his abandoning his ungrateful countrymen,
and taking refuge among a foreign race.;
and his conduct towards the Samaritans
was directly contrary to the strongest
Jewish prejudices. On more than one in-
stance, even if his remarkable conduct and
language during his first journey through
Samaria had not transpired, he had avow-
edly discountenanced that implacable na-
tional hatred, which no one can ever at-
tempt to allay without diverting it, as it
were, on his own head. He had adduced

I the example of a Samaritan, as the only
one of the ten lepers* who showed either
! gratitude to his benefactor or piety to
God ; and in the exquisite apologue of the
good Samaritan, he had placed the Priest
and the Levite in a most unfavourable light,
as contrasted with the descendant of that
hated race.

Yet there could be no doubt that he had
already avowed himself to be the Jesurthe
Messiah : his harbinger, the Bap- Mes,siali-
tist, had proclaimed the rapid, the instan-
taneous approach of the kingdom of
Christ: of that kingdom Jesus himself hao
spoken as commencing, as having already
commenced; but whene were the outward,
the visible, the undeniable signs of sover-
eignty! He had permitted himself, both
in private and in public, to be saluted as
the Son of David, an expression which
was equivalent to a claim to the hereditary
throne of David : but still, to the common
eye, he appeared the same lowly and un-
royal being as when he first set forth as a
teacher through the villages of Galilee.
As to the nature of this kingdom, even to
his closest followers, his language was
most perplexing and contradictory. An
unworldly kingdom, a moral dominion, a
purely religious community, held together
only by the bond of common faith, was so
unlike the former intimate union of civil
and religious polity, so diametrically op-
posite to the first principles of their The-
ocracy, as to he utterly unintelligible.
The real nature and design of the new re-
ligion seemed altogether beyond their
comprehension; and it is most remarkable
to trace it, as it slowly, dawned on the
minds of the apostles themselves, and
gradually, after the death of Jesus, extend-
ed its horizon till it comprehended all
mankind within its expanding view. To
be in the highest sense the religious an-
cestors of mankind ; to be the authors, or,
at least, the agents in the greatest moral
revolution which has taken place in the
world; to obtain an influence over the
human mind, as much more extensive
than that which had been violently ob-
tained by the arms of Rome, as it was
more conducive to the happiness of the
human race ; to be the teachers and dis-
seminators of doctrines, opinions, senti-
ments, which, slowly incorporating them-
selves, as it were, with the intimate es-
sence of man’s moral being, were to work
a gradual but total change : a change
which, as to the temporal as well as the
eternal destiny of our race, to those who
look forward to the simultaneous progress

* Luke, xvii., 18,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

121

of human civilization and the genuine re-
ligion of Jesus, is yet far from complete ;
all this was too high, too remote, too mys-
terious for the narrow vision of the Jew-
ish people. They, as a nation, were bet-
ter prepared, indeed, by already possessing
the rudiments of-the new faith, for becom-
ing the willing agents in this Divine work;
on the other hand, they were in some re-
spects disqualified by that very distinc-
tion, which, by keeping them in rigid se-
clusion from the rest of mankind, had ren-
dered them, as it were, the faithful depos-
itaries of the great principles of religion,
the Unity of God. The peculiar privilege
with which they had been intrusted for
the benefit of mankind, had become, as it
were, their exclusive property: nor were
they willing indiscriminately to commu-
nicate to others this their own distinctive
prerogative.

Those, for such doubtless there were,
who pierced, though dimly, through the
veil—the more reasoning, the more ad-
vanced, the more philosophical—were lit-
tle likely to espouse the cause of Jesus
with vigour and resolution. Persons of,
this character are usually too calm, dis-
passionate, and speculative to be the ac-
tive and zealous instruments jin a great
religious revolution. It is probable that
most of this class were either far gone in
Oriental mysticism, or, in some instances,
in the colder philosophy of the Greeks.
For these Jesus was as much too plain
and popular, as he was too gentle and
peaceable for the turbulent. He was
scarcely more congenial to the severe
TheEs- and ascetic practices of the Essene
senes, than to the fiercer followers of the
Galilean Judas. Though the Essene might
admire the exquisite purity of his moral
teaching, and. the uncompromising firm-
ness with which he repressed the vices of
all ranks and parties; however he might
be prepared for the abrogation of the cer-
emonial law, and the substitution of the
religion of the heart for that of the preva-
lent outward forms, on his side he was
too closely bound by his own monastic
rules: his whole existence was recluse
and contemplative. His religion was so
altogether unfitted for aggression, as, how-
ever apparently it might coincide with
Christianity in some material points, in
fact its vital system was repugnant to that
of the new faith. Though, after strict in-
vestigation, the Essene would admit the
numerous candidates who aspired to unite
themselves with his ccenobitic society, in
which no one, according to Pliny’s ex-
pression, was born, but which was always
full, he would never seek proselytes, or

use any active means for disseminating
his principles ; and it is worthy of remark,
that almost the only quarter of Palestine
which Jesus does not appear to have vis-
ited is the district near the Dead Sea,
where the agricultural settlements of the
Essenes were chiefly situated.

While the mass of the community were
hostile to Jesus, from his deficiency in the
more imposing, the warlike, the destruc-
tive signs of the Messiah’s power and
glory; from his opposition to the genius
and principles of the prevailing sects ;
from his want of nationality, both as re-
garded the civil independence and the ex-
clusive religious superiority of the race of
Abraham ; and from their own general in-
capacity for comprehending the moral sub-
limity of his teaching, additional, and not
less influential motives conspired to in-,
flame the animosity of the Ru- _ ,
lers. Independent of the dread
of innovation, inseparable from establish-
ed governments, they could not but dis-
cern the utter incompatibility of their own
rule with that of an unworldly Messiah.'
They must abdicate at once, if not their
civil office as magistrates, unquestionably
their sovereignty over the public mind ;
retract much which they had been teach-
ing on the authority oTtheir fathers, the
wise men; and submit, with the lowest
and most ignorant, to be the humble
scholars of the new Teacher. With all
this mingled, no doubt, a real apprehen-
sion of offending the Roman power. They
could not but discern on how precarious
a foundation rested, not only the feeble
shadow of national independence, but even
the national existence. A single mandate
from the emperor, not unlikely to be pre-
cipitately advised and relentlessly carried
into execution, on the least appearance of
tumult, by a governor of so decided a char-
acter as Pontius Pilate, might annihilate
at once all that remained of their civil, and
even of their religious constitution. If
we look forward, we find that, during the
whole of the period which precedes the
last Jewish war, the ruling authorities of
the nation pursued the same cautious pol-
icy. They were driven into the insurrec-
tion, not by their own deliberate determi-
nation, but by the uncontrollable fanati-
cism of the populace. To every overture
of peace they lent a willing ear; and their
hopes of an honourable capitulation, by
which the city might be spared the hor-
rors of a storm, and the Temple be secured
from desecration, did not expire till their
party was thinned by the remorseless
sword of the Idumean and the assassin,
and the Temple had become the stronghold122

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of one of the contending factions. Reli-
gious fears might seem to countenance
this trembling apprehension of the Roman
power, for there is strong ground, both in
Josephus and the Talmudic writings, for
believing that the current interpretation
of the phrophecies of Daniel designated
the Romans as the predestined destroy-
ers of the Theocracy.* And, however the
more enthusiastic might look upon this
only as one of the inevitable calamities
which was to precede the appearance and
final triumph of the Messiah, the less fer-
vid faith of the older and more influential
party was far more profoundly impressed
with the dread of the impending ruin than
elated with the remoter hope of final res-
toration. The advice of Cai'aphas, there-
fore, to sacrifice even an innocent, man for
the safety of the state, would appear to
them both sound and reasonable policy.

We must imagine this suspense, this
demeanour agitation of the crowded city, or
of Jesus. we shall be unable fully to enter
into the beauty of the calm and unosten-
tatious dignity-with which Jesus pursues
his course through the midst of this ter-
rific tumult. He preserves the same
equable composure in the triumphant pro-
cession into the Temple and in the Hall
of Pilate. Everything indicates his tran-
quil conviction of his inevitable death; he
foretels it, with all its afflicting circum-
stances, to his disciples, incredulous al-
most to the last to this alone of their
Master’s declarations. At every step he
feels himself more inextricably within the
toils ; yet he moves onward with the self-
command of a willing sacrifice, constant-
ly dwelling, with a profound though chas-
tened melancholy, on his approaching fate,
and intimating that his death was neces-
sary, in order to secure indescribable ben-
efits for his faithful followers and for man-
kind. Yet there is no needless exaspera-
tion of his enemies ; he observes the ut-
most prudence, though he seems so fully
aware that his prudence can be of no avail;
he never passes the night within the city ;
and it is only by the treachery of one of

* It is probable that, in the allusion of Jesus to
the “ abomination of desolation,” the phrase was
already applied by the popular apprehensions to
some impending destruction by the Romans.

Tov avrov tpotcov AavlrjXog feat 7Tepl rfiv Pw-
ficutiv 7j-yep.ovLag av£-ypa'ipe> nal on viz' avrtiv eprj-
acjd^oerai.—Ant., x., 2,7; and in the Bell. Jud., iv.,
6, 3, the 7zpo(j)7/T8ia Kara rrjqKarptSog, referred to
this interpretation of the verses of the prophet.—
Compare Babyl. Talm., Gemara, Masseck Nasir,
c. 5, Masseck Sanhedrin, c. 11. Jerusalem Tal-
mud, Masseck Kelaim, c. 9. Bertholdt on Daniel,
p.585. Compare, likewise, Jortin’s Eccl. Hist.,
i., 69.

his followers that the Sanhedrin at length
make themselves masters of his person.

The Son of Man had now arrived at
Bethany, and we must endeav- Difficu]ty ol
our to trace his future proceed- chronoio-p-
ings in a consecutive course ;* cal arran°re-
but if it has been difficult t,o dis- menl‘
pose the events of the life of Jesus in the
order of time, this difficulty increases as
we approach its termination. However
embarrassing this fact to those who re-
quire something more than historical cred-
ibility in the evangelical narratives, to
those who are content with a lower and
more rational view of their authority, it
throws not the least suspicion on their
truth. It might almost seem, at the pres*
ent period, that the evangelists, con
founded, as it were, and stunned with the
deep sense of the importance of the crisis,
however they might remember the facts,
had in some degree perplexed and confu-
sed their regular order. At Beth- jeSus m
any he took up his abode in the Bethany,
house of Simon, who had been a leper,
and, it is not improbably conjectured, had
been healed by the wonderful power of
Jesus.f Simon was, in all likelihood,
closely connected, though the degree of
relationship is not intimated, with the
family of Lazarus, for Lazarus was pres-
ent at the feast, and it was conducted by
Martha his sister. The fervent devotion
of their sister Mary had been already in-
dicated on two occasions ; and this pas-
sionate zeal, now heightened by gratitude
for the recent restoration of her brother
to life, evinced itself in her breaking an
alabaster box of very costly perfume, and
anointing his head,} according, as we'have
seen on a former occasion, to a usage not
uncommon in Oriental banquets. It is
possible that vague thoughts of the royal
character, which she expected that Jesus
was about to assume, might mingle with
those purer feelings which led her to pay
this prodigal homage to his person. The
mercenary character of Judas now begins
to be developed. Judas had been ap-
pointed a kind of treasurer, and intrusted
with the care of the common purse, from
which the scanty necessities of the hum-
ble and temperate society had been de-
frayed, and the rest reserved for distribu-
tion among the poor. Some others of
the disciples had been seized with ast’on-

* Matt., xxi., 1. Mark, xi., 1. Luke, xix., 28.
John, xii., 1.

f Matt., xxvi., 1-13. Mark, xiv., 3-9. John,
xii., 1-11. (We follow St.John’s narrative in
placing Lliis incident at the present period.)

t See Psalm xxv., 5. Horat., Carm., ii., 11, 16.
Martial, iii., 12, 4.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

123

ishment at this unusual and seemingly
unnecessary waste of so valuable a com-
modity : but Judas broke out into open
remonstrance ; and, concealing his own
avarice under the veil of charity for the
poor, protested against the wanton prodi-
gality. Jesus contented himself with
praising the pious and affectionate devo-
tion of the woman, and, reverting to his
usual tone of calm melancholy, declared
that, inadvertently, she had performed a
more pious office, the anointing his body
for his burial.

The intelligence of the arrival of Jesus
Jesus enters at Bethany spread rapidly to the
Jerusalem in city, from which it was not quite
triumph. two miles distant. Multitudes
thronged forth to behold him : nor was
Jesus the only object of interest; for the
fame of the resurrection of Lazarus was
widely disseminated, and the strangers in
Jerusalem were scarcely less anxious to
behold a man who had undergone a fate
so unprecedented.

Lazarus, thus an object of intense inter-
est to the people,*-became one of no less
jealousy to the ruling authorities, the ene-
mies of Jesus. His death was likewise
decreed, and the magistracy only awaited
a favourable opportunity for the execution
of their edicts. But the Sanhedrin is at
first obliged to remain in overawed and
trembling inactivity. The popular senti-
ment is so decidedly in favour of Jesus of
Nazareth, that they dare not venture to
oppose his open, his public, his triumph-
ant procession into the city, or his en-
trance, amid the applauses of the wonder-
ing multitude, into the Temple itself. On
the morning of the second day of the
Monday, week,f Jesus is seen, in the face of
Nisan 2’ day, approaching one of the gates
March. 0f ^ cjty vvhich looked towards
Mount Olivet.f In avowed conformity to
a celebrated prophecy of Zachariah, he
appears riding on the yet unbroken colt
of an ass ; the procession of his follow-
ers, as he descends the side of the Mount
of Olives, escort him with royal honours,
and with exclamations expressive of his
title of the Messiah, towards the city:
many of them had been witnesses of the
resurrection of Lazarus, and no doubt
proclaimed, as they advanced, this extra-
ordinary instance of power. They are
met$ by another band advancing from the
city, who receive him with equal homage,
strew branches of palm and even their
garments in his way ; and the Sanhedrin

* John, xii., 9-11. f John, xii., 12.

t Matt.., xxi., 1—10. Mark, xi., 1-10. Luke, xix.,
29-40 John xii., 12-19. $ John, xii., 18.

could not but hear within the courts of
the Temple, the appalling proclamation,

“ Hosannah, blessed is the King of Israel,
that cometh in the name of the Lord.”
Some of the Pharisees, who had mingled
with the multitude, remonstrate with Je-
sus, and command him to silence what,
to their ears, sounded like the profane, the
impious adulation of his partisans. Un-
interrupted, and only answering that, if
these Were silent, the stones on which he
trod would bear witness, Jesus still ad-
vances ; the acclamations become y< t
louder; he is hailed as the Son of David,
the rightful heir of David’s kingdom ; and
the desponding Pharisees, alarmed at the
complete mastery over the public mind
which he appears to possess, withdraw ;
for the present their fruitless opposition.
On the declivity of the hill he pauses to
behold the city at his feet, and something
of that emotion, which afterward is ex-
pressed with much greater fulness, be-
trays itself in a few brief and emphatic
sentences, expressive of the future miser-
able destiny, of the devoted Jerusalem.*

The whole crowded city is excited by
this increasing tumult ; anxious inquiries
about the cause, and the intelligence that
it is the entrance of Jesus of Nazareth
into the city, still heighten the universal
suspense ;f and, even in the Tern-. Aceiama-
ple itself, where perhaps the reli- tons in the
gion of the place, or the expecta- Temple-
tion of some public declaration, or perhaps
of some immediate sign of his power,
had caused a temporary silence among
his older followers, the children prolong
the acclamations and as the sick, the
infirm, the afflicted with different mala-
dies, are brought to him to be healed, and
are restored at once to health or the use
of their faculties, at every instance of the
power and goodness of Jesus the same
uncontrolled acclamations from the young-
er part of the multitude are renewed with
increasing fervour.

Those of the Sanhedrin who are present,
though they do not attempt at this immedi-
ate juncture to stem the torrent, venture
to remonstrate against the disrespect to
the sanctity of the Temple, and demand of
Jesus to silence what, to their feelings,
sounded like profane violation of the sacred
edifice. Jesus replies, as usual, with an
apt quotation from the sacred writings,
which declared that even the voices of
children and infants might be raised, with-
out reproof, in praise and thanksgiving to
God.

* Luke, xix., 41-44. f Matt, xxi., 10, ih
t Ibid., 15.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Among the multitudes of Jews who as-

The cr^ei-s sem^cd at the Passover, there

e ,ieexs. were usna][y many proselytes

who were called Greeks* (a term in Jew-
ish language of as wide signification as
that of barbarians with the Greeks, and
including all who were not of Jewish de-
scent). Some of this class, carried away
by the general enthusiasm towards Jesus,
expressed an anxious desire to be admitted
to his presence. It is not improbable that
these proselytes might be permitted to
advance no farther than the division in
the outer Court of the Gentiles, where
certain palisades were erected, with in-
scriptions in various languages, prohibiting
the entrance of all foreigners; or, even if'
they were allowed to pass this barrier,
they may have been excluded from the
court of Israel, into which Jesus may have
passed. By the intervention of two of the
apostles, their desire is made known to
Jesus, who, perhaps as he passes back
through the outward court, permits them
to approach. No doubt, as these proselytes
shared in the general excitement towards
the person of Jesus, so they shared in the
general expectation of the immediate,
the instantaneous commencement of the
splendour, the happiness of the Messiah’s
kingdom. To their surprise, either in an-
swer to or anticipating their declaration
to this effect, instead of enlarging on the
glory of that great event, the somewhat
ambiguous language of Jesus dwells, at
first, on his approaching fate, on the severe
trial which awaits the devotion of his fol-
lowers ; yet on the necessity of this hu-
miliation, this dissolution to his final glory,
and to the triumph of his beneficent re-
ligion. It rises at length into a devotional
address to the Father, to bring immediate-
ly to accomplishment all his promises, for
the glorification of the Messiah. As he
was yet speaking, a rolling sound was
heard in the heavens, which the unbeliev-
ing part of the multitude heard only as an
accidental burst of thunder; to others,
however, it seemed an audible, a distinct,
or, according to those who adhere to the
strict letter, the articulate voicef of an
angel, proclaiming the Divine sanction to
the presage of his future glory. Jesus
continues his discourse in a tone of pro-
founder mystery, yet evidently declaring
the immediate discomfiture of the “ Prince
of this world,” the adversary of the Jew-

* John, xii., 20, 43.

f Kuinoel, in loc. Some revert to the Jewish
superstition of the Bath-Kol, or audible voice from
heaven ; but the more rational of the Jews inter-
pret this Bath-Kol as an impression upon the mind
.rather than on the outward senses.

ish people and of the human race, his own
departure from the world, and the im-
portant consequences which were to ensue
from that departure. After his death, his
religion was to be more attractive than
during his life. u I, if I be lifted up from
the earth, will draw all men unto me.”
Among the characteristics of the Messiah
which were deeply rooted in the general
belief, was the eternity of his reign; once
revealed, he was revealed for ever; once
established in their glorious, their para-
disiacal state, the people of God, the sub-
jects of the kingdom, were to be liable to
no change, no vicissitude. The allusions
of Jesus to his departure, clashing with
this notion of his perpetual presence,
heightened their embarrassment; and,
leaving them in this state of mysterious
suspense, he withdrew unperceived from
the multitude, and retired again with his
own chosen disciples to the village of
Bethany.

The second morning Jesus returned to
Jerusalem. A fig-tree stood by Cursingtiie
the wayside, of that kind well barren Tig-
known in Palestine, which, du- tree-
ring a mild winter, preserve their leaves,
and with the early spring put forth and
ripen their fruit,* Jesus approached the
tree to pluck the fruit; but, finding that it
bore none, condemned it to perpetual bar-
renness.

This transaction is remarkable, as al-
most the only instance in which Jesus
adopted that symbolic mode of teaching
by action rather than by language, so
peculiar to the East, and so frequently ex-
emplified in the earlier books, especially
of the Prophets. For it is difficult to con-
ceive any reason either for the incident
itself, or for its admission into the evan-
gelic narrative at a period so important,
unless it was believed to convey some
profounder meaning. The close moral
analogy, the accordance with the common
phraseology between the barren tree, dis-
qualified by its hardened and sapless state
from bearing its natural produce, and the
Jewish nation, equally incapable of bear-
ing the fruits of Christian goodness, formed
a most expressive, and, as it were, living
apologue.

On this day Jesus renews the remark-
able scene which had taken second day
place at the first Passover. The ^ Jerusalem.

* There are three kinds of figs in Palestine : 1.
The early fig, which blossoms in March, and ripens
its fruit in June ; 2. The Kerman, which shows its
fruit in June, and ripens in August; and, 3. The
kind in question.—See Kuinoel, in loco. Pliny, H.
N., xvi., 27. Theophr., 3, 6. Shaw’s Travels.
Matt, xxi,, 18, 19. Mark, xi., 12, 14.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

125

customary traffic, the tumult and confu-
sion, which his authority had restrained
for a short time, had been renewed in the
courts of the Temple; and Jesus again
expelled the traders from the holy pre-
cincts, and, to secure the silence and the
sanctity of the whole enclosure, prohibited
the carrying any vessel through the Tem-
ple courts.* Through the whole of this
day the Sanhedrin, as it were, rested on
their arms ; they found, with still increas-
ing apprehension, that every hour the mul-
titude crowded with more and more anx-
ious interest around the Prophet of Naz-
areth ; his authority over the Temple
courts seems to have been admitted with-
out resistance ; and probably the assertion
of the violated dignity of the Temple was
a point on which the devotional feelings
would have been so strongly in favour of
the Reformer, that it would have been
highly dangerous and unwise for the ma-
gistrates to risk even the appearance either
of opposition or of dissatisfaction.

The third morning arrived. As Jesus
The third passed to the Temple, the fig-tree,
Ua>r- the symbol of the Jewish nation,
stood utterly withered and dried up. But,
as it were, to prevent the obvious infer-
ence from the immediate fulfilment of his
malediction—almost the only destructive
act during his whole public career, and that
on a tree by the wayside, the common
property—Jesus mingles with his promise
of power to his apostles to perform acts
as extraordinary, the strictest injunctions
to the milder spirit inculcated by his pre-
cept and his example. Their prayers
were to be for the forgiveness, not for the
providential destruction, of their enemies.

The Sanhedrin had now determined on
Deputation the necessity of making an effort
from the to discredit- Jesus with the more
rulers. and more admiring multitude. A
deputation arrives to demand by what au-
thority he had taken up his station, and
was daily teaching in the Temple ; had ex-
pelled the traders, and, in short, had usurp-
ed a complete superiority over the accred-
ited and established instructors of the peo-
ple If The self-command and prompti-
tude of Jesus caught them, as it were, in
their own toils, and reduced them to the
utmost embarrassment. The claim of the
Baptist to the prophetic character had
been generally admitted and even passion-
ately asserted; his death had, no doubt,
still farther endeared him to all who de-
tested the Herodian rule, or who admired

* Matt., xxi., 12, 13. Luke, xix., 45, 46. Mark,
Xk, 15, 17.

t Matt, xxi., 23-27. Mark, xi., 27-34. Luke,
xx. 1-8.

the uncompromising boldness with which
he had condemned iniquity even upon the
throne. The popular feeling would have
resented an impeachment on his prophetic
dignity. When, therefore, Jesus demand-
ed their sentence as to the baptism f
John, they had but the alternative of ac*
knowledging its Divine sanction, and so
tacitly condemning themselves for not
having submitted to his authority, and
even for not admitting his testimony in fa-
vour of Jesus ; or of exposing themselves,
by denying it, to popular insult and fury.
The self-degrading confession of their ig-
norance placed Jesus-immediately on the
vantage ground, and at once annulled their
right to question or to decide upon the au-
thority of his mission : that right which
was considered to be vested in the San-
hedrin. They were condemned to listen
to language still more humiliating. In
two striking parables, that’of the Lord of
the Vineyard and of the Marriage Feast.,*
Jesus not obscurely intimated the rejec-
tion of those labourers who had been first
summoned to the work of God; of those
guests who had been first invited to the
nuptial banquet; and the substitution of
meaner and more unexpected 'guests or
subjects in their place.

The fourth dayf arrived; and once more
Jesus appeared in the Temple The fourth
with a still increasing concourse da^-
of followers. No unfavourable impression
had yet been made on the popular mind
by his adversaries; his career is yet un-
checked, his authority unshaken.

His enemies are now fully aware of
their own desperate situation; the appre-
hension of the progress of Jesus unites
the most discordant parties into one for-
midable conspiracy; the Pharisaic, the
Sadducaic, and the Herodian factions
agree to make common cause against the
common enemy: the two national sects,
the Traditionists and the Anti-tradition-
ists, no longer hesitate to accept the aid of
the foreign or Herodian faction. J The He-
Some suppose the Herodians to rodians-
have been the officers and attendants on
the court of Herod, then present at Jeru-

* Matt., xxi., 28, to xxii., 14. Mark, xii., 1-12.
Luke, xx., 9-18.

f There is considerable difficulty in ascertaining
the events of the Wednesday. It does not appear
altogether probable that Jesus should have remain-
ed at Bethany in perfect inactivity or seclusion du-
ring the whole of this important day : either, there-
fore,'as some suppose, the triumphant entry into
Jerusalem took place on the Monday, not on the
Sunday, according to the common tradition of the
church; or, as here stated, the collision with his
various adversaries spread over the succeedingday.

t Matt., xxii, 15-22. Mark, xii., 13-17. Luke,
xxi., 19-26.120

HISTORY OF CHRISTIAN!'

salera; but the appellation more probably
includes all those who, estranged from the
more inveterate Judaism of the nation, and
having, in some degree, adopted Grecian
habits and opinions, considered the peace
of the country best secured by the govern-
ment of the descendants of Herod, with
the sanction and under the protection of
Rome.* They were the foreign faction,
and, as such, in general, in direct opposi-
tion to the Pharisaic, or national party.
But the success of Jesus, however at pres-
ent it threatened more immediately the
vuling authorities in Jerusalem, could not
but endanger the Galilean government of
Herod. The object, therefore, was to im-
plicate Jesus with the faction, or, at least,
to tempt him into acknowledging opinions
similar to those of the Galilean dema-
gogue, a seheme the more likely to work
on the jealousy of the Roman government,
if it was at the last Passover that the ap-
prehension of tumult among the Galilean
strangers had justified, or appeared to jus-
tify, the massacre perpetrated by Pilate.
The plot wras laid with great subtlety ; for
either way Jesus, it appeared, must com-
mit himself. The great test of the Gali-
lean opinion was the lawfulness of tribute
to a foreign power, which Judas had
boldly declared to be, not merely a base
compromise of the national independence,
but an impious infringement on the first
principles of their theocracy. But the in-
dependence, if not the universal dominion
of the Jews, was inseparably bound, up
with the popular belief in the Messiah.
Jesus, then, would either, on the question
of the lawfulness of tribute to Caesar, con-
firm the bolder doctrines of the Galilean,
and so convict himself, before the .Ro-
mans, as one of that dangerous faction;
or he would admit its legality, and so an-
nul at once all his claims to the character
of the Messiah. Not in the least thrown
off his guard by the artful courtesy, or,
rather, the adulation of their address, Je-
sus appeals to the current coin of the coun-
try, which, bearing the impress of the Ro-
man emperor, was in itself a recognition
of Roman supremacy.!

* Of all notions on the much-contested point of
the Herodians, the most improbable is that which
identifies them with the followers of the Galilean
Judas. The whole policy of the Herodian family
was in diametrical hostility to those opinions.
They maintained their power by foreign influence,
and, with the elder Herod, had systematically at-
tempted to soften the implacable hostility of the
nation by the introduction of Grecian manners.
Their object, accordingly, was. to convict Jesus of
the Galilean opinions, which they themselves held
in the utmost detestation.

t The latter part of the sentence, “Render

The Herodian or political party thus
discomfited, the Sadducees advan- The sad-
ced to the encounter. Nothing ducees-
can appear more captious or frivolous than
their question with regard to the future
possession of a wife in another state of
being, who had been successively mar-
ried to seven brothers, according to the
Levirate law. But, perhaps, considered
in reference to the opinions of the time,
it will seem less extraordinary. The
Sadducees, no doubt, had heard that the
resurrection, and the life to come, had
formed an essential tenet in the teaching
of Jesus. They concluded that liis no-
tions on these subjects were those gener-
ally prevalent among the people. But, it
the later Rabbinical notions of the happi-
ness of the renewed state of existence
were current, or even known in their gen-
eral outline, nothing could be more gross
or unspiritual :* if less voluptuous, they
were certainly not less strange and un-
reasonable, than those which, perhaps,
were derived from the same source—the
Paradise of Mohammed. The Sadducees
were accustomed to contend with these
disputants, whose paradisiacal state, to
be established by the Messiah after the
resurrection, was but the completion of
those temporal promises in the book ot
Deuteronomy, a perpetuity of plenty, fer-
tility, and earthly enjoyment.f The an-
swer of Jesus, while it declares the cer-
tainty of another state of existence, care-
fully purifies it from all these corporeal
and earthly images; and assimilates man,
in another state of existence, to a higher
order of beings. And in his concluding
inference from the passage in Exodus, in
which God is described as the God ot
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the allusion
may perhaps be still kept up. The tem-
poral and corporeal resurrection of the
common Pharisaic belief was to take
place only after the coming of the Mes-
siah ; yet their reverence for the fathers
of the race would scarcely allow even the

therefore unto Caesar the things that are Cassar’s,”
and “ to God the things that are God’s,” refers, m
all probability, to the payment of the Temple trib-
ute, which was only received in the coin of the
country. Hence, as before observed, the money
changers in the Temple. — Matt., xxii., 23-33.
Mark, xii., 18-27. Luke, xx., 27-38.

* It is decided, in the Sohar on Genesis, fol. 24,
col. 96, “ that woman, who has married two hus-
bands in this world, is restored to the first in the
world to come.”—Schoetgen, in loco.

f Josephus, in his address to his countrymen,
mingles up into one splendid picture the Metemp-
sychosis and the Elysium of the Greeks. In Scho-
etgen, in loco, may be found extracts from the Tal-
mud of a purer character, and more resembling the
language of our Lord.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

127

fcfadducee. to suppose their total extinc-
tion. The actual, the pure beatitude of
the Patriarchs, was probably an admitted
point; if not formally decided by their
teachers, implicitly admitted, and fervent-
ly embraced by the religious feelings of
the whole people. But if, according to
the Sadducaic principle, the soul did not
exist independent of the body, even Abra-
ham, Isaac, and Jacob had shared the'
common fate, the favour of God had
ceased with their earthly dissolution; nor,
in the time of Moses, could he be justly
described as the God of those who in
death had sunk into utter annihilation.

Although now engaged in a common
cause, the hostility of the Pharisaic party
to the Sadducees could not but derive
gratification from their public discomfi-
ture. One scribe of their party is so
struck by the superiority of Jesus, that,
though still with something of an insidi-
ous design, he demands in what manner
he should rank the commandments, which,
in popular belief, were probably of equal
dignity and importance.* But when Je-
sus comprises the whole of religion under
the simple precepts of the love of God
and the love of man, he is so struck with
the sublimity of the language, that he
does not hesitate openly to espouse his
doctrines.

Paralyzed by this desertion, and warn-
The Phari- ed by the discomfiture of the
sees- two parties which had preceded
them in dispute with Jesus, the Pharisees
appear to have stood wavering and un-
certain how to speak or act. Jesus seizes
the opportunity of still farther weakening
their authority with the assembled multi-
tude ; and, in his turn, addresses an em-
barrassing question as to the descent of
the Messiah.f The Messiah, according
to the universal belief, would be the heir
and representative of David : Jesus, by a
reference to the second Psalm, which was
considered prophetic of the Redeemer,
forces them to confess that, even accord-
ing to their own authority, the kingdom
of the Messiah was to be of far higher
dignity, far wider extent, and administer-
ed by a more exalted sovereign than Da-
vid, for even David himself, by their own
admission, had called him his Lord.

The Pharisees withdrew in mortified si-
lence, and for that time had abandoned all
hope of betraying him into any incautious
or unpopular denial by their captious ques-

* Matt., xxii, 34 40. Mark, xii, 28-40. Luke,
xx., 39-40.

f Matt., xxii, 41-46. Mark, xii., 35-37. Luke,
xx., 39-44.

tions. But they withdrew unmoved by
the wusdom, unattracted by the beauty,
unsubdued by the authority of Jesus.

After some delay, during which the
beautiful incident of his approving the
charity of the poor widow,* who cast her
mite into the treasury of the Temple, took
place, he addressed the wondering multi- •
tude (u for the common people heard him
gladly”!) in a grave and solemn denuncia-
tion against the tyranny, the hypocrisy,
the bigoted attachment to the most mi-
nute observances, and, at the same time,
the total blindness to the spirit of religion,
which actuated that great predominant
party. He declared them possessed with
the same proud and inhuman spirit which
had perpetually bedewed the city with the
blood of the Prophets.J Jerusalem had
thus for ever rejected the mercy of God.

This appalling condemnation was, as it
were, the final declaration of war against
the prevailing religion; it declared that the
new doctrines could not harmonize with
minds so inveterately wedded to their own
narrow bigotry; but even yet the people
were not altogether estranged from Jesus ; '
and in that class in which the Pharisaic
interest had hitherto despotically ruled, it
appeared, as it were, trembling for its ex-
istence.

And now everything indicated the ap-
proaching, the immediate crisis. The crisis
Although the populace were so in the fate
decidedly, up to the present in- ofJesus‘
stant, in his favour; though many of the
ruling party were only withholden by the
dread of that awful sentence of excommu-
nication, which inflicted civil, almost reli-
gious death,§ from avowing themselves
his disciples, yet Jesus never entered the
Temple again: the next time he appeared
before the people was as a prisoner, as a
condemned malefactor. As he left the
Temple, a casual expression of admiration
from some of his followers at the magnif-
icence and solidity of the building, and the
immense size of the stones of which it was
formed, called forth a prediction of its im-
pending ruin, which was expanded to four
of his apostles into a more detailed and
circumstantial description of its appalling
fate, as he sat, during the evening, upon
the Mount of Olives.||

It is impossible to conceive a spectacle

* Mark, xii., 40-44. Luke, xxi., 1-4.

+ “ And the common people heard him gladly.”
—Mark, xii., 37.

t Matt., xxiii. Mark, xii., 38-40. Luke, xx.,
45-47.' <

§ See Hist, of the Jews, vol. iii., p. 111-147.

I! Matt., xxiv., xxv. Mark, xiii. Luke, xxi., 5*
38.12S

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of greater natural or moral sublimity, than
Jesus on the Saviour seated on the slope
the Mount of the Mount of Olives, and thus
of ouves. }00king down, almost for the last
time, on the whole Temple and city of
Jerusalem, crowded as it then was with
near three millions of worshippers. It
Evening was evening, and the whole ir-
viewofjeru- regular outline of the city, rising
sMeni and from the deep glens which en-
ie ernp e. cjrcje(j ^ on ap sjdes, might be

distinctly traced. The sun, the significant
emblem of the great Fountain of moral
light, to which Jesus and his faith had
been perpetually compared, may be ima-
gined sinking behind the western hills,
while its last rays might linger on the
broad and massy fortifications on Mount
Sion, on the stately palace of Herod, on
the square tower, the Antonia, at the cor-
ner of the Temple, and on the roof of the
Temple, fretted all over with golden spikes,
which glittered like fire; while below, the
colonnades and lofty gates would cast their
broad shadows over the courts, and afford
that striking contrast between vast masses
of gloom and gleams of the richest light,
which only an evening scene like the pres-
ent can display. Nor, indeed (even with-
out the sacred and solemn associations
connected with the holy city), would it
be easy to conceive any natural situation
in the world of more impressive grandeur,
or likely to be seen with greater advantage
under the influence of such accessaries,
than that of Jerusalem, seated, as it was,
upon hills of irregular height, intersected
by bold ravines, and hemmed in almost on
all sides by still loftier mountains, and it-
self formed, in its most conspicuous parts,
of gorgeous ranges of Eastern architec-
ture, in all its lightness, luxuriance, and
vc riety. The effect may have been height-
ened by the rising of the slow volumes of
smoke from the evening sacrifices, while,
even at the distance of the slope of Mount
Olivet, the silence may have been faintly
broken by the hymns of the worshippers.

Yet the fall of that splendid edifice was
Necessity for inevitable ; the total demolition
the destruc- 0f a][ those magnificent and
Temple at time-hallowed structures might
Jerusalem, not be averted. It was neces-
sary to the complete development of the
designs of Almighty Providence for the
welfare of mankind in the promulgation
of Christianity. Independent of all other
reasons, the destruction certainly of the
Temple, and, if not of the city, at least of
the city as the centre and metropolis of a
people, the only true and exclusive wor-
shippers of the one Almighty Creator,
seemed essential to the progress of the

new faith. The universal and compre-
hensive religion to be promulgated by
Christ and his apostles, was grounded on
the abrogation of all local claims to pecu-
liar sanctity, of all distinctions-of one na-
tion above another, as possessing any es-
pecial privilege in the knowledge or favour
of the Deity. The time was come when
“ neither in Jerusalem nor on the mount-
ain of Gerizim” was the great Universal
Spirit to be worshipped with circumscri-
bed or local homage. As long, however,
as the Temple on Mount Moriah remained
hallowed by the reverence of ages, sanc-
tified, according to the general belief, for
perpetuity, by the especial command of
God, as his peculiar dwelling-place, so
long, among the Jews at least, and even
among other nations, the true principle of
Christian worship might be counteracted
.by the notion of the inalienable sanctity
of this one place- Judaism would scarce-
ly be entirely annulled as long as the Tem-
ple rose in its original majesty and vener-
ation.

Yet, notwithstanding this absolute ne-
cessity for its destruction, not- Jesus contem-
withstanding that it thus stood, ^ne^the
as it were, in the way of the nnu^rianer
progress of human improve- Jerusalem,
ment and salvation, the Son of Man does
not contemplate its ruin without emotion.
And, in all the superhuman beauty of the
character of Jesus, nothing is more affect-
ing and impressive than the profound mel-
ancholy with which he foretels the future
desolation of the city, which, before two
days were passed, was to reek with his
own blood. Nor should we do justice to
this most remarkable incident in his life,
if we should consider it merely as a sud-
den emotion of compassion, as the natural
sensation of sadness at the decay or disso-
lotion of that which has long worn the as-
pect of human grandeur. It seems rather
a wise and far-sighted consideration, not
merely of the approaching guilt and future
penal doom of the city, but of the remoter
moral causes, which, by forming the na-
tional character, influenced the national
destiny; the long train of events, the won-
derful combination of circumstances, which
had gradually wrought the Jewish people
to that sterner frame of mind, which was
about to display itself with such barbarous,
such fatal ferocity. Jesus might seem not'
merely to know what was in man, but how
it entered into man’s heart and mind. Iiis*
was Divine, charity, enlightened by infinite
wisdom

In fact, there was an intimate mora’
connexion between the murder of Jesus
and the doom of the Jewish city. It wasHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

±29

the same national temperament, the same
characteristic disposition of the people,
which now morally disqualified them
“ from knowing,55 in the language of
Christ, !t the things which belonged unto
their peace,” which forty years after-
ward committed them in their deadly and
ruinous struggle with the masters of the
world. Christianity alone could have sub-
The ruin of dued or mitigated that stubborn
ihe Jews ihe fanaticism, which drove them at
o?nuiSrence length to their desperate colli-
eharacter. sion with the arms of Rome.
As Christians, the Jewish people might
have subsided into peaceful subjects of
the universal empire. They might have
lived, as the Christians did, with the high
and inalienable consolations of faith and
hope under the heaviest oppressions ; and
calmly awaited the time when their ho-
lier and more beneficent ambition might
be gratified by the submission of their ru-
lers to the religious dominion founded by
Christ and his apostles. They would
have slowly won that victory by the pa-
tient heroism of martyrdom, and the
steady perseverance in the dissemination
of their faith, which it was madness to
hope that they could ever obtain by force
of arms. As Jews, they were almost
sure, sooner or later, to provoke the im-
placable vengeance of their foreign rulers.
The same vision of worldly dominion, the
same obstinate expectation of a temporal
Deliverer, which made them unable to
comprehend the nature of the redemption
to be wrought by the presence, and the
kingdom to be established by the power,
of Christ, continued to the end to mingle
with their wild and frantic resistance.

In the rejection and murder of Jesus,
immediate the rulers, as their interests and
causes of the authority were more immedi-
Jesus by the ately endangered, were more
Jews. deeply implicated than the peo-
ple ; but, unless the mass of the people
had been blinded by these false notions
of the Messiah, they would not have de-
manded, or, at least, with the general
voice, assented to the sacrifice of Jesus.
The progress of Jesus at the present pe-
riod in the public estimation, his transient,
popularity, arose from the enforced admi
ration of his commanding demeanour, the
notoriety of his wonderful works, per-
haps—for such language is always accept-
able to the common ear—from his bold
animadversions on the existing authori-
ties ; but it was no dpubt supported in the
mass of the populace by a hope that even
yet he would conform to the popular
views of the Messiah’s character. Their
present brief access of faith would not
R

have stood long against the continued dis-
appointment of that hope; and it was no
doubt by working on the reaction of this
powerful feeling that the Sanhedrin were
able so suddenly, and, it almost appears,
so entirely, to change the prevailing sen-
timent. Whatever the proverbial versa-
tility of the popular mind, there must have
been some chord strung to the most sen-
sitive pitch, the slightest touch of which
would vibrate through the whole frame of
society, and madden at least a command-
ing majority to their blind concurrence in
this revolting iniquity. Thus in the Jew-
ish nation, but more especially in the
prime movers, the rulers and the heads
of the Pharisaic party, the murder of
Jesus was ah act of unmitigated cruelty;
but, as we have said, u arose out of the
generally fierce and bigoted spirit which
morally incapacitated the whole people
from discerning the evidence of his mis-
sion from heaven, in his acts of Divine
goodness as well as of Divine power. It
was an act of religious fanaticism ; they
thought, in the language of Jesus himself,
that they were “ doing God service” when
they slew the Master, as much as after-
ward when they persecuted his followers..

When, however, the last, and, as far as
the existence of the nation, the most fatal
display of this fanaticism took place,, it
was accidentally allied with nobler mo-
tives, with generous impatience of opr
pression, and the patriotic desire of na-
tional independence. However desperate
and frantic the struggle against such irre-
sistible power, the unprecedented tyranny
of the later Roman procurators, Festus,
Albinus, and Florus, might almost have
justified the prudence of manly and reso-
lute insurrection. Yet in its spirit and
origin it was the same; and it is well
known that even to the last, during the
most sanguinary and licentious tumults
in the Temple as well as the city, they
never entirely lost sight of a deliverance
from Heaven: God, they yet thought,
would interpose in behalf of his chosen
people. In short, the same moral state
of the people (for the rulers, for obvious
reasons, were less forward in the resist-
ance to the Romans), the same tempera-
ment and disposition, now led them to re-
ject Jesus and demand the release of
Barabbas, which, forty years later, pro-
voked the unrelenting vengeance of Titus,
and deluged the streets with the blood of
their own citizens. Even after the death
; of Jesus this spirit might have been al-
layed, but only by a complete abandon-
ment of all the motives which led to his
crucifixion—by the general reception of130

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Christianity in all its meekness, humility,
and purity—by the tardy substitution of
the hope of a moral for that of temporal
dominion, This, unhappily, was not the
case: but it must be left to Jewish history
to relate how the circumstances of the
times, instead of assuaging or subduing,
exasperated the people into madness ; in-
stead of predisposing to Christianity, con-
firmed the inveterate Judaism, and led at
length to the accomplishment of their an-
ticipated doom-

Altogether, then, it is evident that it
was this brooding hope of sovereignty, at
least of political independence, moulded
up with religious enthusiasm, and lurk-
ing, as it were, in the very heart’s core
of the people, which rendered it impossi-
ble that the pure, the gentle, the humane,
the unworldly and comprehensive doc-
trines of Jesus should be generally re-
ceived, or his character appreciated by a
nation in that temper of mind ; and the
nation who could thus incur the guilt of
his death were prepared to precipitate
themselves to such a fate as at length it
suffered.

Hence political sagacity might perhaps
have anticipated the crisis, which could
only be averted by that which was mor-
ally impossible, the simultaneous conver-
sion of the whole people to Christianity.
Distinctness Yet the distinctness, the minute-
with which ness, the circumstantial accura-
'ly-rSi cy with which the prophetic out-
of1 Jerusa-81 line of the siege and fall of Je-
lem. rusalem is drawn, bear, perhaps,

greater evidence of more than human fore-
knowledge than any other in the sacred
volume : and, in fact, this profound and
far-sighted wisdom, this anticipation of
the remote political consequences of the
reception or rejection of his doctrines,
supposing Jesus but an ordinary human
being, would be scarcely less extraordi-
nary than prophecy itself.

Still, though determined, at all hazards,
Embarrass- to suppress the growing party
ment of the of Jesus, the Sanhedrin were
Sanhedrin. ,greatjy embarrassed as to their
course of proceeding. Jesus invariably
passed the night without the walls, and
only appeared during the daytime, though
with the utmost publicity, in the Temple.
His seizure in the Temple, especially du-
ring the festival, would almost inevitably
lead to tumult, and (since it was yet
doubtful on which side the populace
would array themselves) tumult as inev-
itably to the prompt interference of the
Roman authority. The procurator, on
the slightest indication of disturbance,
without inquiring into the guilt or inno-

cence of either party, might coerce both
with equal severity; or, even without
farther examination, let loose the guard,
always mounted in the gallery which con-
nected the fortress of Antonia with the
northwestern corner of the Temple, to
mow down both the conflicting parties in
indiscriminate havoc. He might ' thus
mingle the blood of all present, as he had
done that of.the Galileans, with the sacri-
ficial offerings. To discover, then, where
Jesus might be arrested without commo-
tion or resistance from his followers, so
reasonably to be apprehended, the treach-
ery of one of his more immediate disci-
ples was absolutely necessary ; yet this
was an event, considering the command-
ing influence possessed by Jesus over his
followers, rather to be desired than ex-
pected.

On a sudden, however, appeared within
their court one of the chosen Treachery
Twelve, with a voluntary offer arid
of assisting them in the apprehension of
his Master.* Much ingenuity has been
displayed by some recent writers in at-
tempting to palliate, or, rather, to account
for, this extraordinary conduct of Judas ;
but the language in which Jesus spake of
the crime appears to confirm the common
opinion of its enormity. It has been sug-
gested, either that Judas might expect Je-
sus to put forth his power, even after his
apprehension, to elude or to escape from
his enemies, and thus his avarice might
calculate on securing the reward without
being an accomplice in absolute murder,
at once betraying his Master and defraud-
ing his employers. According to others,
still higher motives may have motives ot
mingled with his love of gain : Judas-
he may have supposed that, by thus in-
volving Jesus in difficulties otherwise in-
extricable, he would leave him only the
alternative of declaring himself openly
and authoritatively to be the Messiah, and
so force him to the tardy accomplishment,
of the ambitious visions of his partisans.
It is - possible that the traitor may not
have contemplated, or may not have per-
mitted himself clearly to contemplate, the
ultimate consequences of his crime : he
may have indulged the vague hope, that,
if Jesus were really the Messiah, he bore,
if we may venture the expression, “ a
charmed life,” and was safe in his inhe-
rent immortality (a notion, in all likeli-
hood, inseparable from that of the Deliv-
erer) from the malice of his enemies. If
he were not, the crime of his betrayal

* Matt,, xxvi., 14-1C. Mark, xiv . 10-1L Luke
xxii., 2-6.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

131

would not bo of very great importance.
There were other motives which would
concur with the avarice of Judas : the re-
buke which he had received when he ex-
postulated about the waste of the oint-
ment,, if it had not excited any feeling of
exasperation against his Master, at least
showed that his character was fully un-
derstood by him. He must have felt him-
self out of his element among the more
honest and sincere disciples ; nor can he
have been actuated by any real or pro-
found veneration for the exquisite perfec-
tion of a character so opposite to his own :
and, thus insincere and doubting, he may
have shrunk from the approaching crisis,
and, as he would seize any means of ex-
tricating himself from that cause which
had now become so full of danger, his
covetousness would direct him to those
means which would at once secure his
own personal safety, and obtain the price,
the thirty pieces of silver,* set by public
proclamation on the head of Jesus.

Nor is the desperate access of remorse,
which led to the public restitution of the
reward and to the suicide of the traitor,
irreconcilable with the unmitigated hei-
nousness of the treachery. Men meditate
a crime, of which the actual perpretation
overwhelms them with horror. The gen-
eral detestation, of which, no doubt, Judas
could not but be conscious, not merely
among his former companions, the follow-
ers of J esus, but even among the multitude;
the supercilious coldness of the Sanhedrin,
who, having employed him as their instru-
ment, treat his recantation with the most
contemptuous indifference, might over-
strain the firmest, and work upon the
basest mind; and even the unexampled
sufferings and tranquil endurance of Jesus,
however he may have calmly surveyed
them when distant, and softened and sub-
dued by his imagination, when present to
his mind in their fearful reality, forced by
the busy tongue of rumour upon his ears,

* The thirty pieces of silver (shekels) are esti-
mated at 31. 10s. 8<2. of our present money. It
was the sum named in the law (Fxod., xxi, 32) as
the value of the life of a slave ; and it has been
supposed that the Sanhedrin were desirous of
showing their contempt for Jesus by the mean
price that they offered for his head.

Perhaps, when we are embarrassed at the small-
ness of the sum covenanted for and received by
Judas, we are imperceptibly influenced by our own
sense of the incalculable importance of those con-
sequences which arose out of the treachery of Ju-
das. The service which he performed for this
sum was, after all, no more than giving informa-
tion as to the time and place in which Jesus might
be seized among a few disciples without fear of
popular tumult, conducting their officers to the
snot where he might be found, and designating his
person when they arrived at that spot.

perhaps not concealed from his sight,
might drive him to desperation little short
of insanity.*

It was on the last eveningf b&t one be-
fore the death of Jesus that the
.fatal compact was made: the ThePassove*-
next day, the last of his life, Jesus deter-
mines on returning to the city to celebrate
the Feast of the Passover: his disciples
are sent to occupy a room prepared for
the purpose.J His conduct and language
before and during the whole repast clear-
ly indicate his preparation for inevitable
death.§ His washing the feet of his dis-
ciples, his prediction of his betrayal, his
intimation to Judas that he is fully aware
of his design, his quiet dismissal of the
traitor from the assembly, his institution
of the second characteristic ordinance of
the new religion, his allusions in The Last
that rite to the breaking of his Supper,
body and the pouring forth of his blood,
his prediction of the denial of Peter, his
final address to his followers, and his
prayer before he left the chamber, are all
deeply impregnated with the solemn mel-
ancholy, yet calm and unalterable com-
posure, with which he looks forward to
all the terrible details of his approaching,
his almost immediate sufferings. To his
followers he makes, as it were, the vale-
dictory promise, that his religion would
not expire at his death; that his place
would be filled by a mysterious Comforter
who was to teach, to guide, to console.

This calm assurance of approaching
death in Jesus is the more striking when
contrasted with the inveterately Jewish
notions of the Messiah’s kingdom, whicn

* Matt., xxvi., 17-29. Mark, xiv., 12-25. Luke,
vii., 38. John, xiii., to end of xvii.

f After two days was the Passover, in Jewish
phraseology implies on the second day after.

$ All houses, according to Josephus, were freely
open to strangers during the Passover; no payment
was received for lodging. The Talmudic writings
confirm this : “ The master of the family received
the skins of sacrifices. It is a custom that a man
leave his earthen jug, and also the skin of his sacri-
fice, to his host.”—The Gloss. The inhabitants did
not let out their houses at a price to them that came
up to the feasts, but granted them to them gratis.—
Lightfoot, vol. x.,44.

5 Of all difficulties, that concerning which we
arrive at the least satisfactory conclusion is the
apparent anticipation of the Passover by Christ.
The fact is clear that Jesus celebrated the Pass-
over on the Thursday, the leading Jews on the Fri-
day ; the historical evidence of this in the Gospels
is unanswerable, independent of all theological rea-
soning. The reason of this difference is and must,
we conceive, remairn undecided. Whether it was
an act of supreme authority assumed by Jesus,
whether there was any schism about the right day,
whether that schism was between the Pharisaic
and anti-Pharisaic party, or between the Jews and
Galileans, all is purely conjectural.132

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

even yet possess the minds of the apostles.
They are now fiercely contesting* for
their superiority in that earthly dominion,
which even yet they suppose on the eve
of its commencement. Nor does Jesus
at this time altogether correct these er-
roneous notions, but in some degree falls
into the prevailing language, to assure
them of the distinguished reward which
awaited his more faithful disciples. After
inculcating the utmost humility by an al-
lusion to the lowly fraternal service which
he had just before performed in washing
their feet, he describes the happiness and
glory which they are at length to attain
by the strong, and, no doubt, familiar
imagery of their being seated on twelve
thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.

The festival was closed, according to
the usage, with the second part of the
Hallel,f the Psalms, from the 113th to the
118th inclusive, of which the former were
customarily sung at the commencement,
the latter at the end of the paschal supper.
Jesus, with his disciples, again departed
from the room in the cityj where the feast
had been held, probably down the street
of the Temple, till they came to the valley:
they crossed the brook of Kedron, and be-
gan to ascend the slope of the Mount of
Olives. Within the city no open space
was left for gardens but the whole neigh-
bourhood of Jerusalem was laid out in en-
closures for the convenience and enjoy-
ment of the inhabitants. The historian of
the war relates, not without feelings of
poignant sorrow, the havoc made among
these peaceful retreats by the devastating
Ipproaches of the Roman army.|| Jesus
Jesus in the turned aside into one of these
garden or enclosures,^ which, it should
Gethsemane. seem from the subsequent his-
tory, was a place of customary retreat,
well known to his immediate followers.
The early hours of the night were passed
by him in retired and devotional medita-
tion, while the weary disciples are over-
powered by involuntary slumber. Thrice
Jesus returns to them, and each time he
finds them sleeping. But to him it was
no hour of quiet or repose. In the solitary
garden of Gethsemane, Jesus, who in pub-

* Luke, xxii., 24-30.

t Buxtorf, Lex. Talmudica, p. 613. Lightfoot, in
loco.

| Matt, xxvi., 30-56. Mark, xiv., 32-52. Luke,
xxii., 39-53. John, xviii., I.

§ Lightfoot’s derivations of some of the places
on Mount Olivet are curious: Beth-hana, the place
of dates; Beth-phage, the place of green figs; Geth-
semane, the place of oil-presses.

11 Hist, of the Jews, iii,, 15.

f Matt., xxvi., 36-46. Mark, xiv., 32-42. Luke,
xxii., 41-46. John, xviii., 1.

lie, though confronting danger and suffer-
ing neither with stoical indifference, nor
with the effort of a strong mind working
itself up to the highest moral courage, but
with a settled dignity, a calm and natural
superiority, now, as it were, endured the
last struggle of human nature. The whole
scene of his approaching trial, his inevita-
ble death, is present to his mind, and for
an instant he prays to the Almighty Father
to release him from the task, which, how-
ever of such importance to the welfare ol
mankind, is to be accomplished by such
fearful means. The next instant, however,
the momentary weakness is subdued, and
though the agony is so severe that the
sweat falls like large drops of blood to
the ground, resigns himself at once to the
will of God. Nothing can heighten the
terrors of the coming scene so much as
its effect, in anticipation, on the mind of
Jesus himself.

The devotions of Jesus and the slum-
bers of his followers, as midnight Betrayal
approached, were rudely interrupt- of Jesus,
ed.* Jesus had rejoined his now awaken-
ed disciples for the last time; he had
commanded them to rise, and be prepared
for the terrible event. Still, no doubt, in-
credulous of the sad predictions of their
Master, still supposing that his unbounded
power would secure him from any attempt
of his enemies, they beheld the garden
filled with armed men, and gleaming with
lamps and torches. Judas advances and
makes the signal which had been agreed
on, saluting his Master with the customa-
ry mark of respect, a kiss on the cheek,
for which he receives the calm but severe
rebuke of Jesus for thus treacherously
abusing this mark of familiarity and at-
tachment : “ Judas, betrayest thou the
Son of Man with a kiss I” The tranquil
dignity of Jesus overawed the soldiers
who first approached; they were most
likely ignorant of the service on which
they were employed ; and when Jesus an-
nounces himself as the object of their
search, they shrink back in astonishment,
and fall to the earth. Jesus, however,
covenanting only for the safe dismissal of
his followers, readily surrenders himself
to the guard. The fiery indignation of
Peter, who had drawn his sword, and en-
deavoured, at least by his example, to in-
cite the few adherents of Jesus to resist-
ance, is repressed by the command of his
Master : his peaceful religion disclaims all
alliance with the acts or the weapons of
the violent. The manj* whose ear had

* Matt., xxvi., 47-56. Mark, xiv., 43-50. Luke,
xxii., 47-53. John, xviii., 2-11.

t It is a curious observation of Semler, that StHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

133

been struck off was instantaneously heal-
jesus led ed; and Jesus, with no more than
prisoner to a brief and calm remonstrance
the cay. against this ignominious treat-
ment, against this arrestation, not in the
face of day, in the public Temple, but at
night, and with arms in their hands, as
though he had been a robber, allows him-
self to be led back, without resistance,
into the city. His panic-stricken follow-
ers disperse on all sides, and Jesus is left,
forsaken and alone, amid his mortal ene-
mies.

The caprice, the jealousy, or the pru-
dence of the Roman government, we have
before observed, had in no point so fre-
quently violated the feelings of the subject
The high- nation as in the deposition of the
priest. high-priest, and the appointment
of a successor to the office, in whom they
might hope to place more implicit confi-
dence. The stubbornness of the people,
revolted by this wanton insult, persisted in
honouring with the title those whom they
could not maintain in the post of author-
ity ; all who had borne the office retained,
in common language, the appellation of
high-priest, if indeed the appellation was
not still more loosely applied. Probably
the most influential man in Jerusalem at
this time was Annas or Ananus, four of
whose sons in turn either had been, or
were subsequently, elevated to that high
dignity, now filled by his son-in-law Cai-
aphas.

The house of Annas was the first place*
House of to which Jesus was led, either that
Annas, the guard might receive farther
instructions, or perhaps as the place of
the greatest security, while the Sanhedrin
was hastily summoned to meet at that un-
timely hour, towards midnight or soon af-
ter, in the house of Caiaphas. Before the
houses of the more wealthy in the East,
or, rather, within the outer porch, there is
usually a large square open court, in
which public business is transacted, par-
ticularly by those who fill official stations.
Into such a court, before the palace of
Caiaphas, Jesus was led by the soldiers;
and Peter, following unnoticed amid the
throng, lingered before the porch until
John, who happened to be familiarly known
to some of the high-priest’s servants, ob-
tained permission for his entrance.f
• The first process seems to have been
a private examination,{ perhaps while the

John alone gives the name of the servant of the
high-priest, Malchus; and John, it appears, was
known to some of the household of the chief magis-
trate. * John, xviii, 12-14. f Ibid., 15-19.

t Matt., xxvi., 57. Mark, xiv., 55-64. Luke,
xxii., 54.

rest of the Sanhedrin w^ere as- First inter-
sembling, before the high-priest, rogatory.
He demanded of Jesus the nature of his
doctrines and the character of his disci-
ples. Jesus appealed to the publicity of
hi° teaching, and referred him to his hear-
ers for an account of the tenets which he
had advanced. He had no secret doc-
trines, either of tumult or sedition; he had
ever spoken “ in public, in the synagogue
or in the Temple.” And now the fearful
scene of personal insult and violence be
gan. An officer of the high-priest, en
raged at the calm composure with which
Jesus answered the interrogatory, struck
him on the mouth (beating on the mouth,
sometimes with the hand, more often with
a thong of leather or a slipper, instill a
common act of violence in the East).*
He bore the insult with the same equable
placidity: “ If I have ^spoken evil, bear
witness of the evil; but if well, why
smitest thou me ?” The more formal ar-
raignment began :f and, howev- Second more
er hurried and tumultuous the public inter-
meeting, the Sanhedrin, either ro=alor>'-
desirous that their proceedings should be
conducted with regularity, or, more likely,
strictly fettered by the established rules
of their court, perhaps by no means unan-
imous in their sentiments, were, after all,
in the utmost embarrassment how to ob-
tain a legal capital conviction. Witnesses
were summoned, but the immutable prin-
ciples of the law, and the invariable prac-
tice of the tribunal, required, on every case
of life and death, the agreement of two
witnesses on some specific charge. Many
were at hand, suborned by the enemies of
Jesus, and hesitating at no falsehood; but
their testimony was so confused, or bore
so little on any capital charge, that the
court was still farther perplexed. At
length two witnesses deposed to the mis-
apprehended speech of Jesus, at his first
visit to Jerusalem, relating to the destruc-
tion of the Temple. But even their dep-
ositions were so contradictory, that it was
scarcely possible to venture on a convic-
tion upon such loose and incoherent state-
ments. Jesus, in the mean time, preserv-
ed a tranquil and total silence. He nei-
ther interrupted nor questioned the wit-
nesses ; he did not condescend to place
himself upon bis defence. Nothing, there-
fore, remainedJ but to question the pris-

* John, xviii., 20-24.

t Matt., xxvi., 59-66. Mark, xiv., 55-64. Luke,
xxii., 66-71. John, xviii., 19-24.

t Some have supposed that there were two ex-
aminations in different places before the Sanhedrin:
one more private, in the house of Caiaphas; anoth
er more public, in the Gazith, the chamber in the134

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

oner, and, if possible, to betray him into
criminating himself. The high-priest,
rising to give greater energy to his ad-
dress, and adjuring him in the most solemn
manner, in the name of God, to answer
the truth, demands whether he is indeed
the Messiah, the Christ, the Son of the
Living God. Jesus at once answers in
the affirmative, and adds a distinct allu-
sion to the prediction of Daniel,* * then uni-
versally admitted to refer to the reign of
the Messiah. His words may be thus
Tesns ac- paraphrased: “Ye shall know
knowledges me for that mighty King descri-
him,®-lhthe bed by the prophet; ye shall
Messia . knovv me wRen my great, eternal,

and imperishable kingdom shall be estab-
lished $>n the ruins of your theocracy.”

The secret joy of the high-priest, though
Conduct of perhaps his devout horror was
the high- not altqgether insincere, was
pnest. disguised by the tone and ges-
ture of religious indignation which he as-
sumed. He rent his clothes ; an act con-
sidered indecorous, almost indecent, in the
high-priest, unless justified by an outrage
against the established' religion so flagrant
and offensive as this declaration of Jesus.f
He pronounced his speech (strangely, in-
deed, did its lofty tone contrast with the
appearance of the prisoner) to be direct
and treasonable blasphemy. The whole
court, either sharing in the indignation, or
hurried away by the vehement gesture and
commanding influence of the high-priest,
hastily passed the fatal sentence, and de-
clared Jesus guilty of the capital crime.

The insolent soldiery (as he was with-
Jesusinsult- drawn from the court) had now
ed by the full license, and perhaps more
soldiery. tkan tj]e pcense? 0f their supe-
riors to indulge the brutality of their own
dispositions. They began to spit on his
face—in the East the most degrading in-
sult ; they blindfolded him, and struck
him with the palms of their hands, and, in
their miserable merriment, commanded
him to display his prophetic knowledge by

Temple where the Sanhedrin usually sat. But the
account of St. John, the most particular of the
whole, says expressly (xviii., 28) that he was car-
ried directly from the house of Caiaphas to the
Prastorium^of Pilate.

* The allusion to this prophecy (Dan., vii., 13,
14) is manifest.

f They who judge a blasphemer first bid the
witness to speak out plainly what he hath heard ;
and when he speaks it, the judges, standing on their
feet, rend their garments, and do not sew them up
again.—Sanhed.,i., 7,10, and Babyl. Gemar., in loc.

The high-priest was forbidden to rend his gar-
ments in the case of private mourning for the dead.
—Lev., x., 6; xxi., 10. In the time of public ca-
lamity he did.—1 Mac., xi., 71. Joseph., B. J., ii.,
26, 27,

detecting the hand that was raised against
him.*

The dismay, the despair which had
seized upon his adherents is most strong-
ly exemplified by the denial of Peter.
The zealous disciple, after he had obtained
admittance into the hall, stood warming
himself, in the cool of the dawning morn-
ing, probably by a kind of brazier.f He
was first accosted by a female servant,
who charged him with being an accom-
plice of the prisoner : Peter de- Denial ot
nied the charge with vehemence, Peter*
and retired to the portico or porch in front
of the palace. A second time, another fe-
male renewed the accusation: with still
more angry protestations Peter disclaim-
ed all connexion with his master; and
once, but unregarded, the cock crew. An
hour afterward, probably about this time,
after the formal condemnation, the charge
was renewed by a relation of the man
whose ear he had cut off. His harsh Gal-
ilean pronunciation had betrayed him as
coming from that province; but Peter now
resolutely confirmed his denial with an
oath. It was the usual time of the second
cock-crowing, and again it was distinctly
heard. Jesus, who was probably at that
time in the outer hall or porch, in the
midst of the insulting soldiery, turned his
face towards Peter, who, overwhelmed
with shame and distress, hastily retreated
from the sight of his deserted master, and
wept the bitter tears of self-reproach and
humiliation.

But, although the Sanhedrin had thus
passed their sentence, there remained a
serious obstacle before it could be carried
into execution. On the con- Question of
tested point, whether the Jews, right of
under the Roman government, drfr>Snflic4
possessed the power of life and capital pun-
death, j it is not easy to state the lshment-
question with brevity' and distinctness.
Notwithstanding the apparently clear and
distinct recognition of the Sanhedrin, that
they had not authority to put any man to
death notwithstanding the remarkable
concurrence of rabbinical tradition with
this declaration, which asserts that the na-
tion had been deprived of the power of
life and death forty years before the de-
struction of the eity,[[ many of the most

* Matt., xxvi., 67, 68. Mark, xiv., 65. Luke,
xxii., 63, 65.

t Matt., xxvi, 58, 69, 75. Mark, xiv., 54, 66,72.
Luke, xxii., 54-62. John, xviii., 15, 16.

% The question is discussed in all the commen-
tators.—See Lardner, Credib., i, 2 ; Basnage, b.
v., c. 2; Biscoe on the Acts, c. 6; note to Law’s
Theory, 147; but, above all, Krebs, Observat. in
Nov. Test., 64-155; Rosenmuller, and Kuinoel, in
loc. $ John, xviii ,31.

if Traditio est quadraginta annos ante excidiutaHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

.earned writers, some, indeed, of the ablest
of the fathers,* from arguments arising out
of the practice of Roman provincial juris-
prudence, and from later facts in the evan-
gelic history and that of the Jews, have
supposed that, even if, as is doubtful, they
were deprived of this power in civil, they
retained it in religious cases. Some have
added, that even in the latter, the ratifica-
tion of the sentence by the Roman govern-
or, or the permission to carry it into ex-
ecution, was necessary. According to
this view, the object of the Sanhedrin was
to bring the case before Pilate as a civil
charge; since the assumption of a royal
title and authority implied a design to cast
off the Roman yoke. Or, if they retained
the right of capital punishment in religious
cases, it was contrary to usage, in the pro-
ceedings of the Sanhedrin, as sacred as
law itself, to order an execution on the day
of preparation for the Passover, f As, then,
they dared not violate that usage, and as
delay was in every way dangerous, either
from the fickleness of the people, who,
having been momentarily wrought up to a
pitch of deadly Animosity against Jesus,
might again, by some act of power or
goodness on his part, be carried away back
to his side ; or, in case of tumult, from the
unsolicited intervention of the Romans,
their plainest course was to obtain, if pos-
sible, the immediate support and assist-
ance of the government.

In my own opinion, formed upon the
Real reia- study of the contemporary Jew-

Sanhedrin power of the San-

to thegav- hedrin, at this period of political
eminent, change and confusion, on this, as
well as on other points, was altogether un-
defined. Under the Asmonean princes,
the sovereign, uniting the civil and reli-
gious supremacy, the high-priesthood with
the royal power, exercised, with the San-
hedrin as his council, the highest political
and civil jurisdiction. Herod, whose au-
thority depended on the protection of
Rome, and was maintained by his wealth,

lempli, ablatnm fuisse jus vitas et mortis.—Hieros.
Sanhed., fol. 18, 1; ib„ fol. 242. Quadraginta an-
uis ante vastatum templum, ablata sunt judicia
ekpitalia ab Israele. There is, however, some
doubt about the reading and translation of this pas-
sage. Wagenseil reads four for forty. Selden (De
JSvn.) insists that the judgments were not taken
away, but interrupted and disused.

* Among the ancients, Chrysostom and Augus-
tine; among the moderns, Lightfoot., Lardner,
Krebs, Rosenmuller, Kuinoel. The best disquisi-
tion on that side of the question appears to me that
of Krebs; on the other, that of Basnage.

t Cyril and Augustine, with whom Kuinoel is
inclined to agree, interpret the words of St. John,
“ It is not lawful for us to put any man to death,”
by subjoining, “ on the day of the Passover.”

and in part by foreign mercenaries, al-
though he might leave to the Sanhe-
drin, as the supreme tribunal, the judicial
power, and, in ordinary religious cases,
might admit their unlimited jurisdiction,
•yet no doubt watched and controlled
their proceedings with the jealousy of
an Asiatic despot, and practically, if not
formally, subjected all their decrees to his
revision: at least he would not have per-
mitted any encroachment on his own su-
preme authority. In fact, according to
the general tradition of the Jews, he at
one time put the whole Sanhedrin to
death : and since, as his life advanced, his
tyranny became more watchful and sus-
picious, he was more likely to diminish
than increase the powers of the national
tribunal. In the short interval of little
more than thirty years which had elapsed
since the death of Herod, nearly ten had
been occupied by the reign of Archelaus.
On his deposal, the Sanhedrin had proba-
bly extended or resumed Ps original func-
tions, but still the supreme civil authority
rested in the Roman procurator. All the
commotions excited by the turbulent ad-
venturers who infested the country, or by
Judas the Galilean and his adherents,
would fall under the cognizance of the
civil governor, and were repressed by hi.s'
direct interference. Nor can capital re-
ligious, offences have been of frequent oc-
currence, since it is evident that the rigour
of the Mosaic Law had been greatly re-
laxed, partly by the tendency of the ago,
which ran in a counter direction to those
acts of idolatry against which the Mosaic
statutes were chiefly framed, and left few
crimes obnoxious to the extreme penalty.
Nor, until the existence of their polity and
religion was threatened, first by the prog-
ress of Christ, and afterward of his reli-
gion, would they have cared to be armed
with an authority which it was rarely, if
ever, necessary or expedient to put forth
in its full force.*-

* It may be worth observing, that not mere] ,r
were the Pharisaic and Sadducaic party at issue on
the great question of the expediency of the severe
administration of the law, which implied frequency
of capital punishment, the latter party being noto-
riously sanguinary in the execution of public jus-
tice ; but even in the Pharisaic party one school,
that of Hillei, was accused (Jost, Geschichte der
Israeliter [and Algem. Geschichte der Israelitischen
Volkes, ii. band, s. 61, f.]) by the rival school oJ
dangerous lenity in the administration of the law,
and of culpable unwillingness to inflict the punish-
ment of death.

The authority of them, says Lightfoot (from the
rabbins), was not taken away by the Romans but
rather relinquished by themselves. The slothful-
ness of the council destroyed its own authority.
Hear it justly upbraided in this matter: the conn-136

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

This, then, may have been, strictly
That of Je- speaking, a new case, the first
and un1 re- hac* occurred since the re-

cedentedre duction of Judaea to a Roman
case. province. The Sanhedrin, from
whom all jurisdiction in political cases
was withdrawn, and who had no recent
precedent for the infliction of capital pun-
ishment on any religious charge, might
think it more prudent (particularly during
this hurried and tumultuous proceeding,
which commenced at midnight, and must
be despatched with the least possible de-
lay) at once to disclaim any authority
which, however the Roman governor
seemed to attribute to them, he might at
last prevent their carrying into execution.
Motives of All the other motives then oper-
ate rulers in ating on their minds would con-

fheiJapowegr cur in favour °f this course of
proceeding: their mistrust of
the people, who might attempt a rescue
from their feeble and unrespected officers,
and could only, if they should fall off to
the other side, be controlled by the dread
of the Roman military; and the reluc-
tance to profane so sacred a day by a pub-
lic execution, of which the odium would
thus be cast on their foreign rulers. It
was clearly their policy, at any cost, to
secure the intervention of Pilate, as well
to ensure the destruction of their victim
as to shift the responsibility from their
own head upon that of the Romans.
They might, not unreasonably, suppose
that Pilate, whose relentless disposition
had been shown in a recent instance,
would not hesitate at once, and on their
authority, on the first intimation of a dan-
gerous and growing party, to act without
farther examination or inquiry, and with-
out scruple add one victim more to the
robbers or turbulent insurgents who, it
appears, were kept in prison, in order to
be executed as a terrible example at that
period of national concourse.

It should seem that, while Jesus was
Jesus before sent in chains to the Prsetorium
piiate. 0f piiate, whether in the Anto-
nia, the fortress adjacent to the Temple,
or in part of Herod’s palace, which was
connected with the mountain of the Tem-
ple by a bridge over the Tyropaeon, the
council adjourned to their usual place of
assemblage, the chamber called Gazith,
within the Temple. A deputation only
accompanied the prisoner, to explain and
support the charge; and here probably it
was that, in his agony of remorse, Judas

cil which puts one to death in seven years is called
“ destructive.” R. Lazar Ben Azariah said, which
nuts one to death in sevf ^ty y ears.—Lightfoot, in ioc.

brought back the reward that he Remorse
had received ;* and when the as- and death
sembly, to his confession of his ofJudas-
crime in betraying the innocent blood, re-
plied with cold and contumelious uncon-
cern, he cast down the money on the
pavement, and rushed away to close his
miserable life. Nor must the character-
istic incident be omitted, the Sanhedrin,
who had not hesitated to reward the ba-
sest treachery, probably out of the Temple
funds, scruple to receive back and replace
in the sacred treasury the price of blood.
The sum, therefore; is set apart for the
purchase of a field for the burial of stran-
gers, long known by the name of Acel-
dama, the field of blood.f Such is ever
the absurdity, as well as the heinousness,
of crimes committed in the name of reli-
gion.

The first emotion of Pilate at this
strange accusation from the great Astonisll.
tribunal of the nation, however myntoY
rumours of the name and influ- 1>ilate-
ence of Jesus had no doubt reached his
ears, must have been the utmost astonish-
ment. To the Roman mind the Jewish
character was ever an inexplicable prob-
lem. But if so when they were seen
scattered about and mingled with the
countless diversities of races of discord-
ant habits, usages, and religions which
thronged to the metropolis of the wrorld,
or.were dispersed through the principal
cities of the empire; in their own coun-
try, where there was, as it were, a con-
centration of all their extraordinary na-
tional propensities, they must have ap-
peared in still stronger opposition to the
rest of mankind. To the loose manner
in which religious belief hung on the
greater part of the subjects of the Roman
empire, their recluse and uncompromising
attachment to the faith of their ancestors
offered the most singular contrast. Every-
where else the temples were open, the
rites free to the stranger by race or coun-
try, who rarely scrupled to do homage to
the tutelar deity of the place. The Jewish
Temple alone received, indeed, but with a
kind of jealous condescension, the offer-
ings even of the emperor. Throughout
the rest of the world religious enthusiasm
might not be uncommon, here and there,
in individual cases, particularly in the

* Matt., xxvii., 3-10.

+ The sum appears extremely small for the pur-
chase of a field, even should we adopt the very
probable suggestion of Kuionel, that it was a field
in which the fuller’s earth had been worked out,
and which was therefore entirely barren and un-
productive.—Kuionel, in loc. Matt., xxvii., 2-14
Mark, xiv., 1-5, Luke, xxiii., 1-6. John, xviiv
28-38.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

137

East: the priests of some of the mystic
religions at times excited a considerable
body of followers, and drove them blind-
fold to the wildest acts of superstitious
phrensy; but the sudden access of reli-
gious fervour was, in general, as transient
as violent; the flame burned with rapid
and irresistible fury, and went out of it-
self. The Jews stood alone (according
to the language and opinion of the Ro-
man world) as a nation of religious fanat-
ics ; and this fanaticism was a deep, a set-
tled, a conscientious feeling, and formed—
—an essential and inseparable part—the
groundwork of their rigid and unsocial
character.

Yet even to one familiarized by a res-
idence of several years with the Jewish
nation, on the present occasion the con-
duct of the Sanhedrin must have appear-
ed utterly unaccountable. This senate,
or municipal body, had left to the Roman
governor to discover the danger and sup-
press the turbulence of the robbers and
insurgents against whom Pilate had taken
such decisive measures. Now, however,
they appear suddenly seized with an ac-
at the con- cess of loyalty for the Roman
duct or the authority, and a trembling appre-
Sanhednn: jiension 0f least invasion of
the Roman title to supremacy. And
against whom were they actuated by this
unwonted caution, and burning with this
unprecedented zeal? Against a man who,
as far as he could discover, was a harm-
less, peaceful, and benevolent enthusiast,
who had persuaded many of the lower
orders to believe in certain unintelligible
doctrines, which seemed to have no rela-
tion to the government of the country,
and were, as yet, no way connected with
insurrectionary movements. In fact, he
could not but clearly see that they were
enemies of the influence obtained by Je-
sus over the populace; but whether Jesus
or the Sanhedrin governed the religious
feelings and practices of the people, was
a matter of perfect indifference to the
Roman supremacy.

The vehemence with which they press-
at the na- ed the charge, and the charge it-
ture of the self, were equally inexplicable,
charge. When Pilate referred back, as it
were, the judgment to themselves, and of-
ereu to leave Jesus to be punished by the
existing law; while they shrunk from that
responsibility, and disclaimed, at least over
such a case and at such a season, the pow-
er of life and death,* they did not in the
least relax the vehement earnestness of
their, persecution. Jesus was accused of
assuming the title of King of the Jews,
and with an intention of throwing off the
S5

Roman yoke. But, however little Pilate
may have heard or understood his doc-
trines, the conduct and demeanour of
Christ weire so utterly at variance with
such a charge ; the only intelligible article
in the accusation, his imputed prohibition
of the payment of tribute, so unsupport-
ed by proof, as to bear no weight. This
redoubted king had been seized by the
emissaries of the Sanhedrin, perhaps Ro-
man soldiers placed under their orders ;
had been conveyed without resistance,
through the city; his few adherents,
mostly unarmed peasants, had fled at the
instant of his capture ; not the slightest
tumultuary movement had taken place
during his examination before the high-
priest, and the popular feeling seemed
rather at present incensed against him
than inclined to take his part.

To the mind of Pilate, indeed, accus-
tomed to the disconnexion of Thede uta_
religion and morality, the more tion refuse "to
striking contradiction in the communicate
conduct of the Jewish rulers from feafof
may not have appeared alto- legal defiie-
gether so extraordinary. At ment-
the moment when they were violating the
great, eternal, and immutable principles
of all religion, and infringing on one of the
positive commandments of the law, by
persecuting to death an innocent man,
they were withholden by religious scruple
from entering the dwelling of Pilate ; they
were endangering the success of their
cause, lest this intercourse with the un-
clean stranger should exclude them from
the worship of their God: a worship for
which they contracted no disqualifying
defilement by this deed of blood. The
deputation stood without the hall of Pilate ;*
and not even their animosity against Jesus
could induce them to depart from that
superstitious usage, to lend the weight of
their personal appearance to the solemn
accusation, or, at all events, to deprive
the hated object of their persecution of
any advantage which he might receive
from undergoing his examination without
being confronted with his accusers. Pilate
seems to have paid so much respect to
their usages, that he went out to receive
their charge, and to inquire the nature of
the crime for which Jesus was denounced.

The simple question put to Jesus, on
his first interrogatory nefore Pi- Examination
late, was whether he claimed before. Pilate,
the title of King of the Jews.f The an-
swer of Jesus may be considered as an
appeal to the justice and right feeling ol
the governor. “ As Roman prefect, have

* John, xviii., 28. f Id., 33-37.138

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

you any cause for suspecting me of am-
bitious or insurrectionary designs'? do you
entertain the least apprehension of my
seditious demeanour? or are you not rather
adopting the suggestions of my enemies,
and lending yourself to their unwarranted
animosity ?” Pilate disclaims ail com-
munion with the passions or the preju-
dices of the Jewish rulers ; but Jesus had
been brought before him, denounced as a
dangerous disturber of the public peace,
and he was officially bound to take cog-
nizance of such a charge. In the rest of
the defence of Christ, the only part intel-
ligible to Pilate would be the unanswer-
able appeal to the peaceful conduct of his
followers. When Jesus asserted that he
was a king, yet evidently implied a moral
or religious sense in his use of the term,
Pilate might attribute a vague meaning to
his language, from the Stoic axiom, I am
a king when I rule myself,* and thus give
a sense to that which otherwise would
have sounded in his ears like unintelligi-
ble mysticism. His perplexity, however,
must have been: greatly increased when
Jesus, in this perilous hour, when his life
trembled, as it were, on the balance, de-
clared that the object of his birth and of
his life was the establishment of “ the
truth.” “ To this end was 1 born, and for
this cause came I into the world, that I
should bear witness to the truth. Every
one that is of the truth heareth my voice.”
That the peace of a nation or the life of an
individual should be endangered on ac-
count of the truth or falsehood of any sys-
tem of speculative opinions, was so dia-
metrically opposite to the general opinion
and feeling of the Roman world, that Pi-
late, either in contemptuous mockery, or
with the merciful design of showing the
utter harmlessness and insignificance of
such points, inquired what he meant by
truth ; what truth had to do with the pres-
ent question; with a question of life and
death, with a capital charge brought by
the national council before the supreme
tribunal. Apparently despairing, on one
side, of bringing him, whom he seems to
have considered a blameless enthusiast,
to his senses ; on the other, unwilling To
attach so much importance ,to what ap-
peared to him in so'different a light, he
wished at once to put an end to the whole
Pilate en- affair- He abruptly left Jesus,
leavours to and went out again to the Jew-
,ave Jesus, deputation at the gate (now

* Art summum sapiens uno minor est J^ve, dives
Liber, honoratus, pulcher. Rex denique regum.

Hor, Ep. ii., 1, 106. Comp. Sat. i., 3, 125.

At pueri ludentes, rex eris, intuit,

.Si recfce facies.—Epist. i,, 1, 59.

perhaps increased by a greater number ot
the Sanhedrin), and declared his conviction
of the innocence of Jesus.

At this unexpected turn, the Sanhedrin
burst into a furious clamour, clamours of
reiterated their vague, perhaps tie accusers,
contradictory, and, to the ears of Pilate,
unintelligible or insignificant charges, and
seemed determined to press the conviction
with implacable animosity. Pilate turned
to Jesus, who had been led out, to demand
his answer to these charges. Jesus stood
collected, but silent, and the astonishment
of Pilate was still farther heightened. The
only accusation which seemed to bear any
meaning, imputed to Jesus the raising tu-
multuous meetings of the people through-
out the country, from Judaea to Galilee.*
This incidental mention of Galilee, made,
perhaps, with an invidious design of awa-
kening in the mind of the governor the re-
membrance of the turbulent character of
that people, suggested to Pilate a course
by which he might rid himself of the em-
barrassment and responsibility of this
strange transaction. It has been conjec-
tured, not without probability, that the
massacre of Herod’s subjects was the
cause of the enmity that existed between
the tetrarch and the Roman governor.
Pilate had now an opportunity at once to
avoid an occurrence of the same nature,
in which he had no desire to be implicated,
and to make overtures of reconciliation to
the native sovereign. He was indifferent
about the fate of Jesus, provided he could
shake off all actual concern in his death ;
or he might suppose that Herod, uninfected
with the inexplicable enmity of the chief
priests, might be inclined to protect his
innocent subject.f

The fame of Jesus had already excited
the curiosity of Herod, but his jeSus sent
curiosity was rather that which to Herod,
sought amusement or excitement from
the powers of an extraordinary wonder-
worker, than that which looked for infor-
mation or improvement from a wise mor-
al, or a divinely-commissioned religious
teacher. rl he circumstances of the inter-
view, which probably took place in the
presence of the tetrarch and his courtiers,
and into which none of the disciples of
Jesus could find their way, are not rela-
ted. The investigation was long; but Je-
sus maintained his usual unruffled silence,
and at the close of the examina- jesus sern
tion he was sent back to Pilate. bac* with
By the murder of John, Herod insult’
had incurred deep and lasting unpopulari-
ty ; he might be unwilling to increase his

* Luke, xxiii., 5.

t Id , 5-12.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

l;pj

character for cruelty by the same conduct
towards Jesus, against whom, as he had
not the same private reasons for requiring
his support, he had not the same bitter-
ness of personal animosity; nor was his
sovereignty, as has before been observed,
endangered in the same manner as that of
the chief priests, by the progress of Jesus.
Herod therefore might treat with derision
what appeared to him a harmless assump-
tion of royalty, and determine to effect,
by contempt and contumely, that degrada-
tion of Jesus in the estimation of the peo-
ple which his more cruel measures in the
case of John had failed to accomplish.
With his connivance, therefore, if not un-
der his instructions, his soldiers (perhaps
some of them, as those of his father had
been, foreigners, Gaulish or Thracian “bar-
barians) were permitted or encouraged in
every kind of cruel and wanton insult.
They clothed him, in mockery of his roy-
al title, in a purple robe, and so escorted
him back to Pilate, who, if he occupied part
of the Hcrodion, not the Antonia, was
close at hand, only in a different quarter
of the same extensive palace.

The refusal of Herod to take cognizance
of the charge renewed the embarrassment
of Pilate, but a way yet.seemed open to
extricate himself from his difficulty. There
was a custom, that, in honour of the great
festival, the Passover, a prisoner should
be set at liberty at the request of the peo-
ple.* The multitude had already become
clamorous for their annual privilege.
Among the half-robbers, half-insurgents
who had so long infested the province of
Judaea and the whole of Palestine, there'
„ ,. was a celebrated bandit named

JBarabbas, who, probably m some
insurrectionary tumult, had been guilty of
murder. Of the extent of his crime we
are ignorant; but Pilate, by selecting the
worst case, that which the people could
not but consider the most atrocious and
offensive to the Roman government, might
desire to force them, as it were, to demand
the release of Jesus. Barabbas had been
undeniably guilty of those overt acts of
insubordination which they endeavoured
to infer as necessary consequences of the
teaching of Jesus.

He came forth, therefore, to the outside
of his praetorium, and, having declared
that neither himself nor Herod could dis-
cover any real guilt in the prisoner who
had been brought before them, he appeal-
ed to them to choose between the con-
demned insurgent and murderer, and the

* Matt., xxvii., 15-20. Mark, xv., 6-11. Luke,
xxiii., 13-19. John, xviii., 39,

blameless prophet of Nazareth. The
high-priests had now wrought the people
to madness, and had most likely crowded
the courts round Pilate’s quarters with
their most zealous and devoted partisans.
The voice of the governor was drowned
with an instantaneous burst of acclama-
tion, demanding the release of Barabbas.
Pilate made yet another ineffectual at-
tempt to save the life of the innocent
man. He thought, by some punishment
short of death, if not to awaken the com-
passion, to satisfy the animosity of the
people.* The person of Jesus was given
up to the lictors, and scourging with rods,
the common Roman punishment for minor
offences, was inflicted with merciless se-
verity. The soldiers platted a Jesus crown.
crown of thorns, or, as IS ed Willi thorns
thought, of some prickly plant, aund shown io
as it is scarcely conceivable 1 epeope‘
that life could have endured if the temples
had been deeply pierced by a circle of
thorns.f In this pitiable state Jesus was
again led forth, bleeding with the scourge,
his brow throbbing with the pointed crown ;
and dressed in the purple robe of mock-
ery, to make the last vain appeal to the
compassion, the humanity of the people.
The wild and furious cries of “ Crucify
him, crucify him,” broke out on all sides.
In vain Pilate commanded them to be the
executioners of their own sentence, and
reasserted his conviction of the innocence
of Jesus. In vain he accompanied his as-
sertion by the significant action of wash-
ing his hands in the public view, as if to
show that he would contract no guilt or
defilement from the blood of a blameless
man.J He was answered by the awful
imprecation, Plis.blood be upon The people
us and-upon our children.” The demand his
deputies of the Sanhedrin press- erucifixlon-
ed more earnestly the capital charge of
blasphemy. u He had made himself the
Son of God.”§ This inexplicable accusa-
tion still more shook the resolution of
Pilate, who, perhaps at this instant, was
farther agitated by a message from his
wife. Claudia Procula (the law intercession
which prohibited the wives of of Pilate’s
the provincial rulers from ac- Wlfe*
companying their husbands to the seat of
their governments now having fallen into
disuse) had been permitted to reside with
her husband Pilate in Palestine.®j[ The

* Luke, xxiii., 16. John, xix., 1-5.

f It should seem, says Grotius, that the mocker}
was more intended than the pain. Some suppose
the plant, the naba or nabka of the Arabians, with
many small and sharp spikes, which would be pain-
ful, but not endanger life.—Hasselquist’s Travels.

t Matt., xxvii., 24, 25. § John, xix., 7.

Matt., xvxii., 19-23. This law had -fallen into140

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

stem justice of the Romans had guarded
by this law against the baneful effects of
female influence. In this instance, had
Pilate listened to the humaner counsels
of his wife, from what a load of guilt
would he have delivered his own con-
science and his province ! Aware of the
proceedings which had occupied Pilate
during the whole night, perhaps in some
way better acquainted with the character
of Jesus, she had gone to rest; but her
sleep, her morning slumbers, when vis-
ions were supposed to be more than ordi-
narily true, were disturbed by dreams of
the innocence of Jesus, and the injustice
and inhumanity to which her husband
might lend his authority.

The prisoner was withdrawn into the
guardroom, and Pilate endeavoured to ob-
tain some explanation of the meaning of
this new charge from Jesus himself. He
made no answer, and Pilate appealed to
his fears, reminding him that his life and
death depended on the power of the pre-
fect. Jesus replied, that his life was only
in the power of Divine Providence, by
whose permission alone Pilate enjoyed a
temporary authority.* * But touched, it
may seem, by the exertions of Pilate to
save him, with all his accustomed gentle-
ness he declares Pilate guiltless of his
Last inter- blood, in comparison with his be-
rogatory of trayers and persecutors among his
Jesus. own countrymen. This speech
still farther moved Pilate in his favour.
But the justice and the compassion of the
Romans gave way at once before the fear
of weakening his interest or endangering
his personal safety with his imperial mas-
ter. He made one effort more to work on
the implacable people; he was answered
with the same furious exclamations, and
with menaces of more alarming import.
They accused him of indifference to the
stability of the imperial power: “ Thou
art not Cassar’s friend :”f they threatened
to report his conduct, in thus allowing the
title of royalty to be assumed with impu-
nity, to the reigning Caesar.’ That Caesar
was the dark and jealous Tiberius. Up to
this period the Jewish nation, when they
had complained of the tyranny of their na-
tive sovereigns, had ever obtained a fa-
vourable hearing, at Rome. Even against
Herod the Great their charges had been
received, they had been admitted to a pub-
lic audience ; and though their claim to na-
tional independence at the death of that

neglect in the time of Augustus ; during the reign
of Tiberius it was openly infringed, and the motion
of Csecina in the Senate to put it more strictly in
force produced no effect.—Tac., Ann., iii., 33.

* John; xix., 8-11. f Ibid., 12.

sovereign had not been allowed, Archelaus
had received his government with limited
powers, and, on the,complaint of the peo-
ple, had been removed from his throne.
In short, the influence of that attachment
to the Caesarean family,* which had ob-
tained for the nation distinguished privi-
leges both from Julius and Augustus, had
not yet been effaced by that character of
turbulence and insubordination which led
to their final ruin.

In what manner such a charge of not
being “ Caesar’s friend” might be misrepre-
sented or aggravated, it was impossible to
conjecture; but the very strangeness of the
accusation was likely to work on the
gloomy and suspicious mind of Tiberius;
and^the frail tenure by which Pilate held
his ‘favour at Rome is shown by his igno-
minious recall and banishment some years
after, on the complaint of the Jewish people ;
though not, it is true, for an act of indis-
creet mercy, but one of unnecessary cru-
elty. The latent and suspended decision
of his character reappeared in all its cus-
tomary recklessness.- The life of one
man, .however blameless, was not for an
instant to be considered when his own
advancement, his personal safety, were in
peril: his sterner nature resumed the as-
cendant ; he mounted the tribunal, which
was erected on a tesselated pavement near
the prsetorium.f and passed the solemn,
the irrevocable sentence. It might condem-
almost seem that, in bitter mock- nation of
ery, Pilate for the last time de- Jesus'
manded, “Shall I crucify your king l”
“ We have no king but CaBsar,” was the
answer of the chief priests. Pilatfe yielded
up the contest; the murderer was com-
manded to be set at liberty, the just man
surrendered to crucifixion.

The remorseless soldiery were at hand,
and instigated, no doubt, by the
influence, by the bribes of the susUby°the*
Sanhedrin, carried the sentence populace and
into effect with the most savage soldiery‘
and wanton insults. They dressed him

* Compare Hist, of the Jews, ii., 74.
f We should not notice the strange mistake of
the learned German, Hug, on this subject, if it had
not been adopted by a clever writer in a populai
journal. Hug has supposed the XiOSarpurov (per
haps the tesselated) stone pavement on which Pi
late’s tribunal was erected, to be the same which
was the scene of a remarkable incident mentioned
by Josephus. During the siege of the Temple, a
centurion, Julianus, charged on horseback, and
forced his way into the inner court of the Temple
his horse stepped up on the pavement (XiQdarpwTav),
and he fell. It is scarcely credible that any writei
acquainted with Jewish antiquities, or the structure
of the Temple, could suppose that the Roman gov-
ernor would raise his tribunal within the inviolable
precincts of the inner court.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

141

ap m all the mock semblance of royalty
(he had already the purple robe and the
crown) ; a reed was now placed in his
hand for a sceptre; they paid him their
insulting homage; struck him with the
palms of their hands ; spit upon him ; and
then stripping him of his splendid attire,
dressed him again in his own simple rai-
ment, and led him out to death.* * * * §

The place of execution was without the
gates. This was the case in most towns ;
and in Jerusalem, which, according to tra-
dition, always maintained a kind of re-
semblance to the camp iq the wilderness,!
as criminal punishments were forbidden to
defile the sacred precincts, a field beyond
the walls was set apart and desecrated for
this unhallowed purpose.!

Hitherto we have been tempted into
some detail, both by the desire of ascer-
taining the state of the public mind, and
the motives of the different actors in this
unparalleled transaction, and by the ne-
cessity of harmonizing the various circum-
stances related in the four separate nar-
ratives. As we approach the appalling
close, \ye tremble lest the colder process
of explanation should deaden the solemn
and harrowing impression of the scene, or
weaken the contrast between the wild and
tumultuous uproar of the triumphant ene-
mies and executioners of the Son of Man,
with the deep and unuttered misery of the
few faithful adherents who still followed
his footsteps : and, far above all, his own
serene, his more than human composure,
the dignity of suffering, which casts so far
into the shade every example of human
Circumstan- heroism. Yet in the most tri-
ces of the fling incidents there is so much
cruci xion. an(j reality, so remarkable an
adherence to the usages of the time, and
to the state of public feeling, that we can-
not but point out the most striking of these
particulars. For, in fact, there is no sin-
gle circumstance, however minute, which
does not add to the truth of the whole de-
scription, so as to stamp it (we have hon-
estly endeavoured to consider it with the

* Matt., xxvii., 27-30. Mark, xv., 15-20.

f Numbers, xv., 35. 1 Kings, xxi., 13. He-

brews, xiii., 12. Extra urbem, patibulum. Plau-
tus. See Grotius.

t It is curious to trace on what uncertain grounds
rest many of our established notions relating to in-
cidents in the early history of our religion. No one
scruples to speak in the popular language of “ the
Hill of Calvaryyet there appears no evidence,
which is not purely legendary, for the assertion that
Calvary was on a hill. ' The notion arose from the
fanciful interpretation of the word Golgotha, the
place of a scull, which was thought to imply some
resemblance in its form to a human scull; but it is
far more probably derived from having been strewn
with the remains of condemned malefactors.

calmest impartiality) with an impression
of credibility, of certainty, equal to, if not
surpassing, every event in the history of
man. The inability of Jesus (exhausted
by a sleepless night, by the length of the
trial, by insults and bodily pain, by the
scourging and blows) to bear his own cross
(the constant practice of condemned crim-
inals) ;* the seizure of a Cyrenian, from
a province more numerously colonized by
Jews than any other, except Egypt and
Babylonia, as he was entering the city,
and, perhaps, was known to be an adherent
of Jesus, to bear his cross ;f the customa-
ry deadening potion of wine and myrrh,!
which was given to malefactors previous
to their execution, but which Jesus, aware
of its stupifying or intoxicating effect, and
determined to preserve his firmness and
self-command, but slightly touched with
his lips; the title, the King§ of the Jews,
in three languages,|| so strictly in accord-
ance with the public usage of the time;
the division and casting lots for his gar-
ments by the soldiers who executed him
(those wTho suffered the ignominious pun-
ishment of the cross being exposed en-
tirely naked, or with nothing more than
was necessary for decency) ;®[f all these
particulars, as well as the instrument of
execution, the cross, are in strict unison
with the well-known practice of Roman
criminal jurisprudence. The execution of
the two malefactors, one on each side of
Jesus, is equally consonant with their or-
dinary administration of justice, particu-
larly in this ill-fated province. Probably
before, unquestionably at a later period,
Jerusalem was doomed to behold the long
line of crosses on which her sons were left
by the relentless Roman authorities to
struggle with slow and agonizing death.

In other circumstances, the Jewish na-
tional character is equally conspicuous.
This appears even in the conduct of the
malefactors. The fanatical Juda- The two
ism of one, not improbably a fol- maiefac-
lower, or infected with the doc- tors#
trines of the Gaulonite, even in his last ag-
ony has strength enough to insult the
pretender to the name of a Messiah who

* Hence the common term “ furcifer.” Pat.ibu
lum ferat per urbem, deinde affigatur cruci.—Plauti,

frag. f Mark, xv., 21. Luke., xxiii., 26.

7 Matt., xxvii., 34. Mark, xv., 23. The rabbins
say, wine with frankincense. This potion was
given by the Jews out of compassion to criminals.

§ Luke, xxiii., 38. John, xix., 19, 20.

|| The inscriptions on the palisades which divided
the part of the Temple court which might be entered
by the Gentiles from that which was oper only to
the Jews, were written, with the Roman sanction,
in the three languages, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin.

IT Matt., xxvii., 35. Mark, xv., 24. Luke, xxiii.
34. John, xix., 23, 24.142

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

yet. has not the power to release himself
and his fellow-sufferers from death. The
other, of milder disposition, yet in death in-
clines to believe in Jesus, and, when he re-'
turns to assume his kingdom, would hope
to share in its blessings. To him Jesus,
speaking in the current language, promises
an immediate reward; he is to pass at
once from life to happiness.* Besides
this, how striking the triumph of his en-
emies, as he seemed to surrender himself
without resistance to the growing pangs
Spectators of of death;. the assemblage, not
the execution, only of the rude and ferocious
populace, but of many of the most distin-
guished rank, the members of the Sanhe-
drin, to behold and to insult the last mo-
ments of their once redoubted, but now
despised adversary. And still every in-
dication of approaching death seemed
more and more to justify their rejection!
still no sign of the mighty, the all-power-
ful Messiah! Their taunting allusions
to his royal title, to his misapprehended
speech, which rankled in their hearts, about
the demolition and rebuilding of the Tem-
ple ;f to his power of healing others and
restoring life, a power in his own case so
manifestly suspended or lost; the offer to
acknowledge him as the Messiah if he
would come down from the cross in the
face of day ; the still more malignant re-
proach, that he, who had boasted of the
peculiar favour of God, was now so vis-
ibly deserted and abandoned; the Son of
God, as3he called himself, is left to perish,
despised and disregarded by God; all this
as strikingly accords with, and illustrates
the state of, Jewish feeling, as the former
circumstances of the Roman.usages.

And amid the whole wild and tumultu-
ous scene there are some quiet gleams of
pure Christianity, which contrast with and
relieve the general darkness and horror :
not merely the superhuman patience, with
which insult, and pain, and ignominy are
borne; not merely the self-command,
which shows that the senses are not be-
numbed or deadened by the intensity of
suffering, but the slight incidental touches
of gentleness and humanity.} We cannot
but indicate the answer to the, afflicted
women, who stood by the way weeping
Conduct as he passed on to Cavalry, and
of Jesus, whom he commanded not “to weep
for him,” but for the deeper sorrows to
which themselves or their children were
devoted; the notice of the group of his
own kindred and followers who stood by
the cross; his bequest of the support of

* Luke, xxiii., 39-43.

+ Matt,, xxvii, 39-43. Mark, xv., 31, 32. Luke,
ixiii., 35. i Luke, xxiii 27-31.

his Virgin Mother to the beloved disciple ;*
above all, that most affecting exemplifica-
tion of his own tenets, the prayer for the
pardon of his enemies, the palliation of
their crime from their ignorance of its real
enormity : “ Father, forgive them, for they
know not what they do.”f Yet so little
are the evangelists studious of effect, that
this incident of unrivalled moral sublimi-
ty, even in the whole life of Christ, is but
briefly, we might almost say carelessly,
noticed by St. Luke alone.

From the sixth hour (noonday), writes
the evangelist St. Matthew, preternatural
there was darkness over all darkness,
the land unto the ninth hour.} The whole
earth (the phrase in the other evangelists)
is no doubt used according to Jewish
phraseology, in which Palestine, the sa-
cred land, was emphatically the earth.
This supernatural gloom appears to re-
semble that terrific darkness which pre-
cedes an earthquake.

For these three hours Jesus had borne
the excruciating anguish; his human na-
ture begins to fail,' and he complains of
the burning thirst, the most painful, but
usual aggravation of such a death. A
compassionate by-stander filled a sponge
with vinegar, fixed it on a long reed, and
was about to lift it to his lips, when the
dying Jesus uttered his last words, those
of the twenty-second Psalm, in which, in
the bitterness of his heart, David had com-
plained of the manifest desertion of his
God, who had yielded him up to his ene-
mies—the phrase had perhaps been in
common use in extreme distress—Eli, Eli,
lama Sabacthani 1—My God, my God, why
hast thou forsaken me ?§ The compas-
sionate hand of the man raising the vine-
gar was arrested by others, who—a few,
perhaps, in trembling curiosity, but more
in bitter mockery—supposing that he called
not on God (Eli), but on Elias, commanded
him to wait and see whether, even now,
that great and certain sign of the Messiah,
the appearance of Elijah, would at length
take place.

Their barbarous triumph was uninter-
rupted; and he, who yet (his followers

* John, xix., 25-27. f Luke, xxiii, 34.

t Matt., xxvii., 45-53. Mark, xv., 33-38. Luke,
xxiii., 44, 45. John, xix., 28-30.

Gibbon [vol. i., p. 283] has said, and truly, as re-
gards all well-informed and sober interpreters of the
sacred writings, that “ the celebrated passage of
Phlegon is now wisely abandoned.” It still main-
tains its ground, however, with writers of a certain
class, notwithstanding its irrelevancy has already
been admitted by Origen, and its authority rejected
by every writer who has the least pretensions to his-
torical criticism.

§ Matt., xxvii., 46. Mark, xv., 34-37. John, xix..
28-30.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

143

were not without some lingering hope,
and the more superstitious of his enemies
not without some trembling apprehension)
might awaken to all his terrible and pre-
Death of wailing majesty, had now mani-
Jesus. festly expired.* The Messiah, the
imperishable, the eternal Messiah, had
quietly yielded up the ghost.

Even the dreadful earthquake which
followed seemed to pass away without
appalling the enemies of Jesus. The rend-
ing of the veil of the Temple from the top
to the bottom, so strikingly significant of
the approaching abolition of the local wor-
ship, would either be concealed by the
priesthood, or attributed as a natural effect
to the convulsion of the earth. The
same convulsion would displace the stones
which covered the ancient tombs, and lay
open many of the innumerable rock-hewn
supulchres which perforated the hills on
every side of the city, and expose the
dead to public view. To the awestruck
and depressed minds of the followers of
Jesus, no doubt, were confined those vis-
ionary appearances of the spirits of their
deceased brethren, which are obscurely
intimated in the rapid narratives of the
evangelists, f

But these terrific appearances, which
seem to have been lost on the infatuated
Jews, were not without effect on the less
prejudiced Roman soldiery; they appear-
ed 'to bear the testimony of Heaven to the
innocence, to the Divine commission of
the crucified Jesus. The centurion who
guarded the. spot, according to St. Luke,
declared aloud his conviction that Jesus
was a just man; according to St. Matthew,
that he was the Son of God.J

Secure now, by the visible marks of
dissolution, by the piercing of his side,
from which blood and water flowed out,
that Jesus was actually dead; and still,
even in their most irreligious acts of cruel-
ty and wickedness, punctiliously religious
(since it was a sin to leave the body of

* Luke, xxiiL, 46.

f This is the probable and consistent view of
Michaelis. Those who assert a supernatural eclipse
of the sun rest on the most dubious and suspicious
tradition; while those who look with jealousy on
the introduction of natural causes, however so
timed as in fact to be no less extraordinary than
events altogether contrary to the course of nature,
forget or despise the difficulty of accounting for the
apparently slight sensation produced on the minds
of the .Tews, and the total silence of all other his-
tory. Compare the very sensible note of M. Guizot
on the latter part of Gibbon’s xvth chapter [p. 288].

t Matt., xxvii., 54. Luke, xxiii., 47. Lightfoot
supposes that by intercourse with the Jews he may
have learned their phraseology: Grotius; that he
had a general impression that Jesus was a superior
being.

that blameless being on the cross during
one day,* whom it had been no sin, but
rather an act of the greatest virtue, to mur-
der the day before), the Sanhedrin gave
their consent to a wealth}'adherent of Je-
sus, Joseph, of the town of Arimathea, to
bury the body. The sanction of Burial or
Pilate was easily obtained : it was Jesus,
taken down from the cross, and consigned
to the sepulchre prepared by Joseph for
his own family, but in which no body had
yet been laid.f The sepulchre was at no
great distance from the place of execution;
the customary rites were performed : the
body was wrapped in fine linen, and anoint-
ed with a mixture of costly spice and
myrrh, with which the remains of those
who were held in respect by their kindred
were usually preserved. As the Sabbath
was drawing on, the work was performed
with the utmost despatch, and Jesus was
laid to rest in the grave of his faithful ad-
herent.

In that rock-hewn tomb might appear
to be buried for- ever both the The religion
fears of his enemies and the apparently *
hopes of his followers. Though at an eml-
some rumours of his predictions concern-
ing his resurrection had crept abroad, suf-
ficient to awaken The caution of the San-
hedrin, and to cause them to seal the out-
ward covering of the sepulchre, and, with
the approbation of Pilate, to station a Ro-
man guard upon the spot; yet, as far as
the popular notion of the Messiah, nothing
could be more entirely and absolutely de-
structive of their hopes than the patient
submission of Jesus to insult, to degrada-
tion, to death. However, with some of
milder nature, his exquisite sufferings
might excite compassion; however the
savage and implacable cruelty with which
the rulers urged his fate might appear re-
volting to the multitude, after their first ac-
cess of religious indignation had passed
away, and the recollection returned to the
gentle demeanour and beneficent acts of
Jesus ; yet the hope of redemption, what-
ever meaning they might attach to the
term, whether deliverance from their ene-
mies, or the restoration of their theocratic
government, had set in utter darkness.
However vague or contradictory this no-
tion among the different sects or classes,
with the mass of the people, nothing less
than ail immediate, instantaneous reap-
pearance in some appalling or imposing

* Deut., xxi., 23. The Jews usually buried ex-
ecuted criminals ignominiously, but at the request
of a family would permit a regular burial,—Light-
foot, from Babyl. San.

f Matt, xxvii., 57-60. Mark, xv., 42-47. Luke,
xxiii., 50-56. John, xix., 38-42.144

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

form could have reinstated Jesus in his
high place in the popular expectation.
Without this, his career was finally closed,
and he would pass away at once, as one
of the brief wonders of the time, his tem-
porary claims to respect or attachment
refuted altogether by the shame, by the
ignominy of his death. His ostensible
leading adherents were men of the hum-
blest origin, aind, as yet, of no distinguish-
ed ability; men from whom little danger
could be apprehended, and who might be
treated with contemptuous neglect. No
attempt appears to have been made to
secure a single person, or to prevent their
peaceful retreat to their native Galilee.

The whole religion centred in the person
of Jesus, and in his death was apparently
suppressed, crushed, extinguished for ever.
After a few days, the Sanhedrin would
dread-nothing less than a new disturbance
from the same quarter; and Pilate, as the
whole affair had passed off without tumult,
would soon suppress the remonstrances
of his conscience at the sacrifice of an in-
nocent life, since the public peace had
been maintained, and, no doubt, his own
popularity with the leading Jews consider-
ably heightened, at so cheap a price. All
then was at an end; yet after the death
of Christ commences, strictly speaking
the history of Christianity.BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

THE RESURRECTION, AND FIRST

The resurrection of Jesus is the basis
Kristian of Christianity; it is the ground-
ioctrine of work of the Christian doctrine
tafityofthe of the immortality of the soul,
soul. Henceforward that great truth
begins to assume a new character, and to
obtain an influence over the political and
social*, as well as over the individual hap-
piness of man, unknown in the former
ages of the world.* It is no longer a fee-
ble and uncertain instinct, nor a remote
speculative opinion, obscured by the more
pressing necessities and cares of the pres-
ent life, but the universal predominant sen-
timent, constantly present to the thoughts,
enwoven with the usages, and pervading
the whole moral being of man. The dim
and scattered rays, either of traditionary
belief, of intuitive feeling, or of philo-
sophic reasoning, were brought as it were
to a focus, condensed and poured with an
immeasurably stronger, an expanding, an
all-permeating light upon the human soul.f
Whatever its origin, whether in human
nature or the aspirations of high-thought-
ed individuals, propagated through their
followers or in former revelation, it re-
ceived such an impulse, and was so deeply
and universally moulded up with the pop-
ular mind in all orders, that from this pe-
riod may be dated the true era of its do-
minion. If by no means new in its ele-

* Our Saviour assumes the doctrine of another
life as the basis of his doctrines, because, in a cer-
tain sense, it was already the popular belief among
the Jews ; but it is very different with the apostles
when they address the heathen, who formed far the
largest part of the converts to Christianity.

f I have found some of these observations and
even expressions anticipated by the striking re-
marks of Lessing. Und so ward Christus dererste
zuverlassige praktische Lehrer der Unsterblichkeit
der Seele. Der erste zuverliissige Lehrer. Zuver-
liissig durch seine Weissagungen, die in ihm erfiillt
schienen: zuverlassig durch die Wunder die er ver-
richtete: zuverlassig durch seine eigne Wieder-
belebung nach einem Tode, durch die er seine
Lehre versiegelt hatte. Der erste praktische Leh-
rer. Denn ein anders 'ist, die Unsterblichkeit der
Seele, als eine philosophische Speculation, ver-
muthen, wiinschen, glauben: ein anders seine in-
nern und assern Handlungen darnach, einrichten.—
Lessing, Werke, ix . p. 03.

PROMULGATION OF CHRISTIANITY.

mentary principle, it was new in the degree
and the extent to which it began to operate
in the affairs of men.*

The calm inquirer into the history of hu-
man nature, as displayed in the Effects of
existing records of our race, if un- this doc-
happily disinclined to receive the trine‘
Christian faith as a Divine revelation,
must nevertheless behold in this point of
time the crisis, and in this circumstance
the governing principle, of the destinies of
mankind during many centuries of their

* The most remarkable evidence of the extent to
which German speculation has wandered away
from the first principles of Christianity is this; that
one of the most religious writers, the one who has
endeavoured with the most earnest sincerity to
reconcile religious belief with the philosophy of the
times, has actually represented Christianity with
out, or almost without, the immortality of the soul;
and this the ardent and eloquent translator of Plato!
Copious and full on the moral regeneration effected
by Christ in this world, with the loftiest sentiments
of the emancipation of the human soul from the
bondage of sin by the Gospel, Schleiermacher is si-
lent, or almost silent, on the redemption from death.
He beholds Christ distinctly as bringing life, only
vaguely and remotely as bringing immortality, to
light. I acknowledge that I mistrusted the extent
of my own acquaintance with the writings of
Schleiermacher and the accuracy with which l had
read them (chiefly the Glaubenlehre and some of
those sermons which were so highly admired at
Berlin); but I have found my own conclusions con-
firmed by an author whom I cannot suspect to be
unacquainted with the writings, or unjust to the
character, of one for whom he entertains the most
profound respect. So geschah es, das dieser Glau-
benslehre unter den Handen der Begnff des Heiles
sich aus einem wesentlich jenseitigen in einem
wesentlich diesseitigen verwandelte... . Hiermit ist
nun aber die eigentliche Bedeutungdes altenGlau-
bengrundsatzes in der that verloren gegangen.
Wo die aussicht auf eine dereinstige, aus dem dann
in Schauen umgesetsten Glauben ernporwachsende
Seligkeit so, wie in Schleiermacher’s eigener Dar-
stellung in den Hintergrund tritt, so ganz nur als
eine beilaiifige, in Bezug auf das Wie ganz und gar
problematisch bleibende Folgerung, ja fast als eine
hors d’ceuvre hinzugebracht wird: da wird auch
demjenigen Bewusstsein welches seine diesseitige
Befriedigung in dem Glauben an Christus gewon-
nen hat, offenbar seine machtigste, ja seine einzige
Waffe gegen alle die ihm die Wahrheit solchei
Befriedigung bestreiten, oder bezweifeln, aus deu
Handen gerissen.—Weisse, Die Evangelische Ges-
chichte, band ii., p. 451.140

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

most active and fertile development. A
new race of passions was introduced into
the political arena as well as into the in-
dividual heart, or, rather, the natural and
universal passions were enlisted in the ser-
vice of more absorbing and momentous in-
terests, The fears and hopes by which
man is governed took a wider range, em-
bracing the future life in many respects
with as much, or even stronger, energy
and intenseness than the present. The stu-
pendous dominion erected by the church,
the great characteristic feature of modern
history, rested almost entirely on this ba-
sis ; it ruled as possessing an inherent
power over the destiny of the soul in a
future world. It differed in this primary
principle of its authority from the sacer-
dotal castes of antiquity. The latter rest-
ed their influence on hereditary claims to
superiority over the rest of mankind ; and
though they dealt sometimes, more or less
largely, in the terrors and hopes of anoth-
er state of being, especially in defence of
their own power and privileges, theirs was
a kind of mixed aristocracy of birth and
priestcraft. But if this new and irresisti-
ble power lent itself, in certain stages of
society, to human ambition, and, as a stern
and inflexible lictor, bowed down the
whole mind of man to the fasces of a spir-
itual tyranny, it must be likewise contem-
plated in its far wider and more lasting,
though perhaps less imposing character,
as the parent of all which is purifying, en-
nobling, unselfish in Christian civiliza-
tion ; as a principle of every humanizing
virtue which philosophy must ever want;
of self-sacrifice, to which the patriotism
of antiquity shrinks into a narrow and na-
tional feeling; and as introducing a doc-
trine of equality as sublime, as it is with-
out danger to the necessary gradations
which must exist in human society.
Since the promulgation of Christianity,
the immortality of the soul, and its insep-
arable consequence, future retribution,
have not only been assumed by the legis-
lator as the basis of all political institu-
tions, but the general mind has been
brought into such complete unison with
the spirit of the laws so founded, that the
individual repugnance to the principle has
been constantly overborne by the general
predominant sentiment. In some periods
it has seemed to survive the religion on
which it was founded. Wherever, at all
events, it operates upon the individual or
social mind, wherever it is even tacitly ad-
mitted and assented to by the prevalent
feeling of mankind, it must be traced to
the profound influence which Christianity
has at least at one time, exercised over

the inner nature of man. This was the
moral revolution which set into activity,
before unprecedented, and endowed with
vitality, till then unknown, this great ruling
agent in the history of the world.

Still, however, as though almost un-
conscious of the future effects style of me
of this event, tne narratives of Evangelists,
the evangelists, as they approach this cri-
sis in their own, as well as in the destinies
of man, preserve their serene and unim-
passioned flow. Each follows his own
course, with precisely that discrepance
which might be expected among inartifi-
cial writers relating the same event, with-
out any mutual understanding or refer-
ence to each other’s work, but all with
the same equable and unexalted tone.

The Sabbath passed away without dis-
turbance or commotion. The profound
quiet which prevailed in the crowded
capital of Judea on the seventh day, at
these times of rigid ceremonial observ-
ance, was unbroken by the partisans of
Jesus. Yet even the Sabbath did not re-
strain the leading members of the Sanhe-
drin from taking the necessary precau-
tions to guard the body of their victim :
their hostile jealousy, as has been before
observed, was more alive to the predic-
tions of the resurrection than the attach-
ment of the disciples. To prevent any
secret or tumultuous attempt of the fol-
lowers to possess themselves of the re-
mains of their Master, they caused a seal
to be attached to the stone which formed
the door to the sepulchral enclosure, and
stationed the guard, which was at their
disposal, probably for the preservation of
the public peace, in the garden around the
tomb. The guard being Roman, might
exercise their military functions on the
sacred day. The disciples were no doubt
restrained by the sanctity of the Sabbath,
as well as by their apprehensions of re-
awakening the popular indignation, even
from approaching the burial-place of their
Master. The religion of the day lulled
alike the passions of the rulers, the popu-
lar tumult, the fears and the sorrows of
the disciples.

It was not till the early dawn of the fol-
lowing morning* that some of The women
the women set out to pay the last at the sepui-
melancholy honours at the' sep- chre*
ulchre. They had bought some of those
precious drugs which were used for the
preservation of the remains of the more
opulent on the evening of the crucifix-
ion ; and, though the body had been
anointed and wrapped in spices in the

* Matt., xxviii. Mark, xv.i. Lukp, xiv. John, rocHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

147

customary manner previously to the buri-
al, this farther mark of respect was strict-
ly according to usage. But this circum-
stance, thus casually mentioned, clearly
shows that the women, at least, had no
hope whatever of any change which could
take place as to the body of Jesus.* The
party of women consisted of Mary of
Magdala, a town near the Lake of Tibe-
rias ; Mary, the wife of Alpheus, mother
of James and Joses ; Joannav, wife of
Ohuza, Herod’s steward; and Salome,
u the mother of Zebedee’s children.”
They were all Galileans, and from.the
same neighbourhood ; all faithful attend-
ants on Jesus, and related to some of the
leading disciples. They set out very ear-
ly ; and as, perhaps, they had to meet
from different quarters, some not unlike-
ly from Bethany, the sun was rising be-
fore they reached the garden., Before
their arrival, the earthquake or atmospher-
ic commotionf had taken place; the tomb
had burst open, and the terrified guard
had fled to the city. Of the sealing of
the stone and the placing of the guard
they appear to have been ignorant, as, in
the*most natural manner, they seem sud-
denly to remember the difficulty of re-
moving the ponderous stone which closed
the sepulchre, and which would require
the strength of several men to raise it
from its place. Sepulchres in the East,
those at least belonging to men of rank
and opulence, were formed of an outward
small court or enclosure, the entrance to
which was covered by a huge stone ; and
within were cells or chambers, often hewn
in the solid rock, for the deposite of the
dead. As the women drew near, they
saw that the stone had been removed, and
the first glance into the open sepulchre

* In a prolusion of Griesbach, De fontibus unde
Evangelist® suas de resurrectione Domini narra-
tiones hauserint, it is observed, that the evangelists
seem to have dwelt on those particular points in
which they were personally concerned. This ap-
pears to furnish a very simple key to their apparent
discrepances. John, who received his first intelli-
gence from Mary Magdalene, makes her the prin-
cipal person in his narrative, while Matthew, who,
with the rest of the disciples, derived his informa-
tion from the other women, gives their relation, and
omits the appearance of Jesus to the Magdalene.
St. Mark gives a few additional minute particulars,
but the narrative of St. Luke is altogether more
vague and general. He blends together, as a later
historian, studious of compression, the two separate
transactions ; he ascribes to the women collectively
that communication of the intelligence to the as-
sembled body of the apostles which appears to have
been made separately to two distinct parties; and
disregarding the order of time, he after that reverts
to the visit of St. Peter to the sepulchre.

t Hsurfios is rather an ambiguous term,- though it
usually means an earthquake.

discovered that the body was no longei
there. At this sight Mary Magdalene ap-
pears to have hurried back to the city,
to give information to Peter and John.
These disciples, it may be remembered,
were the only two who followed Jesus to
his trial; and it is likely that they were
together in some part of the city while
the rest were scattered in different quar-
ters, or, perhaps, had retired to Bethany.
During the absence of Mary, the other
women made a closer inspection; they
entered the inner chamber; they saw the
grave-clothes lying in an orderly manner,
the bandage or covering of the head rolled
up and placed on one side; this circum-
stance would appear incompatible with
the haste of a surreptitious, or the care-
lessness of a violent removal. To their
minds, thus highly excited, and bewildered
with astonishment, with terror, and with
grief, appeared what is described by the
evangelist as “avision of angels.” One
or more beings in human form seated in
the shadowy twilight within the sepul-
chre, and addressing them with human
voices, told them that their Master had
risen from the grave ; that he was to go
before them into Galilee. They had de-
parted to communicate these wonderful
tidings to the other disciples before the
two summoned by Mary Magdalene had
arrived ; of these the younger and Arrival of
more active, John, outran the old- Peter and
er, Peter. But he only entered John*
the outer chamber, from whence he could
see the state in which the grave-clothes
were lying; but, before he entered the in-
ner chamber, he awaited the arrival of his
companion. Peter went in first, and af-
terward John, who, as he states, not till
then believed that the body had been ta-
ken away; for up to that time the apos-
tles themselves had no thought or expec-
tation of the resurrection.* These two
apostles returned home, leaving Maiy
Magdalene, who, probably wearied by her
walk to the city and her return, had not
come up with them till they had comple-
ted their search. The other women,
meantime, had fled in haste, and in the
silence of terror, through the hostile city;
and until, later in the day, they found the
apostles assembled together, did not unbur-
den their hearts of this extraordinary se-
cret. Mary Magdalenef was left Firstappear.
alone ; she had seen and heard ance of Jesus
nothing of the angelic vision
which had appeared to the oth- 6
ers; but, on looking down into the sepul-

* John, xx., 8-9.

f Mark, xvi., 9-11. John, xx., 11-18.148

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

chre, she saw the same vision which had
appeared to the others, and was in her
turn addressed by the angels ; and it
seems that her feelings were those of un-
mitigated sorrow. She stood near the
sepulchre, weeping. To her Jesus then
first appeared. So little was she pre-
pared for his presence, that she at first
mistook him for the person who had the
charge of the garden. Her language is
that of grief, because unfriendly hands
have removed the body, and carried it
away to some unknown place. Nor was
it till he again addressed her that she rec-
ognised his familiar form and voice.

The second* * * § * appearance of Jesus was
Later ap- to the other party of women, as
pearances. they returned to the city, and,
perhaps, separated to find out the different
apostles, to whom, when assembled, they
related the whole of their adventure. In
the mean time, a third appearancef had
taken place to two disciples who had
made an excursion to Emmaus, a village
between seven and eight miles from Jeru-
salem : a fourth to the apostle Peter; this
apparition is not noticed by the evange-
lists ; it rests on the authority of St.
Paul.J The intelligence of the women
had been received with the utmost incre-
dulity by the assembled apostles. The
arrival of the two disciples from Emmaus,
with their more particular relation of his
conversing with them, his explaining the
Scriptures, his breaking bread with them,
made, a deeper impression. Still mistrust
seems to have predominated ; and when
Jesus appeared in the chamber, the doors
of which had been closed from fear lest
their meeting should be interrupted by the
hostile rulers, the first sensation was ter-
ror rather than joy. It was not till Jesus
conversed with them, and permitted them
to ascertain by actual touch the identity
of his body, that they yielded to emotions
of gladness. Jesus appeared a second
time, eight days after,$ in the public as-
sembly of the disciples, and condescended
to remove the doubts of one apostle, who
had not been present at the former meet-
ing, by permitting him to inspect and touch
his wounds.

This incredulity of the apostles, related
with so much simplicity, is, on many ac-

* Matt., xxviii., 9,10.

f Mark, xvi., 12,13. Luke, xxiv., 13-32.

$ It does not appear possible that Peter could be
one of the disciples near Emmaus. It would har-
monize the accounts if we could suppose that St.
Paul (1 Cor, xv., 5) originally dictated KXioira,
which was changed for the more familiar name
K rj<pa.

§ Matt., xvi., 14-18. Luke, xxiv., 36-49. John,
xx.. 19-29.

counts, most remarkable, con- /ncreduiityar
sidering the apparent distinct- the apostles:
ness with which Jesus appears lts cause-
to have predicted both his death and res-
urrection, and the rumour which put the
Sanhedrin on their guard against any
clandestine removal of the body. The
key to this difficulty is to be sought in the
opinions of the time. The notion of a res-
urrection was intimately connected with
the coming of a Messiah, but that resur-
rection was of a character very different
from the secret, the peaceful, the unim-
posing reappearance of Jesus after his
death. It was an integral, an essential
part of that splendid vision, which repre-
sented the Messiah as summoning all the
fathers of the chosen race from their
graves to share in the glories of his king-
dom.* Even after the resurrection, the
bewildered apostles inquire whether that
kingdom,* the only sovereignty of which
they yet dreamed, was about to com-
mence.! The death of Jesus, notwith-
standing his care to prepare their minds
for that appalling event, took them by sur-
prise : they seem to have been stunned
and confounded. It had shaken their faith
by its utter incongruity with their precon-
ceived notions, rather than confirmed it
by its accordance with his own predic-
tions ; and in this perplexed and darkling
state the resurrection came upon them,
not less strangely at issue with their con-
ceptions of the manner in which the Mes-
siah would return to the world. When
Jesus had alluded, with more or less pro-
phetic distinctness, to that event, their
minds had no doubt reverted to their
rooted opinions on the subject, and mould-
ed up the plain sense of his words with
some vague and confused interpretation
framed out of their own traditions; the
latter so far predominating that their
memory retained scarcely a vestige of
the simpler truth, until it was forcibly re-
awakened by its complete fulfilment in the
resurrection of their Lord.

Excepting among the immediate dis-
ciples, the intelligence of the resurrection
remained, it is probable, a profound secret,
or, at all events, little more than vague
and feeble rumours would reach the ear
of the Sanhedrin. For, though Christ had
taken the first step to reorganize his reli-
gion, by his solemn commission to the
apostles at his first appearance in their
assembly, it was not till after Return of
the return to Galilee, more par- the apostles
ticularly during one interview toGalllee*

* See ch. ii., p. 47

f Acts, i., 6. Compare Luke, xxiv., 21.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

149

near the Lake of Gennesareth, that he in-
vested Peter, and with him the rest of the
apostles, with the pastoral charge over his
new community. For, according to their
custom, the Galilean apostles had returned
to their -homes during the interval be-
tween the Passover and the Pentecost,
and there,'among the former scenes of
his beneficent labours, on more than one
occasion, the living Jesus had appeared,
and conversed familiarly with them.*
Forty days after the crucifixion, and ten
Apostles before the Pentecost, the apostles
ui Juchfia. were again assembled at their
usual place of resort, in the neighbourhood
of Jerusalem, the village of Bethany. It
was here, on the slope of the Mount of
Olives, that, in the language of St. Luke,
“ he was parted from them “he
was taken up, and a cloud re-
ceived him out of their sight.”f

During the interval between the Ascen-
sion and the day of Pentecost, the apostles
regularly performed their devotions in the
Temple, but they may have been lost and
unobserved among the thousands who
either returned to Jerusalem for the sec-
ond great annual festival, or, if from more
remote parts, remained, as was customary,

* Matt., xxviii., 16-20. John, xxi., 1-23. Mark,
in his brief *and summary account, omits the journey
to Galilee. Luke, xxiv., 49, seems to intimate the
contrary, as if he had known nothing of this retreat.
This verse, however, may be a kind of continuation
of verse 47, and is not to be taken in this strict
sense, so as positively to exclude an intermediate
journey to Galilee.

f Neander has closed his life of Christ with some
forcible observations on the Ascension, to which it
has been objected, that St. Luke alone, though in
two places, Gosp., xxiv., 50-^51 ; Acts, i., 9-11, men-
tions this most extraordinary event. “ How could
the resurrection of Christ have been to the disciples
the groundwork of their belief in everlasting life, if
it had been again followed by his death ? With the
death of Christ, the faith, especially in his resurrec-
tion and reappearance, must again, of necessity,
have sunk away. Christ would again have ap-
peared to them an ordinary man ; their belief in him,
as the Messiah, would have suffered a violent shock.
How in this manner cotfid that conviction of the
exaltation of Christ have formed itself within them,
which we find expressed in their writings with so
much force and precision ? Though the fact of his
ascension, as visible to the senses, is witnessed ex-
pressly only by St. Luke, the language of St. John
concerning his ascent to the Father, the declarations
of all the apostles concerning his exaltation to heav-
en (see especia’iy the strong expression of St Mark,
xvi., 19, H. M.), presuppose their conviction of his
supernatural elevation from the earth, since the no-
tion of his departure from this earthly life in the
ordinary manner is thereby altogether excluded.
Even if none of the apostolic writers had mentioned
this visible and real fact, we might have safely in-
ferred from all which they say of Christ that in
some form or other they presupposed a supernatural
exaltation of Christ from this visible earthly world.
—Leben Jesu, p. 656.

in the capital from the Passover to the
Pentecost. The election of a Election of a
new apostle to fill the mysteri- new apostle,
ous number of twelve, a number hallowed
to Jewish feeling as that of the tribes of
their ancestors, shows that they now look-
ed upon themselves again as a permanent
body, united by a federal principle, and
destined for some ulterior purpose ; and
it is possible that they might look with
eager hope to the feast of Pentecost, the
celebration of the delivery of the law on
Mount Sinai ;* the birthday, as it were, of
the religious constitution of the Jews, as
an epoch peculiarly suited for the reorgan-
ization and reconstruction of the new king-
dom of the Messiah.

The Sanhedrin doubtless expected any-
thing rather than the revival of the religion
of Jesus. The guards, who had fled from
the sepulchre, had been bribed to counter-
act any rumour of the resurrection by
charging the disciples with the clandestine
removal of the body. The city had been
restored to peace, as if no extraordinary
event had taken place. The Galileans,
the followers of Jesus among the rest, had
retired to their native province. In the
popular estimation, the claims of Jesus to
the Messiahship were altogether extin-
guished by his death. The attempt to re-
instate him who had been condemned by
the Sanhedrin, and crucified by the Ro-
mans, in public reverence and belief, as
the promised Redeemer, might have ap-
peared a proceeding so desperate as could
not enter into the most enthusiastic mind.
The character of the disciples of Jesus
was as little calculated to awaken appre-
hension. The few richer or more influ-
ential persons who had been inclined to
embrace his cause, even during his life-
time, had maintained their obnoxious
opinions in secret. The ostensible lead-
ers were men of low birth, humble occu-
pations, deficient education, and—no un-
important objection in the mind of the
Jews—Galileans. Never, indeed, was sect
so completely centred in the person of its
founder: the whole rested on his personal
authority, emanated from his personal
teaching; and, however it might be thought
that some of his sayings might be treas-
ured in the minds of his blind and infatu-
ated adherents—however they might re-
fuse to abandon the hope that he would
appear again as the Messiah—all this de-
lusion would gradually die away, from the
want of any leader qualified to take up
and maintain a cause so lost and hopeless.

* See the traditions on this subject in Meuschen
N. T., a Talrnude illustratum, p. 740.150

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Great must have been their astonishment
at the intelligence that the religion of Je-
Reappearance sus.had reappeared in a new in
of the religion a more attractive form; that on
of Jesus. the feast day which next fol-

lowed their total dispersion, those humble,
ignorant, and despised Galileans were
making .converts by thousands at the
very gates, even perhaps within the pre-
cincts of the Temple. The more visible
circumstances of the miracle which took
place on the day of Pentecost, the descent
of the Holy Ghost, under the appearance
of fiery tongues, in the private assembly
of the Christians, might not reach their
ears; but they could not long remain ig-
norant of this strange and alarming fact,
that these uneducated men, apparently re-
organized, and acting with the most fear-
less freedom, were familiarly conversing
with, and inculcating the belief in the res-
urrection of Jesus, on strangers from
every quarter of the world, in all their
various languages or dialects.*

The Jews whose families had Been long
domiciliated in the different provinces of
the Roman and the Parthian dominions,
gradually lost, or had never learned, the
vernacular tongue of Palestine; they
adopted the language of the surrounding
people. The original sacred Hebrew was
understood only by the learned. How
far, on one side the Greek, on the oth-
er the Babylonian Chaldaic, which was
nearly allied to the vernacular Aramaic,
were admitted into the religious services
of the synagogue, appears uncertain ; but
die different synagogues in Jerusalem were
appropriated to the different races of Jews.
Those from Alexandrea, from Cyrene, the
Libertines, descended from freed slaves at
Rome, perhaps therefore speaking Latin,
the Cilicians, and Asiatics, had their sep-
arate places of assembly ;f so, probably,
those who came from more remote quar-
ters, where Greek, the universal medium
of communication in great part of the Ro-
man empire, was less known, as in Ara-
bia, Mesopotamia, and beyond the Eu-
phrates.

The scene of this extraordinary incident
Disciples near must have been some place of
the Temple, general resort, yet scarcely
Giftoftongues. w^hin the Temple, where,
though there were many chambers set
apart for instruction in the law and other
devotional purposes, the apostles were
not likely to have obtained admittance to
one of these, or to have been permitted to

* Kuinoel (in loc. Act.) gives a lucid view of the
various rationalist and anti-rationalist interpreta-
tions of this miracle. f Acts, vi.

carry, on their teaching without interrup-
tion. If conjecture might be hazarded,,
we should venture to place their house of
assembly in one of the streets leading to
the Temple; that, perhaps, which, descend-
ing the slope of the hill, led to the Mount
of Olives and to the village of Bethany.
The time, the third hour, nine in the morn-
ing, was that of public prayer in the Tem-
ple ; multitudes, therefore, would throng
all the avenues to the Temple, and would
be arrested on their way by the extraordi-
nary sight of Peter and his colleagues thus
addressing the various classes in their dif-
ferent dialects ; asserting openly the res-,
urreclion of Jesus ; arraigning the injus-
tice of his judicial murder; and re-estab-
lishing his claim to be received as the
Messiah.

These submissive, timid, and scattered
followers of Jesus thus burst upon the
public attention, suddenly invested with
courage, endowed with commanding elo-
quence, in the very scene of their Mas-
ter’s cruel apprehension and execution, as-
serting his Messiahship in a form as ir-
reconcilable with their own preconceived
notions as with those of the rest of the
people ; arraigning the rulers, and by im-
plication, if not as yet in distinct words,
the whole nation, of the most heinous act
of impiety as well as barbarity, the rejec-
tion of the Messiah; proclaiming the res-
urrection, and defying investigation. The
whole speech of Peter clashed with speech
the strongest prejudices of those ofpeter-
who had so short a time before given such
fearful evidence of their animosity and re-
morselessness. It proclaimed that 44 the
last days,” the days of the Messiah, the
days of prophecy and wonder, had already
begun. It placed the Being whom but
forty days before they had seen helplessly
expiring upon the cross, far above the
pride, almost the idol of the nation, King
David. The ashes of the king had long
reposed in the tomb which was before
their eyes ; but the tomb could not cpnfine
Jesus; death had no power over his re-
mains. Nor was his resurrection all: the
crucified Jesus was now 44 on the right
hand of Godhe had assumed that last,
the highest distinction of the Messiah—
the superhuman majesty; that intimate
relation with the Deity, which, however
vaguely and indistinctly shadowed out in
the Jewish notion of the Messiah, was, as
it were, the crowning glory, the ultimate
height to which the devout hopes of the
most strongly excited of the Jews follow-
ed up the promised Redeemer: 44There-
fore let all the house of Israel know as-
suredly that God hath made that same Je*HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

151

sus, whom ye have crucified, both Lord
an Christ.”*

Three thousand declared converts were
the result of this first appeal to the Jewish
multitude: the religion thus reappeared,
in a form new, complete, and more deci-
dedly hostile to the prevailing creed and
dominant sentiments of the nation. From
this time the Christian community as-
sumed its separate and organized exist-
ence, united by the federal rite of baptism;
and the popular mind was deeply impress-
ed by the preternatural powers exercised
by its leading followers. Many of the con-
verts threw their property, or part of it,
into a ■common stock; now become ne-
cessary, as the teachers of Christianity
had to take up their permanent residence
in Jerusalem, at a distance from their
homes and the scenes of their humble la-
bour*. The religion spread, of course,
with the greatest rapidity among the lower
orders. Assistance in their wants and
protection against the hostility, or, at least,
the coldness and estrangement, of the
powerful and opulent, were necessary to
hold together the young society. Such
was the general ardour, that many did not
hesitate to sell their landed property, the
tenure of which, however loosened by
time and by the successive changes in the
political state of the country, probably, at
this period of the Messiah’s expected com-
ing, assumed a new value. This, there-
fore, was no easy triumph over Jewish
Common feeling. Yet nothing like an Es-
fund, not senian community oi goods ever
o?moodsity aPPears to have prevailed in the
0 g0° St . Christian community; such a
system, however favourable to the main-
tenance of certain usages or opinions with-
in a narrow sphere, would have been fatal
to the aggressive and comprehensive spirit
of Christianity ; the vital and conservative
principle of a sect, it was inconsistent with
a universal religion; and we cannot but
admire the wisdom which avoided a pre-
cedent so attractive, as conducting to the
immediate prosperity, yet so dangerous to
the ultimate progress of the religion.f

The Sanhedrin at first stood aloof;
Conduct of whether from awe, or misc.alcu-
ihc San he- lating contempt, or, it is possible,
dan. from internal dissension. It was
not till they were assailed, as it were, in

* Acts, ii., 36.

f Mosheim appears to me to have proved this
point conclusively [Oissertt. ad Hist. Eccl. perti-
nentes, vol. i., diss. i.]. * At a later period, every ex-
hortation to almsgiving, and every sentence which
alludes to distinctions ol rich and poor in the Chris-
tian community, is decisive against the community
of goods.

the heart of their own territory; not tm
the miracle of healing the lame man near
the Beautiful gate of the Temple (this gate
opened into the inner court of the Temple,
and, from the richness of its architecture,
had received that name), and the public
proclamation of the resurrection, in the
midst of the assembled worshippers, in the
second recorded speech of Peter, had
secured five thousand converts, that at
length the authorities found it necessary
to interfere, and to arrest, if possible, the
rapid progress of the faith. The second
second speech of the apostle* was speech of
in a somewhat more cairn and con- etei‘
ciliating tone than the former: it dwelt
less on the crime of the crucifixion than
on the advantages of belief in Jesus as the
Messiah. It did not shrink, indeed, from
reasserting the guilt of the death of the
Just One; yet it palliated the ignorance
through which the people, and even the
rulers, had rejected Jesus, and stained the
city with his blood. It called upon them
to repent of this national crime ; and, as if
even yet Peter himself was not disencum-
bered of that Jewish notion, it seemed to
intimate the possibility of an immediate
reappearance of Christ,f to fulfil to the
Jewish people all that they hoped from
this greater than Moses, this accosnplisher
of the sublime promise made to their Fa-
ther Abraham. To the Sanhedrin, the
speech was, no doubt, but vaguely report
ed; but any speech delivered by such men,
in such a place, and on such a subject, de-
manded their interference. Obtaining the
assistance of the commander of the Ro-
man guard, mounted, as has been said, in
the gallery leading to the Antonia, they
seized and imprisoned the apostles. The
next morning they were brought up for
examination. The boldness of the apos-
tles, who asserted their doctrines with
calm resolution, avowed and enforced their
belief in the resurrection and Messiahship
of the crucified Jesus, as well as the pres-
ence of the man who had been healed,
perplexed the council. After a private
conference, they determined to try the ef-
fect of severe threatenings, and authorita-
tively commanded them to desist from
disseminating their obnoxious opinions.
The apostles answered by an appeal to a
higher power: “ Whether it be right in the

* Acts, iii., 12-26.

f V. 20, 21; “ The time of refreshing; when he
shall send Jesus Christ, which before was preached
unto you : whom the heavens must receive until
the times of the restitution of all things.” This
restitution ol all things, in the common Jewish be-
lief, was to be almost simultaneous with, or to fol
low very closely the appearance of, the Messiah152

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

sight of God to hearken unto you more
than unto God, judge ye. For we cannot
but speak the things which we have seen
and heard.”*

A remarkable revolution had taken place,
Sadducees ^her in the internal politics of
predomi- the Sanhedrin, or in their prevail-
nantinthe mg sentiments towards Christi-
odh 1C rm. Up death 0f Jesus,

the Pharisees were his chief opponents ;
against their authority he seemed chiefly
to direct his rebukes ; and by their jealous
animosity he was watched, criminated,
and at length put to death. Now, in their
turn, the Saddueeesf take the lead; either
because the doctrine of the resurrection
struck more directly at the root of their
system, or, otherwise, because their influ-
ence had gained a temporary ascendancy
in the great council. But this predomi-
nance of the unpopular Sadducean party
on the throne of the high-priest and in the
council, if it increased their danger from
the well-known severity with which that
faction administered the law, on the other
hand, it powerfully contributed to that re-
action of popular favour, which again
overawed the hostile Sanhedrin.J This
triumph over their adversaries ; this reso-
lute determination to maintain their cause
at all hazards (sanctioned, as it seemed, by
the manifest approval of the Almighty);
the rapid increase in their possessions,
which enabled them to protect all the
poorer classes who joined their ranks ; the
awfuldpath of Ananias and Sapphira,^ into
the circumstances of which their enemies
ventured no inquiry; the miracles of a
gentler and more beneficent character
which they performed in public ; the con-
course from the neighbourhood of Jerusa-
lem to partake in their powers of healing,
and to hear their doctrines ; the manifest
superiority, in short, which Christianity
was gaining over the established Judaism,
determined the Sanhedrin, after a short
time, to make another effort to suppress
their growing power. The apostles were
seized, and cast ignominiously into the
common prison. In the morning they

* Acts, iv., 19, 20.

f Acts, iv., 1. Annas is mentioned as the high-
priest., and then Caiaphas, who, it appears from the
Gospels and from Josephus (Ant., xviii., 2, 2, 4, 3),
was not deposed till a later period. The interpre-
tation of Krebs (Observationes in N. T„ e Josepho,
p. 177) appears to me the best. A nnas was the sec-
ond high-priest, or deputy; but is named first, as
the head of the family in which the high-priest-
hood was vested, being father-in-law to Caiaphas.
The rest were the assessors of the high-priest.

t “ They let them go, finding nothing how they
might punish them, because of the people; for all
men glorified God for that which was done.”—Acts,
iv., 21. $ Acts, v.

were sought in vain: the doors were found
closed, but the prisoners had disappeared ;
and the dismayed Sanhedrin received in-
telligence that they had taken up their
customary station in the Temple. Even
the Roman officer despatched to secure
their persons found it necessary to act
with caution and gentleness ; for the mul-
titude were ready to undertake their de-
fence, even against the armed soldiery;
and stones were always at hand in the
neighbourhood or precincts of the Tem-
ple for any tumultuary resist- AT)0Stles
ance. The apostles, however, before the
peaceably obeyed the citation of Sanhedrin,
the Sanhedrin ; but the language of Peter
was now even more bold and resolute
than before : he openly proclaimed, in the
face of the astonished council, the cruci-
fied Jesus to be the Prince and the Sav-
iour, and asserted the inspiration of him-
self and his companions by the Spirit of
God*

The Sadducaic faction were wrought to
the highest pitch of phrensy; they were
eager to press the capital charge. But
the Pharisaic party endeavoured, not with-
out success, to mitigate the sentence.
The perpetual rivalry of the two sects, and
the general leniency of the Pharisaic ad-
ministration of the law, may have concur-
red, with the moderation and judgment of
the individual, to induce Gamaliel Gamaliel
to interpose the weight, of his own
personal authority and that of his party.
Gamaliel does not appear himself to have
been inclined to Christianity: he was
most likely the same who is distinguished
in Jewish tradition as president of the San-
hedrin (though the higli-priest, being now
present, would take the chief place), and
as the master under whom St. Paul had
studied the law. The speech of Gamaliel,
with singular address, confounded the new
sect with those of two adventurers, Judas
the Galilean, and Theudas, whose insur-
rections had excited great expectation, but
gradually died away. With these, affairs
were left to take their course; against
their pretensions God had decided by their
failure: leave, then, to the same unerring
Judge the present decision.

To this temporizing policy the majority
of the council assented ; part probably
considering that either the sect would, af-
ter all, die away, without establishing any
permanent influence, or, like some of those
parties mentioned by Gamaliel, run into
wild excess, and so provoke the Roman
government to suppress them by force;
others from mere party spirit, to coun-

* Acts, v., 32.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

153

teract the power of the opposite faction;
some from more humane principles and
kindlier motives ; others from perplexity ;
some, perhaps, from awe, which, though
it had not yet led to belief, had led to hes-
itation ; some from sincere piety; as, in
fact, expecting that an event of such im-
portance would be decided by some mani-
fest interposition, or overruling influence
at least, of the Almighty. The majority
were anxious, from these different mo-
tives, to escape the perilous responsibility
of decision. The less violent course was
therefore followed; after the apostles had
suffered the milder punishment of scour-
ging—a punishment inflicted with great
frequency among the Jews, yet ignomin-
ious to the sufferer—the persecution for
the present ceased: the apostles again
appeared in public; they attended in the
Tempi#; but how long this period of se-
curity lasted, from the uncertain chronol-
ogy of the early Christian history,* it is
impossible to decide. Yet, as the jealous-
ies which appear to have arisen in the in-
fant community would require some time
to mature and grow to a head, we should
interpose two or three years between this
collision with the authorities and the next,
which first imbrued the soil of Jerusa-
lem with the blood of a Christian martyr.
Nor would the peaceful policy adopted
through the authority of Gamaliel have
had a fair trial in a shorter period of time;
it would scarcely have been overborne at
once and immediately by the more violent
party.

The first converts to Christianity were

* There is no certain date in the Acts of the
Apostles, except that of the death of Herod, A.D.
44, even if that is certain. Nothing can be more
easy than to array against each other the names of
the most learned authorities, who from the earliest
(lays have laboured to build a durable edifice out of
the insufficient materials in their power. Perhaps
from Jerome to Dr. Burton and Mr. Gresweli, no
two systems agree. The passage in St. Paul, Gal.,
ii., 1, which might be expected to throw light on
this difficult subject, involves it in still greater in-
tricacy. In the first place, the reading, fourteen
years, as Grotius and many others have shown, not
without MS. authority, is by no means certain.
Then, from whence is this period to be calculated ?
from the conversion, with Pearson and many mod-
ern writers ? or from the first visit of St. Paul to
Jerusalem, with others? All is doubtful, contest-
ed, conjectural. The only plan, therefore, is to
adopt, and uniformly adhere to, some one system.
In fact, the cardinal point of the whole calculation,
the year of our Saviour’s death, being as uncertain
as the rest, we shall state that we assume that to
have been A.D. 31. From thence we shall proceed
to affix our dates according to our own view, with-
out involving our readers in the inextricable laby-
rinth to which we are convinced that there is no
certain or satisfactory clew. If we notice any argu-
ments, they will be chiefly of an historical nature,

Jews,* but of two distinct classes : 1. The
natives of Palestine, who spoke the Syrian
dialect, and among whom, perhaps, were
included the Jews from the East; 2. The
Western Jews, who, having been settled in
the different provinces of the Roman em-
pire, generally spoke Greek. This class
may likewise have comprehended prose-
lytes to Judaism. Jealousies arose be-
tween these two parties. The Greeks
complained that the distribution of the
general charitable fund was conducted
with partiality, that their “ widows were
neglected.” The dispute led to the estab-
lishment of a new order in the communi
ty. The apostles withdrew from the labo-
rious, it* might be the invidious, institution
office; and seven disciples, from of deacons,
whose names we may conjecture that they
were chosen from the Grecian party, were
invested by a solemn ceremony, the impo-
sition of hands, as deacons or ministers,
with the superintendence of the general
funds.

It was in the synagogues of the foreign,
the African and Asiatic Jews, that A D M
the success of Stephen, one of
these deacons, excited the most violent
hostility. The indignant people found that
not even the priesthood was a security
against this spreading apostacy : many of
that order enrolled themselves among the
disciples of Christ, f Whether the execu-
tion of this first martyr to Christianity was
a legal or tumultuary proceeding—wheth-
er it was a solemn act of the Sanhedrin,
the supreme judicial as well as civil tribu-
nal of the nation, or an outbreak of popu-
lar indignation and resentment—the pre-
liminary steps, at least, appear to have
been conducted with regularity. He was
formally arraigned before the Sanhedrin
of blasphemy, as asserting the future de-
struction of the Temple, and the abroga-
tion of the law. This accusation, al-
though the witnesses are said to have been
false and suborned, seems to intimate that
in those Hellenistic congregations Chris-
tianity had already assumed a bolder and
more independent tone ; that it had thrown
aside some of the peculiar character which
adhered to it in the other communities;
that it already aspired to be a universal,
not a national religion ; and one destined
to survive the local worship in Jerusalem,
and the abolition of the Mosaic institutes.^

* Acts, vi. f Acts, vi., 7.

X Stephen has been called by some modem wri-
ters the forerunner of St. Paul.—See Neander, Ges-
chichte der Pflanzung der Christlichen Kirche, p.
41 ; a work which I had not the advantage of con-
sulting when this part of the present volume was
written.154

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Whether inflamed by these popular topics
of accusation, which struck at the vital
principles of their religious influence, or
again taking alarm at the progress of
Christianity, the Pharisaic party, which we
found after the resurrection had lost their
supremacy in the council, appear, from the
active concurrence of Saul and from the
reawakened hostility of the multitude,
over whom the Sadducees had no com-
manding influence, to have reunited them-
selves to the more violent enemies of the
faith. The defence of Stephen recapitu-
lated in bold language the chief points of
the national history, the privileges and the
crimes of the race of Israel, which grad-
ually led to this final consummation of
their impiety and guilt, the rejection of the
Messiah, the murder of the Just One. It
is evidently incomplete ; it was interrupt-
ed by the fury of his opponents, who took
fire at his arraigning them, not merely of
the death of Jesus, but of this perpetual
violation of the law ; u who have received
the law by the disposition of angels, and
have not kept it.”* This charge struck
directly at the Pharisaic party; the popu-
lace, ever under their control, either aban-
doned the Christians to their fate, or join-
ed in the hasty and ruthless vengeance.
The murmurs, the gestures of the indig-
nant Sanhedrin, and of others, perhaps,
who witnessed the trial, betrayed their im-
patience and indignation: they gnashed
their teeth; and Stephen, breaking off,
or unable to pursue his continuous dis-
course, in a kind of prophetic ecstasy de-
clared that at that instant he beheld the
Son of Man standing at the right hand of
Death of the God‘ Whether legal or tumul-
proto-mar- tuary, the execution of Stephen
tyr. a d. 34. was conducted with so much
attention to form that he was first carried
beyond the walls of the city;* the wit-
nesses, whose office it was to cast the first
stone,} put off their clothes, and perhaps
observed the other forms peculiar to this
mode of execution. He died as a true
follower of Jesus, praying the Divine mer-
cy upon his barbarous persecutors ; but
neither the sight of his sufferings nor the
beauty of his dying words allayed the ex-
citement which had now united the con-
flicting parties of the Jews in their com-
mon league against Christianity. Yet the
mere profession of Christianity did not
necessarily involve any capital charge ; or
if it did, the Jews wanted power to carry

* Acts, vii., 53.

f In one instance, it may be remembered, the
multitude was so excited as to attempt to stone our
Saviour within the precincts of the Temple.

} Dent., xvii., 7.

the sentence of death into execution on a
general scale.* Though, then, they had
either deliberately ventured, or yielded to
a violent impulse of fury, on this occasion,
their vengeance in other cases was con-
fined to those subordinate punishments
which were left under their jurisdiction :
imprisonment, public scourging in the
synagogue, and that which, of course, be-
gan to lose its terrors as soon as the Chris-
tians formed separate and independent
communities, the once awful excommu-
nication.

The martyrdom of Stephen led to the
most important results, not merely as first
revealing that great lesson which mankind
has been so slow to learn, that religious
persecution which stops short of exter-
mination always advances the cause
which it endeavours to repress. It show-
ed that Christian faith was stronger than
death, the last resort of human cruelty.
Thenceforth its triumph was secure. For
every death, courageously, calmly, cheer-
fully endured, where it appalled one das-
tard into apostacy, made, or prepared the
minds of a hundred proselytes. To the
Jew, ready himself to lay down his life in
defence of his Temple, this self-devotion,
though an undeniable test of sincerity in
the belief of facts of recent occurrence,
was less extraordinary ; to the heathen it
showed a determined assurance of immor-
tality, not less new as an active and gen-
eral principle, than attractive and enno-
bling.

The more immediate consequences of
the persecution were no less favourable to
the progress of Christianity. The Chris-
tians were driven out of Jerusalem, where
the apostles alone remained fir pci at their
posts. Scattered through the whole re-
gion, if not beyond the precincts of Pales-
tine, they bore with them the seed of the
religion. The most important progress
was made in Samaria; but the extent of
their success in this region, and the oppo-
sition they encountered among this peo-
ple, deeply tinged with Oriental opinion,

* Michaelis, followed by Eichhorn, has argued,
with considerable plausibility, that these violent
measures would scarcely have been ventured by the
Jews under the rigorous administration of Pilate.
Vitellius, on the other hand, by whom Pilate was
sent in disgrace to Rome A.D. 36, visited Jerusa
lem A.D. 37, was received with great honours, and
seems to have treated the Jewish authorities with
the utmost respect. On these grounds he places
this persecution as late as the year 37. Yet the
government of Pilate appears to have been capri
ciously, rather than systematically severe. The
immediate occasion of his recall was his tyrannical
conduct to the Samaritans. It may have been his
policy, while his administration was drawing to a
close, to court the ruling authorities of the Jews.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

15o

will be related in another part of this
work. Philip, one of the most active of
the deacons, made another convert of rank
and importance, an officer* who held the
highest station and influence with Can-
dace, the queen of the Ethiopians. The
name of Candacef was the hereditary ap-
pellation of the queens of Meroe, as Pha-
raoh of the older, and Ptolemy of the later
Egyptian kings. The Jews had spread in
great numbers to that region; and the re-
turn of a person of such influence, a de-
clared convert to the new religion, can
scarcely have been without consequences,
of which, unhappily, we have no record.

But far the most important result of the
Paul of death of Stephen was its connex-
Tarsus. j011 wjth the conversion of St. Paul.
To propagate Christianity in the enlight-
ened West, where its most extensive, at
least most permanent conquests were to
be made, to emancipate it from the tram-
mels of Judaism, a man was wanting of
larger and more comprehensive views, of
higher education and more liberal accom-
plishments. Such an instrument for its
momentous scheme of benevolence to the
human race Divine Providence found in
Saul of Tarsus. Bora in the Grecian and
commercial town of Tarsus, where he
had acquired no inconsiderable acquaint-
ance with Grecian letters and philosophy,
but brought up in the most celebrated
school of Pharisaic learning, that of Ga-
maliel, for which purpose he had probably
resided long in Jerusalem ; having inher-
ited, probably from the domiciliation of his
family in Tarsus,} the valuable privilege
of Roman citizenship, yet with his Juda-
ism in no degree weakened by his Grecian
culture, Saul stood, as it were, on the con-
fines of both regions, qualified beyond all
men to develop a system which should
unite Jew and Gentile under one more har-
monious and comprehensive faith. The
zeal with which Saul urged on the subse-
quent persecution showed that the death
of Stephen had made, as might have been
expected, no influential impression upon a

* The word u eunuch” may be here used in its
primary sense (cubicularius), without any allusion
to its later meaning; as, according to the strict rites
of the law, a Jewish eunuch was disqualified from
appearing at the public assemblies.

f Regnarefoeminam Candacen, quod nornenmul-
fis jam annis ad reginas transiit.—Plin, vi., 29.
Conf. Strabo, xvii., p. 1175. Dio Cass., liv.

t Compare Strabo’s account of Tarsus. The
natives of this city Were remarkably addicted to
philosophical studies, but in general travelled and
settled in foreign countries : Oud’ avrol ovtol \le-
vovolv avrodt, al?ia Kal te2,elovvtcli EKdyfiovvTsg,
teal TETiELtdOevreg %evitsvovgiv ydsug, KarEpxovTCu
<$’ oXlfOL.—Strabo, lib. xiv., p. 673,

mind so capable, unless blinded by zeal,
of appreciating its moral sublimity. The
commission from the Sanhedrin, to bring
in safe custody to Jerusalem such of the
Jews of Damascus as had embraced Chris-
tianity, implies their unabated reliance
on his 'fidelity. The national confidence
which invested him in this important of-
fice, the unhesitating readiness with which
he appears to have assumed it, in a man
of his apparently severe integrity and un-
shaken sense of duty, imply, in all ordi-
nary human estimation, that he had in no
degree relaxed from that zeal which in-
duced him to witness the execution of Ste-
phen, if not with stern satisfaction, yet
without commiseration. Even then, if the
mind of Paul was in any degree prepared,
by the noble manner in which Stephen had
endured death, to yield to the miraculous
interposition which occurred on the road
to Damascus, nothing less than some oc-
currence of the most extraordinary and
unprecedented character could have ar-
rested so suddenly, and diverted so com-
pletely from its settled purpose, a mind of
so much strength, and however of vivid
imagination, to all appearance very supe-
rior to popular superstition. Saul set
forth from Jerusalem, according to the
narrative of the Acts, with his mind
wrought up to the most violent animosity
against these apostates from the faith of
their ancestors.* He set forth, thus man-
ifestly inveterate in his prejudices, un-
shaken in his ardent attachment to the re-
ligion of Moses, the immutability and per-
petuity of which he considered it treason-
able and impious to question, with an aus-
tere and indignant sense of duty, fully au-
thorized by the direct testimony of the
law to exterminate all renegades from
the severest Judaism. The ruling Jews
must have heard with the utmost amaze-
ment, that the persecuting zealot who had
voluntarily demanded the commission of
the high-priest to repress the growing sect
of the Christians had arrived at Damas-
cus, blinded for a time, humbled, and that
his first step had been openly to join him-
self to that party which he had threatened
to exterminate.

The Christians, far from welcoming so
distinguished a proselyte, looked on him
at first with natural mistrust and suspi-
cion. And although at Damascus this
jealousy was speedily allayed by the inter-
position of Ananias, a leading Christian,
to whom his conversion had been reveal-
ed by a vision, at Jerusalem his former

* “ Breathing threatenings and slaughter against
the disciples of the Lord.”—Acts, ix., 1-22.156

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

hostile violence had made so deep an im-
pression, that, three years after his con-
version, even the apostles stood aloof, and
with reluctance admitted a proselyte of
such importance, yet whose conversion to
them still appeared so highly improbable.

No event in Christian history, from this
improbability, as well as its influence on
the progress of the religion, would so de-
mand, if the expression may be used, the
Divine intervention as the conversion of
St. Paul. Paul was essentially necessa-
ry to the development of the Christian
scheme. Neither the self-suggested work-
ings of the imagination, even if coincident
with some extraordinary but fortuitous at-
mospheric phenomena; nor any worldly
notion of aggrandizement, as the head of a
new and powerful sect; nor that more
noble ambition, which might anticipate the
moral and social blessings of Christianity,
and, once conceived, would strike reso-
lutely into the scheme for their advance-
ment, furnish even a plausible theory for
the total change of such a man, at such a
time, and under such circumstances. The
minute investigation of this much-agitated
question could scarcely be in its place in
the present work. But to doubt, in what-
ever manner it took place, the Divine mis-
sion of Paul, would be to discard all prov-
idential interposition in the design and
propagation of Christianity.

Unquestionably it is remarkable how
little encouragement Paul seems at first
to hate received from the party, to join
which he had sacrificed all his popularity
with his countrymen, the favour of the
supreme magistracy, and a charge, if of
severe and cruel, yet of an important char-
acter ; all, indeed, which hitherto appeared
the ruling objects of his life. Instead of
assuming at once, as his abilities and char-
acter might seem to command, a distin-
guished place in the new community into
which he had been received; instead of
being hailed, as renegades from the oppo-
site faction usually are, by a weak and
persecuted party, his early course is lost
in obscurity. He passes several years in
exile, as it were, from both parties ; he
emerges by slow degrees into eminence,
and hardly wins his way into the reluc-
tant confidence of the Christians ; who,
however they might at first be startled by
the improbability of the fact, yet felt such
reliance in the power of their Lord and Re-
deemer as scarcely, we should have con-
ceived, to be affected by lasting wonder at
the conversion of any unbeliever.

Part of the three years which elapsed
between the conversion of Paul and his
first visit to Jerusalem was passed in

Arabia.* The cause of this retirement
into a foreign region, and the part of the
extensive country, which was then called
Arabia, in which he resided, are altogether
unknown. It is possible, indeed, that he
may have sought refuge from the Jews of
Damascus, or employed himself in the
conversion of the Jews who were scatter-
ed in great numbers in every part paui in
of Arabia. The frontiers of the Arabia.
Arabian king bordered closely on the ter-
ritory of Damascus, and Paul may have
retired but a short distance from that city.
During this interval Aretas, whose hostile
intentions against Herod, the tetrarch of
Galilee, Vitellius, the prefect of Syria, had
made preparations to repress, had the bold-
ness to invade the Syrian prefecture, and
to seize the important city of Damascus.
It is difficult to conceive this act of aggres-
sion to have been hazarded unless at some
period of public confusion, such as took
place at the death of Tiberius. Accord-
ing to Josephus, Vitellius, who had col-
lected a great force to invest Petra, the
capital of the Arabian king, on the first
tidings of that event instantly suspended
his operations and withdrew his troops
into their winter-quarters. At all events
at the close of these three years Damas-
cus was in the power of Aretas. The
Jews, who probably were under the au-
thority of an ethnarch of their own people,
obtained sufficient influence with the Ara-
bian governor to carry into effect their de-
signs against the life of Paul.f His sud-
den apostacy from their cause, his extra-
ordinary powers, his ardent zeal, his un-
exampled success, had wrought their ani-
mosity to this deadly height; and Paul
was with difficulty withdrawn from their
fury by being let down from the walls in
a basket, the gates being carefully guard-
ed by the command of the Arabian gov-
ernor.

Among the most distinguished of the
first converts was Barnabas, a native of
Cyprus, who had contributed largely from
his possessions in that island to the com-
mon fund, and whose commanding char-
acter and abilities gave him great in-
fluence. When Paul, after his escape
from Damascus, arrived at Jerusalem, so
imperfect appears to have been the cor-
respondence between the more remote
members of the Christian community (pos-
sibly from Damascus and its neighbour-

* The time of St. Paul’s residence in Arabia is
generally assumed to have been one whole year,
and part of the preceding and the following. The
expression in the Epistle to the Galatians (i., 17,
18) appears to me by no means to require thi<if.r-
rangement. f Acts, ix , 23.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

157

hood having been the seat of war, or be-
cause Paul had passed considerable part of
the three years in almost total seclusion),
at all events, such was the obscurity of
tfie whole transaction, that no certain in-
telligence of so extraordinary an event as
his conversion had reached the apostolic
body, or rather Peter and James, the only
apostles then resident in Jerusalem.* Bar-
nabas alone espoused his cause, removed
the timid suspicions of the apostles, and
Paul was admitted into the reluctant Chris-
tian community. As peculiarly skilled in
the Greek language, his exertions to ad-
vance Christianity were particularly ad-
dressed to those of the Jews to whom
Greek was vernacular. But a new con-
spiracy again endangering his life, he was
carried away by the care of his friends to
Caesarea, and thence proceeded to his na-
tive city of Tarsus.j*

About this time a more urgent and im-
Persecution mediate danger than the prog-
of the Jews ress of Christianity "occupied
by Cahguia. ^he minc[ 0f the Jewish people.
The very existence of their religion was
threatened, for the frantic Caligula had is-
sued orders to place his statue in the Tem-
ple at Jerusalem. The historian of the
Jews must relate the negotiations, the pe-
titions, the artful and humane delays in-
terposed by the prefect Petronius, and all
the incidents which show how deeply and
universally the nation was absorbed by
this appalling subject.J It caused, no
doubt, as it were, a diversion in favour of
the Christians; and the temporary peace
enjoyed by the churches is attributed, with
great probability, rather to the fears of the
Jews for their own religious independence,
than to the relaxation of their hostility
against the Christians.^

This peace was undisturbed for about
three years. || The apostles pur-
A“ * ' sued their office of disseminating

the Gospel in every part of Judaea until
Herod Agrippa took possession of the he-
reditary dominions, which had been partly
granted by the favour of Caligula, and
were secured by the gratitude of Claudi-
us. Plerod Agrippa affected the splendour
of his grandfather, the first Herod; but,
unlike him, he attempted to ingratiate
himself with his subjects by the strictest
profession of Judaism.®(f His power ap-

* Acts, ix., 26. t Acts, ix., 30.

t Joseph., Ant., xviii,, 8. History of the Jews,
ii.. 178, 186.

$ Benson (Hist, of first planting of Christianity)
and Lardner take this view.

H Acts, ix, 31. From 39 to 41, the year of C alig-
iih’s death.

«f Hist, of Jews, ii., 192, 196.

pears to have been as despotic as that of
his ancestor; and, at the instigation, no
doubt, of the leading Jews, he determined
to take vigorous means for the suppres-
sion of Christianity. James, the Death of
brother of St. John, was the first
victim. He appears to have been summa-
rily put to death by the military mandate
of the king, without any process of the
Jewish law.* The Jews rejoiced, no
doubt, that the uncontrolled power of life
and death was again restored to one who
assumed the character of a national king.
They were no longer restrained by the
caprice, the justice, or the humanity of a
Roman prefect, who might treat their in-
tolerance with contempt or displeasure ;
and they were encouraged in the hope
that, at the same great festival, during
which, some years before, they had extort-
ed the death of Jesus from the reluctant
Pilate, their new king would more readily
lend himself to their revenge against his
most active and powerful follower. Peter
was cast into prison, perhaps with the in-
tention of putting him to death before the
departure of Herod from the capital. He
was delivered from his bondage by super-
natural intervention.! If the author of
the Acts has preserved the order of time,
two other of the most important adherents
of Christianity ran considerable danger.
The famine predicted by Agabus at Anti-
och commenced in Judaea in the fourth
year of Claudius, the last of Herod
Agrippa. If, then, Barnabas and
Paul proceeded to Jerusalem on their
charitable mission to bear the contribu-
tions of the Christians in Antioch to their
poor’er brethren in Judaea,J they must have
arrived there during the height of the per-
secution. Either they remained in con-
cealment, or the extraordinary circum-
stances of the escape of Peter from prison
so confounded the king and his advisers,
notwithstanding their attempt to prove the
connivance of the guards, to which the
lives of the miserable men were sacri-
ficed, that for a time the violence of the
persecution was suspended, and those who
would inevitably have been its next vic-
tims obtained, as it were, a temporary
respite.

The death of Herod during the same
year delivered the Christians from Death of
their determined enemy. In its Herod,
terrific and repulsive circumstances they
could not but behold the hand of their pro-

* Blasphemy was the only crime of which he
could be accused, and stoning was the ordinary
mode of execution for that offence. James was cm
off by the sword.

f Acts, xii., 1-23. t Acts, xi., 30.158

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tecting God. In this respect alone differ
the Jewish and the Christian historian, Jo-
sephus and the writer of the Acts. In the
appalling suddenness of his seizure, in the

midst of his splendour and the impious ad-
ulations of his court, and in the loathsome
nature of the disease, their accounts fully
coincide. ,

CHAPTER II.

CHRISTIANITY' AND JUDAISM.

Christianity had now made rapid and
Progress or extensive progress throughout
Christianity, the Jewish world. The death
and resurrection of Jesus; the rise of a
new religious community, which proclaim-
ed the Son of Mary to be the Messiah,
taking place on a scene so public as the
metropolis, and at the period of the gen-
eral concourse of the nation, must have
been rumoured, more or less obscurely, in
the most remote parts of the Roman em-
pire, and eastward as far as the extreme
settlements of the Jews. If the religion
may not have been actually embraced by
any of those pilgrims from the more dis-
tant provinces who happened to be pres-
ent during the great festivals, yet its seeds
may have been already widely scattered.
The dispersion of the community during
ihe persecution after the death of Stephen
carried many zealous and ardent converts
into the adjacent regions of Syria and the
island of Cyprus. It had obtained a per-
manent establishment at Antioch, where
the community first received the distinct-
ive appellation of Christians.

Christianity, however, as yet, was but
an expanded Judaism ; it was preached by
Jews, it was addressed to Jews. It was
limited, national, exclusive. The race of
Israel gradually recognising in Jesus of
Nazareth the promised Messiah; superin-
ducing, as it were, the exquisite purity of
evangelic morality upon the strict per-
formance of the moral law; redeemed
from the sins of their fathers and from
their own by Christ; assured of the res-
urrection to eternal life, the children of
Abraham were still to stand alone and sep-
arate from the rest of mankind, sole pos-
sessors of the Divine favour, sole inherit-
ors of God’s everlasting promises. There
can be no doubt that they still looked for
the speedy, if not the immediate, consum-
mation of all things ; the Messiah had as
yet performed but part of his office; he
was to come again, at no distant period,
to accomplish all which was wanting to
the established belief in his mission. His
visible, his worldly kingdom was to com-
mence ; he had passed his ordeal of trial,

of suffering, and of sacrifice ; the same*
age and the same people were to behold
him in his triumph, in his glory, and even,
some self-deemed and self-named Chris-
tians would not hesitate to aver, in his re-
venge. At the head of his elect of Israel
he was to assume his dominion; and if
his dominion was to be founded upon a
still more rigid principle of exclusion than
that of one favoured race, it entered not
into the most remote expectation that it
could be* formed on a wider plan, unless,
perhaps, in favour of the few who should
previously have acknowledged the Divine
legislation of Moses, and sued for and ob-
tained admission among the hereditary
descendants of Abraham. Nothing is
more remarkable than to see the horizon
of the apostles gradually receding, and, in-
stead of resting on the borders of the Holy
Land, comprehending at length the whole
world ; barrier after barrier fall- Gradual en_
ing down before the superior largementof
wisdom which was infused into ZiZVf
their minds; first the proselytes p
of the gate, the foreign conformists to Ju-
daism, and, ere long, the Gentiles them-
selves admitted within the pale; imtil
Christianity stood forth, demanded the
homage, and promised its rewards to the
faith of the whole human race ; proclaim-
ed itself in language which the world had
as yet never heard, the one, true, univer-
sal religion.

As a universal religion, aspiring to the
complete moral conquest of the Christianity,
world, Christianity had to en- a universal’
counter three antagonists, Juda- relision-
ism, Paganism, and Orientalism. It is our
design successively to exhibit the conflict
with these opposing forces; its final tri-
umph, not without detriment to its own na-
tive purity and its divine simplicity, from
the interworking of the yet unsubdued el-
ements of the former systems into the
Christian mind; until each, at success-
ive periods and in different parts of the
world, formed a modification of Christian-
ity equally removed from its unmingled
and unsullied original: the Judaeo-Chris-
I tianity of Palestine, of which the Ebion-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

159

ites appear to have been the last represent-
atives ; the Platonic Christianity of Al-
exandra, as; at least at this early period,
the new religion could coalesce only with
the sublimer and more philosophical prin-
ciples of paganism ; and, lastly, the Gnos-
tic Christianity of the East.

With Judaism Christianity had to main-
tain a double conflict: one ex-
flSCof ciuis" ternal, with the Judaism of the
iianity with Temple, the Synagogue, the
Judaism; Sanhedrin; a contest of author-
ity on one side, and the irrepressible spirit
of moral and religious liberty on the other ;
of fierce intolerance against the stubborn
endurance of conscientious faith; of re-
lentless persecution against the calm and
death-despising, or often death-seeking,
and internal heroism of martyrdom : the oth-
er, more dangerous and destruc-
tive, the Judaism of the infant Church; the
old prejudices and opinions, which even
Christianity could not altogether extirpate
or correct in the earlier Jewish proselytes;
the perpetual tendency to contract again
the expanding circle ; the enslavement of
Christianity to the provisions of the Mo-
saic law, and the spirit of the antiquated
religion of Palestine. Until the first steps
were taken to throw open the new^ reli-
gion to mankind at large ; until Christian-
ity, it maybe said without disparagement,
from a Jewish sect assumed the dignity of
an independent religion, even the external
animosity of Judaism had not reached its
height. But the successive admission of
the Proselytes of the Gate, and at length
of the idolatrous Gentiles, into an equal
participation in the privileges of the faith,
showed that the breach was altogether
irreparable. From that period the two
systems stood in direct and irreconcilable
opposition. To the eye of the Jew the
Christian became, from a rebellious and
heretical son, an irreclaimable apostate;
and to the Christian, the temporary desig-
nation of Jesus as the Messiah of the Jews
was merged in the more sublime title, the
Redeemer of the world.

The same measures rendered the inter-
nal conflict with the lingering Judaism
within the Church more violent and des-
perate. Its dying struggles, as it were, to
maintain its ground, rent for some time
the infant community with civil divisions.
But the predominant influx of Gentile con-
verts gradually obtained the ascendancy;
Judaism slowly died out in the great body
of the Church, and the Judseo-Christian
sects in the East languished, and at length
expired in obscurity.

. Divine Providence had armed the reli-
gion of Christ with new Towers, adapted

to the change in its situation and design,
both for resistance against the more vio-
lent animosity, which was exasperated by
its growing success, and for aggression
upon the ignorance, the vice, and the mis-
ery which it was to enlighten, to purify,
or to mitigate. Independent of the super-
natural powers occasionally displayed by
the apostles, the accession of two men so
highly gifted with natural abilities, as well
as with all the peculiar powers conferred
on the first apostles of Christianity, the
enrolment of Barnabas and Paul Paul and
in the apostolic body, showed that Barnabas,
for the comprehensive system about to be
developed instruments were wanting of a
different character from the humble and
uninstructed peasants of Galilee. How-
ever extraordinary the change wrought in
the minds of the earlier apostles by the
spirit of Christianity; however some of
them, especially Peter and John, may
have extended their labours beyond the
precincts of Palestine, yet Paul appears to
have exercised by far the greatest influ-
ence, not merely in the conversion of the
Gentiles, but in emancipating the Christi-
anity of the Jewish converts from the in-
veterate influence of their old religion.

Yet the first step towards the more com-
prehensive system Was made Differences
by Peter. Samaria, indeed, had between Jew
already received the new reli- pamaify
gion to a great extent; ah inno- rogated by
vation upon Jewish prejudice Peter-
remarkable both in itself and its results
The most important circumstance in that
transaction, the collision with Simon the
magician, will be considered in a future
chapter, that which describes the conflict
of Christianity with Orientalism. The
vision of Peter, which seemed by the Di-
vine sanction to annul the distinction of
meats, of itself threw down one of those
barriers which separated the Jews from
the rest of mankind.* This sacred usage
prohibited not merely all social inter-
course, but all close or domestic commu-
nication with other races. But the figu-
rative instruction which the apostle infer-
red from this abrogation of all distinction
between clean and unclean animals was
of still greater importance. TJie Prose-
lytes of the Gate, that is, those heathens
who, without submitting to circumcision,
or acknowledging the claims of the whole
law to their obedience, had embraced the
main principles of Judaism, more particu-
larly the unity of God, were at once ad-
mitted into the Christian com mu- Cornelius
nity. Cornelius was, as it were,

* Acts, x., 11 to ?-l.160

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the representath e of his class ; his admis-
sion by the federal rite of baptism into the
Christian community, the public sanction
of the Almighty to this step by “ the pour-
ing out of the Holy Ghost” upon the Gen-
tiles, decided this part of the question.*
Still the admission into Christianity was
through Judaism: It required all the influ-
ence of the apostle, and his distinct as-
severation that he acted by Divine com-
mission, to induce the Christians of Jeru-
salem to admit Gentiles imperfectly Juda-
ized, and uninitiated by the national rite
of circumcision into the race of Israel, to

* It. is disputed whether Cornelius was in fact
a Proselyte of the Gate.—(See, on one side, Lord
Barrington’s Works, vol. i., p. 128, and Benson’s
History of Christianity; on the other, Kuinoel, in
loco.) He is called ei'oeSbs and (poSovfxsvos rbv Qebv,
the usual appellation of proselytes; he bestowed
alms on the Jewish people; he observed the Jew-
ish hours of prayer; he was evidently familiar with
the, Jewish belief in angels, and not unversed in the
Jewish Scriptures. Yet. on the other hand, the ob-
jections are not without weight. The whole diffi-
culty appears to arise from not considering how
vaguely the term of “ Proselyte of the Gate” must,
from the nature of things, have been applied, and
the different feelings entertained towards such con-
verts by the different classes of the Jews. While
the proselytes, properly so called—those who were
identified with the Jews by circumcision—were a
distinct and definite class, the Proselytes of the
Gate must have comprehended all who made the
least advances towards Judaism, from those who
regularly attended on the services of the synagogue,
and conformed in all respects, except circumcision,
with the ceremonial law, down, through the count-
less shades of opinion, to those who merely admit-
ted thej first principle of Judaism—the Unity of
God; were occasional attendants in the synagogue;
and had only, as it were, ascended the first steps on
the threshold of conversion. The more rigid Jews
looked with jealousy even on the circumcised pros-
elytes ; the terms of admission were made as diffi-
cult and repulsive as possible; on the imperfect,
tiiey looked with still greater suspicion, and were
rather jealous of communicating their exclusive
privileges than eager to extend the influence of
their opinions. But the more liberal must have
acted on different principles: they must have en-
couraged the advances of incipient proselytes; the
synagogues were open throughout the Roman em-
pire, and many who, like Horace, went to scoff,”
may “ have remained to pray.” As, then, the Chris-
tian apostles always commenced their labours in
the synagogue of their countrymen, among all who
might assemble there from regular habit or acci-
dental curiosity, they would a«Wress heathen minds
in every gradation of Jewish belief, from the prose-
lyte who only wanted circumcision, to the Gentile
who had only just begun to discover the superior
reasonableness of the Jewish theism. Hence the
step from the conversion of imperfect proselytes to
that of real Gentiles must have been impercepti-
ble ; or, rather, even with the Gentile convert, that
which was the first principle of Judaism, the belief
in one God, was an indispensable preliminary to his
admission of Christianity. The one great decisive
change was from the decree of the apostolic coun-
cil (Acts, xiv.), obviously intended for real though
imperfect proselytes, to the total abrogation of Ju-
daism by the doctrines of St. Paul.

a participation in the kingdom of the Mes-
siah.

To this subject vve must, however, re-
vert when we attempt more fully to de-
velop the internal conflict of Christianity
with Judaism.

. The conversion of Cornelius took place
before the persecution of Herod Agrippa,
down to which period our history has
traced the external conflict maintained by
Christianity against the dominant Juda-
ism. On the death of Herod, his son
Agrippa being a minor and educated at
Rome, a Roman prefect resumed the pro-
vincial government of Judaea. He state of
ruled almost always with a stern, Judaea,
sometimes with an iron hand, and the
gradually increasing turbulence of the
province led to severity ; severity with a
profligate and tyrannical ruler degenerated
into oppression ; until the systematic cru-
elty of Florus maddened the nation into
the last fatal insurrection. The Sanhedrin
appear at no time to have possessed suf-
ficient. influence with the prefect Procarator
to be permitted to take violent of Juckea.
measures against the Christians. AD-44-
With Cuspius Fadus, who had transferred
the custody of the high-priest’s robes into
the Antonia, they were on no amicable
terms. Tiberius Alexander, an AD
apostate from Judaism, was little
likely to lend himself to any acts of bigot-
ry or persecution. During the prefecture
of Cumanus, the massacre in the AD 48
Temple, the sanguinary feuds be-
tween the Jews and Samaritans, occupied
the public mind ; it was a period of politi-
cal disorder and confusion, which contin-
ued for a considerable time.

The commencement of the administra-
tion of the whole province by the A D 50
corrupt and dissolute Felix, the in-
surrection of Theudas, the reappearance
of the sons of the Galilean Judas, the in-
cursions of the predatory bands which
rose in all quarters, would divert the atten-
tion of the ruler from a peaceful sect, who,
to his apprehension, differed from their
countrymen only in some harmless specu-
lative opinions, and in their orderly and
quiet conduct. If the Christians were
thus secure in their peacefulness and ob-
scurity from the hostility of the Roman
rulers, the native Jewish authorities, grad-
ually more and more in collision with their
foreign masters, would not possess the
power of conducting persecution to any
extent. Instead of influencing the coun-
sels of the prefect, the high-priest was ei-
ther a mere instrument appointed by his
caprice, or, if he aspired to independent au-
thority, in direct opposition to his tvranHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

161

nous mas-ear; The native authorities
were, in fact, continually in collision with
High-priest, the foreign ruler; one, Ananias.
a.d. 46 to 49. hac[ been, sent in chains to Rome
as accessary to the tumults which had aris-
en between the Jews and the Samaritans •
High priest, his successor, Jonathan, fell by
a.u. 49. the hand of an assassin, in the
employ, or at least with the connivance,
of the Roman governor. On his acquittal
at Rome Ananias returned to Jerusalem
and reassumed the vacant pontificate ; and
it was during this period that Christianity,
in the person of Paul, came again into
conflict with the constituted authorities
as well as with the popular hostility. The
prompt and decisive interference of the
Roman guard; the protection and even
the favour shown to Paul, directly as it
was discovered that he was not identified
with any of the insurgent robbers ; the ad-
journment of the cause to the tribunal of
Felix at Caesarea, show how little weight
or power was permitted either to the high-
priest or the Sanhedrin, and the slight re-
spect paid to the religious feelings of the
people.

The details of this remarkable transac-
tion will command our notice, in the order
of time, when we have traced the pro-
ceedings of Paul and his fellow-missiona-
ries among the Jews beyond the borders
of Palestine, and exhibited the conflict
which they maintained with Judaism in
foreign countries. The new opening, as
it were, for the extension of Christianity
after the conversion of Cornelius, directed
the attention of Barnabas to Saul, who,
since his flight from Jerusalem, had re-
mained in secure retirement at Tarsus.
From thence he was summoned by Barna-
bas to Antioch.* Antioch, where the
body of believers assumed the name of
Christians, became, as it were, the head-
quarters of the foreign operations of Chris-
Paui and tianity.f After the mission of Paul
Barnabas and Barnabas to Jerusalem during
apostles. the famine (either about the time
or soon after the Herodian persecution),
ihese two distinguished teachers of the
Gospel were invested, with the Divine
sanction, in the apostolic offlce.J But

* Acts, xi., 25. f Acts, xi., 26. | Acts, xiii., 2.*

* [The Holy Ghost said, Separate me Barnabas and
Saul, for the work whereunto I have called them, “ If
there be any reference to a past fact in these words, it is
probably to some revelation personally made to Paul and
Barnabas, to signify that they should take a journey into
several countries of Asia Minor, to preach the Gospel
there. But that they were now invested with the apos-
tolic office by these inferior ministers (though expressly
asserted by Clarius and many others), is a thing neither
credible in itself, nor consistent with what Paul himself
says, Gal., i., 1. And that, they now received a. power be-
fore unknown in the Church, of preaching to the idolatrous

these foreign operations were at first alto-
gether confined to the Jewish population,
which was scattered throughout the whole
of Syria and A sia Minor. On their arrival
in a town which they had not visited before,
they of course sought a hospitable recep-
tion among their countrymen; the first
scene of their labours was the synagogue.*
In the Island of Cyprus, the native
country of Barnabas, a considera- yprus‘
ble part of the population must have been
of Jewish descent.f Both at Salamis at
the eastern, and at Paphos on the western
extremity, and probably in other places
during their journey through the whole
length of the island, they found flourishing
communities of their countrymen. To
the governor, a man of inquiring and Sergius
philosophic mind,{ the simple prin- pauius.
ciples of Judaism could not be unknown ;
and perhaps the contrast between the
chaste, and simple, and rational worship
of the synagogue, and the proverbially
sensual rites of heathenism, for which
Paphos was renowned, may. have height-
ened his respect for, or increased his in-
clination to, the purer faith. The arrival
of two new’ teachers among the Jews of
the city eould not but reach the ears of
Sergius Paulus; the sensation they ex-
cited among their countrymen awoke his
curiosity. He had already encouraged
the familiar attendance of a Jewish won-
der-worker, a man who probably misused
some skill in natural science for purposes
of fraud and gain. Bar-Jesus (the son of
Jesus or Joshua) was probably less actu-
ated in his opinions to the apostles by
Jewish bigotry than by the apprehension
of losing his influence with the governor.
He saw, no doubt, in the apostles, adven-
turers like himself. The miraculous blind-
ness with which the magician was struck
convinced the governor of the superior
claims of the apostles ; the beauty of the
Christian doctrines filled him with as-
tonishment ; and the Roman proconsul,
though not united by baptism to the Chris-

* Acts, xiii., 4-12.

f Hist, of the Jews, iii., 95. In the fatal insur
rection during the reign of Hadrian, they are said
to have massacred 24,000 of the Grecian inhabi-
tants, and obtained temporary possession of the isl-
and.

t The remarkable accuracy of St. Luke in na-
ming the governor proconsul has been frequently ob-
served. The provincial governors appointed by the
emperors were called propraetors, those by the sen-
ate proconsuls. That of Cyprus was properly in
the nomination of thp emperor, but Augustus trans-
ferred his right, as to Cyprus and Narbonese Gaul,
to the senate.—Dion Cassius, 1. liv., p. 523

Gentiles, is inconsistent with Acts, xi., 20, 21, and upon
many other considerations, to be proposed elsewhere, ap-
pears to me absolutely incredible.”—Doddridge, in locum.l162

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tian community, must nevertheless have
added great weight, by his acknowledged
support, to the cause of Christianity in
Cyprus.*

From Cyprus they crossed to the south-
.lews in the ern shore of Asia Minor, landed
cities of at Perga in Pamphylia, and pass-
Asia Minor. e(j through the chief cities of that
region. In the more flourishing towns
they found a considerable Jewish popula-
tion, and the synagogue of the Jews ap-
pears to have been attended by great num-
bers of Gentiles, more or less disposed to
embrace the tenets of Judaism. % Every-
where the more rigid Jews met them with
fierce and resentful opposition; but among
the less bigoted of their countrymen and
this more unprejudiced class of proselytes
they made great progress. At the first
considerable city in which they appeared,
Antioch in Pisidia, the opposition of the
Jews seems to have been so general, and
the favourable disposition of their Gentile
hearers so decided, that the apostles avow-
edly disclaimed all farther connexion with
the more violent party, and united them-
selves to the Gentile believers. Either
from the number or the influence of the
Jews in Antioch, the public interest in that
dispute, instead of being confined within
the synagogue, prevailed through the
whole city; but the Jews had so much
weight, especially with some of the women
of rank, that they at length obtained the
expulsion of the apostles from the city by
the ruling authorities. At Iconium, to
which city they retired, the opposition was
still iftof*e violent; the populace was ex-
cited ; and here many of the Gentiles
uniting with the Jews against them, they
were constrained to fly for their lives into
the barbarous district of Lycaonia. Lystra
and Derbe appear to have been almost en-
tirely heathen towns. The remarkable
collision of the apostles with paganism in
the former of these places will hereafter
be considered. To Lystra the hostility
of the Jews pursued them, where, by some
strange revulsion of popular feeling, Paul,
a short time before worshipped as a god,
was cast out of the city half dead. They
proceeded to Derbe, and thence returned
through the same cities to Antioch in
Syria. The ordination of “eldersvf to
preside over the Christian communities
implies their secession from the syna-
gogues of their country. In Jerusalem,
from the multitude of synagogues, which
belonged to the different races of foreign

* Had he thus become altogether Christian, his
baptism would assuredly have been mentioned by
the sacred writer. f Acts, xiv., 23.

Jews, another might arise, or one of those
usually occupied by the Galileans might
pass into the separate possession of the
Christians, without exciting much notice,
particularly as great part of the public de-
votions of all classes were performed in
the Temple, where the Christians were
still regular attendants. Most likely the
first distinct community which met in a
chamber or place of assemblage of their
own, the first Church, was formed at Anti-
och. To the heathen this would appear
nothing more than the establishment of a
new Jewish synagogue ; an event, when-
ever their numbers were considerable, of
common occurrence. To the Jew alone it
assumed the appearance of a dangerous
and formidable apostacy from the religion
of his ancestors.

The barrier was now thrown down, but
Judaism rallied, as it were, for Jewish at_
a last effort behind its ruins. It lachtnent10
was now manifest that Christ!- l^eDia49
anity would no longer endure the A'
rigid nationalism of the Jew, who demand-
ed that every proselyte to his faith should
be enrolled as a member of his race. Cir-
cumcision could no longer be maintained
as the seal of conversion ;* but still the
total abrogation of the Mosaic law, the ex-
tinction of all their privileges of descent,
the substitution of a purely religious for a
national community, to the Christianized
Jew appeared, as it were, a kind of trea-
son against the religious majesty of their
ancestors : a conference became necessa-
ry between the leaders of the Christian
community to avert an inevitable colli-
sion, which might be fatal to the progress
of the religion. Already the peace of the
flourishing community at Antiochf had
been disturbed by some of the more zeal-
ous converts from Jerusalem, who still as-
serted the indispensable necessity of cir-
cumcision. Paul and Barnabas proceeded
as delegates from the community at Anti
och; and what is calledJ the council of Je-

* The adherence, even of those Jews who might
here be expected to be less bigoted to their institu-
tions, to this distinctive rite of their religion, is
illustrated by many curious particulars in the histo-
ry. Two foreign princes, Aziz king of Emesa, and
Polemo king of Cilicia, submitted to circumcision,
an indispensable stipulation, in order to obtain in
marriage, the former Drusilla, the latter Berenice,
princesses of the Herodian family. On one occa-
sion the alliance of some foreign troops was reject-
ed, unless they would first qualify themselves in
this manner for the distinction of associating with
the Jews. f Acts, xv., 1.

X It is uncertain whether the James who presi-
ded in this assembly was either of the two Jameses
included among the twelve apostles, or a distinct
person, a relative of Jesus. The latter opinion rests
on the authority of Eusebius.HISTORY OF CHRIST! iNITY.

163

Council of rusalem, a full assembly of all the
Jerusalem, apostles [“ and elders, with .the
a.d. 49. whole church”] then present in
the metropolis solemnly debated this
great question. How far the earlier apos-
tles were themselves emancipated from
the inveterate Judaism does not distinctly
appear, but the situation of affairs re-
quired the most nicely-balanced judgment,
united with the utmost moderation of tem-
per. On one side a Pharisaic party had
brought into Christianity a rigorous and
passionate attachment to the Mosaic insti-
tutes/in their strictest and most minute
provisions. On the other hand, beyond
•the borders of Palestine, far the greater
number of converts had been formed from
that intermediate class which stood be-
tween heathenism and Judaism. There
might seem, then, no alternative but to
estrange one party by the abrogation of
the law, or the other by the strict enforce-
ment of all its provisions. Each party
might appeal to the Divine sanction. To
the eternal, the irrepealable sanctity of the
law, the God of their fathers, according to
the Jewish opinion, was solemnly pledg-
ed ; while the vision of Peter, which au-
thorized the admission of the Gentiles into
Christianity—still more, the success of
Paul and Barnabas in proselyting the hea-
then, accompanied by undeniable manifes-
tations of Divine favour, seemed irresisti-
ble evidence of the Divine sanction to the
abrogation of the law, as far as concerned
the Gentile proselytes. The influence of
James effected a discreet and temperate
compromise : Judaism, as it were, capitu-
lated on honourable terms. The Christians
were to be left to that freedom enjoyed by
the Proselytes of the Gate, but they were
enjoined to pay so much respect to those
with whom they were associated in reli-
gious worship as to abstain from those
practices which were most offensive to
their habits.* The partaking of the sacri-
ficial feasts in the idolatrous temples was
so plainly repugnant to the first principles,
either of the Jewish or the Christian the-
ism, as to be altogether irreconcilable
with the professed opinions of a proselyte
to either. The using things strangled, and

* The reason assigned for these regulations ap-
pears to infer that as yet the Christians, in general,
met in the same places of religious assemblage with
the Jews; at least, this view gives a clear and sim-
ple sense to a much-contested passage. These
provisions were necessary, because the Mosaic law
was universally read and from immemorial usage in
the synagogues. The direct violation of its most
vital principles by any of those who joined in the
common worship would be incongruous, and, of
course, highly offensive to the more zealous Mo-
saists. •

blood, for food appears to have been the
most revolting to Jewish feeling; and per-
haps, among the dietetic regulations of the
Mosaic law, none, in a southern climate,
was more conducive to health. The last
article in this celebrated decree was a
moral prohibition, but not improbably di-
rected more particularly against the disso-
lute rites of those Syrian and Asiatic reli
gions, in which prostitution formed an es-
sential part, and which prevailed to a great
extent in the countries bordering upon
Palestine.*

The second journeyf of Paul brought
him more immediately into con- second jour-
tact with paganism. Though, neyofPaui.
no doubt, in every city there AD‘ 50*
were resident Jews, with whom he took
up his abode, and his first public appear-
ance was in the synagogue of his country
men, yet he is now more frequently ex
tending, as it were, his aggressive opera-
tions into the- dominions of heathenism.
If he found hospitality, no doubt he en-
countered either violent or secret hostility
from his brethren. Few circumstances,
however, occur which belong more espe-
cially to the conflict between Judaism and
Christianity.

Paul and Barnabas set out together on
this more extensive journey, but on some
dispute as to the companions who were to
attend upon them, Barnabas turned aside
with Mark to his native country of Cy-
prus ; while Paul, accompanied by Silas,
revisited those cities in Syria and Cilicia
where they had already established Chris-
tian communities.

At Lyst.ra Paul showed his deference to
Jewish opinion by permitting a useful dis-
ciple, named Timothy, to be circumcised.J
But this case was peculiar, as Timothy,
by his mother’s side, was a Jew; and
though, by a connexion with a man of
Greek race, she had forfeited, both for her-
self and her offspring, the privileges of
Jewish descent, the circumcision of the
son might in a great degree remove the
stigma which attached to his birth, and
which would render him less acceptable
among his Jewish brethren. Having left
this region, he ranged northward through
Phrygia, Galatia, and Mysia; but, instead

* It should be remembered that; as yet Christian-
ity had only spread into countries where this reli-
gious Ttopvda chiefly prevailed, into Syria and Cy-
prus. Of the first we may form a fair notion from
Lucian’s Treatise de Dea Syri^, and the Daphne of
Antioch had no doubt already obtained its volup-
tuous celebrity ; the latter, particularly Paphos, can
require no illustration. Bentley’s ingenious read-
ing of %otp«a, swine’s flesh, wants the indispensa-
ble authority of manuscripts.

f Acts, xvi., 1, to xviii., 22 + Acts, xvi., ^164

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of continuing his course towards the shore
of the Black Sea to Bithynia, admonished
by a vision, he passed to Europe, and at
Neapolis, in Macedonia,* * * § landed the ob-
scure and unregarded individual to whom
Europe, in Christianity, owes the great
principle of her civilization, the predomi-
nant element in her superiority over the
more barbarous and unenlightened, quar-
ters of the world. At Philippi, the Jews,
being few in number, appear only to have
had a proseucha, a smaller place of pub-
lic worship, as usual, near the seaside; at
Thessalonica they were more numerous,
and had a synagogue ;f at Berea they ap-
pear likewise to have formed a flourishing
community; even at Athens the Jews had
made many proselytes. Corinth, a new
colony of settlers from all quarters, a cen-
tral mercantile mart, through which pass-
ed a great part of the commerce between
the East and West, offered,a still more el-
igible residence for the Jews, who, no
doubt, had already become traders to a
considerable extent. J Their numbers had
been lately increased by their expulsion
from Rome under the Emperor Claudius.§
This edict is attributed by Suetonius to the
tumults excited by the mutual hostility be-
tween the Jews and Christians. Christi-
anity, therefore, must thus early have
made considerable progress in Rome.
The scenes of riot were probably either
like those which took place in the Asiatic

* Acts, xvi., 11,12.

f Acts, xvii., 1. Thessalonica is a city where
the Jews have perhaps resided for a longer period
in considerable numbers than in any other, at least
in Europe. When the Jews fled from Christian
persecution to the milder oppression of the Turks,
vast numbers settled at Thessalonica.—Hist. Jews,
iii. [p. 301]. Von Hammer states the present popu-
lation of Thessalonica (Salonichi)at 16,000 Greeks,
12,000 Jews, and 50,000 Turks.—Osmanische Ges-
chichte, i., 442.

X Corinth, since its demolition by Mummius, had
Iain in ruins till the time of Julius Caesar, who es-
tablished a colony on its site. From the advan-
tages of its situation, the connecting link, as it were,
between Italy, the north of Greece, and Asia, it
rew up rapidly to all its former wealth and splen-
our.

§ The manner in which this event is related by
the epigrammatic biographer, even the mistakes
in his account, are remarkably characteristic. Ju-
daeos, Chresto duce, assidue tumultuantes Roma
expulit. The confusion between the religion and
its founder, and the substitution of the word Chres-
tos, a good man, which would bear an intelligible
sense to a heathen, for Christos (the anointed),
which would only convey any distinct notion to a
Jew, illustrate the state of things. Cum perperam
Chrestianus pronuntiatur a vobis (nam nec nominis
est certa notitia penes vos) de suavitate vel benig-
nitate compositum est.—1Tert., Apolog., c. 3. Sed
exponenda hujus nominis ratio est propter ignoran-
tium errorem, qui eum immutata literA Chrestum
solent dicere.—Lact., Inst., 4, 7, 5.

cities, where the Jews attempted to usw
violence against the Christians, or, as in
Corinth itself, where the tribunal of the
magistrate was disturbed by fierce, and, to
him, unintelligible disputes, as he supposed,
between two Jewish factions, With two
of the exiles, Aquila and Priscilla, Paul,
as practising the same trade, that of tent-
makers,* made a more intimate connex-
ion, residing with them, and pursuing their
craft in common.f At Corinth, possibly
for the first time, the Christians openly se-
ceded from the Jews, and obtained a sep-
arate school of public instruction”; even
the chief ruler of the synagogue, Crispus,
became a convert. But the consequence
of this secession was the more declared
and open animosity of the Jewish party,
which ended in an appeal to the public tri-
bunal of the governor. The result of the
trial before the judgment-seat of Gallio,
the proconsul of Achaia,- appears to have
been an ebullition of popular indignation
in favour of the Christians, as another of
the chief rulers of the synagogue, proba-
bly the prosecutor of the Christians, un-
derwent the punishment of scourging be-
fore the tribunal.

From CorinthJ Paul returned by sea to
Caesarea,§ and from thence to Antioch.

The third journey of St. Paul|| belongs
still more exclusively to the con- Third jour-
flict of Christianity with pagan- neyofPau).
ism. At Ephesus^f alone, where he ar-

* The Jews thought it right that every one, even
the learned, should know some art or trade. Sa-
pientes plurimi artern aliquam fecerunt ne aliorurn
beneficentiaindigerent.—Maimonides. See Light-
foot, iii., 227.

f There was a coarse stuff called Cilicium, made
of goats’ hair, manufactured in the native country
of Paul, and used for the purpose of portable tents,
which it is ingeniously conjectured may have been
the art practised by Paul.

t From Corinth, after he had been rejoined by
Silas (Silvanus) and Timotheus, was most probably
written the first epistle to theThessalonians. This
epistle is full of allusions to his recent journey. On
his arrival at Athens he had sent back Timotheus
to ascertain the state of the infant Church. Subse-
quently it appears that the more Jewish opinion of
the immediate reappearance of the Messiah to judg-
ment had gained great ground in the community.
It is slightly alluded to in the first epistle, v., 2, 3.
The second seems to have been written expressly
to counteract this notion.

§ We make no observation on the vow made at
Cenchrea, as we follow the natural construction of
the words. The Vulgate, St.. Chrysostom, and
many more commentators attribute the vow, what
ever it was, to Aquila, not to Paul.

There is great doubt as to the authenticity of the
clause, verse 21 (“ I must by all means keep this
feast that cometh in Jerusalem”). Those who sup*
pose it to he genuine explain the dva6as in the next
verse as going up to Jerusalem; but, on the whole,
I am inclined to doubt any such visit.

H Acts, xviii., 23, to xxi, 6. % Acts, xviii., 24HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

165

rived after a circuit through Phrygia and
Galatia, he encountered some wandering
wonder-working sons of a certain Sceva,
a Jew, who attempted to imitate the mi-
raculous cures which he wrought. The
failure of the exorcism, which they en-
deavoured to perform by the name of Je-
sus, and which only increased the violence
of the lunatic, made a deep impression on
the whole Jewish population. His circuit
through Macedonia, Greece, back to Phi-
lippi, down the iEgean to Miletus, by Cos,
Rhodes, Patara to Tyre, and thence to
Caesarea, brought him again near to Jeru-
salem, where he had determined to appear
at the feast of Pentecost. Notwithstand-
ing the remonstrances of his friends and
the prophetic denunciation of his impris-
onment by a certain Agabus, he adhered to
his resolution of confronting the whole
hostile nation at their great concourse.
For not only would the Jews, but per-
haps the Jewish Christians likewise, in
the headquarters of Judaism, confederate
against this renegade, who not only as-
serted Jesus to be the Messiah, but had
avowedly raised the uncircumcised Gen-
tiles to the level of, if not to a superority
over, the descendant of Israel. Yet of
Paul in Je- the real nature of St. Paul’s
rusaiem. Christianity they were still sin-
gularly yet characteristically ignorant;
their Temple was still, as it were, the ves-
tibule to the Divine favour; and,
A' ‘58’ having no notion that the Gentile
converts to Christianity would be alto-
gether indifferent as to the local sanctity
of any edifice, they appear to have appre-
hended an invasion, or, at least, a secret
attempt to introduce the uncircumcised to
the privilege of worship within the hallow-
ed precincts. The motive of Paul in vis-
iting Jerusalem was probably to allay the
jealousy of his countrymen; the period
selected for his visit was, as it were, the
birthday of the Law;* the solemnity which
commemorated the Divine enactment of
that code which every Jew considered of
eternal and irreversible authority. Nor
did he lay aside his customary prudence.
He complied with the advice of his friends;
Paul in the and, instead of appearing in the
Temple. Temple as an ordinary worship-
per, that he might show his own personal
reverence for the usages of his ancestors
he united himself to four persons who had
taken upon them a vow, a deliberate ac-
knowledgment, not merely of respect for,
but of zeal beyond, the law.f His person,

* The ceasing to attend at the Passover, after, in
his own language, “the great. Passover had been
sacrificed,” is a circumstance by no means unwor-
thy of notice. i Acts, xxi., 17-26.

however, was too well known to the Asi-
atic Jews not to be recognised; a sudden
outcry was raised against him; lie was
charged with having violated the sanc-
tity of the holy precincts by introducing
uncircumcised strangers, Trophimus an
Ephesian, with whom he had been famil-
iarly conversing in the city, within those
pillars or palisades which, in the three
predominant languages of the time, He-
brew, Greek, and Latin, forbade the ad-
vance of any who were not of pure Jew-
ish descent. He was dragged out, no
doubt, into the Court of the Gentiles, the
doors closed, and, but for the prompt inter-
ference of the Roman guard, which was
always mounted, particularly during the
days of festival, he would have fallen a vic-
tim to the popular fury. For, while the
unconverted Jews would pursue his life
with implacable indignation, he could, at
best, expect no assistance from the Jew-
ish Christians. The interposi- Apprehension
tion of the Roman commander of Paul-
in Jerusalem was called forth rather to
suppress a dangerous riot than to rescue
an innocent victim from the tumultuous
violence of the populace. Lysias at first
supposed Paul to be one of the insurgent
chieftains who had disturbed the public
peace during the whole administration of
Felix. His fears identified him with a
Jew of Egyptian birth, who a short time
before had appeared on the Mount of Ol-
ives at the head of above 30,000 fanatic
followers ; and, though his partisans were
scattered by the decisive measures of Fe-
lix, had contrived to make his escape.*
The impression that his insurrection had
made on the minds of the Romans is
shown by the terror of his appearance,
which seems to have haunted the mind of
Lysias. The ease and purity with which
Paul addressed him in Greek, as these
insurgents probably communicated with
their followers only in the dialect of the
country ; the commanding serenity of his
demeanour, and the declaration that he was
a citizen of an Asiatic town, not a native
of Palestine, so far influenced Lysias in
his favour as to permit him to address the
multitude. It was probably from the flight
of steps which led from the outer court of
the Temple up into the Antonia that Paul
commenced his harangue. He spoke in
the vernacular language of the country,
and was heard in silence as far as his ac-
count of his conversion to a new religion;
but, directly as he touched on the danger-
ous subject of the admission of the Gen-
tiles to the privileges of Christianity, the

* Hist, of Jews, ii., 173.166

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

popular phrensy broke out again with such
violence as scarcely to be controlled by
the Roman military. Paul was led away
into the court of the fortress, and the
commander, who probably understood no-
thing of his address, but only saw that, in-
stead of allaying, it increased the turbu-
lence of the people (for, with the charac-
teristic violence of an Asiatic .mob, they
are described as casting off their clothes
and throwing dust into the air), gave or-
ders that he should suffer the usual pun-
ishment of scourging with rods, in order
that he might be forced to confess the
real origin of the disturbance. But this
proceeding was arrested by Paul’s claim-
ing the privilege of a Roman citizen, whom
it was treason against the majesty of the
Roman people to expose to such indigni-
ty.* The soldiers or lictors engaged in
scourging him recoiled in terror. The re-
spect of Lysias himself for his prisoner
rose to more than its former height; for,
having himself purchased this valuable
privilege at a high price, one who had in-
herited the same right appeared an impor-
tant personage in his estimation.

The next morning the Sanhedrin was
convened, and Paul was again brought into
the Temple, to the Gazith, the chamber
where the Sanhedrin held its judicial
Paul before meetings. Ananias presided in
the sanhe- the assembly as high-priest, an
drin* office which he possessed rather
by usurpation than legitimate authority.
After the tumults between the Samaritans
and the Jews, during the administration of
Cumanus, Ananias had, as was before
briefly stated, been sent as a prisoner to
Rome, to answer for the charges against
his nation.f After two year$ he had been
released by the interest of Agrippa, and
allowed to return to Jerusalem. In the
mean time the high-priesthood had been
filled by Jonathan, who was murdered by
assassins in the Temple, employed, or, at
least, connived at by the governor.! An-
anias appears to have resumed the vacant
authority until the appointment of Ismael,
son of Fabi, by Agrippa.$ Ananias was
of the Sadducaic party, a man harsh, ve-
nal, and ambitious. Faction most proba-
bly ran very high in the national council;
we are inclined to suppose, from the fa-
vourable expressions of Josephus, that the
murdered Jonathan was of the Pharisaic
sect; and his recent death, and the usur-
pation of the office by Ananias, would in-
cline the Pharisaic - faction to resist all

* Acts, xxii., 24, 29.

+ Joseph., Ant., xx.. 6, 2. t Ibid., 8, 5.

§ A.D. 56. Joseph., Ant., xx., 8,.8.

measures proposed by their adversaries.
Of this state of things Paul seems to have
been fully aware. He commenced with
a solemn protestation of bis innocence,
which so excited the indignation of Ana-
nias that he commanded him to be struck
over the mouth, a common punishment in
the East for language which may dis-
please those in power.* The answer of
St. Paul to this arbitrary violation of the
law, for by the Jewish course of justice
no punishment could be inflicted without
a formal sentence, was in a tone of vehe-
ment indignation : “ God shall smite thee,
thou whited wall;, for sittest thou u>
judge me after the law, and commandest
me to be smitten contrary to the law k’
Rebuked for thus disrespectfully answer-
ing the high-priest, Paul answered that he
did not know that there was any one at
that time lawfully exercising the office of
high-priest,! an,office which he was bound,
by the strict letter of the sacred writings,
to treat with profound respect. He pro-
ceeded without scruple to avail himself
of the dissensions of the court; for by
resting his defence on his belief in the res-
urrection he irritated more violently the
Sadducaic party, but threw that of the
Pharisees on his own side. The angry
discussion was terminated by the interpo-
sition of the Roman commander, who
again withdrew Paul into the citadel. Yet
his life was not secure even there. The
crime of assassination had become fear-
fully frequent in Jerusalem. Neither the
sanctity of the Temple protected the un-
suspicious worshipper from the secret
dagger, nor, as we have seen, did the
majesty of the high-priest’s office secure
the first religious and civil magistrate of
the nation from the same ignoble fate. A
conspiracy was formed by some of these
fanatic zealots against the life of Paul;
but the plot being discovered by one of his
relatives, a sister’s son, be was sent un-
der a strong guard to Cassarea, Paul sent
the residence of the Roman pro- to Caesarea,
vincial governor, the dissolute and tyran-
nical Felix.

The Sanhedrin pursued their hated ad-
versary tO the tribunal Of the Paul before
governor, but with Felix they Felix-
possessed no commanding influence. A
hired orator, whom from his name we may
conjecture to have been a Roman, em-
ployed, perhaps, according to the usage,
which provided that all legal proceedings

* .Acts, xxiii., 2, 3.

f “ I wist not that there was a high-priestsuch
appears to be the translation of this passage, sug
gested by Mr. Gres well, most agreeable to tU
sense.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

167

biiould be conducted in the Latin language,
appeared as their advocate before the tri-
bunal.* But the defence of Paul against
the charge of sedition, of innovation, and
the profanation of the Temple, was equally
successful with Felix, who was well ac-
quainted with the Jewish character, and
by no means disposed to lend himself to
their passions and animosities. The
charge therefore was dismissed. Paul,
though not set at liberty, was allowed free
intercourse with his Christian brethren;
Felix himself even condescended to hear,
and heard not without emotion, the high
moral doctrines of St. Paul, which were
so much at variance with his unjust and
adulterous life. But it was not so much
the virtue as the rapacity of Felix which
thus inclined him to look with favour upon
the apostle : knowing, probably, the pro-
fuse liberality of the Christians, and their
zealous attachment to their teacher, he
expected that the liberty of Paul would
be purchased at any price he might de-
mand. For the last two years, therefore,
Paul in ^ie administration of Felix, Paul
prison at remained a prisoner; and Felix,
Caesarea. at his departure, well aware that
accusations were lodged against him by
the representatives of the Jewish nation,
endeavoured to propitiate their favour by
leaving him still in custody.! Nor had
the Jews lost sight of this great object of
animosity. Before the new governor,
Porcius Festus, a man of rigid justice, and
less acquainted with the Jewish character,
their charges were renewed with the ut-
58 mos^ aci'bnony. On his first visit
to Jerusalem, the high-priest de-
manded that Paul should be sent back for
trial before the Sanhedrin; and though
Festus refused the petition till he should

* Acts, xxiv., 1-26.

f There is great chronological difficulty in ar-
ranging this part of the administration of Felix.
But the difficulty arises, not so much in harmoni-
zing the narrative of the Acts with the historians of
the period, as in reconciling Josephus with Tacitus.
Taking the account of Josephus, it is impossible to
compress all the events of that part of the adminis-
tration of Felix which he places after the acces-
sion of Nero into a single year. Yet he states
that on the recall of Felix he only escaped pun-
ishment for his crimes through the interest of his
brother Pallas. Yet, according to Tacitus, the in-
fluence of Pallas with Nero ceased in the second
year of his reign, and he was deposed from all his
offices. In the third he was indicted of l&se majes-
te, and his acquittal was far from acceptable to the
emperor. In the fourth year his protectress Agrip-
pina was discarded for Poppsea ; in the next she
was put to death. In the ninth of Nero’s reign
Pallas himself, though charged with no new crime,
was poisoned. The question therefore is, whether,
in any intermediate period, he could have regained,
by any intrigue, sufficient influence to shield his
brother from the prosecution of the Jews.

himself have investigated the case at Caes-
area, on his return he proposed that Paul
should undergo a public examination at
Jerusalem in his own presence. The de
sign of the Jews was to surprise and as-
sassinate the prisoner; and Paul, probably
informed of their secret intentions, per-
sisted in his appeal to Caesar. To this ap-
peal from a Roman citizen the governor
could not refuse his assent. The younger
Agrippa had now returned from Rome,
where he had resided during his minority.
He had succeeded to part only of his fa-
ther’s dominions; he was in possession
of the Asmonean palace at Jerusalem, and
had the right of appointing the high-priest,
which he exercised apparently with all the
capricious despotism of a Roman govern-
or. He appeared in great pomp at Caesa-
rea, with his sister Berenice, on a visit to
Festus. The Roman governor appears to
have consulted him, as a man of modera-
tion and knowledge of the Jewish law,
upon the case of Paul. The paui before
apostle was summoned before Agrippa.
him. The defence of Paul made a strong
impression upon Agrippa, who, though not
a convert, was probably, from that time,
favourably disposed to Christianity. The
appeal of Paul to the emperor was irrevo-
cable by an inferior authority ; whether he
would have preferred remaining in Judaea
after an acquittal from Festus, and perhaps
under the protection of Agrippa, or wheth-
er to his own mind Rome offered a mm?
noble and promising field for his Christian
zeal, Paul, setting forth on his voy- Paul sent
age, left probably for ever the land t0 Uon,e-
of his forefathers; that land beyond all
others inhospitable to the religion oi
Christ; that land which Paul, perhaps a!
most alone of Jewish descent, had ceased
to consider the one narrow portion of the
habitable world which the love of the
Universal Father had sanctified as the
chosen dwelling of his people, as the fu-
ture seat of dominion, glory, and bliss.

The great object of Jewish animosity
had escaped the hostility of the Sanhedrin,
but an opportunity soon occurred of wreak-
ing their baffled vengeance on another vic-
tim, far less obnoxious to the general feel-
ings even of the more bigoted among the
Jews. The head of the Christian com-
munity in Jerusalem was James, whom
Josephus himself, if the expression in that
remarkable passage be genuine (which is
difficult to believe), dignifies with the ap-
pellation of the brother of Jesus. On the
death of Festus, and before the arrival of
his successor Albinus, the high-priesthood
was in the hands of Annas or Ananus, the
last of five sons of the former Annas who168

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

had held that rank; Annas was the head
of the Sadducaic party, and seized the op-
portunity of this suspension of the Roman
authority to reassert the power of the
Sanhedrin over life and death. Many per-
sons, whom it is impossible not to sup-
pose Christians, were executed by the
legal punishment of stoning. Among
these, the head of the community
A'D,b2, was the most exposed to the ani-
mosity of the government, and, therefore,
least likely to escape in the day of tempo-
rary power. The fact of the murder of
Martyrdom St. James, at least of certain sup-
of James, posed offenders against the law,
whom it is difficult not to identify with
the Christians,# rests on the authority of
the Jewish historian :f in the details which
are related on the still more questionable
testimony of Hegesippiis.J we feel that

Connecting this narrative of Josephus, even
without admitting the authenticity of the passage
about St. James, with the proceedings against St.
r'aul as related in the Acts, it appears to me highly
improbable that, if Ananus put any persons to death
for crimes against religion, they should have been
any other than Christians. Who but Christians
would, be obnoxious to capital punishment? and
rgainst whom but them would a legal conviction
be obtained ? Certainly not against the Pharisees,
who went beyond the law, or the zealots and fol-
lowers of Judas the Galilean, whose fate would have
excited little commiseration or regret among the
moderate and peaceful part of the community.
Lardner therefore appears to me in error in admit-
ting the prosecutions of Ananus, but disconnecting
them from the Christian history.

f Joseph., Ant., xx., 8, 1. Lardner’s Jewish
Testimonies, vol. iii., p. 342, 4to edit.

J This narrative of Hegesippus has undergone
the searching criticism of Scaliger in Chron. Eu-
seb., and Le Clerc, Hist. Eccles. and Ars Critica ; it
has been feebly defended by Petavius, and zealously
by Tillemont. Heinichen, the recent editor of Eu-
sebius, seems desirous to trace some vestiges of
truth. In these early forgeries it is not only inter-
esting and important to ascertain the truth or false-
hood, of the traditions themselves, but the design
and the authors of such pious frauds. This legend
seems imagined in a spirit of Christian asceticism,
endeavouring to conform itself to Jewish usage, of
which, nevertheless, it betrays remarkable igno-
rance. It attributes to the Christian bishop the
Nazaritish abstinence from the time of his birth,
not only from wine, but, in the spirit of Buddhism,
from everything which had life; the self-denial of
the luxury of anointment with oil, with a monkish
abhorrence of ablutions: a practice positively com-
manded in the law, and from which no Jew abstain-
ed. It gives him the power of entering the Holy
Place at all times: a practice utterly in opposition
to the vital principles of Judaism, as he could not
have been of the race of Aaron. It describes his
kneeling till his knees were as hard as those of a
camel: another indication of the growing spirit of
monkery. We may add the injudicious introduc-
tion of the “ Scribes and Pharisees,” in the lan-
guage of the Gospel, as the authors of his fate;
which, according to the more probable account of.
Josephus, and the change in the state of feeling in
Jerusalem, was solely to be attributed to the Sad-
ducees. The final improbability is the hading to

we are passing from the clear and pellucid
air of the apostolic history into the misty
atmosphere of legend. We would will-
ingly attempt to disentangle the more
probable circumstances of this impressive
story from the embellishments of later in-
vention, but it happens that its more stri-
king and picturesque incidents are pre-
cisely the least credible. After withdraw-
ing every particular inconsistent either
with the character or usages of the time,
little remains but the simple facts that
James was so highly esteemed in Jerusa-
lem as to have received the appellation of
Just (a title, it should seem, clearly of
Jewish origin); that he perished during
this short period of the sanguinary admin-
istration of Ananus, possibly was thrown
down in a tumult from the precipitous
walls of the Temple, where a more merci-
ful persecutor put an end to his sufferings
with a fuller’s club; finally, that these
cruel proceedings of Ananus were con-
templated with abhorrence by the more
moderate, probably by the whole Phari-
saic party; his degradation from the su-
preme office was demanded, and hailed
with satisfaction by the predominant senti-
ment of the people.

Rut the days of Jewish persecution were
drawing to a close. Even religious Jewish
animosity was subdued in the colli- war*
sion of still fiercer passions. A darker and
more absorbing interest, the fate of the
nation in the imminent, the inevitable con-
flict with the arms of Rome, occupied the
Jewish mind in every quarter of the world,
in Palestine mingling personal apprehen-
sions, and either a trembling sense of the
insecurity of life, or a desperate determi-
nation to risk life itself for liberty, with the
more appalling anticipations of the nation-
al destiny, the total extinction of the
Heaven-ordained polity, the ruin of the
city of Sion, and the Temple of God. To
the ferocious and fanatical party, who
gradually assumed the ascendancy, Chris-
tianity would be obnoxious, as secluding
its peaceful followers from all participa-
tion in the hopes, the crimes, or what, in
a worldly sense, might have been, not un-
justly, considered the glories of the insur-

the pinnacle of the Temple (a circumstance obvi-
ously borrowed from our Lord’s temptation), a man
who had been for years the acknowledged head of
the Christian community in Jerusalem, that he
might publicly dissuade the people from believing
in Christ; still farther, his burial after such a death
within the walls of the city, and close to the Tem-
ple: all these incongruities indicate a period at
which Christianity had begun to degenerate into
asceticism, and had been so long estranged from
Judaism as to be ignorant of its real character and
usages.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

169

ret tion. Still, to whatever dangers or tri-
als they were exposed, they were the des-
ultory and casual attacks of individual
hostility rather than the systematic and
determined persecution of one ruling par-
iy. Nor perhaps were they looked upon
with the same animosity as many of the
more eminent and influential of the Jews,
who vainly attempted to allay the wild
ferment. A general tradition, preserved
by Eusebius, intimates that the Chris-
tian community, especially forewarned by
Providence, left Jerusalem before the for-
mation of the siege, and took refuge in the
town of Pella, in the Trans-Jordanic prov-
ince. According to Josephus, the same
course was pursued by most of the higher
order, who could escape in time from the
sword of the zealot or the Idumean. Rab-
binical tradition dates from the same peri-
od the flight of the Sanhedrin from the
capital: its first place of refuge without
the walls of Jerusalem was Jaffna (Jam-
nia), from whence it passed to other cities,
until its final settlement in Tiberias.*

The Jewish war, the final desolation of
the national polity, the destruction of the
city, and the demolition of the Temple,
were events which could not but influence
the progress of Christianity to a far great-
er extent than by merely depriving the
Jews of the power to persecute under a
Probable ef- legal form. While the Christian
fan of jeru these unexampled

Kaietn on" horrors the accomplishment of
Christianity, predictions uttered by his Lord,
the less infatuated among the Jews could
not be ignorant that such predictions pre-
vailed among the Christians. However
the prudence of the latter might shrink
from exasperating the more violent party
by the open promulgation of such dispirit-
ing and ill-omened auguries, they must
have transpired among those who were
hesitating between the two parties, and
powerfully tended to throw that fluctuating
mass into the preponderating scale of
Christianity. With some of the Jews, no
doubt, the hope in the coming of the Mes-
siah must have expired with the fall of the
Temple. Not merely was the period of
time assigned, according to the general
interpretation of the prophecies, for the
appearance of the Deliverer gone by, but
their less stern and obstinate Judaism
must have begun to entertain apprehen-
sions that the visible rejection of the peo-
ple intimated, not obscurely, the with-
drawal of the Divine favour. They would
thus be thrown back, as it were, upon Je-
sus of Nazareth as the only possible Mes-

* Hist, of the Jews, iii,, 82.

siah, and listen to his claims with greater
inclination to believe. The alternative*
might seem to be between him and the
desperate abandonment, or the adjourn-
ment to an indefinite period, of all their
hopes of redemption. The hearts of many
would be softened by the experience of
personal suffering or the sight of so many
cases of individual misery. Christianity,
with its consolatory promises, Effect on
must have appeared the only ref- lhe Jews,
uge to those with whom the wretchedness
of their temporal condition seemed to in-
validate their hopes of an hereditary claim
to everlasting life as children of Abraham ;
where they despaired of a temporal, they
would be more inclined to accept a spirit-
ual and moral deliverance. At the same
time, the temporary advantage of the few
converts gained from such motives would
be counterbalanced by the more complete
alienation of the Jewish mind from a race
who not only apostatized from the religion
of their fathers, but by no means repudi-
ated the most intimate connexion with the
race of Esau, for thus the dark hostility of
the Jews began to denominate the Ro-
mans. By the absorption of this inter-
mediate class, who had wavered between
Christianity and Judaism, who either melt-
ed into the mass of the Christian party, or
yielded themselves to the desperate infat-
uation of Judaism, the breach between the
Jew and the Christian became more wide
and irreparable. The prouder and more
obstinate Jew sternly wrapped himself up
in his sullen isolation; his aversion from
the rest of mankind, under the sense of
galling oppression and of disappointed
pride, settled into hard hostility. That
which those of less fanatic Judaism found
in Christianity, he sought in a stronger at-
tachment to his own distinctive ceremoni-
al ; in a more passionate and deep-rooted
conviction of his own prerogative, as the
elect people of God. He surrendered him-
self, a willing captive, to the new priestly
dominion, that of the rabbins, which en-
slaved his whole life to a system of mi-
nute ordinances; he rejoiced in the rivet-
ing and multiplying those bonds, which
had been burst by Christianity, but which
he wore £ the badge of hopes still to be
fulfilled, of glories which were at length
to compensateTor his present humiliation.

This more complete alienation between
the Jew and the Christian tended to weak-
en that internal spirit of Judaism, which,
nevertheless, was eradicated with the ut-
most difficulty, and,, indeed, has perpetual-
ly revived within the bosom of Christian-
ity under another name. Down to the
destruction of Jerusalem, Palestine, or,170

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

rather, Jerusalem itself, was at once the
centre and the source of this predominant
influence. In foreign countries, as we
shall presently explain, the irrepealable
and eternal sanctity of the Mosaic law
was the repressive power which was con-
tinually struggling against the expansive
force of Christianity. In Jerusalem this
power was the holiness of the Temple; and
therefore, with the fall of the Temple, this
strongest bond, with which the heart of
the Jewish Christian was riveted to his
old religion, at once burst asunder. To
him the practice of his Lord and the apos- ■
ties had seemed to confirm the inalienable
local sanctity of this “chosen dwelling”
of God; and while it yet stood in all its
undegraded splendour, to the Christian of
Jerusalem it was almost impossible fully
to admit the first principle of Christianity,
that the Universal Father is worshipped in
any part of his created universe with equal
advantage. One mark by which the Jew-
ish race was designated as the great reli-
gious caste of mankind was thus forever
abolished. The synagogue had no rever-
ential dignity, no old and sacred majesty
to the mind of the convert, beyond his
own equally humble and unimposing place
of devotion. Hence, even before the de-
struction of the Temple, this feeling de-
pended upon the peculiar circumstances
of the individual convert.

Though even among the foreign Jews
the respect for the Temple was maintained
by traditionary reverence, though the im-
post for its maintenance was regularly lev-
ied and willingly paid by the race of Israel
in every part of the Roman empire, and
occasional visits to the capital at the perk
ods of the great festivals revived in many
the old sacred impressions, still, according
to the universal principles of human na-
ture, the more remote the residence, and
the less frequent the impression of the
Temple services upon the senses, thm
weaker became this first conservative
principle of Jewish feeling.

But there remained another element of
Jewish.at- that exclusiveness which was
tachment to the primary principle of the ex-
t.he Law. jsting Judaism ; that exclusive-
ness which, limiting the Divin^^Jjavour to
a certain race, would scarcity believe that
foreign branches could be ingrafted into
the parent stock, even though incorpo-
rated with it; and still obstinately resisted
the notion that Gentiles, without becom-
ing Jews, could share in the blessings of
the promised Messiah, or in their state
of uncircumcision, or, aj; least, of insubor-
dination to the Mosaic ordinances, become
heirs of the kingdom of Hea ven.

What the Tempie was to the inhabitant
of Jerusalem, was the Law to the The Law
worshipper in the synagogue. As
early, no doubt, as the present time, the
book of the Law was the one great sacred
object in every religious edifice of the
Jews in all parts of the world. It was de-
posited in a kind of art;; it was placed in
that part of the synagogue which repre-
sented the Holy of Holies : it was brought
forth with solemn reverence by the “ an-
gel” of the assembly; it was heard as an
oracle of God” from the sanctuary. 'The
whole rabbinical supremacy rested on their
privilege as interpreters of the law ; and
tradition, though in fact it assumed a co
ordinate authority, yet veiled its preten
sions under the humbler character of an
exposition, a supplementary comment, on
the heaven-enacted code. If we reas-
cend, in our history, towards the period in
which Christianity first opened its pale to
the Gentiles, we shall find that this was
the prevailing power by which the internal
Judaism maintained its conflict with purei
and more liberal Christianity within its
own sphere. Even at Antioch the Chris-
tian community had been in danger from
this principle of separation ; the Jewish
converts, jealous of all encroachment upon
the law, had drawn off and insulated them-
selves from those of the Gentiles.* Peter
withdrew within the narrower and more
exclusive party ; Barnabas alone, the com-
panion and supporter of Paul, did not in-
cline to the same course.f It required all
the energy and resolution of Paul to resist
the example and influence of the older
apostles. His public expostulation had the
effect of allaying the discord at Antioch;
and the temperate and conciliatory meas-
ures adopted in Jerusalem to a certain de-
gree reuni ted the conflicting parties. Still,
in most places where Paul established a
new community, immediately after his de-
parture this samfe spirit of Judaism seems
to have rallied, and attempted to re-es-
tablish the great exclusive principle that
Christianity was no more than Judaism,
completed by the reception of Jesus as the
Messiah. The universal religion of Christ
was thus in perpetual danger of being con-
tracted into a national and ritual worship.
The eternal law of Moses was still to
maintain its authority, with all its cum-
brous framework of observances ; and the

* It is difficult to decide whether this dispute
took place before or after the decree of the assem-
bly in Jerusalem.. Planck, in his Geschichte des
Christenthums, places it before the decree, and, on
the whole, this appears the most probable opinion.
The event is noticed here as exemplifying the Ju-
daizing spirit rather than m strict chronological or-
der. f Acts, xv., 2.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

171

Gentile proselytes, who were ready to sub-
mit to the faith of Christ, with its simple
and exquisite morality, were likewise to
submit to all the countless provisions, and
now, in many respects, unmeaning and un-
intelligible regulations, of diet, dress, man-
ners, and conduct. This conflict may be
traced most clearly in the epistles of St.
Paul, particularly in those to the remote
communities in Galatia and in Rome.
The former, written probably during the
residence of the apostle at Ephesus, was
addressed to the Christians of Galatia, a
district in the northern part of Asia Minor,
occupied by a mingled population.* * The
descendants of the Gaulish invaders, from
whom the region derived its name, retain-
ed to a late period vestiges of their ori-
ginal race in the Celtic dialect, and prob-
ably great numbers of Jews had settled in
The strength l^iese quarters. Paul had twice
of the inter- visited the country, and his epis-
wlniin 'uie0 was written at no long period
church op- after his second visit. But even
posed by st. in that short interval Judaism
1>au1' had revived its pretensions. The
adversaries of Paul had even gone so far
as to disclaim him as an apostle of Chris-
tianity ; and before he vindicates the es-
sential independence of the new faith, and
declares the Jewish law to have been only
a temporary institution,! designed, during
a dark and barbarous period of human so-
ciety, to keep alive the first, principles of
true religion, he has to assert his own Di-
vine appointment as a delegated teacher
of Christianity.^

The Epistle to the Romans^ enters with
more full and elaborate argument into the
same momentous question. The history
of the Roman community is most remark-
able. It grew up in silence, founded by
some unknown teachers,|| probably of

* We decline the controversy concerning the
place and time at which the different epistles were
written ; we shall give only the result, not the pro-
cess of our investigations. This to the Galatians
we suppose to have been written during St. Paul’s
first visit to Ephesus. (Acts, xix.)

f Galat., iii., 19. % Galat., i., 1, 2.

<$> This epistle, there seems no doubt, was writ-
ten from Corinth during St. Paul’s second resi-
dence in that city. %

II The foundation of the Church of Rome by ei-
ther St. Peter or St. Paul is utterly irreconcilable
with any reasonable view of the apostolic history.
Among Roman Catholic writers Count Stolberg
abandons this point, and carries St. Peter to Rome
for the first time at the commencement of Nero’s
reign. The account in the Acts seems to be so far
absolutely conclusive. Many Protestants of the
highest learning are as unwilling to reject the gen-
eral tradition of St. Peter’s residence in Rome.
This question will recur on another occasion. As
to St. Paul, the first chapter of this epistle is posi-
tive evidence, that the foundation of the church in

those who were present in Jerusalem at
the first publication of Christianity by the
apostles. During the reign of Claudius it
had made so much progress as to excite
open tumults and dissensions among the
Jewish population of Rome; these ani-
mosities rose to such a height, that the
attention of the government was aroused,
and both parties expelled from the city.
With some of these exiles, Aquila and
Priscilla, St. Paul, as we have seen, form-
ed an intimate connexion during his first
visit to Corinth : from them he received
information of the extraordinary progress
of the faith in Rome. The Jews seem
quietly to have crept back to their old
quarters when the rigour with which the
imperial edict was at first executed had
insensibly relaxed ; and from these per-
sons on their return to the capital, and
most likely from other Roman Christians
who may have taken refuge in Corinth,*
or in other cities where Paul had founded
Christian communities, the first, or, at
least, the more perfect knowledge of the
higher Christianity, taught by the apostle
of the Gentiles, would be conveyed to
Rome. So complete, indeed, does he ap-
pear to consider the first establishment of
Christianity in Rome, that he merely pro-
poses to take that city in his way to a
more remote region, that of Spain.f The
manner in which he recounts, in the last
chapter, the names of the more distin-
guished Roman converts, implies both
that the community was numerous, and
that the name of Paul was held in high es-
timation by its leading members. It is ev-
ident that Christianity had advanced al-
ready beyond the Jewish population, and
the question of necessary conformity to
the Mosaic law was strongly agitated. It
is therefore the main scope of this cele-
brated epistle to annul forever this claim
of the Mosaic law to a perpetual authori-
ty, to show Christianity as a part of the
providential design in the moral history of
man, while Judaism was but a temporary
institution, unequal to, as it was unintended

Rome was long previous to his visit to the western
metropolis of the world.

* It would appear probable that the greater pari
of the Christian community took refuge, with Aqui-
la and Priscilla, in Corinth and the neighbouring
port of Cerrchrea.

f The views of Paul on so remote a province as
Spain at so early a period of his journey, appear to
justify the notion that there was a considerable
Jewish population in that country. It is not im-
probable that many of the “ Libertines” may have
made their way from Sardinia. There is a curious
tradition among the Spanish Jews that they were
resident in that country before the birth of our Sav
iour, and, consequently, had no concern in his death
, —See Hist, of Jews, iii, p. 118.172

HISTORY OF CHRISTIAN! TY.

for, the great end of revealing the immor-
tality of mankind, altogether repealed by
this more wide and universal system,
which comprehends in its beneficent pur-
poses the whole human race.

Closely allied with this main element of
belief in the Judaism, which struggled so ob-
approaching. ■ stinately-against the Christiani-

wdrldf the was ' noti°n

4 i?lc‘ of the approaching end of the

world, the final consummation of all things
in the second coming of the Messiah. It
has been shown how essential and inte-
gral a part of the Jewish belief in the Mes-
siah was this expectation of the final com-
pletion of his mission in the dissolution of
the world, and the restoration of a para-
disiacal state, in which the descendants of
Abraham were to receive their destined
inheritance. To many of the Jewish be-
lievers the death and resurrection of Jesus
were but (if the expression be warranted)
the first acts of the great drama, which
was hastening onward to its immediate
close. They had bowed in mysterious
wonder before the incongruity of the life
and sufferings of Jesus, with the precon-
ceived appearance of the “ Great One,” but
expecting their present disappointment to
be almost instantly compensated by the
appalling grandeur of the second coming
of Christ. If, besides their descent from
Abraham and their reverence for the law
of Moses, faith in Jesus as the Messiah
was likewise necessary to secure their
title to their peculiar inheritance, yet that
faith was speedily to receive its reward;
and the original Jewish conception of the
Messiah, though put to this severe trial,
though its completion was thus postponed,
remained in full possession of the mind,
and seemed to gather strength and depth
of colouring from the constant state of
high-wrought agitation in which it kept
the whole moral being. This appears to
have been the last Jewish illusion from
which the minds of the apostles them-
selves were disenchanted; and there can
be no doubt both that many of the early
Christians almost hourly expected the
final dissolution of the world, and that this
opinion awed many timid believers into
the profession of Christianity, and kept
them in trembling subjection to its author-
ity. The ambiguous predictions of Christ
himself, in which the destruction of the
Jewish polity, and the ruin of the city and
Temple, were shadowed forth under ima-
ges of more remote and universal import;
the language of the apostles, so liable to
misinterpretation that they were obliged
publicly to correct the erroneous conclu-
sions of their hearers,* seemed to counte
* 2 Thessalonians, ii., 1,2. 2 Peter, iii., 4. 8.

nance an opinion so disparaging to the real
glory of Christianity, which was only to
attain its object till after a slow contest of
many centuries, perhaps of ages, with the
evil of human nature. Wherever Christi-
anity made its way into a mind deeply im-
pregnated with Judaism, the moral char-
acter of the Messiah had still to maintain
a strong contest with the temporal; and,
though experience yearly showed that the
commencement of this visible kingdom
was but more remote, at least the first
generation of Christians passed away be-
fore the majority had attained to more so-
ber expectations; and at every period of
more than ordinary religious excitement, a
millennial, or, at least, a reign partaking of
a temporal character, has been announced
as on the eve of its commencement; the
Christian mind has retrograded towards
that state of Jewish error which prevailed
about the time of Christ’s coming.f

As Christianity advanced in all other
quarters of the world, its pros- Hostility or
elytes were in far larger propor- Judaism and
tion of Gentile than of Jewish c,,ristianit)T-
descent. The synagogue and the church
became more and more distinct, till they
stood opposed in irreconcilable hostility
The Jews shrunk back into their stern se-
clusion, while the Christians were litera'-
ly spreading in every quarter through the
population of the empire. From this total
suspension of intercourse, Judaism gradu-
ally died away within the Christian pale;
time and experience corrected some of
the more inveterate prejudices ; new ele-
ments came into action. The Grecian
philosophy, and, at a later period, influen-
ces still more adverse to that of Judaism,
mingled with the prevailing Christianity.
A kind of latent Judaism has, however,
constantly lurked within the bosom of the
Church. During the darker ages of Chris-
tianity, its sterner spirit harmonizing with
the more barbarous state of the Christian
mind, led to a frequent and injudicious ap-
peal to the Old Testament: practically the
great principle of Judaism, that the law, as

* Compare the strange rabbinical notion of the
fertility of the earth during the millennial reign of
Christ, given by Irenseus as an actual prophecy of
our Lord : “ Venient dies in quibus vinese nascen-
tur, singulse decern mi ilia palmitum habentes, et in
una palmite decern milk a bracbiorum, et in uno vero
brachio denamillia flagellorum, et inunoquoque fla-
gello dena millia botrorum, et in unoquoque botro
denamillia acinorum ; et unumquodque acinumex-
pressum, dabit viginti quinque metretas vini; et
cum apprebendet aliquis sanctorum botrum, alius
clamabit—Botrus ego melior sum, me sume, et per
me Dominum benedic ” These chapters of Irenseus
show the danger to which pure and spiritual Chris-
tianity was exposed from this gross and carnal Ju-
daizing spirit. Irenseus (ch. 35) positively denies
that any of these images can be taken in an alle-
gorical sense.—De Haeres , v„ c. 33HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

173

emanating from Divine Wisdom, must be
of eternal obligation, was admitted by con-
flicting parties ; the books of Moses and
the Gospel were appealed to as of equal
authority; while the great characteristic
of the old religion, its exclusiveness, its
restrictions of the Divine blessings within
a narrow and visible pale, was too much
in 'accordance both with pride and super-
stition not to reassert its ancient domin-
ion. The sacerdotal and the sectarian
spirit had an equal tendency to draw a
wider or a more narrow line of demarca-
tion around that which, in Jewish language,
they pronounced the “ Israel” of God, and
to substitute some other criterion of Chris-
tianity for that exquisite perfection of pie-
ty, that sublimity of virtue in disposition,
in thought, and in act, which was the one
true test of Christian excellence.

In Palestine, as the external conflict
with Judaism was longest and most vio-
lent, so the internal influence of the old re-
ligion was latest obliterated. But when
this separation at length took place, it was
even more complete and decided than in
any other countries. In Jerusalem the
Christians were perhaps still called, and
submitted to be called Nazarenes, while
the appellation which had been assumed
at Antioch was their common designation
in all other parts of the world. The Chris-
tian community of Jerusalem which had
taken refuge at Pella bore with them their
unabated reverence for the law. But in-
sensibly the power of that reverence de-
cayed ; and on the foundation of the new
colony of iElia by the Emperor Hadrian^
after the defeat of Barchocab and the sec-
ond total demolition of the city, the larger
part having nominated a man of Gentile
Mark, bishop birth, Marcus, as their bishop,
of Jerusalem, settled in the New City, and
thus proclaimed their final and total separ-
ation from their Jewish ancestors.* For
not only must they have disclaimed all
Jewish connexion to be permitted to.take
up their residence in the new colony, the
very approach to which was watched by
Roman outposts, and prohibited to every
Jew under the severest penalties, but even
the old Jewish feelings must have been
utterly extinct. For what Jew, even if
he had passed under the image of a swine
which was erected in mockery over the
Bethlehem Gate, would not have shrunk
in horror in beholding the Hill of Moriah
polluted by a pagan temple, the worship
of heathen deities profaning by their reek-
ing incense and their idolatrous sacrifices
the site of the Holy of Holies'? The

* F.useb , H. E., iv., 6. Hi'ronym., Epist. ad He-
dybiam., Quaest. 8.

Christian, absorbed in deeper veneration
for the soil which had been hallowed bv
his Redeemer’s footsteps, and was asso-
ciated with his mysterious death and res-
urrection, was indifferent to the daily in-
fringement of the Mosaic law, which God
himself had annulled by the substitution
of the Christian faith, or to the desecra-
tion of the site of that temple which God
had visibly abandoned.

The rest of the Judeeo-Christian com-
munity at Pella and in its neighbourhood
sank into an obscure sect, distinguished
by their obstinate rejection of the writings
of St. Paul and by their own Gospel, most
probably the original Hebrew of St. Mat-
thew. But the language, as well as the
tenets of the Jews, were either proscribed
by the Christians as they still farther re-
ceded from Judaism, or fell into disuse ;*
and whatever writings they possessed,
whether originals or copies, in the vernac-
ular dialect of Palestine, of the genuine
apostolic books, or compilations of their
own, entirely perished, so that it is diffi-
cult, from the brief notices which are ex-
tant, to make out their real nature and
character.

In Palestine, as elsewhere, the Jew and
the Christian were no longer confounded
with each other, but constituted two total-
ly different and implacably hostile races-.
The Roman government began to discrim-
inate between them, as clearly appears
from the permission to the Christians to
reside in the New City, on the site of Je-
rusalem, which was interdicted to the
Jews. Mutual hatred was increased by
mutual alienation ; the Jew, who had lost
the power of persecuting, lent himself as
a willing instrument to the heathen per-
secutor against those whom he still con-
sidered as apostates from his religion.
The less enlightened Christian added to
the contempt of all the Roman world for
the Jew a principle of deeper hostility.
The language of Tertullian is that of tri-
umph rather than of commiseration for the
degraded state of the Jew ;f strong jeal-
ousy of the pomp and power assumed by
the patriarch of Tiberias may be traced in
the vivid description of Origen;f No suf-
ferings could too profoundly debase, no
pride could become, those who shared in
the hereditary guilt of the crucifixion of
Jesus.

* Sulpicius Severus, H. E. Mosheim, de Rebus
Christ, ante Constant. Le Clerc, Hist. Eccles.

t Dispersi, palabundi, etcceli et soli sui extorres
vagantur per orbem, sine, nomine, sine Deo rege,
quibus nec advenarum jure terrarn patriam saltern
vestigiosalutareconceditur—Lib. cont. Judreos, 15.

f Origen, Epist. ad Africanum. Hist, of Jews,
iii., 117.174

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

CHAFrJ

CHRISTIANITY

The conflict of Christianity with Juda-
Relationship was a “Vll war; that with
between Ju- paganism, the invasion and con-

daism end quest of a foreign territory. In
Umstmmty. ^ former case it was the de.

dared design of the innovation to perfect
the established constitution on its primary
principles ; to expand the yet undeveloped
system according to the original views of
the Divine Legislator; in the latter it con-
templated the total subversion of the ex-
isting order of things, a reconstruction of
the whole moral and religious being of
mankind. With the Jew, the abolition of
the Temple service and the abrogation of
the Mosaic Law were indispensable to the
perfect establishment of Christianity. The
first was left to be accomplished by the
frantic turbulence of the people and the
remorseless vengeance of Rome. Yet,
after all, the Temple service maintained
its more profound and indelible influence
only over the Jew of Palestine ; its hold
upon the vast numbers which were settled
in all parts of the world was that of re-
mote, .occasional, traditionary reverence.
With the foreign Jew, the service of the
synagogue was his religion; and the syn-
agogue, without any violent change, was
transformed into a Christian church. The
same Almighty God to whom.it.was pri-
marily dedicated maintained his place ;
and the sole difference was, that he was
worshipped through the mediation of the
crucified Jesus of Nazareth. With the
pagan, the whole of his religious observ-
ances fell under the unsparing proscrip-
tion. Every one of the countless temples,
and shrines, and sacred groves, and hal-
lowed fountains were to he desecrated by
the abhorrent feelings of those who look-
ed back with shame and contempt upon
their old idolatries. Every image, from
the living work of Phidias or Praxiteles
to the rude and shapeless Hermes or Ter-
minus, was to become an unmeaning mass
of wood or stone. In every city, town,
or even village, there was a contest to be
maintained, not merely against the general
system of Polytheism, but against the lo-
cal and tutelary deity of the place. Every
public spectacle, every procession, every
civil or military duty, was a religious cer-
emonial. Though later, when Christian-
ity was in the ascendant, it might expel

rER in.

AND PAGANISM.

the deities of paganism from some of the
splendid temples, and convert them to its
own use ; though insensibly many of the
usages of the heathen worship crept into
the more gorgeous and imposing ceremo-
nial of triumphant Christianity; though
even many of the vulgar superstitions in-
corporated themselves with the sacred
Christian associations, all this reaction
was long subsequent to the permanent es-
tablishment of the new religion. At first
all was rigid and uncompromi- jyirecx opposi_
sing hostility; doubts were en- tion of cims-
tertained by -the more scrupu- 10 *,a*
lous whether meat exposed to
public sale in the market, but which might
have formed part of a sacrifice, would not
be dangerously polluting to the Christian.
The apostle, though anxious to correct
this sensitive scrupulousness, touches on
the point with the utmost caution and del-
icacy.*

The private life of the Jew was already,
in part at least, fettered by the minute
and almost Brahminical observances with
which the later rabbins established their
despotic authority over the mind. Still
some of these usages harmonized with the
spirit of Christianity; others were less
inveterately rooted in the feelings of the
foreign Jew. The trembling apprehension
of anything approaching to idolatry, the
concentration of the heart’s whole devo-
tion upon the One Almighty God, prepared
the soul for a Christian bias. The great
struggle to Jewish feeling was the aban-
donment of circumcision as the sign of
their covenant with God. But this once
over, baptism, the substituted ceremony,
was perhaps already familiar to his mind;
or, at least, emblematic ablutions were
strictly in unison with the genius and the
practice of his former religion. Some of
the stricter Pharisaic distinctions were lo-
cal and limited to Palestine; as, for in-
stance, the payment of tithe, since the
Temple tribute was the only national tax
imposed by his religion on the foreign Jew.
Their sectarian symbols, which in Pales-
tine were publicly displayed upon their
dress, were of course less frequent in for-
eign countries ; and, though worn in se-
cret, might be dropped and abandoned by

* 1 Corinth., x., 25-31.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

175

the convert to Christianity without exci-
universaiity ting observation. The whole
of paganism, life of the heathen, whether of
the philosopher who despised, or the vul-
gar who were indifferent to, the essential
part of the religion, was pervaded by the
spirit of Polytheism. It met him in every
form, in every quarter, in every act and
function of every day’s business; not
merely in the graver offices of the state,
in the civil and military acts of public men;
in the senate, which commenced its delib-
erations with sacrifice; in the camp, the
centre of which was a consecrated temple :
his domestic hearth was guarded by the
penates, or by the, ancestral gods of his
family or tribe; by land he travelled un-
der the protection of one tutelar divinity,
by sea of another; the birth, the bridal,
the funeral, had each its presiding deity;
the very commonest household utensils
and implements were cast in mythologi-
cal forms ; he could scarcely drink without
being reminded of making a libation to the
gods ; and the language itself was impreg-
nated” with constant allusions to the pop-
ular religion.

However, as a religion, Polytheism was
undermined and shaken to the base, yet,
as part of the existing order of things, its
inert resistance would everywhere present
a strong barrier against the invasion of a
foreign faith. The priesthood of an effete
religion, as long as the attack is conducted
under the decent disguise of philosophical
inquiry, or is only aimed at the moral or
the speculative part of the faith; as long
as the form, of which alone they are be-
come the ministers, is permitted to sub-
sist, go on calmly performing the usual
ceremonial, neither their feelings nor
their interests are actively alive to the
veiled and insidious encroachments which
are made upon its power and stability. In
the Roman part of the Western world the
religion was an integral part of the state :
the greatest men of the last days of the re-
public, the Ciceros and Caesars, the em-
perors themselves, aspired to fill the pon-
tifical offices, and discharged their duties
with grave solemnity, however their de-
clared philosophical opinions were subver-
sive of the whole system of Polytheism.
Men might disbelieve, deny, even substi-
tute foreign superstitions for the accus-
tomed rites of their country, provided they
did not commit any overt act of hostility,
or publicly endeavour to bring the cere-
monial into contempt. Such acts were not
only impieties, they were treason against
the majesty of Rome. In the Grecian
cities, on the other hand, the interests and
the feelings of the magistracy and the

priesthood were less intimately connect-
ed ; the former, those, at least, who held
the higher authority, being Roman, the lat-
ter local or municipal. Though it was the
province of the magistrate to protect the
established religion, and it was sufficiently
the same with his own to receive his
regular worship, yet the strength with
which he would resent any dangerous in-
novation would depend on the degree of
influence possessed by the sacerdotal body,
and the pride or enthusiasm which the
people might feel for their local worship.*
Until, then, Christianity had made such
progress as to produce a visible diminution
in the attendance on the pagan worship;
until the temples were comparatively de-
serted, and the offerings less frequent, the
opposition encountered by the Christian
teacher, or the danger to which he would
be exposed, would materially depend on
the peculiar religious circumstances of
each city.* M

* In a former publication the author attempted to
represent the manner in which the strength of Po
lytheism, and its complete incorporation with the
public and private life of its votaries, might present
itself to the mind of a Christian teacher on his first
entrance into a heathen city. The passage has
been quoted in Archbishop Whateley’s book on
Rhetoric.

“ Conceive, then, the apostles of Jesus Christ, the
tent-maker or the fisherman, entering as strangers
into one of the splendid cities of Syria, Asia Minor,
or Greece. Conceive them, I mean, as unendowed
with miraculous powers, having adopted their itin-
erant system of teaching from human motives and
for human purposes alone. As they pass along to
the remote and obscure quarter where they expect
to meet with precarious hospitality among their
countrymen, they survey the strength of the es-
tablished religion, which it is their avowed purpose
to overthrow. Everywhere they behold temples
on which the utmost extravagance of expenditure
has been lavished by succeeding generations; idols
of the most exquisite workmanship, to which, even
if the religious feeling of adoration is enfeebled, the
people are strongly attached by national or local
vanity. They meet processions in which the idle
find perpetual occupation, the young excitement,
the voluptuous a continual stimulant to their pas-
sions. They behold a priesthood numerous, some-
times wealthy ; nor are these alone wedded by in-
terest to the established faith ; many of the trades,
like those of the makers of silver shrines at Ephe-
sus, are pledged to the support of that to which they
owe their maintenance. They pass a magnificent
theatre, on the splendour and success of which the
popularity of the existing authorities mainly de
pends, and in which the serious exhibitions are es-
sentially religious, the lighter as intimately con-
nected with the indulgence of the baser passions.
They behold another public building, where even
worse feelings, the cruel and the sanguinary, are
pampered by the animating contests of wild beasts
and of gladiators, in which they themselves may
shortly play a dreadful part,

Butcher’d to make a Roman holy day !

Show and spectacle are the characteristic enjoy-
ments of a whole people, and every show and spec-176

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

The narrative in the Acts, as far as it pro-
ceeds, is strikingly in accordance with this
state of things. The adventures of the
apostles in the different cities of Asia Minor
and Greece are singularly characteristic of
the population and the state of the existing
Polytheism in each. It was not till it had
extended beyond the borders of Palestine
that Christianity came into direct collision
with paganism. The first Gentile convert
admitted into the Christian community by
St. Peter, Cornelius, if not a proselyte to
Judaism, approached very nearly to it.
He was neither polytheist nor philosopher;
he was a worshipper of One Almighty
Creator, and familiar, it should seem, with
the Jewish belief in angelic appearances.
Even beyond the Holy Land Christianity
did not immediately attempt to address
the general mass of the pagan community;
its first collisions were casual and acci-
dental ; its operations commenced in the
synagogue; a separate community was
no? invariably formed, or, if formed, ap-
peared to the common observation only a
new assemblage for Jewish worship ; to
which, if heathen proselytes gathered in
more than ordinary numbers, it was but

tacle is either sacred to the religious feelings, or in-
centive to the lusts of the flesh; those feelings
which must be entirely eradicated, those lusts
which must be brought into total subjection to the
law of Christ. They encounter likewise itinerant
jugglers, diviners, magicians, who impose upon the
credulous to excite the contempt of the enlighten-
ed; in the first case, dangerous rivals to those who
should attempt to propagate a new faith by impos-
ture and deception ; in the latter, naturally tending
to prejudice the mind against all miraculous pre-
tensions whatever: here, like Elymas, endeavour-
ing to outdo the signs and wonders of the apostles,
thereby throwing suspicion on all asserted super-
natural agency by the frequency and clumsiness
of their delusions. They meet philosophers, fre-
quently itinerant like themselves; or teachers of
new religions, priests of Isis and Serapis, who have
, brought into equal discredit what might otherwise
have appeared a proof of philanthropy, the perform-
ing laborious journeys at the sacrifice of personal
ease and comfort, for the moral and religious im-
provement of mankind ; or, at least, have so accus-
tomed the public mind to similar pretensions as to
take away every attraction from their boldness or
novelty. There are also the teachers of the differ-
ent mysteries, which would engross all the anxiety
of the inquisitive, perhaps excite, even if they did
not satisfy, the hopes of the more pure and lofty-
minded. Such must have been among the obsta-
cles which must have forced themselves on the
calmer moments of the most ardent; such the over-
powering difficulties of which it would be impossi-
ble to overlook the importance or elude the force;
which required no sober calculation to estimate, no
laborious inquiry to discover; which met and con-
fronted them wherever they went, and which, ei-
ther in desperate presumption or deliberate reli-
ance on their own preternatural powers, they must
have contemned and defied.”—Bampton Lectures,
p. 269, 273.

the same thing on a larger, which had ex-
cited little jealousy on a smaller scale.* * * §

During the first journey of St. Paul, it
is manifest that in Cyprus par- Christianity
ticularly, and in the towns of Cyprus.
Asia Minor, the Jewish worship was an
object of general respect; and Christian-
ity appearing as a modification of Jewish
belief, shared in that deference which had
been long paid to the national religion of
the Jewish people. Sergius Faulus,f the
governor of Cyprus, under the influence
of the Jew Elymas, was already more than
half, if not altogether alienated from the
religion of Rome. Barnabas and Paul ap-
peared: before him at fyis own desire ; and
their manifest superiority over his former
teacher easily transformed him from an
imperfect proselyte to Judaism into a con-
vert to Christianity.

At Antioch, in Pisidia, there was a large
class of proselytes to Judaism, Antioch in
who espoused the cause of the Pisidia
Christian teachers, and who probably form-
ed the more considerable part of the Gen-
tile hearers addressed by Paul on his re-
jection by the leading Jews of’that city.

At Lystra,! in Lycaonia, the apostle ap-
pears for the first time in the centre,
as it were, of a pagan population; Lystra'
and it is remarkable, that in this wild and
inland region we find the old barbarous re-
ligion maintaining a lively and command-
ing influence over the popular mind. In
the more civilized and commercial parts
of the Roman world, in Ephesus, in Athens,
or in Rome, such extraordinary cures as
that of the cripple at Lystra might have
been publicly wrought, and might have ex-
cited a wondering interest in the multi-
tude : but it may be doubted whether the
lowest or most ignorant would have had
so much faith in the old fabulous appear-
ances of their own deities as immediately
to have imagined their actual and visible
appearance in the persons of these sur-
prising strangers. It is only in the remote
and savage Lystra, where the Greek lan-
guage had not predominated over the prim-
itive barbarous dialect^ (probably a branch

* The extent to which Jewish proselytism had
been carried is a most intricate question. From
the following passage, quoted from Seneca by St.

Augustin, if genuine, it would seem that it had
made great progress: “ Cum interim usque eoscel-
eratissirnse gentis consuetudo convaluit, ut per om-
nes terras jure recepta sit, victi victoribus leges de-
derunt.” St. Augustin positively asserts that this
sentence does not include the Christians.— De
Civit. Dei, vi., 11. f Acts, xiii., 6-12.

% Acts, xiv.. 6-19. - There were Jews resident at
Lystra, as appears by Acts, xvi., 1, 2*. Timotheus
was the offspring of an intermarriage between a
Jewish woman and a Greek: his name is Greek.

§ Jablonski, Dissertatio de Lingua LycaonieAHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY,

177

of the Cappadocian), that the popular emo-
tion instantly metamorphoses these pub-
lic benefactors into the Jove and Mercury
of their own temples. The inhabitants
actually make preparation for sacrifice,
and are with difficulty persuaded to con-
sider such wonder-working men to be of
the same nature with themselves. Nor is
it lqss characteristic of the versatility of
a rude people, that no sooner is the illu-
sion dispelled than they join with the hos-
tile Jews in the persecution of those very
men whom their superstition but a short
time before had raised into objects of Di-
vine worship.

In the second and more extensive jour-
ney of St. Paul, having parted from Bar-
nabas,* he was accompanied by Timothe-
us and Silas or Sylvanus,but of the Asiat-
ic part of this journey, though it led through
some countries of remarkable interest in
the history of paganism, no particulars are
Phrygia recorded. Phrygia* which was a
° ‘ kind of link between Greece and
the remoter East, still at times sent out
into the Western world its troops of fran-
tic Orgiasts; and the Phrygian vied with
the Isiac and Mithraic mysteries in its in-
fluence in awakening the dormant fanati-
cism of the Roman world. It is probable
that in these regions the apostle confined
himself to the Jewish settlers and their
Galatia Pr°selytes. In Galatia it is clear
that the converts were almost en-
tirely of Hebrew descent. The vision
which invited the apostle to cross from
Troas to Macedonia led him into a new
region, where his countrymen, though
forming flourishing communities in many
of the principal towns, were not, except
perhaps at Corinth, by any means so nu-
merous as in the greater part of Asia Mi-
nor. His vessel touched at Samothrace,
where the most ancient and remarkable
mysteries still retained their sanctity and
veneration in that holy and secluded isl-
Phiinpi allc^ Philippi he first came into

11 ' collision with those whose inter-
ests were concerned in the maintenance
of the popular religion. Though these
were only individuals, whose gains were
at once put an end to by the progress of
Christianity, the owners of the female
soothsayer of Philippi were part of a nu-
merous and active class, who subsisted on
*he public credulity. The proseucha, or
oratory of the Jews (the smaller place of
worship, which they always established
when their community was not sufficient-
y flourishing to maintain a synagogue),

reprinted in Valpy’s edition of Stephens’s Thesau-
rus. * Acts, xv., 36, to xviii., 18.

was, as usual, by the water side. The
river, as always in Greece and in all south-
ern countries, was the resort of the wom-
en of the city, partly for household pur-
poses, partly perhaps for bathing. Many
of this sex were in consequence attracted
by the Jewish proseucha, and had become,
if not proselytes, at least very favourably
inclined to Judaism, Among these was
Lydia, whose residence was at Thyatira,
and who, from her trading in the costly
purple dye, may be supposed a person of
considerable wealth and influence. Hav-
ing already been so far enlightened by Ju-
daism as to worship the One God, she be-
came an immediate convert to the Chris-
tianity of St. Paul. Perhaps the influence
or the example of so many of her own sex
worked upon the mind of a female of a
different character and occupation. She
may have been an impostor, but more
probably was a young girl of excited tem-
perament, whose disordered imagination
was employed by men of more artful char-
acter for their own sordid purposes. The
enthusiasm of this “ divining-1 damsel now
took another turn. Impressed with the
language and manner of Paul, she sudden-
ly deserted her old employers, and, throw-
ing herself into the train of the apostle,
proclaimed, with the same exalted fervour,,
his Divine mission and the superiority of
his religion. Paul, troubled with the pub-
licity and the continual repetition of her
outcries, exorcised her in the name of Je-
sus Christ. Her wild excitement died
away; the spirit passed from her; and
her former masters found that she was no
longer fit for their service. She could no
longer be thrown into those paroxysms of
temporary derangement, in which her dis-
ordered language was received as oracu-
lar of future events. This conversion pro-
duced a tumult throughout the city; the
interests of a powerful body were at stake,
for the trade of soothsaying at this time
was both common and lucrative. The em-
ployers of the prophetess inflamed the
multitude. The apostle and his attend-
ants were seized, arraigned before the ma-
gistrates as introducing an unlawful reli-
gion. The magistrates took part against
them. They suffered the ordinary pun-
ishment of disturbers of the peace ; were
scourged and cast into prison. While
their hymn, perhaps their evening hymn,
was heard through the prison, a violent
earthquake shook the whole building ; the
doors flew open, and the fetters, by which
probably they Were chained to the walls,
were loosened. The affrighted jailer, who
was responsible for their appearance, ex-
pected them to avail themselves of this178

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

opportunity of escape, and in his despair
was about to commit suicide. His hand
was arrested by the calm voice of Paul,
and to his wonder he found the prisoners
remaining quietly in their cells. His fears
and his admiration wrought together ; and
the jailer of Philippi, with his whole fam-
ily, embraced the Christian faith. The
magistrates, when they found that Paul
had the privilege of Roman citizenship,
were in their turn alarmed at their hasty
infringement of that sacred right, released
them honourably from the prison, and were
glad to prevail upon them to depart peace-
fully from the city. Thus, then, we have
contrast of already seen Christianity in col-
at^i^stra” ^si°n w*th Polytheism under
Philippi^’ two of its various forms : at
and Athens. Lystra, as still the old poetic
faith of a barbarous people, insensible to
the progress made elsewhere in the hu-
man mind,. and devoutly believing the
wonders of their native religion; in Phi-
lippi, a provincial town in a more cultiva-
ted part of Greece, but still at no high state
of intellectual advancement, as connected
with the vulgar arts, not of the establish-
ed priesthood, but of itinerant traders in
popular superstition. In Athens paganism
has a totally different character, inquiring,
argumentative, skeptical, Polytheism in
form, and that form imbodying all that
could excite the imagination of a highly-
polished people ; in reality admitting and
delighting in the freest discussion, alto-
gether inconsistent with sincere belief in
the ancient and established religion.

Passing through Amphipolis and Apol-

Thessaionica. lon!a> ?aul an? h‘s companions
arrived at Thessaionica; but
in this city, as well as in Berea, their chief
intercourse appears to have been with the
Jews. The riot by which they were ex-
pelled from Thessaionica, though blindly
kept up by the disorderly populace, was
instigated by Jason, the chief of the Jew-
ish community. Having left his compan-
ions, Timotheus and Silas, at Berea, Paul
arrived alone at Athens.

At Athens, the centre at once and capi-
Athens. Greek philosophy and

heathen superstition, takes place
the first public and direct conflict between
Christianity and paganism. Up to this
time there is no account of any one of the
apostles taking his station in the public
street or market-place, and addressing the
general multitude.* Their place of teach-
ing had invariably been the synagogue of

* This appears to be intimated in the expression,
Acts, xvii, 16 : “ His spirit was stirred within him
when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry.”

their nation, or, as at Philippi, the neigh-
bourhood of their customary place of wor-
ship. Here, however, Paul does not con-
fine himself to the synagogue, or to the
society of his countrymen and their pros-
elytes. He takes his stand in the public
market-place (probably not the Cerami-
cus, but the Kretriac Forum*), which, in
the reign of Augustus, had begun to be
more frequented, and at the top of which
was the famous portico from which the
Stoics assumed their name. In Athens,
the appearance of a new public teacher,
instead of offending the popular feelings,
was too familiar to excite astonishment,
and was rather welcomed, as promising
some fresh intellectual excitement. In
Athens, hospitable to all religions and all
opinions, the foreign and Asiatic appear-
ance, and possibly the less polished tone
and dialect of Paul, would only awaken
the stronger curiosity. Though they af-
fect at first (probably the philosophic part
of his hearers) to treat him as an idle
“ babbler,” and otliers (the vulgar, alarmed
for the honour of their deities) supposed
that he was about to introduce some new-
religious worship, which might endanger
the supremacy of their own tutelar di-
vinities, he is conveyed, not without re-
spect, to a still more public and commo-
dious place, from whence he may explain
his doctrines to a numerous assembly
without disturbance. On the pan] on me
Areopagusf the Christian leader Areopagus,
takes his staifd, surrounded on every side
with whatever was noble, beautiful, and
intellectual in the older world : temples, of
which the materials were only surpassed
by the architectural g;race and majesty ;
statues, in which the ideal Anthropomor-
phism of the Greeks had -almost elevated
the popular notions of the Deity, by imbod-
ying it in human forms of such exquisite
perfection ; public edifices, where the civil
interests of man had been discussed with
the acuteness and versatility of the high-
est Grecian intellect, in all the purity of
the inimitable Attic dialect, where orato-
ry had obtained its highest triumphs bj
“ wielding at will the fierce democracy f
the walks of the philosophers, who un
questionably, by elevating the human mind
to an appetite for new and nobler knowl-
edge, had prepared the way for a loftier and
purer religion. It was in the midst speecu cf
of these elevating associations, to Pa^*

* Strabo, x., 447.

t It has been supposed by sor e that Paul was
summoned before the court of tlv -V eopagus, who
took cognizance of causes relating >> vhgion. But
there is no indication in the narr? ' / jf any of the
forms of a judicial proceeding.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY,

179

which the student of Grecian literature in
Tarsus, the reader of Meander, and of the
Greek philosophical poets, could scarcely
be entirely dead or ignorant, that Paul
stands forth to proclaim the lowly yet au-
thoritative religion of Jesus of Nazareth.
His audience was chiefly formed from the
two prevailing sects, the Stoics and Epi-
cureans, with the populace, the worship-
pers of the established religion. In his
discourse, the heads of which are related
by St. Luke, Paul, with singular felicity,
touches on the peculiar opinions of each
class among his hearers ;* he expands the
popular religion into a higher philosophy;
he imbues philosophy with a profound sen-
timent of religion.f

It is impossible not to examine with the
utmost interest the whole course of this
(if we consider its remote consequences,
and suppose it the first full and public ar-
gument of Christianity against the heathen
religion and philosophy), perhaps the most
extensively and permanently effective ora-
tion ever uttered by man. We may con-
template Paul as the representative of
Christianity, in the presence, as it were,
of the concentrated religion of Greece ;
and of the spirits, if we may so speak, of
Socrates, and Plato, and Zeno. The open-
ing of the apostle’s speech is according to
those most perfect rules of art which are
but the expressions of the general senti-
ments of nature. It is calm, temperate,
conciliatory. It is no fierce denunciation
of idolatry, no contemptuous disdain of
the prevalent philosophic opinions ; it has
nothing of the sternness of the ancient
Jewish prophet, nor the taunting defiance
of the later Christian polemic. “Already
the religious people of Athens had, un-
knowingly indeed, worshipped the univer-
sal deity, for they had an altar to the Un-
known God.J The nature, the attributes
of this sublimer being, hitherto adored in

* Paulus summ& arte orationem suam ita tempe-
rat, ut modo cum vulgo contra philosophos, modo
cum philosophis contra plebem, modo contra utros-
que pugnet.—Rosenmiiller, in loco.

t The art and propriety of this speech is consid-
erably marred by the mistranslation of one word in
our version, SsiffiSatpovearipovs, which does not im-
ply reproof, as in the rendering “ too superstitious.”
Conciliation, not offence, of the public feeling, es-
pecially at the opening of a speech, is the first prin-
ciple of all oratory, more particularly of Christian
teaching.

t Of all the conjectures (for all is purely conjec-
tural) on the contested point of the “ altar to the
Unknown God,” the most ingenious and natural,
in our opinion, is that of Eichhorn. There were,
he supposes, very ancient altars, older perhaps than
the art of writing, or on which the inscription had
been effaced by time: on these the piety of later
ages bad engraven the simple words, “ To the Un-
known God.”

ignorant and unintelligent homage, he came
to unfold. This God rose far above the
popular notion; he could not be confined
in altar or temple, or represented by any
visible image. He was the universal fa-
ther of. mankind, even of the earth-born
Athenians, who boasted that they were of
an older race than the other families of
man, and coeval with the world itself.
He was the fountain of life, which perva-
ded and sustained the universe; he had
assigned their separate dwellings to the
separate families of man.” Up to a cer-
tain point in this higher view of the Su-
preme Being, the philosopher of the Gar-
den, as well as of the Porch, might listen
with wonder and admiration. It soared,
indeed, high above the vulgar religion;
but in the lofty and serene Deity, who dis-
dained to dwell in the earthly temple, and
needed nothing from the hand of man,*
the Epicurean might almost suppose that
he heard the language of his own teacher.
But the next sentence, which asserted the
providence of God as the active, creative
energy-—as the conservative, the ruling,
the ordaining principle — annihilated at
once the atomic theory and the govern-
ment of blind chance, to which Epicurus
ascribed the origin and preservation of the
universe. “ This high and impassive dei-
tj, who dwelt aloof in serene and majes-
tic superiority to all want, was perceptible
in some mysterious manner by man: his
all-pervading providence comprehended
the whole human race; man was in.con-
stant union with the Deity, as an offspring
with its parent.” And still the Stoic might
applaud with complacent satisfaction the
ardent words of the apostle ; he might ap-
prove the lofty condemnation of idolatry.
“ We, thus of divine descent, ought to
think more nobly of our universal Father
than to suppose that the Godhead is like
unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by
art or man’s device.” But this Divine
Providence was far different from the stern
and all-controlling necessity, the inexora-
ble fatalism of the Stoic system. While
the moral value of human action was rec-
ognised by the solemn retributive judg-
ment to be passed on all mankind, the dig-
nity of Stoic virtue was lowered by the
general demand of repentance. The per-
fect man, the moral king, was deposed, as
it were, and abased to the general level;
he had to learn new lessons in the school
of Christ; lessons of humility and con-
scious deficiency, the most directly oppo-

* Needing nothing: the coincidence with the
“nihil indiga nostri” of Lucretius is curious, even
if accidental.180

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

sed to the principles and the sentiments
of his philosophy.

The great Christian doctrine of the res-
urrection closed the speech of Paul; a
doctrine received with mockery, perhaps,
by his Epicurean hearers, with suspension
of judgment, probably, by the Stoic, with
whose theory of the final destruction of
the world by fire and his tenet of future
retribution it might appear in some de-
gree to harmonize. Some, however, be-
came declared converts ; among whom are
particularly named Dionysius, a man of
sufficient distinction to be a member of
the famous court of the Areopagus, and a
woman named Damaris, probably of con-
siderable rank and influence.

At Athens, all this free discussion on
topes relating to the religious and moral
nature of man, and involving the authority
of the existing religion, passed away with-
out disturbance. The jealous reverence
for the established faith, which, conspiring
with its perpetual ally, political faction,
had in former times caused the death of
Socrates, the exile of Stilpo, and the pro-
scription of Diagoras the Melian,had long
died away. With the loss of independence
political animosities had subsided, and the
toleration of philosophical and religious
indifference allowed the utmost latitude
to speculative inquiry, however ultimately
dangerous to the whole fabric of the na-
tional religion. Yet Polytheism still reign-
ed in Athens in its utmost splendour : the
temples were maintained with the highest
pomp; the Eleusinian Mysteries, in which
religion and philosophy had in some de-
gree coalesced, attracted the noblest and
the wisest of the Romans, who boasted of
their initiation in these sublime secrets.
Athens was thus at once the headquarters
of paganism, and, at the same time, the
place where paganism most clearly betray-
ed its approaching dissolution.

From Athens the apostle passes to Cor-
inth. Corinth was at this time the com-
mon emporium of the eastern and western
divisions of the Roman empire. It was
the Venice of the Old World, in whose
streets the continued stream of commence,
either flowing from or towards the great
capital of the world, out of all the East-
ern territories, met and crossed.* The
basis of the population of Corinth was Ro-

* After its destruction by Mummius, Corinth was
restored, beautified, and coionized by Julius Csesar.
—Strabo, viii., 381. For its history, wealth, and
commercial situation, Diod. Sic , Fragm. The prof-
ligacy of Corinthian manners was likewise prover-
bial : TLoTuv oiKelTs t&v ovo&v re nal yeyevT}-
phuv kira(j)podiTOTdT7}v.—Dio Chrysost., Orat. 37,
. ii., p. 110

man, of very recent settlement; Corinth,
but colonists from all quarters a.d. &
had taken up their permanent residence in
a place so admirably adapted for mercan-
tile purposes. In no part of the Roman
empire were both the inhabitants and the
travellers through the city so various ano
mingled; nowhere, therefore, would a new
religion at the same time spread with
much rapidity, and send out the ramifica-
tions of its influence with so much suc-
cess, and, at the same time, excite so little
observation amid the stir of business and
the perpetual influx and afflux of strangers,
or be less exposed to jealous opposition.
Even the priesthood, newly settled, like
the rest of the colony, could command
no ancient reverence ; and in the perpetual
mingling and confusion of all dresses and
dialects, no doubt there was the same con-
course of religious itinerants of every de-
scription.* At Corinth, therefore, but for
the hostility of his countrymen, the Chris-
tian apostle might, even longer than the
eighteen months which he passed in that
city, have preserved his peaceful course.
The separation which at once took place
between the Jewish and the Christian com-
munities in Corinth—the secession of Paul
from the synagogue into a neighbouring
house—might have allayed even this in-
testine ferment, had not the progress of
Christianity, and the open adoption of the

* Corinth was a favourite resort of the Sophists
(Aristid., Isthm. Athenaeus, 1. xiii.), and in an ora-
tion of Dio Chrysostom there is a lively and graph-
ic description of what may be called one of the fairs
of antiquity, the Isthmian games, which happily il-
lustrates the general appearance of society. Among
the rest, the Cynic philosopher Diogenes appears,
and endeavours to attract an audience among the
vast and idle multitude. He complains, however,
“ that if he were a travelling dentist or an oculist,
or had any infallible specific for the spleen or the
gout, all who were afflicted with such diseases
would have thronged around him; but as he only
professed to cure mankind of vice, ignorance, and
profligacy, no one troubled himself to seek a rem-
edy for those less grievous maladies.” “ And there
was around the temple of Neptune a crowd of mis-
erable Sophists shouting and abusing one another;
and of their so-called disciples, fighting with each
other; and many authors reading their works, to
which nobody paid any attention ; and many poets
chanting their poems, with others praising them ;
and many jugglers showing off their tricks ; and
many prodigy-mongers noting down their wonders ;
and a thousand rhetoricians perplexing causes ; and
not a few shopkeepers retailing their wares wher-
ever they could find a customer. And presently
some approached the philosopher ; pot, indeed, the
Corinthians, for, as they saw him every day in Cor-
inth, they did not expect to derive any advantage
from hearing him; but those that drew near him
were strangers, each of whom, having listened a
short time and asked a few questions, made his re-
treat from fear of his rebukes.”—Dio Chrys., Orat.
viiiHISTORY GF CHRISTIANITY.

new faith by one of the chiefs of the syn-
agogue, reawakened that fierce animosity
which had already caused the expulsion
of both parties from Rome, and the seeds
of which no doubt rankled in the hearts of
many. Here, therefore, for the first time,
Christianity was brought under the cog-
nizance of a higher authority than the mu-
nicipal magistrate of one of the Macedo-
nian cities. The contemptuous dismissal
of the cause by the proconsul of Achaia,
as beneath the majesty of the Roman tri-
bunal; his refusal to interfere when some
of the populace, with whom the Christians
were apparently the favoured party, on
the repulse of the accusing Jews from the
seat of justice, fell upon one of them
named Sosthenes, and maltreated him with
considerable violence, shows how little
even the most enlightened men yet com-
prehended the real nature of the new re-
ligion. The affair was openly treated as
an unimportant sectarian dispute about
Gaiiio, the national faith of the Jews.
a.d. 53. The mild* and popular character of
Gallio, his connexion with his brother
Seneca,f in whose philosophic writings
the morality of heathenism had taken a
higher tone than it ever assumes, unless
perhaps subsequently in the works of
Marcus Antoninus, excite regret that the
religion of Christ was not brought under
his observation in a manner more likely
to conciliate his attention. The result of
this trial was the peaceful establishment
of Christianity in Corinth, where, though
secure from the violence of the Jews, it
was, however, constantly exposed by its
situation to the intrusion of new comers,
with different modifications of Christian
opinions. This, therefore, was the first
Christian community which was rent into
parties, and in which the authority of the
apostle was perpetually wanting to cor-
rect opinions not purely Jewish in their
origin.

Thus eventful was the second journey
of Paul: over so wide a circuit had Chris-
tianity already been disseminated, almost
entirely by his personal exertions. In
many of the most flourishing and populous
cities of Greece communities were formed,

* Nemo mortalium uni tam dulcis est quam hie
omnibus.—Senec.. Nat. Queest.,4, Praef. Hoc plus-
quarn Senecam dedisse mundo. Et dulcem gen-
erasse Gallionem. — Stat. Sylv., ii.} 7. Compare
Dion. Ca^s., lx.

t Among the later forgeries was a correspond-
ence between Seneca and St. Paul: and many
Christian writers, as unacquainted with the history
of their own religion as with the state of the heathen
mind, have been anyious to trace all that is striking
and beautiful in th writings of the Stoic to Chris-
tian influence.

181

which were continually enlarging their
sphere.

The third journey,* starting from the
headquarters of Christianity, Antioch, led
Paul again through the same regions of
Asia, Galatia, and Phrygia. But now, in-
stead of crossing over into Macedonia, he
proceeded along the west of Asia Minor
to the important city of Ephesus. Ephesus,
Ephesusf at this time may be con- A-D> 54-
sidered the capital, the chief mercantile
city, of Asia Minor. It was inhabited by
a mingled population; and probably uni-
ted, more than any city in the East, Gre-
cian and Asiatic habits, manners, and su-
perstitions. J Its celebrated temple was
one of the most splendid models of Gre-
cian architecture; the image of the god-
dess retained the symbolic form of the old
Eastern nature-worship. It was one of
the great schools of magic ; the Ephesian
amulets or talismans^ were in high re-
quest. Polytheism had thus effected an
amicable union of Grecian art with Asi-
atic mysticism and magical superstition :
the vender of the silver shrines, which
represented the great Temple, one of the
wonders of the world, vied with the tra-
der in charms and in all the appurtenances
of witchcraft. Great numbers of Jews
had long inhabited the chief cities of Asia
Minor; many had attained to opulence,
and were of great mercantile importance.
Augustus had issued a general rescript to
the cities of Asia Minor for the protection
of the Jews, securing to them the freedom
of religious worship, legalizing the trans-
mission of the Temple tribute to Jerusa-
lem by their own appointed receivers, and
making the plunder of their synagogues
sacrilege.|| Two later edicts of Agrippa
and Julius Antoninus, proconsuls, particu-
larly addressed to the magistracy of Eph-<
esus, acknowledged and confirmed the im-
perial decree. From this period nothing
can yet have occurred to lessen their
growing prosperity, or to lower them in
the estimation of their Gentile neighbours.
Among the numerous Jews in this great
city Paul found some who, hav- Discjp]esof
ing been in Judaea during the John the
teaching of John the Baptist, had BaPtist-
embraced his opinions and received bap-
tism, either at his hands or from his dis-
ciples, but appear not only not to have vis-
ited the mother-country, but to have kept

* Acts, xviii., 23, to xxi., 3
f Roseninuller, das alte-und neue Morgenland,
6-50.

t Compare Matter, Hist, du Gnosticisme, i, 137.
$ E(j)SGLa ypa/LLftara.

II Upoffvha, Joseph., Ant., xvi., 6. Krebs, Deere-
ta Romanorurn pro Judaeis, Lipsiae, 1778.182

HISTORY OF' CHRISTIANITY.

up so little connexion with it as to be al-
most, if not entirely, ignorant of the prom-
ulgation of Christianity. The most emi-
nent of them, Apollos, had left the city for
Corinth, where, meeting with St. Paul’s
companions, the Roman Jews Priscilla and
Aquila, he had embraced Christianity, and
being a man of eloquence, immediately
took such a lead in the community as to
be set up by one of the conflicting parties
as a kind of rival of the apostle. The rest
of.this sect in Ephesus willingly listened
to the teaching of Paul: to the number of
twelve they “.received the Holy Ghost,”
and thus became the nucleus of a new
Christian community in Ephesus. The
followers of John the Baptist, no doubt,
conformed in all respects with the cus-
tomary worship of their countrymen :
their peculiar opinions were superinduced,
as it were, upon their Judaism ; they were
still regular members of the synagogue.
In the synagogue, therefore, Paul com-
menced his labours, the success of which
was so great as evidently to excite the
hostility of the leading Jews : hence here
likewise a complete separation took place ;
the apostle obtained possession of a school
belonging to a person named Tyrannus,
most likely a Grecian sophist, and the
Christian Church stood alone, as a distinct
and independent place of Divine worship.

Paul continued to reside in Ephesus two
Ephesian years, during which the rapid ex-
magic. v tension of Christianity was accel-
erated by many wonderful cures. In
Ephesus such cures were likely to be
sought with avidity, but in this centre of
magical superstition would by no means
command belief in the Divine mission of
the worker of miracles; Jews, as well as
heathens, admitted the unlimited power
of supernatural agencies, and vied with
each other in the success of their rival en-
chantments. The question then would
arise, by what more than usually potent
charm or mysterious power such extra-
ordinary works were wrought. The fol-
lowers of both religions had implicit faith
in the magic influence of certain names.
With the Jews, this belief was moulded
up with their most sacred traditions. It
was by the holy Tetra Grammaton,* the
Sem-ham-phorash, according to the Alex-
Jewish andrean historian of the Jews, that
exorcists. ]\joses and their gifted ancestors

* Artabanus apud Euseb., Prsep. Evangel., viii.,
28. Compare Clemens. Alex., Strom., v., p. 562.
It is curious enough that the constant repetition
of the mysterious name of the Deity, Oum, should
be the most acceptable act of devotion among the
Indians, among the Jews the most awful and inex-
piable impiety.

wrought all the wonders of their early
history; Pharaoh trembled before it, and
the plagues of Egypt had been obedient u>
the utterance of the awful monosyllable.,
the ineffable name of the Deity. Caba-
lism, which assigned at first sanctity, and
afterward power over the intermediate
spirits of good and evil, to certain combi-
nations of letters and numbers, though
not yet cultivated to its height, existed, no
doubt,‘in its earlier elements, among the
Jews of this period. Upon this principle,
some of the Jews who practised exor-
cism attributed all these prodigies of St.
Paul to some secret power possessed by
the name of Jesus. Among these were
some men of high rank, the sons of one
of the high-priests named Sceva. They
seem to have believed in the superstition
by which they ruled the minds of others,
and supposed that the talismanic influence,
which probably depended on cabalistic
art, was inseparably connected with the
pronunciation of this mystic name. Those
whom this science or this trade of exor-
cism (according as it was practised by the
credulous or the crafty) employed for their
purposes, were those unhappy beings of
disordered imagination, possessed, accord-
ing to the belief of the times, by evil spir-
its. One of these, on whom they were
trying this experiment, had probably be-
fore been strongly impressed with the
teaching of Paul and the religion which
he preached; and, irritated by the inter-
ference of persons whom he might know-
to be hostile to the Christian party, as-
saulted them with great violence, and
drove them naked and wounded out of the
house.*

This extraordinary event was not only
fatal to the pretensions of the Jewish ex-
orcists, but at once seemed to put to
shame all wdio believed and who practised
magical arts, and the manufacturers of
spells and talismans. Multitudes came
forward, and voluntarily gave up to be
burned, not only all their store of amulets,
but even the books which contained the
magical formularies. Their value, as
probably they were rated and estimated
at a high price, amounted to 50,000 pieces
of silver, most likely Attic drachms or
Roman silver denarii, a coin very current
in Asia Minor, and worth about lid. of
our money. The sum would thi\s make
something more than jC1600.

These superstitions, however, though
domiciliated at Ephesus, were foreign,
and, perhaps, according to the Roman

* It is not improbable that they may have taken
off their ordinary dress, for the purpose of per-
forming their incantation with greater solemnityHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

!8s

provincial regulations, unlawful. Yet even
the established religion, at least some of
those dependant upon it for their subsist-
ence, began to tremble at the rapid in-
crease of the new faith. A collision now,
for the first time, took place with the in-
terests of that numerous class who were
directly connected with the support of the
reigning Polytheism. The Temple of
Ephesus, as one of the wonders of the
world, was constantly visited by stran-
gers; a few, perhaps, from religion, many
from curiosity or admiration of the unri-
valled architecture; at all events, by the
greater number of those who were always
passing, accidentally or with mercantile
views, through one of the most celebrated
marts of the East. There was a common
article of trade, a model or shrine of sil-
ver representing the temple, which was
preserved as a memorial, or, perhaps, as
endowed with some sacred and talismanic
power. The sale of these works gradual-
ly fell off, and the artisans, at the insti-
. gation of a certain Demetrius,
the maker raised a violent popular tumult,
or silver and spread the exciting watch-
Ahi>n57. word that the worship of Diana
was in danger. The whole city
rung with the repeated outcries, “ Great is
Diana of the Ephesians.” Two of Paul’s
companions were seized and dragged into
the public theatre, the place where in many
cities the public business was transacted.
Paul was eager to address the multitude,
but was restrained by the prudence of his
friends, among whom were some of the
most eminent men of the province, the
asiarchs.* The Jews appear to have been
implicated in the insurrection; and prob-
ably to exculpate themselves and dis-
claim all connexion with the Christians,
they put forward a certain Alexander, a
man of eloquence and authority. The ap-
pearance of Alexander seems not to have
produced the effect they intended; as a
Jew, he was considered hostile to the Pol-
ytheistic worship ; his voice was drowned
by the turbulence, and for two hours no^
thing could be heard in the assembly but
the reiterated clamour, “ Great is Diana
of the Ephesians.” The conduct of the
magistrates seems to indicate that they
were acting against a part of the commu-
nity in whose favour the imperial edicts

* This office appears to have been a wreck of
the ancient federal constitution of the Asiatic cities.
The asiarchs were elective by certain cities, and
represented the general league or confederation.
They possessed the supreme sacerdotal authority ;
regulated and presided in the theatric exhibitions.
Their pontifical character renders it more remarka-
ble that they should have been favourably disposed
toward 10 -1

were still in force. Either they did 110}
yet clearly distinguish between the Jews
and Christians, or supposed that the lat-
ter, as originally Jews, were under the pro-
tection of the same rescripts. Express-
ing the utmost reverence for the establish-
ed religion of Diana, they recommend
moderation; exculpate the accused from
the charge of intentional insult, either
against the temple or the religion of the
city; require that the cause should be
heard in a legal form ; and finally urge
the danger which the city incurred of be-
ing punished for the breach of the public
peace by the higher authorities—the pro-
consular governor of Asia. The tumult
was allayed; but Paul seems to have
thought it prudent to withdraw from the
excited city, and to pursue his former line
of travel into Macedonia and Greece.

From Ephesus, accordingly, we trace
his course through Macedonia to Corinth.
Great changes had probably taken place in
this community. The exiles from Rome,
when the first violence of the edict of
Claudius had passed away, both Jews and
Christians, quietly stole back to their usual
residences in the metropolis. In writing
his epistle to the Roman Christians from
this place, Paul seems to intimate both
that the religion was again peaceably and
firmly established in Rome (it counted
some of the imperial household among
its converts), and likewise that he was
addressing many individuals with whom
he was personally acquainted. As, then,
it is quite clear, from the early history,
that he had not himself travelled so far as
Italy, Corinth seems the only place where
he can have formed these connexions.

His return led him, from fear of his hos-
tile countrymen, back through Macedonia
to Troas ; thence, taking ship at Assos, he
visited the principal islands of the Aegean,
Mytilene, Chios, and Samos; landed at
Miletus, where he had an interview with
the heads of the Ephesian community ;
thence by sea, touching at Coos, aD
Rhodes, and Patara, to Tyre. Few
incidents-occur during this long voyage :
the solemn and affecting parting from the
Ephesian Christians, who came to meet,
him at Miletus, implies a profound sense
of the dangers which awaited him on his
return to Palestine. The events which
occurred during his journey, and his resi-
dence in Jerusalem, have been already re-
lated. This last collision with his native
Judaism, and his imprisonment, occupy
between two and three years.*

* For the period between the year 58 and 61 see
the last chapter.J84 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

The next place in which the apostle
A D 6J surveyed the strength and encoun-
tered the hostility of paganism,
was in the metropolis of the world. Re-
leased from his imprisonment at Cassarea,
the Christian apostle was sent to answer
for his conduct in Jerusalem before the
imperial tribunal, to which, as a Roman
citizen, he had claimed his right of appeal.
His voyage is singularly descriptive of
the precarious navigation of the Mediter-
ranean at that time ; and it is curious that,
in the wild island of Melita, the apos-
tle having been looked upon as an atro-
cious criminal because a viper had fasten-
ed upon his hand, when he shook the rep-
tile off without having received any injury,
was admired as a god. In the barbarous
Melita as in the barbarous Lystra, the be-
lief in gods under the human form had
not yet given place to the incredulous
spirit of the age. He arrives, at length,
at the port in Italy where voyagers from
Syria or Egypt usually disembarked, Pu-
teoli. There appear to have been Chris-
tians in that town, who received Paul,
and with whom he resided for seven days.
Many of the Roman Christians, apprized
of his arrival, went out to meet him as far
as the village of Appii Forum, or a place
called the Three Taverns. But it is re-
markable, that so complete by this time
was the separation between the Jewish
and Christian communities,that the former
had no intelligence of his arrival, and,
what is more singular, knew nothing what-
ever of his case.* Possibly the usual
correspondence with Jerusalem had been
interrupted at the time of the expulsion of
the Jews from Rome, and had not been
re-established with its former regularity ;
or, as is more probable, the persecution of
Paul being a party and Sadducaic meas-
ure, was neither avowed nor supported by
the great body of the nation. Those who
had visited and returned from Jerusalem,
being chiefly of the Pharisaic or more re-
ligious party, were either ignorant or im-
perfectly informed of the extraordinary
adventures of Paul in their native city:

■ nd two years had elapsed during his con-
finement at Caesarea. Though still in
form a prisoner, Paul enjoyed almost per-
fect freedom, and his first step was a gen-
eral appeal to the whole community of the
Jews then resident in Rome. To them he
explained the cause of his arrival. It was
not uncommon, in disputes between two
parties in Jerusalem, that both parties
should be summoned or sent at once by
the governor, especially if, like Paul, they

demanded it as a right, to plead their cause
before the imperial courts. More than
once the high-priest himself had been re-
duced to the degrading situation of a
criminal before a higher tribunal; and
there are several instances in which all
the arts of court intrigue were employed
to obtain a decision* on some question of
Jewish politics. Paul, while he acknowl-
edges that his conflict with his country-
men related to his belief in Christ as the
Messiah, disclaims all intention of arraign-
ing the ruling authorities for their injus-
tice : he had no charge to advance against
the nation. The Jews, in general, seem
to have been inclined to hear from so high
an authority the real doctrines of the Gos-
pel. They assembled for that purpose at
the house in which the apostle was con-
fined; and, as usual, some, were favour-
ably disposed to the Christianity of Paul,
others rejected it with the most confirmed
obduracy.

But at this instant we pass at once
from the firm and solid ground AD 63 St>
of authentic and credible his- Paul leaves*
tory upon the quaking and in- Rome-
secure footing of legendary tradition. A
few scattered notices of the personal his-
tory of Paul may be gathered from the la-
ter epistles ; but the last fact which we re-
ceive from the undoubted authority of the
writer of the Acts is, that two years pass-
ed before the apostle left Rome.* To
what examination he was subjected, in
what manner his release was obtained, all
is obscure, or, rather, without one ray of
light. But to the success of Paul in Rome,
and to the rapid progress of Christianity
during these two eventful years, we have
gloomy and melancholy evidence. The
next year after his departure is darkly no-
ted in the annals of Rome as the era of
that fatal fire which enveloped in Earning
ruin all the ancient grandeur of of Rome,
the Eternal City ; in those of Christianity
as the epoch of the first heathen perse-
cution. This event throws considerable
light on the state of the Christian Church
at Rome. No secret or very inconsider-
able community would have attracted the
notice or satisfied the bloodthirsty cruelty
of Nero. The people would not have con-
sented to receive them as atoning victims
for the dreadful disaster of the conflagra-

* Whatever might he the reason for the abrupt
termination of the book of the Acts, which could
neither be the death of the author, for he probably-
survived St. Paul, nor his total separation from him,
for he was with him towards the close of his ca-
reer (2 Tim., iv., 11), the expression in the last
verse but one of the Acts limits the residence of
St. Paul in Rome at that time to two years.

* Acts, xxviii., 21.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tion, nor would the reckless tyranny of
the emperor have condescended to select
them as sacrificial offerings to appease the
popular fury, unless they had been nu-
merous, far above contempt, and already
looked upon with a jealous eye. Nor is
it less clear that, even to the blind discern-
ment of popular indignation and impe-
rial cruelty, the Christians were by this
time distinguished from the Jews. They
were no longer a mere sect of the parent
nation, but a separate, a marked, and pe-
culiar people, known by their distinctive
usages, and incorporating many of Gentile
descent into their original Jewish com-
munity.

Though at first there appears something
unaccountable in this proscription of a
harmless and unobtrusive sect, against
whom the worst charge at last was the in-
troduction of a new and peaceful form of
worshipping one Deity, a privilege which
the Jew had always enjoyed without mo-
lestation, yet the process by which the
public mind was led to this outburst of
fury, and the manner in which it was di-
rected against the Christians, are clearly
indicated by the historian.* After the
first consternation and distress, an access
of awe-struck superstition seized on the
popular mind. Great public calamities
can never be referred to obvious or acci-
dental causes. The trembling people had
recourse to religious rites, endeavoured to
ascertain by what offended deities this
dreadful judgment had been inflicted, and
sought for victims to appease their yet,
perhaps, unmitigated gods.f But when su-
perstition has once found out victims to
whose guilt or impiety it may ascribe the
Divine anger, human revenge mingles it-
self up with the relentless determination
to propitiate offended Heaven, and con-
tributes still more to blind the judgment
and exasperate the passions. The other
foreign religions, at which the native dei-
ties might take offence, had been long dom-
iciliated at Rome. Christianity was the
newest, perhaps was making the most
alarming progress : it was no national re-
ligion ; it was disclaimed with eager an-
imosity by the Jews, among whom it ori-
ginated ; its principles and practices were
obscure and unintelligible, and that ob-
scurity the excited imagination of the hos-

* Mox petita diis piacula, aditique Sibyllae libri,
ex quibus supplicatum Vulcano et Cereri Proserpin-
acque, ac propitiata Juno per matronas, prirniirn in
Capitolio, deinde apud proximum mare, &c.—Tac.,
Ann., xv., 44.

f Sed non ope humaria, non largitionibus princi-
pis, aut deum placamentis decedebat infamia, quin
/ussum mcendium crederetur.

A A

185

tile people might fill up with the darkest
and most monstrous forms.

We have sometimes thought it possible
that incautious or misinterpret- pr0babie
ed expressions of the Chris- causes which
tians themselves might have
attracted the blind resentment winf this
of the people. The minds of event-
the Christians were constantly occupied
with the terrific images of the filial coming
of the Lord to judgment in fire; the con-
flagration of the world was the expected
consummation, which they devoutly sup-
posed to be instantly at hand. When,
therefore, they saw the great metropolis
of the world, the city of pride, of sensual-
ity, of idolatry, of bloodshed, blazing like
a fiery furnace before their eyes—the
Babylon of the West, wrapped in one vast
sheet of destroying flame—the more fa-
natical, the Jewish part of the community,*
may have looked on with something of
fierce hope and eager anticipation ; expres-
sions almost triumphant may have burst
from unguarded lips. They may have at-
tributed the ruin to the righteous ven-
geance of the Lord; it may have seemed
the opening of that kingdom which was to
commence with the discomfiture, the des-
olation of heathenism, and to conclude
with the establishment of the millennial
kingdom of Christ. Some of these, in the
first instance, apprehended and examined,
may have made acknowledgments before
a passionate and astonished tribunal which
would lead to the conclusion that in the
hour of general destruction they had some
trust, some security, denied to the rest of
mankind; and this exemption from com-
mon misery, if it would not mark them
out in some dark mannerf as the authors
of the conflagration, at all events would
convict them of that hatred of the human
race so often advanced against the Jews.

Inventive cruelty sought out new ways
of torturing these victims of popular hatred
and imperial injustice. The calm and se-
rene patience with which they were arm-

* Some deep and permanent cause of hatred
against the Christians, it may almost seem, as con-
nected with this disaster, can alotie account for the
strong expressions of Tacitus, writing so many
years after : Sontes et novissimaexempla meritos.*
t Haud perinde in crimine incendii quam odio
generis humani convicti sunt.

* [Both Pliny (lib. x., ep. 97) and Trajan (ep. 98) deem-
ed the firmness of the Christians in adhering to their reli-
gion and their refusing to do sacrifice as sufficient ground
for putting them to death. What evidence, then, does this
passage afford for Mr. Mil man’s conjecture? Melito Sar-
dicensis (in Euseb., If. E., iv., 26) says that Nero was per-
suaded by certain malevolent persons (W tivwv (3acKa-
v(i)v dvOpcjTrwv). Must they have used indiscreet language
respecting the conflagration in order to have private ene-
mies?]166

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ed by their religion against the most ex-
cruciating sufferings, may have irritated
still farther their ruthless persecutors.
The sewing up men in the skins of beasts,
and setting dogs to tear them to pieces,
may find precedent in the annals of human
barbarity ;* but the covering them over
with a kind of dress smeared with wax,
pitch, or other combustible matter, with a
stake under their chin to keep them up-
right, and then placing them to be slowly
consumed, like torches in the public gar-
dens of popular amusement, this seems to
have been an invention of the time; and,
from the manner in which it is mentioned
by the Roman writers as the most horri-
ble torture known, appears to have made
a profound impression on the general mind.
Even a people habituated to gladiatorial
shows, and to the horrible scenes of whole-
sale execution which were of daily occur-
rence during the reigns of Tiberius, Calig-
ula, and Nero, must yet have been in an
unusual state of exasperated excitement
to endure, or, rather, to take pleasure in
the sight of these unparalleled barbarities.
Thus the gentle, the peaceful religion of
Christ was welcomed upon earth by new
application of man’s inventive faculties to
inflict suffering and to satiate revenge.f

The apostle was no doubt absent from
Rome at the commencement and during
the whole of this persecution. His course
is dimly descried by the hints scattered
through his later epistles. It is probable
that he travelled into Spain. The asser-
tion of Irenaeus, that he penetrated to the
extreme West,J coincides with his inten-

* Et pereuntibus addita ludibria, ut ferarurn ter-
gis obtecti, laniatu canum interirent; autcrucibus
affixi, aut flammandi, atque ubi defecisset dies, in
usum nocturni luminis urerentur.—Tac., Ann., xv.,
54. Juvenal calls this “tunica molesta,” viii., 235.

tada lucebis in ilia,

Qua stantes ardent, qui fixo gutture fumant

Et latum media sulcum deducit arenA—i., 155.
Illam tunicam alimentisignium illitam et intextam.
—Senec., Epist. xix. It was probably thought ap-
propriate to consume with slow fire the authors of
the conflagration.

f Gibbon’s extraordinary “conjecture” that the
Christians in Rome were confounded with the Gal-
ileans, the fanatical followers of Judas the Gaulo-
nite, is most improbable. The sect of Judas was
not known beyond the precincts of Palestine. The
insinuation that the Jews may have escaped the
proscription, through the interest of the beautiful
Poppsea and the favourite Jewish player Aliturus,
though not very likely, is more in character with
the times.

t The visit of St. Paul to Britain, in our opinion,
is a fiction of religious national vanity. It has few
or no advocates except English ecclesiastical anti-
quarians. In fact, the state of the island, in which
the precarious sovereignty of Rome was still fierce-
ly contested by the native barbarians, seems to be
entirely forgotten. Civilization had made little prog-

tion of visiting that province declared at
an earlier period. As it is difficult to as-
sign to any other part of his life the estab-
lishment of Christianity in Crete, it may
be permitted to suppose that from Spain
his course lay eastward, not improbably
with the design of revisiting Jerusalem.
That he entertained this design there ap-
pears some evidence ; none, however, that
he accomplished it.* The state of Judaea,
in which Roman oppression had now be-
gun, under Albinus, if not under Florus,f
to grow to an intolerable height; the spirit
of indignant resistance which was ferment-
ing in the mind of the people, might either
operate to deter or to induce the apostle
to undertake the journey. On the one
hand, if the Jews should renew their im-
placable hostility, the Christians, now hav-
ing become odious to the Roman govern-
ment, could expect no protection ; the ra-
pacious tyranny of the new rulers would
seize every occasion of including the
Chrisffan community under the grinding
and vexatious system of persecution : and
such occasion would be furnished by any
tumult in which they might be implicated.
On the other hand, the popular mind among
the Jews being absorbed by stronger in-
terests, engrossed by passions even more
powerful than hatred of Christianity, the
apostle might have entered the city unno-
ticed, and remained concealed among his.
Christian friends; particularly as the fre-
quent change in the ruling authorities, and
the perpetual deposal of the high-priest
during the long interval of his absence,
may have stripped his leading adversaries
of their authority.

Be this as it may, there are manifest
vestiges of his having visited many cities
of Asia Minor—Ephesus, Colossae,J Mile-

ress in Britain till the conquest of Agricola. Up
to that time it was occupied only by the invading
legionaries, fully employed in extending and guard-
ing their conquests, and our wild ancestors with
their stern Druidical hierarchy. From which class
were the apostle’s hearers or converts? My friend
Dr. Cardwell, in a recent essay on this subject, con-
curs with this opinion.

* This is inferred from Hebr., xiii., 23. This in-
ference, however, assumes several points In the
first place, that Paul is the author of the Epistle to
the Hebrews. To this opinion, though by no means
certain, we strongly incline. But it does not fol-
low that Paul fulfilled his intention; and even the
intention was conditional, and dependant on the
speedy arrival of Timothy, which may or mav not
have taken place.*

f Florus succeeded Albinus A.D. 64.

t Philem., 22.

* [This journey to Spain rests on very slight evidence,
and the many parts of the East travelled over by him
would probably occupy the whole time of his absence from
Rome.]HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

1S7

las,* Troas ;f that he passed a winter at
Nicopolis, in Epirus.J From hence he
may have descended to Corinth,§ and from
Corinth probable reasons may be assign-
ed for his return to Rome. In all these
cities, and doubtless in many others where
we have no record of the first promulga-
tion of the religion, the Christians formed
regular and organized communities. Con-
stant intercourse seems to have been
maintained throughout the whole confed-
eracy. Besides the apostles, other per-
sons seem to have been constantly travel-
ling about, some entirely devoted to the
dissemination of the religion, others uni-
ting it with their own secular pursuits.
Onesiphorus,|| it may be supposed, a
wealthy merchant resident at Ephesus,
being in Rome at the time of Paul’s im-
prisonment, laboured to alleviate the irk-
someness of his confinement. Paul had
constantly one, sometimes many compan-
ions in his journeys. Some of these he
seems to have established, as Titus, in
Crete, to preside over the young commu-
nities ; others were left behind for a time
to superintend the interests of the religion ;
others, as Luke, the author of the Acts,
were in more regular attendance upon
him, and appear to have been only occa-
sionally separated by accidental circum-
stances. But if we may judge from the
authentic records of the New Testament,
the whole Christianity of the West ema-
nated from Paul alone. The indefatigable
activity of this one man had planted Chris-
tian colonies, each of which became the
centre of a new moral civilization, from
the borders of Syria as far as Spain, and
to the city of Rome.

Tradition assigns to the last year of
. ~ fif. Nero the martyrdom both of St.

Peter and St. Paul. That of the
former rests altogether on unauthoritative
testimony; that of the latter is rendered
highly probable from the authentic record
of the second Epistle to Timothy. This
letter was written by the author when in
custody at Rome,^[ apparently under more
rigorous confinement than during his first
imprisonment; not looking forward to his
release,** but with steadfast presentiment
of his approaching violent .death. It con-
tains allusions to his recent journey in
Asia Minor and Greece. He had already
undergone a first examination,ff and the

* 2 Tim., iv., 20.

f 2 Tim., iv., 13. vCompare Paley, Bora Pau-
lina. t Titus, iii., 12.

<$> 2 Tim., iv., 20. || 2 Tim., i., 16, 18.

% All the names of the church who unite in the
salutation, iv., 21, are Roman.

** 2 Tim., iv., 5, 6, 7.

ft 2 Tim., iv., 12, 16. Rosenmiiller, however (in

danger was so great that he had been de-
serted by some of his attached followers,
particularly by Demas. If conjecture be
admitted, the, preparations for the recen-
tion of Nero at Corinth during the cele-
bration'of the Isthmian games may have
caused well-grounded apprehensions to the
Christian community in that city. Paul
might have thought it prudent to withdraw
from Corinth, whither his last journey had
brought him, and might seize the oppor-
tunity of the emperor’s absence to visit
and restore the persecuted community at
Rome. During the absence of Nero, the
government of Rome and of Italy was in-
trusted to the freed-slave 1-Ielius, a fit rep-
resentative of the absent tyrant. He had
full power of life and death, even over the
senatorial order. The world, says Dion,
was enslaved at once to two autocrats,
Helius and Nero. Thus Paul may have
found another Nero in the hostile capital:
and the general tradition that he was pul
to death, not by order of the emperor, but
of the governor of the city, coincides with
this state of things.

The fame of St. Peter, from whom she
claims the supremacy of the Christian
world, has eclipsed that of St. Paul in the
Eternal City. The most splendid temple
which has been erected by Christian zeal
to rival or surpass the proudest edifices of
heathen magnificence, bears the name of
that apostle, while that of St. Paul rises
in a remote and unwholesome suburb.
Studious to avoid, if possible, the treacher-
ous and slippery ground of polemic con-
troversy, we must be permitted to express
our surprise that in no part of the authen-
tic Scripture occurs the slightest allusion
to the personal history of St. Peter, as
connected with the Western churches.
At all events, the conversion of the Gen-
tile world was the acknowledged province
of St. Paul. In that partition treaty in
which these two moral invaders divided
the yet unconquered world, the more civ-
ilized province of Greek and Roman hea-
thenism was assigned to him who was
emphatically called the apostle of the Gen-
tiles, while the Jewish population fell un-
der the particular care of the Galilean Pe-
ter. For the operations of the latter, no
part of the world exclusive of Palestine,
which seems to have been left to James
the Just, would afford such ample scope
for success as Babylonia and the Asiatic
provinces, to which the Epistles of Peter
are addressed. His own writings distinct-
ly show that he was connected by some

loc.), understands this [first, examination] of the ex-
amination during his first trial..88

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

intimate tie with these communities; and
as it appears that Galatia was a strong-
hold of Judaical Christianity, it is probable
that the greater part of those converts
were originally Jews or Asiatics, whom Ju-
daism had already prepared for the recep-
tion of Christianity. Where Judaism thus
widely prevailed was the appropriate prov-
ince of the apostle of the circumcision.
While, then, those whose severe histori-
cal criticism is content with nothing less
than contemporary evidence, or, at least,
probable inferences from such records,
will question, at least, the permanent es-
tablishment of Peter in the imperial city,
those who admit the authority of tradition
will adhere to, and may, indeed, make a
strong case in favour of St. Peter’s resi-
dence,* or his martyrdom at Rome.f
The spent wave of the Neronian perse-
cution;): may have recovered sufficient force

* The authorities are Irenssus, Dionysius of Cor-
inth apud Eusebium, and Epiphanius.

+ Pearson in his Opera Posthuma, Diss. de serie
et successione Romas. Episcop. supposes Peter to
have been in Rome. Compare Townson on the
Gospels, Diss. 5, sect. v. Barrow (Treatise of the
Pope’s Supremacy) will not “avow” the opinion of
those who argue him never to have been at Rome,
vol. vi., p. 139, Oxford ed., 1818. Light-foot, whose
profound knowledge of everything relating to the
Jewish nation entitles his opinions to respect, ob-
serves, in confirmation of his assertion that Peter
lived and died in Chaldea, quam absurdum est
statuere, ministrum praecipuum circumcisionis se-
dem su,am figere in metropoli prepuliatorum, Roma.
—Lightfoot’s Works, 8vo edit., x., 392.

If, then, with Barrow, I may “ bear some civil re-
spect to ancient testimonies and traditions” (loc.
cit.), the strong bias of my own mind is to the fol-
lowing solution of this problem. With Lightfoot
I believe that Babylonia was the scene of St. Peter’s
labours. But I am likewise confident that in Rome,
as in Corinth, there were two communities—a Pe-
trine and a Pauline—a Judaizing and a Hellenizing
church. The origin of the two communities in the
doctrines attributed to the two apostles may have
been gradually transmuted into the foundation first
of. each community, then generally of the Church
of Rome, by the two apostles. All the difficulties
in the arrangement of the succession to the episco-
pal see of Rome vanish if we suppose two contem-
porary lines. Here, as elsewhere, the Judaizing
church either expired or was absorbed in the Paul-
ine community.

The passage in the Corinthians by no means ne-
cessarily implies the personal presence of Peter in
that city. There was a party there, no doubt a Ju-
daizing one, which professed to preach the pure
doctrine of “ Cephas” in opposition to that of Paul,
and who called themselves, therefore, “ofCephas.”

Dum primos ecclesise Romans© fundatores qusero
occurrit illud. — Acts, ii., 10. '0* emdyfiovvreg

fPufialot Iovdaloi re Kal 7xpoarfkvTOL Lightfoot’s
Works, 8vo edit, x., 392.

t As to the extent of the Neronian persecution,
whether it was general or confined to the city of
Rome, I agree with Mosheim that only one valid
argument is usually advanced on either side. On
the one hand, that of Dodwell, that the Christians

to sweep away those who were emplo3’etf
in reconstructing the shattered edifice of
Christianity in Rome. The return of an
individual, however personally obscure,
yet connected with a sect so recently pro-
scribed, both by popular odium and public
authority, would scarcely escape the vigil-
ant police of the metropolis. One indi-
vidual is named, Alexander the copper-
smith, whose seemingly personal hostility -
had caused or increased the danger in
which Paul considered himself during his
second imprisonment. He may have been
the original informer who betrayed his
being in Rome, or his intimate alliance
with the Christians; or he may have ap-
peared as evidence against him during his
examination. Though there may have
been no existing law or imperial rescript
against the Christians, and Paul, having
been absent from Rome at the time, could
not be implicated in the charge of incen-
diarism, yet the representative of Nero,
if faithfully described by Dion Cassius,*
would pay little regard to the forms of
criminal justice, and would have no scru-
ple in ordering the summary execution of
an obscure individual, since it Martyrdom
does not appear that, in exerci- of Paul-
sing the jurisdiction of praefect of the city,
he treated the lives of knights or of sena-
tors with more respect. There is, there-
fore, no improbability that the Christian

being persecuted, not on account of their religion,
but on the charge of incendiarism, that charge could
not have been brought against those who lived be-
yond the precincts of the city. Though as to this
point it is to be feared that many an honest Prot-
estant would have considered the real crime of the
gunpowder plot, or the imputed guilt of the fire of
London, ample justification for a general persecu-
tion of the Roman Catholics. On the other hand
is alleged the authority of Tertullian, who refers,
in a public apology to the laws of Nero and Domi-
tian against the Christians, an expression too dis-
tinct to pass for rhetoric, even in that passionate
writer, though he may have magnified temporary
edicts into general laws. The Spanish inscription
not only wants confirmation, but. even evidence
that it ever existed. There is, however, a point of
some importance in favour of the first opinion.
Paul appears to have travelled about through a
great part of the Roman empire during this inter-
val, yet we have no intimation of his being in more
than ordinary personal danger. It was not till his
return to Rome that he was again apprehended,
and at length suffered martyrdom.

* Toi)f fihrot ev rrj P6fiy Kal ry It alia nav-
rag fH7uw tlvl Kaiaape'up ekSotovg irapeduKe.
ndvra yap anlwg enererpa'KTo, dare Kal drjfiev-
etv, Kal tyvyadevELv, Kal av:oKTivvvvai (Kal nplv
drjlwaat rc5 Nepwi) Kal idiurag ofioiwg, Kal iir-
Tveag Kal ftovlevrag. Ovro) flev 6y Tore r\ rtiv
Pofialov dpxv dvo avroKpdropmp dfia edovXeve,
Neptdvi Kal 'HA/cj. Ovde ehrelv oirorepoi
avT&v xupMV yv.— Dion Cassius (or Xiphilin),
lxiii., c. 12,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

1^9

Church in Rome may have faithfully pre-
served the fact of Paul’s execution, and
even cherished in their pious memory the
spot on the Ostian road watered by the
blood of the apostle. As a Roman citizen,
Paul is Said to have been beheaded in-
stead of being suspended to a cross, or
exposed to any of those horrid tortures
invented for the Christians; and so far
the modest, probability of the relation may

confirm rather than impeach its truth.
The other circumstances—his conversion
of the soldiers who carried him to execu-
tion, and of the executioner himself—bear
too much the air of religious romance;
though, indeed, the Roman Christians
had not the same interest in inventing or
embellishing the martyrdom of Paul as
that of the other great apostle from whom
they derive their supremacy.

CHAPTER IY.

CHRISTIANITY TO THE CLOSE OF THE FIRST CENTURY.-CONSTITUTION OF CHRISTIAN

CHURCHES.

The changes in the moral are usually
Great revo- wrought as imperceptibly ds
lutions slow those in the physical world,
and gradual. any wjge mailj either con-

vinced of the Divine origin of Christianity,
or even contemplating with philosophical
sagacity the essential nature of the new
religion and the existing state of the .hu-
man mind, ventured to predict, that from
the ashes of these obscure men would
arise a moral sovereignty more extensive
and lasting than that of the Caesars; that
buildings more splendid than any which
adorned the new marble city, now rising
from the ruins of the conflagration, would
be dedicated to their name, and maintain
their reverence for an incalculably longer
period, such vaticinations would have
met the fate inseparable from the wisdom
which outstrips its age ; would have been
scorned by contemporary pride, and only
admired after their accomplishment by
late posterity. The slight and contempt-
uous notice excited by Christianity during
the first century of its promulgation is in
strict accordance with this ordinary de-
velopment of the great and lasting revolu-
tions in human affairs. The moral world
has sometimes, indeed, its volcanic ex-
plosions, which suddenly and violently
convulse and reform the order of things;
but its more enduring changes are in gen-
eral produced by the slow and silent work-
ings of opinions remotely prepared, and
gradually expanding to their mature and
irresistible influence. In default, there-
fore, of real information as to the secret
but simultaneous progress of Christianity
in so many quarters and among all ranks,
we are left to speculate on the influence
of the passing events of the time, and of
the changes in the public mind, whether
favourable or prejudicial to the cause of
Christianity, catching only faint and un-

certain gleams of its peculiar history
through the confused and rapidly-changing
course of public affairs.

The Imperial history, from the first pro-
mulgation of Christianity down Imperialhis.
to the accession of Constantine, tory divided
divides itself into four distinct jJJJjfour pe"
but unequal periods. More than no s*
thirty years are occupied by the line of
the first Caesars; rather less by the con-
flicts which followed the death of Nero
and the government of the Flavian dy-
nasty. The first years of Trajan, who
ascended the Imperial throne A.D. 98,
nearly synchronize with the opening of
the second century of Christianity; and
that splendid period of internal peace and
advancing civilization, of wealth, and of
prosperity, which has been described as
the happiest in the annals of mankind, ex-
tends over the first eighty years of that
century.* Down to the accession of Con-
stantine, nearly at the commencement of
the fourth century, the empire became,
like the great monarchies of the East, the
prize of successful ambition and enter-
prise : almost every change of ruler is a
change of dynasty; and already the bor-
ders of the empire have ceased to be re-
spected by the menacing, the conquering
Barbarians.

It is remarkable how singularly the po-
litical character of each period First peri0(1
was calculated to advance the to the death
growth of Christianity. or Nero,

During the first of these periods, the
government, though it still held in respect
the old republican institutions, was, if not

* Among the writers who have discussed this
question may be consulted Hegewisch, whose work
has been recently translated by M. Solvet, under
the title of Essai sur l’Epoque de 1’Histoire Ro
maine la plus heureuse pour le Genre Humain
Paris, 1834,190

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY,

ill form, in its administration purely des-
potic. The state centred in the person
of the emperor. This kind of hereditary
autocracy is essentially selfish: it is con-
tent with averting or punishing plots
against the person, or detecting and crush-
ing conspiracies against the power, of the
existing monarch. To those more remote
or secret changes which are working in
the depths of society, eventually, perhaps,
threatening the existence of the monarchy
or the stability of all the social relations,
it is blind or indifferent.* It has neither
sagacity to discern, intelligence to com-
prehend, nor even the disinterested zeal
for the perpetuation of its own despotism,
to counteract such distant and contingent
dangers. Of all innovations it is, in gen-
eral, sensitively jealous ; but they must be
palpable and manifest, and directly clash-
ing with the passions or exciting the fears
of the sovereign. Even these are met by
temporary measures. When an outcry
was raised against the Egyptian religion
as dangerous to public morality, an edict
commanded the expulsion of its votaries
from the city. When the superstition of
the emperor shuddered at the predictions
of the mathematicians, the whole frater-
nity fell under the same interdict. When
the public peace was disturbed by the dis-
sensions among the Jewish population of
Rome, the summary sentence of Claudius
visited both Jews and Christians with.the
same indifferent severity. So the Nero-
nian persecution was an accident, arising
out of the fire of Rome, no part of a sys-
tematic political plan, for the suppression
of foreign religions. It might have fallen
on any other sect or body of men who
might have been designated as victims to
appease the popular resentment. The
provincial administrations would be actu-
ated by the same principles as the central
government, and be alike indifferent to the
quiet progress of opinions, however dan-
gerous to the existing order of things.
Unless some breach of the public peace
demanded their interference, they would
rarely put forth their power; and, content
with the maintenance of order, the regular
collection of the revenue, the more rapa-
cious with the punctual payment of their
own exactions, the more enlightened with
the improvement and embellishment of the
cities under their charge, they wmuld look
on the rise and propagation of a new reli-
gion with no more concern than that of a

* Sasvi proximis ingruunt. In this one pregnant
sentence of Tacitus is explained the political se-
cret, that the mass of the people have sometimes
been comparatively unoppressed under the most
sanguinary tyranny.

new philosophic sect, particularly m the
eastern part of the empire, where the reli-
gions were in general more foreign to the
character of the Greek or Roman Poly-
theism. The popular feeling during this
first period would only under peculiar
circumstances outstrip the activity of the
government. Accustomed to the separate
worship of the Jews, to them Christianity
appeared at first only as a modification of
that belief. Local jealousies or personal
animosities might, in different places, ex-
cite a more active hostility ; in Rome it is
evident that the people were only worked
up to find inhuman delight in the suffer-
ings of the Christians, by the misrepre-
sentations of the government, by super-
stitious solicitude to find some victims to
appease the angry gods, and that strange
consolation of human misery, the delight
of wreaking vengeance on whomsoever it
can possibly implicate as the cause of the
calamity.

During the whole, then, of this first pe-
riod to the death of Nero, both the prim-
itive obscurity of Christianity and the
transient importance it assumed as a dan-
gerous enemy of the people of Rome, and
subsequently as the guiltless victim of pop-
ular vengeance, would tend to its eventual
progress. Its own innate activity, with
all the force which it carried with it, both
in its internal and external impulse, would
propagate it extensively in the inferior and
middle classes of society: while, though
the great mass of the higher orders would
still remain unacquainted with its real na-
ture and with its relation to its parent Ju-
daism, it was quite enough before the pub-
lic attention to awaken the curiosity of
the more inquiring, and to excite the in-
terest of those who were seriously con-
cerned in the moral advancement of man-
kind. In many quarters it is far from im-
possible that the strong revulsion of the
public mind against Nero after his death
may have extended some commiseration
towards his innocent victims :* that the
Christians were acquitted by the popular
feeling of any real connexion with the fire
at Rome, is evident from Tacitus, who re-
treats into vague expressions of general
scorn and animosity.f At all events, the
persecution must have had the effect of
raising the importance of Christianity, so
as to force it upon the notice of many
who might otherwise have been ignorant

* This was the case even in Rome. Unde quan-
quam adversus sontes et novissima exempla meri-
tos, miseratio oriebatur, tanquam non utilitate pub-
licA, sed in saevitiam unins absumerentur.—Tac..
Ann., xv., 44.

t Odio humani generis convicti.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

191

of its existence : the new and peculiar
fortitude with which the sufferers endured
their unprecedented trials would strongly
recommend it to those who were dissatis-
fied with the moral power of their old re-
ligion, while, on the other hand, it was
yet too feeble and obscure to provoke a
systematic plan for its suppression.

During the second period of the first
_ century, from A.D. 68 to 98, the

riodto the’ date of the accession of Trajan,
accession the larger portion was occupied
of Trajan, ^ ^he reign of Domitian, a ty-
rant in whom the successors of Augustus
might appear to revive, both in the mon-
strous vices of his personal character and
of his government. Of the Flavian dynas-
ty, the father alone, Vespasian, from the
comprehensive vigour of his mind, per-
haps from his knowledge of the Jewish
character and religion, obtained during his
residence in the East, was likely to esti-
mate the bearings and future prospects of
Christianity. But the total subjugation of
Judaea and the destruction of the Temple
of Jerusalem having reduced the religious
parents of the Christians to so low a
state, their nation, and, consequently, their
religion, being, according to the ordinary
course of events, likely to mingle up and
become absorbed in the general popula-
tion of the Roman empire, Christianity,
it might reasonably be supposed, would
scarcely survive its., original stock, and
might be safely left to burn out by the
same gradual process of extinction. Be-
sides this, the strong mind of Vespasian
was fully occupied by the restoration of
order in the capital and in the provinces,
and in fixing on a firm basis the yet unset-
tled authority of the Flavian dynasty. A
more formidable, because more imme-
diate, danger threatened the existing or-
der of things. The awful genius of Ro-
man liberty had entered into an alliance
with the higher philosophy of the time,
stoic phi- Republican stoicism, brooding in
losophers. the noblest minds of Rome, look-
ed back with vain though passionate re-
gret to the free institutions of their an-
cestors, and demanded the old liberty of
action. It was this dangerous movement,
not the new and humble religion, which
calmly acquiesced in all political changes,
and contented itself with liberty of thought
and opinion, which put to the test the pru-
dence and moderation of the Emperor
Vespasian. It was the spirit of Cato, not
of Christ, which he found it necessary to
control. The enemy before which he
trembled was the patriot Thrasea, not the
apostle St. John, who was silen'lty win-
ning over Ephesus to the new faith. The

edict of expulsion rom Rome fell not on
the worshippers of foreign religions, but
on the philosophers, a comprehensive
term, but which was probably limited to
those whose opinions were considered
dangerous to the imperial authority.*

It was only with the new fiscal regula-
tions of the rapacious and parsimonious
Vespasian that the Christians were acci-
dentally implicated. The emperor con-
tinued to levy the capitation tax, which
had been willingly and proudly paid by
the Jews throughout the empire for the
maintenance of their own Temple at Jeru-
salem, for the restoration of the idolatrous
fane of the Capitoline Jupiter, which had
been destroyed in the civil contests. The
Jew submitted with sullen reluc- Templel.r<t
tance to this insulting exaction;
but even the hope of escaping it would not
incline him to disguise or dissemble his
faith. But the Judaizing Christian, and
even the Christian of Jewish descent,
who had entirely thrown off his religion,
yet was marked by the indelible sign
of his race, was placed in a singularly
perplexing position.! The rapacious pub-
lican who farmed the tax was not likely
to draw any true distinction among those
whose features, connexions, name, and
notorious descent still designated them
as liable to the tax: his coarser mind
wrould consider the profession of Chris-
tianity as a subterfuge to escape a vexa-
tious impost. But to the Jewish Chris-
tian of St. Paul’s opinions, the unresisted
payment of the burden, however insig-
nificant, and to which he was not bound,
either by the letter or the spirit of the edict,
was an acknowledgment of his uncon-
verted Judaism, of his being still under
the law, as well as an indirect contribution
to the maintenance of heathenism. Ir.
is difficult to suppose that those who
were brought before the public tribunal, as
claiming an exemption from the tax, and
exposed to the most indecent examina-
tion of their Jewish descent, were any
other than this class of Judaizing Chris-
tians.

In other respects, the connexion of the
Christians with the Jews could not but
affect their place in that indiseriminating
public estimation, which still, in general,
notwithstanding the Neronian persecu-
tion, confounded them together. The Je w-

* Tacit., Hist., iv., 4-9. Dion Cassius, Ixvi., 13.
Suetonius, Vespas., 15. Tillemont, Hist, des Em-
pereurs, Vespasian, Art. xv.

f Dion Cassius, edit. Reimar, with his- notes,
lib. Ixvi., p. 1082. Suetonius, in Dorn., v. 12. Mar-
tial, vii., 14. Basnage, Hist, des Juifs, vol. vii., oh.
xi., o. 304.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

192

ish war appears to have made a great al-
Change in teration both in the condition
the condition of the race of Israel and in
fion eof The t^ie popular sentiment towards
Jews after them. From aversion as a sul-
the war. jen an(} unsocial, they -were
now looked upon with hatred and con-
tempt as a fierce, a desperate, and an en-
slaved race. Some of the higher orders,
Agrippa and Josephus the historian, main-
tained a respectable and even an eminent
rank at Rome; but the provinces were
overrun by swarms of Jewish slaves or
miserable fugitives, reduced by necessity
to the meanest occupations, and lowering
their minds to their sordid and beggarly
condition. As, then, to some of the Ro-
mans the Christian assertion of religious
freedom would seem closely allied with
the Jewish attempt to obtain civil inde-
pendence, they might appear, especially
to those in authority, to. have inherited
the intractable and insubordinate spirit of
their religious forefathers, so, on the oth-
er hand, in some places, the Christian
might be dragged down, in the popular
apprehension, to the level of the fallen and
outcast Jew. Thus, while Christianity, in
fact, was becoming more and more alien-
ated from Judaism, and even assuming the
most hostile position, the Roman rulers
would be the last to discern the widening
breach, or to discriminate between that
religious confederacy which was destined
to absorb within it all the subjects of the
Roman empire, and that race which was
to remain in its social isolation, neither
blended into the general mass of mankind,
nor admitting any other within its insuper-
The descend- a^e Pa^e- ^ t^ie singular StO-
ams of the ry related by Hegesippus* con-
ouTiloTi^ cerning the family of our Lord
brought be- deserves credit, even the de-
b\m \hG tri" scendants house were

uu,l£tl‘ endangered by their yet unbro-
ken connexion with the Jewish race. Do-
mitian is said to have issued an edict for
the extermination of the whole house of
David, in order to annihilate forever the
hope of the Messiah, which still brooded
with dangerous excitement in the Jewish
mind, The grandsons of St. Jude, “the
brother of our Lord,” were denounced by
certain heretics as belonging to the pro-
scribed family, and brought before the tri-
bunal of the emperor, or, more probably,
that of the procurator of Judsea.f They
acknowledged their descent from the royal
race, and their relationship to the Mes-
siah; but in Christian language they as-
* Eusebius, iii., 20.

f Gibbon thus modifies the story to which he ap-
pears to give some credit.

serted that the kingdom which they ex-
pected was purely spirit .ml and angelic,
and only to commence at the end of the
world, after the return to j udgment. Their
poverty, rather than their renunciation of
all temporal views, was their security.
They were peasants, whose hands were
hardened with toil, and whose whole prop-
erty was a farm of about twenty-four
English acres, and of the value of 9000
drachms, or about 300 pounds sterling.
This they cultivated by their own labour,
and regularly paid the appointed tribute.
They were released as too humble and
too harmless to be dangerous to the Ro-
man authority, and Domitian, according
to the singularly inconsistent account,
proceeded to annul his edict of persecution
against the Christians. Like all the sto-
ries which rest on the sole authority of
Hegesippus, this has a very fabulous air.
At no period were the hopes of the Mes-
siah entertained by the Jews so little
likely to awaken the jealousy of the em-
peror as in the reign of Domitian. The
Jewish mind was still stunned, as it were,
by the recent blow: the whole land wa?
in a state of iron subjection. Nor was if
till the latter part of the reign of *Trajan
and that of Hadrian that they rallied for
their last desperate- and conclusive strug-
gle for independence. Nor, however in-
distinct the line of demarcation between
the Jews and the Christians, is it easy to
trace the connexion between the stern pre-
caution for the preservation of the peace
of the Eastern world and the stability oi
the empire against any enthusiastic aspi-
rant after a universal sovereignty, with
what is sometimes called the second great
persecution of Christianity; for the exter-
minating edict was aimed at a single fam-
ily, and at the extinction of a purely Jew-
ish tenet: though it may be admitted
that even yet the immediate return of
the Messiah to reign on earth was domi-
nant among most of the Jewish Christians
of Palestine. Even if true, this edict was
rather the hasty and violent expedient oi
an arbitrary sovereign, trembling for his
personal security, and watchful to avert
danger from his throne, than a profound
and vigorous policy, which aimed at the
suppression of a new religion, declaredly
hostile, and threatening the existence of
the established Polytheism.

Christianity, however, appears to have
forced itself upon the knowledge and the
fears of Domitian in a more unexpected
quarter, the bosom of his own family.*

* Suetonius, in Domit., c. 15. Dion Cassius,
Ixvii., 14. Eusebius, iii., 18.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

193

Of his two cousins-german, the sons of
Flavius Sabinus, the one fell an early vic-
tim to his jealous apprehensions. The
Flavins other, Flavius Clemens, is descri-
ciemens. bed by the epigrammatic biogra-
pher of the Caesars as a man of the most
contemptible indolence of character. His
peaceful kinsman, instead of exciting the
fears, enjoyed for some time the favour of
Domitian. He received in marriage Dom-
itilla, the niece of the emperor; his chil-
dren were adopted as heirs to the throne;
Clemens himself obtained the consulship.
On a sudden these harmless kipsmen be-
came dangerous conspirators; they were
arraigned on the unprecedented charge of
Atheism and Jewish manners; the hus-
band, Clemens, was put to death; the wife,
Domitilla, banished to the desert island
either of Pontia or Pandataria. The crime
of Atheism was afterward the common
popular charge against the Christians ; the
charge to which, in all ages, those are ex-
posed who are superior to the vulgar no-
tion of the Deity. But it was a charge
never advanced against Judaism; coupled,
therefore, with that of Jewish manners, it
is unintelligible, unless it refers to Chris-
tianity. Nor is it improbable that the con-
temptible want of energy ascribed by Sue-
onius to Flavius Clemens might be that
unambitious superiority to the world which
characterized the early Christian. Cle-
mens had seen his brother cut off by the
sudden and capricious fears of the tyrant;
and his repugnance to enter on the same,
dangerous public career, in pursuit of hon-
ours which he despised, if it had assumed
the lofty language of philosophy, might
have commanded the admiration of his
contemporaries ; but connected with a new
religion, of which the sublimer notions
and principles were altogether incompre-
hensible, only exposed him to their more
contemptuous scorn. Neither in his case
was it the peril apprehended from the
progress of the religion, but the dangerous
position of the individuals professing the
religion so near to the throne, which was
fatal to Clemens and Domitilla. It was
the pretext, not the cause of their punish-
ment ; and the first act of the reign of
Nerva was the reversal of these senten-
ces by the authority of the senate : the
exiles were recalled, and an act prohibit-
ing all accusations of Jewish manners*
seems to have been intended as a peace-
offering for the execution of Clemens, and
for the especial protection of the Chris-
tians.

But Christian history cannot pass over

another incident assigned to the Legends 01
reign of Domitian, since it re- Remissions
lates to the death of St. John ifes^nto^Tf-
the Apostle. Christian grati- ferent coun
tude and reverence soon began tnes-
to be discontented with the silence of the
authentic writings as to the fate of the
twelve chosen companions of Christ, It
began first with some modest respect for
truth, but soon with bold defiance of prob-
ability, to brighten their obscure course,
till each might be traced by the blaze of
miracle into remote regions of the world,
where it is clear that if they had penetra-
ted no record of their existence was like-
ly to survive.* These religious invaders,
according to the later Christian romance,
made a regular partition of the world, and
assigned to each the conquest of his par-
ticular province. Thrace, Scythia, Spain
Britain, Ethiopia, the extreme parts of Af-
rica, India, the name of which mysterious
region was sometimes assigned to the
southern coast of Arabia, had each their
apostle, whose spiritual triumphs and cru-
el martyrdom were vividly portrayed and
gradually amplified by the fertile invention
of the Greek and Syrian historians of the
early Church. Even the history of Death of
St. John, whose later days were st. John,
chiefly passed in the populous and com-
mercial city of Ephesus, has not escaped.
Yet legend has delighted in harmonizing
its tone with the character of the beloved
disciple, drawn in the Gospel, and illustra-
ted in his own writings. Even if purely
imaginary, these stories show that anoth-
er spirit was working in the mind of man.
While, then, we would reject, as the off-
spring of a more angry and controversial
age, the story of his flying in fear and in-
dignation from a bath polluted by the pres-
ence of the heretic Cerinthus, we might
admit the pleasing tradition, that when he
grew so feeble from age as to be unable
to utter any long discourse, his last, if we
may borrow the expression, his cycnean
voice, dwelt on a brief exhortation to mu-
tual charity.f His whole sermon consist-
ed in these words : “ Little children, love
one anotherand when his audience re-
monstrated at the wearisome iteration of
the same words, he declared that in these
words was contained the whole substance
of Christianity. The deportation of the
apostle to the wild island of Patmos,
where general tradition places his writing
the book of Revelations, is by no means
improbable, if we suppose it to have taken
place under the authority of the proconsul

* Euseb , Ecc. Hist., iii., 1. The tradition is
here m its simpler and clearly more genuine form.

t Euseb , Ecc. Hist, ii;., 22.

* Dion Cassius, Ixviii., 1.
B B194

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of Asia, on account of some local disturb-
ance in Ephesus, arid, notwithstanding the
authority of Tertullian, reject the trial be-
fore Domitian at Rome, and the plunging
him into a caldron of boiling oil, from
which he came forth unhurt.* Such are
the few vestiges of the progress of Chris-
tianity which we dimly trace in the obscu-
rity of the latter part of the first century.
Constitution During this period, however,
of Christian took place the regular forma-
churches. tion 0f the young Christian re-
publics, in all the more considerable cities
of the empire. The primitive constitution
of these churches is a subject which it is
impossible to decline, though few points
in Christian history rest on more dubious
and imperfect, in general on inferential
evidence, yet few' have been contested
with greater pertinacity.

The whole of Christianity, when it
emerges out of the obscurity of the first
century, appears uniformly governed by
certain superiors of each community call-
ed bishops. But the origin and the extent
of this superiority, and the manner in
which the bishop assumed a distinct au-
thority from the inferior presbyters, is
among those difficult questions of Chris-
tian history which, since the Reformation,
has been * more and more darkened by
those fatal enemies to candid and dispas-
sionate inquiry, prejudice and interest.
The earliest Christian communities ap-
pear to have been ruled and represented,
in the absence of the apostle who was
their first founder, by their elders, who are
likewise called bishops, or overseers of
the churches. These presbyter bishops
and the deacons are the only two orders
which we discover at first in the Church
of Ephesus, at Philippi, and perhaps in
Crete.f On the other hand, at a very
early period, one religious functionary, su-
perior to the rest, appears to have been
almost universally recognised; at least, it
is difficult to understand how, in so short
a time, among communities, though not
entirely disconnected, yet scattered over
the whole Roman world, a scheme of
government popular, or, rather, aristocrat-
ical, should become, even in form, mo-
narchical. Neither the times, nor the cir-
cumstances of the infant Church, nor the
primitive spirit of the religion, appear to

* Ubi (in Rordi) Apostolus Johannes, postea
qnam in oleum igneum demersus, nihil passus est.
Mosheim suspects that in this passage of Tertullian
a metaphor has been converted into a fact. Mo-
sheim, de Reb. Christ, ante Constant., p. Ill [and
Dissent, ad Hist. Eccl. pertinentes, vol. i., p. 497-
546].

f Acts, xx., 17, compared with 28. Philip., i., 1.
Titus, i., 5-7.

favour a general, a systematic, and an un-
authorized usurpation of power on the
part of the supreme religious functionary.*
Yet the change has already taken place
within the apostolic times. The Church
of Ephesus, which in the Acts is repre-
sented by its elders, in the Revelations! is
represented by its angel or bishop. We
may, perhaps, arrive at a more clear and
intelligible view of this subject by en-
deavouring to trace the origin and devel-
opment of the Christian communities.

The Christian Church was almost uni-
versally „ formed by a seces- Christian
sion from a Jewish synagogue, churches
Some synagogues may have be- amTon a™''
come altogether Christian; but, model of, the
in general, a certain part of an synagogue,
existing community of Jews and Gentile
proselytes incorporated themselves into
a new society, and met for the purpose of
Divine worship in some private chamber
sometimes, perhaps, in a public place, as.
rather later, during the times of persecu-
tion, in a cemetery. The first of these
may have answered to a synagogue, the

* The most plausible way of accounting for this
total revolution is by supposing that the affairs of
each community or church were governed by a col-
lege of presbyters, one of whom necessarily presi-
ded at their meetings, and gradually assumed, and
was recognised as possessing, a superior function
and authority. In expressing my dissatisfaction
with a theory adopted by .Mosheim, by Gibbon, by
Neander, and by most of the learned foreign wri-
ters, I have scrutinized my own motives wuh the
utmost suspicion, and can only declare that I be
lieve myself actuated only by the calm and candid
desire of truth. But the universal and almost si-
multaneous elevation of the bishop under such cir-
cumstances, in every part of the world (though it
must be admitted that he was for a long time as-
sisted by the presbyters in the discharge of his of-
fice), appears to me an insuperable objection to this
hypothesis. The later the date which is assumed
for the general establishment of the episcopal au-
thority, the less likely was it to be general. It was
only during the first period of undivided unity that
such a usurpation, for so it must have been accord-
ing to this theory, could have been universally ac-
quiesced in without resistance. All presbyters, ac-
cording to this view, with one consent, gave up or
allowed themselves to be deprived of their co-ordi-
nate and coequal dignity. The farther we advance
in Christian history, the more we discover the com-
mon motives of human nature at work. In this
case alone are we to suppose them without influ-
ence ? Yet we discover no struggle, no resistance,
no controversy. The uninterrupted line of bishops
is traced by the ecclesiastical historian up to the
apostles; but no murmur of remonstrance against,
this usurpation has transpired ; no schism, no
breach of Christian unity followed upon this mo-
mentous innovation. Nor does any such change
appear to have taken place in the office of elder in
the Jewish communities: the rabbinical teachers
took the form of a regular hierarchy ; theii patri-
arch grew up into a kind, of pope, but episcopal au-
thority never took root in the synagogue
f Chap, ii., 1.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

195

latter to an unwalled proseucha. The
model of the ancient community would nat-
urally, as far as circumstances might ad-
mit, become that of the new. But in their
primary constitution there was an essen-
tial point of difference. The Jews were
a civil as well as a religious, the Chris-
tians exclusively a religious, community.
Everywhere that the Jews were settled
they were the colony of a nation, they
were held together almost by a kindred
as well as a religious bond of union. The
governors, therefore, of the community,
the zakinirn or elders, the parnasim or pas-
tors (if this be an early appellation), were
by no means necessarily religious func-
tionaries.* Another kind of influence be-
sides that of piety, age, worldly experience,
wealth, would obtain the chief and ruling
power in the society. Their government
neither rested on nor required spiritual au-
thority. Their grave example would en-
force the general observance, their censure
repress any flagrant departure from the
law : they might be consulted on any diffi-
cult or unusual point of practice; but it was
not till the new rabbinical priesthood was
established, and the Mischna and the Tal-
mud universally received as the national
code, that the foreign Jews fell under what
may be considered sacerdotal dominion.
At this time the synagogue itself was only
Essential supplementary to the great na-
bifweTthe ti?™} religious ceremonial of
church and the Temple. The Levitical race
synagogue claimed no peculiar sanctity, at
least it discharged no priestly office, beyond
the bounds of the Holy Land or the pre-
cincts of the Temple ; nor was an author-
ized instructer of the people necessary to
the service of the synagogue. It was an
assembly for the purpose of worship, not
of-teaching. The instructer of the people,
the copy of the law, lay in the ark at the
east end of the building; it was brought
forth with solemn reverence, and an ap-
pointed portion read during the service.
But oral instruction, though it might some-
times be delivered, was no necessary part
of the ceremonial. Any one, it should
seem, who considered himself qualified,
and obtained permission from the archi-
synagogi, the governors of the communi-
ty, who exercised a sort of presidence in
the synagogue, might address the assem-
bly. It was in this character that the

* In some places the Jews seem to have been
ruled by anethnarch, recognised by the Roman civil
authorities. Strabo, quoted by Josephus, Antiq.,
xiv , 12, speaks of the ethnarch in Alexandrea. Jo-
sephus mentions their archon or' chief in Antioch.
The more common constitution seems to have been
the ytpam and Swa-rot, the elders or authorities.

Christian apostle usually began to an-
nounce his religion. But neither the cha-
zan or angel* of the synagogue (which
was a purely ministerial, comparatively a
servile, office), nor the heads of the as-
sembly, possessed any peculiar privilege,
or were endowed with any official func-
tion as teachersf of the people. Many of
the more remote synagogues can rarely
have been honoured by the presence of
the “ Wise Men,” as they were afterward
called—the lawyers of this period. The
Jewish religion was at this time entirely
ceremonial; it did not necessarily de-
mand exposition; its form was moulded
into the habits of the people ; and, till
disturbed by the invasion of Christianity,
or among very flourishing communities,
where it assumed a more intellectual tone,
and extended itself by the proselytism of
the Gentiles, it was content to rest in that
form.J In the great days of Jewish in-
tellectual activity, the adjacent law-school,
usually inseparable from the synagogue,
might rather be considered the place of
religious instruction. This was a kind of
chapter-house or court of ecclesiastical,
with the Jews identical with their nation-
al, law. Here knotty points were public-
ly debated ; and “ the Wise,” or the more
distinguished of the lawyers or interpre-
ters of the law, as the rabbinical hierar-
chy of a later period, established their
character for sagacious discernment of
the meaning and intimate acquaintance
with the whole body of the law.

Thus, then, the model upon which the
Church might be expected to form itself
may be called purely aristocratical. The
process by which it passed into the mo-
narchical form, however limited the su-
preme power of the individual, may be
traced to the existence of a monarchical
principle anterior to their religious oligar-
chy, and which distinguished the Christian
Church in its first origin from the Jewish
synagogue. The Christians from the first
were a purely religious community; this
was their primary bond of union; they had
no national law which held them together
as a separate people. Their civil union

* The angel here seems to bear its lower mean-
ing, a messenger or minister.

f Vitringa labours to prove the point that the
chief of the synagogue exercised an office of this
kind, but in my opinion without success. It ap-
pears to have been a regular part of the Essenian
service, a distinction which. Vitringa has neglected
to observe.—De Syn. Vet., 1. iii., c. 6, 7.

X The reading of the law, prayers, and psalms
was the ceremonial of the synagogue. Probably
the greater part of their proselytism took place in
private, though, as we know from Horace, the Jew-
ish synagogue was even in Rome a place of resort
I to the curious, the speculative and the idle196

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

was a subordinate effect, arising out of
their incorporation as a spiritual body.
The submission of their temporal concerns
to the adjudication of their own commu-
nity was a consequence of their respect
for the superior justice and wisdom which
sprung from their religious principles, and
an aversion from the litigious spirit en-
gendered by the complicated system of
Christian Roman jurisprudence.* * * § * In their
formed1 origin they were almost univer-
round an sally a community formed, as it
individual. were, round an individual. The
apostle or primitive teacher was installed
at once in the office of chief religious func-
tionary ; and the chief religious function-
ary is the natural head of a purely reli-
gious community. Oral instruction, as it
was the first, so it must have continued
to be the living, conservative, and expan-
sive principle of the community 4 It was,
anterior to the existence of any book, the
inspired record and supreme authority of
the faith. As long as this teacher remain-
ed in the city, or as often as he returned,
he would be recognised as the legitimate
head of the society. But not only the
apostle, in general the primitive teacher
likewise, was a missionary, travelling in-
cessantly into distant regions for the gen-
eral dissemination of Christianity, rather
than residing in one spot to organize a
local community.^ In his absence the
government, and even the instruction, of
the cpmmunity devolved upon the senate
of elders, yet there was still a recognised
supremacy in the founder of the church.§
The wider, however, the dissemination of
Christianity, the more rare, and at longer
intervals, the presence of the apostle. An

* The apostle enjoined this secession from the
ordinary courts of justice, 1 Cor., vi., 1-8.

f For some time, indeed, as in the Jewish syna-
gogue, what was called the gift of prophecy seems
to have been more general; any individual who
professed to speak under the direct impulse of the
Holy Spirit was heard with attentive reverence.
But it may be questioned whether this, and the dis-
play of the other ^apfo/mra recounted by the apos-
tle, 1 Cor.,xii., 4-10, were more than subsidiary to
the regular and systematic teaching of the apos-
tolic founder of the community. The question is
not whether each member was not at liberty to con-
tribute, by any faculty which had been bestowed on
him by God, to the general edification, but wheth-
er, above and anterior to all this, there was not
some recognised parent of each church who was
treated with parental deference, and exercised,
when present, paternal authority.

t Yet we have an account of a residence even
of St. Paul of eighteen months at Corinth, of two
years at Ephesus, and he was two years during his
first imprisonment at Rome.—Acts, xviii., II; xix.,
10; xxviii., 30.

§ St. Paul considered himself invested with the
superintendence of all the churches which he had
planted.—2 Cor., xi., 23.

appeal to his authority by letter became
more precarious and interrupted; while,
at the same time, in many communities
the necessity for his interposition became
more frequent and manifest ;* and in the
common order of nature, even independ-
ent of the danger of persecution, the prim-
itive founder, the legitimate head of the
community, would vacate his place by
death. That the apostle should appoint
some distinguished individual as the dele-
gate, the representative, the successor to
his authority, as primary instructer of the
community; invest him in an episcopacy
or overseership superior to that of the
co-ordinate body of elders, is in itself by
no means improbable ; it harmonizes with
the period in which we discover in the Sa-
cred Writings this change in the form of
the permanent government of the different
bodies ; accounts most easily for the gen-
eral submission to the authority of one
religious chief magistrate, so unsatisfac-
torily explained by the accidental pre-em-
inence of the president of a college of co-
equal presbyters ; and is confirmed by gen-
eral tradition, which has ever, in strict
unison with every other part of Christian
history, preserved the names of many suc-
cessors of the apostles, the first bishops
in most of the larger cities in which Chris-
tianity was first established. But the au
thority of the bishop was that of Authori{y
influence rather than of power, or the
After the first nomination by the bishoP-
apostle (if such nomination, as we sup-
pose, generally took place), his successor
was elective by that kind of acclamation
which raised at once the individual most
eminent for his piety and virtue to the
post, which was that of danger as well as
of distinction. For a long period the suf-
frages of the community ratified the ap-
pointment. Episcopal government was
thus, as long as Christianity remained un-
leavened by worldly passions and inter-

* St. Jerome, quoted by Hooker (Eccles. Polity,
b. vii., vol. iii., p. 130), assigns the origin of episco-
pacy to the dissensions in the Church, which re
quired a stronger coercive authority. “ Till through
instinct of the devil there grew in the Church fac-
tions, and among the people it began to be profess-
ed, I am of Paul, I of Apollos, and I of Cephas,
churches were governed by the common advice of
presbyters; but when everyone began to reckon
those whom he had baptized his own, and not
Christ’s, it was decreed in the whole world that one
chosen out of the presbyters should be placed above
the rest, to whom all care of the Church should be
long, and so all seeds of schism be removed.”

The government of the Church seems to have
been considered a subordinate function. “ And
God hath set some in the Church, first apostles,
secondly prophets, thirdly teachers : after that, mir
acles, the gifts of healing, helps, governments, diver-
sities of tongues 1 Cor., xii., 28.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

197

ests, essentially popular. The principle
of subordination was inseparable from the
humility of the first converts. Rights are
never clearly defined till they are contest-
ed; nor is authority limited as long as it
rests upon general reverence. When, on
the one side, aggression, on the other jeal-
ousy and mistrust, begin, then it must be
fenced by usage and defined by law.
Thus, while we are inclined to consider
the succession of bishops from the apos-
tolic times to be undeniable, the nature
and extent of authority which they de-
rived from the apostles is altogether un-
certain. The ordination or consecration,
whatever it might be to that office, of it-
self conveyed neither inspiration nor the
power of working miracles, which, with
the direct commission from the Lord him-
self, distinguished and set apart the pri-
mary apostles from the rest of mankind,
[t was only in a very limited and imper-
fect sense that they could, even in the
sees founded by the apostles, be called the
successors of the apostles.

The presbyters were, in their origin, the
The pres- ruling powers of the young com-
hyters. munities; but in a society found-
ed solely on a religious basis, religious
qualifications would be almost exclusively
considered. In the absence, therefore, of
the primary teacher, they would assume
I hat office likewise. In this they would
differ from the Jewish elders. As the
most eminent in piety and Christian attain-
ments, they would be advanced by, or at
least with, the general consent to their
dignified station. The same piety and at-
tainments would designate them as best
qualified to keep up and to extend the gen-
eral system of instruction. They would
he the regular and perpetual expositors of
the Christian law ;* the reciters of the life,
the doctrines, the death, the resurrection
of Christ; till the Gospels were written
and generally received, they would be the
living Evangelists, the oral Scriptures, the
spoken Gospel. They would not merely
regulate and lead the devotions, adminis-
ter the rites of baptism and the Lord’s
Supper, but repeat, again and again, for

* Here likewise the possessors of the x^plapara
would be the casual and subsidiary instructors,
or, rather, the gifted promoters of Christian piety,
each in his separate sphere, according to his dis-
tinctive grace. Rut besides these, even if they
were found in all churches, which is by no means
clear, regular and systematic teachers would be
necessary to a religion which probably could only
subsist, certainly could not propagate itself with
activity or to any great extent, except by this con-
stant exposition of its principles in the public as-
sembly, as well as in the more private communica-
tions of individuals.

the farther confirmation of the believers,
and the conversion of Jews and heathens,
the facts and tenets of the new religion.
The government, in fact, in communities
bound together by Christian brotherhood
(such as we may suppose to have been the
first Christian churches, which were hap-
pily undistracted by the disputes arising
out of the Judaical controversy), would be
an easy office, and entirely subordinate to
that of instruction and edification. The
communities would be almost self-gov-
erned by the principle of Christian love
which first drew them together. The dea-
cons were, from the first, an inferior or-
der, and exercised a purely ministerial
office; distributing the common fund to
the poorer members, though the adminis-
tration of the pecuniary concerns of the
church soon became of such importance
as to require the superintendence of the
higher rulers. The other functions of the
deacons were altogether of a subordinate
character.

Such would be the ordinary develop-
ment of a Christian community, in the
first case monarchical, as founded by an
apostle or recognised teacher of Chris-
tianity ; subsequently, in the absence of
that teacher, aristocratical, under a senate
formed according to Jewish usage, though
not precisely on Jewish principles ; until,
the place of the apostle being supplied by
a bishop, in a certain sense his represent-
ative or successor, it would revert to a
monarchical form, limited rather by the
religion itself than by any appointed con-
trolling power. As long as the same holy
spirit of love and charity actuated the
whole body, the result, would be a har-
mony, not from the counteracting powers
of opposing forces, but from the consen-
tient will of the general body; and the
will of the government would be the ex-
pression of the universal popular senti-
ment.* Where, however, from the first,
the Christian community was formed of
conflicting parties, or where conflicting
principles began to operate immediately
upon the foundation of the society, no in-
dividual would be generally recognised as-

* Such is the theory of episcopal government in
a pleasing passage in athe Epistles of Ignatius.
"OOev npineL vplv (jvvTpexeiv ry tov etugkokov
yv6py. "Onep Kai noteZre. To yap a^iovopaarov
vp&v 7Tp£o6vT£pL()V, pVTO£ OWyppOGTai TCJ kmGKO-
7no G)£ x°P^aL Kidupa* dia tovto ev ry opovoia
vptiv, Kai av/LL(p6v(p ay any *lyaovg Xp'iGror aderai
Kai oi Kar’ avdpa 6s x°po? yiveade, Iva Gvpcftovoi
avreg ev opovoia, XP^}Pa laftovreg ev evoTyri,

adere ev (puvy pea (ha ’lycrov Xpiorov rZp rcarpi,
&c. Ad Ephes., p, 12., edit. Cotel. I speak of these
epistles in a subsequent note.198

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the authoritative teacher, and the assump-
tion and recognition of the episcopate
would be more slow, or, indeed, '*would
not take place at all till the final triumph
of one of the conflicting parties. They
retained of necessity the republican form.
Church of Sl}ch was the state of the Corin-
cormthan thian Church, which was formed
exception. from jts orjgi11? 0r aim0st imme-
diately divided into three separate parties,
with a leading teacher or teachers at the
head of each.* The Petrine, or the ultra-
Judaic, the Apolline, or more moderate
Jewish party, contested the supremacy
with the followers of St. Paul. Different
individuals possessed, exercised, and even
abused different gifts. The authority of
Paul himself appears clearly, by his elabo-
rate vindication of his apostolic office, by
no means to have been generally recog-
nised. No apostolic head, therefore, would
assume an uncontested supremacy, nor
would the parties coalesce in the choice
of a superior. Corinth, probably, was the
last community which settled down under
the general episcopal constitution.

The manner and the period of the sep-
aration of a distinct class, an hierarchy,
from the general body of the community,
and the progress of the great division be-
tween the clergy and the laity,t are equal-
ly obscure with the primitive constitution
of the Church. Like the Judaism of the
provinces, Christianity had no sacerdotal
order. 1 But as the more eminent members
of the community were admitted to take
the lead on account of their acknowledged
superiority, from their zeal, their talents,
their gifts, their sanctity, the general rev-
erence would of itself speedily set them
apart as of a higher order; they would
form the purest aristocracy, and soon be
divided by a distinct line of demarcation
from the rest of the community. What-
ever the ordination might be which desig-
nated them for their peculiar function,
whatever power or authority might be
communicated by the “imposition of

* I was led to conjecture that the distracted state
of the Church at Corinth might induce the apos-
tles to establish elsewhere a more firm and vigor-
ous authority, before I remembered the passage of
St. Jerome quoted above, which coincides with this
view. Corinth has been ♦generally taken as the
model of the early Christian constitution; I sus-
pect that if was rather an anomaly.

f Already the Auikch are a distinct class in the
Epistle of Clemens to the Corinthians (c. xl., p.
170, edit. Coteier.). 'This epistle is confidently ap-
pealed to by both parties in the controversy about
Cnurch government, and altogether satisfies neither,
it is clear, however, from the tone of the whole epis-
tle, that the Church at Corinth was anything rather
than a model of Church government: it bad been
rent with schisms ever since the days of tire apostle.

hands,” it would add little to the rever-
ence with which they were invested. It
was at first the Christian who sanctified
the function, afterward the function sancti-
fied the man. But the civil and religious,
concerns of the Church were so moulded
up together, or, rather, the temporal were
so absorbed by the spiritual, that not mere -
ly the teacher, but the governor—not mere-
ly the bishop properly so called, but the
presbyter, in his character of ruler as well
as of teacher, shared in the same peculiar
veneration. The bishop would be neces-
sarily mingled up in the few secular af-
fairs of the community, the governors bear
their part in the religious ceremonial. In
this respect, again, they differed from their
prototypes, or elders of the synagogue.
Their office was, of necessity, more reli-
gious. The admission of members in the
Jewish synagogue, except in the case of
proselytes of righteousness, was a matter
of hereditary right : circumcision was a
domestic, not a public ceremony. But
baptism, or the initiation into the Christian
community, was a solemn ceremonial, re-
quiring previous examination and proba-
tion. The governing power would pos-
sess and exercise the authority to admit
into the community. They would per-
form, or, at all events, superintend the in-
itiatory rite of baptism. The other dis-
tinctive rite of Christianity, the celebration
of the Lord’s Supper, would require a more
active interference and co-operation on the
part of those who presided over the com-
munity. To this there was nothing anal-
ogous in the office of the Jewish elder.
Order would require that this ceremony
should be administered by certain individ-
uals. If the bishop presided, after his ap-
pointment, both at the Lord’s Supper itself
and in the agape or feast which followed
it, the elders would assist, not merely in
maintaining order, but would officiate
throughout the ceremony. In proportion
to the reverence for the consecrated ele-
ments would be the respect towards those
under whose especial prayers, and in
whose hands, probably from the earliest
period, they were sanctified for the use of
the assembly. The presbyters would like-
wise possess the chief voice, a practical
initiative in the nomination of the bishop.
From all these different functions, the pres-
byters, and at length the deacons, became,
as well as the bishop, a sacred order. But
the exclusive or sacerdotal principle once
admitted in a religious community, its own
corporate spirit and the public reverence
would cause it to recede farther and far-
ther, and draw the line of demarcation
with greater rigour and depth. TheyHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

199

would more and more insulate themselves
from the commonalty of the Christian re-
public ; they would become a senate, a pa-
trician or privileged order; and this seces-
sion into their peculiar sphere would be
greatly facilitated by the regular grada-
tions of the faithful and the catechumen,
the perfect and the imperfect, the initiate
and half-initiate Christians. The greater
the variety, the more strict the subordina-
tion of ranks.

Thus the bishop gradually assumed the
title of pontiff, the presbyters became a
sacerdotal order. From the Old Testa-

ment, and even from paganism, the Chris
tians, at first as ennobling metaphors,
adopted their sacred appellations. Insen-
sibly the meaning of these significant ti-
tles worked into the Christian system.
They assumed, as it were, a privilege of
nearer approach to the Deity; and a priest
ly caste grew rapidly up in a religion which,
in its primary institution, acknowledged
only one mediator between earth and hea-
ven. We shall subsequently trace the
growth of the sacerdotal principle and
the universal establishment of the hierar-
chy.

CHAPTER V.

CHRISTIANITY AND ORIENTALISM.

Christianity had not only to contend
Oriental with the Judaism of its native re-
reiigions. gjon ang the paganism of the
Western world, but likewise with the Asi-
atic religions, which, in the eastern prov-
inces of the Roman empire, maintained
their ground, or mingled themselves with
the Grecian Polytheism, and had even pen-
etrated into Palestine. In the silence of
its authentic records, the direct progress
of Christianity in the East can neither be
accurately traced nor clearly estimated;
its conflict with Orientalism is chiefly vis-
ible in the influence of the latter upon the
general system of Christianity, and in the
tenets of the different sects which, from
Simon Magus to Manes, attempted to rec-
oncile the doctrines of the Gospel with the
theogonical systems of Asia. In the West
Christianity advanced with gradual but un-
obstructed and unreceding progress, till
first the Roman empire, and successively
the barbarous nations who occupied or
subdued the rest of Europe, were brought
within its pale. No new religion arose to
dispute its supremacy; and the feeble at-
tempt of Julian to raise up a Platonic pa-
ganism in opposition to the religion of
Christ must have failed, even if it had not
been cut short in its first growth by the
death of its imperial patron. In Asia the
progress of Christianity was suddenly ar-
rested by the revival of Zoroastrianism,
after the restoration of the Persian king-
dom upon the ruins of the Parthian mon-
archy ; and at a later period the vestiges
of its former success were almost entire-
ly obliterated by the desolating and all-ab-
sorbing conquests of Mohammedanism.
The Armenian was the only national
Church which resisted alike the persecu-

ting edicts of the Sassanian fire-worship-
pers, and, submitting to the yoke of the
Mohammedan conqueror, rejected the wor-
ship of the Prophet. The other scattered
communities of Christians, disseminated
through various parts of Asia, on the coast
of Malabar, perhaps in China, have no sat-
isfactory evidence of apostolic or even of
very early date : they are so deeply im-
pregnated with the Nestorian system of
Christianity, which, during the interval
between the decline of the reformed Zo-
roastrianism and the first outburst of Is-
lamism, spread to a great extent through-
out every part of the Eastern Continent,*
that there is every reason to suppose them
Nestorian in their origin.f The contest,
then, of Christianity with the Eastern re •
ligions must be traced in their reaction
upon the new religion of the West. By
their treacherous alliance they probably
operated more extensively to the detri-
ment of the evangelic religion than pagan-
ism by its open opposition. Asiatic in-
fluences have worked more completely
into the body and essence of Christianity
than any other foreign elements ; and it
is by no means improbable that tenets
^hich had their origin in India have for
many centuries predominated, or material
ly affected the Christianity of the whole
Western World.

Palestine was admirably situated to be-
come the centre and point of emanation

* There is an extremely good view of the origin
and history of the Christian communities in India
in Bohlen, das alte Indien.

f Compare the new edition of Gibbon with the
editor’s note on the Nestorian Christians and the
famous inscription of Siganfu, iii, 272 [and Mo*
sheim’s Institutes of Eccl, Hist., vol. i., p. 421, 422].2U0

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Situation of fur a universal religion. On
Palestine fa- the confines of Asia and Eu-
a°newreii-r rope, yet sufficiently secluded
gion. from both to be out of the way
of the constant flux and reflux of a foreign
population, it commanded Egypt, and,
through Egypt, associated Africa with the
general moral kingdom. But it was not
merely calculated for the birthplace of a
universal faith by its local position; Ju-
daism, as it were, in its character
u aism. ^pUtj.jng out 0f sight, for an instant,
its Divine origin), stood between the reli-
gions of the East and the West. It was
the connecting link between the European
and the Asiatic mind. In speculative sub-
limity the doctrine of the Divine Unity
soared to an equal height with the vast
and imaginative cosmogonies of the East,
while in its practical tendencies it approx-
imated to the active and rational genius of
the West.

The religions of Asia appear, if not of
regularly affiliated descent, yet to possess
a common and generic character, modified,
indeed, by the genius of the different peo-
ple, and perhaps by the prevailing tone
of mind in the authors and founders of new
doctrines. From the banks of the Ganges,
probably from the shores of the Yellow
Sea and the coasts of Farther India to the
Phoenician borders of the Mediterranean
md the undefined limits of Phrygia in Asia
Minor, there was that connexion, and simil-
itude, that community of certain element-
ary principles, that tendency to certain
combinations of physical and moral ideas,
which may be expressed by the term Ori-
Generai entalism.* The speculative the-
character of ology of the higher, the sacerdo-
Orientaiism. order, which, in some coun-
tries left the superstitions of the vulgar
undisturbed, or allowed their own more
sublime conceptions to be lowered to their
rude and limited material notions, aspired
to the primal Source of Being. The Em-
anation system of India, according to
which the whole worlds flowed from the
Godhead and were finally to be reabsorb-
ed into it; the Pantheism into which this
degenerated, and which made the collect-,
ive universe itself the Deity ; the Dualism
of Persia, according to which the antago-
nist powers were created by, or proceed-
ed from, the One Supreme and Uncreated;
the Chaldean doctrine of divine Energies

* Compare Windischman, Philosophie in fort-
gang1 der Welt Geschichte. Windischman was a
friend, I believe I may venture to^say a disciple, of
F. Schlegel, and belongs to the high Roman Cath-
olic school in Germany. His book, which is full of
abstruse thought and learning, develops the theory
of a primitive tradition diffused through the East.

or Intelligences, the prototypes of the cab-
alistic Sephiroth, and the later Gnostic
./Eons, the same, no doubt, under different
names, with the iEon and Protogenes, the
Genos and Genea, with their regularly-
coupled descendants in the Phoenician cos-
mogony of Sanchoniathon: and, finally,
the primitive and simpler worship of
Egypt; all these are either branches of
one common stock, or expressions of the
same state of the human mind, working
with kindred activity on the same visible
phenomena of nature, and with the same
object. The Asiatic mind impersonated,
though it did not, with the Greek, human-
ize everything. Light and Darkness, Good
and Evil, the Creative and Destructive en-
ergy of nature, the active and passive Pow-
ers of Generation, moral Perfection and
Wisdom, Reason and Speech, even Agri-
culture and the Pastoral life, each was a
distinct and intelligent being; they wed-
ded each other according to their apparent
correspondences; they begat progeny ac-
cording to the natural affiliation or conse-
quence of ideas. One great elementary
principle pervaded the whole religious sys-
tems of the East, the connexion of moral
with physical ideas, the inherent pu- purity of
rity, the divinity of mind or spirit, mind-
the inalienable evil of its antagonist, matter.
Whether Matter coexisted with Malignity
the First Great Cause ; whether of matter,
it was created by his power, but from its
innate malignity became insubordinate to
his will; whether it was extraneous to his
existence, necessarily subsisting, though
without form, till its inert and shapeless
mass was worked upon by the Deity him-
self, or by his primal power or emanation,
the Demiurge or Creator of the existing
worlds : on these points the different na-
tional creeds were endlessly diversified.
But in its various forms the principle itself
wras the universal doctrine of the Eastern
world; it was developed in their loftiest
philosophy (in fact, their higher philosophy
and their speculative religion were the
same thing); it gave a kind of colouring
even to their vulgar superstition, and op-
erated, in many cases almost to an incred-
ible extent, on their social and political
system. This great primal ten- The univer-
et is alike the elementary prin- sal primary
ciple of the higher Brahminism prmciple*
and the more moral Buddhism of India and
the remoter East. The theory of the di-
vision of castes supposes that a larger por-
tion of the pure mind of the Deity is in-
fused into the sacerdotal and superior or-
ders ; they are nearer the Deity, and with
more immediate hope of being reabsorbed
into the Divine essence; while the lowerHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

20 i

classes are more inextricably immersed in
the grosser matter of the world, their fee-
ble portion of the essential spirit of the
Divinity contracted and lost in the predom-
inant mass of corruption and malignity.*
The Buddhist, substituting a moral for an
hereditary approximation to the pure and
elementary mind, rests, nevertheless, on
the same primal theory, and carries the
notion of the abstraction of the spiritual
part from the foul and corporeal being to
an equal, if not a greater, height of con-
templative mysticism.f Hence the sanc-
tity of fire among the Persians that
element which is most subtile and defeca-
ted from all material corruption ; it is,
therefore, the representative of pure ele-
mentary mind, of Deity itself. § It exists
independent of the material forms in which
it abides, the sun and the heavenly bodies.
To infect this holy element with any ex-
cretion or emanation from the material
form of man; to contaminate it with the
putrescent effluvia of the dead and soulless
corpse, was the height of guilt and impiety.

This one simple principle is the parent
source of of that ascetism which niain-
vsceticism. tained its authority among all
the older religions of the remoter East,
forced its way at a very early period into
Christianity, where for some centuries it
exercised a predominant influence, and
subdued even the active and warlike ge-
nius of Mohammedanism to its dreamy
and ecstatic influence. On the cold table-
lands of Thibet, in the forests of India,
among the busy population of China, on
the burning shores of Siam, in Egypt and
in Palestine, in Christianized Europe, in
Mohammedanized Asia, the worshipper of
the Lama, the faquir, the bonze, the Tal-
apoin, the Essene, the Therapeutist, the
monk, and the dervish, have withdrawn
from the society of man in order to ab-
stract the pure mind from the dominion
of foul and corrupting matter. Under
each system the perfection of human na-
ture was estrangement from the influence
of the senses ; those senses which were

* The self-existing power declared the purest’
part of him to be the mouth. Since the Brahmen
sprung from the most excellent part, since he was
the firstborn, and since he possesses the Veda, be
is by right the chief of the whole creation.—Jones’s
Menu, i, 92, 93.

f See the tracts of Mahony, Joinville, Hodgson,
and Wilson, in the Asiatic Researches; Schmidt,
Geschichte der Ost Mongolen; Bergman, Noma-
dische Streifereyen, <$tc.

t Hyde, de Relig. Persarum, p. 13, et alibi.
Kleukei, Anhang zum Zendavesta, vol. i., p. 116,
117. De Guigniaut, Religions de l’Antiquite, 1. ii.,
c. 3, p. 333. *

$ Kleuker, Anhang zum Zendavesta, vol. i., pt. 2,
p, 147. De Guigniaut, ubi supra.

0 c

enslaved to the material elements of the
world; an approximation to the essence
of the Deity, by a total secession from
the affairs, the interests, the passions, the
thoughts, the common being and nature
of man. The practical operation of this
elementary principle of Eastern religion
has deeply influenced the whole history
of man. But it had made no progress in
Europe till after the introduction of Chris-
tianity. The manner in which it allied
itself with, or, rather, incorporated itself
into, a system, to the original nature and
design of which it appears altogether for-
eign, will form a most important and, per-
haps, not uninteresting chapter in the
History of Christianity.

Celibacy was the offspring of asceti-
cism, but it does not appear abso- '

lutely essential to it; whether in- 01 acy*
suited nature reasserts its rights, and rec-
onciles to the practice that which is in
apparent opposition to the theory, or
whether it revenges, as it were, this re-
bellion of nature on one point, by its more
violent and successful invasions upon its
unconquerable propensities on others. The
Muni in India is accompanied by his wife,
who shares his solitude, and seems to of-
fer no impediment to his sanctity,* though
in some cases it may be that all connubial
intercourse is sternly renounced. In Pal-
estine, the Essene, in his higher state of
perfection, stood in direct opposition to
the spirit of the books of Moses, on which
he still looked with the profoundest rev-
erence, by altogether refraining from mar-
riage. It was perhaps in this form that
Eastern asceticism first crept into Chris-
tianity. It assumed the elevating and at-
tractive character of higher personal* puri-
ty ; it drew the line of demarcation more
rigidly against the loose morality of the
heathen ; it afforded the advantage of de-
taching the first itinerant preachers of
Christianity more entirely from worldly
interests; enabled them to devote theii
whole undistracted attention to the propa-
gation of the faith, and left them, as it

* Abandoning all food eaten in towns, and all his
household utensils, let him repair to the lonely
wood, committing the care of his wife to his sons,
or accompanied by her, if she choose to attend him.
—Sir W. Jones’s Menu, vi., 3. I venture to refer
to the pathetic tale of the hermit with his wife and
son, from the Maha Bh&rata, in my translations
from the Sanskrit.

In the very curious account of the Buddhist
monks (the 'Zapavaiot—the Schamans) in Porphy-
rius,de Abstinently, lib. iv., 17, the Buddhist ascetic
abandons his wife; and this, in general, agrees with
the Buddhist theory. Female contact is unlawful
to the Buddha ascetic. See a curious instance in
Mr. Wilson’s Hindu Thea re.— The Tcycart, Act
viii., sub fine202

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

were, more at loose from the world, ready
to break the few and slender ties which
connected them with it at the first sum-
mons to a glorious martyrdom.* But it
was not, as we shall presently observe,
till Gnosticism began to exercise its influ-
ence on Christianity,! that, emulous of its
dangerous rival, or infected with its for-
eign opinions, the Church, in its general
sentiment, espoused and magnified the pre-
eminent virtue of celibacy.J

The European mind of the older world,
Unknown as represented by the Greeks and
in Greece Romans, repelled for a long time,
and Rome. jn the busy turmoil of political
development and the absorbing career of
war and conquest, this principle of inac-
tivity and secession from the ordinary af-
fairs of life. No sacerdotal caste estab-
lished this principle of superiority over
the active warrior or even the laborious
husbandman. With the citizen of the
stirring and factious republics of Greece
the highest virtue was of a purely politi-
cal and practical character. The whole
man was public: his individuality, the
sense of which was continually suggested
and fostered under the other system, was
lost in the member of the commonwealth.
That which contributed nothing to the
service of the state was held in no re-
spect. The mind, in its abstracted flights,
obtained little honour; it was only as it
worked upon the welfare, the amusement,
or the glory of the republic, that its digni-
ty was estimated. The philosopher might
discuss the comparative superiority of the
practical or the contemplative life, but his
loftiest contemplations were occupied with
realities, or what may be considered ideal-
izing those realities to a higher degree of
perfection : to make good citizens was the
utmost ambition of his wisdom ; a Utopia
was his heaven. The Cynic, who in the
East, or in Europe after it became im-
pregnated with Eastern doctrines, would

* Clement of Alexandrea, however, asserts that
St. Paul was really married, but left his wife be-
hind him lest she should interfere with his minis-
try. This is his interpretation of 1 Cor., ix., 5.

f Tertullian adv. Marc., i., 29. Non tingitur
apud ilium caro, nisi virgo, nisi vidua, nisi caelebs,
nisi divortio baptismum mereatur * * nec prsescribi-
mus sed suademus sanctitatem ***tunc denique
conjugium exerts defendentes cum inimic& accusa-
tur spurcitise nomine in destructionem creatoris qui
proinde conjugium pro rei honestate benedixit., in-
crementum generis humani * .

% Compare the whole argument of the third book
of the Stromata of Clement of Alexandrea. In one
passage he condemns celibacy as leading to misan-
thropy. Swop<3 tie orcug t?i irpotyuvei tov ydfiov
ol pev aneoxvp&oi, rovrov, firj Kara ttjv dytav
yv&cny, eig fuaavdpomiav VTrsftpvrjcav, ical to rrjg
dyaTTijr oIxetcll reap’ avrolg.—Strom., iii., 9.

have retired into the desert to his solitary
hermitage, in order to withdraw himself
entirely from the common interests, sen-
timents, and connexions of mankind, in
Greece took up his station in the crowd-
ed forum, or, pitching his tub in the midst
of the concourse at the public games, in-
veighed against the vices and follies of
mankind. Plato, if he had followed
the natural bent of his genius, might 1 * °’
have introduced, and, indeed, did introduce,
as much as the Grecian mind was capable
of imbibing, of this theory of the opposi-
tion of mind and matter with its ordinary
consequences. The communities of his
older master Pythagoras, who had proba-
bly visited the East, and drank deep of the
Oriental mysticism, approached in some
respects nearer to the contemplative char-
acter of monastic institutions. But the
active mind of the Greek predominated,
and the followers of Pythagoras, instead
of founding ecenobitic institutions, or se-
cluding themselves in meditative solitude,
settled some of the flourishing republics
of Magna Graecia. But the great master,
in whose steps Plato professed to tread
more closely, was so essentially practical
and unimaginative as to bind his follow-
ers down to a less Oriental system of
philosophy. While, therefore, in his Ti-
maeus Plato attempted to harmonize parts
of the cosmogonical theories of Asia witli
the more humanized mythology of Greece,
the work which was more accordant to
the genius of his country was his Repub-
lic, in which all his idealism was, as it
were, confined to the earth. Even his
religion, though of much sublimer cast
than the popular superstition, was yet
considered chiefly in its practical opera-
tion on the welfare of the state. It was
his design to elevate humanity to a higher
state of moral dignity ; to cultivate the
material body as well as the immaterial
soul to the height of perfection ; not to
sever, as far as possible, 'the connexion
between these ill-assorted companions, or
to withdraw the purer mind from its' so-
cial and political sphere into solitary and
inactive communion with the Deity. In
Rome the general tendency of the Rome
national mind was still more esse l- ome*
tially public and political. In the repub
lie, except in a few less distinguished
men, the Lselii and the Attici, even their
philosophy was an intellectual recreation
between the more pressing avocations of
their higher duties : it was either to brace
and mature the mind for future service to
the state, or as a solace in hours of disap-
pointed ambition, or the haughty satiety
of glory. Civil science was the end andHISTORY OF CHR'ISTt4NITY.

203

aim oi all their philosophic meditation.
Like their ancient king, if they retired for
communion with the Egeria of philoso-
phy. it was in order to bring forth, on
their return, more ample stores of politi-
cal and legislative wisdom. Under the
imperial government they took refuge in
the lofty reveries of the Porch, as they did
in inordinate luxury from the degradation
and enforced inactivity of servitude. They
lied to the philosophic retirement from
the barrenness, in all high or stirring emo-
tions, which had smitten the Senate and
the Comitia; still looking back with a vain
but lingering hope that the state might
summon them again from retirement with-
out dignity, from a contemplative life,
which by no means implied an approxi-
mation to the Divine, but rather a debase-
ment of the human, nature. Some, in-
deed, degraded their high tone of philoso-
phy by still mingling in the servile politics
of the day ; Seneca lived and died the vo-
tary and the victim of court intrigue. The
Thraseas stood aloof, not in ecstatic medi-
tation on the primal Author of Being, but
on the departed liberties of Rome ; their
soul aspired no higher than to unite itself
with the ancient genius of the republic.

Orientalism had made considerable
Orientalism progress towards the West be-
in Western (ore the appearance of Christi-
Asia- anity. While the popular Phar-
isaism of the Jews had imbodied some of
the more practical tenets of Zoroastrian-
ism, the doctrines of the remoter East had
found a welcome reception with the Es-
sene. Yet even with him, regular and
nnintermitting labour, not inert and medi-
tative abstraction, was the principle of the
ascetic community. It might almost seem
that there subsisted some secret and in-
delible congeniality, some latent consan-
guinity, whether from kindred, common
descent, or from conquest, between the
caste-divided population on the shores of
the Ganges and the same artificial state
of society in the valley of the Nile, so as
to assimilate in so remarkable a manner
their religion.* It is certain that the gen-
uine Indian mysticism first established a
permanent western settlement in the des-
erts of Egypt. Its first combination seems
to have been with the Egyptian Judaism
of Alexandrea, and to have arisen from the
dreaming Platonism which in the schools

* Bohlen’s work, Das alte Indien, of which the
excellence in all other respects, as a condensed
abstract of all that our own countrymen, and the
scholars of Germany and France have collected
concerning India, will be universally acknowledged,
is written to maintain the theory of the early con-
nexion of India and Egypt.

of that city had been ingrafted on the
Mosaic institutes. The Egyptian monks
were the lineal descendants of the Jewish
Therapeutas described by Philo.* Though
the Therapeutae, like the Essenes, were in
some respects a productive community,
yet they approached much nearer to the
contemplative and indolent fraternities of
the farther East. The arid and rocky
desert around them was too stubborn to
make much return to their less regular
and systematic cultivation; visionary in-
dolence- would grow upon them by de-
grees. The communities either broke up
into the lairs of solitary hermits, or were
constantly throwing off their more enthu-
siastic votaries deeper into the desert:
the severer mortifications of the flesh re-
quired a more complete isolation from the
occupations, as well as the amusements
or enjoyments of life. To change the
wilderness into a garden by patient in-
dustry was to enthrall the spirit, in some
degree, to the service of the body; and in
process of time the principle was carried
to its height. The more dreary the wil-
derness, the more unquestioned the sanc-
tity of its inhabitant; the more complete
and painful the privation, the more holy
the worshipper; the more the man put off
his own nature, and sank below the ani-
mal to vegetative existence, the more con-
summate his spiritual perfection. The
full growth of this system was of a much
later period ; it did not come to maturity
till after Christianity had passed through
its conflict with Gnosticism ; but its ele-
ments were no doubt floating about in the
different western regions of Asia, and ei-
ther directly through Gnosticism, or from
the emulation of the two sects, which out-
bid each other, as it were, in austerity, it
worked at length into the very intimate
being of the Gospel religion.

The singular felicity, the skill and dex-
terity if we may so speak Combllmtjon
with which Christianity at, first of Orientalism
wound its way through these yith Chrisli*
conflicting elements, combi- dni y*
ning what was pure and lofty in each,
in some instances unavoidably speaking
their language, and simplifying, harmoni-
zing, and modifying each to its own pecu-
liar system, increases our admiration of
its unrivalled wisdom, its deep insight
into the universal nature of man, and its
preacquaintance, as it were, with the
countless diversities of human character
prevailing at the time of its propagation.
But, unless the same profound wisdom
had watched over its inviolable preserva-

* Philonis Opera, Mangey, "ol. ii., p. 471.204

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tion which presided over its origin, unless
it had been constantly administered with
the same superiority to the common pas-
sions, and interests, and speculative cu-
riosity of man, a reaction of the several
systems over which it prevailed was in-
evitable. On a wide and comprehensive
survey of the whole history of Christian-
ity, and considering it as left altogether to
its own native force and impulse, it is dif-
ficult to estimate how far the admission,
even the preponderance, of these foreign
elements, by which it was enabled to
maintain its hold on different ages and ra-
ces, may not have contributed both to its
original success and its final permanence.
The Eastern asceticism outbid Christiani-
ty in that austerity, that imposing self-
sacrifice, that intensity of devotion which
acts with the greatest rapidity, and se-
cures the most lasting authority over rude
and unenlightened minds. By coalescing
to a certain point with its antagonist, it
embraced within its expanding pale those
who would otherwise, according to the
spirit of their age, have been carried be-
yond its sphere by some enthusiasm more
popular and better suited to the genius of
the time or the temperament of the indi-
vidual. If it lost in purity, it gained in
power, perhaps in permanence. No doubt,
in its first contest with Orientalism were
sown those seeds which grew up at a la-
ter period into Monasticism; it rejected
the tenets, but admitted the more insidi-
ous principle of Gnosticism ; yet there
can be little doubt that in the dark ages
the monastic spirit was among the great
conservative and influential elements of
Christianity.

The form in which Christianity first en-
countered this wide-spread Orientalism
was either Gnosticism,* or, if that philos-
ophy had not then become consolidated
into a system, those opinions which sub-
sequently grew up into that prevailing
doctrine of Western Asia. The first Ori-
simon entalist was Simon Magus. In the
Magus, conflict with St. Peter, related in
the Acts, nothing transpires as to the per-
sonal history of this remarkable man, ex-
cepting the extensive success with which
he had practised his magical arts in Sa-
maria, and the Oriental title which he as-

* In this view of Gnosticism, besides constant
reference to the original authorities, I must ac-
knowledge my obligations to Brucker, Hist. Phil.,
vol. ii., p. 1, c. 3 : to Mosheim, de Reb. Christ,
ante Const. Mag.; to Beausobre, Hist, du Mani-
cheisme, but above all to the excellent Histoire
du Gnosticisme, by M. Matter of Strasburg, 2
vols. 8vo, Paris, 1828. [See also the authors na-
med in Mosheim’s Instit. of Eccl. Hist., voh i.,
P- 89. n (4).]

sumed, “ The Power of God.” His first
overtures to the apostle appear as though
he were desirous of conciliating the friend-
ship and favour of the new teacher, and
would not have been unwilling to have
acted a subordinate part in the formation
of their increasing sect. But from his
first rejection Simon Magus was an oppo-
nent, if there be any truth in the wild le-
gends which are still extant, the rival of
Christianity.* On the arrival of the Chris-
tian teachers in Samaria, where, up to
that period, his influence had predomina-
ted, he paid homage to the reality of their
miracles by acknowledging their superior-
ity to his own. Still it should seem
that he only considered them as more
adroit wonder-workers, or, as is more
probable, possessed of some peculiar se-
crets beyond his own knowledge of the
laws of nature, or, possibly (for impos-
ture and superstition are ever closely
allied), he may have supposed that they
had intercourse with more powerful spir-
its or intelligences than his own. Jesus
was to him either some extraordinary pro-
ficient in magic, who had imparted his
prevailing gifts to his followers the apos-
tles ; or some superior genius, who lent
himself to their bidding; or, what Si-
mon asserted himself to be, some power
emanating more directly from the primal
Deity. The “gift of the Holy Ghost”
seemed to communicate a great portion,
at least, of this magic influence, and to
place the initiated in possession of some
mighty secrets, or to endow him with the
control of some potent spirits. Simon’s
offer of pecuniary remuneration betrays
at once either that his own object was sor-
did, as he suspected theirs to be, or, at the
highest, he sought to increase, by a com-
bination with them, his own reputation
and influence. Nor, on the indignant re-
fusal of St. Peter, does his entreaty for
their prayers, lest he should incur the
wrath of their offended Deity, by any
means imply a more accurate and Chris-
tian conception of their religion ; it is ex-
actly the tone of a man, half impostor and
half enthusiast, who trembles before the
offended anger of some mightier superhu-
man being, whom his ineffectual magic
has no power to control or to appease.

* It is among- the most hopeless difficulties ir
early Christian history to decide, to one’s own sat
isfaction, what groundwork of truth there may
be in those works which bear the name of St.
Clement, and relate the contests of St. Peter and
Simon Magus. That in their present form they are
a kind of religious romance, few will doubt; but
they are certainly of great antiquity, and it is dif
ficult to suppose either pure invention or mere em
bellishments of the simple history in the Acts.HISTOR\ OF CHRISTIANITY.

205

We collect no more than this from the
narrative in the Acts.* * * § *

Yet, unless Simon was in fact a person-
age of considerable importance during the
early history of Christianity, it is difficult
to account for his becoming, as he is call-
ed by Beausobre, the hero of the Romance
of Heresy. If Simon was the same with
that magician, a Cypriot by birth, who was
employed by Felix as agent in his intrigue
to detach Drusilla from her husband,f
this part of his character accords with the
charge of licentiousness advanced both
against his life and his doctrines by his
Christian opponents. This is by no means
improbable ; and, indeed, even if he was
not a person,thus politically prominent
and influential, the early writers of Chris-
tianity would scarcely have concurred in
representing him as a formidable and dan-
gerous antagonist of the faith, as a kind
of personal rival of St. Peter, without
some other groundwork for the fiction be-
sides the collision recorded in the Acts.
The doctrines which are ascribed to him
and to his followers, who continued to ex-
ist for several centuries,J harmonize with
the glimpse of his character and tenets in
His real the writings of St. Luke. Simon
character probably was one of that class of
and tenets. adventurers which abounded at
this period, or like Apollonius of Tyana,
and others at a later time, with whom the
opponents of Christianity attempted to
confound Jesus and his apostles. His doc-
trine was Oriental in its language and in
its pretensions.§ He was the first iEon
or emanation, or rather, perhaps, the first
manifestation of the primal Deity. He as-
sumed not merely the title of the Great
Power or Virtue of God, but all the other
appellations : the Word, the Perfection,
the Paraclete, the Almighty, the whole
combined attributes of the Deity.|| He
had a companion, Helena, according to the
Ri u , ' satement of his enemies, a beau-

tiful prostitute,^ whom he found
at Tyre, who became in like manner the
first conception (the Enno3a) of the Deity;
but who, by her conjunction with matter,
had been enslaved to its malignant influ-

* Acts, viii., 9, 24.

f Joseph., Ant., xx, 5, 2. Compare Krebs and
Kuionel, in loco Act. Apost.

$ Origen denies the existence of living Simonians
in his day ^contra Cels., lib. i.), which implies that
they had subsisted nearly up to that time.

§ Irenseus, lib. i., c. 20 ; the fullest of the early
authorities on Simon. Compare Grabe’s notes.
The personal conflict with St. Peter in Rome, and
the famous inscription “ Semoni Sanco,” must, I
think, be abandoned to legend.

II Ego sum Sermo Dei, ego sum Speciosus, ego
Paracletus, ego Omnipotens, ego ornnia Dei.—Hie-
lonyrn. in Matth., Op., iv., 114. Irenasus, ibid.

ence, and, having fallen under the powei-
of evil angels, had been in a constant state
of transmigration, and among other mor-
tal bodies had occupied that of the fa-
mous Helen of Troy. Beausobre,* who
elevates Simon into a Platonic philosopher,
explains the Helena as a sublime allegory.
She was the Psyche of his philosophic ro-
mance. The soul, by evil influences, haa
become imprisoned in matter. By her the
Deity had created the angels : the angels,
enamoured of her, had inextricably en-
tangled her in that polluting bondage in
order to prevent her return to heaven.
To fly from their embraces she had pass-
ed from body to body. Connecting this
fiction with the Grecian mythology, she
was Minerva, or impersonated Wisdom ;
perhaps also Helena or imbodied Beauty.

It is by no means inconsistent with the
character of Orientalism, or with the spirit
of the times, to reconcile much of these
different theories. According to the East-
ern system of teaching by symbolic ac-
tion, Simon may have carried about a liv-
ing and real illustration of his allegory :
his Helena may have been to his disciples
the mystic image of an emanation from
the Divine Mind; her native purity, indeed,
originally defiled by the contagious malig-
nity of matter, but under the guidance of
the hierophant, or, rather, by her sancti-
fying association with the “ Power of God
either soaring again to her primal sanctity,
or even, while the grosser body was still
abandoned to its inalienable corruption,
emancipating the uninfected and unparti-
cipant soul from all the depravation, almost
from the consciousness, of corporeal indul-
gence. Be this as it may, Probability or
whether the opinions of Simon the history ot
were derived from Platonism, Simon*
or, as it is much more likely, immediately
from Eastern sources, his history is sin-
gularly characteristic of the state of the
public mind at this period of the world.
An individual assuming the lofty appella-
tion of the Power of God, and with his fe-
male associate personating the male and
female Energies or Intelligences of the
Deity, appears to our colder European
reason a fiction too monstrous even for
the proverbial credulity of man. But this
Magianism of Simon must be considered
in reference to the whole theory of theur-
gy or magic, and the prevalent theosophy
or notions of the Divine nature. In the
East superstition had in general repudia-
ted the grossly material forms in which
the Western anthropomorphism had im-
bodied its godsit remained more spirit-

* Beausobre, Hist, du Manicheism *. i , 35.208

HISTORY UF

ISTIANITY.

ual, but it made up for this by the fantas-
tic manner in which it multiplied the gra-
dations of spiritual beings more or less
remotely connected with the first great
Supreme. The more subtile the spirits, in
general they were the more beneficent;
the more intimately associated with mat-
ter, the more malignant. The avowed ob-
ject of Simon was to destroy the authority
of the evil spirits, and to emancipate man-
kind from their control. This peopling of
the universe with a regularly-descending
succession of beings was common to the
whole East, perhaps, in great part, to the
West. The later Jewish doctrine of an-
gels and devils approached nearly to it;
it lurked in Platonism, and assumed a high-
er form in the Eastern cosmogonies. In
these it not merely assigned guardian or
hostile beings to individuals or to nations,
but its peculiar creator to the material uni-
verse, from which it aspired altogether to
keep aloof the origin and author of the
spiritual world, though the latter superior
and benignant Being was ordinarily intro-
duced as interfering in some manner to
correct, to sanctify, and to spiritualize the
world of man; and it was in accordance
with this part of the theory that Simon
proclaimed himself the representative of
Deity.

But Simon was at no time a Christian,
neither was the heir and successor of his
doctrines, Menander ;* and it was not till
it had jnade some progress in the Syrian
and Asiatic cities that Christianity came
into closer contact with those Gnostic or
prognostic systems, which, instead of op-
posing it with direct hostility, received it
with more insidious veneration, and warp-
ed it into an unnatural accordance with
its own principles. As the Jew watched
the appearance of Jesus, and listened to
his announcement as the Messiah in anx-
ious suspense^’expecting that even yet he
would assume’-those attributes of tempo-
ral grandeur' and -visible majesty which,
according'to:his' conceptions, were insep-
arable-from the true Messiah ; as even
after'the death of Jesus the Jewish Chris-
tians still eagerly anticipated his imme-
diate return to judgment, his millennial
reign, and his universal dominion, so
many of the Oriental speculatists, as soon
as Christianity began to be developed,
hailed. it as the completion of their own

* Menander baptized in his own name, being- sent
by the Supreme Power of-God. His baptism con-
ferred a resurrection not only to eternal life, but to
eternal youth. An opinion, as M. Matter justly ob-
serves, not easily reconcilable to those who consid-
ered the body the unworthy prison of the soul.—
Irenseus, i., 21. Matter, i., 219.

wild theories, and forced it into ,
accordance with their universal connects u-
tenet of distinct intelligences em- seif with
anating from the primal Being. Chnstlaml-V-
Thus Christ, who, to the vulgar Jew was
to be a temporal king, to the Cabalist or
the Chaldean became a Sephiroth, an AEon,
an emanation from the One Supreme.
While the author of the religion remained
on earth, and while the religion itself was
still in its infancy, Jesus was in danger of
being degraded into a king of the Jews;
his Gospel of becoming the code of a new
religious republic. Directly as it got be-
yond the borders of Palestine, and the
name of Christ had acquired sanctity and
veneration in the Eastern cities, he be-
came a kind of metaphysical impersona-
tion, while the religion lost its purely
moral cast, and assumed the character of
a speculative theogony.

Ephesus is the scene of the first colli-
sion between Christianity and Ori-
entalism of which we can trace "plebU's'
any authentic record. Ephesus we have
before described as the great emporium of
magic arts, and the place where the un-
wieldy allegory of the East lingered in the
bosom of the more elegant Grecian Hu-
manism.* Here the Greek, the Oriental,
the Jew, the philosopher, the magician, the.
follower of John the Baptist, the teacher of
Christianity, were no doubt encouraged to
settle by the peaceful opulence of the in-
habitants and the constant influx of stran-
gers, under the proudly indifferent protec-
tion of the municipal authorities and the
Roman government. In Ephesus, accord-
ing to universal tradition, survived the last
of the apostles, and here the last ^ ^

of the Gospels—some have sup-
posed the latest of the writings of the New
Testament—appeared in the midst of this
struggle with the foreign elements of con-
flicting systems. This Gospel His GoSMrl
was written, we conceive, not' 1S ,01>u
against any peculiar sect or individual, but
to arrest the spirit of Orientalism, which
was working into the essence.of Christi-
anity, destroying its .beautiful simplicity,
and threatening altogether to change both
its design and its effects upon mankind.
In some points it necessarily spoke the
language which was common alike, though
not precisely, with the same meaning, to
the Platonism of the West and the The-
ogonism of the East; but its sense was

* The Temple of Diana was the triumph of pure
Grecian architecture : but her statue was not that
of the divine Huntress, like that twin-sister of the
Belvidere Apollo in the gallery at Paris; she was
the Diana multimamrna, the emblematic imperson-
ation of all-productive, all-nutritive Nature.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

207

different and peculiar. It kept the moral
and religious, if not altogether distinct
from the physical notions, yet clearly and
invariably predominant. While it appro-
priated the well-known and almost univer-
sal term, the Logos or Word of God, to
the Divine author of Christianity, and even
adopted some of the imagery from the hy-
pothesis of conflicting light and darkness,
yet it altogether rejected all the wild cos-
mogonical speculations on the formation
of the world; it was silent on that ele-
mentary distinction of the Eastern creed,
the separation of matter from the ethereal
mind. The union of the soul with the
Deity, though in the writings of John it
takes something of a mystic tone, is not
the pantheistic absorption into the parent
Deity ; it is a union by the aspiration of
the pious heart, the conjunction by pure
and holy love with the' Deity, who, to the
ecstatic moral affection of the adorer, is
himself pure love. It insists not on ab-
straction from matter, but from sin, from
hatred, from all fierce and corrupting pas-
sions ; its new life is active as well as
meditative ; a social principle, which in-
corporates together all pure and holy men,
and conjoins them with their federal head,
Christ, the image and representative of
the God of Love ; it is no principle of iso-
lation in solitary and rapturous medita-
tion ; it is a moral, not an imaginative pu-
rity

Among the opponents to the ho*y and
Nicolai tans, sublime Christianity of St.John
* during his residence at Ephesus,
the names of the Nicolaitans and of Ce-
rinthus alone have survived.* Of the ten-
ets of the former and the author of the
doctrine, nothing precise is known; but
the indignant language with which they
are alluded to in the Sacred Writings im-
plies that they were not merely hostile to
the abstract doctrines, but also to the mor-
al effects of the Gospel. Nor does it ap-
pear quite clear that the Nicolaitans were
a distinct and organized sect.

Cerinthus was the first of whose tenets

* General tradition derived the Nicolaitans from
Nicolas, one of the seven deacons.—Acts, vi., 5
Eusebius (Eccl. Hist., 1. iii., c. 29) relates a story
that Nicolas, accused of being jealous of his beau-
tiful wife, offered her in matrimony to whoever
chose to take her. His followers, on this example,
founded the tenet of promiscuous concubinage.
Wetstein, with whom Michaelis and Rosenmiilier
are inclined to agree, supposed that Nicolas was a
translation of the Hebrew word Bileam, both sig-
nifying in their respective languages, the subduer
or the lestroyer of the people. Michaelis, Eich-
horn, and Storr suppose, therefore, that- it was the
name rather of a sect than an individual, and the
same with those mentioned 2 Pet., ii., 10, 13, 18 ;
iii, 3 ; Jud., 8, 16,—See Rosenmiilier on Rev., ii, 6.

we have any distinct statement,
who, admitting "the truth of Chris- enntmtS* * * * §
tianity, attempted to incorporate with it
foreign and Oriental tenets.* Cerinthus
was of Jewish descent, and educated in
the Judaso-Platonic school of Alexandrea.f
His system was a singular and apparent-
ly incongruous fusion of Jewish, Christian,
and Oriental notions. He did not, like
Simon or Menander, invest himself in a
sacred and mysterious character, though
he pretended to angelic revelations.J Like
all the Orientals, his imagination was
haunted with the notion of the malignity
of matter; and his object seems to have
been to keep both the primal Being and
the Christ uninfected with its contagion.
The Creator of the material world, there-
fore, was a secondary being, an angel or
angels; as Cerinthus seems to have ad-
hered to the Jewish, and not adopted the
Oriental language.^ But his national and
hereditary reverence for the law withheld
him from that bold and hostile step which
was taken by most of the other Gnostic •
sects, to which, no doubt, the general an-
imosity to the Jews in Syria and Egypt
concurred, the identification of the God
of the Jewish covenant with the inferior
and malignant author of the material ere
ation. He retained, according to one ae
count, his reverence for the rites, the cer
emonies, the law, and the prophets of Ju-
daism, || to which he was probably recon-
ciled by the allegoric interpretations of
Philo. The Christ, in his theory, was of
a higher order than those secondary and
subordinate beings who had presided over
the older world. But, with the jealousy
of all the Gnostic sects, lest the pure em-
anation from the Father should be unne-
cessarily contaminated by too intimate a
conjunction with a material and mortal
form, he relieved him from the degrada-
tion of a human birth by supposing that
the Christ descended on the man Jesus at
his baptism; and from the ignominy of a
mortal death by making him reascend be-
fore that crisis, having accomplished his
mission of making known “ the Unknown
Father,” the pure and primal Being, of
whom the worshippers of the Creator of

* See Mosheim, de Rebus ante C. M., p. 199
[and Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 95]. Matter,
i.,22l. f Theodoret, ii., c. 3.

X Eusebius, E. H., iii., 28, from Caius the pres-
byter, r spar o^oy lag yp.lv cog 61 ayyslcov avrep 6s-

6etypevag i'jev66pevog.

§ Epiphanii Hagr., viii., 28. According t.o Ire-
nseus, a virtute quadam valde separata, et distante
ab ea principalitate qua? est super universa et igno-
rante eum qui est super omnia Deum.—Iren , i.,25

|| Inferior angels to those of the law inspired the
prophets.208

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the material universe and of the Jehovah
of the Jews were alike ignorant. But the
most inconsequential part of the doctrine
of Cerinthus was his retention of the Jew-
ish doctrine of the millennium. It must,
indeed, have been purified from some of
its grosser and more sensual images; for
the Christos, the immaterial emanation
from the Father, was to preside during its
long period of harmony and peace.*

The later Gnostics were bolder, but
Tater more consistent innovators on
Gnostics, the simple scheme of Christian-
ity. It was not till the second century
that the combination of Orientalism with
Christianity was matured into the more
perfect Gnosticism. This was perhaps
at its height from about the year 120 to
140. In all the great cities of the East
in which Christianity had established its
most flourishing communities, sprung up
this rival, which aspired to a still higher
degree of knowledge than was revealed
in the Gospel, and boasted that it soared
almost as much above the vulgar Chris-
tianity as the vulgar paganism. Antioch,
where the first church of the Christians
had been opened, beheld the followers of
Saturninus withdrawing, in a proud assu-
rance of their superiority, from the com-
mon brotherhood of believers, and insula-
ting themselves as the gifted possessors
of still higher spiritual secrets. Edessa,
whose king very early Christian fable had
exalted into a personal correspondent with
the Saviour, rung with the mystic hymns
of Bardesanes ; to the countless religious
and philosophical factions of Alexandrea
were added those of Basilides and Va-
lentinus ; until a still more unscrupulous
and ardent enthusiast, Marcion of Pontus,
threw aside in disdain the whole existing
religion of the Gospel, remodelled the sa-
cred books, and established himself as the
genuine hierophant of the real Christian
mysteries.

Gnosticism, though very different from
The primal Christianity, was of a sublime
Deity of and imposing character as an
Gnosticism, imaginative creed, and not more
unreasonable than the other attempts of
human reason to solve the inexplicable
secret, the origin of evil. Though vari-
ously modified, the systems of the differ-
ent teachers were essentially the same.
The primal Deity remained aloof in his
unapproachable majesty; the unspeaka-
ble, the ineffable, the nameless, the self-

* Cerinthus was considered by some early wri-
ters the author of the Apocalypse, because that
work appeared to contain his grosser doctrine of
the millennial reign of Christ.—Dionysius apud
Euseb., iii., 282; vii., 25.

existing.* The Pleroma, the ThpPlproTna
fulness of the Godhead, expand-
ed itself in still outspreading circles, and
approached, till it comprehended, the uni-
verse. From the Pleroma emanated all
spiritual being, and to him they were to
return and mingle again in indissoluble
unity. By their entanglement in malign
and hostile matter, the source of moral as
well as physical evil, all outwardly exist-
ing beings had degenerated from their high
origin ; their redemption from this foreign
bondage, their restoration to purity and
peace in the bosom of Divinity, the uni-
versal harmony of all immaterial exist-
ence, thus resolved again into the Plero-
ma, was the merciful design of The Mon
the Mon Christ, who had for this Christ,
purpose invaded and subdued the foreign
and hostile provinces of the presiding En-
ergy, or Deity of matter.

In all the Oriental sects, this primary
principle, the malignity of matter, Malignity
haunted the imagination, and to of matter,
this principle every tenet must be accom-
modated. The sublimest doctrines of the
Old Testament—the creative omnipotence,
the sovereignty, the providence of God. as
well as the grosser and anthropomorphic
images, in which the acts and passions, and
even the form of man, are assigned to the
Deity—fell under the same remorseless
proscription. It was pollution, it was deg-
radation to the pure and elementary
spirit to mingle with, to approximate, to
exercise even the remotest influence over
the material world. The creation of the
visible universe was made over, according
to all, to a secondary, with most to a hos-
tile Demiurge. The hereditary reverence
which had modified the opinions of Cerin-
thus with regard to the Jehovah of his
fathers had no hold on the Syrian and
Egyptian speculates. They fearlessly
pursued their system to its consequences,
and the whole of the Old Testament was
abandoned to the inspiration of an inferior
and evil daemon; the Jews were left in
exclusive possession of their national De-
ity, whom the Gnostic Christians disdain-
ed to acknowledge as bearing Rejeetion of
any resemblance to the abstract, the oid Tes-
remote, and impassive Spirit. tamcnt-
To them the mission of Christ revealed a
Deity altogether unknown in the dark ages
of a world which was the creation and the
domain of an inferior being. They would

* The author of the Apostolic Constitutions as-
serts, as the first, principle of all the early heresies,
rov pev navTOKparopa Qeov f31aa(p7jpetv\ ayvtdo-
rov So!;u&lv, Kcil pr/ eivar, FLaripa rov Xpiarov,
[i7}ds rov Koapov drjpiovpybv, all' uIektov, cp/fy-.
rov, aicaTovopaoToy, avroyevedlov.—Lib. vi c 10HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

209

not, like the philosophizing Jews, take ref-
uge in allegory to explain the too material
images of the works of the Deity in the
act of creation and his subsequent rest;
the intercourse with man in the garden of
Eden ; the trees of knowledge and of life ;
the serpent and the fall; they rejected the
whole as altogether extraneous to Chris-
tianity, belonging to another world, with
which the God revealed by Christ had no
concern or relation. If they condescended
to discusst he later Jewish history, it was
merely to confirm their preconceived no-
tions. The apparent investiture of the
Jehovah with the state and attributes of a
temporal sovereign, the imperfection of
the law, the barbarity of the people, the
bloody wars in which they were engaged—
in short, whatever in Judaism was irrec-
oncilable with a purely intellectual and
morally perfect system, argued its origin
from an imperfect and secondary author.

But some tenets of primitive Christian-
Of some ity came no less into direct colli-
parts of sion with the leading principles of
the New. Orientalism. The human nature
of Jesus was too deeply impressed upon
all the Gospel history, and perplexed the
whole school, as well the precursors of
Gnosticism as the most perfect Gnostics.
His birth and death bore equal evidence
of the unspiritualized materialism of his
mortal body. They seized with avidity
the distinction between the Divine and
human nature; but the Christ, the Mon,
which emanated from the pure and primal
Deity, as yet unknown in the world of the
inferior creator, must be relieved as far as
possible from the degrading and contami-
nating association with the mortal Jesus.
The simpler hypothesis of the union of the
two natures, mingled up too closely, ac-
cording to their views, the ill-assorted
companions. The human birth of Jesus,
though guarded by the virginity of his
mother, was still offensive to their subtler
and more fastidious purity. The Christ,
therefore, the Emanation from the Plero-
raa, descended upon the man Jesus at his
baptism. The death of Jesus was a still
more serious cause of embarrassment.
They seem never to have entertained the
notion of an expiatory sacrifice : and the
connexion of the ethereal mind with the
pains and sufferings of a carnal body was
altogether repulsive to their strongest prej-
udices. Before the death, therefore, of
Jesus, the Christ had broken off his tempo-
rary association with the perishable body
of Jesus, and surrendered it to the impo-
tent resentment of Pilate and the Jews;
or, according to the theory of theDocetae,
adopted by almost all the Gnostic sects,
D D

the whole union with the material human
form was an illusion upon the senses of
men; it was but an apparent human being,
an impassive phantom, which seemed to
undergo ail the insults and the agony of
the cross.

Such were the general tenets of the
Gnostic sects, emanating from one simple
principle. But the details of their cosmog-
ony, their philosophy, and their religion
were infinitely modified by local circum-
stances, by the more or less fanciful genius
of their founders, and by the stronger in-
fusion of the different elements of Plato-
nism, Cabalism, or that which, in its
stricter sense, may be called Orientalism.
The number of circles, or emanations, or
procreations which intervened between
the spiritual and the material world; the
nature and the rank of the Creator of that
material world; his more or less close
identification with the Jehovah of Juda-
ism ; the degree of malignity which they
attributed to the latter; the office and the
nature of the Christos; these were open
points, upon which they admitted, or, at
least, assumed the utmost latitude.

The earliest of the more distinguished
Gnostics is Saturninus, who is
represented as a pupil of Me- Saturninus*
nander, the successor of Simon Magus.#
But this Samaritan sect was always in di-
rect hostility with Christianity, while Sat-
urninus departed less from the Christian
system than most of the wilder and more
imaginative teachers of Gnosticism. The
strength of the Christian party in Antioch
may in some degree have overawed and
restrained the aberrations- of his fancy.
Saturninus did not altogether exclude the
primal spiritual Being from all concern or
interest in the material world. For the
Creator of the visible universe he assumed
the seven great angels, which the later
Jews had probably borrowed, though with
■different powers, from the seven Amschas-
pands of Zoroastrianism. Neither were
these angels essentially evil, nor was the
domain on which they exercised their cre-
ative power altogether surrendered to the
malignity of matter; it was a kind of de-
batable ground between the powers of
evil and of good. The historian of Gnos-
ticism has remarked the singular beauty
of the fiction regarding the creation of
man. “ The angels tried their utmost ef-
forts to form man ; but there arose under

* On Saturninus, see Irenasus, i., 22. Euseb.,
iv.,7. Epiphan., Haer.,23. Theodoret, Haer. Fab.,
lib. iii. Tertullian, de Anima, 23 ; de Prasscrip. cont.
Haer., c. 46. Of the moderns, Mosheim, p. 336
[and Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 140]. Mat-
ter, i 276.210

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

their creative influence only 4 a worm
creeping upon the earth.’ God, conde-
scending to interpose, sent down his Spir-
it, which breathed into the reptile the liv-
ing soul of man.” It is not quite easy to
connect with this view of the origin of
man the tenets of Saturninus, that the hu-
man kind was divided into two distinct
races, the good and the bad. Whether the
latter became so from receiving a feebler
and less influential portion of the Divine
Spirit, or whether they were a subsequent
creation of Satan, who assumes the sta-
tion of the Ahriman of the Persian sys-
tem.* * * § But the descent of Christ was to
separate finally these two conflicting ra-
ces. He was to rescue the good from the
predominant power of the wicked; to de-
stroy the kingdom of the spirits of evil,
who, emanating in countless numbers from
Satan their chief, waged a fatal war against
the good; and to elevate them far above
the power of the chief of the angels, the
God of the Jews, for whose imperfect laws
were to be substituted the purifying prin-
ciples of asceticism, by which the chil-
dren of light were reunited to the source
and origin of light. The Christ himself
was the Supreme Power of God, immate-
rial, incorporeal, formless, but assuming
the semblance of man; and his followers
were, as far as possible, to detach them-
selves from their corporeal bondage, and
assimilate themselves to his spiritual be-
ing. ' Marriage was the invention of Satan
and his evil spirits, or, at best, of the great
angel, the God of the Jews, in order to
continue the impure generation. The
elect were to abstain from propagating
a race of darkness and imperfection.
Whether Saturninus, with the Essenes,
maintained this total abstinence as the es-
pecial privilege of the higher class of his
followers, and permitted to the less per-
fect. the continuation of their kind, or
whether he abandoned altogether this per-
ilous and degrading office to the wicked,
his system appears incomplete, as it seems
to yield up as desperate the greater part
of the human race ; to perpetuate the do-
minion of evil; and to want the general
and final absorption of all existence into
the purity and happiness of the primal
Being.

Alexandrea, the centre, as it were, of
the speculative and intellectual
Acxan rea. actjvity 0f the Roman world, to

which ancient Egypt, Asia, Palestine, and

* The latter opinion is that of Mosheim. M.
Matter, on the contrary, says, “ Satan n’a pourtant
pas cree les hommes, et les h trouve tout faits : il
s’en est einpare ; e’est. la sa sphere d’activit<6 et la
limite de sa puissance.”—P. 285.

Greece furnished the mingiRl population
of her streets and the confiictir.g opinions
of her schools, gave birth to the two suc-
ceeding and most widely-disseminated
sects of Gnosticism, those of Basilides and
Valentinus.

Basilides was a Syrian by birth, and by
some is supposed to have been a
scholar of Menander, at the same asi 1 es’
time with Saturninus. He claimed, how-
ever, Glaucias, a disciple of St. Peter, as
his original teacher; and his doctrines as-
sumed the boastful title of the Secret Tra-
ditions of the great apostle. He also had
some ancient prophecies, those of Cham
and Barkaph,* peculiar to his sect. Ac-
cording to- another authority he was a Per
sian ; but this may have originated from
the Zoroastrian cast of his primary ten-
ets.f From the Zendavesta Basilides

drew the eternal hostility of mind and
matter, of light and darkness ; but the Zo-
roastrian doctrine seems to have accom-
modated itself to the kindred systems of
Egypt. In fact, the Gnosticism of Basil-
ides appears to have been a fusion of the
ancient sacerdotal religion of Egypt with
the angelic and daemoniac theory of Zoro-
aster. Basilides did not, it seems, main-
tain his one abstract unapproachable De-
ity far above the rest of the universe, but
connected him, by a long and insensible
gradation of intellectual developments or
manifestations, with the visible and ma-
terial world. From the Father proceeded
seven beings, who, together with* him,
made up an ogdoad; constituted the first
scale of intellectual beings, and inhabited
the highest heaven, the purest intellectual
sphere. According to their names—M bid,
Reason, Intelligence (^povycug), Wisdom,
Power, Justice, and Peace—they are mere-
ly, in our language, the attributes of the
Deity impersonated in this system.

The number of these primary iEons is
the same as the Persian system of the
Deity and the seven Amschaspands, and
the Sephiroth of the Cabala, and proba-
bly, as far as that abstruse subject is
known, of the ancient Egyptian theology.J

The seven primary effluxes of the Deit}
went on producing and multiplying, each
forming its own realm or sphere, till they
reached the number of 365.§ The total

* Irenasus differs in his view of the B'asilidian
theory from the remains of the Basilidian books ap-
pealed to by Clemeynt of Alexandrea, Strom., vi., p.
375,795. Theodoret, Hseret. Kabul., ], 2. Euseb.,

Eccl. Hist., iv.,7. Basilides published twenty-four
volumes of exegetica, or interpretations of his doc-
trines.

f Clemens, Stromata, vi., 642. Euseb., Eccl.
Hist., iv., 7. + See Matter, vol. ii., p. 5-37.

§ It is difficult to suppose that this number, eiHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

211

numuer formed the mystical Abraxas,* * the
legend which is found on so many of the
ancient gems, the greater part of which
are of Gnostic origin; though as much of
this theory was from the doctrines of an-
cient Egypt, not only the mode of ex-
pressing their tenets by symbolic inscrip-
tions, but even the inscription itself, may
be originally Egyptian.f The lowest of
these worlds bordered on the realm of
matter. The first confusion and invasion
of the hostile elements took place. At
length the chief angel of this sphere, on
the verge of intellectual being, was seized
with a desire of reducing the confused
mass to order. With his assistant angels
he became the Creator. Though the form
was of a higher origin, it was according to
the idea of Wisdom, who, with the Deity,
formed part of the first and highest og-
doad. Basilides professed the most pro-
found reverence for Divine Providence ;
and in Alexandrea, the God of the Jews,
softened off, as it were, and harmonized to
the philosophic sentiment by the school
of Philo, was looked upon in a less hos-
tile light than by the Syrian and Asiatic
school. The East lent its system of guar-
dian angels, and the assistant angels of the
Demiurge were the spiritual rulers of the
nations, while the Creator himself was
that of the Jews. Man was formed of a
triple nature. His corporeal form of brute
and malignant matter; his animal soul,
the Psychic principle, which he received
from the Demiurge ; the higher and purer
spirit, with which he was endowed from a
loftier region. This pure and ethereal
spirit was to be emancipated from its im-
pure companionship ; and Egypt, or, rath-
er, the whole East, lent the doctrine of

ther as originally borrowed from the Egyptian theol-
ogy, or as invented fcjy Basilides, had not some as-
tronomical reference.

* Irenseus, i., 23. See in M. Matter, ii., 49, 54,
the countless interpretations of this mysterious
word. We might add others to those collected by
hfs industry. M. Matter adopts, though with some
doubt, the opinion of M. Bellerman and M. M(inter.
Le premierde cesecrivains explique le mot d’Abrax-
as par le Kopte, qui est incontestablement a Pan-
cienne langue d’Egypte ceque la Grec moderneest
au langue de Pancienne Grece. La syllable sadsch,
que les Grecs ontdu convertir en <ra|, ou era?, ou <ra£,
n’ayant. pu exprimer la derni&re lettre de cette sylla-
ble, que paries lettres X, S, ou Z, signifierait parole,
et abrak beni, saint, adorable, en sorte que le mot
d’Abraxas toufcentier,offrirait le sensde 'parolesacree.
M. M (inter ne s’eloigne de cette interpretation, que
pour les syllables abrak qu’il prend pour le mot
Kopte “ berra” nouveau, ce qui donne a l’ensemble
le sens de parole nouveau.—Matter, ii., 40.

f See, in the supplement to M. Matter's work, a
very curious collection of these Egyptian and
Egypto-Grecian medals ; and a work of Dr. Walsh
on these coins. Compare, likewise, Reuv* Vs Let-
tres a M. Letronne, particularly y *

the transmigration of souls, in order to
carry this stranger upon earth through the
gradations of successive purification, till it
was readmitted to its parent heaven.

Basilides, in the Christian doctrine
which he interwove with this,, imagin-
ative theory, followed the usual Gnostic-
course.* The Christ, the first iEon of the
Deity, descended on the man Jesus at his
baptism ; but, by a peculiar tenet of their
own, the Basilidians rescued even the man
Jesus from the degrading sufferings of the
cross. Simon the Cyrenian was changed
into the form of Jesus; on him the ene-
mies of the crucified wasted their wrath,
while Jesus stood aloof in the form of Si-
mon, and mocked their impotent malice.
Their moral perceptions must have been
singularly blinded by their passion for their
favourite tenet not to discern how much
they lowered their Saviour by making him
thus render up an innocent victim as his
own substitute.

Valentinus appears to have been con-
sidered the most formidable and
dangerous of this school of Gnos- a en inus'
tics.f He was twice excommunicated, and
twice received again into the bosom of the
Church. He did not confine his dangerous
opinions to the school of Alexandrea; he
introduced the wild Oriental speculations
into the more peaceful West; taught at
Rome; and a third time being expelled
from the Christian society, retired to Cy-
prus, an island where the Jews were for-
merly numerous till the fatal insurrection
in the time of Hadrian, and where probably
the Oriental philosophy might not find an
unwelcome reception, on the border, as it
were, of Europe and Asia.J

Valentinus annihilated the complexity
of pre-existing heavens, which perhaps
connected the system of Basilides with
that of ancient Egypt, and did not inter-
pose the same infinite number of grada-
tions between the primal Deity and the
material world. He descended much more
rapidly into the sphere of Christian images
and Christian language, or, rather, he car-
ried up many of the Christian notions and
terms, and enshrined them in the Ple-
roma, the region of spiritual and inacces-
sible light. The fundamental tenet of Ori-

• * Irenseus, i., 29, compared with the other au-
thors cited above.

f Irenseus, Hser., v. Clem. Alex., Strom. Ori-
gen, de Princip. contra Celsum. The author of the
Didascalia Orientalis, at the end of the works of
Clement of Alexandrea. Tertullian adversus Va-
lentin Theodoret, Fab. Hser., i., 7. Epiphanius,
Haer., 31.

X Tertull. adv. Valentin., c. 4. - Epiphan. Mas-
suet. (Diss. in Iren., p. x., 14) doubts this part oi
the history of Valentinus.212

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

entalism, the incomprehensibility of the
Great Supreme, was the essential prin-
ciple of his system, and was represented
in terms pregnant with mysterious sub-
limity. The first Father was called By-
thos, the Abyss, the Depth, the Unfathom-
able, who dwelt alone in inscrutable and
ineffable height, with his own first Con-
ception, his Ennoia, who bore the em-
phatic and awful name of Silence. The
first development or self- manifestation was
Mind (Nous), whose appropriate consort
was Aletheia or Truth. These formed the
first great quaternion, the highest scale of.
being. From Mind and Truth proceeded
the Word and Life (Logos and Zoe); their
manifestations were Man and the Church,
Anthropos and Ecclesia, and so the first
ogdoad was complete. From the Word
and Life proceeded ten more -Eons; but
these seem, from their names, rather qual-
ities of the Supreme; at least the five
masculine names, for the feminine appear
to imply some departure from the pure
elementary and unimpassioned nature of
the primal parent. The males are : Bu-
thios, profound, with his consort Mixis,
conjunction; Ageratos, that grows not old,
with Henosis or union; Autophyes, self-
subsistent, with Hedone, pleasure ; Aki-
netos, motionless, with Syncrasis, com-
mixture ; the Only Begotten and the Bless-
ed. The offspring of Man and the Church
were twelve, and in the females we seem
to trade the shadowy prototypes of the
Christian graces : the Paraclete and Faith;
the Paternal and Hope ; the Maternal and
Charity; the Ever-intelligent and Pru-
dence ; Ecclesiasticos (a term apparently
expressive of Church union) and Blessed-
ness ; Will and Wisdom (Theletos and
Sophia).

These thirty Eons dwelt alone within
the sacred and inviolable circle of the Ple-
roma: they were all, in one sense, mani-
festations of the Deity, all purely intel-
lectual, a universe apart-. But the peace
of this metaphysical hierarchy was dis-
turbed, and here we are presented with a
noble allegory, which, as it were, brings
these abstract conceptions within the reach
of human sympathy. The last of the do-
deckrchy which sprung from Man and the
Church was Sophia or Wisdom. Without
intercourse with her consort Will, Wis-
dom was seized with an irresistible pas-
sion for that knowledge and intimate union
With the primal Father, the unfathomable,
which was the sole privilege of the first-
born, Mind. She would comprehend the
incomprehensible : love was the pretext,
but temerity the motive. Pressing on-
ward under this strong impulse, she would

have reached the remote sanctuary, and
would finally have been absorbed into the
primal Essence, had she not encountered
Horus (the impersonated boundary be-
tween knowledge and the Deity). At the
persuasion of this “limitary cherub” (to
borrow Milton’s words), she acknowl-
edged the incomprehensibility of the Fa-
ther, returned in humble acquiescence to
herlowlier sphere, and allayed the passion
begot by wonder. But the harmony of
the intellectual world was destroyed; a
redemption, a restoration was necessary ;
and (for now Valentinus must incorporate
the Christian system into his own) from
the first Eon, the Divine Mind, proceeded
Christ and the Holy Ghost. Christ com-
municated to the listening Eons the mys-
tery of the imperishable nature of the Fa-
ther, and their own procession from him ;
the delighted Eons commemorated the
restoration of the holy peace, by each con-
tributing his most splendid gift to form
Jesus, encircled with his choir of angels.

Valentinus did not descend immediately
from his domain of metaphysical abstrac-
tion ; he interposed an intermediate sphere
between that and the material world. The
desire or passion of Sophia impersonated
became an inferior Wisdom ; she was an
outcast from the Pleroma, and lay floating
in the dim and formless chaos without.
The Christos, in mercy, gave her form and
substance ; she preserved, as it were, some
fragrance of immortality. Her passion
was still strong for higher things, for the
light which she could not apprehend ; and
she incessantly attempted to enter the for-
bidden circle of the Pleroma, but was
again arrested by Horus, who uttered the
mystic name of Jao. Sadly she returned
to the floating elements of inferior being ;
she was surrendered to Passion, and with
his assistance produced the material world.
The tears which she shed at the thought
of her outcast condition formed the humid
element; her smiles, when she thought gf
the region of glory, the light; her fears
and her sorrows, the grosser elements.
Christ descended no more to her assist-
ance, but sent Jesus, the Paraclete, the
Saviour, with his angels ; and with his aid
all substance was divided into material,
animal, and spiritual. The spiritual, how-
ever, altogether emanated from the light
of her Divine assistant; the first, formation
of the animal (the Psychic) was the De-
miurge, the Creator, the Saviour, the Fa-
ther, the king of all that was consubstan
tial with himself, and, finally, the material,
of which he was only the Demiurge or
Creator. Thus were formed the seven in
termediate spheres, of which the DemiHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

213

luge and his assistant angels (the seven
again of the Persian system), with herself,
made up a second ogdoad, the image and
feeble reflection of the former; Wisdom
representing the primal Parent; the De-
miurge the Divine Mind, though he was
ignorant of His mother, more ignorant
than Satan himself; the other sideral an-
gels the rest of the iEons. By the De-
miurge the lower world was formed. Man-
kind consisted of three classes : the spirit-
ual, who are enlightened with the Divine
ray from Jesus ; the animal or Psychic,
the offspring and kindred of the Demiurge ;
the material, the slaves and associates of
Satan, the prince of the material world.
They were represented, as it were, by Seth,
Abel, and Cain. This organization or dis-
tribution of mankind harmonized with tol-
erable facility with the Christian scheme.
But by multiplying his spiritual beings,
Valentinus embarrassed himself in the
work of redemption or restoration of this
lower and still degenerating world. With
him it was the Christos, or, rather, a faint
image and reflection (for each of his intel-
ligences multiplied themselves by the re-
flection of their being), who passed through
the material form of the Virgin like water
through a tube. It was Jesus who de-
scended upon the Saviour at his baptism
in the shape of the.dove; and Valentinus
admitted the common fantastic theory with
regard to the death of Jesus. At the final
consummation, the latent fire would burst
out (here Valentinus admitted the com-
mon theory of Zoroastrianism and Chris-
tianity) and consume the very scoria of
matter; the material men, with their
prince, would utterly perish in the con-
flagration. Those of the animal, the Psy-
chic, purified by the Divine ray imparted
by the Redeemer, would, with their pa-
rent the Demiurge, occupy the interme-
diate realm, there were the just men made
perfect, while the great mother Sophia
would at length be admitted into the Pie-
ro m a or intellectual sphere.

Gnosticism was pure poetry, and Bar-
Bardesanes desanes was the poet of Gnos-
ticism.* For above two centu-
ries, the hymns of this remarkable man,
and those of his son Harmonius, enchant-
ed the ears of the Syrian Christians till
they were expelled by the more orthodox
raptures of Ephraem the Syrian. Among
the most remarkable circumstances rela-

* Valentinus, according to Tertnllian, wrote
psalms (de Carne Christi, c. 20); his disciple Mar-
cus explained his system in verse, and introduced
the AEons as speaking. Compare Hahn, p. 2G.
Bardesanes wrote 150 psalms, the number of those
of David.

ting to Bardesanes, who lived at the court
of Abgar, king of Edessa, was his inquiry
into the doctrines of the ancient Gymnos-
ophists of India, which thus connected, as
it were, the remotest East with the great
family of religious specuiatists; yet the
theory of Bardesanes was more nearly al-
lied to the Persian or the Chaldean; and
the language of his poetry was in that fer-
vent and amatory strain which borrows
the warmest metaphors of human passion
to kindle the soul to Divine love.*
Bardesanes deserved the glory, though
he did not suffer the pains, of martyrdom.
Pressed by the philosopher Apollonius, in-
the name of his master the Emperor Ve-
rus, to deny Christianity, he replied, “I
fear not death, which I shall not escape
by yielding to the wishes of the emperor.”
Bardesanes had opposed with vigorous
hostility the system of Marcion ;f he after-
ward appears to have seceded, or, out-
wardly conforming, to have aspired in pri-
vate to become the head of another Gnostic
sect, which, in contradistinction to those of
Saturninus and Valentinus, may be called
the Mesopotamiam or Babylonian. With
him the primal Deity dwelt alone with
his consort, his primary thought or con-
ception. Their first offsprings, lEons or
emanations, were Christ and the Holy
Ghost, who in his system was feminine,
and nearly allied to the Sophia or Wis-
dom of other theories; the four ele-
ments—the dry earth and the water, the
fire and the air—who make up the celes-
tial ogdoad. The Son and his partner, the
Spirit or Wisdom, with the assistance of
the elements, made the worlds, which they
surrendered to the government of the sev-
en planetary spirits and the sun and moon,
the visible types of the primal union.
Probably these, as in the other systems,
made the second ogdoad; and these, with
other astral influences borrowed from the
Tsabaism of the region, the twelve signs
of the zodiac, and the thirty-six Decani, as
he called the rulers of the 360 days, gov-
erned the World of man. And here Bar-
desanes became implicated with the eter-
nal dispute about destiny and freewill, on
which he wrote a separate treatise, and
which entered into and coloured all his
speculations.J But the Wisdom which
was the consort of the Son was of an in-

* Theodoret, Hasret. Fab., 209.
t According to Eusebius, K. H., v. 38, Barde-
sanes approached much nearer to orthodoxy, though
he still “ bore some tokens of the sable streams.”

t He seems to have had an esoteric and an ex-
oteric doctrine.— Hahn, p. 22, on the authority of
St. Ephrern. Compare Hahn, Bardesanes Gnosti-
cus Syrorum primus Hymnologus.214

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ferior nature to that which dwelt with the
Father. She was the Sophia Achamoth,
and, faithless to her spiritual partner, she
had taken delight in assisting the Demi-
urge in the creation of the visible world;
but in all her wanderings and enstrange-
ment she felt a constant and impassioned
desire for perfect reunion with her first
consort. He assisted her in her course
of purification; revealed to her his more
perfect light, on which she gazed with re-
animating love ; and the second wedding
of these long-estranged powers, in the
-presence of the parent Deity and all the
/Sons and angels, formed the subject of
one of his most ardent and rapturous
hymns. With her arose into the Pleroma
those souls which partook of her celestial
nature, and are rescued by the descent of
the Christ, according to the usual Gnostic
theory, from their imprisonment in the
world of matter.

Yet all these theorists preserved some
decent show of respect for the Christian
faith, and aimed at an amicable reconcil-
iation between their own wild theories
and the simpler Gospel. It is not improb-
able that most of their leaders were actu-
ated by the ambition of uniting the higher
and more intellectual votaries of the older
paganism with the Christian community ;
the one by an accommodation with the
Egyptian, the others with the Syrian or
Chaldean*; as, in later times, the Alexan-
drean school with the Grecian or Platonic
paganism; and expected to conciliate all
who would not scruple to ingraft the few
tenets of Christianity, which they reserv-
ed inviolate, upon their former belief.
They aspired to retain all that was daz-
zling, vast, and imaginative in the eosmo-
gonical systems of the East, and rejected
all that was humiliating or offensive to the
common sentiment in Christianity. The
Jewish character of the Messiah gave way
to a purely immaterial notion of a celes-
tial Redeemer; the painful realities of his
life and death were softened off into fan-
tastic appearances; they yet adopted as
much of the Christian language as they
could mould to their views, and even dis-
guised or mitigated their.contempt or an-
Marcion of imosity to Judaism. But Mar-
Pontus. cion 0f Pontus* disclaimed all
these conciliatory and temporizing meas-
ures, either with pagan, Jew, or evangelic
Christian.f With Marcion all was hard,

* Marcion was son of the Bishop of Sinope,
f On Marcion, see chiefly the five books of Ter-
tullian adv. Marcionem ; the Historian of Heresies,
Irenaeus, i., 27 ; Epiphanius, 42 ; Theodoret, i., 24 ;
Origen contra Cels. ; Clem. Alex., iii, 425 St.
Ephrem, Orat., 14, p. 468.

cold, implacable antagonism- At once b
severe rationalist and a stro; g enthusiast
Marcion pressed the leading doctrine of
the malignity of matter to its extreme
speculative and practical consequences.
His Creator, his providential Governor,
the God of the Jews—weak, imperfect, en-
thralled in matter—was the opposite to
the true God : the only virtue of men was
the most rigid and painful abstinence.
His doctrine proscribed ali animal food
but fish ; it surpassed the most austere of
the other Christian communities in its pro-
scription of the amusements and pleasures
of life ; it rejected marriage from hostility
to the Demiurge, whose kingdom it would
not increase by peopling it with new beings
enslaved to matter to glut death with food/*
The fundamental principle of Marcion’s
doctrine was unfolded in his Antitheses,
the Contrasts, in which he arrayed against
each other the Supreme God and the De-
miurge, the God of the Jews, the Old and
New Testament, the Law and the Gospel.f
The one was perfect, pure, beneficent,
passionless ; the other though not unjust
by nature, infected by matter, subject to
all the passions of man, cruel, changeable ;
the New Testament, especially as remod-
elled by Marcion, was holy, wise, amiable *,
the Old Testament, the Law, barbarous,
inhuman, contradictory, and detestable.
On the plundering of the Egyptians, on
the massacre of the Canaanites, on every
metaphor which ascribed the actions and
sentiments of men to the Deity, Marcion
enlarged with contemptuous superiority,
and contrasted it with the tone of the Gos-
pel. It was to rescue mankind from the
tyranny of this inferior and hostile deity
that the Supreme manifested himself in Je-
sus Christ. This manifestation took place
by his sudden appearance in the syna-
gogue in Capernaum ; for Marcion swept
away with remorseless hand all the ear-
lier incidents in the Gospels. But the
Messiah which was revealed in Christ was
directly the opposite to that announced by
the prophets of the Jews and of their
God. He made no conquests ; he was not
the Immanuel; he was not the son of Da-
vid ; he came not to restore the temporal
kingdom of Israel. His doctrines were
equally opposed: he demanded not an eye

* 6?] Tioyti jiT] fiovAo/uEvoi rov noopibv rbv mro

rov Aipuovpyov yevopisvbv (jvfiTrlsjjpovv, axbxEO-
dat ybfj'OV fiovTiovrai.—Clem. Alex., Strom., iii.,
3. M??ds aVTEioayuv r<p Kooptp bvarv^Voovra^
kripovg, tur]dc eTa^opTjyelv rw tiavarti rpbtyrjv.—
Ch. vi.

f Marcion is accused by Rhodon apud Eus^ix
Hist. Eccl., v., 13, of introducing two principks-
the Zoroastrian theory.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

215

for'ail eye, or a tooth for a tooth; but
where one smote the right cheek, to turn
the other. He demanded no sacrifices but
that of the pure heart; he enjoined not the
sensual and indecent practice of multiply-
ing the species; he proscribed marriage.
The God of the Jews, trembling for his au-
thority, armed himself against the celestial
invader of his territory ; he succeeded in
the seeming execution of Christ upon the
cross, who by his death rescued the soul^
of the true believers from the bondage of
the law ; descended to the lower regions,
where he rescued, not the pious and holy
patriarchs, Abel, Enoch, Noah, Jacob,•Mo-
ses, David, or Solomon—these were the
adherents of the Demiurge or material
creator—but his implacable enemies, such
as Cain and Esau. After the ascension
of the Redeemer to heaven, the God of the
Jews was to restore his subjects to their
native land, and his temporal reign was
to commence over his faithful but inferior
subjects.

The Gospel of Marcion was that of St.
Luke, adapted, by many omissions and
some alterations, to his theory. Every
allusion to, every metaphor from, marriage
was carefully erased, and every passage
amended or rejected which could in any
way implicate the pure Deity with the ma-
terial world.*,

These were the chief of the Gnostic
varieties of sects; but they spread out into al*
Gnosticism most infinitely diversified subdi-
visions, distinguished by some peculiar ten-
et or usage. The Carpocratians were avow-
ed Eclectics ; they worshipped as benefac-
tors of the human race the images of Zo-
roaster, Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, and
Jesus Christ, as well as that of their own
founder. By this school were received,
possibly were invented, many of the as-
trologic or theurgic books attributed to Zo-
roaster and other ancient sages. The
Jewish Scriptures were the works of in-
ferior angels ; they received only the Gos-
pel of St. Matthew. The supreme, un-
known, uncreated Deity was the Monad;
the visible world was the creation, the do

* This Gospel has been put together, according
to the various authorities, especially of Tertullian,
n-y M. Hahn. It is reprinted in the Codex Apoc-
ryphus Novi Testamenti, by Thilo, of which one
volume only has appeared. Among the remarkable
alterations of the Gospels which most strongly
characterize his system, was that of the text so
beautifully descriptive of the providence of God,
which “ maketh his sun to shine on the evil and the
good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.”
—Matt., v., 45. The sun and the rain, those mate-
rial elements, were the slaves only of the God of
matter: the Supreme Deity might not defile him-
self with the administration of their blessings.—
Tertull. adv. Marc., iv., 17.

main of inferior beings. But the ir system
was much simpler, and in some respects
rejecting generally the system of JEons or
Emanations, approached much nearer to
Christianity than most of the other Gnos-
tics. The contest of Jesus Christ, who
was the son of Joseph, according to their
system? was a purely moral one. It re-
vived the Oriental notion of the pre-exist-
ence of the soul: that of Jesus had a clear-
er and more distinct reminiscence of the
original knowledge (the Gnosis) and wis-
dom of their celestial state ; and, by com-
municating these notions to mankind, ele-
vated them to the same superiority over
the mundane deities. This perfection con-
sisted in faith and charity, perhaps like-
wise in the ecstatic contemplation of the
Monad. Every thing except faith and char-
ity—all good works, all observance of hu-
man laws, which were established by mun-
dane authority—were exterior, and more
than indifferent. Hence they were accu-
sed of recommending a community of
property and of women; inferences which
would be drawn from their avowed con-
tempt for all human laws. They were ac-
cused, probably 'without justice, of follow-
ing out these speculative opinions into
practice. Of all heretics, none have borne
a worse name than the followers of Car-
pocrates and his son and successor Epiph-
anes.*

The Ophites! are, perhaps, the most per-
plexing of all these sects. It is difficult
to ascertain whether the Serpent from
which they took or received their name
was a good or an evil spirit, the Agatho-
dsemon of the Egyptian mythology, or the
Serpent of the Jewish and other Oriental
schemes. With them a quaternion seems
to have issued from the primal Being, the
Abyss, who dwelt alone with his Ennoia
or Thought. These were Christ and So-
phia Achamoth, the Spirit and Chaos. The
former of each of these powers was per-

* I think that we may collect from Clement of
Alexandrea, that the community of women in the
Carpocratian system was that of Plato. Clement
insinuates that it was carried into practice.—
Strom., iii., c. ii. According to Clement, the dif-
ferent sects, or sects of sects, justified their immo-
ralities on dilferent pleas. Rome, the Prodician
Gnostics, considered public prostitution a mystic
communion; others, that all children of the primary
or good Deity might exercise their regal privilege
of acting as they pleased; some, the Antitactse,
thought it right to break the seventh command-
ment because it was uttered by the evil Demiurge.
But these were obscure sects, and possibly their
adversaries drew these conclusions for them from
their doctrines —Strom., 1., ill.

t Mosheim, p. 399, who wrote a particular dis-
sertation on the Ophit.33, of which he distinguished
two sects, a Jewish and a Christian. [See Mo-
sheim’s Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 148, n. (25) ]216

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

feet, the latter imperfect. Sophia Acha-
moth, departing from the primal source of
purity, formed laldabaoth, the Prince of
Darkness, the Demiurge, an inferior but
not directly malignant being—the Satan,
or Samael, or Michael. The tutelar angel
of the Jews was Ophis, the Serpent, a re-
flection of laldabaoth. With others the
Serpent was the symbol of Christ him-
self;* and hence the profound abhorrence
with which this obscure sect was beheld by
the more orthodox Christians. In other
respects their opinions appear to have ap-
proximated more nearly to the common
Gnostic form. At the intercession of So-
phia, Christ descended on the man Jesus,
to rescue the souls of men from the fury of
the Demiurge, who had imprisoned-them
in matter: they ascended through the
realm of the seven planetary angels.

Such, in its leading branches, was the
Gnosticism of the East, which rivalled the
more genuine Christianity, if not in the
number of its converts, in the activity
with which it was disseminated, especially
among the higher and more opulent, and
in its lofty pretensions claimed a superi-
ority over the humbler Christianity of the
vulgar. But for this very reason, Gnosti-
cism in itself was diametrically opposite
Gnosticism t0 true Christian spirit: in-
notpopu- stead of being popular and uni-
Iar- versal, it was select and exclu-
sive. It was another, in one respect a
higher, form of Judaism, inasmuch as it
did not rest its exclusiveness on the title
of birth, but on especial knowledge (gno-
sis), vouchsafed only to the enlightened
and inwardly designated few. It was the
establishment of the Christians as a kind
of religious privileged order, a theophilo-
sophic aristocracy, whose esoteric doc-
trines soared far above the grasp and com-
prehension of the vulgar, f It was a phi-
losophy rather than a religion; at least
the philosophic or speculative part would
soon have predominated over the spiritual.
They affected a profound and awful mys-
tery ; they admitted their disciples, in
general, by slow and regular gradations.
Gnostic Christianity, therefore, might have
been a formidable antagonist to the pre-
vailing philosophy of the times, but it
would never have extirpated an ancient
and deeply-rooted religion; it might have

* M. Matter conjectures that they had derived
the notion of the beneficent serpent, the emblem
or symbol of Christ, from the brazen serpent in the
wilderness. Perhaps it was the Egyptian Agatho-
daemon.

t Tertullian taunts the Valentinians—“ nihil ma-
gis curant quam occultare quid praedicant, si tamen
praedicant qui occultant.”—Tert adv. Valent.

drained the schools of their hearers, but
it never would have changed the temples
into solitudes. It would have affected only
the surface of society : it did not. begin to
work upward from its depths, nor pene-
trated to that strong under-current of pop-
ular feeling and opinion which alone oper-
ates a profound and lasting change in'the
moral sentiments of mankind.

With regard to paganism, the Gnostics
§.re accused of a compromising conciliatory
and conciliatory spirit, totally towards pa-
alien to that of primitive Chris- sauism-
tianity. They affected the haughty indif-
ference of the philosophers of their own
day, or the Brahmins of India, to the vul-
gar idolatry ; scrupled not a contemptuous
conformity with the established worship;
attended the rites and the festivals of the
heathen ; partook of meats offered in sac-
rifice, and, secure in their own intellectual
or spiritual purity, conceived that no stain
could cleave to their uninfected spirits
from this, which to most Christians ap-
peared a treasonable, surrender of the vital
principles of the faith.

This criminal compliance of the Gnos-
tics no doubt countenanced and darkened
those charges of unbridled licentiousness
of manners with which they are almost
indiscriminately assailed by the early fa-
thers. Those dark and incredible accusa-
tions of midnight meetings, where all the
restraints of shame and of nature were
thrown off, which pagan hostility brought
against the general body of the Christians,
were reiterated by the Christians against
these sects, whose principles were those
of the sternest and most rigid austerity.
They are accused of openly preaching the
indifference of human action. The mate-
rial nature of man was so essentially evil
and malignant, that there was no neces-
sity, as there could be no advantage, in at-
tempting to correct its inveterate propen-
sities. While, therefore, it might pursue
uncontrolled its own innate and inalien-
able propensities, the serene and uncon-
taminated spirit of those, at least, who
were enlightened by the Divine ray might
remain aloof, either unconscious, or, at
least, unparticipaut in the aberrations
of its grovelling consort. Such general
charges it is equally unjust; to believe and
impossible to refute. The dreamy indo-
lence of mysticism is not unlikely to de-
generate into voluptuous excess. 'The ex-
citement of mental has often a strong ef-
fect upon bodily emotion. The party of
the Gnostics may have contained many
whose passions were too strong for their
principles, or who may have made their
principles the slaves of their passions ; butHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

217

Christian charity and sober historical crit-
icism concur in rejecting these general ac-
cusations. The Gnostics were in general
imaginative rather than practical fanatics;
they indulged in mental rather than cor-
poreal license. The Carpocratians have
been exposed to the most obloquy. But
even in their case the charitable doubts of
dispassionate historical criticism are jus-
tified by those of an ancient writer, who
declares his disbelief of any irreligious,
lawless, or forbidden practices among
these sectaries.*

It was the reaction, as it were, of Gnos-
ticism that produced the last important

modification of Christianity during the
second century, the Montanism of Phry -
gia. But we have at present proceeded
in our relation of the contest between Ori-
entalism and Christianity so far beyond
the period to which we conducted the con-
test with paganism, that we reascend at*
once to the commencement of the second
century. Montanism, however thus re-
motely connected with Gnosticism, stands
alone and independent as a new aberration
from the primitive Christianity, and will
demand our attention in its influence upon'
one of the most distinguished and effect-
ive of the early Christian writers.

CHAPTER VI.

CHRISTIANITY DURING THE PROSPEROUS PERIOD OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE.

With the second century of Christian-
Roman cm- ily commenced the reign of an-
perorsatthe other race of emperors. Tra-

rommeiice- ;an Hadrian, and theAntonines
ment of tlie J 1 ,

second cen- were men of larger minds, more
wry. capable of embracing the vast
empire, and of taking a wide and compre-
hensive survey of the interests, the man-
ners, and the opinions of the various or-
ders and races of men which reposed
under the shadow of the Roman sway.
They were not, as the first Caesars, mon-
archs of Rome, governing the other parts
of the world as dependant provinces, but
sovereigns of the Western World, which
had gradually coalesced into one majestic
and harmonious system. Under the mil-
itary dominion of Trajan the empire ap-
peared to reassume the strength and en-
terprise of the conquering republic : he
had invested the whole frontier with a de-
fence more solid and durable than the
strongest line of fortresses or the most
impregnable wall: the terror of the Ro-
man arms, and the awe of Roman disci-
pline. If the more prudent Hadrian with-
drew the advanced boundaries of the em-
pire, it seemed in the consciousness of
strength, disdaining the occupation of wild
and savage districts, which rather belong-
ed to the yet unreclaimed realm of barba-
rism ban were fit to be incorporated in
the dominion of civilization. Even in the
East, the Euphrates appeared to be a
boundary traced by nature for the domin-
ion of Rome. Hadrian was the first em-

* Kat u {izv rrpdaaeraL nap1 avrolg ra ddea,
ml E/cBeGfia, ml aneiprjpiva, eyo) ovk dv tugtev-
oaifju. — Irenaeus, i., 24.

E JR

peror who directed his attention to the
general internal affairs of the whole pop-
ulation of the empire. The spirit of juris-
prudence prevailed during the reign of the
An to nines ; and the main object of the
ruling powers seemed to be the uniting
under one general system of lav/ the va-
rious members of the great political con-
federacy. Thus each contributed to the
apparent union and durability of the so-
cial edifice. This period has been con-
sidered by many able writers a kind of
golden age of human happiness.* What,
then, was the effect of Christianity on the
general character of the times, and how
far were the Christian communities ex
eluded from the general felicity 1

It was impossible that the rapid and
universal progress of a new religion should
escape the notice of minds so occupied
with the internal, as well as the external,
affairs of the whole empire. But it so
happened (the Christian will admire in
this singular concurrence of circumstan-
ces the overruling power of a beneficent
Deity) that the moderation and humanity
of the emperors stepped in, as it were, to
allay at this particular crisis the characters
dangers of a general and inev- or the em-

itable collision with the tern- i)eror®' fa*

. , ■ vourable to

poral government. Christian- theadvanee-
ity itself was just in that state ment of
of advancement in which, though Chnstianity-
it had begun to threaten, and even to
make most alarming encroachments on
the established Polytheism, it had not

* This theory is most ably developed by Hege-
wisch. See the Translation of his Essay by M.
Solvet, Paris, 1834.218

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

so completely di rided the whole race of
mankind as to force the heads of the Po-
lytheistic party, the official conservators
of the existing order of things, to take vi-
olent and decisive measures for its sup-
pression.- The temples, though perhaps
becoming less crowded, were in few pla-
ces deserted; the alarm, though perhaps
in many towns it was deeply brooding
in the minds of the priesthood, and of those
connected by zeal or by interest with the
maintenance of paganism, was not so pro-
found or so general as imperiously to re-
quire the interposition of the civil author-
ities. The milder or more indifferent char-
acter of the emperor had free scope to
mitigate or to arrest the arm of persecu-
tion. The danger was not so pressing but
that it might be averted : that which had
arisen thus suddenly and unexpectedly
(so little were the wisest probably aware
of the real nature of the revolution work-
ing in the minds of men) might die away
with as much rapidity. Under an emper-
or, indeed, who should have united the
vigour of a Trajan and the political fore-
thought of a Hadrian with the sanguina-
ry relentlessness of a Nero, Christianity
would have had to pass a tremendous or-
deal. Now, however, the collision of the
new religion with the civil power was
only occasional, and, as it were, fortu-
itous ; and in these occasional conflicts
with the ruling powers we constantly ap-
pear to vtrace the character of the reigning
sovereign. Of these emperors Trajan
possessed the most powerful and vigor-
ous mind ; a consummate general, a hu-
mane but active ruler: Hadrian was the
profoundest statesman, the Antonines the
Trajan em- best men- The conduct of Tra-
peror from jan was that of a military sover-
A.i). 9S to ejgnj whose natural disposition
was tempered with humanity;
prompt, decisive, never unnecessarily prod-
igal of blood, but careless of human life if
it appeared to stand in the way of any im-
portant design, or to hazard that para-
mount object of the government, the pub-
Hadrian Peace- Hadrian was inclined
emperor to a more temporizing policy;
from iit to tpe more the Roman empire was
contemplated as a whole, the
more the co-existence of multifarious re-
ligions might appear compatible with the
general peace. Christianity might, in the
end, be no more dangerous than the other
foreign religions, which had flowed and
were still flowing in from the East. The
temples of Isis had arisen throughout the
empire, but those of Jupiter or Apollo had
not lost their votaries: the Eastern mys-
teries, the Phrygian, at a later period the

Mithraic, had mingled, very little to their
prejudice, into the general mass of the
prevailing superstitions. The last char-
acteristic of Christianity which would be
distinctly understood was its invasive and
uncompromising spirit. The el- Antoninus
der Antonine may have pursued Pius emper-
from mildness of character the °or fr°m m
course adopted by Hadrian from
policy. The change which took place
during the reign of Marcus Aurelius may
be attributed to the circumstances of the
time, though the pride of philosophy, as
well as the established religion, might be-
gin to take the alarm.

Christianity had probably spread with
partial and very unequal success in differ-
ent quarters ; its converts bore in various
cities or districts a very different propor-
tion to the rest , of the population. No-
where, perhaps, had it advanced with
greater rapidity than in the northern prov-
inces of Asia Minor, where the inhabitants
were of very mingled descent, neither
purely Greek nor essentially Asiatic, with
a considerable proportion of Jewish colo-
nists, chiefly of Babylonian or Syrian, not
of Palestinian origin. It was Christianity
here, in the province of Rithyn- and^the^ad-
ia, that Polytheism first discov- jaCe»t prov--
ered the deadly enemy which inues.
was undermining her authority. It was
here that the first cry of distress was ut-
tered ; and complaints of deserted ad. hi
temples and less frequent sacrifices or 112*
were brought before the tribunal of the
government. The memorable correspond-
ence between Pliny and Trajan is the most
valuable record of the early Christian his-
tory during this period.* It represents to
us paganism already claiming the alliance
of power to maintain its decaying influ-
ence ; Christianity proceeding in its si-
lent course, imperfectly understood by a
wise and polite pagan, yet still with no-
thing to offend his moral judgment except
its contumacious repugnance to the com-
mon usages of society. This contumacy,
nevertheless, according to the recognised
principle of passive obedience to.the laws
of the empire, was deserving of the se-
verest punishment.f The appeal of Pliny

* The chronology of Pagi (Critica in Baronium)
appears to me the most trustworthy. Pie places the
letter of Pliny in the year cxi. or cxii.; the martyr-
dom of Ignatius, or, rather, the period when he was
sent to Rome, in cxii., the time when Trajan was
in the Fast preparing for his Persian war.

f The conjecture of Pagi, that the attention of
the government was directed to the Christians by
their standing aloof from the festivals on the cele-
bration of the Quindecennalia of Trajan, which fell
on the year cxi. or cxii., is extremely probable.
Pagi quotes two passages of Pliny on the subjectHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

219

Letter of to the supreme authority for advice
riiny. as to the course to be pursued with
these new, and, in most respects, harm-
less delinquents, unquestionably implies
that no general practice had yet been laid
down to guide the provincial governors
Answer of under such emergencies.* The
a rajan. answer of 'Trajan is characterized
by a spirit of moderation. It betrays a
humane anxiety to allow all such oftend-
ers as were not forced under the cogni-
zance of the public tribunals to elude per-
secution. Nevertheless, it distinctly inti-
mates that, by some existing law, or by
the ordinary power of the provincial gov-
ernor, the Christians were amenable to the
severest penalties, to torture, and even to
capital punishment. Such punishment
had already been inflicted by Pliny ; the
governor had been forced to interfere by
accusations lodged before his tribunal.
An anonymous libel or impeachment had
denounced numbers of persons, some of
whom altogether disclaimed, others de-
clared that they had renounced Christian-
ity. With that unthinking barbarity with
which, in those times, such punishments
were inflicted on persons in inferior sta-
tion, two servants, females—it is possible
they were deaconesses—were put to the
torture to ascertain the truth of the vulgar
accusations against the Christians. On
their evidence Pliny could detect nothing
farther than a “culpable and extravagant
superstition.”! The only facts which he
could discover were, that they had a cus-
tom of meeting together before daylight,
and singing a hymn to Christ as God.
They were bound together by no unlawful
sacrament, but only under mutual obliga-
tion not to commit theft, robbery, adultery,
or fraud. They met again, and partook
together of food, but that of a perfectly
innocent kind. The test of guilt to which
he submitted the more obstinate delin-
quents was adoration before the statues
of the gods and of the emperor, and the
malediction of Christ. Those who re-
fused he ordered to be led out to execu-
tion.! Such was the summary process of
the Roman governor; and the approbation
of the emperor clearly shows that he had
not exceeded the recognised limits of his
authority. Neither Trajan nor the senate
had before this issued any edict on the
subject.. The rescript, to Pliny invested
of these general rejoicings.—Critica in Bar , i, p.

100.

* Pliny professes his ignorance, because he had
never happened to be present at the trial of sucn
causes This implies that such trials were not un-
precedented.

f Prava et irnmodica superstitio.

f Duci jussi cannot bear a milder interpretation. |

him in no new powers; it merely advised
him, as he had done, to use his actual
powers with discretion ;* * * § neither to en-
courage the denunciation of such crimi
nals, nor to proceed without fair and un
questionable evidence. The. system of
anonymous delation, by which private
malice might wreak itself by Prise or by
unnecessary charges upon its enemies,
Trajan reprobates in that generous spirit
with which the wiser and more virtuous
emperors constantly repressed that most
disgraceful iniquity of the times.f But it
is manifest from the executions ordered
by Pliny, and sanctioned by the approba-
tion of the emperor, that Christianity was
already an offence amenable to capital
punishment,! and this either under some
existing statute, under the common law of
the empire which invested the provincial
governor with the arbitrary ptnver of life
and death, or, lastly, what in this instance
cannot have been*the case, the summum
imperium of the emperor.While, then,
in the individual the profession of Chris-
tianity might1 thus, by the summary sen-
tence of the governor and the tacit appro-
bation of the emperor, be treated as a cap-
ital offence, and the provincial governor
might appoint the measure and the extent
of the punishment, all public assemblies
for the purpose of new and unauthorized
worship might, likewise be suppressed by
the magistrate ; for the police of the em-
pire always looked with the utmost, jeal-
ousy on all associations not recognised by
the law ; and resistance to such a mandate
would call down, or the secret holding of
such meetings after their prohibition
would incur, any penalty which the con-

* Actum quern debuisti in excutiendis causis eo-
rum, qui Christiani ad te delati fuerant, secutus es.
—Traj. ad Plin. _ -

t Nam et pessimi exempli, nec nostri sseculi est.

f Those who were Roman citizens were sent for
trial to Rome. Alii quia cives Romani erant, adno-
tavi in urbem remittendos.

§ This rescript or answer of Trajan, approving of
the manner in which Pliny carried bis law into ex-
ecution, and suggesting other regulations for his
conduct, is converted by Mosheim into a new law,
which from that time became one of the statutes
of .the empire. Ha?c Trajani lex inter publicas Im-
perii sanctiones relata (p. 234). Trajan’s words ex-
pressly declare that no certain rule of proceeding
can be laid down, and leave almost the whole ques-
tion to the discretion of the magistrate. Neque
-enirn in universum aliquid, quod quasi certain for-
mam habeat, constitui potest. — Traj. ad PJin.
['Trajan’s rescript established these points : 1. The
Christians were not to be sought after; 2. They
were not to be proceeded against without a regular
accuser and complaint; 3. If accused and found
guilty of being Christians, they were to he put to
death unless they retracted and offered sacrifice
the gods. This surely is sufficient, to justify F»r.
Mosheim’s assertion.]220

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

servator of public order might think prop-
er to indict upon the delinquent. Such,
then, was the general position of the Chris-
tians with the ruling authorities. They
were guilty of a crime against the state,
by introducing a new and unauthorized re-
ligion, or by holding assemblages contrary
to the internal regulations of the empire.
But the extent to which the law would be
enforced against them—how far Christi-
anity would be distinguished from Judaism
and other foreign religions, which were ,
permitted the free establishment of their
rites—with how much greater jealousy
their secret assemblies would be watched
than those of'other mysteries and esoteric
religions—all this would depend upon the
milder or more rigid character of t he gov-
ernor, and the willingness or reluctance of
their fellow-citizens to arraign them be-
fore the tribunal of the magistrates. This,
in turn, would depend on the circumstan-
ces of the place and the time ; on the ca-
price of their enemies ; on their own dis-
cretion : on their success, and the appre-
hensions and jealousies of their opponents.
In general, so long as they made no visi-
ble impression upon society, so long as
their absence from the religious rites of
the city or district, or even from the games
and theatrical exhibitions, which were es-
sential parts of the existing Polytheism,
caused no sensible diminution in the con-
course of the worshippers, their unsocial
and sevlf-secluding disposition would be
treated' with contempt and pity rather than
with animosity. The internal decay of the
spirit of Polytheism had little effect on its
outward splendour. The philosophic par-
ty, who despised the popular faith, were
secure in their rank, or in their decent con-
formity to the public ceremonial. The
theory of all the systems of philosophy
was to avoid unnecessary collision with
the popular religious sentiment: their su-
periority to the vulgar was flattered rather
than offended by the adherence of the lat-
ter to their native superstitians. In the
public exhibitions, the followers of all oth-
er foreign religions met as on a common
ground. In the theatre or the hippodrome
the worshipper of Isis or of
averse6toSthe- Mithra mingled with the mass
atricai amuse- of those who still adhered to
ments. Bacchus or to Jupiter. Even
die Jews in many parts, at least at a la-
ter period, in some instances.at the pres-
ent, betrayed no aversion to the popular
games or amusements. Though in Pal-
estine the elder Herod had met with a
sullen and intractable resistance in the re-
ligious body of the people against his at-
tempt to introduce Gentile and idolatrous

games into the Holy Land, yet it is prob-
able that the foreign Jews were more ac-
commodating. A Jewish player named
Aliturus stood high in the favour of Nero ;
nor does it appear that he had abandoned
his religion. He was still connected with
his own race ; and some of the priesthood
did not disdain to owe their acquittal, on
certain charges on which they had been
sent prisoners to Rome, to his interest
with the emperor, or with the ruling fa-
vourite Poppaea. After the Jewish war,
multitudes of the prisoners were forced to
exhibit themselves as gladiators ; and, at
a later period, the confluence of the Alex-
andrean Jews to the theatres, where they
equalled in numbers the pagan spectators,
endangered the peace of the city. The
Christians alone stood aloof from ctmsiiasa
exhibitions which, in their higher abstain
and nobler forms, arose out of, froirithem-
and were closely connected with, the
heathen religion ; were performed on days
sacred to the deities ; introduced the dei-
ties upon the stage; and, in short, were
among the principal means of maintaining
in the public mind its reverence for the old
mythological fables. The sanguinary di-
versions of the arena, and the licentious
voluptuousness of some of the other exhi-
bitions, were no less offensive to their hu -
manity and their modesty than those more
strictly religious to their piety. Still, as
long as they were comparatively few in
number, and did not sensibly diminish the
concourse to these scenes of public enjoy-
ment, they would be rather exposed to in-
dividual acts of vexatious interference, of
ridicule, or contempt, than become the vic-
tims of a general hostile feeling : their ab-
sence would not be resented as an insult
upon the public, nor as an act of punisha-
ble disrespect against the local or more
widely-worshipped deity to whose honour
the games were dedicated. The time at
which they would be in the greatest dan-
ger from what would be thought _ ,
their suspicious or disloyal re- occasions of
fusal to join in the public rejoi- political re-
cings, would be precisely that j0lcin2s-
which has been conjectured with much
ingenuity and probability to have been the
occasion of their being thus committed
with the popular sentiment and with the
government, the celebration of the birth-
day or the accession of the emperor.
With the ceremonial of those days, even
if, as may have been the case, the actual
adoration of the statue of the emperor was
not an ordinary part of the ritual, much
which was strictly idolatrous would be
mingled up ; and their ordinary excuse to
such charges of disaffection, that theyHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

221

piayed with the utmost fervour for the
welfare of the emperor, wojuld not be ad-
mitted, either by the sincere attachment
of the people and of the government to a
virtuous, or their abject and adulatory cel-
ebration of a cruel and tyrannical em-
peror.

This crisis in the fate of Christianity,
this transition from safe and despicable ob-
scurity to dangerous and obnoxious im-
portance, would of course depend on the
comparative rapidity of its progress indif-
ferent quarters. In the province of Pliny
it had attained that height in little more
than seventy years after the death of
Christ. Though a humane and enlighten-
ed government might still endeavour to
close its eyes upon its multiplying num-
bers and expanding influence, the keener
sight of jealous interest, of rivalry in the
command of the popular mind, and of mor-
tified pride, already anticipated the time
when this formidable antagonist might bal-
ance, might at length overweigh the failing
powers of Polytheism. Under a less can-
did governor than Pliny, and an emperor
less humane and dispassionate than Trajan,
the exterminating sword of persecution
would have been let loose, and a relentless
and systematic edict for the suppression
of Christianity hunted down its followers
in every quarter of the empire.

Not only the wisdom and humanity of
Trajan, but the military character of his
reign, would tend to divert his attention
from that which belonged rather to the
internal administration of the empire. It
is not altogether impossible, though the
Probable con- conjecture is not countenanced
nexion of the by any allusion in the despatch
umfer Pihiy °f PMny» that the measures
with the state adopted against the Christians
of the East. were not entirely unconnected
with the political state of the East. The
Roman empire in the Mesopotamian prov-
ince was held on a precarious tenure ; the
Parthian kingdom had acquired new vig-
our and energy, and during great part of
his reign the state of the East must have
occupied the active mind of Trajan. The
Jewish population of Babylonia and the
adjacent provinces were of no inconsider-
able importance in the coming contest.
There is strong ground for supposing that
the last insurrection of the Jews, under
Hadrian, was connected with a rising of
their brethren in Mesopotamia, no doubt
secretly, if not openly, fomented by the
intrigues, and depending on the support of
the King of Parthia. This was at a con-
siderably later period ; yet during the
earlier part of the reign of Trajan the in-
surrection had already commenced in

Egypt, and in Cyrene, and in the island of
Cyprus ; and no sooner wTere the troops of
Trajan engaged on the Eastern frontier
towards "the close of his reign, than the
Jews rose up in all these provinces, and
were not subdued till after they had
perpetrated and endured the most terrif-
ic massacres.* Throughout the Eastern
wars of Trajan this spirit was most like-
ly known to be fermenting in the minds of
the whole Jewish population, not only in
the insurgent districts, but in Palestine and
other parts of the empire. The whole
race, which occupied in such vast num-
bers the conterminous regions, therefore,
would be watched with hostile jealousy
by the Roman governors, already preju-
diced against their unruly and ungovern-
able character, and awakened to more than
ordinary vigilance by the disturbed aspect
of the times. The Christians stood in a
singular and ambiguous position between
the Jewish and pagan population, many
of them probably descended from, and
connected with, the former. Their gener-
al peaceful habits and orderly conduct
would deserve the protection of a parental
government, still their intractable and per-
severing resistance to the religious insti-
tutions of the empire might throw some
suspicion on the sincerity of their civil
obedience. The unusual assertion of re-
ligious might be too closely allied with
that of political independence. At all
events, the dubious and menacing state of
the East required more than ordinary
watchfulness, and a more rigid plan of
government in the adjacent provinces ;
and thus the change in society, which
was working unnoticed in the more peace-
ful and less Christianized West, in the.
East might be forced upon the attention
of an active and inquiring ruler; the ap-
prehensions of the inhabitants themselves
would be more keenly alive to the forma-
tion of a separate and secluded party
within their cities, and religious animosi-
ty would eagerly seize the opportunity of
implicating its enemies in a charge of dis-
affection to the existing government. Nor
is there wanting evidence that the acts of
persecution ascribed to Trajan were in
fact connected with the military move-
ments of the emperor. The only authen-
tic Acts are those of Simeon, bishop of
Jerusalem, and of Ignatius, bishop of An-
tioch.f In the prefatory observations to
the former, it is admitted that it was a lo-

* Euseb., iv., 2. Dio Cass., or rather Xiphilin.
Orosms, 7. Pagi places this Jewish rebellion
A.D. 116

t See them in Ruinart, Selecta et sincera Mar*
tvrum Acta222

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

cal act of violence. The more celebrated
trial of Ignatius is said to have taken
place before the emperor himself at An-
tioch, when he was preparing fdr his first
Eastern campaign.* * The emperor is rep-
resented as kindling to anger at the dispar-
agement of those gods on whose protec-
tion he depended in',the impending war.
“What, is our religion to be treated as
senseless 1 Are the gods, on whose al-
liance we rely against our enemies, to be
turned to scorn If we may trust the
epistles ascribed to this bishop, there was
an eagerness for martyrdom not quite con-
sistent with the conduct of the apostles,
and betraying a spirit which at least
would not allay, by prudential concession,
the indignation and resentment of the gov-
ernment.*

The cosmopolite and indefatigable mind
Hadrian of Hadrian was more likely to dis-
emperor, ceni with accuracy, and estimate
A D‘117- to its real extent, the growing in-
fluence of the new religion. Hadrian was,
still more than his predecessor, the Em-
peror of the West rather than the mon-
arch of Rome. His active genius with-
drew itself altogether from warlike enter-
prise and foreign conquest; its whole
care was centred on the consolidation of
the empire within its narrower and un-
contested boundaries, and on the internal
regulation of the vast confederacy of na-
tions which were gradually becoming more
and more assimilated, as subjects or mem-
bers of the great European empire. The
remotest provinces for the first time be-
held the presence of the emperor, not at
the head of an army summoned to defend
the insulted barriers of the Roman terri-
tory, or pushing forward- the advancing
line of conquest, but in more peaceful
array, providing for the future security of
the frontier by impregnable fortresses;
adorning the more flourishing cities with
public buildings, bridges, and aqueducts;
inquiring into the customs, manners, and
even the religion of the more distant

* According- to the chronology of Pagi, AD. 112-

t fE\ueig ovv aoi Sokov/mv Kara vovv [mtj exsLV
tisovg, olg Kal xpufieda %yfifiuxoig irpog rovg rnok-
Efjlovg. The Jewish legends are full of acts of
personal cruelty ascribed to Trajan, mingled up,^as
usual, with historical errors and anachronisms.—See
Hist, of Jews, iii., 109.

X The epistles represent Ignatius as holding cor-
respondence with the most , eminent bishops of
Asia Minor, who do not appear to have been in
danger of persecution; that to the Romans depre-
cates all kindly interference with the government
to avert the glorious destiny which he coveted, and
intimates some apprehension' lest their unwel
come appeal to tho imperial clemency might meet
with success. I consider this an argument for their
authenticity.

parts of the world; encouraging com-
merce ; promoting the arts ; in short, im-
proving, by salutary regulations, this long
period of peace to the prosperity and civ-
ilization of the whole empire. Gaul, Brit-
ain, Greece, Syria, Egypt, Africa, were
in turn honoured by the presence, enriched
by the liberality, and benefited by the
wise policy of the emperor.* character
His personal character showed of Hadrian,
the same incessant activity and politic
versatility. On the frontier, at the head
of the army, he put on the hardihood and
simplicity of a soldier ; disdained any dis-
tinction, either of fare or of comfort, from
the meanest legionary; and marched on
foot through the most inclement seasons.
In the peaceful and voluptuous cities of
the South he became the careless and
luxurious Epicurean. Hadrian treated the
established religion with the utmost re-
spect ; he officiated with solemn dignity
as supreme pontiff, and at Rome affected
disdain or aversion for foreign religions.-f
But his mind was essentially imbued with
the philosophic spirit:} he was tempted by
every abstruse research, and every for-
bidden inquiry had irresistible attraction
for his curious and busy temper.§ At
Athens he was in turn the simple and ra-
tional philosopher, the restorer of the
splendid temp1© of Jupiter Olympics, and
the awe-struck worshipper in the Eleusin-
ian Mysteries.|| In the East, he aspired
to penetrate the recondite secrets of ma-

# M. St. Croix observes (in an essay in the Mem.
de PAcadem., xlix., 409), that we have medals of
twenty-live countries through which Hadrian trav-
elled. (Compare Eckhel, vi., 486.) He looked
into the crater of Etna; saw the sun rise from
Mount Casins; ascended to the cataracts of the
Nile ; heard the statue of-Memnon. He imported
exotics from the East. The journeys of Hadrian
are traced in a note to M. Sol vet’s translation of
Hegewisch, cited above. Tertullian calls him cu-
riositatum omnium explorator.—Apol., i, v. Eu-
sebius, Eccl. Hist, v., 5, ttdvra ra -xepiipya iroXvirpay-
[jlov&v.

1 Sacra Romana diligmitissirug curavit, peregrin*
contempsit..—Spartian. in Hadrian.

% Les aulres sentimens de ce prince sont tr^s
difficiles a connaitre. 11 n’embrassa a-ucun secte,
et nefut ni Academicien, ni Stoicien, encore moins
Epicurien ; il parut constamment livre a cette in-
certitude d’opinions, fruit de la bizarrerie de son
caractere, et d’un savoir superficiel ou mal digere.
—St. Croix, ubi supra.

§ In the Caesars of Julian, Hadrian is described
in the pregnant phrase iroXvTTpaypovujv rd aitdpjnjra,
busied about all the secret religions.

H The Apology of Quadratus was presented on
Hadrian’s visit to Athens, when he was initiated in
the mysteries; that of Aristides when he became
epoptes, A D. 131. Warburton connects the hos-
tility of the celebrators of the mysteries towards
Christianity with the Apology of Quadratus, and
quotes a passage from Jerome to this effect —Com-
pare Routh’s Reliquiae Sacrae, i., 70.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

223

gic, and professed himself an adept inju-
dicial astrology. In the midst of all this
tampering with foreign religions, he at
once honoured and outraged the prevail-
ing creed by the deification of Antinous,
in whose honour quinquennial games were
established at Mantinea ; a city built, and
a temple, with an endowment for a priest-
hood,* founded and called by his name
in Egypt: his statues assumed the sym-
bols of various deities. Acts like these,
at this critical period, must have tended to
alienate a large portion of the thinking
class, already wavering in their cold and
doubtful Polytheism, to any purer or more
ennobling system of religion.

Hadrian not merely surveyed the sur-
face of society, but his sagacity seemed
to penetrate deeper into the relations of
the different classes to each other, and
into the more secret workings of the so-
cial system. His regulations for the mit-
igation of slavery were recommended, not
by humanity alone, but by a wise and pru-
dent policy.f It was impossible that the
rapid growth of Christianity could escape
the notice of a mind so inquiring as that
of Hadrian, or that he could be altogether
blind to its ultimate bearings on the social
, state of the empire. Yet the
conduct to- generally humane and pacific
wards Chris- character ol his government
tiamty. would be a security against vio-
lent Pleasures of persecution; and the lib-
eral study of the varieties of human opin-
ion would induce, if not a wise and rational
spirit of toleration, yet a kind of contemp-
tuous indifference towards the most inex-
plicable aberrations from the prevailing
opinions. The apologists for Christiani-
ty, Quadratus and Aristides, addressed
their works to the emperor, who does not
appear to have repelled their respectful
homage.{ The rescript which he ad-
dressed in the early part of his reign to
the proconsul of Asia, afforded the same
protection to the Christians against the
more formidable danger of popular ani-
mosity which Trajan had granted against
anonymous delation. In some of the
Asiatic cities, their sullen and unsocial
absence from the public assemblies, from
the games, aud other public exhibitions,
either provoked or gave an opportunity
for the latent animosity to break out
against them. A general acclamation
would sometimes demand their punish-
ment. “ The Christians to the lions!”
was the general outcry; and the names

* Enseb., iv., 8. Hieronyrn. in Catal. et Rufin.

f Gibbon, vol. 1, ch. ii., p. 25.

j See the fragments in Routh, Reliquiae Sacree,
i 69-78.

of the most prominent or obnoxious of the
community would be denounced with the
same sudden and uncontrollable hostility.
A weak or superstitious magistrate trem-
bled before the popular voice, or lent him-
self a willing instrument to the fury of the
populace. The proconsul Sererms Gra-
nianus consulted the emperor as to the
course to be pursued on such occasions.
The answer of Hadrian is addressed to
Minucius Fundanus, probably the succes-
sor of Granianus, enacting that, in the
prosecution of the Christians, the formal-
ities of law should be strictly complied
with; that they should be regularly ar-
raigned before the legal tribunal, not con-
demned on the mere demand of the popu-
lace, or in compliance with a lawless out-
cry.* The edict does credit to the hu-
manity and wisdom of Hadrian. But,
notwithstanding his active and inquisitive
mind, and the ability of his gen- IMrian lnca.
era! policy, few persons were, pabioofun-
perhaps, less qualified to judge derstamiing
of the new religion, or to com- ms lamty'
prehend the tenacious hold which it would
obtain upon the mind of man. .His char-
acter wanted depth and seriousness to
penetrate or to understand the workings
of a high, profound, and settled religious
enthusiasm.f The graceful verses which

* Justin Martyr, Apol., i., 68, 69. Enseb., H. E.,
iv., 9. Mosheim, whose opinions on the state of
the Christians are coloured by too lenient a view
of Roman toleration, considers this edict by no
means more favourable to the Christians than that
of Trajan. It evidently offered them protection
under a new and peculiar exigency. [See Mo
sheim’s Instit. of E. H., vol. i., p. 106, n. (5). Ha
drian’s rescript guarded Trajan’s law against an
evasion often practised.]

f The well-known letter of Hadrian gives a sin-
gular view of the state of the religious society as it
existed, or, rather, as it appeared to the inquisitive
emperor. “ I am now, my dear Servianus, become
fully acquainted with that Egypt which you praise
so highly. I have found the people vain, tickle,
and shifting with every breath of popular rumour.
Those who worship Serapis are Christians; and
those who call themselves Christian bishops are
worshippers of Serapis. There is no ruler of a
Jewish synagogue, no Samaritan, no Christian
bishop who is not an astrologer, an interpreter of
prodigies, and an anointer. The patriarch himself,
when he comes to Egypt, is compelled by one part)
to worship Serapis, by the other Christ. * * * They
have but one God : him Christians, Jews, and
Gentiles worship alike ” This latier clause Ca-
saubon understood seriously. It is evidently mali-
cious satire. The common God is Gain. The’key
to-the former curious statement, is probably that the
tone of the higher, the fashionable society of Alex-
andrea, was to affect, either on some Gnostic or
philosophic theory, that, all these religions differed
only in form, but were essentially the same ; that
all adored one Deity, all one Logos or Demiurge,
under different names ; all employed the same arts
to impose upon the vulgar, and all were equally
despicable to the real philosopher. Dr. Bur!on. in224

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

he addressed to his departing spirit* * con-
trasts with the solemn earnestness with
which the Christians were teaching man-
kind to consider the mysteries of another
life. But, on the whole, the long and
peaceful reign of Hadrian allowed free
scope to the progress of Christianity; the
increasing wealth and prosperity of the
empire probably raised in the social scale
that class among which it was chiefly
disseminated ; while the better part of the
more opulent would be tempted at least
to make themselves acquainted with a re-
ligion, the moral influence of which was
so manifestly favourable to the happiness
of mankind, and which offered so noble a
solution of the great problem of human
philosophy, the immortality of the soul.

The gentle temper of the first Antoninus
Antoninus would maintain that milder sys-
Pius cmper- tem which was adopted by Ha-
or, a.d. 138. from policy or from indif-

ference. The emperor, whose parental
vigilance scrutinized the minutest affairs
of the most remote province, could not be
ignorant, though his own residence was
fixed in Rome and its immediate neigh-
bourhood', of the still expanding progress
of Christianity. The religion itself ac-
quired every year a more public charac-
ter. The Apology now assumed the tone
of an arraignment of the folly and unholi-
ness of the established Polytheism ; nor
was this a low and concealed murmur
withimthe walls of its own places of as-
semblage, or propagated in the quiet in-
tercourse of the brethren. It no longer
affected disguise or dissembled its hopes ;
it approached the foot of the throne; it
stood in the attitude, indeed, of a suppli-
ant, claiming the inalienable rights of con-
science, but asserting in simple confidence
ffs moral superiority, and in the name of
an apology publicly preaching its own
doctrines in the ears of the sovereign and
of the world. The philosophers were
joining its ranks ; it was rapidly growing
up into a rival power, both of the religions
and philosophies of the world. Yet, du-
ring a reign in which human life assumed

his History of the Church, suggested, with much
ingenuity that the Samaritans may have been the
Gnostic followers of Simon Magus.

* Animula, vagula, blandula,

Hospes, comesque corporis,

Quae nunc abibis in loca?

a value and a sanctity before unknown;
in which the hallowed person of a senator
was not once violated, even by the stern
hand of justice ;* under an emperor who
professed and practised the maxim of
•Scipio, that he had rather save the life of
a single citizen than cause the death of a
thousand enemies ;f who considered the
subjects of the empire as one family, of
which himself was the parent,f even reli-
gious zeal would be rebuked and overaw-
ed; and the provincial governments, which
too often reflected the fierce passions and
violent barbarities of the throne, would
now, in turn, image back the calm and
placid serenity of the imperial tribunal.
Edicts are said to have been issued to
some of the Grecian cities—Larissa,
Thessalonica, and Athens — and to the
Greeks in general, to refrain from any un-
precedented severities against the Chris-
tians. Another rescript,§ addressed to the
cities of Asia Minor, speaks language too
distinctly Christian even for the anticipa-
ted Christianity of disposition evinced by
Antoninus. It calls upon the pagans to
avert the anger of Heaven, which was dis-
played in earthquakes and other public
calamities, by imitating the piety rather
than denouncing the atheism of the Chris-
tians. The pleasing vision must, it is to
be feared, be abandoned, which would rep-
resent the best of the pagan emperors
bearing his public testimony in favour of
the calumniated Christians ; the man who,
from whatever cause, deservedly bore the
name of the Pious among the adherents
of his own religion, the most wisely tol-
erant to the faith of the Gospel.

* Jnl. Capit., Anton. Piu§, Ang. Script.., p. 138.

t Ibid, p. 140.

X The reign of Antoninus the First is almost a
blank in history. The book of Dion Cassius which
contained his reign was lost, except a small part,
when Xiphilin wrote. Xiphilin asserts that Anto
ninus favoured the Christians.

i} The rescript of Antonine in Eusebius, to which
Xiphilin alludes (Euseb., iv., 13), in favour of the
Christians, is now generally given up as spurious
The older writers disputed to which of the Anto.
nines it belonged. Lardner argues, from the Apol-
ogies of Justin Martyr, that the Christians were
persecuted “ even to death” during this reign.
The inference is inconclusive: they were obnox-
ious to the law, and might endeavour to gain the
law on their side, though it may not have been car-
ried into execution. The general voice of Chris-
tian antiquity is favourable to the first Antoninus.
[On this dubious rescript of Antonine, see Mo-
sheim’s Instit. of E. H., vol. i., p. 107, n (10).]HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

225

CHAPTER VII.

CHRISTIANITY AND MARCUS AURELIUS THE PHILOSOPHER.

The virtue of Marcus Aurelius, the phi-
losopher, was of a more lofty and vigorous
character than that of his gentle predeces-
sor. The second Antonine might seem
the last effort of paganism, or, rather, of
Gentile philosophy, to raise a worthy op-
ponent to the triumphant career of Chris-
tianity. A blameless disciple of the se-
verest school of philosophic morality, the
austerity of Marcus rivalled that of the
Christians in its contempt of the follies
and diversions of life ; yet his native kind-
liness of disposition was not hardened and
imbittCred by the severity or the pride of
his philosophy.* With Aurelius, never-
theless, Christianity found not only a fair
and high-minded competitor for the com-
mand of the human mind; not only a rival
in the exaltation of the soul of man to
higher views and more dignified motives,
but a violent and intolerant persecutor.
During his reign the martyrologies be-
come more authentic and credible ; the
general voice of Christian history arraigns
the philosopher, not, indeed, as the author
of a general and systematic plan for the
extirpation of Christianity, but as with-
drawing even the ambiguous protection of
the former emperors, and giving free scope
to the excited passions, the wounded pride,
and the jealous interests of its enemies;
neither discountenancing the stern deter-
mination of. the haughty governor to break
the contumacious spirit of resistance to his
authority, nor the outburst of popular fury,
which sought to appease the offended gods
by the sacrifice of these despisers of their
deities.

Three important causes concurred in
Three caus- bringing about this dangerous
esofthehos- crisis in the destiny of Chris-
AurehiisT' Vanity at this particular peri-
andhisgov- od: 1. The change in the rela-
ernment to tive position of Christianity with

ristiamty. t^e yeligion 0f the empire; 2.
the circumstances of the times ; 3. the
character of the emperor. 1. Sixty years
l Altered of almost uninterrupted peace
position of since the beginning of the sec-
in reganUo ond century had opened a wide
paganism, field for the free development
of Christianity. It had spread into every

* Verecundus sine ignavia, sine tristitia gravis.
—Jul. Capit., Aug. Hist., p. 160.

F F

quarter of the Roman dominions. The
western provinces, Gaul and Africa, rival-
led the East in the number, if not in the
opulence, of their Christian congrega-
tions : in almost every city had gradually
arisen a separate community, seceding
from the ordinary habits and usages of life,
at least from the public religious ceremo-
nial, governed by its own laws, acting
upon a common principle, and bound to-
gether in a kind of latent federal union
throughout the empire. A close and in-
timate correspondence connected this new
moral republic ; art impulse, an opinion, a
feeling, which originated in Egypt or Syr-
ia, was propagated with electric rapidity
to the remotest frontier of the West. Ire-
naeus, the bishop of Lyons in Gaul, whose
purer Greek had been in danger of cor-
ruption from his intercourse with the bar-
barous Celtic tribes, enters into a contro-
versy with the speculative teachers of
Antioch, Edessa, or Alexandrea, while
Tertullian, in his rude African Latin, de-
nounces or advocates opinions which
sprung up in Pontus or in Phrygia. A
new kind of literature had arisen, propa-
gated with the utmost zeal of proselytism
among a numerous class of readers, who
began to close their ears against the pro-
fane fables and unsatisfactory philosoph-
ical systems of paganism." While the
emperor himself condescended, in Greek
of no despicable purity and elegance for
the age, to explain the lofty tenets of the
Porch, and to commend its noble morality
to his subjects, the minds of a large por-
tion of the world were preoccupied by wri-
ters who, in language often impregnated
with foreign and Syrian barbarisms, en-
forced still higher morals, resting upon
religious tenets altogether new and in-
comprehensible excepting to the initiate.
Their sacred books were of still higher
authority ; commanded the homage, and
required the diligent and respectful study,
of all the disciples of the new faith. Nor
was this empire within the empire, this
universally-disseminated sect—which had
its own religious rites, its own laws, to
which it appealed rather than to the stat-
utes of the empire; its own judges (for
the Christians, wherever they were able,
submitted their disputes to their bishops
and his associate presbyters); its own226

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

financial regulations, whether for the
maintenance of public worship or for
charitable purposes ; its own religious su-
periors, who exercised a Very different
control from that of the pontiffs or sacer-
dotal colleges of paganism; its own usa-
ges and conduct; in some respects its own
language—confined to one class or to one
description of Roman subjects. Chris-
tians were to be found in the court, in the
camp, in the commercial market; they
discharged all the duties, and did not de-
cline any of the offices of society. They
did not altogether shun the forum, or aban-
don all interest in the civil administration ;
they had their mercantile transactions in
common with the rest of that class. One
of their apologists indignantly repels the
charge of their being useless to society:
“ We are no Indian Brahmins or devo-
tees, living naked in the woods, self-ban-
ished from civilized life.”* Among their
most remarkable distinctions, no doubt,
was their admission of slaves to an equal-
ity in religious privileges. Yet there was
no attempt to disorganize or correct the
existing relations of society. Though the
treatment of slaves in Christian families
could not but be softened and humanized,
as well by the evangelic temper as by this
acknowledged equality in the hopes of an-
other life, yet Christianity left the eman-
cipation of mankind from these deeply-
rooted distinctions between the free and
servile races to times which might be ripe
for so great and important a change.

This secession of one part of society
from its accustomed religious intercourse
with the rest, independent of the numbers
whose feelings and interests were implica-
ted in the support of the national religion
in all its pomp and authority, would ne-
cessarily produce estrangement, jealousy,
animosity.

As Christianity became more powerful,
Connexion or a vague apprehension began to
chrtetianity spread among the Ronan peo-
oftheRoman V}G that the fall of their old re-
empire. ligion might, to a certain de-
gree, involve that of their civil dominion;

* Infructuosi in negotiis dicimur. Quo pacto
homines vobiscum degentes, ejusdem victus, habi-
tus, instinctus, ejusdem ad vitam necessitatis?
Neque enim Brachmanse, aut Indorum gymnoso-
phistse sumus, sylvicolse et exules vitas. Memini-
mus gratiam nos debere Deo domino creatori, nul-
lum fructum operum eius repudiarnur, plane tem-
peramus, ne ultra modum aut perperam utamur.
Itaque non sine foro, non sine macello, non sine
balneis, tabernis, officinis, stabulis, nundinis vestris,
casterisque commerciis, cohabitamus in hocseculo :
navigamus et nos vobiscum et militamus, etrustica-
mur, et mercamur ; proinde miscemus artes, opera
nostra publicamus usui vestro.—Tertull., Apologet.
c. 42.

and this apprehension, it cannot be ue-
nied, was justified, deepened, and con-
firmed by the tone of some of the Chris-
tian writings, no doubt by the language
of some Christian teachers. Idolarty was
not merely an individual, but a national
sin, which would be visited by temporal
#as well as spiritual retribution. The anx
iety of one at least, and that certainly not
the most discreet of Christian apologists,
to disclaim all hostility towards the tem-
poral dignity of the empire, implies that
the Christians were obnoxious to this
charge. The Christians are calumniated,
writes Tertullian to Scapula* at a some-
what later period (under Severus), as guil-
ty of treasonable disloyalty to the emper-
or. As the occasion required, he excul-
pates them from any leaning to Niger, Al-
bums, or Cassius, the competitors of Se-
verus, and then proceeds to make this sol-
emn protestation of loyalty. “ The'Chris-
tian is the enemy of no man, assuredly
not of the emperor. The sovereign he
knows to be ordained by Cod : of neces-
sity, therefore, he loves, reveres, and hon-
ours him, and prays for his safety, with
that of the whole Roman empire, that it
may endure—and endure it will—as long
as the world itself.”f But other Christian
documents, or, at least, docu- Tone of some
ments eagerly disseminated by tnmstian wri-
the Christians, speak a very atory or this
different language.} By many apprehension,
modern interpreters the Apocalypse it-
self is supposed to refer, not to the fall of
a predicted spiritual Rome, but of the dom-
inant pagan Rome, the visible Babylon of
idolatry, and pride, and cruelty. Accord-
ing to this view, it is a grand dramatic
vaticination of the triumph of Christian-
ity over heathenism, in its secular as well
as its spiritual power. Be this as it may,
in later writings the threatening and mal-
edictory tone of the Apocalypse is man-
ifestly borrowed, and directed against
the total abolition of paganism, in its civ-
il as well as religious supremacy. Many
of these forged prophetic writings belong

* Sed et circa majestatem imperii infamamur, ta-
men nunquam Albiniani, nec Nigriani, vel Cassi-
ani, inveniri potuerunt Christiani.

Christianus nullius est hostis, nedurn imperato-
ris; quern sciens a Deo suo constitui, necesse est
ut et ipsum diligat, et revereatur, et honoret, et
salvurn velit, cum toto Romano imperio, quousquc
saeculum stabit: tamdiu enim stabit.—Ad Scapu-
larn, 1.

f Quousque sseculum stabit.

+ i nave been much indebted in this passage to
the excellent work ofTschirner, “ der Falldes Hei-
denthums,” a work written with so much learning,
candour, and Christian temper as to excite great
regret that it was- left incomplete at its author’s
death.227

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

to the reign of the Antonines, and could not
emanate from any quarter but that of the
more injudicious and fanatical Christians.
The second (apocryphal) book of Esdras
is of this character, the work of a Judai-
zing Christian ;* * * § * it refers distinctly to the
reign of the twelve Caesars,f and obscure-
ly intimates in many parts the approach-
ing dissolution of the existing order of
things. The doctrine of the Millennium,
which was as yet far from exploded or
fallen into disregard, mingled with all these
prophetic anticipations of future change
in the destinies of mankind. J The visible
throne of Christ, according to these wri-
tings, was to be erected on the ruins of all
earthly empires: the nature of his king-
dom would, of course, be unintelligible to
the heathen ; and all that he would com-
prehend would be a vague notion that the
empire of the world was to be transferred
from Rome, and that this extinction of the
majesty of the empire was in some in-
comprehensible manner connected with the
triumph of the new faith. His terror, his
indignation, and his contempt would lead
to fierce and implacable animosity. Even
m Tertullian’s Apology, the ambiguous
word “ seculum” might mean no more than
a brief and limited period which was yet
to elapse before the final consummation.

But the Sibylline verses, which c'lear-
The sibyl- ly belong to this period, express
line books. Iq the most remarkable manner
this spirit of exulting menace at the ex-
pected simultaneous fall of Roman idola-
try and of Roman empire. The origin of
the whole of the Sibylline oracles now
extant is not distinctly apparent, either
from the style, the manner of composi-
tion, or the subject of their predictions.§
it is manifest that they were largely in-
terpolated by the Christians to a late pe-
riod, and some of the books can be as-
signed to no other time but the present.||

* The general character of the work, the na-
tionality of the perpetual allusions to the history
and fortunes of the race of Israel, betray the Jew ;
the passages, ch. ii., 42, 48; v., 5 ; vii., 26, 29, are
avowed Christianity.

f C. xii., 14. Compare Basnage, Hist, des Ju-
ifs, 1. vii., c. 2.

X There are apparent allusions to the Millennium
in the Sibylline verses, particularly at the close of
the eighth book.

§ The first book to page 176 may be Jewish ; it
then becomes Christian, as well as the second.
But in these books there is little prophecy; it is in
general the Mosaic history in Greek hexameters.
If there are any fragments of heathen verses, they
are in the third book.

|| Ad horum imperatorum (Antonini Pii cum lib-
erjs suis M. Aurelio et Lucio Vero) tempora vi-
dentur Sibyllarum vat.icinia tantum extendi; id
quod etiam e lib. v. videre licet.—Note of the edi-
tor, Opsopseus, p. 688.

Much, no doubt, was cf an older date. It
is scarcely credible that the fathers of this
time would quote contemporary forgeries
as ancient prophecies. The Jews of
Alexandrea, who had acquired some taste
for Grecian poetry, and displayed some
talent for the translation of their sacred
books into the Homeric language and me-
tre,* had no doubt set the example of
versifying their own prophecies, and, per-
haps, of ascribing them to the Sibyls,
whose names were universally venerated,
as revealing to mankind the secrets of
futurity. They may have begun with
comparing their own prophets with these
ancient seers, and spoken of the predic-
tions of Isaiah or Ezekiel as their Sib-
ylline verses, which may have been anoth-
er word for prophetic or oracular.

Almost every region of heathenism
boasts its Sibyl. Poetic predictions as-
cribed to these inspired women were ei-
ther published or religiously preserved in
the sacred archives of cities. Nowhere
were they held in such awful reverence
as in Rome. The opening of the Sibyl-
line books was an event of rare occur-
rence, and only at seasons of fearful dis-
aster or peril. Nothing would be more
tempting to the sterner or more ardent
Christian than to enlist, as it were, on his
side these authorized pagan interpreters
of futurity; to extort, as it were, from their
own oracles this confession of their ap-
proaching dissolution. Nothing, on the
other hand, would more strongly excite
the mingled feelings of apprehension and
animosity in the minds of the pagans than
this profanation, as it would seem, wheth-
er they disbelieved or credited them, of
the sacred treasures of prophecy. It was
paganism made to utter, in its most hal-
lowed language and by its own inspired
prophets, its own condemnation ; to an-
nounce its own immediate downfall, and
the triumph of its yet obscure enemy over
both its religious and temporal dominion.

The fifth and eighth books of the Sibyl-
line Oracles are those which most dis-
tinctly betray the sentiments and language

* Compare Valckenaer’s learned treatise de Aris-
tobulo Judoeo. The fragments of Ezekiel Tragoe-
dus, and many passages, which are evident ver-
sions of the Jewish Scriptures, in the works of the
fathers, particularly of Eusebius, may be traced to
this school. It is by no means impossible that the
Pollio of Yirgil may owe many of its beauties to
those Alexandrean versifiers of the Hebrew proph-
ets. Virgil, who wrought up indiscriminately into
his refined gold all the ruder ore which he found in
the older poets, may have seen and admired some
of these verses. He may have condescended, as he
thought, to borrow the images of these religious
books of the barbarians, as a modern might the im-
ages of the Vedas or of the Koran.228

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of the Christians of this period.* In the
spirit of the Jewish prophets, they de-
nounce the folly of worshipping gods of
wood and stone, of ivory, of gold, and sil-
ver ; of offering incense and sacrifice to
dumb and deaf deities.. The gods of Egypt
and of Greece—Hercules, Jove, and Mer-
cury—are cut off. The whole sentiment
is in the contemptuous and aggressive
tone of the later, rather than the more
temperate and defensive argument of the
earlier apologists for Christianity. But
the Sibyls are made not merely to de-
nounce the fall of heathenism, but the ruin
of heathen states and the desolation of
heathen cities. Many passages relate to
Egypt, and seem to point out Alexandrea,
with Asia Minor, the cities of which, par-
ticularly Laodicea, are frequently noticed,
as the chief staple of these poetico-pro-
phetic forgeries f The following passage
might almost seem to have been written
after the destruction of the Serapeum by
Theodosius. J 44 Isis, thrice hapless god-
dess, thou shalt remain alone on the shores
of the Nile, a solitary Maenad by the sands
of Acheron. No longer shall thy memo-
ry endure upon the earth. And thou,'Se-
rapis, that restest upon thy stones, much
must thou suffer; thou shalt be the might-
iest ruin in thrice hapless Egypt; and
those who worshipped thee for a god
shall know thee to be nothing. And one
of the linen-clothed priests shall say,
Come, let us build the beautiful temple of
the true God; let us change the awful law
of our ancestors, who, in their ignorance,
made their pomps and festivals to gods of
stone and clay; let us turn our hearts,
hymning the Everlasting God, the Eternal
Father, the Lord of all, the True, the
King, the Creator and Preserver of our
souls, the Great, the Eternal God.”

* Lib. v., p. 557. ’

T 0povtg teat Eovtg i9vlIdsrac, Kat kotctstcu.

BovXtj fHpaicleovg re A tog re teal fE ppetdo.—
P. 558. The first of these lines is mutilated.

| Tea, #ea TptTalatva, pevetg 6’ km xev/nacu

N etlov,

Movvtj, patvdg arattrog, km 'ijjapddotg ’Axkpovrog,
Kovkstl gov pvetd ye pevet Kara yatav d'Kaaav. •
Kat gv Zepant, ?ddotg krctKetpeve, irolla poyfjGetg,
Ketay nTupa peytGTov, kv Aiyvnrrcp TptTalatvy.

, * * * * 1
Tvogovtcu gs to pySev, ogoi Qeov k^vpvrjGav.

Kat rig kpel t&v lepetjv luvGOGGiog dvrjp.

Aevre Qeov Tepevog Kalov GTydopev dlydeg,

Aevre tov etc repoyovov detvov vopov alld^opeV,

Tov xupw fj XOtvotg /cat ooTpaKtvotGt tieolGi
HofiTtag nal reTierdg Ttotovpevot ova evoyaav,
Zrpk'ijjufiev tyvxag, Qeov dtydirov e^vfivovvreg.
kvrov rov yeveTypa, tov aid tov yeyaura,

Tov irpyravlv Travtov, rbv dlydea, tov jdaGtlya.
HtyxoTpatfov yeverypa, Qeov peyav, alev kovra.—
Lib. v., p. 638, edit. Gall, Amstelod., 1689.

A bolder prophet, without doubt writing
precisely at this perilous crisis, dares, in
the name of a Sibyl, to connect together
the approaching fall of Rome and the gods
of Rome. 44 0, haughty Rome, the just
chastisement of Heaven shall come down
upon thee from on high ; thou shalt stoop
thy neck, and be levelled with the earth ;
and fire shall consume thee, razed to thy
very foundations: and thy wealth shall
perish; wolves and foxes shall dwell
among thy ruins, and thou shalt be deso-
late as if thou hadst never been. Where
then will be thy Palladium! Which of
thy gods of gold, or of stone, or of brass
shall save thee 1 Where then the decrees
of thy senate 1 Where the race of Rhea,
of Saturn, or of Jove ; all the lifeless dei-
ties thou hast worshipped, or the shades
of the deified dead % When thrice five gor-
geous Caesars (the twelve Caesars usually
so called, with Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian),
who have enslaved the world from east to
west, shall be, one will arise silver-helmed,
with a name like the neighbouring sea
(Hadrian and the Hadriatic Sea).”* The
poet describes the busy and lavish charac-
ter of Hadrian, his curiosity in prying into
all religious mysteries, and his deification
of Antinous.f

44 After him shall reign three, whose times
shall be the last. J * * * Then from the

* f/H£et goI 'kot’ dvudev Igt), v'ljjavxsve 'Pdpy,
Ovpavtog T&yyy, Kat Kap'ipetg avxkva TrpdTy,
Kd^eda<ptG6yG7j, Kat ttvp ae oatjv danavyaet
KeKhpevyv kddtfteGGtv eotg, Kat TT?iovTog oletTat,
Kat aa d-epedla Ivnot, Kat ctluTreKeg otKrjGovGt.
Kat tot’ lay iraveprjpog 51 cog, ug py yeyovvta.
ILov Tore Hallddtov ; 7rotog Ge &eog dtaodaet,
XpvGovg, $ Itdtvog, rj xdlueog ; rj TOTe ttov Got
Aoypava avyKlrjTOV ; ttov, Pehjg, ye Kpovoto,
’He Atogyevey, Kat miVTtov tdv kaeddadyg
Aatpovag d^mxovgr veicpuv etdto'Xa mpovTov ;

* * * ' *

’AA/l’ OTe Got (3aGt?„etg xXdavot TPLG nkvTe ye-
vovTat,

KOGftov Sov?MGavTeg a7r’ avToXtyg ftexpt dvoptiv,
"Eaaer’ aval; noltoKpavog, kxojv irelag ovvopa
tcovtov.—Lib. viii., p. 679.

The ruin of Rome and the restoration of Europe
to the East are likewise alluded to in the following
passages ; lib. iii., p. 404-408 ; v., 573-576 ; viii., 694,
712, 718.

There is another allusion to Hadrian, lib. v., p.
552, much more laudatory, "Ecrai Kat TravdptGTog
dvrjp, Kat irdvTa vorjaet.

t Koapov kiroiTTevuv pttapG) 7rode, d&pa Troptfav
* * * *

Kat paytK&v ddvTov pvarypta izdvTa peOe^et,
TLatdd i9eov detKvvGet, anavTa GeddapaTa Ivaet.
—P. 688.

t Tov peTa Tpetg dp^ovGt, navvGTaTOv fjpap
kxovTeg—.

One of these three is to be an old man, to heapHISTORY OH CHRISTIANITY.

£29

uttermost parts of the earth, whither he
Red,, shall the matricide (Nero) return.* *
And now, 0 King of Rome, shalt thou
mourn, disrobed of the purple laticlave of
thy rulers, and clad in sackcloth. The
glory of thy eagle-bearing legions shall
perish. Where shall be thy might 1 what
land which thou hast enslaved by thy vain
laurels shall be thine ally 1 For there
shall be confusion on all mortals over the
whole earth when the Almighty Ruler
comes, and, seated upon his throne, judg-
es the souls of the quick and of the dead,
and of the whole world. There shall be
wailing and scattering abroad, and ruin,
when the fall of the cities shall come, and
the abyss of earth shall open.”

In another passage, the desolation of
Italy, the return of Nero, the general mas-
sacre of kings are portrayed in fearful
terms. The licentiousness of Rome is

up vast treasures, in order to surrender them to the
Eastern destroyer, Nero:

Iv orav y’ uTravsWy

fEx 7reparcjv yaipg o (pvyag prjTpoKTovog eWcov.
Kal TOTS TCEvdrjGELQ, TC?M1TV TTOpCpVpOV TjyEflOvfjCdV

§>ug sjcdvcrafisvq, teal irevdtfiov elfta (jtspovaa.

* * * *

Kat yap asTO^opuv %sysavov do<;a TcsuELTai.

flow TOTE GOL TO KpLLTQg ; TTOLd yf( GVjXfiaXOg EGTGL,

AovTiudstaa Tsalg paTaiofpoGVvyGLV adsopog ;
Huorjg yap yairjg 'Q-vtjtcjv tots avyxvcng egTac,

AVTog TcavTOKparup otclv eaOqv firjfiaoi tepivy
Zljvtov Kal vekvcjv 'ijivxag, Kal kog[iov ai~avTa.

* * * *

'EK TOTE GOL (3pvyp.bg, Kal GKOpTUGflbg, teal «/lOGLg,
UTCJGLg 0Tav sX6y tvoXeqv, Kal qAcraara yatrjg.—
Lib. viii., 688.

* The strange notion of the flight of Nero beyond
the Euphrates, from whence he was to return as
Antichrist, is almost the burden of the Sibylline
verses. Compare lib. iv., p. 520-525 ; v , 573, where
there is an allusion to his theatrical tastes, 619—
714. The best commentary is that of St. Augustin
on the Thessalonians. “ Et tunc revelabitur ille
iniquus. Ego prorsus quid dixerit me fateor igno-
rare. Suspiciones tamen hominum, quas vel au-
dire vel legere de hac re potui, non tacebo. Qui-
dam putant hoc de imperio dictum fuisse Romano;
et propterea Paulum Apostolum non id aperte scri-
bere voluisse, ne calumniam videlicet incurreret
quod Romano imperio male optaverit, cum sperare-
tur aeternum : ut hoc quod dixit, ‘ Jam enim mys-
terium iniquitatis operator,* Neronem voluerit intel-
ligi, cujus jam facta velut Antichristi videbantur;
unde nonnulli ipsum resurrecturum et futurum An-
tichmtum suspicantur. Alii vero nec eujn occi-
sum putant, sed subtractum potius, ut putaretur
occisus; et.vivum occultari in vigore ipsius aetatis,
in qua fuit cum crederetur extinctus, donee suo
tempore reveletur, et restituatur in regnum.” Ac-
cording to the Sibyls, Nero was to make an alliance
with the kings of the Medes and Persians, return
at the head of a mighty army, accomplish his fa-
vourite scheme of digging through the Isthmus of
Corinth, and then conquer Rome. For the manner
in which Neande.r traces the germe of this notion in
the Apocalypse, see Pflanzung, der Chr. Kirche,
ii. 327. Nero is Antichrist in the political verses
of Commodianus, xli.

detailed in the blackest colours. “ Sit
silent in thy sorrow, 0 guilty and luxurious
city; the vestal virgins shall no longer
watch the . sacred fire ; thy house is deso-
late.”* Christianity is then represented
under the image of a pure and heaven-de-
scending temple, embracing the whole hu-
man race.

Whether these prophecies merely im-
bodied for the private edification the sen-
timents of the Christians, they are manifest
indications of these sentiments ; and they*
would scarcely be concealed with so much
prudence and discretion as not to trans-
pire among adversaries who now began
to watch them with jealous vigilance: if
they were boldly published for the purpose
of converting the heathen, they would be
still more obnoxious to the general indig-,
nation and hatred. However the more
moderate and rational, probably the greater
number, of Christians might deprecate
these dangerous and injudicious effusions
of zeal, the consequences would involve
all alike in the indiseriminating animosity
which they would provoke ; and whether
or not these predictions were contained in
the Sibylline poems, quoted by all the early
writers, by Justin Martyr, by Clement, and
by Origen, the attempt to array the au-
thority of the Sibyls against that religion
and that empire, of which they were be-
fore considered almost the tutelary guar-
dians, would goad the rankling aversion to
violent resentment.

The general superiority assumed in any
way by Christianity, directly as it came
into collision with the opposite party,
would of itself be fatal to the peace which
it had acquired in its earlier obscurit v.
Of all pretensions, man is most jealous of
the claim to moral superiority. II. The
darkening aspect of the times 2. change in
wrought up this growing alien- the circum-
ation and hatred to open and fu- «tances of
rious hostility. In the reign of 16 imes‘

M. Aurelius we approach the verge of that
narrow oasis of peace which intervenes
between the final conquests of Rome and
the recoil of repressed and threatening
barbarism upon the civilization of the
world. The public mind began to be agi-
tated with gloomy rumours from the fron-
tier, while calamities, though local, yet
spread over wide districts, shook the whole
Roman people with apprehension. For-
eign and civil wars, inundations, earth-
quakes, pestilences, which we shall pres-
ently assign to their proper dates, awoke
the affrighted empire from its slumber of
tranquillity and peace.f ■

* Lib. v., p. 621. * ,

f Tillemont, Hist, des Emp., ii. 593.230

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

The Emperor Marcus reposed not, like
his predecessor, in his Lanuvian villa,
amid the peaceful pursuits of agriculture,
or with the great jurisconsults of the time
meditating on a general system of legis-
lation. The days of the second Nuraa
were gone by, and the philosopher must
leave his speculative school and his Stoic
friends to place himself at the head of the
legions. New levies invade the repose of
peaceful families ; even the public amuse-
ments are encroached upon : the gladia-
tors are enrolled to serve in the army.*
Terror of the It was at this unexpected crisis
Roman world, of calamity and terror that su-
perstition, which had slept in careless
and Epicurean forgetfulness of its gods,
suddenly awoke, and when it fled for suc-
cour to the altar of the tutelar deity, found
the temple deserted and the shrine neg-
lected. One portion of society stood aloof,
in sullen disregard or avowed contempt of
rites so imperiously demanded by the
avenging gods. If, in the time of public
distress, true religion inspires serene res-
ignation to the Divine will, and receives
the awful admonition to more strenuous
and rigid virtue, superstition shudders at
the manifest anger of the gods, yet looks
not within to correct the offensive 'guilt,
but abroad to discover some gift or sacri-
fice which may appease the Divine wrath,
and bribe back the alienated favour of
Heaven. Rarely does it discover any of-
fering sufficiently costly except human
life. The Christians were the public and
avowed enemies of the gods; they were
the self-designated victims, whose ungrate-
ful atheism had provoked, whose blood
might avert their manifest indignation.
The public religious ceremonies, the sac-
rifices, the games, the theatres, afforded
constant opportunities of inflaming and
giving vent to the paroxysms of popular
fury, with which it disburdened itself of its
awful apprehensions. The cry of The
Christians to the lions!” was now no
longer the wanton clamour of individual
or party malice; it was not murmured
by the interested, and eagerly re-echoed
by the bloodthirsty, who rejoiced in the
exhibition of unusual victims ; it was the
deep and general voice of fanatic terror,
solemnly demanding the propitiation of the
wrathful gods by the sacrifice of these
impious apostates from their worship.f

* Fuitenim populo hie sermo, cum sustulissel ad
helium gladiatores qhod populum sublatis voluptati-
bus veliet cogere ad philosophiam.—Jul. Cap.,p. 204.
■ f The miracle of the thundering legion (see pos-
tea), after having suffered deadly wounds from for-
mer assailants, was finally transfixed by the critical
spear of Moyle (Works, vol. ii.). Is it improbable
that it was invented or wrought up from a casual

The Christians were the authors of all tho
calamities which were brooding over the
world, and in vain their earnest apologists
appealed to the prosperity of the empire
since the appearance of Christ in the
reign of Augustus, and showed that the
great enemies of Christianity, the emper-
ors Nero and Domitian, were likewise the
scourges of mankind.*

III. Was then the philosopher superior
to the vulgar superstition 1 In 3 The char.
what manner did his personal acter or ihe
character affect the condition of emperor*
the Christians! Did he authorize by any
new edict a general and systematic per-
secution, or did he only give free scope to
the vengeance of the awe-struck people,
and countenance the timid or fanatic con-
cessions of the provincial governors to the
riotous demand of the populace for Chris-
tian blood 1 Did he actually repeal or sus-
pend, or only neglect to enforce, the milder
edicts of his predecessors, which secured
to the Christians a fair and public trial be-
fore the legal tribunal If The acts as-
cribed to Marcus Aurelius, in the meager
and unsatisfactory annals of his reign, are
at issue with the sentiments expressed in
his grave and lofty Meditations. He as-
sumes in his philosophical lucubrations,
which he dictated during his campaigns
upon the Danube, the tone of profound re-
ligious sentiment, but proudly disclaims
the influence of superstition upon his mind.
Yet in Rome he either shared, or con-
descended to appear to share, all the ter-
rors of the people. The pestilence, said
to have been introduced from the East by
the soldiers on their return from the Par-
thian campaign, had not yet ceased its rav-
ages, when the public mind was thrown
into a state of the utmost depression by
the news of the Marcomannie w7ar. M.
Aurelius, as we shall hereafter see, did
not, in his proper person, countenance to
the utmost the demands of the popular
superstition. For all the vulgar arts of
magic, divination, and vaticination, ‘ the

occurrence into its present form, as a kind of coun-
terpoise to the reiterated charge which was advan-
ced against the Christians, of having caused by
their impiety all the calamities inflicted by the bar-
barians on the empire ?

* Melito apud Routh, Reliq. Sacr., 1, 111. Com-
pare Tertullian, Apologet., v.

f There is an edict of the Emperor Aurelian in
the genuine acts of St. Symphorian, in which Pagi,
Ruinart, and Neander (i., 106) would read the
name of M. Aurelius instead of Aurelianus. Their
arguments are, in my opinion, inconclusive, and the
fact that Aurelian is named among the persecuting
emperors in the treatise ascribed to Lactantius (do
Mort. Persecutor.), in which his edicts (scripta)
against the Chiistians are distinctly named, out
weighs their ronjectural objections.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

emperor declares his sovereign contempt;
yet on that occasion, besides the public
religious ceremonies, to which we shall
presently allude, he is said himself to have
tampered with the dealers in the secrets
of futurity; to have lent a willing ear to
the prognostications of the Chaldeans and
to the calculations of astrology. If these
facts be true, and all this was not done in
mere compliance with the general senti-
ment, the serene composure of Marcus
himself may at times have darkened into
Private sen- terror; his philosophic apathy

thTem eror niay 110t a^ways have been ex-
ir^hisMViedi- empt from the influence of shud-
tations. dering devotion. In issuing an
edict against the Christians, Marcus may
have supposed that he was consulting the
public good by conciliating the alienated
favour of the gods. But the superiority
of the Christians to all the terrors of death
appears at once to have astonished and
wounded the Stoic pride of the emperor.
Philosophy, which was constantly dwell-
ing on the solemn question of the immor-
tality of the soul, could not comprehend
the eager resolution with which the Chris-
tian departed from life, and in the bitter-
ness of jealousy sought out unworthy mo-
tives for the intrepidity which it could not
emulate. “ How great is that soul which
is ready, if it must depart from the body,
to be extinguished, to be dispersed, or still
to subsist! and this readiness must pro-
ceed from the individual judgment, not
from mere obstinacy, like the Christians,
but deliberately, solemnly* and without
tragic display.’5* The emperor did not
choose to discern that it was in the one
case the doubt, in the other the assurance,
of the eternal destiny of the soul which
constituted the difference. Marcus no
doubt could admire, not merely the dig-
nity with which the philosopher might de-
part on his uncertain but necessary dis-
embarcation from the voyage of life, and
the bold and fearless valour with which
his own legionaries or their barbarous an-
tagonists could confront death on the field
of battle, but at the height of his wisdom
he could not comprehend the exalted en-
thusiasm with which the Christian trusted

* The emperor’s Greek is by no means clear in
this remarkable passage. Ttapdra\Lv is usu-

ally translated, as in the text, “ mere obstinacy.” A
recent writer renders it “ ostentation or parade.” I
suspect an antithesis with tineas Kpiozus, and that it
refers to the manner in which the Christians arrayed
themselves as a body against the authority of the
persecutors ; and should render the words omitted
in the text wars kul aXXov reicm, and without that
tragic display which is intended to persuade others
to follow our example. The Stoic pride would
stand alone in the dignity of an intrepid death.

231.

in the immortality and blessedness of the
departed soul in the presence of God.

There can be little doubt that Marcus
Antoninus issued an edict by which the
Christians were again exposed to all the de-
nunciations of common informers, whose
zeal was now whetted by some share, if
not by the whole, of the confiscated prop-
erty of delinquents. The most distin-
guished Christians of the East were sacri-
ficed to the base passions of the meanest
of mankind by the emperor, who, with
every moral qualification to appreciate the
new religion, closed his ears, either in
the stern apathy of Stoic philosophy, or
the more engrossing terrors of heathen
bigotry.

It is remarkable how closely the more
probable records of Christian martyrology
harmonize with the course of events, du-
ring the whole reign of M. Aurelius, and
illustrate and justify our view of the causes
and motives of their persecution.*

It was on the 7th of March, 161, that the
elder Antoninus, in the charitable A
words of a Christian apologist,
sunk in death into the sweetest sleep,f
and M. Aurelius assumed the reins of em-
pire. He immediately associated with
himself the other adopted son of Antonine,
who took the name of L. Verus. One
treacherous year of peace gave the hope
of undisturbed repose, under the beneficent
sway which carried the maxims of a se-
vere and humane philosophy into the ad-
ministration of public affairs. Mild to all
lighter delinquencies, but always ready to
mitigate the severity of the law, the em-
peror wras only inexorable to those more
heinous offences which endanger the hap-
piness of society. While the emperor
himself superintended the course of jus-
tice, the seimte resumed its ancient hon-
ours. The second year of his A D lg0
reign the horizon began to dark-
en. During the reign of the first Anto-
nine, earthquakes, which shook down some
of the Asiatic cities, and fires, which rav-
aged those of the West, had excited con-
siderable alarm ; but these calamities as-

* A modem writer, M. Ripault (Hist. Philosoph-
ique de Marc Aurele), ascribes to this time the
memorable passage of Tertullian’s Apology : “ Ex-
istiment omnis pubiicae cladis, omnis popularis in-
commodi, Christianos esse causam. Si Tiberis a.<-
cendit in moenia, si Nilus non ascendit in.arva, si
caelum stetit, si terra movit, si fames, si lues, statim
Christianos ad leones.” Tout ce qui suit les cultes
de l’empire, s’eleve de toutes parts contre les Chre-
tiens. On attribue a ce qu’on appelle leur impiete,
le dechamement des fleaux, sous lesquelles gemis-
sent tous les hommes sans privilege ni exemption,
sans distinction de religion, ii., 86. Tillemont,
Hist, des Emp., ii., 609.

f Quadratus apud Xiphilin., Antonin., 3>232

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

sumed a more dire and destructive char-
acter during the reign of Aurelius. Rome
itself was first visited with a terrible in-
undation.* * * * § The Tiber swept away all the
cattle in the neighbourhood, threw down
a great number of buildings ; among the
rest, the magazines and granaries of corn,
which were chiefly situated on the banks
of the river. This appalling event was
followed by a famine, which pressed heav-
ily on the poorer population of the capital.
At the same time, disturbances took place
in Britain ; the Catti, a German tribe, rav-
aged Belgium; and the Parthian war,
which commenced under most disastrous
circumstances, the invasion of Syria, and
the loss of three legions, demanded the
presence of his colleague in the empire.
Though the event was announced to be
prosperous, yet intelligence of doubtful
and hard-won victories seemed to intimate
that the spell of Roman conquest was be-
ginning to lose its power.f After four
a.d.166. years Verus returned, bearing
Calamities of the trophies of victory.; but, at
the empire, the same time, the seeds of a
calamity which outweighed all the barren
honours which he had won on the shores
of the Euphrates. His army was infected
with a pestilence, which superstition as-
cribed to the plunder of a temple in Se-
leucia or Babylonia. The rapacious sol-
diers had opened a mystic coffer, inscribed
with magical signs, from which issued a
pestilential air, which laid waste the whole
world. This fable is a vivid indication of
the state of the public mind.J More ra-
tional observation traced the fatal malady
from Ethiopia and Egypt to the Eastern
army, which it followed from province to
province, mouldering away its strength as
it proceeded, even to the remote frontiers
of Gaul and the northern shores of the
Rhine. Italy felt its most dreadful rava-
ges, and in Rome itself the dead bodies
were transported out of the cty, not on

* Capitol., M. Antonin., p. 168.

t Sed in diebus Parthici belli, persecutiones
Christianorum, quarta jam post Neronem ■vice, in
Asia et Gallia graves prsecepto ejus extiterunt, mul-
ti que sanctorum martyrio coronati sunt. This loose
language of Orosius (for the persecution in Gaul,
if not in Asia, was much later than the Parthian
war) appears to connect the calamities of Rome
with the persecutions.

f This was called the annus calamitosus. There
is a strange story in Capitolinus of an impostor who
harangued the populace from the wild fig-tree in the
Campus Martius, and asserted that if, in throwing
himself from the tree, he should be turned into a
stork, fire would fall from heaven, and the end of
the world was at hand ; ignem de caslo lapsurum
fmemque mundi affore diceret. As he fell, he
loosed a stork from his bosom. Aurelius, on his
confession of the imposture, released him.—Cap.
Anton., 13.

the decent bier, but heaped up in wag-
ons. Famine aggravated the miseries, and
perhaps increased the virulence of the
plague.* Still the hopes of peace began
to revive the drooping mind; and flatter-
ing medals were struck, which promised
the return of golden days. On a sudden,
the empire was appalled with the intelli-
gence of new wars in all quarters. The
Moors laid waste the fertile provinces of
Spain; a rebellion of shepherds withheld
the harvests of Egypt from the capital.
Their defeat only added to the dangerous
glory of Avidius Cassius, who, before long,
stood forth as a competitor for the empire.
A vast confederacy of nations, from the
frontiers of Gaul to the borders of Illyri-
cum, comprehending some of the best-
known and most formidable of the German
tribes, with others, whose dissonant races
were new to the Roman ears, had arisen
with a simultaneous movement.f The
armies were wasted with the Parthian
campaigns and the still more destructive
plague. : The Marcomannic has been com-
pared with the second Punic war, though
at the time, even in the paroxysm of ter-
ror, the pride of Rome would probably
not have ennobled an irruption of barba-
rians, however formidable, by such a com-
parison. The presence of both the em-
perors was immediately demanded. Mar-
cus, indeed, lingered in Rome, probably to
enrol the army (for which purpose lie
swept together recruits from all quarters,
and even robbed the arena of its bravest
gladiators), certainly to perform the most,
solemn and costly religious ceremonies.
Every rite was celebrated which could
propitiate the Divine favour or allay the
popular fears. Priests were summoned
from all quarters; foreign rites perform-
ed lustrations and funereal-banquets for
seven, days purified the infected city. It
was no doubt on this occasion that the
unusual number of victims provoked the
sarcastic wit, which insinuated that if the
emperor returned victorious there would
be a dearth of oxen.§ Precisely Christian
at this time the Christian mar- martyrdoms,
tyrologies date the commence- A-D-166*

* Julius Cap., Ant. Phi]., 21.

f See the List in Capitol.’, p. 200.

j Peregrinos ritus im.pleverit. Such seems the
uncontested reading in the Augustan history ; yet
the singular fact that at such a period the emperor
should introduce foreign rites, as well as the unu-
sual expression, may raise a suspicion that some
word with an opposite meaning is the genuine ex-
pression of the author.

§ This early pasquinade was couched in the form
of an address from the white oxen to the emperor.
If you conquer, we are undone. Ol (36sq oiXevtcol
Mnp/cw r<3 Kaiaapi, dv de av vucvcyc;, f/peg aTtuk-
ofieQa.—Amm. Marc., xxv., 4.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

233

ment of the persecution under Aurelius;
In Rome itself, Justin, the apologist of
Christianity, either the same or the fol-
lowing year, ratified with his blood the
sincerity of his belief in the doctrines for
which he had abandoned the Gentile phi-
losophy. His death is attributed to the
jealousy of Crescens, a Cynic, whose au-
dience had been drawn off by the more at-
tractive tenets of the Christian Platonist.
Justin was summoned before Rusticus,
one of the philosophic teachers of Aure-
lius, the prefect of the city, and command-
ed to perform sacrifice. On his refusal
and open avowal of his Christianity, he
was scourged and put to death. It is by
no means improbable that, during this cri-
sis of religious terror, mandates should
have been issued to the provinces to imi-
tate the devotion of the capital, and every-
where to appease the offended gods by
sacrifice. Such an edict, though not des-
ignating them by name, would, in its ef-
fects, and perhaps in intention, expose the
Christians to the malice of their enemies.
Even if the provincial governors were left
of their own accord to imitate the exam-
ple of the emperor, their own zeal or loy-
alty would induce them to fall in with the
popular current; and the lofty humanity,
which would be superior at once to super-
stition, to interest, and to the desire of
popularity, which would neglect the op-
portunity of courting the favour of the em-
peror and the populace, would be a rare
and singular virtue upon the tribunal of a
provincial ruler.

The persecution raged with the greatest
Persecution violence in Asia Minor. It was
in Asia Mi- here that the new edicts were
nnr- promulgated, so far departing

from the humane regulations of the for-
mer emperors that the prudent apologists
venture to doubt their emanating from the
imperial authority.* By these rescripts
the delators were again let loose, and were
stimulated by the gratification of their ra-
pacity as well as of their revenge out of
the forfeited goods of the Christian vic-
tims of persecution.

The fame of the aged Polycarp, whose
death the sorrowing Church of
o ycarp. gmyrna related in an epistle to the
Christian community at Philomelium or
Philadelphia, which is still extant, and
bears every mark of authenticity,! has ob-
scured that of the other victims of heathen
malice or superstition. Of these victims
the names of two only have survived ; one
who manfully endured, the other who tim-

* Melito apud Ruseb., Feel. Hist., iv., 20.
t In Cotelerii Patres Apostolici, ii., 195.

G G

idly apostatized in the hour of trial. Ger-
manicus appeared; was forced to descend
into the arena; he fought gallantly, until
the merciful proconsul entreated him to
consider his time of life. He then pro^ o-
ked the tardy beast, and in an instant ob-
tained his immortality. The impression
on the wondering people was that of in-
dignation rather than pity. The cry was
redoubled, “ Away with the godless ! let
Polycarp be apprehended!” The second,
Quintus, a Phrygian, had boastfully exci-
ted the rest to throw themselves in the
way of the persecution. He descended in
haste into the arena; the first sight of the
wild beasts so overcame his hollow cour-
age that he consented to sacrifice.

Polycarp was the most distinguished
Christian of the East; he had heard the
apostle St. John; he had long presided
with the most saintly dignity over the see
of Smyrna. Polycarp neither ostenta-
tiously exposed himself, nor declined such
measures for security as might be consist-
ent with his character. He consented to
retire into a neighbouring village, from
which, on the intelligence of the approach
of the officers, he retreated to another.
His place of concealment being betrayed
by two slaves, whose confession had been
extorted by torture, he exclaimed, “ The
will of God be done ordered food to be
prepared for the officers of justice; and
requested time for prayer, in which he
spent two hours. He was placed upon an
ass, and on a day of great public con-
course conducted towards the town. He
was met by Herod the Irenarch and his
father Nicetas, who took him, with con-
siderate respect, into their own carriage,
and vainly endeavoured to persuade him to
submit to the two tests by which the
Christians were tried, the salutation of the
emperor by the title of Lord, and sacrifice.
On his determinate refusal their compas-
sion gave place to contumely; he was
hastily thrust out of the chariot and con-
ducted to the crowded stadium. On the
entrance of the old man upon the public
scene, the excited devotion of the Chris-
tian spectators imagined that they heard a
voice from heaven, “ Polycarp, be firm !”
The heathen, in their vindictive fury, shout-
ed aloud that Polycarp had been appre-
hended. The merciful proconsul entreated
him,in respect to his old age, to disguise his
name. He proclaimed aloud that he was
Polycarp : the trial proceeded. “ Swear,”
they said, “ by the genius of Cassar; re-
tract and say, Away with the godless.”
The old man gazed in sorrow at the frantic
and raging benches of the spectators, rising
above each other, and, with his eyes uo-234

HISTORY Of CHRISTIANITY.

lifted to. heaven* said, “ Away with the
godless !” The proconsul urged him far-
ther: “Swear, and I release thee; blas-
pheme Christ.5’ “ Eighty-and-six years
have I served Christ, and'he has never done
me an injury ; how can I blaspheme my
King and my Saviour!” The proconsul
again commanded him to swear by the
genius of C$sar. Polycarp replied by
avowing himself a Christian, and by re-
questing a day to be appointed on which
he might explain before the proconsul the
blameless tenets of Christianity. “ Per-
suade the people to consent,” replied the
compassionate but overawed ruler. “We
owe respect to authority; to thee I will
explain the reasons of my conduct, to the
populace X will make no explanation.”
The old man knew too well the ferocious
passions raging in their minds, which it
had been vain to attempt to allay by the
rational arguments of Christianity. The
proconsul threatened to expose him to the
wild beasts. “ ’Tis well for me to be
speedily released from this life of misery.”
He threatened to burn him alive. “ I fear
not the fire that burns for a moment; thou
knowest not that which burns forever and
ever.” His countenance was full of peace
and joy, even when the herald advanced
into the midst of the assemblage and thrice
proclaimed, “ Polycarp has professed him-
self a Christian.” The Jews and heathens
(for the former were in great numbers, and
especially infuriated against the Chris-
tians) replied with an overwhelming shout,
“This is the teacher of all Asia, the over-
thrower of our gods, who has perverted so
many from sacrifice and the adoration of
the gods.” They demanded of the asiarch,
the president of the games, instantly to let
loose a lion upon Poly carp. He excused
himself by alleging that the games were
* over. A general cry arose that Poly carp
should be burned alive. The Jews were
again as vindictively active as the heathens
in collecting the fuel of the baths and other
combustibles to raise up a hasty yet ca-
pacious funeral pile. He was speedily un-
robed ; he requested not to be nailed to the
stake ; he was only bound to it.

The calm and unostentatious prayer of
Polycarp maybe considered as imbody-
ing the sentiments of the Christians of
that period. “ 0 Lord God Almighty, the
Father of the well-beloved and ever bless-
ed Son Jesus Christ, by whom we have
received the knowledge of thee ; the God
of angels, powers, and of every creature,
and of the whole race of the righteous
who live before thee, I thank thee that
thou hast graciously thought me worthy
of this day and this hour, that I may re-

ceive a portion in the number of thy mar-
tyrs, and drink of Christ’s cup, for the res-
urrection to eternal life, both of body and
soul, in the incorruptibleness of the Holy
Spirit; among whom may I be admitted
this day as a rich and acceptable sacrifice,
as thou, 0 true and faithful God, hast pre-
pared, and foieshown, and accomplished.
Wherefore I praise thee for all thy mer-
cies; I bless thee ; I glorify thee, with the
eternal and heavenly Jesus Christ, thy
beloved Son, to whom, with thee and the
Holy Spirit, be glory now and forever.”

The fire was kindled in vain. It arose
curving like an arch around the serene
victim, or, like a sail swelling with the
wind, left the body unharmed. To the
sight of the Christians he resembled a
treasure of gold or silver (an allusion to
the gold tried in the furnace) ; and deli-
cious odours, as of myrrh or frankincense,
breathed from his body. An executioner
was sent in to despatch the victim; his
side was pierced, and blood enough flowed
from the aged body to extinguish the
flames immediately around him.*

The whole of this narrative has the sim
pie energy of truth : the prudent yet res-
olute conduct of the aged bishop; the
calm and dignified expostulation of the
governor; the wild fury of the populace ;
the Jews eagerly seizing the opportunity
of renewing their unslaked hatred to' the
Christian name, are described with the
simplicity of nature. The supernatural
part of the transaction is no more than
may be ascribed to the high-wrought im-
agination of the Christian spectators, deep-
ening every casual incident into a won-
der. The voice from heaven, heard only
by Christian ears; the flame from the
hastily-piled wood, arching over the un-
harmed body; the grateful odours, not
impossibly from aromatic woods, which
were used to warm the baths of the more
luxurious, and which were collected for
the sudden execution; the effusion of
blood,f which might excite wonder from
the decrepit frame of a man at least a hun-
dred years old. Even the vision of Poly-
carp himself,% by which he was forewarn-

* The Greek account adds a dove, which soared
from his body, as it were his innocent departing
soul. For TTspioTcpa, however, has been very inge-
niously substituted eir' apiarepa.—See Jortin’s Re-
marks on Ecclesiastical History, i., 316.

f According to the great master of nature, Lady
Macbeth’s diseased memory is haunted with a
similar circumstance at the murder of Duncan.
“Who.would have thought the old man to have
had so much blood in him.”—Macbeth, act v., sc. 1.

f The difficulty of accurately reconciling the
vision with its fulfilment has greatly perplexed the
writers who insist on its preternatural origin.—Jor
tin, p. 307,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

235

ed of his approaching fate, was not unlike-
ly to arise before his mind at that perilous
crisis. Polycarp closed the nameless,train
of Asiatic martyrs.* * * * §

Some few years after, the city of Smyr-
na was visited with a terrible earthquake ;
a generous sympathy was- displayed by
the inhabitants of the neighbouring cities ;
provisions were poured in from all quar-
ters; homes were offered to the house-
less ; carriages furnished to convey the
infirm and the children from the scene of
ruin. They received them as if they had
been their parents or children. The rich
and the poor vied in the offices of charity,
and, in the words of the Grecian sophist,
thought that they were receiving rather
than conferring a favour.']* A Christian
historian may be excused if he discerns
in this humane conduct the manifest prog-
ress of Christian benevolence ; and that
benevolence, if not unfairly ascribed to
the influence of Christianity, is heightened
by the recollection that the sufferers were
those whose amphitheatre had so recent-
ly been stained with the blood of the aged
martyr. If, instead of beholding the re-
tributive hand of Divine vengeance in the
smouldering ruins of the city, they hasten-
ed to alleviate the common miseries of
Christian and of pagan with equal zeal
and liberality, it is impossible not to trace
at once the extraordinary revolution in the
sentiments of mankind, and the purity of
the Christianity which was thus so supe-
rior to those passions which have so often
been fatal to its perfection.

At this period of enthusiastic excite-
ment—of superstition on the one hand, re-
turning in unreasoning terror to its forsa-
ken gods, and working itself up by every
means to a consolatory feeling of the Di-
vine protection; of religion on the other,
relying in humble confidence on the pro-
tection of an all-ruling Providence—when
the religious parties were, it might seem,
aggrandizing their rival deities, and tracing
their conflicting powers throughout the
whole course of human affairs, to every
mind each extraordinary event would be
deeply coloured with supernatural influ-
ence, and, whenever any circumstance
really bore a providential or miraculous
appearance, it would be ascribed by each
party to the favouring interposition of its
own god.

Such was the celebrated event which
was long current in Christian history

* Karerravae rov dicoyfiov.
f Tillemont, Hist, des Emp , ii., p. 687. The
philosopher Aristides wrote an oration on this
event.

as the legend of the thunder- Mirac]e of
ing legion.* Heathen histori- the thunder
ans, medals still extant, and the ing le°lon*
column which bears the name of Anto-
ninus at Rome, concur with Christian tra-
dition in commemorating the extraordh
nary deliverance of the Roman army, du-
ring the war with the German nations,
from a situation of the utmost peril and
difficulty. If the Christians at any time
served in the imperial armies\—if military
service was a question, as seems extreme-
ly probable, which divided the early Chris
tians,J some considering it too closely
connected with the idolatrous practices of
an oath to the fortunes of Caesar and the
worship of the standards, which were tc
the rest of the army, as it were, the house-
hold gods of battle, while others were less
rigid in their practice, and forgot then
piety in their allegiance to their sovereign
and their patriotism to their country—a-1
no time were the Christians more likely
to overcome their scruples than at this
critical period. The armies were recruit
ed by unprecedented means; and man}
Christians who would before have hesi-
tated to enrol themselves might less re-
luctantly submit to the conscription, oj
even think themselves justified in engaging
in what appeared necessary and defensive
warfare. There might then have been
many Christians in the armies of M. Au-
relius, but that they formed a whole sep-
arate legion is manifestly the fiction of a
later age. In the campaign of the year
174, the army advanced incautiously into
a country entirely without water, and in
this faint and enfeebled state was exposed
to a formidable attack of the whole bar-
barian force. Suddenly, at their hour of
most extreme distress, a copious and re-
freshing rain came down, which supplied
their wants ; and while their half-recruited
strength was still ill able to oppose the
onset of the enemy, a tremendous storm,
with lightning and hailstones of an enor-
mous size, drove full upon the adversary,
and rendered his army an easy conquest
to the reviving Romans.^ Of this awful
yet seasonable interposition, the whole

* See Moyle’s Works, vol. ii. Compare Routh,
Reliq. Sacrse, i, 153,.with authors quoted [and Mo-
sheim’s Instit. of Eccles. Hist., vol. i., p. 103, 104,
n. (15)].

t Tertullian, m a passage already1 quoted, states
distinctly militamus vobiscum.

t Neander has developed this notion with his
usual ability in this part of his History of the
Church.

§ In the year after this victory (A.D. 175), the
formidable rebellion of A vidius Cassius disturbed
the Fast, and added to the perils and embarrass-
ments of the empire.236

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

army acknowledged the preternatural, the
Divine origin. By those of darker super-
stition it was attributed to the incantations
of the magician Arnuphis, who controlled
the elements to the service of the emperor.
The medals struck on the occasion, and
, the votive column erected by Marcus him-
self, render homage to the established
deities, to Mercury and to Jupiter.* * * § * The
more rational pagans, with a flattery which
received the suffrage of admiring posterity,
gave the honour to the virtues of Marcus,
which demanded this signal favour from
approving Heaven.f The Christian, of
course, looked alone to that one Almighty
God whose providence ruled the whole
course of nature, and saw the secret opera-
tion of his own prayers meeting with the
favourable acceptance of the Most High.J
“ While the pagans ascribed the honour
of this deliverance to their own Jove,”
writes Tertullian, “ they unknowingly bore
testimony to the Christian’s God.”

The latter end of the reign of Marcus
Aurelius^ was signalized by another scene
of martyrdom, in a part of the empire far
distant from that where persecution had
* before raged with the greatest violence,
though not altogether disconnected from
it by the original descent of the sufferers.||

The Christians of Lyons and Yienne
Martyrs of appear to have been a religious
Vienne. colony from Asia Minor or Phry-
a.d. 177. and t0 kave maintained a

close correspondence with those distant
communities. There is something remark-
able in the connexion between these re-
gions and the East. To this district the
two Herods, A'rchelaus and Herod Antipas,
were successively banished; and it is sin-
gular enough that Pontius Pilate, after his

* Mercury, according to Pagi, appears on one of
the coins relating to this event. Compare Reading’s
npte in Routh, ]. c.

f Lampridius (in vit.) attributes the victory to
the Chaldeans. Marcus, de Seipso (1. i., c. 6), al-
lows that he had the magician Arnuphis in his army.

Chaldsea mago ceu carmina ritu
Armavere Deos, seu, quod reor, omne Tonantis,
Obsequium Marci mores potuere mereri.

Claud., vi., Cons. Hon.
t In Jovis nomine Deo nostro testimonium red-
didit. Tertullian ad Scapulani, p. 20. Euseb., Hist.
Eccl., v., 5.

§ If we had determined to force the events of this
period into an accordance with our own view of the.
persecutions of M. Aurelius, we might have adopted
the chronology of Dod well, who assigns the martyrs
of Lyons to the year 167; but the evidence seems
in favour of the later date, 177.—See Mosheim.
Lardner, who, if not by his critical sagacity, com-
mands authority by his scrupulous honesty, says,
“Nor do I expect that any learned man, who has a
concern for his reputation as a writer, should at-
tempt a direct confutation of this opinion.”—Works,
4to edit., i, 360. || Euseb., Ecc, Hist., v,, 1

recall from Syria, was exiled to the same
neighbourhood.

There now appears a Christian com-
munity, corresponding in Greek with the
mother church.* It is by no means im-
probable that a kind of Jewish settlement
of the attendants on the banished sover-
eigns of Judaea might have been formed
in the neighbourhood of Vienne and Lyons,
and maintained a friendly, no doubt a mer-
cantile, connexion with their opulent breth-
ren of Asia Minor, perhaps through the
port of Marseilles. Though Christianity
does not appear to have penetrated into
Gaul till rather a later period,! it may have
travelled by the same course, and have
been propagated in the Jewish settlement
by converts from Phrygia or Asia Minor.
Its Jewish origin is perhaps confirmed by
its adherence to the Judaso-Christian tenet
of abstinence from blood.J
The commencement of this dreadful,
though local persecution, was an ebullition
of popular fury. It was about this period
when the German war, which had slumber-
ed during some years of precarious peace,
again threatened to disturb the repose of
the empire. Southern Gaul, though secure
beyond the Rhine, was yet at no great dis-
tance from the incursions of the German
tribes, and it is possible that personal ap-
prehensions might- mingle with the general
fanatic terror which exasperated the hea-
thens against their Christian fellow-citi-
zens. The Christians were on a sudden
exposed to a general attack of the popu-
lace. Clamours soon grew to personal
violence ; they were struck, dragged about
the streets, plundered, stoned, shut up in
their houses, until the more merciful hos-
tility of the ruling authorities gave orders
for their arrest and imprisonment until the
arrival of the governor. One man of birth
and rank, Vettius Epagathus, boldly un-
dertook their defence against the vague
charges of atheism and impiety: he was
charged with being himself a Christian,
and fearlessly admitted the honourable
accusation. The greater part of the Chris-
tian community adhered resolutely to their
belief; the few whose courage failed in
the hour of trial, and who purchased their
security by shameful submission, never-
theless did not abandon their more cour-

* Epistola Viennensium et Lugdunensium, in
Routh, i., 265.

t Serius Alpes transgressa is the expression of
a Christian writer, Sulpicius Severus.

t “ How can those eat infants to whom it is not
lawful to eat the blood of brutes ?” Compare, how-
ever, Tertullian’s Apology, ch. 9, and Origen con-
tra Celsum, viii., from whence it appears that this
abstinence was more general among the early Chris-
tians.23?

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

"seous and suffering brethren ; but, at con-
siderable personal danger, continued to
alleviate their sufferings by kindly offices.
Some heathen slaves were at length com-
pelled, by the dread of torture, to confirm
the odious charges which were so general-
ly advanced against the Christians: ban-
quets on human flesh; promiscuous and
incestuous concubinage; Thyestian feasts,
and (Edipodean weddings. The extorted
confessions of these miserable men ex-
asperated even the more moderate of the
heathens, while the ferocious populace had
now free scope for their sanguinary cruel-
ty. The more distinguished victims were
Sanctus, a deacon of Vienne ; a new con-
vert named Maturus, and Attalus, of Phry-
gian descent, from the city of Pergamus.
They were first tortured by means too
horrible to describe, if without such de-
scription the barbarity of the persecutors
and the heroic endurance of the Chris-
tian martyrs could be justly represented.
Many perished in the suffocating air of the
noisome dungeons, many had their feet
strained to dislocation in the stocks; the
more detested victimsafter every other
means of torture were exhausted, had hot
plates of iron placed upon the most sensi-
tive parts of their bodies.

Among these victims was the aged Bish-
op of Lyons, Pothinus, now in his ninetieth
year, who died in prison after two days,
from the ill usage which he had received
from the populace. His feeble body had
failed, but his mind remained intrepid:
when the frantic rabble environed him
with their insults, and demanded, with con-
tumelious cries, “ Who is the God of the
Christians 1” he calmly replied, “ Wert
thou worthy, thou shouldst know.”

But the amphitheatre was the great pub-
lic scene of popular barbarity and of Chris-
tian endurance. They were exposed to
wild beasts, which, however, do not seem
to have been permitted to despatch their
miserable victims, and made to sit in a
heated iron chair till their flesh reeked
upward with an offensive odour.

A rescript of the emperor, instead of al-
laying the popular phrensy, gave ample
license to its uncontrolled violence. Those
who denied the faith were to be released;
those who persisted in it condemned to
death.

But the most remarkable incident in this
Martyrdom fearful and afflicting scene, and
ofBiandina. the most characteristic of the
social change which Christianity had be-

gun to work, was this, that the chief hon-
ours of this memorable martyrdom were
assigned to a female and a slave. Even
the Christians themselves scarcely appear
aware of the deep and universal influence
of their own sublime doctrines. The mis-
tress of Blandina, herself a martyr, trem-
bled lest the weak body, and, still more, the
debased condition of the lowly associate in
her trial, might betray her to criminal con-
cession. Blandina shared in all the most
excruciating sufferings of the most distin-
guished victims ; she equalled them in the
calm and unpretending superiority to every
pain which malice, irritated and licensed,
as it were, to exceed, if it were possible,
its own barbarities on the person of a slave,
could invent. She was selected by the
peculiar vengeance of the persecutors,
whose astonishment probably increased
their malignity, for new and unprecedented
tortures, which she bore with the same
equable magnanimity.

Blandina was first led forth with Sanc-
tus, Maturus, and Attalus, and no doubt
the ignominy of their public exposure^was
intended to be heightened by their associ-
ation with a slave. The wearied execu-
tioners wondered that her life could endure
during the horrid succession of torments
which they inflicted. Blandina’s only re-
ply was, “ I am a Christian, and no wick-
edness is practised among us.”

In the amphitheatre she was suspended
to a stake, while the combatants Maturus
and Sanctus derived vigour and activity
from the tranquil prayers which she ut-
tered in her agony, and the less savage
wild beasts kept aloof from their prey.
A third time she was brought forth, as a
public exhibition of suffering, with a youth
of fifteen named Ponticus. During every
kind of torment her language and her ex-
ample animated the courage and confirm-
ed the endurance of the boy, who at length
expired under the torture. Blandina re-
joiced at the approach of death as if she
had been invited to a wedding banquet,
and not thrown to the wild beasts. She
was at length released. After she had
been scourged, placed in the iron chair,
enclosed in a net, and, now in a state of
insensibility, tossed by a bulj, some more
merciful barbarian transpierced her with a
sword. The remains of all these martyrs,
after remaining long unburied, were cast
into the Rhone, in order to mock and ren-
der still more improbable their hopes of a
resurrection.238

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

CHAPTER VIII.

FOURTH PERIOD. CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SUCCESSORS OF M. AURELIUS.

Such was the state of Christianity at the
Fourth commencement of the fourth period,
period, between its first promulgation and
its establishment under Constantine. The
golden days of the Roman empire had al-
ready begun to darken, and closed forever
with the reign of Marcus the philosopher.
The empire of the world became the prize
of bold adventure or the precarious gift of
a lawless soldiery. During little more
Rapid sue- than a century, from the. acces-
cession of sion 0f Commodus to that of Dio-
ajlTsq’ clesian, more than twenty em-
*0*284. perors (not to mention the pa-
geants of a day, and the competitors for the
throne who retained a temporary author-
ity over some single province) flitted like
shadows along the tragic scene of the im-
perial palace. A long line of military ad-
venturers, often strangers to the name, to
the race, to the language of Rome—Afri-
cans and Syrians, Arabs and Thracians—
seized the quickly-shifting sceptre of the
world. The change of sovereign was al-
nnost always a change of dynasty, or, by
some strange fatality, every attempt to
re-establish an hereditary succession was
thwarted by the vices or imbecility of the
second generation. M. Aurelius is suc-
ceeded by the brutal Commodus ; the vig-
orous and able Severus by the fratricide
Caracalla. One of the imperial historians
has made the melancholy observation, that
of the great men of Rome scarcely one
left a son the heir of his virtues ; they had
either died without offspring or had left
such heirs that it had been better for man-
kind if they had died leaving no posterity.*
In the weakness and insecurity of the
insecurity of throne lay the strength and safe-
the throne ty of Christianity. During such

Christ"?nff° a Peri°d 110 systematic policy
ri&tiamty. wag pUrslle(j jn any 0f the lead-
ing internal interests of the empire. It
was a government of temporary expedi-
ents, of individual passions. The first and
commanding object of each succeeding
head of a dynasty was to secure his con-
tested throne, and to centre upon himself

* Nerainem prope magnorum virorum optimum
et utilem filium reliquisse satis claret. Denique
aut sine liberis viri interierunt, aut tales habuerunt
plerique, ut melius fuerit de rebus humanis sine pos-
teritate discedere.—Spartiani Severus, Aug. Hist.,
p. 360.

the wavering or divided allegiance of the
provinces. Many of the emperors were
deeply and inextricably involved in foreign
wars, and had no time to devote to the
social changes within the pale of the em-
pire. The tumults or the terrors of Ger-
man, or Gothic, or Persian inroad, effected
a perpetual diversion from the slow and
silent internal aggressions of Christianity.
The frontiers constantly and imperiously
demanded the presence of the emperor, and
left him no leisure to attend to the feeble re-
monstrances of the neglected priesthood :
the dangers of the civil absorbed those of
the religious constitution. Thus Christian-
ity had another century of regular and pro-
gressive advancement to arm itself for the
inevitable collision with the temporal au-
thority, till, in the reign of Dioclesian, it
had grown far beyond the power of the
most unlimited and arbitrary despotism to
arrest its invincible progress; and Con-
stantine, whatever the motives of his con-
version, no doubt adopted a wise and ju-
dicious policy in securing the alliance,
rather than continuing the strife with an
adversary which divided the wealth, the
intellect, if not the property and the popu-
lation of the empire.

The persecutions which' took place du-
ring this interval were the hasty Causes of
consequences of the personal persecutions
hostility of the emperors, not durinfthis
the mature and deliberate policy
of a regular and permanent government.
In general, the vices and the detestable
characters of the persecutors would tend
to vindicate the innocence of Christianity,
and to enlist the sympathies of mankind
in its favour rather than to deepen the
general animosity. Christianity, which
had received the respectful homage of
Alexander Severus, could not lose in pub-
lic estimation by being exposed to the
gladiatorial fury of Maximin. Some of
the emperors were almost as much stran-
gers to the gods as to the people and to.
the senate of Rome. They seemed to
take a reckless delight in violating the an-
cient majesty of the Roman religion.
Foreign superstitions almost equally new,
and scarcely less offensive to the general
sentiment, received the public, the pre-em-
inent homage of the emperor. Commo-
dus, though the Grecian Hercules was,atHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

239

once his model, his type, and his deity,
was an ardent votary of the Isiac Myste-
ries ; and at the Syrian worship of the Sun,
in all its foreign and Oriental pomp, Ela-
gabalus commanded the attendance of the
trembling senate.

If Marcus Aurelius was, as it were, the
Commodus. ^ast effort of expiring Polythe-
a.d. 180 to ism, or, rather, of ancient phi-
l93- losophy, to produce a perfect

man, according to the highest ideal con-
ception of human reason, the brutal Com-
modus might appear to retrograde to the
savage periods of society. Commodus
was a gladiator on the throne; and if the
mind, humanized either by the milder spir-
it of the times or by the incipient influence
of Christianity, had begun to turn in dis-
taste from the horrible spectacles which
flooded the arena with human carnage, the
disgust would be immeasurably deepened
by the appearance of the emperor as the
chief actor in these sanguinary scenes.
Even Nero’s theatrical exhibitions had
something of the elegance of a polished
age; the actor in one of the noble trage-
dies of ancient Greece, or even the accom-
plished. musician, might derogate from the
dignity of an emperor, yet might, in some
degree, excuse the unseemliness of his
pursuits by their intellectual character.
But the amusements and public occupa-
tions of Commodus had long been con-
signed by the general contempt and abhor-
rence to the meanest of mankind, to bar-
barians and slaves ; and were as debasing
to the civilized man as unbecoming in the
head of the empire.* The courage which
Commodus displayed in confronting the
hundred lions which were let loose in the
arena, and fell by his shafts (though in fact
the imperial person was carefully guarded
against real dangers), and the skill with
which he clave with an arrow the slender
neck of the giraffe, might have commanded
the admiration of a flattering court. But
when he appeared as a gladiator, gloried
in the acts, and condescended to receive
the disgraceful pay of a profession so in-
famous as to degrade forever the man of
rank or character who had been forced
upon the stage by the tyranny of former
emperors, the courtiers, who had been
bred in the severe and dignified school of
the philosopher, must have recoiled with
shame, and approved, if not envied, the
more rigid principles of the Christians,
which kept them aloof from such degra-
ding spectacles. Commodus was an avow-
ed proselyte of the Egyptian religion, but
his favourite god was the Grecian Hercu-
les. He usurped the attributes and placed

* A21ii Lampridii, Commodus, in August. Hist.

his own head on the statues of this deity,
which was the impersonation, as it were,
of brute force and corporeal strength. But
a deity which might command adoration
in a period of primaeval barbarism, when
man lives in a state of perilous warfare
with the beasts of the forests, in a.more
intellectual age sinks to his proper level.
He might be the appropriate god of a gladi-
ator, but not of a Roman emperor.*

Everything which tended to desecrate
the popular religion to the feelings of the
more enlightened and intellectual must
have strengthened the cause of Christian-
ity ; the more the weaker parts of pagan-
ism, and those most alien to the prevailing
sentiment of the times, were obtruded on
the public view, the more they must have
contributed to the advancement of that
faith which was rapidly attaining to the
full growth of a rival to the established re-
ligion. The subsequent deification of Com-
modus, under the reign of Severus, in wan-
ton resentment against the senate,! Pre~
vented his odious memory from sinking
into oblivion. His insults upon the more
rational part of the existing religion could
no longer be forgotten, as merely emana-
ting from his personal character. Com-
modus, advanced into a god after his death,
brought disrepute upon the whole Poly-
theism of the empire. Christianity was
perpetually, as it were, at hand, and ready
to profit by every favourable juncture. By
a singular accident, the ruffian Commodus
was personally less inimically disposed to
the Christians than his wise and amiable
father. His favourite concubine, Martia,
in some manner connected with the Chris-
tians, mitigated the barbarity of his tem-
per, and restored to the persecuted Chris-
tians a long and unbroken peace, which
had been perpetually interrupted by the
hostility of the populace and the edicts
of the government in the former reign.
Christianity had no doubt been rigidly re-
pelled from the precincts of the court du-
ring the life of Marcus by the predomi-
nance of the philosophic faction. From
this period, a Christian party occasionally
appears in Rome: many families of dis-
tinction and opulence professed Christian

* In the new fragments of Dion Cassius recover-
ed by M. Mai there is an epigram pointed against
the assumption of the attributes of Hercules by
Commodus. The emperor had placed his own head
on the colossal statue of Hercules, with the inscrip-
tion Lucius Commodus Hercules.

Awe Kale hLaXkivu<.oq 'HpaiOS/e,

Ovie elfu AsvKwg, ak7' avayaa^ovcu fte.

The point is not very clear, but it appears to be a
protest of the god against being confounded with the
emperor.—Mai, Fragm. Vatic., ii., 225.

f Spartiani, Severus, Hist. Aug, p. 345.240

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tenets, and it is sometimes found in con-
nexion with the imperial family. Still
Rome, to the last, seems to have been the
centre of the pagan interest, though other
causes will hereafter appear for this curi-
ous fact in the conflict of the two religions.

Severus wielded the sceptre of the
ReicrnofSe- world with the vigour of the
verus. a.d. older empire. But his earlier
194 to 210. years were occupied in the es-
tablishment of his power over the hostile
factions of his competitors and by his
Eastern wars; his later by the settlement
of the remote province of Britain.* * Se-
verus was at one time the protector, at
another the persecutor, of .Christianity:
Local circumstances appear to have in-
fluenced his conduct on both occasions
to the Christian party. A Christian named
Proculus, a dependant, probably, upon his
favourite freed slave Evodus, had been so
fortunate as to restore him to health by
anointing him with oil, and was received
into the imperial family, in which he re-
tained his honourable situation till his
death. Not improbably through the same
connexion, a Christian nurse and a Chris-
infancy of tian preceptor formed the dispo-
Caracaiia. gition of the young Caracalla;
and, till the natural ferocity of his charac-
ter ripened under the fatal influence of
jealous ambition, fraternal hatred, and.un-
bounded power, the gentleness of his man-
ners and the sweetness of his temper
enchanted and attached his family, his
friends, the senate, and the people of
Rome. The people beheld with satisfac-
tion the infant pupil of Christianity turning
aside his head and weeping at the barbar-
ity of the ordinary public spectacles, in
which criminals were exposed to wild
beasts.f The Christian interest at the
court repressed the occasional outbursts
of popular animosity: many Christians of
rahk and distinction enjoyed the avowed
favour of the emperor.. Their security
may partly be attributed to their calm de-
termination not to mingle themselves up
Peaceful con- with the contending factions for
duct of the the empire. During the; con-
Christians. 0f parties they had refused

to espouse the cause either of Niger or
Albinus. Retired within themselves, they
rendered their prompt and cheerful obe-
dience to the ruling emperor. The im-
placable vengeance which Severus wreak-
ed on the senate for their real or suspected
inclination to the party of Albinus, his re-
morseless execution of so many of the
noblest of the aristocracy, may have placed

* Compare Tillemont, Hist, des Empereurs, in.,
part i., p. 146.

t Spartian., Anton., Caracalla, p. 404.

in a stronger light the happier fortune, and
commended the unimpeachable loyalty, o)
the Christians. The provincial governors,
as usual, reflected the example of the
court; some adopted merciful expedients
to avoid the necessity of carrying the law
into effect against those Christians who
were denounced before their tribunals,
while the more venal humanity of others
extorted a considerable profit from the
Christians for their security. The unlaw-
ful religion in many places purchased its
peace at the price of a regular tax, which
was paid by other illegal, and mostly in-
famous, professions. This traffic with the
authorities was sternly denounced by some
of the more ardent believers as degrading
to the religion, and an ignominious barter
of the hopes and glory of martyrdom.*
Such was the flourishing and peaceful
state of Christianity during ’the Persecution
early part of the reign of Seve- hi the East,
rus. In the East, at a later period, he em-
braced a sterner policy. During
the conflict with Niger, the Sa-
maritans had espoused the losing, the Jews
the successful, party. The edicts of Se-
verus were, on the whole, favourable to the
Jews, but the prohibition to circumcise
proselytes was re-enacted during his resi-
dence in Syria, in the tenth year of his reign.
The same prohibition against the admission
of new proselytes was extended to the
Christians. But this edict may have been
intended to allay the violence of the hostile
factions in Syria. Of the perse- cill.istianity
cution under Severus there are not persecu
few, if any, traces in the West.f ^ in the
It is confined to Syria, perhaps est‘
Cappadocia, to Egypt, and to Africa; and
in the latter provinces appears as the act
of hostile governors, proceeding upon the
existing laws’ rather than the consequence
of any recent edict of the emperor. The
Syrian Eusebius may -have exaggerated
local acts of, oppression, of which the sad
traces, were recorded in his native country,
into a general persecution : he admits that
Alexandrea was the chief scene of Chris-
tian suffering. The date and the Probable
scene of the persecution may lend pauses,
a clew to its origin. From Syria the em-

* Sed quid non timiditas persuadebit, quasi et
fugere scriptura permittat, et redimere praecipiat.

* * * Nescio dolendum an erubescendum sit cum
in matricibus beneficiariorum et curiosorum, inter
tabernarios et Janios et fures balnearum et aleones
et lenones, Christiani quoque vectigales continen-
tur.—Tertull., de fuga, c 13.

f Nous ne trouvons rien de considerable tou-
chanUes martyrs que la persecution de Severe a pu
faire a Rome et en Italie.—Tillemont. St. Ande-
ole, and the other martyrs in Gaul (Tillemont, p.
160), are of more than suspicious authority.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.'

241

peror, exactly at this time, proceeded to
E Egypt. He surveyed with won-
* dering interest the monuments of
Egyptian glory and of Egyptian supersti-
tion,* * * § * the temples of Memphis, the Pyra-
mids, the Labyrinth, the Memnonium.
The plague alone prevented him from con-
tinuing his excursions into Ethiopia. The
dark and relentless mind of Severus ap-
pears to have been strongly impressed
with the religion of Serapis. In either
character, as the great Pantheistic deity,
which absorbed the attributes and func-
tions of all the more ancient gods of Egypt,
or in his more limited character as the
Pluto of their mythology, the lord of the
realm of departed spirits, Serapisf was
likely to captivate the imagination of Se-
verus, and to suit those gloomier moods
in which it delighted in brooding over the
secrets of futurity ; and, having realized
the proud prognostics of greatness which
his youth had watched with hope, now be-
gan to dwell on the darker omens of de-
cline and dissolution.f The hour of im-
perial favour was likely to be seized by
the Egyptian priesthood to obtain the mas-
tery, and to wreak their revenge on this
new foreign religion, which was making
such rapid progress throughout the prov-
ince and the whole of Africa. Whether
or not the emperor actually authorized
the persecution, his countenance would
strengthen the pagan interest, and encour-
age the obsequious praefect^ in adopting
violent measures. Laetus would be vindi-
cating the religion of the emperor in as-
serting the superiority of Serapis ; and the
superiority of Serapis could be by no
means so effectually asserted as by the
oppression of his most powerful adversa-
ries. Alexandrea was the ripe and preg-
nant soil of religious feud and deadly ani-
mosity. The hostile parties which di-
vided the city—the Jews, the pagans, and
the Christians—though perpetually blend-
ing and modifying each other’s doctrines,
and forming schools in which Judaism alle-
gorized itself into Platonism; Platonism,
having assimilated itself to the higher
Egyptian mythology, soared into Christi-
anity ; and a Platonic Christianity, from a
religion, became a mystic philosophy,
awaited, nevertheless, the signal for perse-
cution, and for license to draw off in sangui-

* Spartian., Hist. Aug., p. 553.

f Compare de Guigniaut, Serapis et son Origine.

i Spartian had the advantage of consulting the
autobiography cf the Emperor Severus. Had time
but spared us the original, and taken the whole Au-
gustan history in exchange!

§ His name was Lsetus.—Euseb., Eccl. Hist.,
VI 2.

H H

nary factions, and to settle the controver-
sies of the schools by bloody tumults in the
streets.* The perpetual syncretism of
opinions, instead of leading to peace and
charity, seemed to inflame the deadly ani-
mosity ; and the philosophical spirit which
attempted to blend all the higher doctrines
into a lofty Eclectic system, had no effect
in harmonizing the minds of the different
sects to mutual toleration and amity. It
was now the triumph of paganism. The
controversy with Christianity was carried
on by burning their priests and torturing
their virgins, until the catechetical or ele-
mentary schools of learning by which the
Alexandrean Christians trained up their
pupils for the reception of their more mys-
terious doctrines were deserted, the young
Origen alone labouring with indefatigable
and successful activity to supply the void
caused by the general desertion of the
persecuted teachers.f
The African praefect followed the ex-
ample of Laetus in Egypt. In no Africa
part of the Roman empire had Chris-
tianity taken more deep and permanent
root than in the province of Africa, then
crowded with rich and populous cities,
and forming, with Egypt, the granary of
the Western world, but which many cen-
turies of Christian feud, Vandal invasion,
and Mohammedan barbarism have blasted
to a thinly-peopled desert. Up to this pe-
riod, this secluded region had gone on ad-
vancing in its uninterrupted course of civ-
ilization. Since the battle of Munda, the
African province had stood aloof from the
tumults and desolation which attended the
changes in the imperial dynasty. As yet
it had raised no competitor for the empire,
though Severus, the ruling monarch, was
of African descent. The single legion,
which was considered adequate to protect
its remote tranquillity from the occasional
incursions of the Moorish tribes, had been
found sufficient for its purpose. The pa-
ganism of the African cities was probably
weaker than in other parts of the empire.
It had no ancient and sacred associations
with national pride. The new cities had
raised new temples to gods foreign to the
region. The religion of Carthage,{ if it

* Leonidas, the father of Origen, perished in this
persecution. Origen was only kept away from join-
ing him in his imprisonment, and, if possible, in hio
martyrdom, by the prudent stratagem of his mother,
who concealed all his clothes. The boy of seven-
teen sent a letter to,his father, entreating him not
to allow his parental affection for himself and his
six brothers to stand in his way of obtaining the
martyr’s crown.—Euseb., vi., 2. The propertyhjf
Leonidas was confiscated to the imperial treasury.
—Ibid. f Euseb., Eccl. Hist., vi., 2.

f Compare Miinter, Ilelig. der Carthager. Th*242

• HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

had not entirely perished with the final de-
struction of the city, maintained but a
feeble hold upon the Italianized inhabi-
tants. The Carthage of the empire was
a Roman city. If Christianity tended to
mitigate the fierce spirit of the inhabitants
of these burning regions, it acquired itself
a depth and impassioned vehemence, which
perpetually broke through all restraints of
moderation, charity, and peace. From
Tertullian to Augustine, the climate seems
to be working into the language, into the
essence of Christianity. Here disputes
madden into feuds; and feuds, which in
other countries were allayed by time or
died away of themselves, grew into obsti-
nate, implacable, and irreconcilable fac-
tions.

African Christianity had no communion
African with the dreamy and speculative
Christianity, genius of the East. It sternly
rejected the wild and poetic impersona-
tions, the daring cosmogonies, of the Gnos-
tic sects : it was severe, simple, practical
in its creed ; it governed by its strong and
imperious hold upon the feelings, by pro-
found and agitating emotion. It eagerly
received the rigid asceticism of the anti-
materialist system, while it disdained the
fantastic theories by which it accounted
for the origin of evil. The imagination
had another office than that of following
out. its own fanciful creations: it spoke
directly to the fears and to the passions ;
it delighfed in realizing the terrors of the
final judgment; in arraying in the most
appalling language the gloomy mysteries
of future retribution. This character ap-
pears in the dark splendour of Tertullian’s
writings; engages him in contemptuous
and relentless warfare against the Gnos-
tic opinions, and their latest and most dan-
gerous champion, Marcion ; till at length
it hardens into the severe yet simpler en-
thusiasm of Montanism. It appears al-
lied with the stern assertion of ecclesias-
tical order and sacerdotal domination in
the earnest and zealous Cyprian ; it is still
manifestly working, though in a chasten-
ed and loftier form, in the deep and im-
passioned, but comprehensive mind of
Augustine.

Tertullian alone belongs to the present
period, and Tertullian is, perhaps, the rep-
resentative and the perfect type of this
Africanism. It is among the most re-
markable illustrations of the secret uni-
worship of the Dea Cce-lestis, the Queen of Heaven,
should perhaps be excepted. See, forward, the
reign of Elagabalus. Even in the fifth century the
Queen of Heaven, according to Salvian (de Guber*
natione Dei, lib. viii.), shared the worship of Car-
thage with Christ.

ty which connected the whole Chiistrau
world, that opinions first propagated on
the shores of the Euxine found their most
vigorous antagonist on the coast of Afri-
ca, while a new and fervid enthusiasm
which arose in Phrygia captivated tb*
kindred spirit of Tertullian. Montanism
harmonized with African Chris- Montar,i5im
tianity in the simplicity of its
creed, which did not depart from the pre-
dominant form of Christianity ; in the ex-
treme rigour of its fasts (for, while Gnos-
ticism outbid the religion of Jesus and his
apostles, Montanism outbid the Gnostics
in its austerities ;* it admitted marriage
as a necessary evil, but it denounced sec-
ond nuptials as an inexpiable sinf); above
all, in its resolving religion into inward
emotion. There is a singular correspond-
ence between Phrygian heathenism and
the Phrygian Christianity of Montanos and
his followers. The Orgiasm, the inward
rapture, the working of a Divine influence
upon the soul till it was wrought up to a
state of holy phrensy, had continually sent
forth the priests of Cybele, and females of
a highly excitable temperament, into the
Western.provinces whom the vulgar
beheld with awe, as manifestly possessed
by the divinity ; whom the philosophic
party, equally mistaken, treated with con-
tempt as impostors. So, with the follow-
ers of Montanos (and women were his
most ardent votaries), with Prisca and
Maximilla, the apostles of his sect, the
pure, and meek, and peaceful spirit of
Christianity became a wild, a visionary,
a frantic enthusiasm : it worked parox-
ysms of intense devotion; it made the soul
partake of all the fever of physical excitc-

* The Western churches were as yet generally
averse to the excessive fasting subsequently inti o-
duced to so great an extent by the monastic spirit
See the curious vision of Attalus, the marlvr of
Lyons, in which a fellow-prisoner, Alcibindcs' who
had long lived on bread and water alone, was re-
proved for not making free use of God’s creatures,
and thus giving offence to the Church. The
churches of Lyons and Vienne having been found-
ed from Phrygia, were anxious to avoid the least
imputation of Montanism.—Euseb , Eccles. Hist.,
v., 3.

| The prophetesses abandoned their husbands
according to Apollonius apud Euseb , v., 18.

$ The effect of national character and tempera
ment on the opinions and form of religion did not
escape the observation of the Christian writers.
There is a curious passage on the Phrygian nation-
al character in Socrates, H. E., iv., 28 : “ The Phry-
gians are a chaste and temperate people; they sel-
dom swear : the Scythians and Thracians are
choleric ; the Eastern nations more disposed to im-
morality; the Paphlagonians and Phrygians'to nei-
ther ; they do not care for the theatre or the games ;
prostitution is unusual.” Their suppressed pas
sions seem to have broken out at all periods in re*
ligious emotions.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

243

ment. As in all ages where the mild and
rational faith of Christ has been too calm
and serene for persons brooding to mad-
ness over their own internal emotions, it
proclaimed itself a religious advancement,
a more sublime and spiritual Christianity.
Judaism was the infancy, Christianity the
youth, the revelation of the Spirit the
manhood of the human soul. It was this
Spirit, this Paraclete, which resided in all
its fulness in the bosom of Montanus ; his
adversaries asserted that he gave himself
out as the Paraclete ; but it is more prob-
able that his vague and mystic language
was misunderstood, or possibly misrep-
resented, by the malice of his adversaries.
In Montanism the sectarian, the exclusive
spirit, was at its height; and this claim to
higher perfection, this seclusion from the
vulgar race of Christians, whose weakness
had been too often shown in the hour of
trial; who had neither attained the height
of his austerity, nor courted martyrdom,
nor refused all ignominious compromises
with the persecuting authorities with the
unbending rigour which he demanded,
would still farther commend the claims
of Montanism to the homage of Tertul-
lian.

During this persecution Tcrtullian stood
Apology of forth as the apologist of Christian-
Tertufiian. ity; and the tone of his apology
is characteristic, not only of the individual,
but of his native country, while it is no
less illustrative of the altered position of
Christianity. The address of Tertullian
to Scapula, the prsefect of Africa, is no
longer in the tone of tranquil expostula-
tion against the barbarity of persecuting
blameless and unoffending men, still less
that of humble supplication. Every sen-
tence breathes scorn, defiance, menace.
It heaps contempt upon the gods of pa-
ganism ; it avows the determination of
the Christians to expel the demons from
the respect and adoration of mankind. It
condescends not to exculpate the Chris-
tians from being the cause of the calami-
ties which had recently laid waste the
province : the torrent rains, which had
swept away the harvests; the fires, which
had heaped with ruin the streets of Car-
thage; the sun, which had been preter-
naturally eclipsed when at its meridian,
during an assembly of the province at
Utica. All these portentous signs are une-
quivocally ascribed to the vengeance of
the Christian’s God visiting the guilt of
obstinate idolatry. The persecutors of
the Christians are warned by the awful
examples of Roman dignitaries who had
been stricken blind and eaten with worms,
as the chastisement of Heaven for their

injustice and cruelty to the worshippers
of Christ. Scapula himself is sternly ad-
monished to take warning by their fate;
while the orator, by no means deficient,
at the same time, in dexterous address,
reminds him of the humane policy of
others : “Your cruelty will be our glory.
Thousands of both sexes, and of every
rank, will eagerly crowd to martyrdom, ex-
haust your fires, and weary your swords,
Carthage must be decimated; the princi-
pal persons in the city, even perhaps
your own most intimate friends and kin-
dred, must be sacrificed Vainly will you
war against God. Magistrates are but
men, and will suffer the common lot of
mortality; but Christianity will endure as
long as the Roman empire, and the dura-
tion of .the empire will be coeval with
that of the world.”

History, even Christian history, is con-
fined to more general views of public af-
fairs, and dwells too exclusively on what
may be called the high places of human
life; but, whenever a glimpse is' afforded
of lowlier and of more common life, it is,
perhaps, best fulfilling its office of pre-
senting a lively picture of the times if
it allows itself occasionally some more
minute detail, and illustrates the manner
in which the leading events of particular
periods affected individuals not in the high-
est station.

Of all the histories of martyrdom, none
is so unexaggerated in its tone Marlyrdom
and language, so entirely mien- ofPerpetua
cumbered with miracle; none andFeiicitas
abounds in such exquisite touches of na-
ture, or, on the whole, from its minuteness
and circumstantiality, breathes such an
air of truth and reality, as that of Perpeiua
and Felicitas, two African females. Theii
death is ascribed in the Acts to the yeai
of the accession of Geta,* the son of Seve

* The external evidence to the authenticity * /
these Acts is not quite equal to the internal. Th< /
were first published by Lucas Holstenitis, from \
MS. in the convent of Monte Casino : re-edited y
Valesius at Paris, and by Ruinart, in his Acta S*n-
cera Martyrum, p. 90, who collated two other
MSS. There appear, however, strong indications
that the Acts of these African Martyrs are trans-
lated from the Greek; at least it is difficult other-
wise to account for the frequent untranslated Greek
words and idioms in the text. The following are
examples : C. iii., turbarum beneficio, yapiv' c. iv.,
bene venisti, tegnon, tskvov viii., in oramate, a vis-
ion, dpapare diadema or diastema, an interval, hao-
rrjpa' c. x., afe, afi)• xii., agios, agios, agios.

There are, indeed, some suspicious marks of Mon-
tanism, which perhaps prevented these Acts from
being more generally known.

It is not quite clear where these martyrs suffered.
Valesius supposed Carthage; others, in that one of
the two towns called Tuburbium which was sitt\
ated in proconsular Africa.244

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

rus. Though there was no general perse-
cution at that period, yet, as the Christians
held their lives at all times lia-
a.d. 202. j.jie outburst 0f popular re-

sentment, or the caprice of an arbitrary
proconsul, there is much probability that
a time of general rejoicing might be that
: in which the Christians, who were always
accused of a disloyal reluctance to mingle
in the popular festivities, and w7ho kept
aloof from the public sacrifices on such
anniversaries, would be most exposed to
persecution. The youthful catechumens,
Revocatus and Felicitas, Saturninus and
Secundulus, were apprehended, and with
them Vivia Perpetua, a woman of good
family, liberal education, and honourably
married. Perpetua was about twenty-two
years old; her father and mother were
living; she had two brothers—one of
them, like herself, a catechumen—and an
infant at her breast. The history of the
martyrdom is related by Perpetua herself,
and is said to have been written by her
own hand: “ When we were in the hands
of the persecutors, my father, in his tender
affection, persevered in his endeavours to
pervert me from the faith.* ‘My father,
this vessel, be it a pitcher or anything
else, can we call it by any other name V
‘ Certainly not.,’ he replied. ‘ Nor can I
call myself by any name but that of
Christian!’ My father looked as if he
could have plucked my eyes out; but he
only harassed me, and departed, persuaded
by the arguments of the devil. Then, after
being a few days without seeing my father,
I was enabled to give thanks to God, and
his absence was tempered to my spirit.
After a few days we were baptized, and
the waters of baptism seemed to give
power of endurance to my body. Again
a few days, and we were cast into prison.
I was terrified ; for I had never before
seen such total darkness. 0 miserable
day! from the dreadful heat of the prison-
ers crowded together, and the insults of
the soldiers. But I was w7rung with so-
licitude for my infant. Two of our dea-
cons, however, by the payment of money,
obtained our removal for some hours in
the day to a more open part of the prison.
Each of the captives then pursued his
usual occupation; but I sat and suckled
my infant, who was wasting away with
hunger. In my anxiety, I addressed and
consoled my mother, and commended my
child to my brother; and I began to pine
away at seeing them pining away on my
account. And for many days I suffered

* Dejicere, to cast me down, is the expressive
phrase, not uncommon among the early Christians.

this anxiety, and accustomed my child to
remain in the prison with me; and I im-
mediately recovered my strength, and was
relieved from my toil and trouble for my
infant, and the prison became to me like a
palace ; and I was happier there than ]
should have been anywhere else.

“ My brother then said to me, ‘ Perpetua,
you are exalted to such dignity that you
may pray for a vision, and it shall be
shown you whether our doom is martyr-
dom or release.’” This is the language
of Montanism; but the vision is exactly
that which might haunt the slumbers of
the Christian in a high state of religious
enthusiasm ; it showed merely the familiar
images of the faith arranging themselves
into form. She saw a lofty ladder of gold
ascending to heaven; around it were
swords, lances, hooks; and a great dra-
gon lay at its foot, to seize those who
would ascend. Saturus, a distinguished
Christian, went up first, beckoned her to
follow, and controlled the dragon by the
name of Jesus Christ. She ascended, and
found herself in a spacious garden, in which
sat a man with white hair, in the garb of
a shepherd, milking his sheep,* with many
myriads around him. He welcomed her,
and gave her a morsel of cheese ; and ‘k 1
received it with folded hands, and ate it;
and all the saints around exclaimed‘Amen.’
I awoke at the sound, with the sweet taste
in my mouth, and I related it to my broth-
er ; and we knew that our martyrdom was
at hand, and we began to have no hope in
this world.

“ After a few days there was a rumour
that we were to be heard. And my father
came from the city, wasted away with
anxiety, to pervert me ; and he said, ‘ Have
compassion, 0 my daughter! on my gray
hairs; have compassion on thy father, if
he is worthy of the name of father. If 1
have thus brought thee'up to the flower of
thine age, if I have preferred thee to all
thy brothers, do not expose me to this
disgrace. Look on thy brother; look on
thy mother and thy aunt; look on thy
child, who cannot live without thee. Do
not destroy us all.’ Thus spake my fa-
ther, kissing my hands in his fondness,
and throwing himself at my feet; and in
his tears he called me, not his daughter,
but his mistress (domina). And I was
grieved for the gray hairs of my father,
because he alone of all our family, did not
rejoice in my martyrdom : and I consoled
him, saying, ‘ In this trial, what God wills

* Bishop Miinter, in his Sinnbilder der alien
Christen, refers to this passage to illustrate one
of the oldest bas-reliefs of Christian art.—H. i.. p
62.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

245

will take place. Know that we are not in
our own power, but in that of God.’ And
he went away sorrowing.

44 Another day, while we were at dinner,
we were suddenly seized and carried off
to trial; and we came to the town, The
report spread rapidly, and an immense
multitude was assembled. We were
placed at the bar; the rest were interro-
gated, and made their confession. And it
cdrne to my turn; and my father instantly
appeared with my child, and he drew me
down the step, and said in a beseeching
tone, 4 Have compassion on your infant
and Hilarianus the* procurator, who exer-
cised the power of life and death for the
proconsul Timinianus, who had died, said,

4 vSpare the gray hairs of your parent;
spare your infant; offer sacrifice for the
welfare of the emperor.’ And I answered,

4 I will not sacrifice.’ 4 Art thou a Chris-
tian V said Hilarianus. I answered, 41 am
a Christian.’ And while my father stood
there to persuade me, Hilarianus ordered
him to be thrust down and beaten with
rods. And the misfortune of my father
grieved me; and I was as much grieved
for his old age as if I had been scourged
myself. He then passed a sentence on us
all, and condemned us to the wild beasts;
and we went back in cheerfulness to the
prison. And because I was accustomed
to suckle my infant, and to keep it with
me in the prison, I sent Pomponius the
deacon to seek it from my father. But
my father would not send it; but, by the
will of God, the child no longer desired
the breast, and I suffered no uneasiness,
lest at such a time I should be afflicted by
the sufferings of my child or by pains in
my breasts.”

Her visions now grow more frequent
and vivid. The name of her brother Di-
nocrates suddenly occurred to her in her
prayers. He had died at seven years old,
of a loathsome disease, no doubt without
Christian baptism. She had a vision in
which Dinocrates appeared in a place of
profound darkness, where there was a pool
of water, which he could not reach on ac-
count of his small stature. In a second
vision Dinocrates appeared again; the
pool rose up and touched him, and he
drank a full goblet of the water. “And
when he was satisfied he went away to
play, as infants are wont, and I awoke ;
and I knew that he was translated from
the place of punishment.”*

Again a few days, and the keeper of the
prison, profoundly impressed by their con-
duct, and beginning to discern 44 the power

* This is evidently a kind of purgatory.

of God within them,” admitted many of the
brethren to visit them for mutual consola-
tion. 44 And as the day of the games ap-
proached, my father entered, worn out with
affliction, and began to pluck his beard, and
to throw himself down with his face upon
the ground, and to wish that he could hast-
en his death, and to speak words which
might have moved any living creature.
And I was grieved for the sorrows of his
old age.” The night before they were to
be exposed in the arena, she dreamed that
she was changed to a man; fought and
triumphed over a huge and terrible Egyp-
tian gladiator; and she put her foot upon
his head, and she received the crown, and
passed out of the Vivarian gate, and knpw
that she had triumphed, not over man, but
over the devil. The vision of Saturus,
which he related for their consolation,
was more splendid. He ascended into the
realms of light, into a beautiful garden, and
to a palace, the walls of which were light;
and there he was welcomed, not only by
the angels, but by all the friends who had
preceded him in the glorious career. It is
singular that, among the rest, he saw a
bishop and a priest, among whom there
had been some dissension. And while
Perpetua was conversing with them, the
angels interfered and insisted on their per-
fect reconciliation. Some kind of blame
seems to be attached to the Bishop Opta-
tus, because some of his flock appeared as
if they came from the factions of the cir-
cus, with the spirit of mortal strife not yet
allayed.

The narrative then proceeds to another
instance of the triumph of faith over the
strongest of human feelings, the love of a
young mother for her offspring. Felicitas
was in the eighth month of her pregnancy.
She feared, and her friends shared in her
apprehensions, that on that account her
martyrdom might be delayed. They pray-
ed together, and her travail came on. In
her agony at that most painful period of
delivery she gave way to her sufferings.
44 How then,” said one of the servants of
the prison, 44 if you cannot endure these
pains, will you endure exposure to the
wild beasts 1” She replied, “ I bear now
my own sufferings ; then there will be one
within me who will bear my sufferings for
me, because I shall suffer for his sake.”
She brought forth a girl, of whom a Chris-
tian sister took the charge.

Perpetua maintained her calmness to
the end. While they were treated with
severity by a tribune, who feared lest they
should be delivered from the prison by en-
chantment, Perpetua remonstrated with a
kind of mournful pleasantry, and said that/HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

246

if ill used, they would do no credit to the
birthday of Caesar: the victims ought to
be fattened for the sacrifice. But their
language and demeanour were not always
so calm and gentle; the words of some
became those of defiance, almost of in-
sult ; and this is related with as much ad-
miration as the more tranquil sublimity of
the former incidents. To the people who
gazed on them, in their importunate curi-
osity, at their agape, they said, 44 Is not
to-morrow’s spectacle enough to satiate
your hate 1 To-day you look on us with
friendly faces, to-morrow you will be our
deadly enemies. Mark well our counte-
nances, that you may know them again on
the day of judgment.” And to Hilarianus
on his tribunal they said, 44 Thou judgest
us, but God will judge thee.” At this lan-
guage the exasperated people demanded
that they should be scourged. When taken
out to execution they declined, and were
permitted to decline, the profane dress in
which they were to be clad : the men, that
of the priests of Saturn; the women, that
of the priestesses of Ceres.* They came
forward in their simple attire, Perpetua
singing psalms. The men were exposed
to leopards and bears; the Women were
hung up naked in nets, to be gored by a
furious cow. But even the excited popu-
lace shrunk with horror at the spectacle
of two young and delicate women, one re-
cently recovered from childbirth, in this
state. Tjiey were recalled by acclama-
tion, and in mercy brought forward again,
clad in loose robes.f Perpetua was toss-
ed, her garment was rent; but, more con-
scious of her wounded modesty than of
pain, she drew the robe over the part of
her person which was exposed. She then
calmly clasped up her hair, because it did
not become a martyr to suffer with dishev-
elled locks, the sign of sorrow. She then
raised up the fainting and mortally-wound-
ed Felicit.as, and the cruelty of the popu-
lace being for a time appeased, they were
permitted to retire. Perpetua seemed
rapt in ecstasy, and, as if awaking from
sleep, inquired when she was to be expo-
sed to the beast. She could scarcely be
made to believe what had taken place ;
her last words tenderly admonished her
brother to be steadfast in the faith. We
may close the scene by intimating that all
were speedily released from their suffer-
ings and entered into their glory. Per-

*This was an unusual circumstance, and ascri-
bed to the devil.

flam not sure that I am correct in this part of
the version ; it appears to me to be the sense. “ Ita
revocatae discinguntur” is paraphrased by Lucas
Holstenius, revocatae et discinctis indutae.

petua guided with her own hand the mer-
ciful sword of the gladiator which relieved
her from her agony.

This African persecution, which laid the
seeds of future schisms and fatal Caracalla
feuds, lasted till at least the sec- Geta. ^a.d
ond year of Caracaiia. From 21 ,_217-
its close, except during the short reign of
Maximin, Christianity enjoyed uninte>
rupted peace till the reign of Decius.*
But during this period occurred a remark-
able event in the religious history of Rome.
The pontiff of one of the wild forms of the
Nature-worship of the East appeared in
the city of Rome as emperor; the ancient
rites of Baalpeor, but little changed in the
course of ages, intruded themselves into
the sanctuary of the Capitoline Jove, and
offended at once the religious majesty and
the graver decency of Roman manners.f
Elagabalus derived his name from the Syr-
ian appellative of the sun; he Elagabalus-
had been educated in the pre- emperor
cincts of the temple; and the A D-21S-
Emperor of Rome was lost and absorbed
in the priest of an effeminate superstition.
The new religion did not steal in under the
modest demeanour of a stranger, claiming
the common rites of hospitality, as the na-
tional faith of a subject people : it entered
with a public pomp, as though to supersede
and eclipse the ancestral deities of Rome.
The god Elagabalus was conveyed in sol-
emn procession through the wondering
provinces; his symbols were received with
all the honour of the Supreme Deity. The
conical black stone which was adored ai
Emesa was no doubt, in its origin, one of
those obscene symbols which appear in
almost every form of the Oriental Nature-
worship. The rudeness of ancient art had
allowed it to remain in less offensive shape-
lessness ; and, not improbably, the original
symbolic meaning had become obsolete.
The Sun had become the visible type ol
Deity and the object of adoration. The
mysterious principle of generation, of
which, in the primitive religion of nature,
he was the type and image, gave place tc
the noblest object of human idolatry, the
least debasing representative of the Great
Supreme. The idol of Emesa entered
Rome in solemn procession; a magnifi-
cent temple was built upon the Palatine
Hill; a number of altars stood round, on
which every day the most sumptuous offer-
ings—hecatombs of oxen, countless sheep,

* From 212 to 249: Caracaiia, 211; Macrinus
217; Elagabalus, 218; Alexander Severus, 222:
Maximin and the Gordians, 235-244; Philip, 244,
Decius, 249.

f Lampridii, Heliogabalus. Dior. C*iss., l.kxix.
Herodian., v.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

24?

the most costly aromatics, the choicest
wines—were offered; streams of blood and
wine were constantly flowing down; while
the highest dignitaries of the empire—com-
manders of legions, rulers of provinces,
the gravest senators—appeared as humble
ministers, clad in the loose and flowing
robes and linen sandals of the East, among
the lascivious dances and the wanton mu-
sic of Oriental drums and cymbals. These
degrading practices were the only way to
civil and military*preferment. The whole
senate and equestrian order stood around;
and those who played ill the part of ado-
ration, or whose secret murmurs incau-
tiously betrayed their- devout indignation
(for this insult to the ancient religion of
Rome awakened some sense of shame in
the degenerate and servile aristocracy),
were put to death. The most sacred and
patriotic sentiments cherished above all
the hallowed treasures of the city the Pal-
ladium, the image of Minerva. Popular
veneration worshipped in distant awe the
unseen deity, for profane eye might never
behold the virgin image. The inviolability
of the Roman dominion was inseparably
connected with the uncontaminated sanc-
tity of the Palladium. The Syrian decla-
red his intention of wedding the ancient
tutelary goddess to his foreign deity. The
image was publicly brought forth, expo-
sed to the sullying gaze'of the multi-
tude, solemnly wedded, and insolently re-
pudiated by the unworthy stranger. A.
Worship more appropriate bride was found
or the sun in the kindred Syrian deity, wor-
mRome, dipped under the name of As-
tarte in the East, in Carthage as the Queen
of Heaven—Venus Urania, as translated
into the mythological language of the West.
She was brought from Carthage. The
whole city—the whole of Italy—was com-
manded to celebrate the bridal festival;
and the nuptials of the two foreign deities
might appear to complete the triumph over
the insulted divinities of Rome. Nothing
was sacred to the voluptuous Syrian. He
introduced the manners as well as the re-
ligion of the East; his rapid succession of
wives imitated the polygamy of an Ori-
ental despot; and his vices not merely
corrupted the morals, but insulted the most
sacred feelings of the people. He tore a
vestal virgin from her sanctuary to suffer
his polluting embraces; he violated the
sanctuary itself; attempted to make him-
self master of the mystic coffer in which
the sacred deposite was enshrined ; it was
said that the pious fraud of the priesthood
deceived him with a counterfeit, which he
dashed to pieces in his anger. It was
ooenly asserted that the worship of thp

sun, under his name of Elagabalus, was to
supersede all other worship. If we may be-
lieve the biographies in the Augustan His-
tory, a more ambitious scheme Religious
of a universal religion had dawn- innovations
ed upon the mmd of the emper- by Eiagaba-
or; and that the Jewish, the Sa- ins.
maritan, even the Christian, were to be
fused and recast into one great system, of
which the sun was to be the central object
of adoration.* At all events,, the deities
of Rome were actually degraded before
the public gaze into humble ministers of
Elagabalus. Every year of the emperor’s
brief reign, the god was conveyed from his
Palatine temple to a suburban edifice of
still more sumptuous magnificence. The
statue passed in a car drawn by six horses.
The emperor of the world, his eyes stain-
ed with paint, ran and danced before it
with antic gestures of adoration. The
earth was strewn with gold dust; flowers
and chaplets were scattered by the people,
while the images of all the other gods,
the splendid ornaments and vessels of all
their temples, were carried, like the spoils
of subject nations, in the annual ovation
of the Phoenician deity. Even human sac-
rifices, and, if we may credit the monstrous
fact, the most beautiful sons of the noblest
families, were offered on the altar of this
Moloch of the East.f

It is impossible to suppose that the weak
and crumbling edifice of paganism was not.
shaken to its base by this extraordinary
revolution. An ancient religion cannot
thus be insulted without losing much of
its majesty: its hold upon the popular
veneration is violently torn asunder. With
its more sincere votaries, the general ani-
mosity to foreign, particularly to Eastern
religions, might be inflamed or deepened :
“and Christianity might share in some part
of the detestation excited by the excesses
of a superstition so opposite in its nature.
But others, whose faith had been shaken,
and whose moral feelings revolted by a
religion whose essential character was
sensuality, and whose licentious tendency
had been so disgustingly illustrated by the
unspeakable pollutions of its imperial pa-
tron, would hasten to embrace that purer
faith which was most remote from the re-
ligion of Elagabalus.

From the policy of the court, as well as

* Id agens ne quis Romse Deus nisi Heliogabulus
coleretur. Dicebat praeterea, Judseorum et Sama-
ritanorum religiones, et Christianam devotionem,
illuc transferendam, ut omnium culturarum secre-
tum Heliogabalisacerdotium teneret, p. 461.

f Csedit et humanas hostias, lectis ad hoc pueris
nobilibus et decoris per omnem Italiam patrimis et
matrimis, credo ut major esset utrique parenti do
lor.—Lamprid., Heliogabalus.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

348

. the pure and amiable character of
Severus the successor of Elagabalus, the
emperor, more olfensive parts of this for-
A* * 222, eign superstition disappeared with
their imperial patron. But the old Roman
religion was not reinstated in its jealous
and.unmingled dignity. Alexander Seve-
rus had been bred in another school; and
the influence which swayed him, during
the earlier part at least of his reign, was
of a different character from that which
had formed the mind of Elagabalus. It
was the mother of Elagabalus who, how-
ever she might blush with shame at the
impurities of her effeminate son, had con-
secrated him to the service of the deity in
Emesa. The mother of Alexander Seve-
rus, the able, perhaps crafty and rapacious
Mammsea Mammaea, had at least held inter-
course with the Christians of Syr-
ia. She had conversed with the celebra-
ted Origen, and listened to his exhorta-
tions, if without conversion, still not with-
out respect. Alexander, though he had
neither the religious education, the pontif-
ical character, nor the dissolute maimers
of his predecessor, was a Syrian, with no
hereditary attachment to the Roman form
of paganism. He seems to have affected
a kind of universalism : he paid decent re-
spect to the gods of the Capitol; he held
in honour the Egyptian worship, and en-
larged the temples of Isis and Serapis.
In his own palace, with respectful indif-
ference, he enshrined, as it were, his house-
hold deities, the representatives of the dif-
ferent religious or theophilosophic sys-
tems which were prevalent in the Roman
empire: Orpheus, Abraham, Christ, and
Apollonius of Tyana. The first of these
represented the wisdom of the mysteries,
the purified Nature-worship, which had la-
boured to elevate the popular mythology
into a noble and coherent allegorism. It
is singular that Abraham, rather than Mo-
ses, was placed at the head of Judaism :
it is possible that the traditionary sanctity
which attached to the first parent of the
Jewish people, and of many of the Arab
tribes, and which was afterward imbod-
ied in the Mohammedan Koran, was float-
ing in the East, and would comprehend,
as it were, the opinions, not only of the
Jews, but of a much wider circle of the
Syrian natives. In Apollonius was cen-
tred the more modern Theurgy, the ma-
gic which commanded the intermediate
spirits between the higher world and the
world of man; the more spiritual Polythe-
ism, which had released the subordinate
deities from their human form, and main-
tained them in a constant intercourse with
the soul of man. Christianity in the per-

son of its founder, even where it did not
command authority as a religion, had nev-
ertheless lost the character under which
it had so long and so unjustly laboured, of
animosity to mankind. Though he was
considered but as one of the sages who
shared in the homage paid to their benefi-
cent wisdom, the followers of Jesus had
now lived down all the bitter hostility
which had so generally prevailed against
them. The homage of Alexander Seve-
rus may be a fair test of the general sen-
timent of the more intelligent heathen of
his time.* It is clear that the exclusive
spirit of Greek and Roman civilization is
broken down: it is “not now Socrates or
Plato, Epicurus or Zeno, who are consid-
ered the sole guiding intellects of human
wisdom. These Eastern barbarians are
considered rivals, if not superior, to the
philosophers of Greece. The world is be-
traying its irresistible yearning towards
a religion; and these were the first over-
tures, as it were, to more general submis-
sion.

In the reign of Alexander Severus at
least commenced the great Chan(rein
change in the outward appear- the relation
ance of Christianity. Christian of Christian-
bishops were admitted even at ltytosocie?-v-
the court in a recognised official charac-
ter ; and Christian churches began to rise
in different parts of the empire, and to pos-
sess endowments in land.f To, the as-
tonishment of the heathen, their religion
had as yet appeared without temple or al-
tar; their religious assemblies had been
held in privacy : it was yet a domestic
worship. Even the Jew had his public
synagogue or his more secluded proseu-
cha; but where the Christians met was
indicated by no separate and distinguished
dwelling; the cemetery of their dead, the
sequestered grove, the private chamber,
contained their peaceful assemblies. Their
privacy was at once their security and
their danger. On the one hand, First
there was no well-known edifice Christian
in which the furious and excited churcbes
rabble could surprise the general body of
the Christians, and wreak its vengeance

* Jablonski wrote a very ingenious essay to show
that Alexander Severus was converted to Gnostic
Christianity.—Opuscula, vol. iv. Compare Heyne,
Opuscula, vi., p. 169, et seqq. [and Mosheim’s Inst.
ofE.H., vol. i., p. 154].

t Tillemont, as Gibbon observes, assigns the date
of the earliest Christian churches to the reign of Al-
exander Severus ; Mr. Moyle to that of Gallienus.
The difference is very slight, and, after all, the.
change from a private building set apart for a par-
ticular use, and a public one of no architectural pre-
tensions, may have been almost imperceptible.
The passage of Lampridius appears conclusive in
favour of Tillemont.»4

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 249

by indiscriminate massacre ; on the other,
the jealousy of the government against all
private associations would be constantly
kept on the alert; and a religion without
a temple was so inexplicable a problem to
pagan feeling, that it would strengthen
and confirm all the vague imputations of
atheism or of criminal license in these
mysterious meetings, which seemed to
shun the light of day. Their religious
usages must now have become much bet-
ter known, as Alexander borrowed their
mode of publishing the names of those
who were proposed for ordination, and es-
tablished a similar proceeding with regard
to all candidates for civil office; and a
piece of ground in Rome, which was liti-
gated by a company of victuallers, was
awarded by the emperor himself to the
Christians, upon the principle that it was
better that it should he devoted to the wor-
ship of God in any form than applied to a
profane and unworthy use.*

These buildings were no doubt, as yet,
of modest height and unpretending form ;
but the religion was thus publicly recog-
nised as one of the various forms of wor-
ship which the government did not pro-
hibit from opening the gates of its temples
fo mankind.

The progress of Christianity during all
this period^ though silent, was uninter-
rupted. The miseries which were grad-
ually involving the whole Roman empire,
from the conflicts and the tyranny of a
rapid succession of masters, from taxa-
tion gradually becoming more grinding and
burdensome, and the still multiplying in-
roads and expanding devastations of the
barbarians, assisted its progress. Many
took refuge in a religion which promised
beatitude in a future state of being from
the inevitable evils of this life.

But in no respect is its progress more
influence of evident and remarkable than in
Christianity the influence of Christianity on
fslnhealhe°" heathenism itself. Though phi-
losophy, which had long been
the antagonist and most dangerous enemy
of the popular religion, now made appa-
rently common cause with it against the
common enemy, Christianity, yet there
had been an unperceived and amicable ap-
proximation between the two religions.
Heathenism, as interpreted by philosophy,
almost found favour with some of the
more moderate Christian apologists; while,
as we have seen in the altered tone of
the controversy, the Christians have rare-
ly occasion to defend themselves against
those horrible charges of licentiousness,

* JSlii Lampridii Alexander Severus.
I I

incest, and cannibalism, which, till recent-
ly, their advocates had been constrained
to notice. The Christians endeavoured
to enlist the earlier philosophers in their
cause; they were scarcely content with
asserting that the nobler Grecian philoso-
phy might be designed to prepare the hu-
man mind for the reception of Christian-
ity ; they were almost inclined to endow
these sages with a kind of prophetic fore-
knowledge of its more mysterious doc-
trines. “ I have explained,” says the Chris-
tian in Minucius Felix, “ the opinions of
almost all the philosophers, whose most
illustrious glory it is that they have wor-
shipped one God, though under various
names ; so that one might suppose either
that the Christians of the present day are
philosophers, or that the philosophers of
old were already Christians.”*

But these advances on the part of Chris-
tianity were more than met by paganism. :
The heathen religion, which prevailed at
least among the more enlightened pagans
during this period, and which, differently
modified, more fully developed, and, as
we shall hereafter find, exalted still more
from a philosophy into a religion, Julian
endeavoured to reinstate as the change in
established faith, was almost as heathenism
different from that of the older Greeks and
Romans, or even that which prevailed at
the commencement of the empire, as it
was from Christianity. It worshipped in
the same temples ; it performed, to a cer-
tain extent, the same rites ; it actually ab-
rogated the local worship of no one of the
multitudinous deities of paganism. But
over all this, which was the real religion,
both in theory and practice, in the older
times, had risen a kind of speculative
Theism, to which the popular worship ac-
knowledged its humble subordination. On
the great elementary principle of Chris-
tianity, the unity of the Supreme God,
this approximation had long been silently
made. -Celsus, in his celebrated contro-
versy with Origen, asserts that this phil-
osophical notion of the Deity is perfectly
reconcilable with paganism. “We also
can place a Supreme Being above the
world and above all human things, and
approve and sympathize in whatever may
be taught of a spiritual rather than mate-
rial adoration of the gods ; for with the
belief in the gods, worshipped in every
land and by every people, harmonizes the
belief in a Primal Being, a Supreme God,
who has given to every land its guardian,
to every people its presiding deity. The

* I am here again considerably indebted to
Tschimer, Fall des Heidenthums, p. 334-401250

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

unity of the Supreme Being, and the con-
sequent unity of the design of the uni-
verse, remains, even if it be admitted that
each people has its gods, whom it must
worship in a peculiar manner, according
to their peculiar character; and the wor-
ship of all these different deities is reflect-
ed back to the Supreme God, who has ap-
pointed them, as it were, his delegates and
representatives. Those who argue that
men ought not to serve many masters im-
pute human weakness to God. God is not
jealous of the adoration paid to subordi-
nate deities ; he is superior in his nature
to degradation and insult. Reason itself
might justify the belief in the inferior de-
ities, which are the objects of the estab-
lished worship. For, since the Supreme
God can only produce that which is im-
mortal and imperishable, the existence of
mortal beings cannot be explained, unless
we distinguish from him those inferior de-
ities, and assert them to be the creators of
mortal beings and of perishable things.”*

From this time paganism has changed,
Paganism not merely some of its funda-
becomes mental tenets, but its general
serious, character; it has become serious,
solemn, devout. In Lucian, unbelief seem-
ed to have reached its height, and as rapid-
ly declined. The witty satirist of Poly-
theism had no doubt many admirers ; he
had no imitators. A reaction has taken
place; none of the distinguished statesmen
of the tliird century boldly and ostenta-
tiously, as in the times of the later repub-
lic, display their contempt for religion.
Epicureanism lost, if not its partisans, its
open advocates. The most eminent wri-
ters treat religion with decency, if not
with devout respect; no one is ambitious
of passing for a despiser of the gods. And
with faith and piety broke forth all the
aberrations of religious belief and de-
vout feeling, wonder-working mysticism,
and dreamy enthusiasm, in their various
forms, f

This was the commencement of that
new Platonism, which from this time ex-
ercised a supreme authority, to the extinc-
tion of the older forms of Grecian philos-
ophy, and grew up into a dangerous an-
tagonist of Christianity. It aspired to be
a religion as well as a philosophy, and
gradually incorporated more and more of
such religious elements from the creeds
of the Oriental philosophers as would har-
monize with its system. It was extrava-
gant, but it was earnest; wild, but serious.
It created a kind of literature of its own.

* Origen contra Celsum, lib. vii.
i Tschirner, p. 401.

The Life of Apollonius of Tyana. Apollonius
was a grave romance, in which it or Tyana.
imbodied much of its Theurgy, its power
of connecting the invisible with the visible
world; its wonder-working, through the
intermediate daemons at its command,
which’ bears possibly, but not clearly, an
intentional, certainly a close, resemblance
to the Gospels. It seized and moulded to
its purpose the poetry and philosophy of
older Greece. Such of the mythic legends
as it could allegorize, it retained with every
demonstration of reverence; the rest it
either allowed quietly to fall into oblivion,
or repudiated as lawless fictions of the
poets. The manner in which poetry was
transmuted into moral and religious alle-
gory is shown in the treatise of „ , .

Porpbyrius on the cave of the 01 p )nus*
nymphs in the Odyssey. The skill, as
well as the dreamy mysticism, with which
this school of writers combined the dim
traditions of the older philosophy and the
esoteric doctrines of the mysteries, to give
the sanction of antiquity to their own
vague but attractive and fanciful theories,
appears in the Life of Pythag- lsfe 0f i>y.
oras, and in the work on the timgoras.
Mysteries by a somewhat later writer,
Iamblichus.

After all, however, this philosophic pa-
ganism could exercise no very Philosophlc
extensive influence. Its votaries paganism
were probably far inferior in not P°Pular-
number to any one of those foreign reli-
gions introduced into the Greek and Ro-
man part of the empire; and its strength
perhaps consisted in the facility with
which it coalesced with any one of those
religions, or blended them up together in
one somewhat discordant syncretism. The
same man was philosopher, Hierophant at
Samothrace or Eleusis, and initiate in the
rites of Cybele, of Serapis, or of Mithra.
Of itself, this scheme was far too abstract
and metaphysical to extend beyond the
schools of Alexandrea or of Athens.
Though it prevailed afterward in influ-
encing the heathen fanaticism of Julian,
it eventually retarded but little the extinc-
tion of heathenism. It was merely a sort
of refuge for the intellectual few; a self-
complacent excuse, which enabled them
to assert, as they supposed, their own
mental superiority, while they were en-
deavouring to maintain or to revive the
vulgar superstition, which they themselves
could not but in secret contemn. The
more refined it became, the less was it
suited for common use,-and the less it
harmonized with the ordinary paganism.
Thus that which, in one respect, elevated
it into a dangerous rival of Christianity,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

251

at the same time deprived it of its power.
It had borrowed much from Christianity,
or, at least# had been tacitly modified by
its influence ; but it was the speculative
rather than the practical part, that which
constituted its sublimity rather than its
popularity, in which it approximated to
the Gospel. We shall encounter this new
paganism again before long, in its more
perfect and developed form.

The peace which Christianity enjoyed
Maximin. under the virtuous Severus was
a.d. 235. disturbed by the violent accession
of a Thracian savage.* It was enough to
have shared in the favour of Alexander to
incur the brutal resentment of Maximin.
The Christian bishops, like all the other
polite and virtuous courtiers of his peace-
ful predecessor, were exposed to the sus-
picions and the hatred of the rude and
warlike Maximin. Christianity, however,
suffered, though in a severer degree, the
common lot of mankind.

The short reign of Gordian was un-
Oortimn eventful in Christian history. The
a.d. 238 emperors, it has been justly ob-
-244 served, who were born in the Asi-
atic provinces, were in general the least
unfriendly to Christianity. Their religion,
whatever it might be, was less uncongenial
to some of the forms of the new faith; it
was a kind of Eclecticism of different East-
ern religions, which in general was least
inclined to intolerance : at any rate, it was
uninfluenced by national pride, which was
now become the main support of Roman
Philip. paganism. Philip the Arabianf is
a.d 214. claimed by some of the earliest
Christian writers as a convert to the Gos-
pel. But the extraordinary splendour with
which he celebrated the great religious
rites of Rome refutes at once this state-
ment. Yet it might be fortunate that a
sovereign of his mild sentiments towards
Secular the llew faith fafad the throne at
?ames. ^ a period when the secular games,
a.d. 247. whlch commemorated the thou-
sandth year of Rome, were celebrated with
unexampled magnificence. The majesty,
the eternity of the empire were intimately
connected with the due performance of
these solemnities. To their intermission
after the reign of Dioclesian, the pagan
historian ascribes the fall of Roman-great-
ness. The second millennium of Rome
commenced with no flattering signs; the
times were gloomy and menacing; and
the general and rigid absence of the Chris-
tians from these sacred national ceremo-
nies, under a sterner or more bigoted em-
peror, would scarcely have escaped the

severest animadversions of the govern-
ment. Even under the present circum-
stances, the danger of popular tumult
would be with difficulty avoided or re-
strained. Did patriotism and Rational
pride incline the Roman Christians to
make some sacrifice of their severer prin-
ciples ; to. compromise for a time their
rigid aversion to idolatry, which was thus
connected with the peace and prosperity
of the state 1

The persecution under Decius, both in
extent and violence, is the most Decius. a.d.
uncontested of those which the 249-251.
ecclesiastical historians took pains to raise
to the mystic number of the ten plagues of
Egypt. It was almost the first measure
of a reign which commenced in successful
rebellion, and ended, after two years, in
fatal defeat. The Goths delivered the
Christians from their most formidable op-
pressor, yet the Goths may have been
the innocent authors of their calamities.
The passions and the policy of the em-
peror were concurrent motives for his
hostility. The Christians were now a rec-
ognised body in the state ; however care-
fully they might avoid mingling in the po-
litical factions of the empire, they were
necessarily of the party of the emperor,
whose favour they had enjoyed. His
enemies became their enemies. Maxi-
min persecuted those who had appeared at
the court of Alexander Severus; Decius
hated the adherents—as he supposed, the
partisans—of the murdered Philip.* The
Gothic w^ar shook to the centre the edi-
fice of Roman greatness. Roman pagan-
ism discovered in the relaxed morals of
the people one of the causes of the decline
of the empire; it demanded the revival
of the censorship. This indiseriminating
feeling would mistake, in the blindness of
aversion and jealousy, the great Causes of
silent corrective of the popular the Decian
morality for one of the princi- I,ersecullon‘
pal causes of depravation. The partial
protection of a foreign religion by a for-
eign emperor (now that Christianity had
Degun to erect temple against temple,
altar against altar, and the Christian bish-
op met the pontiff on equal terms around
the imperial throne) would be considered
among the flagrant departures from the
sound wisdom of ancient Rome. The
descendant of the Decii, however his ob-
scure Pannonian birth might cast a doubt
on his hereditary dignity, was called upon
to restore the religion as well as the man-
ners of Rome to their ancient austere pu-
rity ; to vindicate its insulted supremacy

* Enseb., Ecc. Hist., vi., 28.

f Euseb., vi., 34,

* Euseb,, vi., 39,252

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

from the rivalship of an Asiatic and mod-
ern superstition. The persecution of De-
cius endeavoured to purify Rome itself
from the presence of these degenerate
enemies to her prosperity. The Bishop
Fai>ianus Fabianus was one of the first vic-
bishopof’ tims of his resentment; and the
Rome. Christians did not venture to
raise a successor to the obnoxious office
during the brief reign of Decius. The
example of the capital was followed in
many of the great cities of the empire.
In the turbulent and sanguinary Alexan-
dra, the zeal of the populace outran that
of the emperor, and had already com-
menced a violent local persecution.* An-
tioch lamented the loss of her bishop,
Babylas, whose relics were afterward
worshipped in what was still the volup-
tuous grove of Daphne. Origen was ex-
posed to cruel torments, but escaped with
Enthusiasm Ffe. But Christian enthusi-
orchrStian- asm, by being disseminated over
ity less a wider sphere, had naturally

strong. lost gome Qf jts first vig0ur>

With many it was now an hereditary
faith, not embraced by the ardent convic-
tion of the individual, but instilled into the
mind, with more or less depth, by Chris-
tian education. The Christian writers
now begin to deplore the failure of genu-
ine Christian principles, and to trace the
divine wrath in the affliction of the church-
es. Instead of presenting, as it were, a
narrow, but firm and unbroken front to the
enemy, a much more numerous, but less
united and less uniformly resolute force
now marched under the banner of Christi-
anity. Instead of the serene fortitude with
which they formerly appeared before the
tribunal of the magistrate, many now stood
pale, trembling, and reluctant, neither
ready to submit to the idolatrous ceremo-
ny of sacrifice, nor prepared to resist even
unto death. The fiery zeal of the African
churches appears to have been most sub-
ject to these paroxysms of weakness;!
it was there that the fallen, the Lapsi,
formed a distinct and too numerous class,
whose readmission into the privileges of
the faithful became a subject of fierce con-
troversy ■,% and the Libellatici, who had
purchased a billet of immunity from the ra-
pacious government, formed another par-
ty, and were held in no less disrepute by

* Euseb., vi., 40, 41.
f Dionysius apud Eusebium, vi., 41.
j The severer opinion was called the heresy of
Novatian ; charity and orthodoxy, on this occa-
sion, concurred.—Euseb., vi., sub fin.; vii., 4, 5.
Another controversy arose, on the rebaptizing here-
tics, in which Cyprian took the lead of the severer
party.—Euseb., vii., 3.

those who, in the older spirit of the faith,
had been ready or eager to obtain the
crown of martyrdom. »

Carthage was disgraced by the criminal
weakness even of some among her cler-
gy. A council was held to decide this
difficult point, and the decisions of the
council were tempered by moderation and
humanity. None were perpetually and
forever excluded from the pale of salva-
tion; but they were absolved, according
to the degree of criminality which might
attach to their apostacy. Those who sac-
rificed, the most awful and scarcely expia-
ble offence, required long years of peni-
tence and humility ; those who had only
weakly compromised their faith by ob-
taining or purchasing billets of exemption
from persecution, were admitted to shorter
and easier terms of reconciliation.*
Valerian, who ascended the throne three
years after the death of Decius, valerian
had been chosen by Decius to re- a.d.254
vive in his person the ancient and hon-
ourable office of censor, and the general
admiration of his virtues had ratified the
appointment of the emperor. It was no
discredit to Christianity that the com-
mencement of the censor’s reign, who
may be supposed to have examined with
more than ordinary care its influence on
the public morals, was favourable to their
cause. Their security was restored, and
for a short time persecution ceased. The
change which took place in the sentiments

* The horror with which those who had sacri-
ficed were beheld by the more rigorous of their
brethren may be conceived from the energetic lan-
guage of Cyprian: Nonne quando ad Capitoliuin
sponte ventum est, quando ultro ad obsequium diri
facinoris accessum est, labavit gressus, caligavit as-
pectus, tremuerunt viscera, brachia conciderunt?
Nonne sensus obstupuit, lingua hassit, sermo defe
cit?... Nonne ara ilia, quo moriturusaccessit, ro-
gus illi fuit? Nonne diaboli altare quod foetore
taetro fumare etredolere conspexerat, velut funuset
bustum vitae suae horrere, ac fugere debebat. . . Ipse
ad aram hostia, victima ipse venisti. Immolasti
illic salutem tuam, spem tuarn, fidem tuam, funes-
tis illis ignibus concremasti.—Cyprian, de Lapsis.
Some died of remorse; with some the guilty food
acted as poison. But the following was the most ex-
traordinary occurrence, of which Cyprian declares
himself to have been an eyewitness. An infant
had been abandoned by its parents in their flight
The nurse carried it to the magistrate. Being too
young to eat meat, bread steeped in wine offered in
sacrifice was forced into its mouth. Immediately
that it returned to the Christians, the child, which
could not speak, communicated the sense of its
guilt by cries and convulsive agitations, it refused
the sacrament (then administered to infants), closed
its lips, and averted its face. The deacon forced it
into its mouth." The consecrated wine would not
remain in the contaminated body, but was cast up
again. In what a high-wrought state of enthusi-
asm must men have been who would relate and be*
lieve such statements as miraculous ?HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

253

and conduct of Valerian, is attributed to
the influence of a man deeply versed in
magical arts.* The censor was enslaved
by a superstition which the older Romans
would have beheld with little less abhor-
rence than Christianity itself. It must be
admitted that Christian superstition was
too much inclined to encroach upon the
province of Oriental magic ; and, the more
the older Polytheism decayed, the more
closely it allied itself with this powerful
agent in commanding the fears of man.
The adepts in those dark and forbidden
sciences were probably more influential
opponents of Christianity with all classes,
from the emperor, who employed their
mystic arts to inquire into the secrets of
futurity, to the peasant, who shuddered at
their power, than the ancient and establish-
ed priesthood.

Macrianus is reported to have obtained
such complete mastery over the mind of
Valerian as to induce him to engage in the
most guilty mysteries of magic, to trace
the fate of the empire in the entrails of hu-
man victims. The edict against
the Christians, suggested by the
animosity of Macrianus, allowed the com-
munity to remain in undisturbed impuni-
ty, but subjected all the bishops who re-
fused to conform, to the penalty of death,
and seized all the endowments of their
churches into the public treasury.

The dignity of one of its victims con-
ey pri an, ferred a melancholy celebrity on
bishop of the persecution of Valerian. The
Carthage. m0st distinguished prelate at this
time in Western Christendom was Cyp-
rian, bishop of Carthage. If not of hon-
ourable birth or descent, for this appears
doubtful, his talents had raised him to
eminence and wealth. He taught rhet-
oric at Carthage, and, either by this hon-
ourable occupation or by some other
means, had acquired an ample fortune.
Cyprian was advanced in life when he em-
braced the doctrines of Christianity ; but
he entered on his new career, if with the
mature reason of age, with the ardour and
freshness of youth. His wealth was de-
voted to pious and charitable uses; his
rhetorical studies, if they gave clearness
and order to his language, by no means
chilled its fervour or constrained its vehe-
mence. He had the African temperament
of character, and, if it may be so said, of
style ; the warmth, the power of commu-
nicating its impassioned sentiments to the
reader; perhaps not all the pregnant con-
ciseness nor all the energy of Tertullian,
but, at the same time, little of his rudeness

or obscurity. Cyprian passed rapidly
through the steps of Christian initiation,
almost as rapidly through the first grada-
tions of the clerical order. On the vacan-
cy of the bishopric of Carthage, his reluc-
tant diffidence was overpowered by the
acclamations of the whole city, who en-
vironed his house, and compelled him, by
their friendly violence, to assume the dis-
tinguished, and, it might be, dangerous
office. He yielded to preserve the peace
of the city.*

Cyprian entertained the loftiest notions
of the episcopal authority. The severe
and inviolable unity of the outward and
visible Church appeared to him an inte-
gral part of Christianity, and the rigid
discipline enforced by the episcopal ordei
the only means of maintaining that unity.
The pale which enclosed the Church from
the rest of mankind was drawn with the
most relentless precision. It was the ark,
and all without it were left to perish in the
unsparing deluge.f The growth of he-
retical discord or disobedience was inex-
piable, even by the blood of the trans-
gressor. He might bear the flames with
equanimity ; he might submit to be torn
to pieces by wild beasts: there could be
no martyr without the Church. Tortures
and death bestowed not the crown of im-
mortality ; they were but the just retribu-
tion of treason to the faith.J

The fearful times which arose during
his episcopate tried these stern and lofty
principles, as the questions which arose
out of the Decian persecutions did his
judgment and moderation. Cyprian, who
embraced without hesitation the severer
opinion with regard to the rebaptizing her-
etics, notwithstanding his awful horror of
the guilt of apostacy, acquiesced in, if he
did not dictate, the more temperate decis-
ions of the Carthaginian synod concern-
ing those whose weakness had betrayed
them either into the public denial or a
timid dissimulation of the faith.

The first rumour of persecution desig-

* Epist. xiv.

f Si potuit evadere quisquam, qui extra arcam
Noe fuit, et qui extra ecclesiain foris fuerit, evadit.
—Cyprian, de Unitate Ecclesioe?

% Esse martyr non potest, qui in ecclesia non est.

Ardeant- licet flarnmis et ignibus traditi, vel -ob-
jecti bestiis animas suas ponant, non erit ilia fide?
corona, sed poena perfidias, nec religiose virtutis ex-
itus gloriosus, sed desperationis interitus.— De
Unit. Eccles.

Et tamen neque hoc baptisma (sanguinis) hereti-
co prodest, quamvis Christum confessus, et extra
ecclesiam fuerit occisus.—Epist. lxxiii.

“ Though I give my body to be burned, and have
not charity, it profiteth me nothing.”—1 Cor., xiii.,
3. Is there no difference between the spirit of St
Paul and of Cyprian7

* Euseb., vii., 10.254

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

nated the Bishop of Carthage for its vic-
tim. “ Cyprian to the lions!” was the loud
and unanimous outcry of infuriated pagan-
ism.- Cyprian, withdrew from the storm,
not, as his subsequent courageous beha-
viour showed, from timidity^-—but neither
approving that useless and sometimes os-
tentatious prodigality of life, which be-
trayed more pride than humble acqui-
escence in the Divine will—possibly from
the truly charitable reluctance to tempt his
enemies to an irretrievable crime. He
withdrew to some quiet and secure retreat,
from which he wrote animating and con-
solatory letters to those who had not been
so prudent or so fortunate as to escape
the persecution. His letters describe the
relentless barbarity with which the Chris-
tians were treated; they are an authentic
and contemporary statement of the suffer-
ings which the Christians endured in de-
fence of their faith. If highly coloured by
the generous and tender sympathies, or by
the ardent eloquence of Cyprian, they have
nothing of legendary extravagance. The
utmost art was exercised to render bodily
suffering more acute and intense; it was
a continued strife between the obstinacy
and inventive cruelty of the tormentors
and the patience of the victim.* During
the reignof Decius, which appears to have
been one continued persecution, Cyprian
stood aloof in his undisturbed retreat. He
returned to Carthage probably on the com-
mencement of Valerian’s reign, and had a
splendid opportunity of Christian revenge
upon the city which had thirsted for his
blood. A plague ravaged the wdiole Ro-
nag-uein man world, and its most destruc-
Carthage. tive violence thinned the streets
of Carthage. Tt went spreading on from
house to house, especially those of the
lower orders, with awful regularity. The
streets were strewn with the bodies of the
dead and dying, who vainly appealed to the
laws of nature and humanity for that as-
sistance of which those who passed them
by might soon stand in need. General dis-
trust spread through society. Men avoid-
ed or exposed their nearest relatives; as
if, by excluding the dying, they could ex-
clude death.f No one, says the deacon

* Toleratis usque ad consummationen glorias du-
rissimam questionem, nee cessisds suppliciis, sed
vobis potius supplicia cesserunt.

Steterunt tuti torquentibus fortiores, et pulsantes
et laniantes ungulas pulsata ac laniata membra
vicerunt. Inexpugnabilem fidem superare non po-
tuit soeviens diu pkga repetita quamvis rupta corn-
page viscerum; torquerentur in servis Dei jam non
membra, sed vulnera.—Cyprian, Epist. viii. ad Mar-
tyres. Compare Epist, lxii.

f Pontius, in Vita Cypriani, Horrere omnes, fu-
gere vitare contagium ; exponeresuosimpie; quasi

Pontius, writing of the population of Car-
thage in general, did as he would be done
by. Cyprian addressed the Christians in
the most earnest and effective a.d. 252.
language. He exhorted them to c°m!ucr or
show the sincerity of their be- mePoh?isnu
lief in the doctrines of their mas- tians.
ter, not by confining their acts of kindli-
ness to their own brotherhood, but by
extending them indiscriminately to their
enemies. The city was divided into dis-
tricts ; offices were assigned to all the
Christians ; the rich lavished their wealth,
the poor their personal exertions; and
men, perhaps just emerged from the mine
or the prison, with the scars or the muti-
lations of their recent tortures upon their
bodies, were seen exposing their lives, if
possible, to a more honourable martyr-
dom ; as before the voluntary victims of
Christian faith, so now of Christian char-
ity. Yet the heathen party, instead of
being subdued, persisted in attributing this
terrible scourge to the impiety of the
Christians, which provoked the angry
gods ; nor can we wonder if the zeal of
Cyprian retorted the argument, and traced
rather the retributive justice of the Al-
mighty for the wanton persecutions in-
flicted on the unoffending Christians.

Cyprian did not again withdraw on the
commencement of the Valerian Cyprian’s
'persecution. He was summoned retreat,
before the proconsul, who communicated
his instructions from the emperor, to com-
pel all those who professed foreign reli-
gions to offer sacrifice. Cyprian refused
with tranquil determination. He was ban-
ished from Carthage. He remained in his
pleasant retreat rather than place of exile,
in the small town of Ceribis, near the sea-
shore, in a spot shaded with verdant
groves, and writh a clear and healthful
stream of water. It was provided with
every comfort and even luxury in which
the austere nature of Cyprian would per-
mit itself to indulge.* But when his hour
came, the tranquil and collected dignity
of Cyprian in no respect fell below his
lofty principles.

On the accession of a new proconsul,
Galerius Maximus, Cyprian was Return to
either recalled or permitted to re- Carthage,
turn from his exile. He resided in his
own gardens, from whence he received a
summons to appear before the .proconsul.

cum illo peste morituro, etiam mortem ipsam ali-
quis posset excludere.

* “ If,” says Pontius, who visited his master it?
his retirement, “instead of this sunny and agree
able spot, it had been a waste and rocky solitude,
the angels which fed Elijah and Daniel would have
ministered to the holy Cyprian.”HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

25d

He would not listen to the earnest solici-
tations of his friends, who entreated him
again to consult his safety by withdravy-
ing to some place of concealment. His
trial was postponed for a day; he was
treated while in custody with respect and
even delicacy. But the intelligence of the
apprehension of Cyprian drew together
the whole city: the heathen, eager to be-
hold the spectacle of his martyrdom ; the
Christians, to watch in their affectionate
zeal at the doors of his prison. In the
morning he had to walk some distance,
and was violently heated by the exertion.
A Christian soldier offered to procure him
dry linen, apparently from mere courtesy,
but in reality to obtain such precious relics,
steeped in the “ bloody sweat” of the mar-
tyr. Cyprian intimated that it was useless
to seek remedy for inconveniences which
perhaps that day would pass away for-
ever. After a short delay the proconsul
appeared. The examination was brief:
“ Art thou Thascius Cyprian, the bishop
of so rllany impious men 1 The most sa-
cred emperor commands thee to sacrifice.”
Cyprian answered, “ I will not sacrifice.”
“ Consider well,” rejoined the proconsul.
“ Execute your orders,” answered Cypri-
an ; “ the case admits of no consideration.”

Galerius consulted with his council, and
then reluctantly* delivered his sentence.
“ Thascius Cyprian, thou hast lived long
in thy impiety, and assembled around thee
many men involved in the same wicked
conspiracy. Thou hast shown thyself an
enemy alike to the gods and the laws of
the empire ; the pious and sacred emperors
have in vain endeavoured to recall thee to
the worship of thy ancestors. Since, then,
thou hast been the chief author and leader
of these most guilty practices, thou shalt
be an example to those whom thou hast
deluded to thy unlawful assemblies. Thou
must expiate thy crime with thy blood.”
Cyprian said, “ God be thanked.”! The
Bishop of Carthage was carried into a
neighbouring field and beheaded. He
maintained his serene composure to the
last. It was remarkable that but a
few days afterward the proconsul died.
Though he had been in bad health, this
circumstance was not likely to be lost
upon the Christians.

•* * In the Acta, vix jegre is the expression ; it may
however, mean that he spoke with difficulty, on ac-
count of his bad health.

f I have translated this sentence, as the Acts of
Cyprian are remarkable for their simplicity and
totalabsence of later legendary ornament; and par-
ticularly for the circumstantial air of truth with
which they do justice to the regularity of the whole
oroceeding. Compare the Life of Cyprian by the

Everywhere, indeed, the public mind
was no doubt strongly impress- Miserable
ed with the remarkable fact, death of the
which the Christians would lose iTcTristian-
no opportunity of enforcing on hy.
the awe-struck attention, that their ene-
mies appeared to be the enemies of Heav-
en. An early and a fearful fate appeared
to be the inevitable lot of the persecutors
of Christianity. Their profound and ear-
nest conviction that the hand of Divine
Providence was perpetually and visibly
interposing in the affairs of men, would
not be so deeply imbued with the spirit
of their Divine Master as to suppress the
language of triumph, or even of vengeance,
•when the enemies of their God and of them-
selves either suffered defeat and death, or,
worse than an honourable death, a cruel
and insulting captivity. The death of
Decius', according to the pagan account,
was worthy of the old republic. He was
environed by the Goths; his son was kill-
ed by an arrow; he cried aloud that the
loss of a single soldier was nothing to the
glory of the empire ; he renewed the bat-
tle, and fell valiantly. The Christian wri-
ters strip away all the more ennobling in-
cidents. According to their account, hav-
ing been decoyed by the enemy, or misled
by a treacherous friend, into a marsh where
he could neither fight nor fly, he perished
tamely, and his unburied body was left to
the beasts and carrion fowls.* The cap-
tivity of Valerian, the mystery which hung
over his death, allowed ample scope to the
imagination of those whose national hatred
of the barbarians would attribute the most
unmanly ferocity to the Persian conquer-
or, and of those who would consider their
God exalted by the most cruel and deba-
sing sufferings inflicted on the oppressor of
the Church. Valerian, it was said, was
forced to bend his back, that the proud
conqueror might mount his horse as from
a footstool; his skin was flayed off, ac-
cording to one more modern account, while
he was alive, stuffed, and exposed to the
mockery of the Persian rabble.

The luxurious and versatile Gallienus
restored peace to the Church. The Gallienus
edict of Valerian was 'rescinded ; alone,
the bishops resumed their public A L)* m
functions; the buildings were restored,
and their property, which had been con-
fiscated by the state, restored to the right-
ful owners.f

-The last transient collision of Christian •
ity with the government before its final con

Deacon Pontius; the Acts, in Ruinart, p. 216;
Cave’s Lives of the Apostles, &c., art. Cyprian.

* Orat. Constant, apud Euseb., c. xxiv. Lac-
tant., de Mort. Persec j Euseb., vii., 13; x„ 23.256 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Aureiian. under Dioclesian, took place,
A.D.27I- or was at least threatened, du-
275. ring administration of the great
Aureiian The reign of Aureiian, occupied
by warlike campaigns in every part of the
world, left little time for attention to the
internal police or the religious interests
of the empire. The mother of Aureiian
was priestess of the sun at Sirmium, and
the emperor built a temple to that deity,
his tutelary god, at Rome. But the dan-
gerous wars of Aureiian required the con-
current aid of all the deities who took an
interest in the fate of Rome. The sa-
cred ceremony of consulting the Sibylline
books, in whose secret and mysterious
leaves were written the destinies of Rome,
took place at Ms command. The severe
emperor reproaches the senate for their
want of faith in these mystic volumes, or
of zeal in the public service, as-though
they had been infected by the principles
of Christianity.

But no hostile measures were taken
against Christianity in the early part of
his reign; and he was summoned to take
upon himself the extraordinary office of ar-
biter in a Christian controversy. A new
empire seemed rising in the East, under
the warlike Queen of Palmyra. Zenobia
extended her protection, with politic indif-
ference, to Jew, to pagan, and to Chris-
tian. It might almost appear that a kin-
dred spiritual ambition animated her fa-
I’auiof vourite, Paul of Samosata, the
Samosata. bishop of Antioch, and that he as-
pired to found a new religion, adapted to
the kingdom of Palmyra, by blending to-
gether the elements of paganism, of Juda-
ism, and of Christianity. Ambitious, dis-
solute, and rapacious, according to the rep-
resentations of his adversaries, Paul of
Samosata had been advanced to the im-
portant see of Antioch ; but the zealous
vigilance of the neighbouring bishops soon
discovered that Paul held opinions, as to
the mere human nature of the Saviour,
more nearly allied to Judaism than to the
Christian creed. The pride, the wealth,
the state of Paul no less offended the feel-
ings, and put to shame the more modest
demeanour and humbler pretensions of
former prelates. He had obtained, either
from the Roman authorities or from Ze-
nobia, a civil magistracy, and prided him-
self more on his title of ducenaryAhan of
Christian bishop. He passed through the
streets environed by guards, and preceded
and followed by multitudes of attendants,
and supplicants, whose petitions he receiv-!
ed and read with the stately bearing of a
public officer rather than the affability of a
prelate. His conduct m the ecclesiastical

assemblies was equahy overbearing: he
sat on a throne, and while he indulged him-
self in every kind of theatric gesture, re-
sented the silence of those who did not
receive him with applause or pay homage
to his dignity. His magnificence disturb-
ed the modest solemnity of the ordinary
worship. Instead of the simpler music of
the church, the hymns, in which the voices
of the worshippers mingled in fervent, if
less harmonious unison, Paul organized a
regular choir, in which the soft tones of
female voices, in their more melting and
artificial cadences, sometimes called to
mind the voluptuous rites of paganism,
and could not be heard without shuddering
by those accustomed to the more unadorn-
ed ritual.# The Hosannas, sometimes in-
troduced as a kind of salutation to the bish-
op, became, it was said, the chief part of
the service, which was rather to the glory
of Paul than of the Lord. This introduc-
tion of a new and effeminate ceremonial
would of itself, with its rigid adversaries,
have formed a ground for the charge of
dissolute morals, against which may be
fairly urged the avowed patronage of the
severe Zenobia.f But#the pomp of Paul’s
expenditure did not interfere with the ac-
cumulation of considerable wealth, which
he extorted from the timid zeal of his par-
tisans, and, it was said, by the venal ad-
ministration of the judicial authority of his
episcopate, perhaps of his civil magistra-
cy. But Paul by no means stood alone ;
he had a powerful party among the ec-
clesiastical body, the chorepiscopi of the
country districts, and the presbyters of the
city. He set at defiance the synod of bish-
ops, who pronounced a solemn sentence
of excommunication^ and, secure under
the protection of the Queen of Palmyra,
if her ambition should succeed in wresting
Syria, with its noble capital, from the pow-
er of Rome, and in maintaining her strong
and influential position between the con-
flicting powers of Persia and the empire,
Paul might hope to share in her triumph,
and establish his degenerate but splendid
form of Christianity in the very seat of its
primitive apostolic foundation. Paul had
staked his success upon that of his war-
like patroness ; and, on the fall of Zenobia,
the bishops appealed to Aureiian to expel
the rebel against their authority, and the
partisan of the Palmyrenes, who had taken
arms against the majesty of the empire,

* r$lv Kai aKovcrag av rig (Ppi^cuv. Such is the ex-
pression in the decree of excommunication issued
by the bishops.—Euseb., vii., 30.

•f Compare Routh, Reliq. Sacr., ii., 505.
t See .the sentence in Eusebius, vii., 30, and m
Routh, Reliquiae Sacrse, ii., 465, et seq.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

257

p ~om his episcopal dignity at Antioch. Au-
irelian did not altogether refuse to interfere
wi this unprecedented cause, but, with laud-
able impartiality, declined any actual cog-
nizance of the affair, and transferred the
sentence from the personal enemies of
Paul, the bishops of Syria, to those of
Rome and Italy. By their sentence Paul
was degraded from his episcopate.

The sentiments of Aurelian changed to-
wards Christianity near the close of his
reign.. The severity of his character, reck-
less of human blood, would not, if com-

mitted in the strife, have hesitated at any
measures to subdue the rebellious spirit of
his subjects. Sanguinary edicts were is-
sued, though his death prevented their gen-
eral promulgation; and in the fate of Aure-
lian the Christians discovered another in-
stance of the Divine vengeance, which ap-
peared to mark their enemies with the
sign of inevitable and appalling destruc-
tion.

Till the reign of Dioclesian, the church-
es reposed in undisturbed but enervating
security.

CHAPTER IX.

THE PERSECUTION UNDER DIOCLESIAN.

The final contest between paganism and
ad 284 Christianity drew near. Almost
three hundred years had elapsed
since the Divine Author of the new re-
ligion had entered upon his mortal life in
a small village in Palestine and now,
having gained so powerful an ascendancy
over the civilized world, the Gospel was
to undergo its last and most trying ordeal
before it should assume the reins of em-
pire and become the established religion
of the Roman world. It was to sustain
the deliberate and systematic attack of
the temporal authority, arming in almost
every part of the empire, in defence of the
ancient Polytheism. At this crisis it is
Peace of the important to survey the state of
Christians. Christianity, as well as the char-
acter of the sovereign, and of the govern-
ment which made this ultimate and most
vigorous attempt to suppress the triumph-
ant progress of the new faith. The last
fifty years, with a short interval of men-
aced, probably of actual, persecution du-
ring the reign of Aurelian, had passed in
peace and security. The Christians had
become, not merely a public, but an impo-
sing and influential body; their separate
existence had been recognised by the law
of Gallienus ; their churches had arisen in
most of the cities of the empire; as yet,
probably with no great pretensions to ar-
chitectural grandeur, though no doubt or-
namented by the liberality of the worship-
pers, and furnished with vestments and
thalices, lamps, and chandeliers of silver.
The number of these buildings was con-
stantly on the increase, or the crowding

* Dioclesian began his reign A.D. 284. The
commencement of the persecution is dated A.D.
303.

multitudes of proselytes demanded the ex-
tension of the narrow and humble walls.
The Christians no longer declined or re-
fused to aspire to the honours of the state.
They filled offices of distinction, and even
of supreme authority, in the provinces and
in the army; they were exempted, either
by tacit connivance or direct indulgence,
from the accustomed sacrifices. Progress of
Among thq more immediate at- Christianity*
tendants on the emperor, two oi three
openly professed the Christian faith ; Pris-
ca, the wife, and Valeria, the daughter of
Dioclesian and the wife of Galerius, were
suspected, if not avowed, partakers in the
Christian mysteries.* If it be impossible
to form the most remote approximation
to their relative numbers with that of the
pagan population, it is equally erroneous
to estimate their strength and influence
by numerical calculation. All political
changes are wrought by a compact, organ-
ized, and disciplined minority. The mass
of mankind are shown by experience, and
appear fated by the constitution of our
nature, to follow any vigorous impulse
from a determined and incessantly aggress-
ive few.

The long period of prosperity had pro-
duced in the Christian comm uni- Relaxation
ty its usual consequences, some of Christian
relaxation of morals : but Chris- morals-
tian charity had probably suf- of Christian
fered more than Christian puri- charity,
ty. The more flourishing and extensive
the community, the more the pride, perhaps
the temporal advantages of superiority,
predominated over the Christian motives
which led men to aspire to the supreme
functions in the Church. Sacerdotal dom-

* Euseb., Eccl. Hist., viii., I.258

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ination began to exercise its awful pow-
ers, and the bishop to assume the lan-
guage and the authority of the vicegerent
of God. Feuds distracted the bosom of
the peaceful communities, and disputes
sometimes proceeded to open violence.
Such is the melancholy confession of the
Christians themselves, who, according to
the spirit of the times, considered the dan-
gers and the afflictions to which they were
exposed in the light of Divine judgments ;
and deplored, perhaps with something of
the exaggeration of religious humiliation,
the visible decay of holiness and peace.*
But it is the strongest proof of the firm
hold of a party, whether religious or po-
litical, upon the public mind, when it may
offend with impunity against its own pri-
mary principles. That which at one time
is a sign of incurable weakness or ap-
proaching dissolution, at another seems
but the excess of healthful energy and the
evidence of unbroken vigour.

The acts of Dioclesian are the only
rtioeiesian. trustworthy history of his char-
acter. The son of a slave, or,
at all events, born of obscure and doubtful
parentage, who could force his way to
sovereign power, conceive and accomplish
the design of reconstructing the whole
empire, must have been a man at least
of strong political courage, of profound, if
not always wise and statesmanlike views.
In the person of Dioclesian the emperor
of Rome became an Oriental monarch.
The old republican forms were disdainful-
ly cast aside; consuls and tribunes gave
way to new officers with adulatory and
un-Roman appellations. Dioclesian him-
self assumed the new title of Dominus or
Lord, which gave offence even to the ser-
yile and flexible religion of his pagan sub-
jects, who reluctantly, at first, paid the
homage of adoration to the master of the
world.

Nor was the ambition of Dioclesian of
Change in a narrow'or personal character,
the state of With the pomp he did not affect
the empire, the soptude of an Eastern des-
pot. The necessity of the state appeared
to demand the active and perpetual pres-
ence of more than one person invested in
sovereign authority, who might organize
the decaying forces of the different divis-
ions of the empire against the menacing
hosts of barbarians on every frontier.
Two Augusti andjAwo Csesars shared the
‘ dignity and the cares of the public admin-
istration :f a measure, if expedient for the

* Euseb , Eccl. Hist., viii., 1.

f In the. Leben Constantins des Grossen, by Man-
go, there is a good discussion on the autnority and
relative position of the A ugusti and the Csesars.

security, fatal to the prosperity of the ex
hausted provinces, which found themselves
burdened with the maintenance of four im-
perial establishments. A new system of
taxation was imperatively demanded and
relentlessly introduced * while the emper
or seemed to mock the bitter and ill-sup-
pressed murmurs of the provinces by his
lavish expenditure in magnificent and or-
namental buildings. That was attributed
to the avarice of Dioclesian which arose
out of the change in the form of govern-
ment, and in some degree out of his sump-
tuous taste in that particular department,
the embellishment, not of Rome only, but
of the chief cities of the empire: Milan,
Carthage, and Nicomedia. At one time
the all-pervading government aspired, af-
ter a season of scarcity, to regulate the
prices of all commodities, and of all inter-
change, whether of labour or of bargain
and sale, between man and man. This
singular and gigantic effort of well-meant
but mistaken despotism has come to light
in the present day.f

Among the innovations introduced by
Dioclesian, none, perhaps, was Neglect or
more closely connected with the Rome,
interests of Christianity than the virtual
degradation of Rome from the capital of
the empire, by the constant residence of
the emperor in other cities. Though the
old metropolis was not altogether neglect-
ed in the lavish expenditure of the public
wealth upon new edifices, either for the
convenience of the people or the splendour
of public solemnities, yet a larger share
fell to the lot of other towns, particularly
of Nicomedia.J In this city the emperor
more frequently displayed the new state
of his imperial court,, while Rome was
rarely honoured by his presence ; nor was
his retreat, when wearied with political
strife, on the Campanian coast, in the Bay
of Baise, which the older Romans had girt
with their splendid seats of retirement and
luxury; it was on the Illyrian and barba-
rous side of the Adriatic that the palace
of Dioclesian arose, and his agricultural
establishment spread its narrow belt of.
fertility. The removal of the seat of gov-
ernment more clearly discovered the mag-
nitude of the danger to the existing insti-
tutions from the progress of Christianity.
The East was no doubt more fully peo-

* The extension of the rights of citizenship to
the whole empire by Caracalla made it impossible
to maintain the exemptions and immunities which
that privilege had thus lavishly conferred.

f Edict of Dioclesian, published and- illustrated
by Col. Leake. It is alluded to in the Treatise de
'Mortibus Persecut., c. vii.

t Ita semper dementabat, Nicomediam studens
urbi Romae cosequare.—De Mort. Persecut., c. 7.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

259

pled with Christians than any part of the
Western world, unless, perhaps, the prov-.
ince of Africa; at all events, their relative
rank, wealth, and importance much more
nearly balanced that of the adherents of
the old Polytheism.* In Rome the an-
cient majesty of the national religion must
still have kept down in comparative ob-
scurity the aspiring rivalry of Christianity.
The praetor still made way for the pontifi-
cal order, and submitted his fasces to the
vestal virgin, while the Christian bishop
pursued his humble and unmarked way.
The modest church or churches of the
Christians lay hid, no doubt in some se-
questered street or in the obscure Trans-
teverine region, and did not venture to con-
trast themselves with the stately temples
on which the ruling people of the world
and the sovereigns of mankind had for
ages lavished their treasures. However
the Church of the metropolis of the world
might maintain a high rank in Christian
estimation, might boast its antiquity, its
apostolic origin, or, at least, of being the
scene of apostolic martyrdom, and might
number many distinguished proselytes in
nil ranks, even in the imperial court, still
paganism, in this stronghold of its most
gorgeous pomp, its hereditary sanctity, its
intimate connexion with all the institu-
tions, and its incorporation with the whole
ceremonial of public affairs, in Rome
must have maintained at least its outward
supremacy.! But, in comparison with the

* Tertullian, Apolog., c. 37. Mr. Coneybeare
(Bampton Lectures, page 345) has drawn a curious
inference from a passage in this chapter of Tertul-
lian, that the majority of those who had a right of
citizenship in those cities had embraced the Chris-
tian faith, while the mobs were its most furious op-
ponents. ltappears unquestionable that the strength
of Christianity lay in the middle, perhaps the mer-
cantile, classes. The last two books of the Paida-
gogos of Clementof Alexandrea, the most copious
authority for Christian manners at that time, in-
veighs against the vices of an opulent and luxurious
community, splendid dresses, jewels, gold and sil-
ver vessels, rich banquets, gilded litters and char-
iots, and private baths. The ladies kept Indian
birds, Median peacocks, monkeys, and Maltese dogs,
instead of maintaining widows and orphans; the
men had multitudes of slaves. The sixth chapter
of the third book, “that the Christian alone is
rich,” would have been unmeaning if addressed to
a poor community.

f In a letter of Cornelius, bishop of Rome, writ-
ten during or soon after the reign of Decius, the
ministerial establishment of the Church of Rome is
thus stated : One bishop, forty-six presbyters, seven
deacons, seven subdeacons, forty-two acolyths or
attendants, fifty-two exorcists, readers, and door-
keepers, fifteen hundred widows and poor.—Euseb.,
vi., 43.

Optatus, lib. ii., states that there were more than
forty churches in Rome at the time of the persecu-
tion of Dioclesiaij. It has been usual to calculate
one church for each presbyter, which would sup-

less imposing dignity of the municif al gov-
ernment or the local priesthood, the Bish-
op of Antioch or Nicomedia was a far
greater person than the predecessor of the
popes among the consulars and the senate,
the hereditary aristocracy of the old Ro-
man families, or the ministers of the ru-
ling emperor. In Nicomedia the Chris-
tian Church, an edifice at least of consid-
erable strength and solidity, stood on an
eminence commanding the town, and con-
spicuous above#the palace of the sover-
eign.

Dioclesian might seem born to accom-
plish that revolution which took place
so soon after, under the reign of Constan-
tine. The new constitution of the empire
might appear to require a reconstruction
of the religious system. The emperor,
who had not scrupled to accommodate the
form of the government, without respect
to the ancient majesty of Rome, to the
present position of affairs ; to degrade the
capital itself into the rank of a provincial
city; and to prepare the way, at least, for
the removal of the seat of government to
the East, would have been withheld by no
scruples of veneration for ancient rites or
ancestral ceremonies if the establishment
of a new religion had appeared to harmo-
nize with his general policy. But his mind
was not yet ripe for such a Religion of
change, nor perhaps his knowl- Dioclesian.
edge of Christianity, and its profound and
unseen influence, sufficiently extensive.
In his assumption of the title Jovius, while
his colleague took that of Herculius, Dio-
clesian gave a public pledge of his attach-
ment to the old Polytheism. Among the
cares of his administration, he by no means
neglected the purification of the ancient
religions.* In paganism itself, that silent
but manifest change, of which New pagan-
we have already noticed the ism-
commencement, had been creeping on.
The new philosophic Polytheism which
Julian attempted to establish on the ruins
of Christianity was still endeavouring to
supersede the older poetic faith of the hea-
then nations. It had not even yet come
to sufficient maturity to offer itself as a
formidable antagonist to the religion of
Christ. This new paganism, as we have
observed, arose out of the alliance of the
philosophy and the religion of the old
world. These once implacable adversa-
ries had reconciled their difference and

pose a falling off, at least no increase, during the
interval. But some of the presbyters reckoned by
Cornelius may have been superannuated or in pris
on, and their place supplied by others.

* Veterrimae religiones castissimfc curatae.
rel. Viet, de Caesar.260

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

coalesced against the common enemy.
Christianity itself had no slight influence
upon the formation of the new system;
and now an Eastern element, more and
more strongly dominant, mingled with the
whole, and lent it, as it were, a visible ob-
ject of worship. From Christianity the
new paganism had adopted the unity of
the Deity, and scrunled not to degrade
all the gods of the older world into subor-
dinate daemons or ministers. The Chris-
Worship of tians had incautiously held the
the sun. same language : both concurred
in the name of daemons ; but the pagans
used the phrase in the Platonic sense, as
good but subordinate spirits, while the
same term spoke to the Christian ear as
expressive of malignant and diabolic agen-
cy. But the Jupiter Optimus Maximus was
not the great supreme of the new system.
The universal deity of the East, the Sun,
to the philosophic was the emblem or rep-
resentative, to the vulgar the Deity. Di-
oclesian himself, though he paid so much
deference to the older faith as to assume
the title of Jovius, as belonging to the Lord
of the world, yet on his accession, when
he would exculpate himself from all con-
cern in the murder of his predecessor Nu-
merian, he appealed in the face of the ar-
,my to the all-seeing deity of the sun. It
is the oracle of Apollo of Miletus, consult-
ed by the hesitating emperor, which is to
decide the fate of Christianity. The met-
aphorical language of Christianity had un-
consciously lent strength to this new ad-
versary ; and, in adoring the visible orb,
some no doubt supposed that they were
not departing far from the worship of the
“ Sun of Righteousness.”*

But though it might enter into the im-
agination of an imperious and powerful
sovereign to fuse together all these con-
flicting faiths, the new paganism was be-
ginning to advance itself as the open and
most dangerous adversary of the religion
of Christ. Hierocles, the great hiero-
phant of the Platonic paganism, is dis-
tinctly named as the author of the perse-
cution under Dioclesian.f

Thus, then, an irresistible combination
of circumstances tended to precipitate the
fatal crisis. The whole political scheme
of Dioclesian was incomplete, unless some
distinct' and decided course was taken with
these self-governed corporations, who ren-

* Hermogenes, one of the older heresiarchs, ap-
plied the text, “he has placed his tabernacle in the
sun,” to Christ, and asserted that Christ had put off
his body in the sun.—Pantsenus apud Routh, Reli-
quiae Sacrae, i, 339.

t Another philosophic writer published a work
against the Christians.—See Fleury, p. 452, from
Tertullian.

dered, according to the notions of the times,
such imperfect allegiance to the sovereign
power. But the cautious disposition of
Dioclesian; his deeper insight, perhaps,
into the real nature of the struggle which
would take place; his advancing age, and,
possibly, the latent and depressing influ-
ence of the malady which may then have
been hanging over him, and which, a short
time after, brought him to the brink of the
grave ;* these concurrent motives would
induce him to shrink from violent meas-
ures ; to recommend a more temporizing
policy; and to consent, with difficult re-
luctance, to the final committal of the im-
perial authority in a contest in which the
complete submission of the opposite par-
ty could only be expected by those who
were altogether ignorant of its strength.
The imperial power had much to lose m
an unsuccessful contest; it was likely to
gain, if successful, only a temporary and
external conquest. On the one hand, it
was urged by the danger of permitting a
vast and self-governed body to coexist
with the general institutions of the em-
pire ; on the other, if not a civil war, a
contest which would array one part of al-
most every city of the empire against the
other in domestic hostility, might appear
even of more perilous consequence to the
public welfare.

The party of the old religion, now
strengthened by the accession sentjments
of the philosophic faction, risk- of tiie phiio
ed nothing, and might expect s°i,hic Party
much, from the vigorous, systematic, and
universal intervention of the civil author-,
ity. It was clear that nothing less would
restore its superiority to the decaying
cause of Polytheism. Nearly three cen-
turies of tame and passive connivance or
of open toleration had only increased the
growing power of Christianity, while it
had not in the least allayed that spirit of
moral conquest which avowed that its ul-
timate end was the total extinction of
idolatry.

But in the army the parties were placed
in more inevitable opposition; and in the
army commenced the first overt acts of
hostility, which were the prognostics ol
the general persecution.! Nowhere did
the old Roman religion retain so much

* The charge of derangement, which rests on the
authority of Constantine, as related by Eusebius, is
sufficiently confuted by the dignity of his abdica-
tion, the placid content with which he appeared to
enjoy his peaceful retreat, the respect paid to him
by his turbulent and ambitious colleagues, and the
involuntary influence which he still appeared to ex-
ercise over the affairs of the empire.

t Tk t£)v hv opTaretaig qdety&v Karapxopivov
rov duoypov.—Euseb., viii., 1. bompare ch ivHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

261

hold upon the mind as among the sacred
. eagles. Without sacrifice to the givers
of victory, the superstitious soldiery would
advance, divested of their usual confidence,
against the enemy; and defeat was ascri-
bed to some impious omission in the cere-
monial of propitiating the gods. The
Christians now formed no unimportant
part in the army: though permitted by the
ruling authorities to abstain from idola-
trous conformity, their contempt of the
auspices which promised, and of the rites
which ensured, the Divine favour, would be
looked upon with equal awe and animosity.
The unsuccessful general and the routed
army would equally seize every excuse to
cover the misconduct of the one or the
cowardice of the other. In the pride of
victory, the present deities of Rome would
share the honour with Roman valour: the
assistance of the Christians would be for-
gotten in defeat; the resentment of the
gods, to whom the defeat would be attrib-
uted, would be ascribed to the impiety of
their godless comrades. An incident of
this.kind took place during one of his cam-
paigns in the presence of Dioclesian. The
army was assembled round the altar: the
sacrificing priest in vain sought for the
accustomed signs in the entrails of the
victim ; the sacrifice was again and again
repeated, but always with the same result.
The baffled soothsayer, trembling with
awe or with indignation, denounced the
presence of profane strangers. The Chris-
tians had been seen, perhaps boasted that
they had made the sign of the cross, and
put to flight the impotent daemons of idol-
atrous worship. They were apprehended
and commanded to sacrifice ; and a gener-
al edict issued that all who refused to pay
honour to the martial deities of Rome
should be expelled the army. It is far
from improbable that frequent incidents
of this nature may have occurred; ‘if in
the unsuccessful campaign of Galerius in
the East, nothing was more likely to im-
bitter the mind of that violent emperor
against the whole Christian community.
Nor would this animosity be allayed by
the success with which he retrieved his
former failure. While the impiety of the
Christians would be charged with all the
odium of defeat, they would never be per-
mitted to participate in the glories of vic-
tory.

During the winter of the year of Christ
Deliberations :m~3, the great question of the
concerning policy to be adopted towards the
Christianity. Christians was debated, first in
a private conference between Dioclesian
and Galerius. Dioclesian, though urged
by his more vehement partner in the em-

pire, was averse from sanguinary proceed-
ings, from bloodshed and confusion; he
was inclined to more temperate measures,
which would degrade the Christians from
every post of rank or authority, and ex-
pel them from the palace and the army.
The palace itself was divided by conflict-
ing factions. Some of the chief officers of
Dioclesian’s household openly professed
Christianity; his wife and his daughter
were at least favourably disposed to the
same cause; while the mother of Gale-
rius, a fanatical worshipper, probably of
Cybele, was seized with a spirit of prose-
lytism, and celebrated almost every day a
splendid sacrifice, followed by a banquet,
at which she required the presence of the
whole court. The pertinacious resistance
of the Christians provoked her implacable
resentment; and her influence over her
son was incessantly employed to inflame
his mind to more active animosity. Dio-
clesian at length consented to summon a
council, formed of some persons
versed in the administration of the ounci *
law and some military men. Of these*
one party were already notoriously hos-
tile to Christianity ;* the rest were cour-
tiers, who bent to every intimation of the
imperial favour. Dioclesian still prolong-
ed his resistance,! till, either to give great-
er solemnity to the decree, or to identify
their measures more completely with the
cause of Polytheism, it was determined
to consult the oracle of Apollo at Miletus.
The answer of the oracle might be antici-
pated; and Dioclesian submitted to the ir-
resistible united authority of his friends,
of Galerius, and of the god, and content-
ed himself with moderating the severity of
the edict. Galerius proposed that all who
refused to sacrifice should be burned alive :
Dioclesian stipulated that there should be
no loss of life. A fortunate day was chosen
for the execution of the imperial Edict of per-
decree. The feast of Termina- secution.
lia was inseparably connected with the
stability of the Roman power; that power
which was so manifestly endangered by
the progress of Christianity. At the dawn
of day the prefect of the city ap- its pUbii-
peared at the door of the church in cation.

* Hierocles the philosopher was probably a
member of this council. Mosheim, p. 922 [and
Instil of E. H., vol. i., p. 208, n. (5); and Lactant.,
de Mort. Persec., cap. 16].

f According to the unfriendly representation of
the author of the Treatise de Mort. Pers. [cap.
11], whose view of Dioclesian’s character is con-
firmed by Eutropius, it was the crafty practice of
Dioclesian to assume all the merit of popular meas-
ures as emanating from himself alone, while in
those which were unpopular he pretended to act
altogether by the advice of others.262

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

Nicomedia, attended by the officers of the
city and of the court. The doors were in-
stantly thrown down; the pagans beheld
with astonishment the vacant space, and
sought in vain for the statue of .the deity.
The sacred books were instantly burned,
and the rest of the furniture of the build-
ing plundered by the tumultuous soldiery.
The emperors commanded from the palace
a full view of the tumult and spoliation, for
the church stood on a height at no great
distance; and Galerius wished to enjoy
its execu- the spectacle of a conflagration
turn in Ni-of the building. The more pru-
comedia, Dioclesian, fearing that the

fire might spread to the splendid buildings
which adjoined it, suggested a more tardy
and less imposing plan of demolition.
The pioneers of the praetorian guard ad-
vanced with their tools, and in a few
hours the whole building was razed to
the ground.

The Christians made no resistance, but
awaited in silent consternation the pro-
mulgation of the fatal edict. On the next
morning it appeared. It was framed in
terms of the sternest and most rigorous
proscription short of the punishment of
death. It comprehended all ranks and
orders under its sweeping and inevitable
provisions. Throughout the empire, the
churches of the Christians were to be
levelled with the earth; the public exist-
ence of the religion was thus to be anni-
hilated. The sacred books were to be
delivered, under pain of death, by their le-
gitimate guardians, the bishops and pres-
byters, to the imperial officers, and pub-
licly burned. The philosophic party thus
hoped to extirpate those pernicious wri-
tings with which they in vain contested
the supremacy of the public mind.

The property of the churches, whether
endowments in land or furniture, was con-
fiscated; all public assemblies for the pur-
poses qf worship prohibited; the Chris-
tians of rank and distinction were degraded
from all their offices, and declared incapa-
ble of filling any situation of trust or au-
thority; those of the plebeian order were
deprived of the right of Roman citizen-
ship, which secured the sanctity of their
persons from corporeal chastisement or
torture; slaves were declared incapable
of claiming or obtaining liberty; the whole
race were placed without the pale of the
law, disqualified from appealing to its pro-
tection in case of wrong, as of personal
injury, of robbery, or adultery; while they
were liable to civil actions, and bound to
f)ear all the burdens of the state, and
amenable to all its penalties. In many
places an altar was placed before the tri-

bunal of justice, on which oAmrit* * * §
was obliged to sacrifice bercre kris cause
could obtain a hearing.*

No sooner had this edict been affixed in
the customary place than it was Edict um
torn down by the hand of a rash down,
and indignant Christian, who added insult
to his offence by a contemptuous inscrip-
tion : Such are the victories of the em-
perors over the Goths and Sarmatians.’T
This outrage on the imperial majesty was
expiated by the death of the delinquent,
who avowed his glorious crime. Although
less discreet Christians might secretly dig-
nify the sufferings of the victim with the
honours of martyrdom, they could only
venture to approve the patience with which
he bore the agony of being roasted alive
by a slow fire.];

The prudence or the moderation of Di-
oclesian had rejected the more violent and
sanguinary counsels of the Caesar, who had
proposed that all who refused to sacrifice
should be burned alive. But his personal
terrors triumphed over the lingering influ-
ence of compassion or justice. Fireinthe
On a sudden, a fire burst out in palace at
the palace of Nicomedia, which Nicomedia'
spread almost to the chamber of the emper-
or. ; The real origin of this fatal conflagra-
tion is unknown; and, notwithstanding the
various causes to which it was ascribed by
the fears, the malice, and the superstition
of the different classes, we may probably
refer the whole to accident. It may have
arisen from the hasty or injudicious con-
struction of a palace built but recently.
One account ascribes it to lightning, if
this opinion obtained general belief among
the Christian party, it would no doubt be
considered by many a visible sign of the
Divine vengeance on account of the pro-
mulgation of the imperial edict. The
Christians were accused by the indignant
voice of the heathen; they retorted by
throwing the guilt upon the Emperor Ga-
lerius, who had practised (so the ecclesi-
astical historian suggests) the part of a se-
cret incendiary, in order to criminate the
Christians, and alarm Dioclesian into his
more violent measures. §

The obvious impolicy of such a meas-
ure as the chance of actually destroying
both their imperial enemies in the fire
must have been very remote, and as it
could only darken the subtle mind of Di-
oclesian with the blackest suspicions, and
madden Galerius to more unmeasured hos-

* Euseb., viii., 2. De Mort. Persecut. apud Lac-

tantium [cap. 13].

f Mosheim, de Reb. Christ. % Euseb., viii., 5.

§ Euseb., viii., 6 [and Lactant., de Mort Perse
cut., cap. 14].HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

263

tility, must acquit the Christians of any
such design, even if their high principles,
their sacred doctrines of peaceful submis-
sion, even under the direst persecution, did
not. place them above all suspicion. The
only Christian who would have incurred
the guilt, or provoked upon his innocent
brethren the danger inseparable from such
an act, would have been some desperate
fanatic like the man who tore down the
edict. And such a man would have avow-
ed and gloried in the act; he would have
courted the ill-deserved honours of mar-
tyrdom. The silence of Constantine may
clear Galerius of the darker charge of con-
triving, by these base and indirect means,
the destruction of a party against which
he proceeded with undisguised hostility.
Galerius, however, as if aware of the full
effect with which such an event would
work cn the mind of Dioclesian, immedi-
ately left Nicomedia, declaring that he
could not consider his person safe within
that city.

The consequences of this fatal confla-
gration were disastrous, to the utmost ex-
tent which their worst enemies could de-
sire, to the whole Christian community.
The officers of the household, the inmates
of the palace, were exposed to the most
cruel tortures, by the order, it is said, even
in the presence, of Dioclesian. Even the
females of the imperial family were not
exempt, if from the persecution, from that
suspicion which demanded the clearest
evidence of their paganism. Prisca and
Valeria were constrained to pollute them-
selves with sacrifice ; the powerful eu-
nuchs Dorotheus and Gorgonius, and An-
dreas, suffered death ; Anthimus, the bish-
op of Nicomedia, was beheaded. Many
were executed, many burned alive, many
laid bound, with stones round their necks,
in boats, rowed into the midst of the lake,
and thrown into the water.

From Nicomedia, the centre of the per-
Thepersecu- secution, the imperial edicts
tion becomes were promulgated, though with
general. less the usuai rapidity,

through the East; letters were despatch-
ed requiring the co-operation of the West-
ern emperors, Maximian, the associate of

n lg Dioclesian, and the Caesar Constan-
tius, in the restoration of the dig-
nity of the ancient religion, and the sup-
pression of the hostile faith. Constantius
made a show of concurrence in the meas-
ures of his colleagues ; he commanded the
demolition of the churches, but abstained
from all violence against the persons of
the Christians.* Gaul alone, his favour-

* Eusebius, whose- panegyric on Constantine

ed province, was not defiled by Christian
blood. The fiercer temper of Maximian
only awaited the signal, and readily acce-
ded, to carry into effect the barbarous
edicts of his colleagues.

In almost every part of the world Chris-
tianity found itself at once assailed by the
full force of the civil power, constantly
goaded on by the united influence of the
pagan priesthood and the philosophical
party. Nor was Dioclesian, now commit-
ted in the desperate strife, content with
the less tyrannical and sanguinary edict ot
Nicomedia. Vague rumours of insurrec-
tion, some tumultuary risings in regions
which were densely peopled with Chris-
tians, and even the enforced assumption
of the purple by two adventurers, one in
Armenia, another in Antioch,'seemed to
countenance the charges of political am-
bition, and the design of armed and vigor-
ous resistance.

It is the worst evil of religious contests
that the civil power cannot retract without
the humiliating confession of weakness,
and must go on increasing in the severity
of its measures. It soon finds that there
is no success short of the extermination
of the adversary ; and it has but the al-
ternative of acknowledged failure and
this internecine warfare. The demolition
of the churches might remove objects of-
fensive to the wounded pride of the domi-
nant Polytheism ; the destruction of the
sacred books might gratify the jealous hos-
tility of the philosophic party; but not a
single community was dissolved. The pre-
carious submission of the weaker Chris-
tians only confirmed the more resolute-
opposition of the stronger and more heroic
adherents of Christianity.

Edict followed edict, rising in regular
gradations of angry barbarity. The whole
clergy were declared enemies of the state ;
they were seized wherever an hostile pre-
fect chose to put forth his boundless au-
thority ; and bishops, presbyters, and dea-
cons, were crowded into the prisons in-
tended for the basest malefactors. A new
rescript prohibited the liberation of any of
these prisoners, unless they should con-
sent to offer sacrifice.

During the promulgation of these re
scripts^ Dioclesian celebrated his triumph
in Rome; he held a conference with the
Caesar of Africa, who entered into his

throws back some of its adulation upon his father,
makes Constantius a Christian, with the Christian
service regularly performed in his palace.—Vit. Con
stant., c. 33. The exaggeration of this statement
is exposed by Pagi, ad ann. 303, n. viii. Mosheim,
de Rebus ante Const. Mag., p. 929-935 [and Instit.
of Eccl. Hist., v^l. i., p. 207].HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

264

rigorous measures. On his return to Ni-
eomedia he was seized with that
illness jong an£ depress^ malady which,
whether it affected him with temporary
derangement, secluded him within the im-
penetrable precincts of the palace, whose
sacred secrets were forbidden to be betray-
ed to the popular ear. This rigid conceal-
ment gave currency to every kind of
gloomy rumour. The whole Roman world
awaited with mingled anxiety, hope, and
apprehension the news of his dissolution.
Dioclesian, to the universal astonishment,
appeared again in the robes of empire ; to
and abdica t^ie^r greater astonishment,
uon of Dio* he appeared only to lay them
oiesian,A.D. aside, to abdicate the throne,
304' and to retire to the peaceful oc-

cupation of his palace and agricultural
villa on the Illyrian shore of the Adriatic.
His colleague Maximian, with ill-dissem-
bled reluctance, followed the example of
his colleague, patron, and coadjutor in the
empire.

The great scheme of Dioclesian, the
joint administration of the empire by as-
sociate Augusti, with their subordinate
Caesars, if it had averted for a time the
dismemberment of the empire, and had in-
troduced some vigour into the provincial
government, had introduced other evils of
appalling magnitude; but its fatal conse-
quences were more manifest directly as
the master hand was withdrawn which had
organized the new machine of government.
Fierce jealousy succeeded at once among
the rival emperors to decent concord; all
subordination was lost; and a succession
of civil wars between the contending sov-
ereigns distracted the whole world. The
General earth groaned under the separate
misery, tyranny of its many masters ; and,
according to the strong expression of a
rhetorical writer, the grinding taxation
had so exhausted the proprietors and the
cultivators of the soil, the merchants, and
the artisans, that none remained to tax
but beggars.* The sufferings of the Chris-
tians, however still inflicted with unre-
mitting barbarity, were lost in the com-
mon sufferings of mankind. The rights
of Roman citizenship, which had been
violated in their persons, were now uni-
versally neglected; and to extort money,
the chief persons of the towns, the un-
happy. decurions, who were responsible
for the payment of the contributions, were
put to the torture. Even the punishment,
the roasting by a slow fire—invented to
force the conscience of the devout Chris-
tians—was borrowed, in order to wring

the reluctant impost from the unhappy
provincial.

The abdication of Dioclesian left the
most implacable enemy of Chris- Ga]erius
tianity, Gaierius, master of the emperor of
East; and in the East the perse- the East*
cution of the Christians, as well as the
general oppression of the subjects of the
empire, continued in unmitigated severity.
His nephew, the Caesar Maximin Maximin
Daias, was the legitimate heir to Uaias.
his relentless violence of temper and to
his stern hostility to the Christian name.
In the West, the assumption of the purple
by Maxentius, the son of the ab- s
dicated Maximian (Herculius), 1 axen iUS‘
had no unfavourable effect on the situation
of the Christians. They suffered only
with the rest of their fellow-subjects from
the vices of Maxentius. If their matrons
and virgins were not secure from his lust,
it was the common lot of all, wdio, although
of the highest rank and dignity, might at-
tract his insatiable passions. If a Chris-
tian matron, the wife of a senator, sub-
mitted to a voluntary death* rather than
to the loss of her honour, it was her beau-
ty, not her Christianity, which marked her
out as the victim of the tyrant. It was
not until Constantine began to ^
develop his ambitious views of Constantine‘
reuniting the dismembered monarchy, that
Maxentius threw himself, as it were, upon
the ancient gods of Rome, and identified
his own cause with that of Polytheism.
At this juncture all eyes were turned to-
wards the elder son of Constantius. If
not already recognised by the prophetic
glance of devout hope as the first Chris-
tian sovereign of Rome, he seemed placed
by providential wisdom as the protector,
as the head of the Christian interest. The
enemies of Christianity were his; and if
he was not as yet bound by the heredi-
tary attachment of a son to the religion
of his mother Helena, his father Constan-
tius had bequeathed him the wise example
of humanity and toleration. Placed as a
hostage in the hands of Gaierius, Constan-
tine had only escaped from the honour-
able captivity of the Eastern court, where
he had been exposed to constant peril of
his life, by the promptitude and rapidity
of his movements. He had fled, and du-
ring the first stages maimed the post-
horses which might have been employed
in his pursuit. During the persecution of
Dioclesian, Constantius alone, of all the
emperors, by a dexterous appearance of
submission, had screened the Christians
of Gaul from the common lot of their

* De Mort. Persecute c. xxiii.

Euseb., vi-ii.. 14.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

brethren. Nor was it probable that Con-
stantine would render on this point more
willing allegiance to the sanguinary man-
dates of Galerius. At present, however,
Constantine stood rather aloof from the
affairs of Italy and the East; and till the
resumption of the purple by the elder Max-
imian, his active mind was chiefly employ-
ed in the consolidation of his own power
in Gaul, and the repulse of the German
barbarians, who threatened the frontiers
of the Rhine.

Notwithstanding the persecution had
a d 309 now lasteci f°r six or seven years,
'in no part of the world did Chris-
tianity betray any signs of vital decay. It
was far too deeply rooted in the minds of
men, far too extensively.promulgated, far
too .vigorously organized not to endure
this violent but unavailing shock. If its
public worship was suspended, the believ-
ers met in secret, or cherished in the unas-
sailable privacy of the heart the inaliena-
ble rights of conscience. If it suffered
numerical loss, the body was not weaken-
ed by the severance of its more feeble and.
sufferings of worthless members. The in-
the Christians. ert resistance of the general
mass wearied out the vexatious and har-
assing measures of the government. Their
numbers secured them against general ex-
termination ; but, of course, the persecu-
tion fell most heavily upon the most em-
inent of the body; upon men who were
deeply pledged by the sense of shame, and
honour even, if in any case the nobler mo-
tives of conscientious faith and courageous
confidence in the truth of the religion were
wanting, to bear with unyielding heroism
the utmost barbarities of the persecutor.
Those who submitted performed the hated
ceremony with visible reluctance, with
trembling hand, averted countenance, and
deep remorse of heart; those who resist-
ed to death were animated by the presence
of multitudes, who, if they dared not ap-
plaud, could scarcely conceal their admi-
ration ; women crowded to kiss the hems
of their garments, and their scattered ash-
es or unburied bones were stolen away
by the devout zeal of their adherents, and
already began to be treasured as incentives
to faith and piety. It cannot be supposed
that the great functionaries of the state,
the civil or military governors, could be so
universally seared to humanity, or so in-
capable of admiring these frequent exam-
ples of patient heroism, as not either to
mitigate in some degree the sufferings
which they were bound to inflict, or even
to feel some secret sympathy with the
blameless victims whom they condemned,
which might ripen at a more fortunate pe-
L L

265

riod into sentiments still more favourable
to the Christian cause.

The most signal and unexpected tri-
umph of Christianity was over the author
of the persecution. While victory and
success appeared to follow that party in
the state which, if they had not as*yet
openly espoused the cause of Christianity,
had unquestionably its most ardent pray-
ers in their favour, the enemies of the
Christians were smitten with the direst
calamities, and the Almighty appeared
visibly to exact the most awful vengeance
for their sufferings. Galerius himself wTas
forced, as it were, to implore mercy; not,
indeed, in the attitude of penitence, but of
profound humiliation at the foot of the
Christian altar. In the eighteenth year
of his reign the persecutor lay expiring
of a most loathsome malady. A deep and
fetid ulcer preyed on the lower regions of
his body, and eat them away into a mass
of living corruption. It is certainly sin-
gular that the disease vulgarly called
beingeaten of worms” should have been
the destiny of Herod the Great, of Galeri-
us, and of Philip II. of Spain. Physicians
were sought from all quarters ; every or-
acle was consulted in vain; that of Apollo
suggested a cure which aggravated the
virulence of the disease. Not merely the
chamber, but the whole palace of Galerius
is described as infected by the insupporta-
ble stench which issued from his wound,
while the agonies which he suffered might
have satiated the worst vengeance of the
most unchristian enemy.

From the dying bed of Galerius issued
an edict, which, while it eonde- Edict of
scended to apologize for the past Galerius,
severities against the Christians, a.D-3ii,
under the specious plea of regard Apn
for the public welfare and the unity of the
state; while it expressed compassion for
his deluded subjects, whom the govern-
ment was unwilling to leave in the forlorn
condition of being absolutely without a re-
ligion, admitted to the fullest extent the
total failure of the severe measures for the
suppression of Christianity.* It permit-
ted the free and public exercise of the
Christian religion. Its close was still
more remarkable ; it contained an earnest
request to the Christians to intercede for
the suffering emperor in their supplica-
tions to their God. Whether this edict
was dictated by wisdom, by remorse, or
by superstitious terror; whether it was
the act of a statesman, convinced by ex-
perience of the impolicy, or even the in-
justice, of his sanguinary acts ; whether.

* Euseb.. E. H., viii., 17266

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

in the agonies of his excruciating disease,
his conscience was harassed by the thought
of his tortured victims ; or, having vainly
solicited the assistance of his own deities,
he would desperately endeavour to pro-
pitiate the favour, or, at least, allay the
wrath, of the Christians' God ; the whole
Roman world was witness of the public
and humiliating acknowledgment of defeat
extorted from the dying emperor. A few
days after the promulgation of the edict
Galerius expired.

The edict was issued from Sardica, in
a d. 3ii. the name of Galerius, of Licinius,
May. an(j 0f Constantine. It accorded
with the sentiments of the two latter:
Maximin alone, the Caesar of the East,
whose peculiar jurisdiction extended over
Syria and Egypt, rendered but an imper-
fect and reluctant obedience to the decree
of toleration. His jealousy was no doubt
excited by the omission of his name in the
preamble to the edict, and he seized this
excuse to discountenance its promulgation
Conduct of in his provinces. Yet for a time
Maximim m he suppressed his profound and
the East, inveterate hostility to the Chris-
tian name. He permitted unwritten or-
ders to be issued to the municipal govern-
ors of the towns, and to the magistrates
of the villages, to put an end to all violent
proceedings. The zeal of Sabinus, the
prsetorian praefect of the East, supposing
the milder sentiments of Galerius to be
shared by Maximin, seems to have outrun
the intentions of the Caesar. A circular
rescript appeared in his name, echoing the
tone, though it did not go quite to the
length, of the imperial edict. It proclaim-
ed “that it had been the anxious wish of
the divinity of the most mighty emperors
to reduce the whole empire to pay an.har-
monious and united worship to the immor-
tal gods. But their clemency had at
length taken compassion on the obstinate
perversity of the Christians, and determin-
ed on desisting from their ineffectual at-
tempts to force them to abandon their he-
reditary faith.” The magistrates were in-
structed to communicate the contents of
this letter to each other.' The governors
of the provinces, supposing at once that
the letter of the praefect contained the real
sentiments, of the emperor, with merciful
haste despatched orders to all persons in
subordinate civil or military command,
the.magistrates both of the towns and the
villages, who acted upon them with un-
hesitating obedience.*

The cessation of the persecution show-
ed at once its extent. The prison doors

were thrown open ; the mines rendered up
their condemned labourers: everywhere
long trains of Christians were seen hast-
ening to the ruins of their churches, and
visiting the places sanctified by their for-
mer devotion. The public roads, the
streets and market-places of the towns,
were crowded withlong processions, sing-
ing, psalms of thanksgiving for their deliv-
erance. ■ Those who had maintained their
faith under these severe trials passed tri-
umphant in conscious, even if lowly, pride
amid the flattering congratulations of their
brethren ; those who had failed in the hour
of affliction hastened to reunite themselves
with their God, and to obtain readmission
into the flourishing and reunited fold. The
heathen themselves were astonished, it
is said, at this signal mark of the power
of the Christians’ God, who had thus un-
expectedly wrought so sudden a revolution
in favour of his worshippers.*

But the cause of the Christians might
appear not yet sufficiently avenged. The
East, the great scene of persecution, was
not restored to prosperity or peace. It
had neither completed nor expiated the
eight years of relentless persecution.
The six months of apparent reconciliation
were occupied by the Caesar Maximin in
preparing measures of more subtle Maxim
and profound hostility. The situ- Lstiieio
ation of Maximin himself was crit- Christi-
ical and precarious. On the death anity‘
of Galerius he had seized on the govern
ment of the whole of Asia, and the forces
of the two emperors, Licinius and Maxi-
min, watched each other on either side of
the Bosphorus with jealous and ill-dis-
sembled hostility. Throughout the
West the emperors were favoura- ' '
ble, or, at least, not inimical to Christian-
ity. The political difficulties, even the
vices of Maximin, enforced the policy of
securing the support of a large and influ-
ential body; he placed himself at the head
of the pagan interest in the East. A de-
liberate scheme was laid for the advance-
ment of one party in the popular favour,
for the depression of the other. Measures
were systematically, taken to dnfeeble the
influence of Christianity, not by the au-
thority of government, but by poisoning
the public mind, and infusing into it a set-
tled and conscientious animosity. False
acts of Pilate were forged, intended to cast
discredit on the Divine founder of Chris-
tianity ; they were disseminated with the
utmost activity. The streets of Antioch
and other Eastern cities were placarded
with the most calumnious statements of

* Euseb., Ercl. Hist,, ix., 1.

* Euseb., Eccl. Hist., ix., 1.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

267

the origin of the Christian faith. The in-
structed of youth were directed to intro-
duce them as lessons into the schools, to
make their pupils commit them to mem-
ory; and boys were heard repeating, or
grown persons chanting, the most scanda-
lous blasphemies against the object of
Christian adoration.* In- Damascus, the
old arts of compelling or persuading wom-
en to confess that they had been present
at the rites of the Christians, which had
ended in lawless and promiscuous license,
were renewed. The confession of some
miserable prostitutes was submitted to
the emperor, published by his command,
and disseminated throughout the Eastern
cities, although the Christian rites had
been long celebrated in those cities with
the utmost publicity.!

The second measure of Maximin was
Reorganiza- the reorganization of the pagan
tion of pa- religion in all its original pomp
gamsm. an(j more than its ancient pow-
er. A complete hierarchy was establish-
ed on the model of the Christian episco-
pacy. Provincial pontiffs, men of the
highest rank, were nominated; they were
inaugurated with a solemn and splendid
ceremonial, and were distinguished by a
tunic of white. The emperor himself as-
sumed the appointment of the pontifical
offices in the different towns, which had
in general rested with the local authori-
ties. Persons of rank and opulence were
prevailed on to accept these sacred func-
tions, and were thus committed by per-
sonal interest and corporate attachment
in the decisive struggle. Sacrifices were
performed with the utmost splendour and
regularity, and the pontiffs were invested
with power to compel the attendance of
all the citizens. The Christians were lia-
ble to every punishment or torture short
of death. The pagan interest having thus
become predominant in the greater cities,
addresses were artfully suggested, and
voted by the acclaiming multitude, implo-
ring the interference of the emperor to ex-
pel these enemies of the established re-
ligion from their walls. The rescripts of
the emperor were engraved on brass, and
suspended in the public parts of the city.
The example was set by Antioch, once
the headquarters, and still, no doubt, a
stronghold of Christianity. Theotecnus,
the logistes or chamberlain of the city,
took the lead. A splendid image was

* In the speech attributed to S. Lucianus pre-
vious to his martyrdom at Nicomedia, there is an
allusion to these acts of Pilate, which shows that
they had made considerable impression on the pub-
lic mind.—Routh, Reliquise Sacras, iii., 286.
t Euseb., viii., 14.

erected to Jupiter Philius, and dedicated
with all the imposing pomp of mystery,
perhaps of Eastern magic.* As though
they would enlist that strong spirit of mu-
tual attachment which bound the Chris-
tians together, the ancient Jupiter was in-
vested in the most engaging and divine
attribute of the God of Christianity—he
was the God of Love. Nicomedia, the
capital of the East, on the entrance of the
emperor presented an address to the same
effect as those which had been already of-
fered by Antioch, Tyre, and other cities,
and the emperor affected to yield to this
simultaneous expression of the general
sentiment.

The first overt act of hostility was a
prohibition to the Christians to
meet in their cemeteries, where inu^domh?-
probably their enthusiasm was ionsofMa.v,-
wrought to the utmost height mm-
by the sacred thoughts associated with
the graves of their martyrs. But the pol-
icy of Maximin in general confined itself
to vexatious and harassing oppression,
and to other punishments, which inflicted
the pain and wretchedness without the
dignity of dying for the faith : the perse-
cuted had the sufferings, but not the glory
of martyrdom. Such, most likely, were
the general orders of Maximin, though in
some places the zeal of his officers may
have transgressed the prescribed limits
it must not be said, of humanity. The
bishop and two inhabitants of Emesa, and
Peter, the patriarch of Alexandrea, obtain-
ed the honours, of death. Lucianus, the
bishop of Antioch, was sent to undergo a
public examination at Nicomedia: he died
in prison. The greater number of vic-
tims suffered the less merciful punishment
of mutilation or excaecation. The remon-
strances of Constantine were unavailing ;
the emperor persisted in his cruel course,
and is said to have condescended to an in-
genious artifice to.afflict the sensitive con-
sciences of some persons of the higher or-
ders who escaped less painful penalties.
His banquets were served with victims
previously slain in sacrifice, and his Chris-
tian guests were thus unconsciously be-
trayed into a crime which the authority
of St. Paul had not yet convinced the
more scrupulous believers to be a matter
of perfect indifference.!

The emperor, in his public rescript, in
answer to the address from the The pagans
city of Tyre, had, as it were, 9

placed the issue of the contest . state of the
on an appeal to Heaven. The East,
gods of paganism were asserted to be the

Euseb,, ix., 2, 3

t Euseb., ix. 7.268

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

benefactors of the human race; through
their influence the soil had yielded its an-
nual increase ; the genial air had not been
parched by fatal droughts; the sea had
neither been agitated with tempests nor
swept by hurricanes ; the earth, instead of
being rocked by volcanic convulsions, had
been the peaceful and fertile mother of.its
abundant fruits. Their own neighbour-
hood spoke the manifest, favour of these
benignant deities, in its rich fields waving
with harvests, its flowery and luxuriant
meadows, and in the mild and genial tem-
perature of the air. A city so blessed by
its tutelary gods, in prudence as well as in
justice, would expel those traitorous cit-
izens whose impiety endangered these
blessings, and would wisely purify its
walls from the infection of their heaven-
despising presence.

But peace and prosperity by no means
ensued upon the depression of the
Reverse. Notwithstanding the

embellishment of the heathen temples,
the restoration of the Polytheistic
ceremonial in more than ordinary
pomp, and the nomination of the noblest
citizens to the pontifical offices, every kind
of calamity—tyranny, war, pestilence, and
famine—depopulated the Asiatic provin-
ces. Not the least scourge of the pagan
East was the pagan emperor himself.
Christian writers may have exaggerated,
they can scarcely have invented, the vices
of Maximin. His lusts violated alike the
honour of noble and plebeian families. The
eunuchs, the purveyors for his passions,
Tyranny of traversed the provinces, marked
Maximin. out those who were distinguish-
ed by fatal beauty, and conducted these
extraordinary perquisitions with the most
insolent indignity: where milder meas-
ures would not prevail, force was used.
Nor was tyranny content with the grati-
fication of its own license : noble virgins,
after having been dishonoured by the em-
peror, were granted in marriage to his
slaves; even those of the highest rank
were consigned to the embraces of a bar-
barian husband. Valeria, the widow of
Galerius and the daughter of Dioclesian,
was first insulted by proposals of mar-
riage from Maximin, whose wife was still
living, and then forced to wander through
the Eastern provinces in the humblest dis-
guise, till at length she perished at Thes-
salonica by the still more unjustifiable sen-
tence of Licinius.

The war of Maximin with Armenia was
War with wantonly undertaken in a spirit of
Armenia, persecution. This earliest Chris-
tian kingdom was attached, in all the zeal
of recent proselytism, to the new religion.

That part which acknowledged the Roman
sway wrfs commanded to abandon Christi-
anity, and the legions of Rome were em-
ployed in forcing the reluctant kingdom to
obedience. *

But these were foreign calamities.
Throughout the dominions of Maximin the
summer rains did not fall; a sudden fam-
ine desolated the whole East; corn Famine
rose to an unprecedented price.f <amine‘
Some large villages were entirely depop-
ulated ; many opulent families were re-
duced to beggary, and persons in a decent
station sold their children as slaves. The
rapacity of the emperor aggravated the
general misery. The granaries of individ-
uals were seized, and their stores closed
up by the imperial seal. The flocks and
herds were driven away, to be offered in.
unavailing sacrifices to the gods. The
court of the emperor, in the mean time,
•insulted the general suffering by its ex-
cessive luxury; his foreign and barbarian
troops lived in a kind of free quarters, in
wasteful plenty, and plundered on all sides
with perfect impunity. The scanty and
unwholesome food produced its
usual effect, a pestilential mala- es ience\
dy. Carbuncles broke out all over the bod-
ies of those who were seized with the dis-
order, but particularly attacked the eyes,
so that multitudes became helplessly and
incurably blind. The houses of the weal-
thy, which were secure against the fam-
ine, seemed particularly marked out by
the pestilence. The hearts of all classes
were hardened by the extent of the ca-
lamity. The most opulent, despairing of
diminishing the vast mass of misery, or
of relieving the swarms of beggars who
filled every town and city, gave up the
fruitless endeavour. The Christians alone
took a nobler and evangelic revenge upon
their suffering enemies. They were ac-
tive in allaying those miseries of which
they were the common victims. The ec-
clesiastical historian claims no exemption
for the Christians from the general ca-
lamity, but honourably boasts that they
alone'displayed the offices of humanity and
brotherhood. They were everywhere,
tending the living and burying the dead.
They distributed bread; they visited the
infected houses; they scared away the
dogs which preyed in open day on the
bodies in the streets, and rendered to
them the decent honours of burial. The
myriads who perished and were perish-
ing in a state of absolute desertion, could

* Euseb., ix., 8.

f The statement in the text of Eusebius, as it
stands, is utterly incredible: a measure of whea*
at 2500 attics (drachms), from 70/. to 80/.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

269

not but acknowledge that Christianity was
stronger than love of kindred. The fears
and the gratitude of mankind were equally
awakened in their favour; the fears, which
could not but conclude these calamities to
be the vengeance of Heaven for the per-
secutions of its favoured people ; the grati-
tude to those who thus repaid good for evil
in the midst of a hostile and exasperated
society.*

Before we turn our attention to the
West, and follow the triumphant career
of Constantine to the reconsolidation of
the empire in his person, and the triumph
of Christianity through his favour, it may
be more consistent with the distinct view
of these proceedings to violate in some
degree the order of time, and follow to its
close the history of the Christian persecu-
tions in the East.

Maximin took the alarm, and endeav-
Maximin oured, too late, to retrace his
retracts his steps. He issued an edict, in
edictecUtlf J avowed the plain prin-

ciples of toleration, and ascri-
bed his departure from that salutary pol-
icy to the importunate zeal of his capital
and of other cities, which he could not
treat with disrespect, but which had de-
manded the expulsion of the Christians
from their respective territories. He com-
manded the suspension of all violent meas-
ures, and recommended only mild and per-
suasive means to win back these apos-
tates to the religion of their forefathers.
The Christians, who had once been delu-
ded by a show of mercy, feared to recon-
struct their fallen edifices or to renew
their public assemblies; and awaited, in
trembling expectation, the issue of the ap-
proaching contest with Licinius.f

The victory of Constantine over Max-
entius had left him master of Rome. Con-
stantine and Licinius reigned over all the
European provinces ; and the public edict
for the toleration of Christianity, issued
in the name of these two emperors, an-
nounced the policy of the Western empire.

After the defeat of Maximin by Licin-
ius, his obscure death gave ample scope
for the credulous, if not inventive malice
of his enemies, to ascribe to his last mo-
ments every excess of weakness and cru-
elty, as well as of suffering. He is said
to have revenged his baffled hopes of vic-
tory on the pagan priesthood, who incited
a.d. 313. him to the war, by a promiscuous
massacre of all within his power.
His last imperial act was the promulga-
tion of another edict, still more explicitly
favourable to the Christians, in which he

not merely proclaimed* ai unrestricted
liberty of conscience, but restored the
confiscated property of their churches.
His bodily sufferings completed the Death of
dark catalogue of persecuting em- Maximin.
perors who had perished under the most
excruciating torments : his body was slow-
ly consumed by an internal fire.f

With Maximin expired the last hope of
paganism to maintain itself by Thenew
the authority of the government, paganism
Though Licinius was only acci- tails with
dentally connected with the Chris- dXimni-
tian party, and afterward allied himself
for a short time to the pagan interest, at
this juncture his enemies were those of
Christianity ; and his cruel triumph anni-
hilated at once the adherents of Maximin
and those of the old religion. The new
hierarchy fell at once; the chief magis-
trates of almost all the cities were execu-
ted ; for even where they were not in-
vested in the pontifical offices, it was un-
der their authority that paganism had re-
newed its more imposing form, and sank
with them into the common ruin. The
arts by which Theotecnus of Antioch, the
chief adviser of Maximin, had imposed
upon the populace of that city by myste-
rious wonders, were detected and exposed
to public contempt, and the author put to
death. Tyre, which had recommended
itself to Maximin by the most violent hos-
tility to the Christian name, was con-
strained to witness the reconstruction of
the fallen church in far more than Rebuilding
its original grandeur. Eusebius, ofihe
afterward the bishop of Cassarea, £hurch of
and the historian of the Church, }re'
pronounced an inaugural discourse on its
reconsecration. His description of the
building is curious in itself, as the model
of an Eastern church, and illustrates the
power and opulence of the Christian party
in a city which had taken the lead on the
side of paganism. Nor would the Chris-
tian orator venture greatly to exaggerate
the splendour of a building which stood in
the midst, and provoked, as it were, a
comparison with temples of high antiquity
and unquestioned magnificence.

The Christian church was built on the,
old site; for, though a more convenient
and imposing space might have been
found, the piety of the Christians clung
with reverence to a spot consecrated by
the most holy associations; and their
pride, perhaps, was gratified in restoring
to more than its former grandeur the edi-
fice which had been destroyed by pagan

* Edict of toleration issued from Nicomedia
A.D. 313. 13th June.

t Euseb, ixM 9.

* Euseb , ix., 9

f En.^b., viii., 14.270

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

malice. The whole site was environed
with a wall; a lofty propylaeon, which
faced the rising sun, commanded the at-
tention of the passing pagan, who could
not but contrast the present splendour
with the recent solitude of the place, and
afforded an imposing glimpse of the mag-
nificence within. The intermediate space
between the propylseon and the church
was laid out in a cloister with four colon-
nades, enclosed with a palisade of wood.
The centre square was open to the sun
and air, and two fountains sparkled in the
midst, and reminded the worshipper, with
their emblematic purity, of the necessity
of sanctification. The uninitiat'e proceed-
ed no farther than the cloister, but might
behold at this modest distance the mys-
teries of the sanctuary. Several other
vestibules or propylaea intervened between
the cloister and the main building. The
three gates of the church fronted the east,
of which the central was the loftiest and
most costly, “ like a queen between her
attendants.” It was adorned with plates
of brass and richly - sculptured reliefs.
Two colonnades or aisles ran along the

main building, above which were, windows
which lighted the edifice; other buildings
for the use of the ministers adjoined. Un-
fortunately, the pompous eloquence of Eu-
sebius would not condescend to the vulgai
details of measurements, and dwells onl}
in vague terms of wonder at the spacious-
ness, the heaven-soaring loftiness, the
splendour of the interior. The roof was
of beams from the cedars of Lebanon, the
floor inlaid with marble. In the centre
rose the altar, which had already obtained
the name of the place of sacrifice ; it was
guarded from the approach of the profane
by a trellis of the most slender and grace-
ful workmanship. Lofty seats were pre-
pared for the higher orders, and benches
for those of lower rank were arranged
with regularity throughout the building.
Tyre, no doubt, did not stand alone in this
splendid restoration of her Christian wor-
ship; and Christianity, even before its
final triumph under Constantine, before
the restoration of their endowments and
the munificent imperial gifts, possessed
Sufficient wealth at least to commence
these costly undertakings.BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

CONSTANTINE.

The reign of Constantine the Great
Reign of forms one of the epochs in the
Constantine, history of the world. It is the
sera of the dissolution of the Roman em-
pire ; the commencement, or, rather, con-
solidation of a kind of Eastern despotism,
with a new capital, a new patriciate, a
new constitution, a new financial system,
a new, though as yet imperfect, jurispru-
dence, and, finally, a new religion. Al-
Change in ready, in the time of Dioclesian,
the empire. Italy had sunk into a province;
Rome into one of the great cities of the
empire. The declension of her importance
had been gradual, but inevitable; her su-
premacy had been shaken by that slow
succession of changes which had imper-
ceptibly raised the relative weight and
dignity of other parts of the empire, and
of the empire itself as a whole, until she
ceased to be the central point of the ad-
ministration of public affairs. Rome was
Degradation no longer the heart of the social
or Rome. system, from which emanated
all the life and power which animated and
regulated the vast and unwieldy body, and
to which flowed in the wealth and the
homage of the obedient world. The ad-
mission of the whole empire to the rights
of Roman citizenship by Caracalla had
dissolved the commanding spell which cen-
turies of gold and conquest had attached
to the majesty of the Roman name. To
be a Roman was no longer a privilege ; it
gave no distinctive rights; its exemptions
were either taken away, or vulgarized by
being made common to all except the ser-
vile order. The secret once betrayed that
the imperial dignity might be conferred
elsewhere than in the imperial city, lower-
ed still more the pre-eminence of Rome.
From that time the seat of government
was at the head of the army. If the em-
peror proclaimed in Syria, in Illyria, or
in Britain condescended, without much
delay, to visit the ancient capital, the trem-
bling senate had but to ratify the decree
of the army, and the Roman people to
welcome, with submissive acclamations,
their new master.

Dioclesian had consummated the Degra-
dation of Rome by transferring the resi-
dence of the court to Nicomedia. He had
commenced the work of reconstructing
the empire upon a new basis; some of
his measures were vigorous, comprehen-
sive, and tending to the strength and con-
solidation of the social edifice ; but he had
introduced a principle of disunion more
than powerful enough to .counteract all
the energy which he had infused into the
executive government. His fatal policy
of appointing co-ordinate sovereigns, two
Augusti, with powers avowedly equal, and
two Caesars, with authority nominally sub-
ordinate, but which, in able hands, would
not long have brooked inferiority, had near-
ly dismembered the solid unity of the em-
pire. As yet the influence of Unityofthe
the Roman name was command- empire still
ing and awful; the provinces Preserved.
were accustomed to consider themselves
as parts of one political confederacy; the
armies marched still under the same ban-
ners, were united by discipline, and as yet
by the unforgotten inheritance of victory
from their all-subduing ancestors. In all
parts of the world, every vestige of civil
independence had long been effaced ; cen-
turies of servitude had destroyed every
dangerous memorial of ancient dynasties
or republican constitutions. Hence, there-
fore, the more moderate ambition of erect-
ing an independent kingdom never oc-
curred to any of the rival emperors ; or, if
the separation had been attempted; if a
man of ability had endeavoured to parti-
tion off one great province, dependant upon
its own resources, defended by its own
legions, or on a well-organized force of
auxiliary barbarians, the age was not yet
ripe for such a daring innovation. The
whole empire would have resented the se-
cession of any member from the ancient
confederacy, and turned its concentrated
force against the recreant apostate from
the majestic unity of imperial Rome. Yet,
if this system had long prevailed, the dis-
organizing must have finally triumphed
over the associating principle: separate272

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

interests would have arisen; a gradual de-
parture from the uniform order of admin-
istration have taken place ; a national char-
acter might have developed itself in differ-
ent quarters ; and the vast and harmoni-
ous edifice would have split asunder into
distinct, and insulated, and, at length, hos-
tile kingdoms.

Nothing less than a sovereign whose
comprehensive mind could discern the ex-
igences of this critical period; nothing
less than a conqueror who rested on the
strength of successive victories over his
competitors for the supremacy, could have
reunited, and in time, under one vigorous
administration, the dissolving elements of
the empire.

Such a conqueror was Constantine : but,
reunited, the empire imperiously demand-
ed a complete civil reorganization. It was
not the foundation of the new capital which
wrought the change in the state of the em-
pire, it was the state of the empire which
required a new capital. The ancient sys-
tem of government, emanating entirely
from Rome, and preserving, with sacred
reverence, the old republican forms, had
lost its awe; the world acknowledged the
master wherever it felt the power. The
possession of Rome added no great weight
to the candidate for empire, while its pre-
tensions embarrassed the ruling sover-
eign.* The powerless senate, which still
expected to ratify the imperial decrees;
the patrician order, which had ceased to
occupy the posts of honour, and danger,
and distinction; the turbulent populace,
and the praetorian soldiery, who still pre-
sumed to assert their superiority over the
legions who were bravely contesting the
German or the Persian frontier; the forms,
the intrigues, the interests, the factions of
such a city, would not be permitted by an
emperor accustomed to rule with absolute
dominion in Treves, in Milan, or in Nico-
media, to clog the free movements of his
administration. The dissolution
New nobility. tqe praetorian bands by Con-
stantine on his victory over Maxentius,
though necessary to the peace, was fatal
to the power, of Rome. It cut off one of
her great, though dearly-purchased distinc-
tions. Around the Asiatic, or the Illyrian,
or the Gaulish court had gradually arisen
a new nobility, if not yet distinguished by
title, yet by service or by favour possess-

* Galerius (if we are to trust the hostile author
of the de Mort. Persecut.) had never seen Rome
before his invasion of Italy, and was unacquainted
with its immense magnitude. Galerius, according
to the same authority, threatened, after his flight
from Italy, to change the name of the empire from
Roman to Dacian (c. xxvii.).

ing the marked and acknowledged confi-
dence of the emperor, and filling all offices
of power and of dignity: a nobility inde-
pendent of patrician descent, or the tenure
uf property in Italy. Ability in the field
or in the council, or even court intrigue,
would triumph over the claims of heredi-
tary descent; and all that remained was
to ^decorate with title, and organize into a
new aristocracy, those who already pos-
sessed the influence and the authority of
rank. With emperors of provincial or
barbarous descent naturally arose a race
of military or civil servants, strangers to
Roman blood and to the Roman name.
The will of the sovereign became the
fountain of honour. New regulations of
finance, and a jurisprudence, though adhe-
ring closely to the forms and the practice
of the old institutions, new in its spirit and
in the scope of many of its provisions, em-
braced the whole empire in its compre-
hensive sphere. It was no longer Rome
which legislated for the world, but the
legislation which comprehended Rome
among the cities subject to its authority.
The laws were neither issued nor ratified,
they were only submitted to, by Rome.

The Roman religion sank with the Ro-
man supremacy. The new em- State of Ul0
pire welcomed the new religion religion of
as its ally and associate in the Rome*
government of the human mind. The em-
pire lent its countenance, its sanction, at
length its power, to Christianity; Chris-
tianity infused throughout the empire a
secret principle of association, which, long
after it had dissolved into separate and
conflicting masses, held together, never-
theless, the loose and crumbling confede-
racy, and at length, itself assuming the lost
or abdicated sovereignty, compressed the
whole into one system under a spiritual
dominion. The papal, after some interval
of confusion and disorganization, succeed-
ed the imperial autocracy over the Euro-
pean world.

Of all historical problems, none has been
discussed with a stronger bias of Motives for
opinion, of passion, and of preju- the conver-
dice, according to the age, the na- gja™nfeCon
tion, the creed of the writer, than
the conversion of Constantine and the es-
tablishment of Christianity as the religion
of the empire. Hypocrisy, policy, super-
stition, Divine inspiration, have been in
turn assigned, as the sole or the predomi-
nant influence which, operating on the
mind of the emperor, decided at once the
religious destiny of the empire. But there
is nothing improbable in supposing that
Constantine was actuated by concurrent
or even conflicting motives, all of whichHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY 273

united m enforcing the triumph of Chris-
tianity. There is nothing contradictory
in the combination of the motives them-
selves, particularly if we consider them as
operating with greater strength, or with
successive paroxysms, as it were, of in-
fluence, during the different periods in the
life of Constantine, on the soldier, the
statesman, and the man. .The soldier, at
a perilous crisis, might appeal, without just
notions of his nature, to the tutelary pow-
er of a deity to whom a considerable part
of his subjects, and perhaps of his army,
looked up with faith or with awe. The
statesman may have seen the absolute ne-
cessity of basing his new constitution on
religion ; he may have chosen Christianity
as obviously possessing the strongest, and
still strengthening, hold upon the minds of
his people. He might appreciate, with
profound political sagacity, the moral in-
fluence of Christianity, as well as its ten-
dency to enforce peaceful, if not passive,
obedience to civil government. At a later
period, particularly if the circumstances of
his life threw him more into connexion
with the Christian priesthood, he might
gradually adopt as a religion that which
had commanded his admiration as a polit-
ical influence. He might embrace with
ardeflt attachment, yet, after all, by no
means with distinct apprehension or im-
plicit obedience to all its ordinances, that
faith which alone seemed to survive amid
the wreck of all other religious systems.

A rapid but comprehensive survey of
the state of Christianity at this momentous
period will explain the position in which it
stood in relation to the civil government,
to the general population of the empire,
and to the ancient religion, and throw a
clear and steady light upon the manner in
which it obtained its political as well as its
spiritual dominion over the Roman world.

The third century of Christianity had
Revival of been prolific in religious revolu-
Zoroastri- tions. In the East the silent prog-
anism. ress of the yGospel had been ar-
rested ; Christianity.had been thrown back
with irresistible violence oil the Roman
territory. An ancient religion, connected
with the great political changes in the
sovereignty of the Persian kingdom, re-
vived in all the vigour and enthusiasm of
a new creed; it was received as the asso-
ciate and main support of the state. An
hierarchy, numerous, powerful, and opu-
lent, with all the union and stability of an
hereditary caste, strengthened by large
landed possessions, was reinvested in an
authority almost co-ordinate with that of
the sovereign. The restoration of Zoro-
astrianism as the established and influen-
M M

tial religion of Persia is perhaps the only
instance of the vigorous revival of a pagan
religion.* Of the native religion of the
Parthians, little, if anything, is known.
They were a Scythian race, who overran
and formed a ruling aristocracy over the
remains of the older Persian and the more
modern Grecian civilization. The Scyth-
ian, or Tartar or Turcoman tribes, who
have perpetually, from China westward,
invaded and subdued the more polished
nations, have never attempted to force
their rude and shapeless deities, their more
vulgar Shamanism, or even the Buddhism,
which in its simpler form has prevailed
among them to a great extent, on the na-
tions over which they have ruled. The an-
cient Magi an priesthood remained, if with
diminished power, in great numbers, and
not without extensive possessions in the
eastern provinces of the Parthian empire.
The temples raised by the Greek success-
ors of Alexander, whether to Grecian de-
ities, or blended with the Tsabaism or the
Nature-worship of Babylonia or Syria,
continued to possess their undiminished
honours, with their ample endowments
and their sacerdotal colleges. Some ves-
tiges of the deification of the kings of the
line of Arsaces seem to be discerned, but
with doubtful certainty.

The earliest legendary history of Chris-
tianity assigns Parthia as the scene of
apostolic labours; it was the province of
St. Thomas. But in the intermediate re-
gion, the great Babylonian province, there
is the strongest evidence that Christianity
had made an early, a rapid, and a success-
ful progress. It was the residence, at
least for a certain period, of the apostle
St. Peter.f With what success' it con-
ducted its contest with Judaism it is im-
possible to conjecture; for Judaism, which,
after the second rebellion in the reign of
Hadrian, maintained but a permissive and
precarious existence in Palestine, flourish-
ed in the Babylonian province with some-
thing of a national and independent char-
acter. The Resch-Glutha, or Prince of
the Captivity, far surpassed in the splen-
dour of his court the patriarch of Tiberias;
and the activity of their schools of learn-
ing in Naliardea, in Sura, and in Pumbe-

•* The materials for this view of the restoration of
the Persian religion are chiefly derived from the fol-
lowing sources: Hyde, de Religione Persarum;
Anqaetildu Perron ; Zendavesta, 3vols.; the Ger-
man translation of Du Perron, by KPuker, with the
very valuable volumes of appendix fAnhang); De
Guigniaut’s Translation of Creuzer’s Symbolik;
Malcolm’s Plistory of Persia; Heeren, Ideen.

Some of these sources were not open to Gibbon
when he composed his brilliant chapter on this sub
ject. t Compare note, p. 42.274

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ditha, is attested by the vast compilation
of the Babylonian Talmud.* Nor does
the Christianity of this region appear to
have suffered from the persecuting spirit
of the Magian hierarchy during the earlier
conflicts for the Mesopotamian provinces
between the arms of Rome and Persia.
Though one bishop ruled the united com-
munities of Seleucia and Ctesiphon, the
numbers of Christians in the rest of the
province were probably far from inconsid-
erable.

It was in the ancient dominions of Da-

Restoration of rius and °f Xerxes that the old
the Persian religion of Zoroaster reassumed

Ardeschir^ P0wer and auth°rity- No
Babhegan. sooner had Ardeschir Babhe-
or the reii- gan (the Artaxerxes of the
aster°fZor0' Greeks) destroyed the last re-
mains of the foreign Parthian
dynasty and reorganized the dominion of
the native Persian kings, from the bor-
ders of Charismia to the Tigris (the Per-
sian writers assert to the Euphrates),!
than he hastened to environ his throne
with the Magian hierarchy, and to re-es-
tablish the sacerdotal order in all its for-
mer dignity. But an ancient religion which
has sunk into obscurity will not regain its
full influence over the popular mind unless
reinvested in Divine authority: intercourse
with Heaven must be renewed; the sanc-
tion and ratification of the Deity must be
public and acknowledged. Wonder and
miracle are as necessary to the revival of
an old, as to the establishment of a new
religion. In the records of the Zoroas-
trian faith, which are preserved in the an-
cient language of the Zend, may be traced
man}r singular provisions, which bear the
mark of great antiquity, and show the
transition from a pastoral to an agricultu-
ral life.f The cultivation of the soil; the
propagation of fruit-trees, nowhere so lux-
uriant and various as in the districts which
probably gave birth to the great religious
legislator of the East, Balk, and the coun-
try of the modern Afghans ; and the de-
struction of noxious animals, are among
the primary obligations enforced on the
followers of Zoroaster. A grateful peo-
ple might look back with the deepest ven-
eration on the author of a religious code
so wisely beneficent; the tenth of the
produce would be no disproportioned of-
fering to the priesthood of a religion which
had thus turned civilization into a duty,
and given a Divine sanction to the first
principles of human wealth and happiness.

* See History of the Jews, iii., 143, &c.

f Malcolm’s History of Persia, i., 72.

t Compare Heeren. Ideen, and Rhode, die Hei-
Jige Sage des Zendvolks.

But a new impulse was necessary to a
people which had long passed this state of
transition, and were only reassuming the
possessions of their ancestors, and recon-
structing their famous monarchy. Zoro-
astrianism, like all other religions, had
split into numerous sects ; and an author-
itative exposition of the Living Word of
Zoroaster could alone restore its power
and its harmony to the re-established Ma-
gianism of the realm of Ardeschir. Erdi-
viraph was the Magian designa- vision of
ted by his blameless innocence Erdiviraph.
from his mother’s womb to renew the in-
tercourse with the Divinity, and to unfold,
on the authority of inspiration, the secrets
of heaven and hell. Forty (according to
one account, eighty thousand) of the Ma-
gian priesthood; the Archimage, who re-
sided in Bactria, the Desturs and the Me
beds, had assembled to witness and sane
t.ion this important ceremony. They were
successively reduced to 40,000, to 4000, to
400, to 40, to 7 : the acknowledged merit
of Erdiviraph gave him the pre-eminence
among the seven.* Having passed through
the strictest ablutions, and drunk a pow-
erful opiate, he was covered with a white-
linen and laid to sleep. Watched by sev-
en of the nobles, including the kipg, he
slept for seven days and nights; and, on
his reawakening, the whole nation listen
ed with believing wonder to his exposition
of the faith of Oromazd, which was care-
fully written down by an attendant scribe
for the benefit of posterity.!

An hierarchy which suddenly regains
its power after centuries of ob-‘ Intoleramse
scurity, perhaps of oppression, of the Ma-
will not be scrupulous as to the gjan hierar
means of giving strength and ciy‘
permanence to its dominion. With Ar-
deschir, the restoration of the Persian peo-
ple to their rank among the nations of
the earth, by the reinfusion of a national
spirit, was the noble object of ambition ;
the re-establishment of a national religion,
as the strongest and most enduring bond
of union, was an essential part of his great
scheme; but a national religion, thus as-
sociated with the civil polity, is necessa-
rily exclusive, and impatient of the rival-
ry of other creeds. Intolerance lies in the
very nature of a religion which, dividing

* All these numbers, it should be observed, are
multiples of 40, the indefinite number throughout
the East. (See Bredow’s Dissertation, annexed to
the new edition of Syncellus.—Byz. Hist., Bonn).
The recusants of Zoroastrianism (vid. infra) are in
like manner reduced to seven, the sacred number
with' the Zoroastrian, as with the religion of the
Old Testament.

f Hyde (from Persian authorities), de Relig. Peis.,
p 278, et seqq.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

275

the whole worli into the realm of two
conflicting principles, raises one part of
mankind into a privileged order as follow-
ers of the good principle, and condemns
the other half as the irreclaimable slaves
of the evil one. The national worship is
identified with that of Oromazd; and the
kingdom of Oromazd must be purified
from the intrusion of the followers of Ah-
riman. The foreign relations, so to speak,
of the Persian monarchy, according to
their old poetical history, are strongly col-
oured by their deep-rooted religious opin-
ions. Their implacable enemies, the pas-
toral Tartar or Turcoman tribes, inhabit
the realm of darkness, and invade at times
and desolate the kingdom of light, till
some mighty monarch, Kaiomers, or some
redoubtable hero, Rustan, reasserts the
majesty and revenges the losses of the
kingdom of Oromazd. Iran and Turan
are the representatives of the two con-
flicting worlds of light and darkness. In
the same spirit, to expel, to persecute the
followers of other religions, was to expel,
to trample on the followers of Ahriman.
This edict of Ardeschir closed all the tem-
ples but those of the fire-worshippers :
only eighty thousand followers of Ahri-
man, including the worshippers of foreign
religions and. the less orthodox believers
n Zoroastrianism, remained to infect the
purified region of Oromazd.* * * * * § Of the loss
Destruction sustained by Christianity during
of Christian- this conflict in the proper do-
tty m Persia, minions of Persia, and the num-
ber of churches which shared the fate of
the Parthian and Grecian temples, there is
no record. The persecutions by the fol-
lowers of Zoroaster are only to be traced
at a later period in Armenia and in the
Babylonian province; but Persia, from this
time until the fiercer persecutions of their
own brethren forced the Nestorian Chris-
tians to overleap every obstacle, present-
ed a stern and insuperable barrier to the
progress of Christianity.! It cut off all

* Gibbon, in his chapter on the restoration of the
Persian monarchy and religion, has said that in
this conflict “ the sword of Aristotle (such was the
name given by the Orientals to the Polytheism
and philosophy of the Greeks) was easily broken.”
I suspect this expression to be an anachronism ; it
is clearly post-Mohammedan, and from a Moham-
medan author. He has likewise quoted authori-
ties for the persecution of Artaxerxes which relate
to those of his descendants.

t Sozomen, indeed, asserts that Christianity was
first introduced into the Persian dominions at a
later period, from their intercourse with Osroene
and Armenia. But it is very improbable that the
active zeal of the Christians in the first ages of the
religion should not have taken advantage of the
mild and tolerant government of the Parthian kings.
“ Parthian.s and Elamites,” i e., Jews inhabiting

connexion with the Christian communi-
ties (if communities there were) in the
remoter East.*

Ardeschir bequeathed to his royal de-
scendants the solemn charge of maintain-
ing the indissoluble union of the Magian
religion with the state. “ Never Connexion
forget that, as a king, you are of the throne
at once the protector of religion “nd the hie*
and of your country. Consider rarc
the altar and the throne as inseparable;
they must always sustain each other. A
sovereign without religion is a tyrant; and
a people who have none may be deemed
the most monstrous of societies. Religion
may exist without a state, but a state can-
not exist without religion: it is by holy
laws that a political association can aj^ne
be bound. You should be to your people
an example of piety and virtue, but with-
out pride or ostentation.”! The kings of
the race of Sassan accepted and fulfilled
the. sacred trust; the Magian hierarchy
encircled and supported the kingly power
of Persia. They formed the great council
of the state. Foreign religions, if tolera-
ted, were watched with jealous severity;
Magianism was established at the point of
the sword in those parts of Armenia which
were subjugated by the Persian kings.
When Mesopotamia was included within
the pale of the Persian dominions, the Jews
were at times exposed to the severest op-
pressions ; the burial of the dead was pe-
culiarly offensive to the usages of the fire-
worshippers. Mani wa% alike rejected
and persecuted by the Christian and the
Magian priesthood ; and the barbarous ex-
ecution of the Christian bishops who ruled
over the Babylonian sees demanded at a
later period the interference of Constan-
tine. J

But while Persia thus fiercely repelled
Christianity from its frontier, Armeniathe
upon that frontier arose a Chris- first Chris-
tian state.§ Armenia was the thm king-
first country which embraced dom*
Christianity as the religion of the king,
the nobles, and the people. During the
early ages of the empire, Armenia had
been an object of open contention or of

those countries, are mentioned as among the con
verts on the day of Pentecost.—Sozomen, ii., 8.

* The date of the earliest Christian communi-
ties in India is judiciously discussed in Bohlen, das
alte Indien, i., 369, to the end.

t Malcolm’s Hist, of Persia, i., 74, from Ferdusi.

t Sozomen, ii., 9, 10. Compare, on these per-
secutions of the Christians, Kleuker* Anhang zum
Zendavesta, p. 292, et seq., with Assemanni, Act.
Martyr. Or. et Occid., Romas, 1748.

§ St. Martin, Memories sur PArm4nie, i., 405,
406, &c. Notes to Le Beau, Hist des Empereurs.
i, 76.276

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

political intrigue ‘between the conflicting
powers of Parthia and Rome. The adop-
tion of Christianity as the religion of the
state, while it united the interests of the
kingdom by a closer bond with the Chris-
tian empire of Rome (for it anticipated
the honour of being the first Christian
state by only a few years), added to its
perilous situation on the borders of the
two empires a new cause for the impla-
cable hostility of Persia. Every success-
ful invasion and every subtle negotiation
to establish the Persian predominance in
Armenia was marked by the most relent-
less and sanguinary persecutions, which
were endured with the combined dignity
of Christian and patriotic heroism by the
abided people. The Vartobed or patri-
arch was always the first victim of Per-
sian conquest, the first leader to raise the
fallen standard of independence.

The Armenian histories, written, almost
without exception, by the priesthood, in
order to do honour to their native country
by its early reception of Christianity, have
included, the Syrian kingdom of Edessa
within its borders, and assigned a place to
the celebrated Abgar in the line of their
kings. The personal correspondence of
Abgar with the Divine Author of Chris-
tianity is, of course, incorporated in this
early legend. But though, no doubt, Chris-
tianity had made considerable progress at
the commencement of the third century,
the government of Armenia was still stern-
ly and irreconcilably pagan. Khosrov I.
a t> 914. imitated the cruel and. impious
' Pharaoh. He compelled the Chris-
tians, on a scanty stipend, to labour on the
public works. Many obtained the glori-
ous crown of martyrdom.*

Gregory the Illuminator was the apostle
Gregory the of Armenia. The birth of Greg-
niuminator. 0ry was darkly connected with
the murder of the reigning king, the almost
total extirpation of the royal race, and the
subjugation of his country to a foreign
yoke. He was the son of Anah, the as-
sassin of his sovereign. The murder of
Khosrov, the valiant and powerful king of
Armenia, is attributed to the jealous am-,
bition of Ardeschir, the first king of Per-
sia.f Anah, of a noble Armenian race,
was bribed by the promise of vast wealth
and the second place in the empire to
conspire against the life of Khosrov. Pre-
tending to take refuge in the Armenian
dominions from the persecution of King

* Father Chamich, History of Armenia, i., 153,
translated by Avdall.

t Moses Choren, 64, 71. Chamich, Hist. Armen.,
i., 154, and other authorities. St. Martin, Memoires
sur l’Armenie, i., 303, &c.

Ardeschir, he was hospitably received in
the city of Valarshapat. Pie struck the
king to the heart, and fled. The Murder of
Armenian soldiery, in their fury, Khosrov.
pursued the assassin, who was drowned
during his flight in the river Araxes. The
vengeance of the soldiers wreaked itself
upon his innocent family ;* the infant
Gregory was alone saved by a Christian
nurse, who took refuge in Caesarea. There
the future apostle was baptized, and (thus
runs the legend) by Divine revelation re-
ceived the name of Gregory. Ardeschir
reaped all the advantage of the treachery
of Anah, and Armenia sank into a Persian
province. The conqueror consummated
the crime of his base instrument; the
whole family of Khosrov was put to death
except Tiridates, who fled to the Roman
dominions, and one sister, Khosrovedught,
who was afterward instrumental in the in-
troduction of Christianity into the king-
dom. Tiridates served with distinction
in the Roman armies of Dioclesian, and
seized the favourable opportunity of re-
conquering his hereditary throne. The
re-establishment of Armenia as a friendly
power was an important event in the East-
ern policy of Rome ; the simultaneous con-
version. of the empire and its Eastern
ally to the new religion strengthened the
bonds of union by a common religious in-
terest.

Gregory re-entered his native country
in the train of the victorious Tiri- Tiridates>
dates. But Tiridates was a bigot- lung of"’
ed adherent to the ancient religion Armema-
of his country. This religion appears to
have been a mingled form of corrupt Zoro-
astrianism and Grecian, or, rather, Oriental
nature-worship, with some rites of Scyth-
ian origin. Their chief deity was Ara-
mazt, the Ormuzd of the Magian system,
but their temples were crowded with stat-
ues, and their altars reeked with animal
sacrifices ; usages revolting to the purer
Magianism of Persia.f The Babylonian
impersonation of the female principle of
generation, Anaitis or Anahid, was one of
their most celebrated divinities; and at
the funeral of their great King Artaees,
many persons have immolated themselves,
after the Scythian or Getic custom, upon
his body.

It was in the temple of Anaitis, in the
province of Ekelias, that Tiridates offered
the sacrifice of thanksgiving for his resto-
ration to his hereditary throne. He com-
manded Gregory to assist in the idola-
trous worship. The Christian resolutely

* According to St. Martin, two children of Anah
were saved. t Chamich, i., 145.HISTORY 01? CHRISTIANITY.

27?

Persecution refused, and endured, according
of Grego-y. to the Armenian history, twelve
different kinds of torture. It was disclosed
to the exasperated monarch that the apos-
tate from the national religion was son to
the assassin of his father. Gregory was
plunged into a deep dungeon, where he
languished for fourteen years, supported
by the faithful charity of a Christian fe-
male. At the close of the fourteen years,
a pestilence, attributed by the Christian
party to the Divine vengeance, wasted the
kingdom of Armenia. The virgin sister
of Tiridates, Khosrovedught (the daughter
of Khosrov), had embraced the faith of the
Gospel. By Divine revelation (thus speaks
the piety of the priestly- historians), she
advised the immediate release of Gregory.
What Heaven had commanded, Heaven
had approved by wonders. The king him-
self, afflicted with the malady, was healed
by the Christian missionary. The pesti-
conversion lence ceased; the king, the no-
of the king, bles, the people almost simul-
taneously submitted to baptism. Armenia
became at once a Christian kingdom.
Gregory took the highest rank, as arch-
bishop of the kingdom. Priests were in-
vited from Greece and Syria; four hundred
bishops were consecrated; churches and
religious houses arose in every quarter;
the Christian festivals and days of reli-
gious observance were established by law.

But the severe truth of history must
make the melancholy acknowledgment
that the Gospel did not triumph without a
fierce and sanguinary strife. The province
of Dara, the sacred region of the Armeni-
ans, crowded with their national temples,
made a stern and determined resistance.
The priests fought for their altars with
Persecution desperate courage, and it was
by thecuris- only with the sword that church-
trnns. es C0lqq be planted in that irre-
claimable district. In the war waged by
Maximin against Tiridates, in which the
ultimate aim of the Roman emperor, ac-
cording to Eusebius, was the suppression
of Christianity, he may have been invited
and encouraged by the rebellious pagan-
ism of the subjects of Tiridates.* *

* In a very curious extract from the ancient Ar-
menian historian Zenob, there is an account of this
civil war. The following inscription commemora-
ted the decisive battle :

The first battle in which men bravely fought
The leader of the warriors was Argan, the chief of
the Priesthood,

Who lies here in his grave,

And with him 1038 men,

And this battle-was fought for the godhead of Kisane,
And for that of Christ.

This unquestionably was the first religious war
since the introduction of Christianit}^. It is a sin-

Towards the close of the third century
while the religion of the East „ . , .
was undergoing these- signal amc eism<
revolutions, and the antagonist creeds of
Magianism and Christianity were growing
up into powerful and hostile systems, and
assuming an important influence on the
political affairs of Asia; while the East
and the West thus began that strife of
centuries, which subsequently continued in
a more fierce and implacable form in the
conflict between Christianity and Moham-
medanism, a bold and ambitious adventurer
in the career of religious change* Ma
attempted .to unite the conflicting am*
elements; to reconcile the hostile genius
of the East and the West; to fuse together,
in one comprehensive scheme, Christian-
ity, Zoroastrianism, and apparently the
Buddhism of India. It is singular to trace
the doctrines of the most opposite systems,
and of remote religions, assembled togeth-
er and harmonized in the vast Eclecticism
of Mani.f From his native Persia he de-
rived his Dualism, his antagonist various
worlds of light and darkness and sources of
from Magianism, likewise,' his
contempt of outward temple and
splendid ceremonial. From Gnosticism,
or, rather, from universal Orientalism, he
drew the inseparable admixture of physi-
cal and moral notions, the eternal hostility
between mind and matter, the rejection of
Judaism, and the identification of the God
of the Old Testament with the evil spirit,
the distinction between Jesus and the
Christ, with the docetism, or the unreal
death of the incorporeal Christ. From
Cabalism, through Gnosticism, came the

gular fact., that these obstinate idolaters were said
to be of foreign, of Indiamdescent; they wore long
hair.—See Zeitschrift fur die Kunde des Morgen-
landes, vol. i., p. 253, 378, et seqq.

* Besides the original authorities, I have consult-
ed for Mani and his doctrines, Beausobre, Hist, du
Manicheisme; D’Herbelot, art. Mani; Lardner,
Credibility of Gospel History ; Mosheirn, de Reb.
Christ, ante Const. Magnum; Matter, Hist, du
Gnosticisme, ii., 351. I have, only seen Baur’s Man-
ichaische Religious System since this chapter was
written. I had anticipated, though not followed
out so closely, the relationship to Buddhism, much
of which, however, is evidently the common ground-
work of all Orientalism. [Add Mosheim’s Instit.
of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 192, &c., and the authors
named in n. (6.)]

f Augustine, in various passages, but most fully
in what is given as an extract from the book of the
Foundation, de Nat. Boni,.p. 515. Compare Beau-
sobre, vol. ii., 386, who seems to consider it an ab-
stract from some forged or spurious work. Proba-
bly much of Mani’s system was allegorical, but how
much his disciples probably did not, and his adver-
saries would not, know. See also the most curious
passage about the Manichean metempsychosis in
the statement of Tyrbo, in the Disputatio Archelaj
et Manetis, apud Routh, Reliquiae Sacrse, vol. iv.27 S

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

primal man, the Adam Caedmon of that
system, and (if that be a genuine part of
this system) the assumption of beautiful
human forms, those of graceful boys and
attractive virgins, by the powers of light,
and theii union with the male and female
spirits of darkness. From India he took
the Emanation theory (all light was a part
of the Deity, and in one sense the soul of
the world), the metempsychosis, the triple
division of human souls (the one the pure,
which reascended at once and was reuni-
ted to the primal light; the second the
semi-pure, which, having passed through a
purgatorial process, returned to earth, to
pass through a second ordeal of life ; the
third of obstinate and irreclaimable evil) :
from India, perhaps, came his Homopho-
rus, as the Greeks called it, his Atlas, who
supported the earth upon his shoulders,
and his Splenditenens, the circumambient
air. From Chaldea he borrowed the pow-
er of astral influences ; and he approxima-
ted to the solar worship of expiring pagan-
ism : Christ, the Mediator, like the Mithra
of his countrymen, had his dwelling in
the sun.*

From his native country Mani derived
the simple diet of fruits and herbs; from
the Buddhism of India, his respect for ani-
mal life, which was neither to be slain for
food or for sacrifice ;f from all the anti-
materialist sects or religions, the abhor-
rence of all sensual indulgence, even the
bath as well as the banquet; the proscrip-
tion, or, at least, the disparagement of
marriage. And the whole of these foreign
and extraneous tenets his creative imagi-
nation blended with his own form of Chris-
tianity ; for so completely are they min-
gled that it is difficult to decide whether
Christianity or Magianism formed the
groundwork of his system. From Chris-
tianity he derived not, perhaps, a strictly
Nicene, but more than an Arian Trinity.
His own system was the completion of the
imperfect revelation of the Gospel. He
was a man invested with a Divine mission ;
the Paraclete (for' Mani appears to have
distinguished between the Paraclete and
the Holy Spirit), who was to consummate

* D’Herbelot, voc. Mani.

f D’Herbelot, voc. Mani. Augustine says that
they wept when they plucked vegetables for food,
for in them also there was a certain portion of life,
which, according to him, was a part of the Deity.
Dicitis enim dolorem sentire fructum, cum de ar-
bore c.arpitur, sentire dum conciditur, cum teritur,
cum coquitur, cum manditur. Cujus, porro demen-
tise est, pios se videri velle, quod ab animalium in-
terfectione se temperent, cum omnes suas escas
easdem animas habere dicunt, quibus ut putant,
viventibus, tanta vulnera et manibuset dentibus in-
gerant.—Augustin, contra Faust., lib. vi., p. 205,
206. This is pure Buddhism.

the great work auspiciously commenced,
yet unfulfilled, by the mission of Jesus *
Mani had twelve apostles. His Ertang,
or Gospel, was intended to supersede the
four Christian Evangelists, whose works,
though valuable, he averred had been in-
terpolated with many Jewish fables. The
Acts Mani altogether rejected, as announ-
cing the descent of the Paraclete on the
apostles.| On the writings of St. Paul he
pronounced a more favourable sentence.
But his Ertang, it is said, was not merely
the work of a prophet, but of a painter;
for, among his various accomplishments,
Mani excelled in that art. It was richly
illustrated by paintings, which
commanded the wonder of the 1 lb pJin in?s'
age ; while his followers, in devout admi-
ration, studied the tenets of their master
in the splendid images as well as the sub-
lime language of the Marvellous Book.
If this be true, since the speculative char-
acter of Mam’s chief tenets, their theogon-
ical, if it may be so said, extramundane
character, lay beyond the proper province
of the painter (the imitation of existing
beings, and that idealism which, though
elevating its objects to an unreal dignity
or beauty, is nevertheless faithful to the
truth of nature), this imagery, with which
his book was illuminated, was probably a
rich system of Oriental symbolism, which
may have been transmuted by the blind
zeal of his followers, or the misapprehen-
sion of his adversaries, into some of liis
more fanciful tenets. The religion of Per-
sia was fertile in these emblematic figures*
if not their native source; and in the gor-
geous illuminated manuscripts of the East,
often full of allegorical devices, we may
discover, perhaps, the antitypes of the Er-
tang of Mani.J

* Lardner, following Beausobre, considers the
account of Mani’s predecessors, Scythianus and
Terebinthus, or Buddha, idle fictions. The virgin
birth assigned to Buddha, which appears to harmo-
nize with the great Indian Mythos of the origin of
Buddhism, might warrant a conjecture that this is
an Oriental tradition of the Indian origin of some
of Mani’s doctrines, dictated by Greek ignorance,
I now find this conjecture followed out and illustra-
ted with copious learning by Baur.

f Lardner (v. 11, 183) suggests other reasons for
the rejection of the Acts.

% It appears, I think, from Augustine, that all the
splendid images of the sceptred king crowned with
flowers, the Splenditenens and the Komophorus,
were allegorically interpreted. Si non sunt senig-
mata rationis, phantasmata sunt cogitationis, aut
vecordia furoris. Si vero senigmata esse dicunttir.
—Contra Faust., xv.,p. 277. The extract from the
“ amatory song” (contra Faust., xv., 5), with the
twelve ages (the great cycle of 12,000 years) sing-
ing and casting flowers upon the everlasting scep-
tred king; the twelve gods (the signs of the zodiac),
and the hosts of angels, is evidently the poetry, not
the theology of the systemHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

279

Mani (we blend together, and harmonize,
Life of Mani as far as Possible, the conflict-
ing accounts of the Greeks and
Asiatics) was of Persian birth,* of the sa-
cred race of the Magi. He wore the dress
of a Persian of distinction : the lofty Bab-
ylonian sandals, the mantle of azure blue,
the parti-coloured trowsers, and the ebony
staff in his hand.f He was a proficient in
the learning of his age and country, a ma-
thematician, and had made a globe; he
was deeply skilled, as appears from his
system, in the theogonical mysteries of
the East, and so well versed in the Chris-
tian Scriptures as to be said, and, indeed,
he may at one time have been, a Christian
priest in the province of Ahoriaz, that bor-
dered on Baby Ionia. J He began to prop-
agate his doctrines during the reign of
Shah-poor, but the son of Ardisheer would
endure no invasion upon the established
Magianism.^ Mani fled from the wrath
of his sovereign into Turkesthan ; from
thence he is said to have visited India, and
even China.|| In Turkesthan he withdrew
himself from the society of men, like Mo-
hammed in the cave of Hera,^f into a grot-
to, through which flowed a fountain of wa-
ter, and in which provision for a year had
been secretly stored. His followers be-
lieved that he ascended into heaven to
commune with the Deity. At the end of
the year he reappeared, and displayed his
Ertang, embellished with its paintings, as
the Divine revelation.**

In the theory of Mani, the one Supreme,
who hovered in inaccessible and uninflu-
ential distance over the whole of the

* His birth is assigned by the Chronicle of Edes-
sa to the year 239.—Beausobre, i.

t Beansobre, who is inclined to admit the genu-
ineness of this description in the Acts of Archelaus,
has taken pains to show that there was nothing differ-
ing from the ordinary Persian dress.—V. i., p. 97, &c.

% In the Acts of Archelaus he is called a barba-
rous Persian, who understood no Greek, but dispu-
ted in Syriac, c. 36. § Malcolm, i., 79.

il Abulphar., Dynast., p. 82. See Lardner, p. 167.

^ Lardner considers the story of the cave a later
invention, borrowed from Mohammed. The relation
of this circumstance by Mohammedan authors leads
me to the opposite conclusion. They would rather
have avoided than invented points of similitude be-
tween their prophet and “ the impious Sadducee,”
as he is called in the Koran. But see Baur’s very
ingenious and probable theory, which resolves it
into a myth, and connects it with the Mithraic and
still earlier astronomical or religious legends.

** Beausobre (i., 191, 192), would find the Cascar
at which, according to the extant but much con-
tested report, the memorable conference between
Archelaus and Mani was held, at Cashgar in Turk-
esthan. But, independent of the improbability of a
Christian bishop settled in Turkesthan, the whole
history is full of difficulties, and nothing is less like-
ly than that the report of such a conference should
reach the Greek or Syrian Christians through the
hostile territory of Persia.

Gnostic systems, the Brahm of the In-
dians, and the more vague and abstract
Zeruane Akerene of Zoroastrianism, holds
no place. The groundwork of his system
is an originaland irreconcilable Dualism.*
The two antagonist worlds of light and
darkness, of spirit and matter, existed
from eternity separate, unmingled, unap
proaching, ignorant of each other’s exist
ence.f The kingdom of light was held by
God the Father, who “ rejoiced in his own
proper eternity, and comprehended within
himself wisdom and vitality;” his most
glorious kingdom was founded in a light
and blessed region, which could not be
moved or shaken. On one side of his most
illustrious and holy territory was the land
of darkness, of vast depth and extent, in-
habited by fiery bodies and pestiferous
races of beings, j Civil dissensions agita-
ted the world of darkness ; the defeated
faction fled to the heights or to the ex-
treme verge of their world.§ They beheld
with amazement and with envy the beau-
tiful and peaceful regions of light.|| They
determined to invade the delightful realm ;
and the primal man, the archetypal Adam,
was formed to defend the borders against
this irruption of the hostile powers.He

* Epiphanius gives these words at the commence-
ment of Mani’s work (in twenty-two books) on the
Mysteries. THv Qebg nal vXrp (j)tig nai Gtcorog,
clyadov Kal kclkov, roig ntu,glv utcpug kvavrta, d)g
Kara firjdsv kiTLKOivovv d-drspov -d-arspu.—Epipha-
nies, Hagret., Ixvi., 14.

f Hae quidem in exordio fuerunt duas substantiae
a sese diversae. Et luminis quidem imperium tene-
bat Deus Pater, in sua sancta stirpe perpetuus, in
virtute magnificus, natura ipsa verus, aeternitate
propria semper exsultans, continens apud se sapien-
tiam et sensus vitales * * * Ita autem fundata sunt
ejusdernsplendidissima regna super lucidam etbea-
tam terram,ut a nullo unquam aut moveri aut con-
cuti possint.—Apud August, contra Ep. Manich.,
c. 13, n. 16.

t The realm of darkness was divided into five
distinct circles, which may remind us of Dante’s
hell. 1. Of infinite darkness, perpetually emanating,
and of inconceivable stench. 2. Beyond these, that
oi muddy and turbid waters, with their inhabitants ;
and, 3, within, that of fierce and boisterous winds,
with their prince and their parents. 4. A fiery but
corruptible region (the region of destroying fire),
with its leaders and nations. 5. In like manner,
farther within, a place full of smoke and thick gloom,
in which dwelt the dreadful sovereign of the whole,
with innumerable princes around him, of whom he
was the soul and the source.—Ep. Fundament, apud
Augustin, contra Manich., c. 14, n. 19.

<$> The world of darkness, according to one state-
ment, cleft the world of light like a wedge (Augus-
tin. contra Faust., iv., 2); according to another (Ti-
tus Bostrensis, i., 7), it occupied the southern quar-
ter of the universe. This, as Baur observes, is Zo-
roastrianism.— Bundehesch, part iii.,p. 62.

H Theodoret, Haeret. Fab., i., 26

Epiphan., Hasret, Ixvi., 76. Titus Bostrensis,
Augustin., de Haeret., c. 46.280

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

was armed with his five elements, opposed
to those which formed the realm of dark-
ness. The primal man was in danger of
discomfiture in the long and fearful strife,
had not Oromazd, the great power of the
world of light, sent the living Spirit to his
assistance. The powers of darkness re-
treated ; but they bore away some particles
of the Divine light, and the extrication of
these particles (portions of the Deity, ac-
cording to the subtile materialism of the
system) is the object of the long and al-
most interminable strife of the two princi-
ples. Thus part of the Divinity was in-
terfused through the whole of matter;
light was, throughout all visible existence,
commingled with darkness.f Mankind
was the creation or the offspring of the
great principle of darkness, after this sto-
len and ethereal light had become incor-
porated with his dark and material being.
Man was formed in the image of the pri-
mal Adam ; his nature was threefold, or,
perhaps, dualistic ; the body, the concu-
piscent or sensual soul (which may have
been the influence of the body on the soul),
and the pure, celestial, and intellectual
spirit. Eve was of inferior, of darker, and
more material origin; for the creating
Archon, or spirit of evil, had expended all
the light, or soul, upon man. Her beauty
was the fatal tree of Paradise, for which
Adam was content to fall. It was by this
union that the sensual or concupiscent
soul triumphed over the pure and Divine
spirit ;J and it is by marriage, by sexual
union, that the darkening race was propa-
gated. The intermediate, the visible world,
which became the habitation of man, was
the creation of the principle of good by his
spirit. This primal principle subsisted in
trinal unity (whether from eternity might,
perhaps, have been as fiercely agitated in
the Manichean as in the Christian schools);
the Christ, the first efflux of the God of
Light, would have been defined by the Man-

* The celestial powers, during the long process
of commixture, assumed alternately the most beau-
tiful forms of the masculine and feminine sex, and
mingled with the powers of darkness, who likewise
became boys and virgins ; and from their conjunc-
tion proceeded the still commingling world. This
is probably an allegory, perhaps a painting. There
is another fanciful poetic image of considerable
beauty, and, possibly, of the same allegoric charac-
ter. The pure elementary spirit soared upward in
“ their ships of light,” in which they originally sail-
ed through the stainless element; those which were
of a hotter nature were dragged down to earth;
those,of a colder and more humid temperament
were exhaled upward to the elemental waters. The
ships of light are, in another view, the celestial bod-
ies.

f De Mor. Manichseor., c. 19. Acta Archelai,
c. 10.

icheau, as in the Nicene Creed, as Light
of Light; he was self-subsistent, endowed
with all the attributes of the Deity, and his
dwelling was in the sun.* He was the
Mithra of the Persian system, and the
Manicheanf doctrine was Zoroastrianism
under Christian appellations.! There is
an evident difference between the Jesus
and the Christos throughout the system ;
the Jesus Patibilis seems to be the im-
prisoned and suffering light.

The Spirit, which made up the triple
being of the primal principle of good, was
an all-pervading aether, the source of life
and being, which, continually stimulating
the disseminated particles of light, was
the animating principle of the worlds. He
was the creator of the intermediate world,
the scene of strife, in which the powers of
light and darkness contested the dominion
over man; the one assisting the triumph
of the particle of light which formed the
intellectual spirit, the other imbruting and
darkening the imprisoned light with the
corruption and sensual pollutions of mat-
ter. But the powers of darkness obtained
the mastery, and man was rapidly degen-
erating into the baser destiny; the Ho-
mophorus, the Atlas on whose shoulders
the earth rests, began to tremble and tot-
ter under his increasing burden.J Then
the Christ descended from his dwelling
in the sun ; assumed a form apparently hu-
man ; the Jews, incited by the prince of

* According to the creed of Faustus, his virtue
dwelt in the sun, his wisdom in the moon.—Apud
August., lib. xxx., p. 333.

f The Manicheans were Trinitarians, or, at least,
used Trinitarian language. — Augustin, contra
Faust, c. xx. Nos Patris quidem Dei omnipotent-
is, et Christi filii ejus, et Spiritus Sancti unum
idemque sub triplici appellatione colimus numen;
sed Patrem quidem ipsum lucem ineolere summan
ac principalem, quam Paulus alias inaccessibilem
vocat; Filium vero in hac secunda ac visibili luce
consistere, qui quonian sit etipse geminus, ut eum
apostolus novit, Christum dicens esse Dei virtutem
et Dei sapientiam, virtutem quidem ejusin solehab-
itare credimus, sapientiam vero in luna : nec non et
Spiritus Sancti, qui est majestas tertia, aeris hunc
omnem ambitum sedem fatemur ac diversorium, cu-
jus ex viribus ac spiritali profusione terrain quoque
concipientem, gignere patibilem Jesum, qui est vita
et salus hominum, qui suspensus ex ligno.

% Homophorus and Ins ally, the Splenditenens,
who assists him in maintaining the earth in its
equilibrium, is one of the most incongruous and
least necessary parts of the Manichean system.

Is the origin of these images the notion of sup-
porters of the earth which are so common in the
East'? Are any of these fables older than the in-
troduction of Manicheism ? Is it the old Indian fa-
ble under another form? or is it the Greek Atlas?
I am inclined to look to India for the origin.

Beausobre’s objection, that such ? fiction is in-
consistent with Mani’s mathematical knowledge,
and his formation of a globe, is of no es ons Leer able
weight, if it is not mere poetry.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

28]

darkness, crucified his phantom form ; but
lie left behind his Gospel, which dimly and
imperfectly taught what was now reveal-
ed in all its full effulgence by Mani the
Persian.

The celestial bodies, which had been
formed by the living spirit of the purer
element, were the witnesses and co-ope-
rators in the great strife.* To the sun,
the dwelling of the Christ, were drawn up
the purified souls, in which the principle of
light had prevailed, and passed onward for
ablution in the pure water which forms the
moon; and then, after fifteen days, return-
ed to the source of light in the sun. The
spirits of evil, on the creation of the visible
world, lest they should fly away, and bear
off into irrecoverable darkness the light
which was still floating about, had been
seized by the living spirit and bound to
the stars. Hence the malignant influen-
ces of the constellations ; hence all the
terrific and destructive fury of the ele-
ments. While the soft, and refreshing, and
fertilizing showers are the distillation of
the celestial spirit, the thunders are the
roarings, the lightning the flashing wrath,
the hurricane the furious breath, the tor-
rent and destructive rains the sweat, of
the dasmon of darkness. This wrath is
peculiarly excited by the extrication of the
passive Jesus, who was said to have been
begotten upon the all-conceiving earth,
from his power, by the pure spirit. The
passive Jesus is an emblem, in one sense,
it should seem, or type of mankind; more
properly, in another, of the imprisoned
deity or light. For gradually the souls of
men were drawn upward to the purifying
sun ; they passed through the twelve signs
of the zodiac to the moon, whose waxing
and waning was the reception and trans-
mission of light to the sun, and from the sun
to the Fountain of Light. Those which
were less pure passed again through differ-
ent bodies, and gradually became defeca-
ted during this long metempsychosis ; and
there only remained a few obstinately and
inveterately imbruted in darkness, whom
the final consummation of the visible world
would leave in the irreclaimable society

* Lardner has well expressed the Manichean no-
tion of the formation of the celestial bodies, which
were made, the sun of the good fire, the moon of
the good water. “ In a word, not to be too minute,
the Creator formed the sun and moon out of those
parts of the light which had preserved their original
purity. The visible or inferior heavens (for now
we do not speak of the supreme heaven) and the
rest of the planets were formed of those parts of
light which were but little corrupted with matter.
The rest he left in our world, which are no other
than those parts of light which had suffered most
by the contagion of matter.”—Lardner’s Works,
4to ed., ii., 193.

N N

of the evil powers. At that consumma-
tion the Homophorus would shake off his
load; the world would be dissolved in
fire ;* the powers of darkness cast back
for all eternity to their primaeval state,
the condemned souls would be kneaded
up forever in impenetrable matter, while
the purified souls in martial hosts would
surround the frontier of the region of
light, and forever prohibit any new irrup-
tion from the antagonist'world of darkness.

The worship of the Manicheans was
simple : they built no altar, they raised
no temple, they had no images, they had
no imposing ceremonial. Pure and simple
prayer was their only form of adoration ;f
they did not celebrate the birth of Christ, for
of his birth they denied the reality; their
paschal feast, as they equally disbelieved
the reality of Christ’s passion, though kept
holy, had little of the Christian form.
Prayers addressed to the sun, or at least
with their faces directed to that taberna-
cle in which Christ dwelt; hymns to the
great Principle of Light; exhortations to
subdue the dark and sensual element with-
in, and the study of the marvellous book
of Mani, constituted their devotion. They
observed the Lord’s day; they adminis-
tered baptism, probably with oil; for they
seem (though this point is obscure) to
have rejected water-baptism ; they cele-
brated the Eucharist; but, as they abstain-
ed altogether from wine, they probably
used pure water, or water mingled with
raisins.J Their manners were austere
and ascetic ; they tolerated, but only tol-
erated, marriage, and that only among the
inferior orders the theatre, the banquet,

* Acta Disput., c. ii. Epiphan., c. 58.
f Faustus expresses this sentiment very finely
Item Pagani aris, delubris, simulacris, atque in-
censo Deum colendum putant. Ego ab his in hoc
quoque multum diversus incedo, (jui ipsum me, si
modo sitn dignus, rationabile Dei templum puto.
Vivum vivse majestatis simulacrum Christum filium
ejus accipio; aram, mentem puris artibus et dis
ciplinis imbutam. Honores quoque divinos ac sa
crificia in solis orationibus, et ipsis puris et simpli
cibus pono.—Faust, apud August., xx., 3.

They bitterly taunted the Catholics with their
paganism, their sacrifices, their agapse, their idols,
their martyrs, their Gentile holydays and rites.—lb.
t August, contra Faust., Disput. i., 2, 3.

$ St. Augustine accuses them of breaking the
fifth commandment. Tu autem doctrina dsemo
niaca didicisti inimicos deputare parentes tuos,
quod te per concubitum in carne ligaverint, et hoc
modo utique deo tuo immundas compedes imposu-
erint.—Adv. Faust., lib. xv., p. 278. Opinantur et
praedicant diabolum fecisse atque junxisse mascu-
1am et ferninam.—Idem, lib. xix., p. 331. Displicet
“ crescite et multiplicamini,” ne Dei vestra multi
plicentur ergastula, &c.—Adv. Secundum, c. 21.

’KnexeGOac ya/Liov koX d^fiodcaicov Kcci tekvo-
TTOtiag, Iva fiy etu'kTielov y dvvajug hoiKycrj rrj282’

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

even the bath, were severely proscribed.
Their diet was of fruits and herbs ; they
shrunk with abhorrence from animal food;
and, with Buddhist nicety, would tremble
at the guilt of having extinguished the
principle of life, the spark, as it were, of
celestial light, in the meanest creature.
This involved them in the strangest ab-
surdities and contradictions, which are
pressed against them by their antagonists
with unrelenting logic.* * They admitted
penitence for sin, and laid the fault of
their delinquencies on the overpowering
influence of matter.f Mani suffered the
fate of all who attempt to reconcile con-
flicting parties without power to enforce
harmony between them. He was dis-
claimed and rejected with every mark of
indignation and abhorrence by both. On
his return from exile,J indeed, he was re-
ceived with respect and favour by the
reigning sovereign Hormouz, the son of
Shahpoor, who bestowed upon him a cas-
tle named Arabion. In this point alone

vly Kara ryv tov yevovg chadoxyv.— Alexand.
Lycop., c. 4.

They asserted, indeed, that their doctrines went
no farther in this respect than those of the Catho-
lic Christians.—Faust., 30, c. 4. Their opposition
•to’.marriage is assigned as among the causes of the
enmity of the Persian king. Rex vero Persarum,
cum vidisset tarn Catholicos et Episcopos, quam
Manichaeos Manetis sectaries, a nuptiis abstinere ;
in Manichseos quidem sententiam mortis tulit. Ad
Christianos vero idem edictum manavit. Quum
igitur Christian! ad regem confugissent, jussit ille
discrimen quale inter utrosque esset, sibi exponi.—
Apud Asseman. Biblioth. Orient., vii., 220.

There were, however, very different rules of diet
and of manners for the elect and the auditors,
much resembling those of the monks and other
Christians among the Catholics.—See quotations
in Lardner, ii., 156.

* St. Augustine’s Treatise de Mor. Manichaeor.
is full of these extraordinary charges. In the Con-
fessions (iii., 10), he says that the fig wept when it
was plucked, and the parent tree poured forth tears
of milk ; “ that particles of the true and Supreme
God were imprisqned in an apple, and could not
be set free but by the touch of one of the elect. If
eaten, therefore, by one not a Manichean, it was a
deadly sin; and hence they are charged with ma-
king it a sin to give anything which had life to a
poor man not a Manichean.” “They showed
more compassion to the fruits of the earth than to
human beings.” They abhorred husbandry, it is
said, as continually wounding life, even in clearing
a field of thorns ; “so much more were they
friends of gourds than of men.”

f An acknowledgment of the blamelessness of
their manners is extorted from St. Augustine; at
least he admits that, as far as his knowledge as a
hearer, he can charge them with no immorality.—
Contr. Fortunat. in init. In other parts of his
writings, especially in the tract De Morib. Mani-
chffior., he is more unfavourable. • But see the re-
markable passage, contra Faust, v. i., in which the
Manichean contrasts his works with the faith of the
orthodox Christian.

t According to Malcolm, he did not return till the
reign of Baharam.

the Greek and Oriental accounts co.ncide
It was from his own castle that Mani at-
tempted to propagate his doctrines among
the Christians in the province of Babylo-
nia. The fame of Marcellas, a noble
Christian, soldier, for his charitable acts
in the redemption of hundreds of captives,
designated him as a convert who might be
of invaluable service to the cause of Ma-
nicheism. According to the Christian ac-
count, Mani experienced a signal discom-
fiture in his conference with Archelaus,
bishop of Cascar.* But his dis- Death of
pute with the Magian hierarchy Manl-
had a more fearful termination. It was
an artifice of the new king, Baharam, to
tempt the dangerous teacher from his
castle. He was seized, flayed alive, and
his skin, stuffed with straw, placed over
the gate of the city of Shahpoor.

But, wild as may appear his doctrines,
they expired not with their author. The
anniversary of his death was hallowed
by his mourning disciples.f The sect was
organized upon the Christian model: he
left his twelve apostles, his seventy-two
bishops,J his priesthood. His distinction
between the elect§ or the perfect, and the
hearers or catechumens, offered an exact
image of the orthodox Christian commu-
nities ; and the latter were permitted to
marry, to eat animal food, and cultivate
the earth.|| In the East and in propagation
the West the doctrines spread of his*reii-
with the utmost rapidity ; and gIon-
the deep impression which they made
upon the mind of man may be estimated

* Some of the objections of Beausobre to this
conference appear insuperable. Allow a city named
Cascar; can we credit the choice of Greek, even
Heathen, rhetoricians and grammarians as assess-
ors in such a city and in such a contest? Arche
laus, it must indeed be confessed, plays the sophist;
and if Mani had been no more powerful as a rea-
soner or as a speaker, he would hardly have dis-
tracted the East and West with his doctrines. It
is not improbably an imaginary dialogue in the
form, though certainly not in the style, of Plato.
See the best edition of it, in Routh’s Reliquiae
Sacrae.

f Augustin, contr. Epist. Manichsei, c. 9. The
day of Mani’s death was kept holy by his follow-
ers, because he really died ; the crucifixion neg-
lected, because Christ had but seemingly expired
on the cross. J Augustin., de Haeres., c. 46.

The strangest notion was, that vegetables used
for food were purified ; that is, the divine principle
of life and light separated from the material and
impure by passing through the bodies of the elect.
Praebent alimenta electis suis, ut divina ilia sub-
stantia in eorum ventre purgata, impetret eis ve-
niam,quorum traditur oblatione purganda.—Augus-
tin., de Haores., c. 46. It was a merit in the hearers
to make these offerings.—Compare Confess., iv., 1.

|| Auditores, qui appellantur apud eos, et carni-
bus vescuntur, et agros colunt, et si voluerint, ux-
ores habent, quorum nihil faciunt qui vcoantur
electi.—Augustin., Epist. ccxxxvii.28*6

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

by Manicheism having become, almost
throughout Asia and Europe, a by-word
of religious animosity. In the Moham-
medan world the tenets of the Saddu-
cean, the impious Mani, are branded as
the worst and most awful impiety. In
the West the progress of the believers in
this most dangerous of heresiarchs was
so successful, that the followers of Mani
were condemned to the flames or to the
mines, and the property of those who in-
troduced the “ execrable usages and fool-
ish laws of the Persians” into the peace-
ful empire of Rome confiscated to the
imperial treasury. One of the edicts of
Dioclesian was aimed at their suppres-
sion.* St. Augustine himselff with diffi-
culty escaped the trammels of their creed,
to become their most able antagonist;
and in every century of Christianity, Ma-
nicheism, when its real nature was as
much unknown as the Copernican system,
was a proverb of reproach against all sec-
taries who departed from the unity of the
Church.

The extent of its success may be calcu-
lated by the implacable hostility of all
other religions to the doctrines of Mani:
the causes of that success are more diffi-
cult to conjecture. Manicheism would
rally under its banner the scattered fol-
lowers of the Gnostic sects : but Gnosti-
cism was never, it should seem, popular;
while Manicheism seems to have had the
power of exciting a fanatic attachment to
its tenets in the lower orders. The severe
asceticism of their manners may have
produced some effect, but in this respect
they could not greatly have outdone ino-

* See the edict in Routh, iv., p. 285. Some
doubt has been thrown on its authenticity. It is
questioned by S. Basnage and by Gardner, though
admitted by Beausobre. I cannot think the igno-
rance which it betrays of the “ true principles of
the Manichees,” the argument adduced by Lard-
ner, as of the least weight. Dioclesian’s predeces-
sors were as little acquainted with the “true prin-
ciples of Christianity,” yet condemned them m
their public proceedings.

t There is something very beautiful in the lan-
guage, of St. Augustine, and, at. the same time, no-
thing can show more clearly the strong hold which
Manicheism had obtained on the Christian world,
llli in vos sseviant, qui nesciunt cum quo labore
verum inveniatur, et quam difficile caveantur er-
rores. Illi in vos saeviant qui nesciunt quam rarum
et arduum sit carnalia phantasmata pise mentis se-
renitate superare. * * * * Illi in vos saeviant, qui
nesciunt quibus suspiriis et gemitibus fiat, ut ex
quantulacunque parte possit intelligi Deus. Pos-
iremo illi in vos saeviant, qui nunquam tali errore
decepti sint, quail vos deceptos vident. — Contr.
JSpist. Manichaei, c. 2, But the spirit of controver-
sy was too strong for the charity and justice of
Augustine. The tract which appears to me to
give the fairest view- of the real controversy is the
Hisputatio contra Fortunatum.

nastic Christianity; and the district and
definite impersonations of their creed, al-
ways acceptable toarude and imaginative
class, were encountered by formidable
rivals in the daemonology, and more com-
plicated form of worship, which was rapid-
ly growing up among the Catholics.*

In the Eastern division of the Roman
empire Christianity had obtain- Triumph of
ed a signal victory, it had sub- Christianity,
dued by patient endurance the violent hos-
tility of Galerius ; it had equally defied the
insidious policy of Maximin; it had twice
engaged in a contest with the civil govern-
ment, and twice come forth in triumph.
The edict of toleration had been extorted
from the dying Galenas; and the pagan
hierarchy, and more splendid pagan cere-
monial with which Maximin attempted to
raise up a rival power, fell to the ground
on his defeat by Licinius, which closely
followed that of Maxentius by Constan-
tine. The Christian communities had
publicly reassembled; the churches were
rising in statelier form in all the cities;
the bishops had reassumed their authority
over their scattered but undiminished
flocks. Though, in the one case, indig-
nant animosity, and the desire of vindica-
ting the severity of their measures against
a sect dangerous for its numbers as well
as its principles, in the other the glowing
zeal of the martyr may be suspected of
some exaggeration, yet when a public im-
perial edict, and the declarations of the
Christians themselves, assert the numer-
ical predominance of the Christian party,
it is impossible tO doubt that Numbers of
their numbers, as well as their the Christians,
activity, were imposing and formidable.
In a rescript of Maximin he states that it
had been forced on the observation of his
august fathers, Dioclesian and Maximian,
that almost all mankind had abandoned
the worship of their ancestors, and united
themselves to the Christian sect ;f and
Lucianos, a presbyter of Antioch, who
suffered martyrdom under Maximin, as-
serts in his last speech that the greater
part of the world had rendered its alle-
giance to Christianity; entire cities, and
even the rude inhabitants of country dis-
tricts. J These statements refer more par-

* The Manicheans were legally condemned under
Valentinian and Valens. The houses in which they
held their meetings were confiscated to the state
(Cod. Theodos., xvi., 3). By Theodosius they
were declared infamous, and incapable of inheriting
by law, xvi., 17.

t 'S%£ddv arravrag avdpcmovg, KaraXsupdsiGTjQ
rrjg ruv d-ecov ‘OpTjGKeiag, t& IQuel tCov Xpianavtiv
avppefuxorag.—A pud Euseb. Eec. Hist., ixM 9.

t Pars poene mundi jam major huic veritati ad-
stipulatur; urbes integrae; aut si in his aliquid susj*2S4

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY,-

Different ticularly to the East; and imthe
state of the East various reasons would lead
East with re- t0 [}18 supposition that the
propagation 'Christians bore a larger pro-
of Christian- portion to the rest of the popu-
u>* lation than in the other parts of

the empire, except perhaps in Africa. The
East was the native country of the new
religion; the substratum of Judaism on
which it rested was broader; and Judaism
had extended its own conquests much
farther by proselytism, and had thus pre-
pared the way for Christianity. In Egypt
and in the Asiatic provinces, all the early
modifications of Christian opinions, the
Gnostic sects of all descriptions, had aris-
en ; showing, as it were by their fertility,
the exuberance of religious life, and the
congeniality of the soil to their prolific
vegetation. The constitution of society
was in some respects more favourable
than in Italy to the development of the
new religion. But it may be questioned
whether the Western provinces did not at
last offer the most open field for its free
and undisputed course. In the East the
civilization was Greek, or, in the remoter
regions, Asiatic. The Romans assumed
the sovereignty, and the highest offices of
the government were long held by men
of Italian birth. Some of the richer pa-
tricians possessed extensive estates in the
different provinces, but below this the na-
tive population retained its own habits and
usages. Unless in the mercantile towns,
which were crowded with foreign settlers
.from all quarters, who brought their man-
ners, their customs, and their deities, the
whole society was Greek, Syrian, or Egyp-
tian. Above all, there was a native reli-
gion ; and, however this loose confederacy

pectum videatur, contestatur de his etiam agrestis
<manus, ignara figmenti. This speech, it is true, is,
only contained in the Latin translation of Eusebius
by Rufinus. But there is a calm character in its tone
which avouches its authenticity. The high author-
ity of Porson and Dr. Routh require the addition
of the following note. “ Prsestitisse aliis multitu-
dine his quoque temporibus Christianos, scriptum
extat apud Porphyriurn, qui eos' alicubi nominavit
to\)$ 7c\riovag, ut me olim fecit certiorem eruditissi-
mus Porsonus.”—Routh, Reliquiae Sacrae, iii., 293.
Gibbon has attempted to form a calculation of the
relative numbers of the Christians (see ch xv., vol.
i., p. 282, with my note); he is, perhaps, inclined to
underrate the proportion which they bore to the
heathens. Yet, notwithstanding the quotations
above, and the high authority of Porson and of
Routh, I should venture to doubt their being the
majority, except, possibly, in a few Eastern cities.
In fact, in a population so fluctuating as that of the
empire at this time, any accurate calculation would
have been nearly impossible. M. Beugnot agrees
very much with Gibbon;,and, I should conceive,
with regard to the West is clearly right, though I
shall allege presently some reasons for the rapid
progress of Christianity in the West of Europe.

of religions republics, of independent col-
leges, or fraternities of the local or the
national priesthoods, might only be held
together by the bond of common hostility
to the new faith, yet everywhere this re-
ligion was ancient, established, conformed
to the habits of the people, endeared by
local vanity, strengthened by its connexion
with municipal privileges, recognised by
the homage, and sanctioned by the wor-
ship of the civil authorities. The Roman
prefect or proconsul considered every
form of paganism as . sufficiently identified
with that of Rome to demand his respect
and support: everywhere he found deities
with the same names or attributes as those
of the imperial city; and everywhere,
therefore, there was an alliance, seeming-
ly close and intimate,, between the local
religion and the civil government.

In the Western provinces, Gaul, Spain,
and Britain, but more particular- , „r
ly m Gaul,, the constitution of
society was very different. It was Rorpan,
formed by the influx of colonists from dif-
ferent quarters, and the gradual adoption
of Roman manners by the natives. It had
grown up on the wane of paganism. There
was no old, or established, or national re-
ligion. The ancient Druidism had been
proscribed as a dark and inhuman super-
stition, or had gradually worn away be-
fore the progress of Roman civilization.
Out of Italy, the gods of Italy were, to a
certain degree, strangers : the Romans, as
a nation, built no temples in their conquer-
ed provinces : the munificence of an indi-
vidual, sometimes, perhaps, of the reign-
ing Ceesar, after having laid down the
military road, built the aqueduct, or en-
circled the vast arena of the amphitheatre,
might raise a fane to his own tutelary di-
vinity.* Of the foreign settlers, each
brought his worship; each set up his
gods ; vestiges of every kind of religion,
Greek, Asiatic, Mithraic, have been dis-
covered in Gaul, but none was dominant
or exclusive. This state of society would
require or welcome, or, at all events, offer
less resistance to the propagation of a new
faith. After it had once passed the Alps,f
Christianity made rapid progress; and
the father of Constantine may have been
guided no less by policy lhan humanity
in his reluctant and merciful execution of

* Eumenius, in his panegyric on Constantine,
mentions two temples of Apollo ; of one, “ the most
beautiful in the world,” the site is unknown: it is
supposed to have been at'Lyons or Vienne; the
other was at Autun.—Eumen , Paneg., xxi.,' with
the note of Cellarius.

f Serius. trans alpes, religione Dei siGcepta !
—Sulpic. Sever., H. E., lib. ii.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

285

the persecuting edicts of Dioclesian and
Galerius.

Such was the position of Christianity
when Constantine commenced his strug-
gle for universal empire: in the East,
though rejected by the ancient rival of
Rome, the kingdom of Persia, it w^is ac-
knowledged as the religion of the state
by a neighbouring nation; in the Roman
provinces it was emerging victorious from
a period of the darkest trial; and though
still threatened by the hostility of Maxi-
min, that hostility was constrained to wear
an artful disguise; and when it ventured
to assume a more open form, was obliged
to listen, at least with feigned respect, to
the remonstrances of the victorious Con-
stantine. In the North, at least in that
part from which Constantine derived his
main strength, it was respected and open-
ly favoured by the government. Another
striking circumstance might influence the
least superstitious mind, and is stated by
the ecclesiastical historian not to have
been without effect on Constantine him-
self. . Of all the emperors who had been
invested with the purple, either as Au-
gusti or Caesars, during the persecution of
the Christians, his father alone, the pro-
jector of Christianity, had gone down to
an honoured and peaceful grave.* Dio-
clesian, indeed, still lived, but in what, no
doubt, appeared, to most of,his former
subjects an inglorious retirement. How-
ever the philosophy of the abdicated em-
K’ndofihe Peror teach him to show

persecutors the vegetables of his garden as
of Christi- worthy of as much interest to a
auity. mind of real dignity as the dis-
tinctions of worldly honour; however he
may have been solicited by a falling and
desperate faction to resume the purple,
his abdication was no doubt, m general,
attributed to causes less dignified than the
contempt of earthly grandeur. Conscious
derangement of mind (a malady insepara-
bly connected, according to the religious
notions of Jew, pagan, probably of Chris-
tian, during that age, with the Divine dis-
pleasure) or remorse of conscience was

* Euseb., Yit. Const., i., 21.; Socrat., Eccles.
Hist., i., 11. The language of the ecclesiastical
historian Socrates is remarkable. Constantine,
he says, was meditating the liberation of the em-
. pire from its tyrants: Kal 6g rjv ev rij/UKavry
<ppovrtdc, sirevosi riva dsov ercticovpov ntpog tt]v
lu&X7jv KCiMcreie, Kara vovv 6s eXa’aSavev, 6g
ovdev uvclvto oi rcspi AiOK.X7}Tiavdv, rcepl rovg
kXkrjVDv fi-sovg diaKeifievoi. fjvpiGKEV re d>g 6
avrov TrarrjpyYLovardvTiog, diroarpafelg rdf-'E^.-
Tvrjvcdv '&pi]GKeiag, evdatjioveaTepov rov (3ioy 6lt]-
yaysv. It was in this mood of mind that he saw
the vision of the cross.—Soet\, Feel Hist, i., 2.

reported to imbitter the calm decline of
Dioclesian’s life. Instead of an object of
envy, no doubt, in the general sentiment
of mankind, he was thought to merit only
aversion or contempt. Maximian (Hercu-
lius), the colleague of Dioclesian, after re-
suming the purple, engaging in base in-
trigues or open warfare against his son
Maxentius and afterward against his pro-
tector Constantine, had anticipated the
sentence of the executioner. Severus
had been made prisoner, and forced to
open his own veins. Galerius, the chief
author of the. persecution, had experienced
the most miserable fate ; he had wasted
away with a slow, and agonizing, and loath-
some disease. Maximin alone remained,
hereafter to perish in miserable obscuri-
ty. Nor should it be forgotten that the
great persecutor of the Christians had been
the jealous tyrant of Constantine’s youth.
Constantine had preserved his liberty,
perhaps his life, only by the boldness and
rapidity of his- flight from the court of Ga-
lerius.*

Under all these circumstances, Con-
stantine was advancing against War of
Rome. The battle of Verona Constantine
had decided the fate of the em- against Max-
pire : the vast forces of Maxen- entlus-
tius had melted away before the sovereign
of Gaul; but the capital was still held with
the obstinacy of despair by the voluptu-
ous tyrant Maxentius. Constantine ap-
peared on the banks of the Tiber, though
invested with the Roman purple, yet a
foreign conqueror. Many of his troops
were barbarians, Celts, Germans, AJ) 3[9
Britons; yet, in all probability,
there were many of the Gaulish Chris-
tians in his army. Maxentius threw him-
self upon the gods as well as upon the
people of Rome : he attempted, with des-
perate earnestness, to rally the energy of
Roman valour under the awfulness of the
Roman religion.

During the early part of his reign, Max-
entius, intent upon his pleasures, Religion of
had treated the religious divis-.Maxentius.
ions of Rome with careless indifference,
or had endeavoured to conciliate the Chris-
tian party by conniving at their security.
The deification of Galerius had been, as it

* In his letter to Sapor, king of Persia, Constan
tine himsejf acknowledges the influence of these
motives on his mind: ov ttoXXoItqv rrjde (3cmu'/l*
evadvrov, /zaviddsai irXavaig vnaxSevreg, ette-
Xs'iprjaav dpvrjaaodai, aXk’ SKStvovg dizavrag to-
covtov TipLopov TsXog KaravaXoGSVydg/rcav to
(jlet' kiiSLvovg dvOpdircov yhog, Tag siceivov (jvfi-
(bopdg dvT’ aXkov irapadeiyfiaTog, .snapaTOvg toIq
Ta ofioia iyrjTiovGi TWscfdai—Ap. Theodoret, Ecc
Hist., i., c. 25.236

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

were, an advance to the side of paganism.
The rebellion of Africa, which he reven-
ged by the devastation of Carthage, was
likely to bring him into hostile contact
witli the numerous Christians of that prov-
ince. In Rome itself an event had occur-
red, which, however darkly described, was
connected with the antagonist religious
parties in the capital. A fire had broken
out in the temple of the Fortune of Rome.
The tutelary deity of the Roman great-
ness, an awful omen in this dark period
of decline and dissolution, was in danger.
A soldier—it is difficult to ascribe such te-
merity to any one but a Christian fanatic—
uttered some words of insult against the re-
vered, and, it might be, alienated goddess.
The indignant populace rushed upon the
traitor to the majesty of Rome, and sum-
moned the praetorian cohorts to wreak
their vengeance on all who could be sup-
posed to share in the sentiments of the
apostate soldier. Maxentius is accused
by one Christian and one pagan historian
of having instigated the tumult; by one
pagan he is said to have used his utmost
exertions to allay its fuiy. Both state-
ments may be true ; though at first he
may have given free'scope to the massa-
cre, at a later period he may have taken
alarm, and attempted to restore the peace
of the city.* Of the direct hostility of
Maxentius to Christianity, the evidence is
dubious and obscure. A Roman matron
preferred the glory or the crime of suicide
rather than submit to his lustful embraces.
But it was the beauty, no doubt, not the
religion of Sophronia, which excited the
passions of Maxentius, whose licentious-
ness comprehended almost all the noble
families of Rome in its insulting range.f
The papal history, not improbably resting
on more ancient authority, represents Max-
entius as degrading the Pope Marcellus to
the humble function of a groom : the pred-
ecessor of the Gregories and Innocents
swept the imperial stable {

The darkening and more earnest pagan-

* The silence of Eusebius as to the Christianity
of the soldier may be thought an insuperable objec-
tion to this view. But, in the first place, the East-
ern bishop was but imperfectly informed on the af-
fairs of Rome, and might hesitate, if aware of the
fact, to implicate the Christian name with that
which was so long one of the most serious and
effective charges against the faith, its treacherous
hostility to the greatness of Rome. The words of
the pagan Zosimus are very strong: BXau^ripa
orpiara Kara rov i9elov arpaTtortiv rcg acpelg, ical
rov irTirjdovg Sta rrjv rrpog to dsiov evoedecav eir-
e?i,66vrog avatpedslg.—ZosM Hist, ii., 13.

+ Euseb., Yit. Const., i, 33, 34.

J Anastasius, Vit. Marcell. Platina, Yit. Pon-
Lificum in Marcello.

ism of Maxentius is more clearly iiiS pa
disclosed by the circumstances of sanism-
his later history. He had ever listened
with trembling deference to the expound
ers of signs and omens. Pie had suspend
ed his expedition against Carthage be
cause the signs were not propitious.*
Before the battle of Verona he command-
ed the Sibylline books to be consulted.
“ The enemy of the Romans will perish,'’
answered the prudent and ambiguous or-
acle ; but who could be the enemy of
Rome but the foreign Constantine, de-
scending from his imperial residence at.
Treves, with troops levied in the barba-
rous provinces, and of whom the gods of
Rome, though not yet declaredly hostile
to their cause, might entertain a jealous
suspicion I

On the advance of Constantine Maxen-
tius redoubled his religious activity. He
paid his adoration at the altars of all the
gods; he consulted all the diviners of fu-
ture events.f He had shut himself in his
palace; the adverse signs made him take
refuge in a private house.% Darker ru-
mours were propagated in the East: he
is reported to have attempted to read the
secrets of futurity in the entrails of preg-
nant women to have sought an alliance
with the infernal deities, and endeavoured,
by magical formularies, to avert the im-
pending danger. However the more en
lightened pagans might disclaim the weak,
licentious, and sanguinary Maxentius as
the representative either of the Roman
majesty or the Roman religion, in the pop-
ular mind, probably, an intimate connex-
ion united the cause of the Italian sover-
eign with the fortunes and the gods of
Rome. It is possible that Constantine
might attempt to array against this im-
posing barrier of ancient superstition the
power of the new and triumphant faith.
he might appeal, as it were, to the God of
the Christians against the gods of the cap-
ital. His small, though victorious army
might derive courage in their attack on
the fate-hallowed city, from whose neigh-
bourhood Galerius had so recently return-
ed in discomfiture, from a vague notion
that they were under the protection of a
tutelary deity, of whose nature they were
but imperfectly informed, and whose wor-
shippers constituted no insignificant part
of their barbarian army.

Up to this period, all that we know of

* Zosimus. ii., 14.

i Euseb.,^Vit. Const., i., 21, speaks of his Kaxa
rejvovg nal yoyrucag fiayyavelag.
f Zosimus, ii., 14.

§ Euseb., Yit. Const., i., 36.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

287

Religion of Constantine’s religion would im-
Constantine. piy that he was outwardly and
even zealously pagan. In a public ora-
tion his panegyrist extols the magnifi-
cence of his offerings to the gods.* His
victorious presence was not merely ex-
pected to restore more than their former
splendour to the Gaulish cities, ruined by
barbaric incursions, but sumptuous tem-
ples were to arise at his bidding, to pro-
pitiate the deities, particularly Apollo, his
tutelary god. The medals struck for these
victories are covered with the symbols of
paganism. Eusebius himself admits that
Constantine was at this time in doubt
which religion he should embrace; and
after his vision, required to be instructed
in the doctrines of Christianity.f

The scene in which the memorable vis-
sion of Constantine is laid varies widely
in the different accounts. Several places
in Gaul lay claim to the honour of this
momentous event in Christian history.
If we assume the most probable period for
such an occurrence, whatever explanation
we adopt of the vision itself, it would be
at this awful crisis in the destiny of Con-
stantine and of the world, before the walls
of Rome; an instant when, if we could per-
suade ourselves that the Almighty Ruler,
in such a manner, interposed to proclaim
the fall of paganism and the establishment
of Christianity, it would have been a pub-
lic and a solemn occasion, worthy of the
Divine interference. Nowhere, on the
other hand, was the high-wrought imagi-
nation of Constantine so likely to be seiz-
ed with religious awe, and to transform
some extraordinary appearance in the
heavens into the sign of the prevailing
Deity of Christ; nowhere, lastly, would
policy more imperiously require some
strong religious impulse to counterbalance
the hostile terrors of paganism, embattled
against him.

Eusebius,f the Bishop of Caesarea, as-
visionof serts that Constantine himself
Constantine, made, and confirmed by an
oath, the extraordinary statement, which
was- received with implicit veneration du-
ring many ages of Christianity, but which

* Merito igitur augustissima ilia delubra tantis
donnriis honorasti, ut jam vetera non quaerant. Jam
omnia vocare ad se templa videntur, prsecipueque
Apollo noster, cujus ferventibus aquis perjuria pu-
niuntur, quae te maxima cportet odisse. Nec ma-
gis Jovi Junonique recubantibus terra submisit,
quam circa tua, Constantine, vestigia urbes et tem-
pla consurgunt.—Eumenii Panegyr., cxxi.

f ’EatvoeZ drjra ottolov dsoi $eov smypaipaodaL
florjdov.—Euseb., Vit. Constant., lib. i., c. 27-32.

t Yit. Const., i., 28. The recent editor of Euse-
bius has well called the life of Constantine a Chris-
tian Cyropssdia.

the severer judgment of modern historical
inquiry has called in question, investigated
with the most searching accuracy, and al-
most universally destroyed its authority
with rational men, yet, it must be admit
ted, found no satisfactory explanation of
its origin.* While Constantine was med-*
itating in grave earnestness the claims of

* The silence, not only of all contemporary history
(the legend of Artemius, abandoned even by Tiile
mont, does not deserve the name), but of Eusebius
himself, in his Ecclesiastical History, gives a mo&t
dangerous advantage to those who altogether reject
the story. But on whom is the invention of the
story to be fathered.? on Eusebius? who,although
his conscience might, not be delicately scrupulous
on the subject of pious fraud, is charged with no
more than the suppression of the truth, not with the
direct invention of falsehood; or on Constantine
himself? Could it be with him a deliberate fiction
to command the higher veneration of the Christian
party ? or had his imagination at the time, or was
his memory in his later days, deceived by some in-
explicable illusion ?

The first excursus of Heinichen, in his edition of
Eusebius, contains the fullest, and, on the whole,
the most temperate and judicious discussion of this
subject, so inexhaustibly interesting, yet so inexpli-
cable, to the historical inquirer. 'Phere are three
leading theories, variously modified by their differ-
ent partisans. 1. A real miracle. 2. A natural phe-
nomenon, presented to the imagination of the em-
peror. 3. A deliberate invention on the part of the
emperor Or of Eusebius. The first has few parti-
sans in the present day. “ Ut enim miraculo Con-
stantinum a superstitione gentili avocatum esse,
nemo facile hac setate adhuc c-redet.”—Heinichen,
p. 522. Independent of all other objections, the
moral difficulty in the text is to me conclusive.
The third has its partisans, but appears to me to be
absolutely incredible... But the general consent of
the more learned and dispassionate writers seems
in -favour of the second, which was first, I believe,
suggested by F. Albert Fabricius. In this concur
Schroeckh, the German Church historian, Neander,
Manso, Heinichen, and, in short, all modem writers
who have any claim to historical criticism.

The great difficulty which encumbers the theory
which resolves it into a solar halo or some natural
phenomenon is the legend ev rovrtp vc/c#, which no
optical illusion can well explain if it be taken lit-
erally. The only rational theory is t.o suppose that
this was the inference drawn by the mind of Con-
stantine, and imbodied in these words ; which, be-
ing inscribed on the labarum, or on the arms or any
other public monument, as commemorative of the
event, gradually grew into an inseparable part of the
original vision.

The later and more poetic writers adorn the
shields and the helmets of the whole army with the
sign of the cross.

Testis Christicolae ducis adventantis ad urbem
Mulvius, exceptum Tiberina in stagna tyrannum
Praecipitans, quanam victricia viderit anna
Majestate regi, quod signum dextera vindex
Proctulerit, quali radiarint stemmate pila.

Christus purpureum, gernmanti textus in auro,
Signabat labarum, clypeorum insignia Christus
Ccripserat: ardebat summis crux addita cristis.

Prudent, in Symmachum, v. 482.

Euseb., Yit. Const., i., 38. Eccl. Hist., ix.,9. Zo-
simus, ii. 15. Manso, Leben Constantins, p. 41,
seqq.288

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the rival religions, on one hand the awful
fate of those who had persecuted Chris-
tianity, on the other the necessity of some
Divine assistance to counteract the magi-
cal incantations Of his enemy, he address-
ed his prayers to the One great Supreme.
On a sudden, a short time after noon, ap-
peared a bright cross in the heavens, just
above the. sun, with this inscription, “ By
this, conquer.’5 Awe seized himself and
the whole army, who were witnesses of
the wonderful phenomenon. But of the
signification of the vision Constantine was
altogether ignorant. Sleep fell upon his
harassed mind, and during his sleep Christ
himself appeared, and enjoined him to
make a banner in the shape of that celes-
tial sign, under which his arms would be
forever crowned with victory.

Constantine immediately commanded
the famous labarum to be made ; the laba-
rum which for a long time was borne at the
head of the imperial armies, and venerated
as a sacred relic at Constantinople. The
shaft of this celebrated standard was cased
with gold; above the transverse beam,
which formed the cross, was wrought in a
golden crown the monogram, or, rather,
the device of two letters, which signified the
name of Christ. And so for the first time
the meek and peaceful Jesus became a god
of battle ; and the cross, the holy sign of
Christian redemption, a banner of bloody
strife.

This irreconcilable incongruity be-
tween the symbol of universal peace and
the horrors of war, in my judgment, is
conclusive against the miraculous or su-
pernatural character of the transaction.#
Yet the admission of Christianity, not
merely as a controlling power, and the
most effective auxiliary of civil govern-
ment (an office not unbecoming its Divine
origin), but as the animating principle of
barbarous warfare, argues at once the. com-
manding influence which it had obtained

* I was agreeably surprised to find that Mosheim
concurred, in .these sentiments, for which I will
readily encounter the charge of Quakerispn.

Hasccine oratio servatori generis humani, qui pec-
cata hominum morte sua expiavit; hgeccine oratio
illo digna est, qui pacts auctor mortalibus est, et
suos hostibus ignoscere vult. * * * * Caveamus
ne veterum Christianorum narrationibus de setatis
SU33 miraculis acriusdefendendis in ipsam majesta-
tem Dei, et sanctissimam religionem, quse non hos-
tes, sed nos ipsos debellare docet, injurii simus.—De
Reb. ante Const., 985 [and Instit. of Eccl. H st.,
vol. i., p. 216, n. (30)]. When the Empress Helena,
among the other treasures of the tomb of Christ,
found tlie nails which fastened him to the cross,
Constantine turned them into a helmet and bits for
his’war-horse.—Socrates, i., 17. True or fabulous,
this story is characteristic of the Christian sentiment
then prevalent.

over the human mind, as well as its de-
generacy from its pure and spiritual ori-
gin. The unimpeached and unquestioned
authority of this miracle during so many’
centuries, shows how completely, in the
association which took place between bar-
barism and Christianity, the former main-
tained its predominance. This was the
first advance to the military Christianity of
the Middle Ages; a modification of the pure
religion of the Gospel, if directly opposed'
to its genuine principles, still apparently
indispensable to the social progress of
men; through which the Roman empire
and the barbarous nations, which were
blended together in the vast European and
Christian system, must necessarily have
passed before they could arrive at a high-
er civilization and a purer Christianity.

The fate of Rome and of paganism was
decided in the battle of the Milvian Bridge ;
the eventual result was the establishment
of the Christian empire. But to Constan-
tine himself, if at this time Christianity
had obtained any hold upon his mind, it
was now the Christianity of the warrior,
as subsequently it was that of the states-
man. It was the military commander who
availed himself of the assistance of any
tutelar divinity who might ensure success
to his daring enterprise.

Christianity, in its higher sense, appear-
ed neither in the acts nor in the Conduct of
decrees of the victorious Con- Constantine
stantine after the defeat of Max- tory over*5"
entius. Though his general con- Maxemius.
duct wTas tempered with a wise clemency,
yet the execution of his enemies and the
barbarous death of the infant son of Max-
entius still showed the same relentless
disposition which had exposed the barba-
rian chieftains, whom he had taken in his
successful campaign beyond the Rhine, in
the arena at.Treves.* The emperor still
maintained the same proud superiority
over the conflicting religions of the em-
pire which afterward appeared at the
foundation of the new metropolis. Even
in the labarum, if the initiated eyes of the
Christian soldiery could discern the sacred
symbol of Christ indistinctly glittering
above the cross, there appeared, either
embossed on the beam below or embroi-
dered on the square , purple banner which
depended from it, the bust of the emperor
and those of his family, to. whom the hea-
then part of his army might pay their hom-

* One of these barbarous acts was selected by
the panegyrical orator as a topic of the highest
praise. Puberes,qui in manus venerunt et quorum
nec perfidia erat. apta militiae, nec ferocia severitati,
ad pcenas spectaculo dati, saevientes bestias multi-
tudine sua fatigarunt.—Eumenii Panegyr., c. xii.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

289

age ol veneration. Constantine, though
he does not appear to have ascended to
the Capitol to pay his homage and to of-
fer sacrifice* to Jupiter the best and great-
est, and the other tutelary deities of Rome,
in general the first act of a victorious em-
peror, yet did not decline to attend the sa-
cred games.f Among the acts of the con-
queror in Rome was the restoration of the
pagan temples; among his imperial titles
he did not decline that of the Pontifex
Maximus.| The province of Africa, in re-
turn for the bloody head of their oppressor
Maxentius, was permitted to found a col-
lege of priests in honour of the Flavian
family.

The first public edict of Constantine in
Edict of Con- favour of Christianity is lost;
stantine from that issued at Milan, in the joint
Mdan. names of Constantine and Licin-
ius, is the great charter of the liberties
of Christianity.§ But it is an edict of full
and unlimited toleration, and no more. It
recognises Christianity as one of the legal
forms by which the divinity may be wor-
shipped. || It performs an act of justice in
restoring all the public buildings and the
property which had been confiscated by

♦ Euseb., Vit. Const., i., 51. Le Beau, Histoire
du Bas Empire, 1. ii., c. xvi.

f Nec quidquam aliud homines, diebus munerum
sacrorumque ludorum, quam te ipsurn spectare po-
tuerunt.—Incert. Pane., c. xix.
t Zosimus, iv., 36.

The edict, or, rather, the copy, sent by Licin-
ius to the prefect of Bithynia in Lactantius, De
Mori. Pers., xlviii.

|| Decree of Milan, A.D. 313. Haec ordinanda
esso credidimus, ut daremus et Christianis et omni-
bus liberam potestatem sequendi religionem quam
quisque voluisset, quod .quidem divinitas in sede
ccelesti nobis atque omnibus qui sub potestate nos-
tra sunt constituti, placata ac propitia possit exis-
tere (This divinitas, I conceive, was that equivocal
term for the Supreme Deity admitted by the pagan
as well as the Christian. What Zosimus called
to 'Q-ecov): etiam aliis religionis suse vel observan-
tise potestatem similiter apertam, et liberam, pro
quiete temporis nostri esseconcessam, ut in colendo
quod quisque delegerit, habeat liberam facultatem,
quia (nolumus detrahi) honori neque cuiquam reli-
gioni aliquid a nobis.

I will transcribe, however, the observations of
Kestner on this point. Multi merito observarunt,
animum illud ostendere (sc. decretum Mediolense)
ab antiqua religione minime alienum. Observan-
dum vero, parum hoc decretum valere, ut verarn
Constantini mentein, inde intelligamus. Non solus
quippe illius auctor fuit, sed Liciniusquoque—Huic
autem—etsi iis (Christianis) non sinceruserat ami-
cus, parcere debuit Constantinus; neque caeteris
displicere voluit subditis, qui antiquam religionem
profiterentur. Quamvis igitur etiam religionis in-
dole plenius jam fuisset- imbutus, ob rerum tamen,
quae id temporis erant, conditionem, manifestare
mentem non potuisset.—Kestner, Disp. de cornmut.
quam, Constant. M. auct. societas subiit Christi-
ana. Compare Heinichen, Excurs. in Vit. Const.,
p. 513.

O o

the persecuting edicts of former emperors.
Where the churches or their sites remain-
ed in the possession of the imperial treas-
ury, they were restored without any com-
pensation ; where they had been alienated,
the grants were resumed; where they had
been purchased, the possessors were of-
fered an indemnity for their enforced and
immediate surrender from the state. The
praefects were to see the restitution car-
ried into execution without delay and
without chicanery. But the same abso-
lute freedom of worship was secured to all
other religions; and this proud and equi-
table indifference is to secure the favour
of the divinity to the reigning emperors.
The whole tone of this edict is that of im-
perial clemency, which condescends to
take under its protection an oppressed and
injured class of subjects, rather than that
of an awe-struck proselyte, esteeming
Christianity the one true religion, and al-
ready determined to enthrone it as the
dominant and established faith of the em-
pire.

The earlier laws of Constantine, though
in their effects favourable to Earlier laws
Christianity, claimed some def- of constan-
erence, as it were, to the ancient tine-
religion in the ambiguity of their language,
and the cautious terms in which they in-
terfered with the liberty of paganism.
The rescript commanding the celebration
of the Christian Sabbath bears no allusion
to its peculiar sanctity as a Christian in-
stitution. It is the day of the Sun which
is to be observed by the general venera-
tion; the courts were to be closed, and
the noise and tumult of public business
and legal litigation were no longer to vio-
late the repose of the sacred day. But
the believer in the newT paganism, of which
the solar worship was the characteristic,
might acquiesce without scruple sanctity of
in the sanctity of the first day of the Sunday,
the week. The genius of Christianity ap-
pears. more manifestly in the single civil
act, which was exempted from the general
restriction on public business. The courts
were to be open for the manumission of
slaves on the hallowed day.* In the first
aggression on the freedom of paganism,
though the earliest law speaks in a severe
'and vindictive tone, a second tempers the
stern language of the former statute, and
actually authorizes the superstition against
which it is directed, as far as it might be
beneficial to mankind. The itinerant
soothsayers and diviners, who exercised
their arts m private houses, formed no
recognised part of the old religion. Their

* Cod. Theodos., ii., viii., 1. Vit. Constans., iv.,
18. Zosimus, i., 8290

HISTORY OF CHRIST! ANI'i x.

Against rites were supposed to be COIl-
divination. nected with all kinds of cruel and
licentious practices, with magic and un-
lawful sacrifices. They performed their
ceremonies at midnight, among tombs,
where they.evoked the dead; or in dark
chambers, where they made libations of
the blood of the living. They were dark-
ly rumoured not to abstain, on occasions,
from human blood, to offer children on the
altar, and to read the secrets of futurity
in the palpitating entrails of human vic-
tims. These unholy practices were pro-
scribed by the old Roman law and the old
Roman religion. This kind of magic was
a capital offence by the laws of the Twelve
Tables. Secret divinations had been inter-
dicted by former emperors, by Tiberius
and by Dioclesian.* * * * * § The suppression of
these rites by Constantine might appear
no more than a strong regulation of police
for the preservation of the pul lie morals.f
The soothsayer who should presume to
enter a private house to practise his un-
lawful art was to be burned alive; those
who received him w~ere condemned to the
forfeiture of their property and to exile.
But in the public temple, according to the
established rites, the priests and diviners
might still unfold the secrets of futurity ;J
the people were recommended to apply to
them rather than to the unauthorized di-
viners, and this permission was more ex-
plicitly guaranteed by a subsequent re-
script. Those arts which professed to
avert the thunder from the house, the hur-
ricane and the desolating shower from the
fruitful field, were expressly sanctioned as
beneficial to the husbandman. Even in
case of the royal palace being struck by
lightning, the ancient ceremony of propi-
tiating the deity was to be practised, and,
the haruspices were to declare the mean-
ing of the awful portent.§

• Yet, some acts of Constantine, even at
Constantine’s this early period, might encour-
encourage- age the expanding hopes .01 the
ment of Christians, that they were des-
Chnstianity. tined before long * to receive
more than impartial justice from the em-
peror, His acts of liberality were beyond
those of a sovereign disposed to redress
the wrongs of an oppressed class of his

* Haruspices secreto ac sine testibus consuli ye-
tuit.—Suetonius, Tib, c. 63. Ars mathematica
damnabilis est et interdicta omnino. — Compare
. Beugnot, i., 79.

• f It was addressed to Maximus, prefect of the
city.—-Cod. Theodos , xiv, 8, 2.

,■% Adite.aras publicas atque delubra, et consue-
tudinis vestrae celebrate solemnia : nec enim prohi-
bemus. prasteritae. usurpation^ officia libera luce
tractari.-—Cod. Theod., xi., 16.

$ Cod, Theodos., ix., ’6 • xvi., 10

subjects; he not merely enforced by ms
edict.the restoration of their churches
and estates; he enabled them, by his ow
munificence—his gift of a large sum 01
money to the Christians of Africa—to re-
build their ruined edifices, and restore
their sacred rites with decent solemnity*.
Many of the churches in Rome Churches
claim the first Christian emperor in Rome-
for their founder. The most distinguish-
ed of these, and, at the same time, those
which are best supported in their preten-
sions to antiquity, stood on the sites now-
occupied by the Lateran and by St. Pe-
ter’s. If it could be ascertained at what
period in the life of Constantine these
churches were built, some light might be
thrown on the history of his personal re-
ligion. For the Lateran being an imperial
palace, the grant of a basilica within its
walls for the Christian worship (for such
we may conjecture to have been the first
church) was a kind of direct recognition,
if not of his own regular personal attend-
ance, at least of his admission of Chris-
tianity within his domestic circle.] The
palace was afterward granted to the Chris-
tians, the first patrimony of the popes.
The Vatican suburb seems to have teen,
the. favourite place for the settlement of
foreign religions. It was thickly peoph d
with Jews from an early period ;J and re-
markable vestiges of the worship of C\ -
bele, which appear to have flourished side
by side, as it were, with that of Christ an-
ity, remained to the fourth or the fiftli
century.^ • The site of St.. Peter’s Church
was believed to occupy the spot hallowed
by his martyrdom; and the Christians
must have felt no unworthy pride in em-
ploying the materials of Nero’s circus, the
scene of the sanguinary pleasures of tin?
first persecutor, on a church dedicated to
the memory of his now honoured, if not
absolutely worshipped, victim.

With the protection, the emperor assu-
med the control over the affairs of the
Christian communities : to the cares of
the public administration was added a rec-
ognised supremacy over the Christian
Church ; the extent to which Christianity
now prevailed is shown by the importance
at once assumed by the Christian bishops,
who brought not only their losses and

* See the original grant of 3000 folles to Caecil-
ian, bishop of Carthage, in Eusebius, Eccl. Hist.,
x.,6.

f The Lateran was the residence of the Princess
Fausta : it is called the Dornus Faustee in the ac-
count of the first synod held to decide on the Do

natist schism.—Optat,, i, 23. Fausta may ha\e
been a Christian. t Basnage, vii., 210.

§ Bunsen und Plainer Roms’ Rfipchreibung, t.-
p. 22.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

291

their sufferings during the persecution of
Dioclesian, but, unhappily, likewise their
quarrels before the imperial tribunal.
From his palace at Treves Constantine
had not only to assemble military coun-
cils to debate on the necessary measures
for the protection of the German frontier
and the maintenance of the imperial ar-
mies; councils of finance, to remodel and
enforce the taxation of the different prov-
inces ; but synods of Christian bishops to
decide on the contests which had grown
up in the remote and unruly province of
Africa. The emperor himself is said fre-
quently to have appeared without his im-
perial state, and, with neither guards nor
officers around him, to have mingled in
the debate, and expressed his satisfaction
at their unanimity, whenever that rare
virtue adorned their counsels.* For Con-
stantine, though he could give protection,
could not give peace to Christianity. It
is the nature of men, that whatever pow-
erfully moves, agitates to excess the pub-
lic mind. With new views of those sub-
jects which make a deep and lasting im-
pression, new passions awaken. The
profound stagnation of the human mind
during the government of the earlier Cas-
sars had been stirred in its inmost depths by
the silent wonder-working of the new faith.
Momentous questions, which, up to that
time, had been entirely left to a small in-
tellectual aristocracy, had been calmly
debated in the villa of the Roman senator
or the grove sacred to philosophy, or dis-
cussed by sophists, whose frigid dialectics
wearied without exciting the mind, had
been gradually brought down to the com-
mon apprehension. The nature of the
Deity ; the state of the soul after death;
the equality of mankind in -the sight of
the Deity; even questions which are be-
yond the verge of human intellect; the
origin of evil; the connexion of the phys-
ical and moral world, had become general
topics;'they were, for the first time, the
primary truths of a popular religion, and
naturally could not withdraw themselves
from the alliance with popular passions.
These passions, as Christianity increased
in power and influence, came into more
active operation; as they seized on per-
sons of different temperament, instead of
being themselves subdued to Christian
gentleness, they inflamed Christianity, as
it appeared to the world, into a new and
more indomitable principle of strife and
animosity. Mankind, even within the

* Euseb., Vit. Const, lib. xliv. xa^P0VTa feiKvvg
Lavrov Ty KOLvfj 7rdvro)v ofJLovota. Eusebius says
that he conducted himself as the bishop of the
bishops.

sphere of Christianity, retrograded to the
sterner Jewish character; and in its spirit,
as well as in its language, the Old Testa-
ment began to dominate over the Gospel
of Christ.

The first civil wars which divided Chris-
tianity were those of Donatism Dissensions
and the Trinitarian controver- ofChristian-
sy. The Gnostic sects in their lty-
different varieties, and the Manichean,
were rather rival religions than Christian
factions. Though the adherents of these
sects professed to be disciples of Christian-
ity, yet they had their own separate con-
stitutions, their own priesthood, their own
ceremonial. Donatism was a
fierce and implacable schism in onatlsm
an established community. It was em
braced with all the wild ardour, and main-
tained with the blind obstinacy, of the Af-
rican temperament. It originated in a dis-
puted appointment to the episcopal digni-
ty at Carthage. The Bishop of Carthage,
if in name inferior (for everything con-
nected with the ancient capital still main-
tained its superior dignity in the general
estimation), stood higher, probably, in pro-
portion to the extent of his influence, and
the relative numbers of his adherents, as
compared with the pagan population, than
any Christian dignitary in the West, The
African churches had suffered more than
usual oppression during the persecution
of Dioclesian, not improbably during the
invasion of Maxentius. External force,
which in other quarters compressed the
body into closer and more compact unity,
in Africa left behind it a fatal principle of
disorganization. These rival claims to the
see of Carthage brought the opponent par-
ties into inevitable collision.

The pontifical offices of paganism, min-
istering in a ceremonial, to which the peo-
ple were either indifferent, or bound only
by habitual attachment, calmly descended
in their hereditary course, were nominated
by tire municipal magistracy, or attached
to the higher civil offices. They The Chris-
awoke no ambition, they caused tian hierar-
no contention ; they did not in- p"!

terest society enough to disturb gan priest-
it. The growth of the sacerdo- hood>
tal power was a necessary consequence
of the development of Christianity. The
hierarchy asserted (they were believed to
possess) the power of sealing the eternal
destiny of man. From a post cf danger,
which modest piety was compelled to as-
sume by the unsought and unsolicited suf-
frages of the whole community, a bishop-
ric had become an office of dignity, influ-
ence, and, at times, of wealth. The prel-
ate ruled not now so much bv his admitted292

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

superiority in Christian virtue as by the
inalienable authority of his office. He
opened or closed the door of the church,
which was tantamount to an admission or
an exclusion from everlasting bliss ; he
uttered the sentence of excommunication,
which cast back the trembling delinquent
among the lost and perishing heathen. He
had his throne in the most distinguished
part of the Christian temple; and though
yet acting in the presence and in the name
of his college of presbyters, yet he was
the acknowledged head of a large commu-
nity, over whose eternal destiny he held a
vague, but not, therefore, less imposing
and awful dominion. Among the African
Christians, perhaps by the commanding
character of Cyprian, in his writings at
least, the episcopal power is elevated to
its utmost height. No wonder that, with
the elements of strife fermenting in the
society, and hostile parties already array-
ed against each other, the contest for this
commanding post should be commenced
with blind violence, and carried on with
irreconcilable hostility.* In every com-
munity, no doubt, had grown up a severer
party, who were anxious to contract the
pale of salvation to the narrowest com-
pass ; and a more liberal class, who were
more lenient to the infirmities of their
brethren, and would extend to the utmost
limits the beneficial effects of the redemp-
tion. The fiery ordeal of the persecution
tried the Christians of Africa by the' most
searching test, and drew more strongly the
line of demarcation. Among the summa-
ry proceedings of the persecution, which
were carried into effect with unrelenting
severity by Anulinus, the praefect of Afri-
ca (the same who, by a singular vicissitude
in political affairs, became the instrument
of Constantine’s munificent grants to the
churches of his province!), none was more
painful to the feelings of the Christians
than the demand of the unconditional sur-
render of the furniture of their sacred
edifices ; their chalices, their ornaments,
above all, the sacred writings. J The bish-
op and his priests were made responsible
for the full and unreserved delivery of these

* The principal source of information concerning
the Donatist controversy is the works of Optatus,
with the valuable collection of documents subjoin-
ed to them; and for their later history, various pas-
sages in the works of St. Augustine.

f See the grant of Constantine referred to above.

% There is a very curious and graphic account of
the rigorous perquisition for the sacred books in the
Gesta apud Zenophilum in Routh, vol. iv., p. 103.
The codices appear to have been under the care of
the readers, who were of various ranks, mostly, how-
ever, in trade. There were a great number of co-
dices, each Tarobably containing one book of Uie
Scriptures

sacred possessions. Some from timidity,
others considering that by such conces-
sions it might be prudent to avert more
dangerous trials, and that such treasures,
sacred as they were, might be replaced in
a more flourishing state of the church,
complied with the demands of the magis-
trate ; but, by their severe brethren, who,
with more uncompromising courage, had
refused the least departure from the tone
of unqualified resistance, they were brand-
ed with the ignominious name of Tradi-
tors.* This became the strong, TheTradi-
the impassable line of demarca- tors,
tion between the contending factions. To
the latest period of the conflict, the Dona-
tists described the Catholic party by that
odious appellation.

The primacy of the African Church was
the object of ambition to these two par-
ties: an unfortunate vacancy at this time
kindled the smouldering embers of strife.
Mensurius had filled the see of contest for
Carthage with prudence and mod- the see of
eration during these times of Carthase
emergency He was accused by the stern-
er zeal of Donatus, a Numidian bishop, of
countenancing, at least, the criminal con-
cessions of the Traditors. It was said
that he had deluded the government by a
subtle stratagem ; he had substituted cer-
tain heretical writings for the genuine
Scriptures ; had connived at their seizure,
and calmly seen them delivered to the
flames. The Donatists either disbelieved
or despised as a paltry artifice this attempt
to elude the glorious danger of resistance.
But, during the life of Mensurius, his char-
acter and station had overawed the hostile
party. But Mensurius was summoned to
Rome to answer to a charge of the con-
cealment of the deacon Felix, accused of
a political offence, the publication of a li-
bel against the emperor. On his depar-
ture he intrusted to the deacons of the
community the valuable vessels of gold
and silver belonging to the church, of
which he left an accurate inventory in the
hands of a pious and aged woman. Men-
surius died on his return to Carthage. Cse-
cilian, a deacon of the church, was raised
by the unanimous suffrages of the clergy
and people to the see of Carthage. He
was consecrated by Felix, bishop of Ap-
thunga. His first step was to demand the
vessels of the church. By the advice of
Botrus and Celeusius, two of the deacons,
competitors, it is said, with Caecilian for the
see, they were refused to a bishop irregu-
larly elected, and consecrated by a noto-

* The Donatists invariably called the Catholic
party the Traditors. See Sermo Donatista and the
Acts of the Donatist martyr.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

293

nous Traditor. A Spanish female of no-
ble birth and of opulence, accused of per-
sonal hostility to Caecilian, animated the
Carthaginian faction ; but the whole prov-
ince assumed the right of interference
with the appointment to the primacy, and
Donatus, bishop of Caste Nigrae, placed
himself at the head of the opponent party.
The commanding mind of Donatus sway-
ed the countless hierarchy which crowded
the different provinces of Africa. The
Numidian bishops took the lead ; Secun-
dus, the primate of Numidia, at the sum-
mons of Donatus, appeared in Carthage
at the head of seventy of his bishops.
Appeal to the This self-installed Council of
eivii power. Carthage proceeded to cite Cae-
cilian, who refused to recognise its author-
ity. The council declared his election
void. The consecration by a bishop guil-
ty of tradition was the principal ground
on which his election was annulled. But
darker charges were openly advanced,
or secretly murmured against Caecilian;
charges which,’if not entirely ungrounded,
show that the question of tradition had,
during the persecution, divided the Chris-
tians into fierce and hostile factions. He
was said to have imbittered the last hours
of those whose more dauntless resistance
put to shame the timorous compliance of
Mensurius and his party. He took his
station with a body of armed men, and
precluded the pious zeal of their adherents
from obtaining access to the prison of
those who had been seized by the govern-
ment ;* he prevented, not merely the con-
solatory and inspiriting visits of kinsmen
and friends, but even the introduction of
food and other comforts in their state of
starving destitution. The Carthaginian
faction proceeded to elect Majorinus to the
vacant see. Both parties appealed to the
civil power; and Anulinus, the praofect of
Africa, who, during the reign of Dioclesian,
had seen the Christians dragged before
his tribunal, and whose authority they then
disclaimed with uncompromising unanim-
ity, now saw them crowding in hostile fac-
tions to demand his interference in their
domestic discords. The cause was refer-
red to the imperial decision of Constan-
tine. At a later period the Donatists, be-
ing worsted in the strife, bitterly reproach-
ed their adversaries with this appeal to the
civil tribunal: “ What have Christians to
do with kings, or bishops with palaces F’f
Their adversaries justly recriminated that
they had been as ready as themselves to
request the intervention of the govern-
ment. Constantine delegated the judg-

* Optatus, i., 22. f lb.

ment in their cause to the bishops of Gaul,*
but the first council was composed of a
great majority of Italian bishops ; Council of
and Rome for the first time wit- Rome‘
nessed a public trial of a Christian cause
before an assembly of bishops presided
over by her prelate. The council was
formed of the three Gallic bishops of Co-
logne, of Autun, and of Arles. The Ital-
ian bishops (we may conjecture that these
were considered the more important sees,
or were filled by the most influential prel-
ates) were those of Milan, Cesena, Quin-
tiano, Rimini, Florence, Pisa, Faenza, Ca-
pua, Benevento, Terracina, Prseneste, Tres
Taberna0, Ostia, Ursinum (Urbinum), Fo-
rum Claudii. Caecilian and Donatus ap-
peared each at the head of ten bishops of
his party. Both denounced their adver-
saries as guilty of the crime of tradition.
The partisans of Donatus rested their ap-
peal on the invalidity of an ordination by
a bishop, Felix of Apthunga, who had been
guilty of that delinquency. The party of
Caecilian accused almost the whole of the
Numidian bishops, and Donatus himself,
as involved in the same guilt. It was a
wise and temperate policy in the Catholic
party to attempt to cancel all imbittering
recollections of the days of trial and in-
firmity ; to abolish all distinctions, which
on one part led to pride, on the other to
degradation ; to reconcile in these halcyon
days of prosperity the whole Christian
world into one harmonious confederacy.
This policy was that of the government.
At this early period of his Christianity, if
he might yet be called a Christian, Con-
stantine was little likely to enter into the
narrow and exclusive principles of the Do-
natists. As an emperor, Christianity was
recommended to his favour by the harmon-
izing and tranquillizing influence which it
exercised over a large body of the people.
If it broke up into hostile feuds, it lost its
value as an ally or an instrument of civil
government. But it was exactly this lev-
elling of all religious distinctions, this lib-
eral and comprehensive spirit, that would

* Augustin, writing when the episcopal authori-
ty stood on a nearer or even a higher level than that
of the throne, asserts that Constantine did not dare
to assume a cognizance over the election of a bish-.
op. Constantinus non ausus estde caus& episcopi
judicare.—Epist. cv., n. 8. Natural equity, as well
as other reasons, would induce Constantine to del-
egate the affair to a Christian commission. The
account of Optatus ascribes to Constantine speech-
es which it is difficult ro reconcile with his public
conduct as regards Christianity at this period of his
life. The Council of Rome was held A.D. 313,
2d October.

The decrees of the Council of Rome and ol
Arles, with other documents on the subject, may
be found in the fourth volume of Routh.294

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

annihilate the less important differences
which struck at the vital principle of Do-
natism. They had confronted all the mal-
ice of the persecutor, they had disdained
to compromise any principle, to concede
the minutest point; and were they to
abandon a superiority so hardly earned,
and to acquiesce in the readmission of all
those who had forfeited their Christian
privileges to the same rank! Were they
not to exercise the high function of read-
mission into the fold with proper severi-
ty 1 The decision of the council was fa-
vourable to the cause of Ca3cilian. Dona-
tes appealed to the emperor, who retained
the heads of both parties in Italy to allow
time for the province to regain its quiet.
In defiance of the emperor, both the leaders
fled back to Africa, to set themselves at the
head of their respective factions. The pa-
a.d. 314, tient Constantine summoned a new,
1st Aug. a more remote council at Arles:
Caecilian and the African bishops were
cited to appear in that distant province ;
public vehicles, were furnished for their
conveyance at the emperor’s charge; each
bishop was attended by two of his inferior
clergy, with three domestics. The Bishop
of Arles presided in this council, which
confirmed the judgment of that in Rome.

. A second Donatus now appeared upon
the scene, of more vigorous and more
persevering character, greater ability, and
with all the energy and self-confidence
which enabled him to hold together the
faction. They now assumed the name of
Donatists. On the death of Majormus,
Donatus succeeded to the dignity of anti-
Bishop of Carthage: the whole African
province continued to espouse the quarrel;
the authority of the government, which
had been invoked by both parties, was
scornfully rejected by that against which
the award was made. Three times was
the decision repeated in favour of the
Catholic party, at Rome, at Arles, and at
Milan; each time was more strongly es-
a d 316 taWished. the self-evident truth,

‘ which was so late recognised by
the Christian world, the incompetency of
any council to reconcile religions differ-
ences. The suffrages of the many cannot
bind the consciences, or enlighten the
minds, or even overcome the obstinacy,
of the few. Neither party can yield with-
out abandoning the very principles by
which they have been constituted a party.
A commission issued to Allies, praefect of
the district, to examine the charge against
Felix, bishop of Apthunga, gave a favour-
able verdict.* An imperial commission

* Seethe ActaPurgationisFelicis, in Routh,iv.,71.

of two delegates to Carthage ratified the
decision of the former councils. At every
turn the Donatists protested against the
equity of the decree; they loudly com-
plained of the unjust and partial influence-
exercised by Osius, bishop of Cordova,
over the mind of the emperor. At length
the tardy indignation of the government
had recourse to violent measures. The
Donatist bishops were driven into Donate
exile, their churches destroyed or persecuted.,
sold, and the property seized for the im-
perial revenue. The Donatists defied the
armed interference as they had disclaimed
the authority of the government. This first
development of the principles of Christian
sectarianism was as stern, as inflexible,
and as persevering as in later times. The
Donatists drew their narrow pale around
their persecuted sect, and asserted them-
selves to be the only elect people of Christ;
the only people whose clergy could claim
an unbroken apostolical succession, vitia-
ted in all other communities of Christians
by the inexpiable crime of tradition. Wher-
ever they obtained possession of a church,
they burned the altar; or, where wood
was scarce, scraped off the infection of
heretical communion; they melted the
cups, and sold, it was said, the sanctified
metal for profane, perhaps for pagan uses;
they rebaptized all who joined their sect;
they made the virgins renew their vows;
they would not even permit the bodies oi
the Catholics to repose in peace, lest they
should pollute the common cemeteries.
The implacable faction darkened into a
sanguinary feud. For the first time hu-
man blood was shed in conflicts between
followers of the Prince of Peace. Each
party recriminated on the other, but nei-
ther denies the barbarous scenes of massa-
cre and license which devastated the Afri-
can cities. The Donatists boasted of their
martyrs, and the cruelties of the Catholic
party rest on their own admission: they
deny not, they proudly vindicate their bar-
barities. “ Is the vengeance of God to be
defrauded of its victims'?”* and they ap-
peal to the Old Testament to justify, by
the examples of Moses, of Phineas, and oi
Elijah, the Christian duty of slaying by
thousands the renegades or the unbeliev-
ers.

In vain Constantine-at length published

* This damning passage is found in the work of
the Catholic Optatus: Quasi orrmino in vindiefam
Dei nullus mereatur occidi. Compare the whole
chapter, iii.. 6. There is a very strong statement
of the persecutions which they endured from the
Catholics in the letter put in by the Donatist bishop
Habet Deum in the conference held during the
reign of Honorius — Apud Dupin, No 258, in tin®HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

an edict of peace: the afflicted
‘ * province was rent asunder till the

close of his reign, and during that of his
son, oy mis religious warfare. For, on
the other hand, the barbarous fanaticism
of the Circumcellions involved the Do-
TheCircum- natist party in the guilt of in-
ceilions. surrection, and connected them
with revolting atrocities, which they were
accused of countenancing, of exciting, if
not actually sanctioning by their presence.
That which, in the opulent cities or the
well-ordered communities, led to fierce
and irreconcilable contention, grew up
among the wild borderers on civilization
into fanatical phrensy. Where Christian-
ity has outstripped civilization, and has
not had time to effect its beneficent and
humanizing change, whether in the bosom
of an old society or within the limits of
savage life, it becomes, in times of violent
excitement, instead of a pacific principle
to assuage, a new element of ungoverna-
ble strife. The long peace which had
been enjoyed by the province of Africa,
and the flourishing corn-trade which it
conducted as the granary of Rome and of
the Italian provinces, had no doubt ex-
tended the pursuits of agriculture into the
Numidian, Gaetulian, and Mauritanian vil-
lages. The wild tribes had gradually be-
come industrious peasants, and among
them Christianity had found an open field
for its exertions, and the increasing agri-
cultural settlements had become Christian
bishoprics. But the savage was yet only
half tamed ; and no sooner had the flames
of the Donatist conflict spread into these
peaceful districts, than the genuine Chris-
tian was lost in the fiery marauding child
of the desert. Maddened by oppression,
wounded in his religious feelings by the
expulsion and persecution of the bishops,
from his old nature he resumed the fierce
spirit of independence, the contempt for
the laws of property, and the burning de-
sire of revenge : of his new religion he
retained only the perverted language, or,
rather, that of the Old Testament, with an
implacable hatred of all hostile sects; a
stern ascetic continence, which perpetu-
ally broke out into paroxysms of unbri-
dled licentiousness; and a fanatic passion
for martyrdom, which assumed the acts
of a kind of methodical insanity.

The Circumcellions commenced their
ravages during the reign of Constantine,
and continued in arms during that of his
successor Constans. No sooner had the
provincial authorities received instructions
to reduce the province by force to religious
unity, than the Circumcellions, who had at
first confined their ravages to disorderly

295

and hasty incursions, broke out into open
revolt.* They defeated one body of the
imperial troops, and killed Ursacius, the
Roman general. They abandoned by a
simultaneous impulse their agricultural
pursuits ; they proclaimed themselves the
instruments of Divine justice, and the pro-
tectors of the oppressed; they first as-
serted the wild theory of the civil equali-
ty of mankind, which has so often, in later
periods of the world, become the anima-
ting principle of Christian fanaticism; they
proclaimed the abolition of slavery ; they
thrust the proud and opulent master from
his chariot, and made him walk by the side
of his slave, who, in his turn, was placed
in the stately vehicle ; they cancelled all
debts, and released the debtors; their most
sanguinary acts were perpetrated in the
name of religion, and Christian language
was profaned by its association with their
atrocities ; their leaders were the captains
of the saints ;f the battle hymn, Praise to
God! their weapons were not swords, for
Christ had forbidden the use of the sword,
to Peter, but huge and massy clubs, with
which they beat their miserable victims
to death.J They were bound by vows of
the severest continence, but the African
temperament, in its state of feverish ex-
citement, was too strong for the bonds of
fanatical restraint; the companies of the
saints not merely abused the privileges
of war by the most licentious outrages on
the females, but were attended by troops
of drunken prostitutes, whom they called
their sacred virgins. But the most extra-
ordinary development of their fanaticism
was their rage for martyrdom. Passion for
When they could not obtain it martyrdom,
from the sword of the enemy, they in-
flicted it upon themselves. The ambi-
tious martyr declared himself a candidate
for the crown of glory: he then gave him-
self up to every kind of revelry, pam-
pering, as it were, and fattening the vic-
tim for sacrifice. When he had wrought
himself to the pitch of phrensy, he. rushed
out, and, with a sword in one hand and
money in the other, he threatened death
and offered reward to the first comer who
would, satisfy his eager longings for the

* The Circumcellions were unacquainted with
the Latin language, and are said to have spoken
only the Punic of the country.

f Augustine asserts that they were led by their
clergy, v. xi., p. 575.

t The Donatists anticipated our Puritans in those
strange religious names which they assumed. Ha-
bet Deum appears among the Donatist bishops in a
conference held with the Catholics at Carthage
A.D. 411. See the report of the conference in the
Donatistan Monumenta collected by Dupin, at the
end of his edition of Ontatus296

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

glorious crown. They leaped from preci-
pices ; they went into the pagan temples
to provoke the vengeance of the worship-
pers.

Such are the excesses to which Chris-
tianity is constantly liable, as the religion
of a savage and uncivilized people; but,
on the other hand, it must be laid down
as a political axiom equally universal,
that this fanaticism rarely bursts out into
disorders dangerous to society, unless
goaded and maddened by persecution.

Donatism was the fatal schism of one
province of Christendom : the few com-
munities formed on these rigid principles
in Spain and in Rome died away in neg-
lect; but, however diminished its influ-
ence, it distracted the African province for
three centuries, and was only finally ex-
tirpated with Christianity itself, by the all-
absorbing progress of Mohammedanism.
At one time Constantine resorted to milder
measures, and issued an edict of toleration.
But in the reign of Constans, the persecu-
tion was renewed with more unrelenting
severity. Two imperial officers, Paul and
Macurius, were sent to reduce the prov-
ince to religious unity. The Circumcel-
lions encountered them with obstinate
valour, but were totally defeated in the
sanguinary battle of Bagnia. In’ the la-
ter reigns, when the laws against heresy
became more frequent and severe, the Do-
natists were named with marked reproba-
tion in the condemnatory edicts. Yet, in
die time of Honorius, they boasted, in a

conference with the Catholics, that they
equally divided at least the province of
Numidia, and that the Catholics only ob-
tained a majority of bishops by the unfair
means of subdividing the sees. This con-
ference was held in the vain, though then
it might not appear ungrounded, hope of
reuniting the great body of the Donatists
with the Catholic communion. The Do-
natists, says Gibbon, with his usual sar-
casm, and more than his usual truth, had
received a practical lesson on the conse-
quences of their own principles. A small
sect, the Maximinians, had been formed
within their body, who asserted them-
selves to be the only genuine church of
God, denied the efficacy of the sacra-
ments, disclaimed the apostolic power of
the clergy, and rigidly appropriated to their
own narrow sect the merits of Christ and
the hopes of salvation. But neither this
fatal warning, nor the eloquence of St.
Augustine, wrought much effect on the
Puritans of Africa; they still obstinately
denied the legality of Geecilian’s ordina-
tion ; still treated their adversaries as the
dastardly traditors of the Sacred Writings;
still dwelt apart in the unquestioning con-
viction that they were the sole subjects
of the kingdom of Heaven ; that to them
alone belonged the privilege of immortali-
ty through Christ, while the rest of the
world, the unworthy followers of Christ,
not less than the blind and unconverted
heathen, were perishing in their outcast
and desperate state of condemnation

CHAPTER II.

CONSTANTINE BECOMES SOLE EMPEROR.

By the victory over Maxentius, Constan-
The East tine had become master of half
still pagan, the Roman world. Christianity, if
it had not contributed to the success, shar-
ed the advantage of the triumph. By the
edict of Milan the Christians had resumed
all their former rights as citizens, their
churches were re-opened, their public ser-
vices recommenced, and their silent work
of aggression on the hostile paganism be-
gan again under the most promising auspi-
ces. The equal favour with which they
were beheld by the sovereign appeared both
to their enemies and to themselves an open
declaration on their side. The public acts,
the laws, and the medals of Constantine,*

* Eckhel supposes that the heathen symbols dis-

show how the lofty eclectic indifferentism
of the emperor, which extended impartial
protection over all the conflicting faiths, or
attempted to mingle together their least in-
harmonious elements, gradually but slow-
ly gave place to the progressive influence
of Christianity. Christian bishops ap-
peared as regular attendants upon the

appeared from the coins of Constantine after his
victory over Licinins.—Doctr. Nuram. in Constant.

I may add here another observation of this great
authority on such subjects. Excute universam
Constantini monetam, nunquam in ea aut Christi
imaginem aut Constantini effigiem cruce insignem
reperies * * * * In nonnullis jam monogramma
Christi ^ ip inseritur labaro aut vexillo, jam in
area nummi solitary excubat, jam aliis, ut patebit,
comparat modis. .HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

297

c yurt; the internal dissensions of Chris-
tianity became affairs of state ; the pagan
party saw, with increasing apprehension for
their own authority and the fate of Rome,
the period of the secular games, on the due
celebration of which depended the duration
of the Roman sovereignty, pass away un-
honoured.* It was an extraordinary change
in the constitution of the Western
^ ' ' world when the laws of the em-

pire issued from the court of Treves, and
Italy and Africa awaited the changes in
their civil and religious constitution from
the seat of government on the barbarous
German frontier. The munificent grant
of Constantine for the restoration of the
African churches had appeared to commit
him in favour of the Christian party, and
had, perhaps, indirectly contributed to in-
flame the dissensions in that province.

A new law recognised the clerical order
Clerical or- as a dist;inct and privileged class,
tier recogni- It exempted them from the oner-
Fawby lhf ous municipal offices, which had
aw’ begun to press heavily upon the

more opulent inhabitants of the towns. It
is the surest sign of misgovernment when
the higher classes shrink from the posts
of honour and of trust. During the more
flourishing days of the empire, the decu-
rionate, the chief municipal dignity, had
been the great object of provincial ambi-
tion. The decurions formedThe senates
of the towns ; they supplied the magis-
trates from their body, and had the right
of electing them.f

Under the new financial system intro-
duced by Dioclesian, the decurions were
made responsible for the full amount of
taxation imposed by the cataster or as-
sessment on the town and district. As
the payment became more onerous or dif-
ficult, the tenants, or even the proprietors,
either became insolvent or fled their coun-
try. But the inexorable revenue still ex-
acted from the decurions the whole sum
assessed on their town or district. The
office itself grew into disrepute, and the
law was obliged to force that upon the re-
luctant citizen of wealth or character
which had before been an object, of eager
emulation and competition.J The Chris-
tians obtained the exemption of their ec-
clesiastical order from these civil offices.
The exemption was grounded on the just

* Zosimus, 1. ii, c. 1.

f Savigny, Romische Recht, i., 18. Compare the
whole book of the Theodosian Code, De Decurion-
ibus. Persons concealed their property to escape
serving the public offices.—Cod. Theod., iii, 1-8.

X See two dissertations of Savigny on the taxa-
tion of the empire, in the Transactions of the Ber-
lin Academy, and translated in the Cambridge
Classical Researches.

plea of its incompatibility with their re-
ligious duties.* The emperor declared in
a letter to Caecilian, bishop of Carthage,
that the Christian priesthood ought not to
be withdrawn from the worship of God,
which is the principal source of the pros-
perity of the empire. The effect of this
immunity shows the oppiessed and disor-
ganized state of society :f numbers of per-
sons, in order to secure this exemption,
rushed at once into the clerical order of
the Christians; and this manifest abuse
demanded an immediate modification of
the law. None were to be admitted into
the sacred order except on the A ^ 320>
vacancy of a religious charge, Exemption
and then those only whose pov- de‘

erty exempted them from the
municipal functions.J Those whose prop-
erty imposed upon them the duty of the
decurionate, were ordered to abandon their
religious profession. Such was the des-
potic power of the sovereign, to which the
Christian Church still submitted, either on
the principle of passive obedience, or in
gratitude for the protection of the civil au-
thority. The legislator interfered without
scruple in the domestic administration of
the Christian community, and the Chris-
tians received the imperial edicts in silent
submission. The appointment of a Chris-
tian, the celebrated Lactantius, to super-
intend the education of Crispus, the eldest
son of the emperor, was at once a most
decisive and most influential step towards
the public declaration of Christianity as
the religion of the imperial family. An-
other important law, .the groundwork of
the vast property obtained by the Church,
gave it the fullest power to receive the be-
quests of the pious. Their right of hold-
ing property had been admitted apparently
by Alexander Severus, annulled by Dio-
clesian, and was now conceded in the most
explicit terms by Constantine.§

But half the world remained still disu-
nited from the dominion of Con- wars with
stantine and of Christianity. The Licinius*

* The officers of the royal household and their
descendants had the same exemption, which was
likewise extended to the Jewish archisynagogi or
elders.—Le Beau, 165. Cod. Theodos.,xvi., 8, 2.

The priests and the flamines, with the decurions,
were exempt from certain inferior offices, xii., v. 2.

f See the various laws on this subject.—Codex
Theodos., xvi,, 2, 3, 6-11.

% Cod. Theodos., xvi., 2, 17, 19.

§ Habeat unusquisque licentiam, sanctissimo
Catholicse venerabilique concilio, decedens bono-
rum, quod placet, relinquere. Non sint cassa ju-
dicia. Nihil est, quod magis hominibus debetur,
quam ut supremoe voluntatis, postquam aliud jam
velle non possint, liber sit status, et licens, quotf
iterum non redit, imperium.—Cod. Th., xvi., 2,1
De Episcopis. This law is assigned to the year 321HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

2118

first war with Lieinius had been closed by
the battles of Cibalse and Mardia, and a
new partition of the empire. It was suc-
ceeded by a hollow and treacherous peace
of nine years.* * * * § The favour shown by
Constantine to his Christian subjects
seems to have thrown Lieinius upon the
opposite interest. The edict of Milan
had been issued in the joint names of the
two emperors, in his conflict with Max-
imin, Lieinius had avenged the oppres-
sions of Christianity on their most re-
lentless adversary. But when the crisis
approached which was to decide the fate
of the whole empire, as Constantine had
adopted every means of securing their
cordial support, so Lieinius repelled the
allegiance of his Christian subjects by
disfavour, by mistrust, by expulsion from
offices of honour, by open persecution,
till, in the language of ihe ecclesiastical
historian, the world was divided into two
regions, those of day and of night.f The

Lieinius be- vices, as well as the policy of
conies more Lieinius, might disincline him to
decidedly endure the importunate presence
pagan. 0f the Christian bishops in his
court; but he might disguise his hostile
disposition to the churchmen in his de-
clared dislike of eunuchs and of cour-
tiers :f the vermin, as he called them, of
the palace. The stern avarice of Lieinius
would be contrasted to his disadvantage
with the profuse liberality of Constantine ;
his looser debaucheries with the severer
morals of the Western emperor. Licin-
ius proceeded to purge his household
troops of those whose inclination to his
rival he might, not without reason, mis-
trust ; none were permitted to retain their
rank who refused to sacrifice. He pro-
hibited the synods of the clergy, which
he naturally apprehended might degener-
ate into conspiracies in favour of his rival.
He confined the bishops to the care of
their own dioceses.§ He affected, in his
care for the public morals, to prohibit the
promiscuous worship of men and women
in the cfiurches ;|| and insulted the sanc-
tity of the Christian worship, by com-
manding that it should be celebrated in
the open air. The edict prohibiting all
access to the prisons, though a strong
and unwilling testimony to the charitable
exertions of the Christians, and by their
'writers represented as an act of wanton

* 314 to 323. t Euseb., Vita Constant., i., 49.
f Spadonum et Aulicorum omnium vehemens
domitor, tineas soricesque palatii eos appellans.—
Aur. Viet., Epit.

% Vit. Constant., i., 41.

^ Tit. Constant. Women were to be instructed
by the deaconesses alone.—Vit. Const, i., 53.

and unexampled inhumanity, was caused
probably by a jealous policy rather than
by causeless cruelty of temper. It is
quite clear that the prayers of the Chris-
tians, perhaps more worldly weapons, were
armed in favour of Constantine. The
Eastern churches would be jealous of their
happier Western brethren, and naturally
would be eager to bask in the equal sun-
shine of imperial favour. At length, ei-
ther fearing the effect of their prayers
with the Deity whom they addressed,* or
their influence in alienating the minds of
their votaries from, his own cause to that
of him who, in the East, was considered
the champion of the Christian cause, Li-
cinius commanded the Christian churches
in Pontus to be closed; he destroyed
some of them, perhaps for the defiance of
his edicts. Some acts of persecution
took place; the Christians fled again into
the country, and began to conceal them-
selves in the woods and caves. Many
instances of violence, some of martyr-
dom, occurred,! particularly in Pontus.
There was a wide-spread apprehension
that a new and general persecution was
about to break out, when the Emperor of
the West moved, in the language of the
Christian historian, to rescue the whole
of mankind from the tyranny of one J
Whether, in fact, Lieinius avowed the
imminent war to be a.strife for mastery
between the two religions, the decisive
struggle between the ancient gods of
Rome and the new divinity of the Chris-
tians whether he actually led the chief
officers and his most eminent political
partisans into a beautiful consecrated
grove, crowded with the images of the
godsand appealed, by the light of bla-
zing torches and amid the smoke of sac-
rifice, to the gods of their ancestors
against his atheistic adversaries, the foh

* IwreXelodai yap ova 7]yelra vrcr.p avroi
rag svxac, gvvelSotl (pav?^o) tovto TioyL^opsvog,
a/OC virep tov fieodiXovg (3aGiAEa>g rcavra 7rpcir-
telv ‘hp.ag Kal rov -Q-eov iXsovadai hettelgto.—

Euseb., x., 8.

f Sozomen, H. E., i., 7, asserts that many of the
clergy, as' well as bishops, were martyred.' Dod-
well, however, observes (De Paucitate Martyrum,
91), Caveant fabulatores ne quos alios sub Licinio
martyres faciant prGeterquam episcopos.—Compare
Ruinart. There is great difficulty about Basileus,
bishop of Affiasa. He is generally reckoned by
the Greek writers as a martyr (see Pagi, ad an. 316,
n. x.); but he is expressly stated by Philostorgius
(lib. i.), confirmed by Athanasius (Orat.. 1, contra
Arianos), to have been present at the Council of
Nice some years afterward. % Vit. Const., ii, 5.

§ 'TCTraxdelc TLGl^vmap(vov(ievoig avrfi rparij-
gelv, elg kTJirjviupo'b krpaTcr}.—Sozomen, i., 7.

Sacrifices and divinations were resorted to, and
promised to Lieinius universal empire.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

lowers of a foreign and unknown deity,
whose ignominious sign was displayed in
the van of their armies; yet the propaga-
tion of such stories shows how complete-
ly, according to their own sentiments, the
interests of Christianity were identified
with the cause of Constantine.* On both
sides were again marshalled all the super-
natural terrors which religious hope or
superstitious awe could summon. Divi-
ners, soothsayers, and Egyptian magi-
cians animated the troops of Licinius.f
The Christians in the army of Constan-
tine attributed all their success to the
prayers of the pious bishops who accom-
panied his army, and especially to the
holy labarum, whose bearer passed un-
hurt among showers of fatal javelins.{

The battle of Hadrianople, and the na-
Uattie Of val victory of Crispus, decided
Hadrianople. the fate of the world, and the
A.D. 323. establishment of Christianity as
the religion of the empire. The death of
Licinius reunited the whole Roman world
under the sceptre of Constantine.

Eusebius ascribes to Constantine, during
this battle, an act of Christian mercy at
least as unusual as the appearance of the
banner of the cross at the head of the
Roman army. He issued orders to spare
the lives of his enemies, and offered re-
wards for all captives brought in alive.
Even if this be not strictly true, its exag-
geration or invention, or even its relation
as a praiseworthy act, shows the new
spirit which was working in the mind of
man.§

Among the first acts of the sole em-
peror of the world was the repeal of all the
edicts of Licinius against the Christians,
the release of all prisoners from the dun-
geon or the mine, or the servile and hu-
miliating occupations to which some had
been contemptuously condemned in the
manufactories conducted by women; the
recall of all the exiles; the restoration of
all who had been deprived of their rank
in the army or in the civil service ; the
restitution of all property of which they
had been despoiled—that of the martyrs
to the legal heirs, where there were no
heirs to the Church—that of the churches
was not only restored, but the power to
receive donations in land, already granted
to the Western churches, was extended to
the Eastern. The emperor himself set

* Vit. Constant.., ii., 4.

+ Euseb., Vit. Constant., i., 49.

j Eusebius declares that he heard this from the
lips of Constantine himself. One man, who, in
his panic, gave up the cross to another, was imme-
diate ly transfixed in his flight. No one actually
around the cross was wounded.

$ Vit Const., ii., 13.

299

the example of restoring all which haa
been confiscated to the state.

Constantine issued two edicts, recount-
ing all these exemptions, restitutions, and
privileges: one addressed to the church-
es, the other to the cities of the East;
the latter alone is extant. Its tone migh)
certainly indicate that Constantine con-
sidered the contest with Licinius as in
some degree a war of religion : his own
triumph and the fate of his enemies are
adduced as unanswerable evidences to the
superiority of that God whose followers
had been so cruelly persecuted ; the res-
toration of the Christians to all their
property and immunities was an act, not
merety of justice and humanity, but of
gratitude to the Deity.

But Constantine now appeared more
openly to the whole world as the head of
the Christian community. Fie sat, not
in the Roman senate, deliberating on the
affairs of the empire, but presiding in a.
council of Christian bishops, summoned
from all parts of the world, to de-
cide, as of infinite importance to ' A0'

the Roman empire, a contested point of
the Christian faith. The council was held
at Nice, one of the most ancient of the
Eastern cities. The transactions of the
council, the questions which were agita-
ted before it, and the decrees which it is-
sued, will be postponed for the present, in
order that this important controversy,
which so long divided Christianity, may
be related in a continuous narrative ; we
pass to the following year.

Up to this period Christianity had seen
much to admire, and little that Conductof
it would Venture tO disapprove, Constantino
in the public, acts or the domes- 10hisene-
tic character of Constantine. His nues*
offences against the humanity of the Gos-
pel would find palliation, or, rather, vindi-
cation and approval, in a warrior and a
sovereign. The age was not yet so fully
leavened with Christianity as to condemn
the barbarity of that Roman pride which
exposed without scruple the brave captive
chieftains of the German tribes in the
amphitheatre. Again, after the triumph
of Constantine over Maxentius, this bloody
spectacle had been renewed at Treves, on
a new victory of Constantine over the
Barbarians. The extirpation of the family
of a competitor for the empire 'would pass
as the usual, perhaps the necessary, policy
of the times. The public hatred would
applaud the death of the voluptuous Max-
entius, and that of his "family would be the
inevitable consequences of his guilt. Li.
cinius bad provoked his own fate by re-
sistance to the will of God and his per-300

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

secution of the religion of Christ. Nor
was the fall of Licinius followed by any
general proscription; his son lived for a
few years to be the undistinguished victim
of a sentence which involved others, in
whom the public mind took far deeper in-
terest. Licinius himself was permitted
to live a short time at Thessalonica :* it
is said by some that his life was guaran-
teed by a solemn oath, and that he was
permitted to partake of the hospitality of
the conqueror ;f yet his death, though the
brother-in-law of Constantine, was but an
expected event.J The tragedy which took
place in the family of Constantine betray-
ed to the surprised and anxious world
that, if his outward demeanour showed
respect or veneration for Christianity, its
milder doctrines had made little impres-
sion on the unsoftened paganism of his
heart.

Crispus, the son of Constantine by
ad 326 Minervina, his first wife, was a
Crispus, son youth of high and brilliant prom-
of Constan- jse# in his early years his
a?ie education had been intrusted to

the celebrated Lactantius, and there is
reason to suppose that he was imbued by
his eloquent preceptor with the Christian
doctrines ; but the gentler sentiments in-
stilled by the new faith had by no means
unnerved the vigour or tamed the martial
activity of youth. Had he been content
with the calmer and more retiring virtues
of the Christian, without displaying the
dangerous qualifications of a warrior and
a statesman, he might have escaped the
fatal jealousy of his father, and the arts
which were no doubt employed for his
ruin. In his campaign against the Bar-
barians, Crispus had shown himself a wor-
thy son of Constantine, and his naval vic-
tory over the fleet of Licinius had com-
pleted the conquest of the empire. The
conqueror of Maxentius and of Licinius,
the undisputed master of the Roman world,
might have been expected to stand supe-

* Le Beau (Hist, des Empereurs, i., 220) recites
with great fairness the various accounts of the death
of Licinius, and the motives which are said to have
prompted it. But he proceeds to infer that Licini-
us must have been guilty of some new crime to in-
duce Constantine to violate his solemn oath.

f Contra religionem sacramenti Thessalonicae
privatus occisus est.—Eutrop., lib. x.

% Eusebius says that he was put to death by the
laws of war, and openly approves of his execution
arid that of the other enemies of God. No//<p
irolepov SictKpLvag ry npEirovay Tzapedidov rtpo)-
pta * * teal aTTGi^wro, ryv izpoayKovaav vrzex~
ovrec Siicyv, ol ryq d-eopax^ ovpfiovlot. How
singularly does this contrast with the passage
above ! See p. 388 (Vit. Const, ii., 13); bigotry and
mercy advancing hand in hand, the sterner creed
Overpowering the Gospel.

rior to that common failing of weak mon-
archs, a jealous dread of the heir to their
throne. The unworthy fears of Constan-
tine were betrayed by an edict inconsist-
ent with the early promise of his reign.
He had endeavoured, soon after his acces-
sion, to repress the odious crime of dela-
tion ; a rescript now appeared, inciting by
large reward and liberal promise of favour
those informations which he had before
nobly disdained, and this edict seemed to
betray the apprehensions of the govern-
ment that some widely-ramified and dark-
ly-organized conspiracy was afoot. But,
if such conspiracy existed, it refused, by
the secrecy of its own proceedings, to en-
lighten the public mind.

Rome itself, and the whole Roman
world, heard with horror, and Deatllof
amazement, that in the midst of crispus.
the solemn festival, which was
celebrating with the utmost splen- ‘ ~ '

dour the twentieth year of the emperor’s
reign, his eldest son had been suddenly
seized, and, either without trial or after a
hurried examination, had been transported
to the shore of Istria, and perished by an
obscure death.* Nor did Crispus fall
alone ; the young Licinius, the nephew of
Constantine, who had been spared after
his father’s death, and vainly honoured
with the title of Caesar, shared his fate.
The sword of justice or of cruelty, once
let loose, raged against those who were
suspected as partisans of the dangerous
Crispus, or as implicated in the wide-
spread conspiracy, till the bold satire of
an eminent officer of state did not scruple,
in some lines privately circulated, to com-
pare the splendid btit bloody times with
those of Nero.t

But. this was only the first act of the
domestic tragedy; the death of his Death of
wife Fausta, the partner of twenty Fausta.
years of wedlock, the mother of his three
surviving sons, increased the general hor-
ror. She was suffocated in a bath, which
had been heated tp an insupportable de-
gree of temperature. Many rumours were
propagated throughout the empire con-
cerning this dark transaction, of which

* Viet. Epit. in Constantino., Eutrop., lib. x. Zo-
simus, ii., c. 29. Sidonius, v., epist. 8. Of the ec-
clesiastical historians, Philostorgius (lib ii., 4) at-
tributed the death of Crispus to the arts of his step-
mother. He adds a strange story, that Constan-
tine was poisoned by his brothers in revenge for
the death of Crispus. Sczomen, while he refutes
the notion of the connexion of the death of Crispus
with the conversion of Constantine, admits the fact,
l. i., c. 5. •

f The consul Albinus:

Saturni aurea sascla quis require!?

Sunt hsec gemmea sed Neroniana.

Sid. Apollv. 8.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

301

the real secret was no doubt concealed, if
not in the bosom, within the palace of
Constantine. The awful crimes which
had thrilled the scene of ancient tragedy
were said to have polluted the imperial
chamber. The guilty stepmother had
either, like Phaedra, revenged the insensi-
bility of the youthful Crispus by an accu-
sation of incestuous violence, or the crime,
actually perpetrated, had involved them
both in the common guilt and ruin. In
accordance with the former story, the
miserable Constantine had discovered too
late the machinations which had stained
his hand with the blood of a guiltless son:
in the agony of his remorse he had fasted
forty days; he had abstained from the use
of. the bath; he had proclaimed his own
guilty precipitancy, and the innocence of
his son, by raising a golden statue of the
murdered Cris'pus, with the simple but
emphatic inscription, “ To my unfortunate
son.” The Christian mother of Constan-
tine, Helena, had been the principal agent
in the detection of the wicked Fausta; it
was added that, independent of her un-
natural passion for her stepson, she was
found to have demeaned herself to the
embraces of a slave.

It is dangerous to attempt to recon-
cile with probability these extraordinary
events, which so often surpass, in the
strange reality of their circumstances, the
wildest fictions. But, according to the
ordinary course of things, Crispus would
appear the victim of political rather than
of domestic jealousy. The innocent Li-
cinius might be an object of suspicion
as implicated in a conspiracy against the
power, but not against the honour, of
Constantine. The removal of Crispus
opened the succession of the throne to
the sons of Fausta. The passion of ma-
ternal ambition is much more consistent
with human nature than the incestuous
love of a stepmother, advanced in life
and with many children, towards her hus-
band’s son. The guilt of compassing the
death of Crispus, whether by the atrocious
accusations of a Phaedra, or by the more
vulgar arts of common court intrigue,
might come to light at a later period; and
the indignation of the emperor at having
been deluded into the execution of a gal-
lant and blameless son, the desire of palli-
ating to the world and to his own con-
science his own criminal and precipitate
weakness, by the most unrelenting re-
venge on the subtlety with which he had
been circumvented, might madden him to
a second act of relentless barbarity.*

* Gibbon has thrown doubts on the actual death
of Fausta, vol. i., p. 368.

But, at all events, the unanimous con-
sent of the pagan and most of Pagan
the Christian authorities, as well account or
as the expressive silence of Eu- thls evenL
sebius, indicate the unfavourable impres-
sion made on the public mind by these
household barbarities. But the most re-
markable circumstance is the advantage
which was taken of this circumstance by
the pagan party to throw a dark shade
over the conversion of Constantine to the
Christian religion. Zosimus has preserv-
ed this.report; but there is good reason
for supposing that it was a rumour, eager-
ly propagated at the time by the more de-
sponding votaries of paganism.* In the
deep agony of remorse, Constantine ear-
nestly inquired of the ministers of the an
cient religions whether their lustrations
could purify the soul from the blood of a
son. The unaccommodating priesthood
acknowledged the inefficacy of their rites
in a case of such inexpiable atrocity,f and
Constantine remained to struggle with the
unappeased and unatoned horrors of con-
science.' An Egyptian, on his journey from
Spain, passed through Rome, and, being
admitted to the intimacy of some of the
females about the court, explained to the
emperor that the religion of Christ pos-
sessed the power of cleansing the soul
from all sin. From that time. Constan-
tine placed himself entirely in the hands
of the Christians, and abandoned altogeth-
er the sacred rites of his ancestors. If
Constantine at this time had been long an
avowed and sincere Christian, this story
falls to the ground; but if, according to
our view, there was still something of
ambiguity in the favour shown b’y Con-
stantine to Christianity, if it still had
something rather of the sagacious states-

* See Heyne’s note on this passage of Zosimus.

f According to Sozornen, whose narrative, as
Heyne observes (note on Zosimus, p. 552), proves
that this story was not the invention of Zosimus,
but rather the version of the event current in the
pagan world ; it was not a pagan priest, but a Pia
tonic philosopher named Sopater, who thus denied
the efficacy of any rite or ceremony to wash the
soul clean from fiilal blood. It is true that neither
the legal ceremonial of paganism nor the principles
of the later Platonism could afford any hope or
pardon to the murderer. Julian (speaking of Con-
stantine in Caesar) insinuates the facility with
which Christianity admitted the fxia'upovog, as well
as other atrocious delinquents, to the Divine for-
giveness.

The bitterness with which the pagan party judg-
ed of the measures of Constantine, is shown in the
turn which Zosimus gives tohis edict discouraging
divination. “ Having availed himself of the advan-
tages of divination, which had predicted his own
splendid successes, he was jealous lest the prophet-
ic art should be equally prodigal of its glorious
promises to others.”302

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY,

man than of the serious proselyte, there
may be some slight groundwork of truth
in this fiction. Constantine may have re-
lieved a large portion of his subjects from
grievous oppression, and restored their
plundered property ; he may have made
munificent donations to maintain their cer-
emonial ; he may have permitted the fa-
mous labarum to exalt the courage of his
Christian soldiery ; he may have admit-
ted their representatives to his court, en-
deavoured to allay their fierce feuds in
Africa, and sanctioned by his presence the
meeting of the Council of Nice to decide
on the new controversy which began to
distract the Christian world; he may have
proclaimed himself, in short, the worship-
per of the Christians’ God, whose favour-
ites seemed likewise to be those of fortune,
and whose enemies were devoted to igno-
miny and disaster (such is his constant
language)* : but of the real character and
the profounder truths of the religion he
may still have been entirely, or perhaps
in some degree, disdainfully ignorant: the
lofty indifferentism of the emperor pre-
dominated over the obedience of the pros-
elyte towards the new faith.

But it was now the man, abased by re-
morse, by the terrors of conscience, it may
be by superstitious horrors, who sought
some refuge against the divine Nemesis,
the avenging furies which haunted his
troubled spirit. It would be the duty as
well as the interest of an influential Chris-
tian to seize on the mind of the royal
proselyte while it was thus prostrate in
its weakness, to enforce more strongly
the personal sense of religion upon the af-
flicted soul. And if the emperor was un-
derstood to have derived the slightest con-
solation under this heavy burden of con-
scious guilt from the doctrines of Christi-
anity ; if his remorse and despair were
allayed or assuaged, nothing was more
likely than that paganism, which constant-
ly charged Christianity with receiving the
lowest and most depraved of mankind

. * It is remarkable in all the proclamations and
documents which Eusebius assigns to Constantine,
some even written by his own hand, how almost
exclusively he dwells on this worldly superiority
of the God adored by the Christians over those of
the heathen, and the visible temporal advantages
which attend on the worship of Christianity. His
own victory and the disasters of his enemies are
his conclusive evidences of Christianity.

among its proselytes, should affect to as-
sume the tone of superior moral dignity
to compare its more uncompromising mor-
al austerity with the easier terms on
which Christianity appeared to receive the
repentant sinner. In the bitterness of
wounded pride and interest at the loss of
an imperial worshipper, it would revenge
itself by ascribing his change exclusively
to the worst hour of his life, and to the
least exalted motive. It is a greater dif-
ficulty that, subsequent to this period, the
mind of Constantine appears to have re-
lapsed in some degree to its imperfectly
unpaganized Christianity. His conduct
became ambiguous as before, floating be-
tween a decided bias in favour of Chris-
tianity and an apparent design to harmo-
nize with it some of the less offensive parts
of heathenism. Yet it is by no means
beyond the common inconsistency of hu-
man nature, that with the garb and atti-
tude Constantine should throw off the
submission of a penitent. His mind, re-
leased from its burden, might resume its
ancient vigour, and assert, its haughty su-
periority over the religious as well as
over the civil allegiance of his subjects.
A new object of ambition was dawning on
his mind ; a new and absorbing impulse
was given to all his thoughts : the found-
ation of the second Rome, the new impe-
rial city on the Bosphorus.

Nor was this sole and engrossing object
altogether unconnected with the senti-
ments which arose out of this dark trans-
action. Rome had become hateful to Con-
stantine ; for, whether on this point identi-
fying herself with the pagan feeling, and
taunting the crime of the Christian with
partial acrimony, or pre-snrmising the de-
sign of Constantine to reduce her to the
second city of the empire, Rome assumed
the unwonted liberty of insulting the em-
peror. The pasquinade which compared
his days to those of Nero was affixed to
the gates of the palace ; and so galling was
the insolence of the populace, that the em-
peror is reported to have consulted his
brothers on the expediency of calling out
his guards for a general massacre. Mild-
er councils . prevailed; and Constantine
took the more tardy, but more deep-felt
revenge, of transferring the seat of empire
from the banks of the Tiber to the shores
of the Bosphorus.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

303

CHAPTER III.

FOUNDATION OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

The foundation of Constantinople marks
Foundation one of the great periods of
of constan- change in the annals of the
unopie world. Both its immediate* and
its remoter connexion with the history
of Christianity are among those results
which contributed to its influence on the
destinies of mankind. The removal of
the seat of empire from Rome might, in-
deed, at first appear to strengthen the de-
caying cause of paganism. The senate
became the sanctuary, the aristocracy of
Rome ; in general, the unshaken adherents
of the ancient religion. But its more re-
mote and eventual consequences were fa-
vourable to the consolidation and energy
of the Christian power in the West. The
absence of a secular competitor allowed
the papal authority to grow up and to de-
velop its secret strength. By the side of
the imperial power, perpetually contrasted
with the pomp and majesty of the throne,
constantly repressed in its slow but steady
advancement to supremacy, or obliged to
contest every point with a domestic an-
tagonist, the pope would hardly have gain-
ed more political importance than the pa-
triarch of Constantinople. The extinction
of the Western empire, wrhich, indeed, had
long held its court in Milan or Ravenna rath-
er than in the ancient capita], its revival
only beyond the Alps, left all the awe which
attached to the old Roman name, or which
followed the possession of the imperial
city, to gather round the tiara of the pon-
tiff. In any other city the pope would in
vain have asserted his descent from St.
Peter; the long habit of connecting to-
gether the name of Rome with supreme
dominion, silently co-operated in estab-
lishing the spiritual despotism of the pa-
pal see.

Even in its more immediate influence,
favourable to the rise of Constantinople was
Christianity, favourable to the progress of
Christianity. It removed the seat of gov-
ernment from the presence of those awful
temples, to which ages of glory had at-
tached an inalienable sanctity, and with
which the piety of all the greater days of

* Constantine seized the property of some of the
temples for the expense of building Constantinople,
but d;.d not change the established worship; so says
Llbanuis.

T?fc Kara vofiovf de depaTreiag eKtvrjuev ovSe ev.
—Vol. ii.,p. 162.

the republic had associated the supreme
dominion anil the majesty of Rome. It
broke the last link which combined the
pontifical and the imperial character. The
Emperor of Constantinople, even if he had
remained a pagan, would have lost that
power which was obtained over men's
minds by his appearing in the chief place
in all the religious pomps and processions,
some of which were as old as Rome itself
The senate, and even the people, might be
transferred to the new city ; the deities of
Rome clung to their native home, and
would have refused to abandon their an-
cient seats of honour and worship.

Constantinople arose, if not a Christian,
certainly not a pagan city. The constamiuo-
new capital of the world had no pje a cim.s-
ancient deities, whose worship t:an Clty-
was inseparably connected with her more
majestic buildings and solemn customs.
The temples of old Byzantium had fallen
with the rest of the public edifices, when
Severus in his vengeance razed the rebel-
lious city to the ground. Byzantium had
resumed sufficient strength and importance
to resist a siege by Constantine himself in
the earlier part of his reign ; and some
temples had reappeared during the recon-
struction of the city.* The fanes of the
Sun, of the Moon, and of Aphrodite, were
permitted to stand in the Acropolis, though
deprived of their revenues.! That of Cas-
tor and Pollux formed part of the Hippo-
drome, and the statues of those deities
who presided over the games stood undis-
turbed till the reign of Theodosius the
Younger. J

Once determined to found a rival Rome
on the shores of the Bosphorus, Building of
the ambition of Constantine was the clt?-
absorbed by this great object. No expense
was spared to raise a city worthy of the
seat of empire; no art or influence^ col-
lect inhabitants worthy of such a city.
Policy forbade any measure which would
alienate the minds of any class or order
who might add to the splendour or swell

* There is a long list of these temples in V. Ham
mer’s Constantinopel und die Bosporus, i., p. 189,
&c. Many of them are named in Gyllius, but it
does not seem clear at what period they ceased to
exist. The Paschal Chronicle, referred to by V.
Hammer, says nothing of their conversion into
churches by Constantine.

f Malala, Constantinus, x. f Zosimus, ii 3'304

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the population of Byzantium ; and policy
was the ruling principle of Constantine in
the conduct of the whole transaction. It
was the emperor whose pride was now
pledged to the accomplishment of his
scheme, with that magnificence which be-
came the founder of the empire, not the
exclusive patron of one religious division
of his subjects. Constantinople was not
only to bear the name, it was to wear an
exact resemblance of the elder Rome.
The habitations of men, and the public
buildings for business, for convenience, for
amusement, or for splendour, demanded
the first care of the founder. The impe-
perial palace arose, in its dimensions and
magnificence equal to that of the older
city. The skill of the architect was lav-
ished on the patrician mansions, which
were so faithfully to represent to the no-
oles who obeyed the imperial invitation
the dwellings of their ancestors in the an-
cient Capitol, that their wondering eyes
could scarcely believe their removal; their
Penates might seem to have followed
them.* The sen&te-house, the Auguste-
um, was prepared for their counsels. For
the mass of the people, markets, and fount-
ains, and aqueducts, theatres and hippo-
dromes, porticoes, basilicee, and forums,
rose with the rapidity of enchantment.
One class of buildings alone was wanting.
If some temples were allowed to stand, it
is clear that no new sacred edifices were
erected to excite and gratify the religious
feelings of the pagan party,f and the build-
ing of the few churches which are ascri-
bed to the pious munificence of Constantine
seems slowly to have followed the extra-
ordinary celerity with which the city was
crowded with civil edifices. A century
after, a century during which Christianity
had been recognised as the religion of the
empire, the metropolis contained only
fourteen churches, one for each of its

* Sozomen, ii., 3. In the next- reign, however,
Themistius admits the reluctance of the senators to
remove: nporov fiev vn\avdyKrjg hipdro i] ye-
povala, Kal rj TLfirj Tifiopiag kdoKec (iTjd'oTtovv
(hcKpepetv.—Orat. Protrep., p. 57.

t Of the churches built by Constantine, one was
dedicated to S. Sophia (the supreme Wisdom), the
other to Eirene, Peace ; a philosophic pagan might
have adrnitted the propriety of dedicating temples
to each of these abstract names. The consecrating
to individual saints was of a later period.—Soz , ii.,
3. The ancient Temple of Peace, which afterward
formed part of the Santa Sophia, was appropriately
transformed into a Christian Church. The Church
of the Twelve Apostles appears, from Eusebius
^ Vit. Const., iv., 58), to have been built in the last
vear of his reign and of his life, as a burial-place for
himself and his family. Sozomen, indeed, says that
Constantine embellished the city noXlolg Kal, ps-
yiaroig evKTTjpLOig olkoic.

wards or divisions. Yet Constantine by
no means neglected those measures which
might connect the new city with the reli-
gious feelings of mankind. Heaven in-
spired, commanded, sanctified the founda-
tion of the second Rome. The ancient
ritual of Roman paganism contained a sol-
emn ceremony, which dedicated a new
city to the protection of the Deity.

An imperial edict announced to the
world that Constantine, by the ceremonial
command of God, had founded ofihefound-
the eternal city. When the em- atlon‘
peror walked, with a spear in his hand, in
the front of the stately procession which
was to trace the boundaries of Constanti-
nople, the attendants followed in wonder
his still advancing footsteps, which seem-
ed as if they never would reach the ap-
pointed limit. One of them, at length,
humbly inquired how much farther he pro-
posed to advance. “ When he that goes
before me,” replied the emperor, “shall
stop.” But, however the Deity might have
intimated his injunctions to commence the
work, or whatever the nature of the invis-
ible guide which, as he declared, thus di-
rected his steps, this vague appeal to the
Deity would impress with the same re-
spect all, and by its impartial ambiguity
offend none, of his subjects. In earlier
times the pagans would have bowed down
in homage before this manifestation of the
nameless tutelar deity of the new city ; at
the present period they had become fa-
miliarized, as it were, with the concentra-
tion of Olympus into one supreme Being ;*
the Christians would of course assert the
exclusive right of the one true God to this
appellation, and attribute to his inspiration
and guidance every important act of the
Christian emperor, f

But, if splendid temples were not erect-
ed to the decaying deities of paganism,
their images were set up, mingled indeed
with other noble works of art, in all the
public places of Constantinople. If the
inhabitants were not encouraged, at least
they were not forbidden to pay divine hon-
ours to the immortal sculptures of Phidi-
as and Praxiteles, which were brought
from all quarters to adorn the squares and

* The expression of the pagan Zosimus shows
how completely this language had been adopted by
th,e heathen : nag yap xpovog r<p fte'ccp (3paxvg, ad
re ovn, Kal £(7op,£V(p. He is speaking of an oracle,
in which the pagan party discovered a prediction of
the future glory of Byzantium. One letter less
would make it the sentence of a Christian appeal-
ing to prophecy.

f At a later period the Virgin Mary obtained the
honour of having inspired the foundation of Con-
stantinople, of which she became the tutelary guar-
dian, I had almost written, deity.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

baths of Byzantium. The whole Roman
world contributed to the splendour of Con-
stantinople. The tutelar deities of all the
cities of Greece (their influence, of course,
much enfeebled by their removal from
their local sanctuaries) were assembled.
The Minerva of Lyndus, the Cybele of
Mount Dindymus, which was said to have
been placed there by the Argonauts, the
Muses of' Helicon, the Amphitrite of
Rhodes, the Pan consecrated by united
Greece after the defeat of the Persians, the
Delphic tripod. The Dioscuri overlook-
ed the Hippodrome. At each end of the
principal forum were two shrines, one of
which held the statue of Cybele, but de-
prived of her lions and her hands, from the
attitude of command distorted into that of
a suppliant for the welfare of the city: in
the other was the Fortune of Byzantium.*
To some part of the Christian community
this might appear to be leading, as it were,
the gods of paganism in triumph ; the pa-
gans were shocked, on their part, by their
violent removal from their native fanes
and their wanton mutilation. Yet the
Christianity of that age, in full posses-
sion of the mind of Constantine, would
sternly have interdicted the decoration of
a Christian city with these idols; the work-
manship of Phidias or of Lysippus would
have found no favour when lavished on
images of the daemons of paganism.

The ceremonial of the dedication of the
cityf was attended by still more dubious
circumstances. After a most splendid ex-
hibition of chariot games in the Hippo-
drome, the emperor moved in a magnifi-
cent car through the most public part of
the city, encircled by all his guards, in the
attire of a religious ceremonial, and bear-
ing torches in their hands. The emperor
himself bore a golden statue of the For-
tune of the city in his hands. An impe-
rial edict enacted the annual celebration
of this rite. On the birthday of the city,
the gilded statue of himself, thus holding
the same golden image of Fortune, was
annually to be led through the Hippo-
drome to the foot of the imperial throne,
and to receive the adoration of the reign-
ing emperor. The lingering attachment
of Constantine to the favourite supersti-
tion of his earlier days may be traced on
still better authority. The Grecian wor-

* Euseb., Vit. Const., iii., 54. Sozomen, ii., 5.
Codinus, or C. Pi, 30-62. Le Bean, i., 305.

Eusebius would persuade his readers that these
statues were set. up in the public places to excite
the general contempt. Zosimus admits with bit-
terness that they were mutilated from want of re-
spect to the ancient religion, ii., 31. Compare Socr.,
Feel. Hist... 1-16.

+ Paschal Chronicle, p. 529, edit Bom

Q Q

305

ship of Apollo had been exalted into the
Oriental veneration of the Sun, as the
visible representative of the Deity; and
of all the statues which were introduced
from different quarters, none were re-
ceived with greater honour than those of
Apollo. In one part of the city stood the
Pythian, in the other the Sminthian dei-
ty.* The Delphic tripod, which, accord-
ing to Zosimus, contained an image of
the god, stood upon the column of the
three twisted serpents, supposed to repre-
sent the mythic Python. But on a still
loftier, the famous pillar of porphyry, stood
an image in which (if we are to credit mod-
ern authority, and the more modern our
authority, the less likely is it statue of
to have invented so singular a Constantine,
statement) Constantine dared to mingle to-
gether the attributes of the Sun, of Christ,
and of himself.f According to one tra-
dition, this pillar was based, as it were,
on another superstition. The venerable
Palladium itself, surreptitiously conveyed
from Rome, was buried beneath it, and
thus transferred the eternal destiny of the
old to the new capital. The pillar, form-
ed of marble and of porphyry, rose to the
height of 120 feet. The colossal image
on the top was that of Apollo, either from
Phrygia or from Athens. But the head
of Constantine had been substituted for
that of the god. 'Hie sceptre proclaimed
the dominion of the world, and it held in
its hand the globe, emblematic of univer-
sal empire. Around the head, instead of
rays, were fixed the nails of the true cross
Is this paganism approximating to Chris-
tianity, or Christianity degenerating into
paganism? Thus Constantine, as found-
er of the new capital, might, appear to
some still to maintain the impartial digni-
ty of emperor of the world, presiding with
serene indifference over the various na-
tions, orders, and religious divisions which
peopled his dominions ; admitting to the
privileges and advantages of citizens in
the new Rome all who were tempted to
make their dwelling around her seat of
empire.

# Yet, even during the reign of Constan
tine, no doubt, the triumphant progress ot
progress of Christianity tended Christianity,
to efface or to obscure these lingering ves-
tiges'of the ancient religion. If here and
there remained a shrine or temple belong-
ing to Polytheism, built in proportion to
the narrow circuit and moderate popula-

* Euseb., Vit. Const., iii., 54.

t 1 he author of the Antiq. Constantinop. apud
Banduri. See Von Hammer, Constantinopel und
die Bosporus, i., 162. Philostorgius says that the
Christians worshipped this image, ii., 17.306

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

lation of old Byzantium, the Christian
churches, though far from numerous, were
gradually rising, in their dimensions more
suited to the magnificence and populous-
ness of the new city, and in form proclaim-
ing the dominant faith of Constantinople.
The Christians were most likely to crowd
into a new city; probably their main
strength still lay in the mercantile part
of the community : interest and religion
would combine in urging them to settle in
this promising emporium of trade, where
their religion, if it did not reign alone and
exclusive, yet maintained an evident su-
periority over its decaying rival. The old
aristocracy, who were inclined to Christi-
anity, would be much more loosely attach-
ed to their Roman residences, and would
be most inclined to obey the invitation of
the emperor, while the large class of the
indifferent would follow at the same time
the religious and political bias of the sov-
ereign. Where the attachment to the old
religion was so .slight and feeble, it was a
trifling sacrifice to ambition or interest
to embrace the new, particularly where
there was no splendid ceremonial, no con-
nexion of the’priestly office with the high-
er dignity of the state ; nothing, in short,
which could enlist either old reverential
feelings or the imagination in the cause
of Polytheism. The sacred treasures,
transferred from the pagan temples to
the Christian city, sank more and more
into national monuments or curious re-
mains of antiquity ; their religious signifi-
cance was gradually forgotten ; they be-
came, in the natural process of things, a
mere collection of works of art.

In other respects Constantinople was
The amphi- UOt a Roman city. An amphi-
theatre. theatre, built on the restoration
of the city after the siege of Severus, was
permitted to remain, but it was restricted
to exhibitions of wild beasts; the first
Christian city was never disgraced by the
bloody spectacle of gladiators.* There
were theatres, indeed, but it may be doubt-
ed whether the noble religious drama of
Greece ever obtained popularity in Con-
stantinople. The chariot-race was the
amusement which absorbed all others;
and to this, at first, as it was not ne-
cessarily connected with the pagan wor-
ship, Christianity might be more indul-

* An edict of Constantine (Cod. Theod., xv., 12),
if it did not altogether abolish these sanguinary
shows, restricted them to particular occasions^
Cruenta speotacula in ot'io civih, et domestica
nuiote non placent. Criminals were to be sent to
the mines But it should seem that captives taken
in war might still be exposed in the amphitheatre,
fn fact, these bloody exhibitions resisted some time
longer the piogress of Christian humanity.

gent. How this taste grew into a pas
sion, and this passion into a phrensy, the
later annals of Constantinople bear mel-
ancholy witness. Beset with powerful
enemies without, oppressed by a tyran-
nous government within, the people of
Constantinople thought of nothing but the
colour of their faction in the Hippodrome,
and these more engrossing and madden-
ing contentions even silenced the ani-
mosity of religious dispute.

During the foundation of Constantino-
ple, the emperor might appear to the Chris-
tians to have relapsed from the head of the
Christian division of his subjects into the
common sovereign of the Roman world.
In this respect his conduct did not ratify
the promise of his earlier acts in the East.
He had not only restored Christianity, de-
pressed first by the acts of Maximin, and
afterward by the violence of Licinius, but
in many cases he had lent his countenance
or his more active assistance to the re-
building their churches on a more impo-
sing plan. Yet, to all outward appear-
ance, the world was still pagan : every
city seemed still to repose under the tu-
telary gods of the ancient religion : every-
where the temples rose above the Ancient
buildings of men : if here and there temples,
a Christian church, in its magnitude or in
the splendour of its architecture, might
compete with the solid aud elegant fanes
of antiquity, the Christians had neither
ventured to expel them from their pos-
sessions, or to appropriate to their own
use those which were falling into neglect
or decay. As yet there had been no in-
vasion but on the opinions and moral in-
fluence of Polytheism. The temples, in
deed, of pagan worship, though sub.se.-
quently, in some instances, converted to
Christian uses, were not altogether suited
to the ceremonial of Christianity.* The
Christians might look on their stateliest
buildings with jealousy, hardly with en-
vy. Whether raised on the huge sub-
structures and in the immense masses of
the older Asiatic style, as at Baalbec, or
the original Temple at Jerusalem; whether
built on the principles of Grecian art, when
the secret of vaulting over a vast build-
ing seems to have been unknown; or,
after the general introduction of the arch
by the Romans had allowed the roof to
spread out to ampler extent, still the ac-
tual enclosed temple was rarely of great
dimensions. + The largest among the

* Compare an excellent memoir by M. Quatre-
mere de Quincy on the means of lighting the an-
cient temples (Mem. de l’Institut, iii, 171), and
Hope on Architecture.

t M. de Quincy gives the size of some of the a»-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

307

Greeks were hypaethral, open to the sky.* *
If we judge from the temples crowded to-
gether about the Forum, those in Rome
contributed to the splendour of the city
rather by their number than their size.
The rites of Polytheism, in fact, collected
together their vast assemblages rather as
spectators than as worshippers.f The al-
tar itself, in general, stood in the open air,
in the court before the temple, where the
smoke might find free vent, and rise in its
grateful odour to the heavenly dwelling of
the gods. The body of the worshippers,
therefore, stood in the courts or the sur-
rounding porticoes. They might approach
individually, and make their separate liba-
tion or offering, and then retire to a con-
venient distance, where they might watch
the movements of the ministering priest,
receive his announcement of the favour-
able or sinister signs discovered in the
victim, or listen to the hymn, which was
the only usual form of adoration or prayer.
However Christianity might admit grada-

* tions in its several classes of worshippers,
and assign its separate station according
to the sex or the degree of advancement
in the religious initiation; however the
penitents might be forbidden, until recon-
ciled with the Church, or the catechumens
before they were initiated into the com-
munity, to penetrate beyond the outer por-
tico or the inner division in.the church,
yet the great mass of a Christian congre-
gation must be received within the walls
of the building; and the service consist-
ing, not merely in ceremonies performed
by the priesthood, but in prayers, to which
all present were expected to respond, and
in oral instruction, the actual edifice there-

• fore required more ample dimensions.

In many towns there was another pub-
lic building, the Basiliqa, or Hall
<asi icas. justiCe,J singularly adapted for
the Christian worship. This was a large

cient temples: Juno at Agrigentum, 116 (Paris)
feet; Concord, 120; Paestum, 110; Theseus, 100;
Jupiter at Olympia, or Minerva at Athens, 220-230;
Jupiter at Agrigentum, 322; Selinus, 320; Ephe-
sus, 350 ; Apollo Dindymus at Miletus, 360, p. 195.

* The real hypaethral temples were to particular
divinities : Jupiter Fulgurator, Ccelum, Sol, Luna.

f Eleusis, the scene of the mysteries, of all the
ancient temples had the largest nave ; it was turbse
fheatralis capacissimum.—Vitruv., vii. *0xkov £e-
cirpov ds^acrOac dvvctfievov.—Strabo.

t Le Basilique fut l’edifice des anciens, qui eon-
vint a la celebration de ses myst^res. La vaste
capacite de son interieur, les divisions de son plan,
les grandes ouvertures, qui introduisaient de toutes
parts la lumiere dans son enceinte, le tribunal qui
devint la place des celebrans, et du choeur, tout se
trouva en rapport avec les pratiques du nouveau
culte.—Q. de Quincy, p. 173. See Hope on Archi-
tecture, p. 87.

chamber, of an oblong form, with a plain,
flat exterior wall. The pillars, wrhich in
the temples were without, stood within
the basilica; and the porch, or that which
in the temple was an outward portico, was
contained within the basilica. This hall
was thus divided by two rows of columns
into a central avenue with two side aisles.
The outward wall was easily pierced for
windows, without damaging the symme-
try or order of the architecture. In the
one the male, in the other the female, ap-
pellants to justice waited their turn.* The
three longitudinal avenues were crossed
by one in a transverse direction, elevated
a few steps, and occupied by the advo-
cates, notaries, and others employed in
the public business. At the farther end,
opposite to the central avenue, the build-
ing swelled out into a semicircular recess,
with a ceiling rounded off; it was called
absis in the Greek, and in Latin tribunal.
Here sat the magistrate with his assess-
ors, and hence courts of justice were call-
ed tribunals.

The arrangement of this building coin-
cided with remarkable propriety with the
distribution of a Christian congregation.!
The sexes retained their separate places
in the aisles; the central avenue became
the nave, so called from the fanciful anal-
ogy of the church to the ship of St. Peter.
The transept, the Br/fia or chorus, was oc-
cupied by the inferior clergy and the sing-
ers. J The bishop took the throne of the
magistrate, and the superior clergy ranged
on each side on the seats of the assessors.

Before the throne of the bishop, either
within or on the verge of the recess, stood
the altar. This was divided from the nave
by the cancelli, or bars, from whence hung
curtains, which, during the celebration of
the communion, separated the participants
from the rest of the congregation.

As these buildings were numerous, and
attached to every imperial residence, they
might be bestowed at once on the Chris-
tians, without either interfering with the
course of justice, or bringing the religious
feelings of the hostile parties into collis-
ion.§ Two, the Sessorian and the Lateran,

* According to Bingham (Iviii., c. 3), the women
occupied galleries in each aisle above the men.
This sort of separation may have been borrowed
from the synagogue ; probably the practice was not
uniform.

f Some few churches were of an octagonal form,
some in that of across —See Bingham, 1. viii., c. 3.

t A post. Const., 1. ii., c. 57.

There were eighteen at Rome; many of these
basilicas had become exchanges, or places for gen-
eral business. Among the Roman basilicse P. Vic-
tor reckons the Basilicse Argentariorum.—Ciam-.
pini, tom. i., p. 8.

Some basilicse were of a very large size. One is308

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

were granted to the Roman Christians by
Constantine. And the basilica appears to
have been the usual form of building in
the West, though, besides the porch, con-
nected with, or rather included within, the
building, which became the Narthex, and
was occupied by the catechumens and the
penitents, and in which stood the piscina,
or font of baptism, there was, in general,
an outer open court surrounded with col-
onnades. This, as we have seen in the
description of the church at Tyre, was
general in the East, where the churches
retained probably more of the templar
form; while in Constantinople, where they
were buildings raised from the ground,
Constantine appears to have followed the
form of the basilica.

By the consecration of these basilicas to
p i r purposes of Christian wor-

tiori ofechris- ship, and the gradual erection of
tianityand pa- large churches in many of the
gamsm. Eastern cities, Christianity be-
gan to assume an outward form and dig-
nity commensurate with its secret moral
influence. In imposing magnitude, if not
in the grace and magnificence of its archi-
tecture, it rivalled the temples of antiquity.
But as yet it had neither the power, nor
probably the inclination, to array itself in
the spoils of paganism. Its aggression
was still rather that of fair competition
than of hostile destruction. It was con-
tent to behold the silent courts of the pa-
gan fanes untrodden but by a few casual
worshippers; altars without victims, thin
wreaths of smoke rising where the air
used to be clouded with the reek of heca-
tombs ; the priesthood murmuring in bitter
envy at the throngs which passed by the
porticoes of their temples towards the
' Christian church. The direct interference
with.the freedom of pagan worship seems
to have been confined to the suppression
of some of those Eastern rites which were
offensive to public morals. Some of the
Syrian temples retained the obscene cere-
monial of the older Nature-worship. Re-
ligious prostitution, and other monstrous
enormities, appeared under the form of di-
vine adoration. The same rites which had
endangered the fidelity of the ancient Is-
raelites, shocked the severe purity of the
Temples Christians. A temple in Syria
suppressed. 0f the female principle of gen-
eration, which the later Greeks identified
with their Aphrodite, was defiled by these
unspeakable pollutions ; it was levelled to
the ground by the emperors command,
the recesses of the sacred grove laid open

described by the younger Pliny, in which 180 judges
were seated, with a vast multitude of advocates and
auditors.—Plin,, Epist.. vi., 33.

to the day, and the rites interdicted.* A
temple of Aesculapius at AEgse in Cilicia
fell under the same proscription. The
miraculous cures pretended to be wrought
in this temple, where the suppliants pass-
ed the night, appear to have excited the
jealousy of the Christians; and this was,
perhaps, the first overt act of hostility
against the established paganism.! In
many other places the frauds of the priest-
hood were detected by the zealous incre-
dulity of the Christians; and Polytheism,
feebly defended by its own party, at least
left to its fate by the government, assailed
on all quarters by an active and perse-
vering enemy, endured affront, exposure,
neglect, if not with the dignified patience
of martyrdom, with the sullen equanimity
of indifference.

Palestine itself, and its capital, Jerusa-
lem, was an open province, of which Chris-
tianity took entire and almost undisputed
possession. Paganism in the adjacent,
regions had built some of its most splen-
did temples ; the later Roman architecture#
at Gerasa, at Petra, and at Baalbec, ap-
pears built on the massive and enormous
foundations of the older native structures ;
but in Palestine proper it had made no
strong settlement. Temples had been
raised by Hadrian in his new city on the
site of Jerusalem. One dedicated to Aph-
rodite occupied the spot which Christian
tradition or later invention asserted to be
the sepulchre of Christ.J The prohibition
issued by Hadrian against the admission
of the Jews into the Holy City Christianity
doubtless was no longer en- at Jerusalem
forced ; but, though not forcibly depressed
by public authority, Judaism itself waned
in its own native territory before the as-
cendancy of Christianity.

It was in Palestine that the change
which had been slowly working into Chris-
tianity itself began to assume a more defi
nite and apparent form. The religion, re-
issued, as it were from its cradle, in a char
acter, if foreign to its original simplicity
singularly adapted to achieve and maintaii
its triumph over the human mind. It nc
longer confined itself to its purer mora;<
influence; it was no more a simple, spirit
ual faith, despising all those accessories
which captivate the senses, and feed the
imagination with new excitement. It no
longer disdained the local sanctuary, nor
stood independent of those associations
with place which became a universal and

* Euseb., Vit. Const., iii., 55. f Ibid., iii., 56
$ This temple was improbably said to have been
built on this spot by Hadrian to insult the Chris-
tians ; but Hadrian’s hostility was against the re
bellious Jews, not against the Christians.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

309

spiritual religion It began to have its
hero-worship, its mythology, and to crowd
the mind with images of a secondary de-
gree of sanctity, but which enthralled and
.kept in captivity those who were not ripe
for the pure moral conception of the Deity,
and the impersonation of the Godhead in
Jesus Christ. It was, as might not un-
reasonably be anticipated, a female, the
Empress Helena, the mother of Constan-
tine, who gave, as it were, this new colour-
ing to Christian devotion. In Palestine,
indeed, where her pious activity was chief-
ly employed, it was the memory of the
Redeemer himself which hallowed the
scenes of his life and death to the imagina-
tion of the believer. Splendid churches
arose over the place of his birth at Beth-
lehem; that of his burial, near the sup-
posed Calvary: that of his ascension on
the Mount of Olives. So far the most spir-
itual piety could not hesitate to proceed;
to such natural and irresistible claims upon
its veneration no Christian heart could re-
fuse to yield. The cemeteries of their
brethren had, from the commencement of
Christianity, exercised a strong influence
over the imagination. They had frequent-
ly, in times of trial, been the only places
of religious assemblage. When hallowed
to the feelings by the remains of friends,
of bishops, of martyrs, it was impossible
to approach them without the profoundest
reverence; and the transition from rev-
erence to veneration, to adoration, was
too easy and imperceptible to awaken the
jealousy of that exclusive devotion due to
God and the Redeemer. The sanctity of
the place where the Redeemer was sup-
posed to have been laid in the sepulchre
was still more naturally and intimately
•associated with the purest sentiments of
devotion.

But the next step, the discovery of the
true cross, was more important. It ma-
terialized at once the spiritual worship of
Christianity. It was reported through-
out wondering Christendom that tradition
or a vision having revealed the place of
the Holy Sepulchre, the fane of Venus had
been thrown down by the imperial com-
mand, excavations had been made, the
Holy Sepulchre had come to light, and
with the sepulchre three crosses, with the
inscription originally written by Pilate in
three languages over that of Jesus. As
it was doubtful to which of the crosses
the tablet with the inscription belonged, a
miracle decided to the perplexed believers
the claims of the genuine cross.* The

* The excited state of the Christian mind, and
the tendency to this materialization of Christianity,
may be estimated by the undoubting credulity with

precious treasure was divided ; part, en-
shrined in a silver case, remained at Je-
rusalem, from whence pilgrims constant-
ly bore fragments of the still vegetating
wood to the West, till enough was accu-
mulated in the different churches to build
a ship of war. Part was sent to Constan-
tinople : the nails of the passion of Christ
were turned into a bit for the war-horse
of the emperor, or, according to another
account, represented the rays of the sun
around the head of his statue.

A magnificent church, called at first the
Church of the Resurrection (An- Churcheg
astasis), afterward that of the Ho- built in
iy Sepulchre, rose on the sacred Palestine,
spot hallowed by this discovery ; in which,
from that time, a large part of the Chris-
tian world has addressed its unquestion-
ing orisons. It stood in a large open
court, with porticoes on each side, with
the usual porch, nave, and choir. The
nave was inlaid with precious marbles ;
and the roof, overlaid with gold, showered
down a flood of light over the whole build-
ing ; the roofs of the aisles were likewise
overlaid with gold. At the farther end
arose a dome supported by twelve pillars,
in commemoration of the twelve apostles ;
the capitals of these were silver vases.
Within the church was another court, at
the extremity of which stood the chapel
of the Holy Sepulchre, lavishly adorned
with gold and precious stones, as it were
to perpetuate the angelic glory which
streamed forth on the day of the resurrec-
tion.*

Another sacred place was purified by
the command of Constantine, and dedica-
ted to Christian worship. Near Hebron
there was the celebrated oak or terebinth-
tree of Mambre, which tradition pointed
out as the spot where the angels appeared
to- Abraham. It is singular that the hea-
then are said to have celebrated religious
rites at this place, and to have worshipped
the celestial visitants of Abraham. It was
likewise, as usual in the East, a celebrated
emporium of commerce. The worship,
may have been like that at the Caaba of
Mecca before the appearance of Moham-
med, for the fame of Abraham seems to
have been preserved among the Syrian
and Arabian tribes as well as the Jews.

which they entertained the improbable notion that
the crosses were buried with our Saviour, not only
that on which he suffered, but those of the two
thieves also. From the simple account of the bu-
rial in the Gospels, how singular a change to that
of the discovery of the cross in the ecclesiastical
historians.—Socrates, i., 17. Sozomen, ii., 1. The-
odoret, i., 18.

* Eusebius, Vit. Constant., iii., 29, et seq ; thi«
seems to be the sense of the author.310

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Tt is idinarkable that, at a later period, the
Jews and Christians are said to have met
in amicable devotion, and offered their

common incense and suspended their lights
in the church erected over this spot by
the Christian emperor.* *

CHAPTER IV.

TRINITARIAN CONTROVERSY.

But it was as arbiter of religious dif-
Trinitarian ferences, as presiding in their
controversy, solemn councils, that Constan-
tine appeared to the Christians the avow-
ed and ostensible head of their commu-
nity. Immediately after his victory over
Licinius, Constantine had found the East,
no less than the West, agitated by the dis-
sensions of his Christian subjects. He
had hoped to allay the flames of the Do-
natist schism by the consentient and im-
partial authority of the Western churches.
A more extensive, if as yet less fiercely
agitated, contest disturbed the Eastern
provinces. Outward peace seemed to be
restored only to give place to intestine
dissension. We must reascend the course
of our history for several years, in order
to trace in one continuous narrative the
rise and progress of the Trinitarian con-,
troversy. This dissension had broken out
soon after Constantine’s subjugation of
the East; already, before the building of
Constantinople, it had obtained full pos-
session of the public mind, and the great
Council of Nice, the first real senate of
Christendom, had passed its solemn de-
cree. The Donatist schism was but a
local dissension: it raged, indeed, with
fatal and implacable fury, but it was al-
most entirely confined to the limits of a
single province. The Trinitarian contro-
versy was the first dissension which rent
asunder the whole body of the Christians,
arrayed in almost every part of the world
two hostile parties in implacable opposi-
tion, and at a later period exercised a
powerful political influence on the affairs
of the world. How singular an illustra-
tion of the change already wrought in the
mind of man by the introduction of Chris-
tianity. Questions which, if they had
arisen in the earlier period of the world,

' would have been limited to a priestly
caste ; if in Greece, would have been con-
fined to the less frequented schools of
Athens or Alexandrea, and might have
produced some intellectual excitement
among the few who were conversant with
the higher philosophy, now agitated the
populace of great cities and occupied the

councils of princes, and at a later period
determined the fate of kingdoms and the
sovereignty of great part of Europe.f It
appears still more extraordinary,' since
this controversy related to a purely spec-
ulative tenet. The disputants of either
party might possibly have asserted the
superior tendency of each system to en-
force the severity of Christian morals or
to excite the ardour of Christian piety ;
but they appear to have dwelt little, if at
all, on the practical effects of the conflict-
ing opinions. In morals, in manners, in
habits, in usages, in church government,
in religious ceremonial, there was no dis-
tinction between the parties which divided
Christendom. The Gnostic sects incul-
cated a severer asceticism, and differed
in many of their usages from the general
body of the Christians : the Donatist fac-
tions commenced at least with a question
of church discipline, and almost grew inf.***
a strife for political ascendancy : the Ari-
ans and Athanasians first divided the world
on a pure question of faith. From this
period we may date the introduction of
rigorous articles of belief, which required
the submissive assent of the mind to every
word and letter of an established creed,
and which raised the slightest heresy of
opinion into a more fatal offence against
God, and a more odious crime in the es-
timation of man, than the worst moral de-
linquency or the most flagrant deviation
from the spirit of Christianity.

The Trinitarian controversy was the
natural, though tardy, growth origin of the
of the Gnostic opinions : it controversy,
could scarcely be avoided when the ex-
quisite distinctness and subtlety of the
Greek language were applied to religious
opinions of an Oriental origin. Even the
Greek of the New Testament retained
something of the significant and reveren-
tial vagueness of Eastern expression. This
vagueness, even philosophically speaking,

* Antoninus in Itinerario. See Heinichen, notg
on Euseb., Yit. Const., iii., 53.

f For instance, when the savage orthodoxy of
the Franks made the more refined Arianism of the

Visigoths a pretext for hostile invasion.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

.311

may better convey to the mind those mys-
terious conceptions of the Deity which
are be)^ond the province of reason, than
the anatomical precision of philosophic
Greek. The first Christians were content
to worship, with midefining fervour, the
Deity as revealed in the Gospel. They
assented to, and repeated with devout ad-
oration, the words of the Sacred Writings,
or those which had been made use of
from the apostolic age ; but they did not
decompose them, or, with nice and scru-
pulous accuracy, appropriate peculiar
terms to each manifestation of the God-
head. It was the great characteristic of
the Oriental theologies, as described in a
former chapter, to preserve the primal
and parental Deity at the greatest possi-
ble distance from the material creation.
This originated in the elementary tenet
of the irreclaimable evil of matter. In
the present day, the more rational be-
liever labours under the constant dread,
if not of materializing, of humanizing too
much the Great Supreme. A certain de-
gree of indistinctness appears inseparable
from that vastness of conception which
arises out of the more extended knowl-
edge of the works of the Creator. A
more expanding and comprehensive phi-
losophy increases the distance between
the Omnifie First Cause and the race of
man. All that defines seems to limit and
circumscribe the Deity. Yet, in thus rev-
Oonstrtnt erentially repelling the Deity
tweeiffhe6" m^° an unapproachable sphere,
intellectual and investing him, as it were, in
^onatTi a nature absolutely unimaginable
cepUoif or" by the mind; in thus secluding
the Deity, him from the degradation of be-
ing vulgarized, if the expression may be
ventured, by profane familiarity, or circum-
scribed by the narrowness of the human
intellect, God is gradually subtilized and
sublimated into a being beyond the reach
of devotional feelings, almost superior to
adoration. There is in mankind, and in
the individual man, on the one hand, an
intellectual tendency to refine the Deity
into a mental conception; and, ;on the
other, an instinctive counter tendency to
impersonate him into a material, and,
when the mind is ruder and less intel-
lectual, a mere human being. Among
the causes which have contributed to the
successful promulgation of Christianity,
and the maintenance of its influence over
the mind of man, was the singular beauty
and felicity with which its theory of the
conjunction of the Divine and human na-
ture, each preserving its separate attri-
butes, on the one hand, enabled the mind
to preserve inviolate the pure conception

of the Deity, on the otner, to approximate
it, as it were, to human interests and
sympathies. But this is done rather by a
process of instinctive feeling than by strict
logical reasoning. Even here there is
a perpetual strife between the intellect,
which guards with jealousy the divine
conception of the Redeemer’s nature :
and the sentiment, or even the passion,
which so draws down the general notion
to its own capacities, so approximates
and assimilates it to its own ordinary
sympathies, as to absorb the Godhead in
the human nature.

The Gnostic systems had universally ad-
mitted the seclusion of the primal Deity
from all intercourse with matter ; that in-
tercourse had taken place, through a de-
rivative and intermediate being, more or
less remotely proceeding from the sole
fountain of Godhead. This, however,
was not the part of Gnosticism which
was chiefly obnoxious to the general sen-
timents of the Christian body. Their
theories about the malignant nature of
the Creator ; the identification of the God
of the Jews with this hostile being ; the
Docetism which asserted the unreality of
the Redeemer—these points, with their
whole system of the origin of the worlds
and of mankind, excited the most vigoi-
ous and active resistance. But when the
wilder theories of Gnosticism began-to
die away, or to rank themselves under
the hostile standard of Manicheism ; when
their curious cosmogonical notions weu-.
dismissed, and the greater part of the
Christian world began to agree in the
plain doctrines of the eternal supremacy
of God—the birth, the death, the resur-
rection of Christ as the Son of God, the
effusion of the Holy Spirit—questions be-
gan to arise as to the peculiar nature and
relation between the Father, Son, and
Holy Ghost. In all the.systems a binary,
in most a triple, modification of the Deity
was admitted. The Logos, the Divine
Word or Reason, might differ in the va-
rious schemes in its relation to the pa-
rental Divinity and to the universe; but
it had this distinctive and ineffaceable
character, that it was the Mediator, the
connecting link between the unseen and
unapproachable world and that of man
This Platonism, if it may be so ealle< .
was universal. It differed, indeed, widely
in most systems from the original philos-
ophy of the Athenian sage ; it had ac-
quired a more Oriental and imaginative
cast. Plato’s poetry of words had been
expanded into the poetry of conceptions.
It may be doubted whether Plato himself
impersonated the Logos, the Word or312

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Reason, of the Deity ; with him it was
rather an attribute of the Godhead. In
one sense it was the chief of these arche-
typal ideas, according to which the Crea-
tor framed the universe ; in another, the
principle of life, motion, and harmony
which pervaded all things. This Plato-
nism had gradually absorbed all the more
intellectual class ; it hovered over, as it
were, and gathered under its wings, all the
religions of the world. It had already
modified Judaism; it had allied itself with
the Syrian and Mithraic worship of the
Sun, the visible Mediator, the emblem of
the Word ; it was part of the general Na-
ture-worship ; it was attempting to renew
paganism, and was the recognised and
leading tenet in the higher Mysteries.
Disputes on the nature of Christ were,
indeed, coeval with the promulgation of
Christianity. Some of the Jewish con-
verts had never attained to the sublimer
notion of his mediatorial character; but
this disparaging notion, adverse to the
ardent zeal of the rest of the Christian
world, had isolated this sect. The imper-
fect Christianity of the Ebionites had long
ago expired in an obscure corner of Pales-
tine. In all the other divisions of Chris-
tianity, the Christ had more or less ap-
proximated to the office and character of
this being, which connected mankind with
the Eternal Father.

Alexandrea, the fatal and prolific soil of
Controversy speculative controversy, where
commences speculative controversy was
dretlexan most likely to madden into furi-
wd’ ous and lasting hostility, gave
birth to this new element of disunion in the
Christian world. The Trinitarian ques-
tion, indeed, had already been agitated
Noetus Within a less extensive sphere.

06 us' Noetus, an Asiatic either of Smyr-
na or Ephesus, had dwelt with such exclu-
sive zeal on the unity of the Godhead, as
to absorb, as it were, the whole Trinity
into one undivided and undistinguished
Being. The one supreme and impassible
Father united to himself the man Jesus,
whom he had created by so intimate a
conjunction that the Divine unity was not
destroyed. His adversaries drew the con-
clusion that, according to this blaspheming
theory, the Father must have suffered on
the cross, and the ignominious name of
Patripassians adhered to the few followers
of this unprosperous sect.

Sabellianism had excited more atten-
Sabeiiian- tion• Sabellius was an African of
ism. the Cyrenaic province. Accord-
ing to his system, it was the same Deity,
under different forms, who existed in the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. A

more modest and unoffending Sabellian-
ism might perhaps be imagined in accord-
ance with modern philosophy. The man-
ifestations of the same Deity, or, rather,
of his attributes, through which alone the
Godhead becomes comprehensible to the
human mind, may have been thus success-
ively made in condescension to our weak-
ness of intellect. It would be the same
Deity, assuming, as it were, an objective
form, so as to come within the scope of
the human mind; areal difference as re-
gards the conception of man, perfect unity
in its subjective existence. This, how-
ever, though some of its terms may appear
the same with the Sabellianism of anti-
quity, would be the Trinitarianism of a
philosophy unknown at this period. The
language of the Sabellians implied, to the
jealous ears of their opponents, that the
distinction between the persons of the
Trinity was altogether unreal. While the
Sabellian party charged their adversaries
with a heathen Tritheistic worship, they
retorted by accusing Sabellianism of anni-
hilating the separate existence of the Son
and the Holy Ghost. But Sabellianism
had not divided Christianity into twro irre-
concilable parties. Even now, but for
the commanding characters of the cham-
pions who espoused each party, the Trin-
itarian controversy might have been lim-
ited to a few provinces, and become ex-
tinct in some years. But it arose, not
merely under the banners of men endow-
ed with those abilities which command the
multitude ; it not merely called into ac-
tion the energies of successive disputants,
the masters: of the intellectual attainments
of the age ; it appeared at a critical period,
when the rewards of success were more
splendid, the penalty upon failure propor-
tionately more severe. The contest was
now not merely for a superiority over a
few scattered and obscure communities, it
was agitated on a vaster theatre, that of
the Roman world; the proselytes whom
it disputed were sovereigns; it contested
the supremacy of the human mind, which
was now bending to the yoke of Christi-
anity. It is but judging on the common
principles of human nature to conclude,
that the grandeur of the prize supported
the ambition and inflamed the passions of
the contending parties; that human mo.
tives of political power and aggrandize-
ment mingled with the more spiritual in-
fluences of the love of truth and zeal for
the purity of religion.

The doctrine of the Trinity, that is, the
divine nature of the Father, the Trinitarian-
Son, and the Holy Ghost, was ism.
acknowledged by all. To each of thes*>HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

813.

distinct and separate beings, both parties
ascribed the attributes of the Godhead,
vith the exception of self-existence, which
was restricted by the Arians to the Fa-
ther. Both admitted the anti-mundane Be-
ing of the Son and the Holy Spirit. But,
according to the Arian, there was a time,
before the commencement of the ages,
when the parent Deity dwelt alone in un-
developed, undivided unity. At this time,
immeasurably, incalculably, inconceivably
remote, the majestic solitude ceased, the
Divine unity was broken by an act of the
sovereign Will, and the only-begotten Son,
the image of the Father, the vicegerent of
all the Divine power, the intermediate
agent in all the long subsequent work of
creation, began to be*

Such was the question which led to all
the evils of human strife : hatred, perse-
cution, bloodshed. But, however pro-
foundly humiliating this fact in the history
of mankind, and in the history of Chris-
tianity an epoch of complete revolution
from its genuine spirit, it may fairly be
inquired whether this was not an object
more generous, more unselfish, and at least
as wise, as many of those motives of per-
sonal and national advantage and aggran-
dizement, or many of those magic words
which, embraced by two parties with blind
and unintelligent fury, have led to many
of the most disastrous and sanguinary
events in the annals of man. " It might, in-
deed, have been supposed that a profound
metaphysical question of this kind would
have been far removed from the passions
of the multitude; but with the multitude,
and that multitude often comprehends
nearly the whole of society, it is the pas-
sion which seeks the object, not the object
which, of its own exciting influence, in-
flames the passion. In fact, religion was
become the one dominant passion of the
whole Christian world, and everything al-
lied to it; or rather, in this case, which
seemed to concern its very essence, could
no longer be agitated with tranquillity or
debated with indifference. The pagan par-
ty, miscalculating the inherent strength of
the Christian system, saw, no doubt, in
these disputes the seeds of the destruction
of Christianity. The contest was brought
on the stage at Alexandrea ;f but there was
no Aristophanes, or, rather, the serious
and unpoetic time could not have produ-
ced an Aristophanes, who might at once
show that he understood, while he broadly
ridiculed, the follies of his adversaries.

* Compare the letter of Arius, in Theodoret, lib.
C c. v. [and the translation of it in Mosheim’s Instit.
*.rf Eccl.. Hist., vol. i., p. 288, n. (16)].

f Euseb., Yit. Constant,, ii., 61, Socrates, i., 6,
R R

The days even of a Lucian were past.*
Discord, which at times is fatal to a na-
tion or to a sect, seems at others, by the
animating excitement of rivalry, the stir-
ring collision of hostile energy, to favour
the development of moral strength. The
Christian republic, like Rome when it was
rent asunder by domestic factions, calmly
proceeded in her conquest of the world.

The plain and intelligible principle which
united the opponents of Arius was no
doubt a vague, and, however perhaps
overstrained, neither ungenerous nor un-
natural jealousy, lest the dignity of the
Redeemer, the object of their grateful ado-
ration, might in some way be lowered by
the new hypothesis. The divinity of the
Saviour seemed inseparably connected
with his coequality with the Father; it
was. endangered by the slightest conces
sion on this point. It was their argument,
that if the Son was not coeval in existence
with the Father, he must have been crea-
ted, and created out of that which was not
pre-existent. But a created being must
be liable to mutability; and it was assert-
ed in the public address of the patriarch
of Alexandrea, that this fatal consequence
had been extorted from an unguarded Ari-
an, if not from Arius himself: that it was
possible that the Son might have fallen, like
the great rebellious angel.f

The patriarch of this important see, the
metropolis of Egypt, was named Alexander
Alexander. It was said that Ari- patriarch of
us, a presbyter of acute powers Ale*andrea-
of reasoning, popular address, and blame-
less character, had declined that episcopal
dignityThe person of Arius§ was tali
and graceful; his countenance calm,
pale, and subdued; his manners en- nUb"
gaging; his conversation fluent and per-
suasive. He was well acquainted with
human sciences ; as a disputant, subtle, in-
genious, and fertile in resources. His
enemies add to this character, which them-
selves have preserved, that this humble
and mortified exterior concealed unmeas-
ured ambition; that his simplicity, frank-

* The Philopatris, of whatever age it may be, is
clearly not Lucian’s ; and, at most, only slightly
touches these questions.

f Epiphan., Haer., 69, tom. i., p. 723-727.

X See Philostorgius (the Arian writer). Theo-
doret, on the other hand, says that he brought for-
ward his opinions from envy at the promotion of
Alexander, i., 2.—See the Epistle of Alexander, in
Socrat., Hist. Eccl., 1, 6.

$ Arius is said, in his early life, to have been im-
plicated in the sect of the Meletians, which seems
to have been rather a party than a sect. They were
the followers of Meletius, bishop of Lycopolis, who
had been deposed for having sacrificed daring the
persecution. Yet this sect or party lasted for more
than a century.314

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ness, and honesty only veiled his craft and
love of intrigue ; that he appeared to stand
aloof from all party merely that he might
guide his cabal with more perfect com-
mand, and agitate and govern the hearts
of men. •Alexander was accustomed,
whether for the instruction of the people
or the display of his own powers, to debate
in public these solemn questions on the
nature of the Deity, and the relation of the
Son and the Holy Spirit to the Father.
According to the judgment of Arius, Alex-
ander fell inadvertently into the heresy of
Sabellianism, and was guilty of confound-
ing in the simple unity of the Godhead
the existence of the Son and of the Holy
Ghost.* *

The intemperate indignation of Alexan-
der at the objections of Arius betrayed
more of the baffled disputant or the wound-
ed pride of the dignitary, than the sereni-
ty of the philosopher or the meekness of
the Christian. He armed himself ere long
in all the terrors of his office, and promul-
gated his anathema in terms full of exag-
geration and violence. “ The impious
Arius, the forerunner of Antichrist, had
dared to utter his blasphemies against the
Divine Redeemer.'” Arius, expelled from
Alexandrea, not indeed before his opinions
had spread through the whole of Egypt-
and Libya,f retired to the more congenial
atmosphere of Syria.J There his vague
theory caught the less severely reasoning
and more imaginative minds of the Syrian

* Socrates, i., 5, 6.

f The account of Sozomen says that Alexander
at first vacillated, but that he afterward command-
ed Arius to adopt his opinions: rov vApeiov d/uoiog
<ppovecv eKehevcre. Sozomen acknowledges the
high character of many of the Arian bishops ; ttTiclg-
rovg ayaOov {3lov 'KpoaxfjfiaTi oefivovg, nal niQ-
avorrjrc \byov deivovg, cvXkap,6avo{ievovg rolg
rov vkp£Lov.

$ It was during his retreat that he wrote his fa-
mous Thalia, the gay and convivial title of which is
singularly out of keeping with the grave and seri-
ous questions then in agitation. His adversaries
represent this as a poem full of profane wit, and
even of indecency. It was written in the same meas-
ure, and to the same air, with the Sotadic verses,
which were proverbial for their grossness even
among the Greeks. It is difficult to reconcile this
account of the Thalia with the subtle and politic
character which his enemies attribute to Arius, still
less to the protection of such men as Eusebius of
Nicomedia and the other Syrian prelates. Arius
likewise composed hymns in accordance with his
opinions, to be chanted by sailors, those who work-
ed at the mill, or travellers. Songs of this kind
abounded in the Greek poetry; each art and trade
had its song,* and Arius may have intended no more
than to turn this popular practice in favour of Chris-
tianity, by substituting sacred for profane songs,
which, of course, would be imbued with his own

* Ilgen, de Scoliorum Poesi, p. xiii.

bishops :* the lingering Orientalism pre-
pared them for this kindred hypothesis
The most learned, the most pious, Hie
most influential, united themselves to Ins
party. The chief of these were the two
prelates named Eusebius, one the ecclesi-
astical historian, the other bishop oi The
important city of Nicomedia. Through-
out the East the controversy was propa-
gated with earnest rapidity. It was not
repressed by the attempts of Licinius to
interrupt the free intercourse between the
Christian communities and his prohibition
of the ecclesiastical synods. The ill-
smothered flame burst into tenfold fury on
the reunion of the East to the empire of
Constantine. The interference of the em-
peror was loudly demanded to allay the
strife which distracted the Christendom
of the East. The behaviour of Constan-
tine was regulated by the most perfect
equanimity, or, more probably, guided by
some counsellor of mild and more humane
Christianity : his letter of peace Letter or
Was in its spirit a model Of Constantine,
temper and conciliation.! With profound
sorrow he had heard that his designs for
the unity of the empire, achieved by Ins
victory over Licinius, as well as for the
unity of the faith, had been disturbed by
this unexpected contest. His impartial
rebuke condemned Alexander for unneces-
sarily agitating such frivolous and unim-
portant questions, and Arius for not sup-
pressing, in prudent and respectful silence
his objections to the doctrine of the patri-
arch. It recommended the judicious re-
serve of the philosophers, who had never
debated such subjects before an ignorant
and uneducated audience, and who differ-
ed without acrimony on such profound
questions. He entreated them, by the
unanimous suppression of all feelings of
unhallowed animosity, to restore his cheer-
ful days and undisturbed nights. Of the

opinions. Might not the Thalia have been written
in the same vein, and something in the same spirit,
with which a celebrated modern humorist and
preacher adapted hymns to some of the most popu-
lar airs, and declared that the devil ought not to
have all the best tunes ? The general style of A rius
is said to have been soft, effeminate, and popular.
The specimen from the Thalia (in Athanas., Or i,
cont. Ar., c. 5) is very loose and feeble Greek. Yet
it is admitted that he was an expert dialectician ; and
no weak orator would have maintained so long such
a contest.

* The bishops of Ptolemais in the Pentapol is, and
Theonas of Marmarica, joined bis party. The fe-
males were inclined to his side. Seven hundred
virgins of Alexandrea, and of the Mareotic nome,
owned him for jheir spiritual teacher.—Compare
the letter of Alexander in Theodoret, ch. iv.

f See the letter in Euseb , Vit. Constant., ii., 64-
72 [and a translation of it in Mosheim’s Instit. of,
E. H.s vol. i., p. 29Q, n, (21)].HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

31b

same faith, the same form of worship,
they ought to fneet in amicable synod, to
adore their common God in peaceful har-
mony, and not to fall into discord as to
accuracy of expression on these, most
minute.of questions; to enjoy and allow
freedom in the sanctuary of their own
minds, but to remain united in the com-
mon bonds of Christian iove.*

It is probable that the hand of Hosius,
bishop of Cordova in Spain, is to be tra-
ced in that royal and Christian letter. The
influence of Hosius was uniformly exer-
cised in this manner. Wherever the edicts
of the government were mild, conciliating,
and humane, we find the Bishop of Cor-
dova. It is by no means an improbable
conjecture of Tillemont, that he was the
Spaniard who afterward, in the hour of
mental agony and remorse, administer-
ed to the emperor the balm of Christian
penitence.

Hosius was sent to Egypt as the impe-
rial commissioner to assuage the animos-
ity of the distracted Church. But reli-
gious strife, in Egypt more particularly,
its natural and prolific soil, refused to lis-
ten to the admonitions of Christian wis-
dom or imperial authority. Eusebius com-
pares the fierce conflicts of parties—bish-
ops with bishops, people with people—to
the collision of the Symplegades.f From
the mouths of the Nile to the Cataracts,
the divided population tumultuously dis-
puted the nature of the Divine unity.J

A general council of the heads of the
Council of various Christian communities
Nice- throughout the Roman empire
was summoned by the imperial mandate,
to establish, on the consentient authority
of assembled Christendom, the true doc-
trine on these contested points, and to al-
lay forever this propensity to hostile dis-
controversy putation. The same paramount
about keep- tribunal was to settle definitively
ing Easter. an0^er subordinate question,re-
lating to the time of keeping the Easter
festival. Many of the Eastern communi-
ties shocked their more scrupulous breth-
ren by following the calculations and ob-
serving the same sacred days with the im-
pious and abhorred Jews; for, the farther
we advance in the Christian history, the
estrangement of the Christians from the

* "A 6’ VTTep TG)V kTiax'LGTUV TOVTCJV C;Y}T7]G£LdV

kv iMfiloig aKpi6oloy£LGde, kciv p) rrpog pdv

yVG)/LLT)V GVfl(j>£p7]Gd£, ftSVELV £CGO) hoyiGflOV TVpOG-
TjKEt) Tcp rfjg diavoiaq arcopprjnp rrjpovjiEVOL. — Ku-
seb., Vit. Const., ii., 71.

t Vit. Const., iii., 4.

t *Epideg ev Zadary 7ToAet teal KG)(iy, teal \id%ai
'Ttepl rtiv &eiG)v doyfidrcov kyiyvovro,—Theodoret,
i., 6.

Jews darkens more and more into abso-
lute antipathy.

In the month of May or June (the 20th*),
in the year 325, met the great A D 325
Council of Nice. Not half a cen-
tury before, the Christian bishops had been
only marked as the objects of the most
cruel insult and persecution. They had
been chosen, on account of their eminence
in their own communities, as the peculiar
victims of the stern policy of the govern-
ment. They had been driven into exile,
set to work in the mines, exposed to eve-
ry kind of humiliation and suffering, from
which some had in mercy been released
by death. They now assembled, under
the imperial sanction, a religous senate
from all parts at least of the Eastern world,
for Italy was represented only by two
presbyters of Rome ; Hosius appeared for
Spain, Gaul, and Britain. The spectacle
was altogether new to the world. No
wide-ruling sovereign would ever have
thought of summoning a conclave of the
sacerdotal orders of the different religions ;
a synod of philosophers to debate some
grave metaphysical or even political ques-
tion was equally inconsistent with the or-
dinary usages and sentiments of Grecian
or Roman society.

The public establishment of post-horses
was commanded to afford every facility,
and that gratuitously, for the journey of
the assembling bishops.f Vehicles or
mules were to be provided, as though the
assembly were an affair of state, at the
public charge. At a later period, when
councils became more frequent, the hea-
then historian complains that the public
service was impeded, and the post-horses
harassed and exhausted by the incessant
journeying to and fro of the Christian
delegates to their councils. They were
sumptuously maintained during the sitting
at the public charge.{

Above three hundred bishops were pres-
ent, presbyters, deacons, acolyths Number oi
without number,^ a considerable bishops
body of laity: but it was the presellt*
presence of the emperor himself which
gave its chief weight and dignity to the
assembly. Nothing could so much con-
firm the Christians in the opinion of their
altered position, or declare to the world
af large the growing power of Christiani-

* One of these, dates rests on the authority of
Socrates, xiii:, 26; the other of the Paschal Chron-
icle, p. 282. —Compaie Pagi, p. 404.

f Euseb., Vit. Const., iii., 6. Theodoret, i., 7.

t Euseb., iii., 9.

The' e was one bishop from Persia, one from
Scythia. Eusebius states the number at 250;
that in the text is on the authority of Theodoret,
and of the numl irs said to have signed the-creed.316

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

■ y, as this avowed interest taken in their
domestic concerns, or so tend to raise
the importance attached even to the more
remote and speculative doctrines of the
new faith, as this unprecedented conde-
scension, so it would seem to the heathen,
First meet- on the part of the emperor. The
mgs of the council met, probably, in a spa-
council. cious basilica.* Eusebius de-
scribes the scene as himself deeply im-
pressed with its solemnity. The assem-
bly sat in profound silence, while the
great officers of state and other dignified
persons (there was no armed guard) en-
tered the hall, and awaited in proud and
trembling expectation the appearance of
the emperor of the world in a Christian
council. Constantine at length entered ;
he was splendidly attired ; the eyes of the
bishops were dazzled by the gold and pre-
cious stones upon his raiment. The ma-
jesty of his person and the modest dignity
of his demeanour heightened the effect:
the whole assembly rose to do him hon-
our ; he advanced to a low golden seat
prepared for him, and did not take his
seat (it is difficult not to suspect Eusebius
of highly colouring the deference of the
emperor) till a sign of permission had
been given by the bishops.f One of the
leading prelates (probably Eesebius the
historian) commenced the proceedings
with a short address, and a hymn to the
Almighty God. Constantine then deliv-
ered an exhortation to the unity in the
Latin language, which was interpreted to
the Greek bishops. His admonition seems
at first to have produced no great effect.
Mutual accusation, defence, and recrimi-
Behaviour of nation prolonged the debate-!
Constantine. Constantine seems to have
been present during the greater part of
the sittings, listening with patience, soft-
ening asperities, countenancing those
whose language tended to peace and
union, and conversing familiarly, in the
best Greek he could command, with the
different prelates. The courtly flattery

* There is a long note in Heinichen’s Eusebius
to prove that they did not. meet in the palace, but
in a church; as though the authority of their pro-
ceedings depended on the place of their assembly.
It was probably a basilica, or hall of justice; the
kind of building usually made over by the govern-
ment for the purposes of Christian worship ; and,
in general, the model of the earliest Christian edi-
fices.

f Oil 7rporepov 7/ Tovg kTUGHonovg ertLvev&ai.
See also Socrates, i., 8. In Theodoret (i., 7) this
has grown into his humbly asking permission to sit
down.

i Constantine burned the libels which the bish-
ops had presented against each other. Many of
these (the ecclesiastical historian intimates) arose
out of private animosities,- Socrates, i„ 6.

of the council might attribute to Con-
stantine himself what was secretly, sug-
gested by the Bishop of Cordova. For,
powerful and comprehensive as his mind
may have been, it is incredible that a
man so educated, and engaged during the
early period of his life with military and
civil affairs, could have entered, particu-
larly being unacquainted with the Greek
language, into these discussions on reli-
gious metaphysics.

The council sat for rather more than
two months.* Towards the close, Con-
stantine, on the occasion of the com-
mencement of the twentieth year of his
reign,f condescended to invite the bishc.ps
to a sumptuous banquet. All attended,
and, as they passed through the imperial
guard, treated with every mark of respect,
they could not but call to mind the total
revolution in their circumstances. Euse-
bius betrays his transport by the acknowl-
edgment that they could scarcely believe
that it was a reality, not a vision ; to the
grosser conception of those who had not
purified their minds from the millennial
notions, the banquet seemed^the actual
commencement of the kingdom of Christ.

The Nicene Creed was the result of the
solemn deliberation of the assem- Nicene
bly. It was conceived with some Creed*
degree of Oriental indefiniteness, harmo-
nized with Grecian subtlety of expression.
The vague and somewhat imaginative ful-
ness of its original Eastern terms was not
too severely limited by the fine precision
of its definitions. One fatal word broke
the harmony of assent with which it was
received by the whole council. Christ was
declared Homoousios, of the same sub-
stance with the Father,! and the undenia-
ble, if perhaps inevitable, ambiguity of
this single term involved Christianity in
centuries of hostility. To one party it
implied absolute identity, and was there-
fore only ill-disguised Sabellianism ; to
the other it was essential to the coequal

* According to some, two months and eleven
days ; to others, two months and six days.

f This seems to reconcile the difficulty stated by
Heinichen. The twentieth year of Constantine’s
reign began the 8t.h Cal., Aug., A.D. 325. Euse-
bius uses the inaccurate word hvXTjpovro.—Yit.
Const., iii., 14.

t Athanasius himself allowed that the bishops
who deposed Paul of Samosata were justified m
rejecting the word dfioovaiov, because they un-
derstood it in a material or corporeal sense. But
the privilege allowed to those who had died in or-
thodox reputation was denied to the Arians and
semi-Arians.—De Synodis, Athanas., Oper., i., p.
759. It is impossible to read some pages of this
treatise without the unpleasant conviction that
Athanasius was determined to make out the Arians
to be in the wrong.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

317

and coeval dignity oi the three persons in
the Godhead. To some of the Syrian
bishops it implied or countenanced the
material notion of the Deity.* * It was, it
is said by one ecclesiastical historian, a
battle in the night, in which neither party
could see the meaning of the other.f

Three hundred and eighteen bishops
Five recu- confirmed this creed by their sig-
hts. natures ; five alone still contest-
ed the single expression, the Homoousion :
Eusebius of Nicomedia, Theognis of Nice,
Theonas of Marmarica, Maris of Chalce-
don, and Eusebius of Caesarea. Eusebius
of Nicomedia and Theognis were banish-
ed. Eusebius of Caesarea, after much hes-
itation, consented to subscribe, but sent
the creed into his diocese with a com-
ment explanatory of the sense in which
he understood the contested word. His
chief care was to guard against giving the
slightest countenance to the material con-
ception of the Deity. Two only with-
stood with uncompromising resistance the
Banishment decree of the council. The sol-
of Arias. emu anathema of this Christian
senate was pronounced against Arius and
his adherents ; they were banished by the
civil power, and they were especially in-
terdicted from disturbing the peace of Al-
exandrea by their presence. J

* Mt]ts yap dvvacdai ttjv avloy ml vospav ml
dadparov §vglv, Gtopdrucov ri TidOog v^iuraadaL.
This is the language of Eusebius.

$aat de opug Kepi tovtov, tig dpa dDxjv 6
Qeog ttjv yevveTTjv KTLaai Qvglv, EKEidij ktipa p?j
dvvapevev avrrjv peTaox&v rfjg rov rrarpog
uKpdrov, ml rrjg nap’ ai)TOv djjpiovpyiag, notcl
teal ktl&l KpLOTog povog povov 'iva, ical mXeZ
tovtov vlov ical Xoyov. Iva tovtov peaov yevops-
vov, oi’TCjg Xolkov ml to, irdvTa dt,’ avrov yevia-
6cu dvvrjdrj. ravra ov povov eipr/icaoiv, dXXd ml
ypcnbai TEToXprjmGLV Evoefiiog re, teal *Apeiog
ml 6 'Q'vaag ’korkpcog.—Athan., Orat. ii., c. .24.
Compare Mohler (a learned and strongly orthodox
Roman Catholic writer), Athanasius der Grosse, b.
i., p. 195. Mohler but dimly sees the Gnostic or
Oriental origin of this notion, which lies at the bot-
tom of Arianism.

f This remarkable sentence does credit to the
judgment and impartiality of Socrates: Nvtcropaxlag
de ovSev ukeIxs rd yiyvopeva, ovre yap dXXrjXovg
e(patvovro voovvreg, d^’ tiv dXXrjXovg (SXaGeprjpEZv
vneXdpdavov ol pev yap rov dpoovaiov ttjv Xetjtv
etaeMvovrcg ttjv 'ZabeXXiov ml Movravov do^av
eiorjyeZodat avrrjv rovg Tvpoabexopevovg hopi^ov
ml did tovto f3Xaa<f)7jpovg emXovv, tig dvatpovv-
reg ttjv vrcap^LV rov vlov rov Qeov• oi ds ttakiv
Tri) OpOOVGUp TCpOGHELpeVOl KoXvQetaV ELUayELV
Toug brspovg vopt^ovrsg, ''EXkrjviGpbv elaayov-
rag k^erpaKOvro.—C. 23.

% In one passage in the De Synodis, Athanasius
accused not only the, Arian, but the semi-Arian par-
ty. Eusebius as well as Arius, of something like So-
cinianism.

egtlv vloq 5poiog irarpi, aXkd Sea ttjv avp-

Peace might seem to be restored; the
important question set at rest by the uni-
ted authority of the emperor, and a repre-
sentative body which might fairly presume
to deliver the sentiments of the whole
Christian world. But the Arians were
condemned, not convinced; discomfited,
not subdued.* Rather more than two
years elapsed, eventful in the private life
of Constantine, but tranquil in the history
of the 'Christian Church. The imperial
assessor in the Christian council had ap-
peared in the West under a different char-
acter, as the murderer of his son and of
his wife. He returned to the East deter-
mined no more to visit the imperial city,
where, instead of the humble deference
with which all parties courted his appro-
bation, he had been unable to close his
ears against the audacious and bitter pas
quinade which arraigned his cruelty to his
own family. His return to the East, in-.
stead of overawing the contending factions
into that unity which he declared to be
the dearest wish of his heart, by his own
sudden change of conduct was the signal
for the revival of the fiercest contentions.
The Christian community was Chan<re-m
now to pay a heavy penalty for the opinions
the pride and triumph with which of Constan
they had hailed the interference tme'
of the emperor in their religious questions.
The imperial decisions had been admitted
by the dominant party, when on their own
side, to add weight to the decree of the
council: at least they had applauded the
sentence of banishment pronounced by the
civil power against their antagonists ; that
authority now assumed a different tone,
and was almost warranted, by their own
admission, in expecting the same prompt
obedience. The power which had exiled
might restore the heretic to his place and
station. Court influence, however obtain-
ed through court intrigue, or from the ca-
price of the ruling sovereign, by this fatal,
perhaps inevitable step, became the arbi-
ter of the most vital questions of Christian
faith and discipline ; and thus the first pre-
cedent of a temporal punishment a.d. 326-
for an ecclesiastical offence was 336.
a dark prognostic, and an example, of the
difficulties which would arise during the
whole history of Christianity, when the
cpmmunities,so distinctly two when they
were separate and adverse, became one

fycovlav (ioyparidv ml rrjg SidaomXiag (p. 766,
Athan., Op.'i.).

* The writings of Arius and his followers were
condemned to be burned. If we are to believe Soz-
omen (which I confess that I am disinclined to do),
the concealment of such works was made a "ap*
ital offence !—E. H., lib. i., c. 21.318

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

by the identification of the church and the
state. The restoration of a banished man
to the privileges of a citizen by the civil
power seemed to command his restora-
tion to religious privileges by the ecclesi-
astical authority.*

The Arian party gradually grew into
favour. A presbyter of Arian sentiments
had obtained complete command over the
mind of Constantia, the sister of Constan-
tine. On her dying bed she entreated him
to reconsider the justice of the sentence
against that innocent, as she declared, and
misrepresented man. Arius could not be-
lieve the sudden reverse of fortune; and
not till he received a pressing letter from
Constantine himself did he venture to
leave his place of exile. A person of still
greater importance was at the same-time
reinstated in the imperial favour. Among
the adherents of the Arian form, perhaps
Eusebius of the most important was Eusebi-
Ricomedia. us, bishop of Nicomedia.' A
dangerous suspicion that he had been too
closely connected with the interests of
Licinius during the recent struggle for
empire had alienated the mind of Con-
stantine, and deprived Eusebius of that
respectful attention which he might have
commanded by his station, ability, and ex-
perience. With Theognis, bishop
of Nice, his faithful adherent in
opinion and in fortune, he had been sent
into exile ; it is remarkable that the prel-
ates of these two sees, the most important
in that part of Asia, should have concurred
in these views. The exiled prelates, in
their petition for reinstatement in their
dioceses, declared (and, notwithstanding
the charge of falsehood which their op-
ponents to the present day do not scruple
to make, would they have ventured in a
public document addressed to Constantine
to misstate a fact so notorious 1) they
solemnly protested that they had not re-
fused their signatures to the Nicene Creed,
but only to the anathema pronounced
against Arius and his followers. “Their
obstinacy arose, not from want of faith,
but from excess of charity.” They re-
turned in triumph to their dioceses, and
ejected the bishops who had been appoint-
ed in their place. No resistance appears
to have been made. But the Arians were
not content with their peaceable re-estab-
lishment in their former station. How-
ever they might attempt to harmonize
their doctrines with the belief of their ad-
versaries, by their vindictive aggression
on the opposite party they belied their
pretensions to moderation and the love of

peace. Eusebius, whom Constantine had
before publicly denounced in no measured
terms, grew rapidly into favour. The
complete dominion which from this time
he appears to have exercised oyer the
mind of Constantine, confirms the natural
suspicion that the opinions of the emperor
were by no means formed by his own in-
dependent judgment, but entirely governed
by the Christian teacher who might obtain
his favour. Eusebius seems to have suc-
ceeded to the influence exercised with so
much wisdom and temper by Hosius of
Cordova. He became bishop of Constan-
tinople, and was the companion of Con-
stantine in his visits to Jerusalem ;* and
the high estimation in which the emperor
held Eusebius of Caesarea, according to
the statements made, and the documents
ostentatiously preserved by that writer in
his ecclesiastical history, could not but
contribute to the growing ascendancy of
Arianism. They were in possession of
some of the most important dioceses in
Asia ; they were ambitious of establishing
their supremacy in Antioch.

The suspicious brevity with which Eu-
sebius glides over the early part a.d. 328.
of this transaction, which his Conduct or
personal vanity could not allow prelates ?n
him to omit, confirms the state- Antioch,
ment of their adversaries as to the un-
justifiable means employed by the Arians
to attain this object. Eusebius of Nico-
media and Theognis passed through An-
tioch on their way to Jerusalem. On their
return they summoned Eustathius, the
bishop of Antioch, whose character had
hitherto been blameless, to answer before
a hastily-assembled council of bishops on
two distinct charges of immorality and
heresy. The unseemly practice of bring-
ing forward women of disreputable char-
acter to charge men of high station in the
church with incontinency, formerly em-
ployed by the heathens to calumniate the
Christians, was now adopted by the reck-
less hostility of Christian faction. The
accusation of a prostitute against Eustath-
ius, of having been the father of her child,
is said afterward to have been completely
disproved. The heresy with which Eus
tathius was charged was that of Sabellian-
ism, the usual imputation of the Arians
against the Trinitarians of the opposite
creed. Two Arian bishops having occu-
pied the see of Antioch, but for a very short
time, an attempt was made to remove Eu-
sebius of Caesarea to that diocese, no doubt
by the high reputation of his talents, to
overawe or to conciliate the Eustathian

* Socr., i., 25, 26. Soz., ii., 27.

* Theodoret, i., 2.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

319

party. Eusebius, with the flattering ap-
probation of the emperor, declined the
dangerous post. Eustathius was deposed,
a:id banished, by the imperial edict, to
Thrace; but the attachment, at least of a
Urge part, of the Christian population of
Antioch refused to acknowledge the au-
thority of the tribunal or the* justice of the
sentence. The city was divided into two
fierce and hostile factions—they were on
the verge of civil war—and Antioch, where
the Christians had first formed themselves
into a separate community, but for the
vigorous interference of the civil power
and the timely appearance of an imperial
commissioner, might have witnessed the
first blood shed, at least in the East, in a
Christian quarrel.

It is impossible to calculate how far the
authority and influence of the Syrian bish-
ops, with the avowed countenance of the
emperor (for Constantius, the son of Con-
stantine, was an adherent of the Arian
opinions) might have subdued the zeal of
the orthodox party. It is possible that,
but for the rise of one inflexible and in-
domitable antagonist, the question might
either have sunk to rest, or the Christian
world acquiesced, at least the East, in a
vague and mitigated Arianism.

Athanasius had been raised by the dis-
a rii mooina cernment of Alexander to a sta-

Anmnasms. . _ ^ .

tion of confidence and dignity.
He had filled the office of secretary to the
Alexandrean prelate. In the Council of
Nice he had borne a distinguished part,
und his zeal and talents designated him at
once as the head of the Trinitarian party.
On the death of Alexander, the universal
voice of the predominant anti-Arians de-
manded the elevation of Athanasius. In
vain he attempted to conceal himself, and
to escape the dangerous honour. At thir-
ty years of age Athanasius was placed on
ad 396 ePiSC0Pal throne of the see,
which ranked with Antioch, and
afterward with Constantinople, as the most
important spiritual charge in the East.*

The imperial mandate was issued to re-
ceive Arius and his followers within the
pale of the Christian communion.f But
Constantine found, to his astonishment,
that an imperial edict, which would have
been obeyed in trembling submission from
one end of the Roman empire to the other,
even if it had enacted a complete political
revolution, or endangered the property and
privileges.of thousands, was received with
deliberate and steady disregard by a sin-

* The Arians asserted this election to have been
carried by the irregular violence of a few bishops,
contrary to the declared suffrages of the majority.

t Athanas., Apol. contra Ar. Soz., ii., 22.

gle Christian bishop. During two reigns
Athanasius contested the authority of the
emperor. He endured persecution, cal-
umny, exile; his. life was frequently en-
dangered in defence of one single tenet,
and that, it may be permitted to say, the
most purely intellectual, and apparently
the most remote from the ordinary pas-
sions of man: he confronted Char!Tes
martyrdom, not for the broad against
and palpable distinction between Athanasius.
Christianity and heathenism, but for fine
and subtle expressions of the Christian
creed.* He began and continued the con-
test, not for the toleration, but for the su-
premacy of his own opinions.

Neither party, in truth, could now yield
without the humiliating acknowledgment
that all their contest had been on unim-
portant and unessential points. The pas-
sions and the interests, as well as the con-
science, were committed in the strife.
The severe and uncompromising temper
of Athanasius, no doubt, gave some ad-
vantage to his jealous and watchful an-
tagonists. Criminal charges began to mul-
tiply against a prelate who was thus fall-
en in the imperial favour.-)- They were
assiduously instilled into the ears of Con-
stantine ; yet the extreme frivolousness
of some of these accusations, and the tri-
umphant refutation of the more material
charges, before a tribunal of his enemies,
establish undeniably the unblemished vir-
tue of Athanasius. J He was charged with

* I am not persuaded, either by the powerful el-
oquence of Athanasius himself or by his able mod-
ern apologist, Mohler, that the opinions, at least of
the Syrian semi-Arians, were so utterly irreconcila-
ble with the orthodoxy of Athanasius, or likely to
produce such fatal consequences to the general
system of Christianity, as are extorted from them
by the keen theological precision of Athanasius.

f Theodoret mentions one of these customary
charges of licentiousness, in which a woman of
bad character accused Athanasius of violating her
chastity. Athanasius was silent, while one of his
friends, with assumed indignation, demanded, “ Do
you accuse me of this crime?” “Yes,” replied the
woman, supposing him to be Athanasius, of whom
she was ignorant, “ you were the violator of my
chastity.”—L. i., c. 30.

t It is remarkable how little stress is laid on the
persecutions which Athanasius is accused of hav-
ing carried on through the civil authority. Aceu-
satus prseterea est de injuriis, violentia ceede, atque
ipsa episcoporum internecione. Quique etiam die-
bus sacratissimis paschse tyrannico more sseviens,
Ducibus atque Comitibus junctus : quique propter
ipsam aliquos in cust.odia recludebant, aliquos vero
verberibus flagellisque vexabant, cseteros diversis
tormentis ad communionem ejus sacrilegam adige-
bant. These charges neither seem to have been
pressed nor refuted, as half so important as the act
of sacrilege.—See the protest of the Arian bishops
at Sardica, in Hilarii, Oper., Hist. Fragm., iii., c. 6.
See also the accusations of violence on his return
to Alexandrea. Ibid., 8.320

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

taxing the city to provide linen vestments
for the clergy, and with treasonable cor-
respondence with an enemy of the emper-
or. Upon this accusation he was sum-
moned to Nicomedia, and acquitted by the
emperor himself. He was charged as
having authorized the profanation of the
holy vessels and the sacred books in a
church in the Mareotis, a part of his dio-
cese. A certain Ischyras had assumed
the office of presbyter without ordination.
Macarius, who was sent by Athanasius to
prohibit his officiating in his usurped dig-
nity, was accused by Ischyras of over-
throwing the altar, breaking the cup, and
burning the Scriptures. It is not impos-
sible that the indiscreet zeal of an inferior
may have thought it right to destroy sa-
cred vessels thus profaned by unhallowed
hands. But from Athanasius himself the
charge recoiled without the least injury.
But a. darker charge remained behind, com-
prehending two crimes, probably in those
dajfs looked upon with equal abhorrence :
magic and murder. The enemies of Ath-
anasius produced a human hand, said to
be that of Arsenius, a bishop attached to
the Meletian heresy, who had disappeared
from Egypt in a suspicious manner. The
hand of the murdered bishop had been
kept by Athanasius for unhallowed pur-
poses of witchcraft. In vain the emissa-
ries of Athanasius sought for Arsenius in
Egypt, though he was known to be con-
cealed in that country; but the superior
and , one of the monks of a monastery
were seized, and compelled to confess that
he was still living, and had lain hid in
their sanctuary. Yet the charge was not
abandoned: it impended for more than
two years over the head of Athanasius.
A council, chiefly formed of the enemies
of Athanasius, was summoned at Tyre.
It was intimated to the Alexandrean prel-
ate, that, if he refused to appear before
the tribunal, he would be brought by force.
Athanasius stood before the tribunal. He
synod of was arraigned on this charge ; the
Tyre. hand was produced. To the as-
a.d. 335. tonishment of the court, Athana-
sius calmly demanded whether those pres-
ent were acquainted with the person of
Arsenius. He had been well known to
many. A man was suddenly brought into
the court, with his whole person folded in
his mantle. Athanasius uncovered the
head of the witness. He was at once rec-
ognised as the murdered Arsenius. Still
the severed hand lay before them, and the
adversaries of A thanasius expected to con-
vict him of having mutilated the victim of
his jealousy. Athanasius lifted up the
mantle on one side, and showed the right

hand; he lifted up the other, and showed
the left. In a calm tone of sarcasm, he
observed that the Creator had bestowed
two hands on man; it was for his ene-
mies to explain how Arsenius had pos-
sessed a third.* A fortunate accident had
brought Arsenius to Tyre; he had been
discovered by the friends of Athanasius.
Though he denied his name, he was known
by the Bishop of Tyre ; and this dramatic
scene had been arranged as the most ef-
fective means of exposing the malice of
the prelate’s enemies. His discomfited
accusers fled in the confusion.

The implacable enemies of Athanasius
were constrained to fall back upon the
other exploded charge, the profanation of
the sacred vessels by Macarius. A com-
mission of inquiry had been issued, who
conducted themselves, according to the
statement of the friends of Athanasius,
with the utmost violence and partiality.
On their report, the bishop of the impor-
tant city of Alexandre a was deposed from
his dignity. But Athanasius bowed not
beneath the storm. He appears to have
been a master in what may be called, with-
out disrespect, theatrical effect. As the
emperor rode through the city of Athanasius
Constantinople, he was arrested in Constan-
by the sudden appearance of a tmoi)le-
train of ecclesiastics, in the midst of which
was Athanasius. The offended emperor,
with a look of silent contempt, urged his
horse onward. “ God,” said the prelate,
with a loud voice, “ shall judge between
thee and me, since you thus espouse the
cause of my calumniators. I demand only
that my enemies be summoned and my
cause heard in the imperial presence.”
The emperor admitted the justice of his
petition ; the accusers of Athanasius were
commanded to appear in Constantinople.
Six of them, including the two Eusebii,
obeyed the mandate. But a new charge,
on a subject skilfully chosen to Newaccu-
awaken the jealousy of the em- sations.
peror, counteracted the influence which
might have been obtained by the eloquence
or the guiltlessness of Athanasius. It is
remarkable, that an accusation of a very
similar nature should have caused the cap-
ital punishment of the most distinguished
among the heathen philosophic party, and
the exile of the most eminent Christian
prelate. Constantinople entirely depend-
ed for the supply of corn upon foreign im-
portations. One half of Africa, including
Egypt, was assigned to the maintenance
of the new capital, while the Western di-
vision alone remained for Rome. At some

* Tneodoret, i., 30.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

321

period daring Lhe later years of Constan-
tine, the adverse winds detained the Alex-
andrean fleet, and famine began to afflict
the inhabitants of the city. The populace
was in tumult; the government looked
anxiously for means to allay the danger-
ous ferment. The Christian party had
Death of So- seen jealousy and alarm

pater the phi- the influence which a heathen
losopher, philosopher, named Sopater, had
obtained over the mind of Constantine.*
Sopater was a native of Apamea, the
scholar of lamblichus. The emperor took
great delight in his society, and was thus
in danger of being perverted, if not to hea-
thenism, to that high Platonic indifferent-
ism which would leave the two religions
on terms of perfect equality. He was
seen seated on public occasions by the em-
peror’s side, and boasted, it was said, that
the dissolution of heathenism would be
arrested by his authority. During the
famine the emperor entered the theatre;
instead of the usual acclamations, he was
received with a dull and melancholy si-
lence. The enemies of Sopater seized the
opportunity of accusing the philosopher of
magic: his unlawful arts had bound the
winds in the adverse quarter. If the em-
peror did not, the populace would readily
believe him to be the cause of their calam-
ities. He was sacrificed to the popularity
of the emperor * the order for his decapi-
tation was hastily issued and promptly ex-
ecuted.

In the same spirit which caused the
death of the heathen philosopher, Athan-
asius was accused of threatening to force
the emperor to his own measures by stop-
ping the supplies of com from the port of
Alexandrea. Constantine listened with
jealous credulity to the charge. The dan-
ger of leaving the power of starving the
capital in the hands of one who might be-
a.d. 336. come hostile to the government,
February, touched the pride of the emper-
of Athanasi- or in the tenderest point.. Athan-
ustoTreves. asius was banished to the re-
mote city of Treves.

But neither the exile of Athanasius, nor
the unqualified—his enemies, of course, as-
serted insincere or hypocritical—-accept-

* Zosimus, ii., 40. Sozom., 1-5. Eunap. in
^Edes., p. 21-25, edit. Boissonade. Suidas, voc.
%6rraTpog. If we are to believe Eunapius, the
Christians might reasonably take alarm at the inti-
macy of Constantine with Sopater : 6 pev fiacuXevg
Saldicei re vn’ avrip teal dripoGia cvvedpov Eixw,
elg tdv de^iov icadt^ov totcov o kcll olkovgcli kal
idelv amcTov' oi 6e 'Kapadwaarevovreg (the Chris-
tians, a remarkable admission of their influence),
Ibrjyvvpevoi rep (pdov(p itpog (SaGL^etav aprityihoGO-
$ecv perdpavddvovGav.—P. 21.

S s

ance of the Nicene Creed by Arius himself,
allayed the differences. His presence in
Alexandrea had been the cause of new
dissensions. He was recalled to Constan-
tinople, where a council had AriusmCon-
been held, in which the Arian stantinopie.
party maintained and abused their pre-
dominance. But Alexander, the bishop
of Constantinople, still firmly resisted the
reception of Arius into the orthodox com-
munion. Affairs were hastening to a cri-
sis. The Arians, with the authority of the
emperor on their side, threatened to force
their way into the church, and to compel
the admission of their champion. The
Catholics, the weaker party, had recourse
to prayer; the Arians already raised the
voice of triumph. While Alexander was
prostrate at the altar, Arius was borne
through the wondering city in a kind of
ovation, surrounded by his friends, and
welcomed with loud acclamations by his
own party. As he passed the porphyry col-
umn, he was forced to retire into a house
to relieve his natural wants. His return
was anxiously expected, but in Death of
vain; he was found dead; as his Arius.
antagonists declared, his bowels had burst
out, and relieved the Church from the pres-
ence of the obstinate heretic. We cannot
wonder that, at such a period of excite-
ment, the Catholics, in that well-timed in-
cident, recognised a direct providential in-
terference in their favour. It was ascri-
bed to the prevailing prayers of Alexander
and his clergy. Under the specious pre-
text of a thanksgiving for the deliverance
of the Church from the imminent peril of
external violence, the bishop prepared a
solemn service. Athanasius, in a public
epistle, alludes to the fate of Judas, which
had befallen the traitor to the coequal dig-
nity of the Son. His hollow charity ill
disguises his secret triumph.*

Whatever effect the death of Arius
might produce upon the mind of Constan-
tine, it caused no mitigation in his unfa-
vourable opinion of Athanasius. He con-
temptuously^ rejected the petitions which
were sent from Alexandrea to solicit his
reinstatement; he refused to recall that
“ proud, turbulent, obstinate, and intracta-
ble” prelate. It was not till his death-bed
that his consent was hardly extorted for
this act of mercy, or, rather, of justice.

The baptism of Constantine on his death-

* It was a standing argument of Athanasius, that
the death of Arius was a sufficient refutation of his
heresy.

Eig yap relelav KardyvcdGiv rfjg alpeGecog w
’Apeiav&v, avrdpurjg rj nepl rov fiavarov ’Apeiov
yevop.hr] rrapd rov Kvpiov Kp'iGig.—Ded. Epist. ad
Monachos, 3, Op.-, v. i., 34<c.322

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Baptism of bed is one of those questions
Constantine, which has involved ecclesias-
tical historians in inextricable embarrass-
ment. The fact is indisputable : it rests
on the united authority of the Greek and
Latin writers. Though he had so openly
espoused the cause of Christianity, though
he had involved himself so deeply in the
interests of the Christian community, at-
tended on their worship, presided, or, at
least,, sanctioned their councils with his
presence, and had been constantly sur-
rounded by the Christian clergy, the em-
peror had still deferred till the very close
of his life his formal reception into the
Christian Church, the ablution of his sins,
the admission to the privileges and hopes
of the Christian, by that indispensable rite
of baptism.* There seems but one plain
solution of this difficulty. The emperor
constantly maintained a kind of superiori-
ty over the Christian part of his subjects.’
It was still rather the lofty and impartial
condescension of a protector than the spir-
itual equality of the proselyte. He still
asserted, and in many cases exercised, the
privilege of that high indifferentism, which
ruled his conduct by his own will or judg-
ment rather than by the precepts of a se-
vere and definite religion. He was reluc-
tant, though generally convinced of the
truth, and disposed to recognise the supe-
riority of the Christian religion, to com-
mit himself by the irrevocable act of initi-
ation. He may have been, still more un-
willing to sever himself entirely from the
heathen majority of his subjects, lest by
such a step, in some sudden yet always
possible crisis, he might shake their alle-
giance. In short, he would not surrender
any part of his dignity as emperor of the
world, especially as he might suppose
that, even if necessary to his salvation as
a Christian, he could, command at any time
the advantages of baptism. On the other
hand, the Christians, then far more pliant
than when their undisputed au-
a.d.3 7. ^orjty ru}e(i the minds of mon-

* Mosheim’s observations on the Christianity of
Constantine are characterized by his usual good
sense and judgment. De Rebus Christ. ant& Const,
Magnum, p. 965 [and Institutes of E. H., i., 213,
&c.]. I extract only a few sentences. Eratprimis
post victum Maxentium annis in anirno ejus cum
omnis religionis, turn Christiana? imprimis,.parum
sana et propius a Graecorum et Romanorum opin-
ione remotanotio. Nescius enim salutis et bene-
ficiorum a Christo humano generi partorum, Chris-
tum Deum esse putabat, qui cultorum suorum
fidem et diligentiam felicitate hujus vitae, rebusque
secundis comparare, hostes vero et contemptores
mox pcenis, malisque omnis generis afficere potuit.
* * * Ita sensim de vera religionis Christianse in-
dole * * edoctus stultitiam et deformitatem an-
tiquarum superstitionum clarius perspiciebat, et
Christo uni sincere nomen dabat, p. 977, 978.

archs with absolute sway, hardly emer-
ged from persecution, struggling for a
still contested supremacy, divided among
themselves, and each section courting the
favour of the emperor, were glad to ob-
tain an imperial convert on his own terms.
In constant hope that the emperor him-
self would take this decisive step, they
were too prudent or too cautious to urge
it with imperious or unnecessary vehe-
mence. He was not so entirely their
own but that he might still be estranged
by indiscretion or intemperance; he would
gradually become more enlightened, and
they were content to wait in humble pa-
tience till that Providence who had raised
up this powerful protector should render
him fully, and exclusively, and openly
their own.

If it be difficult to determine the extent
to which Constantine proceeded FxtenUo
in the establishment of Christi- which pa-
anity, it is even more perplex- gan.smwas
ing to estimate how far he ex- suppresse'1-
erted the imperial authority in the aboli-
tion of paganism. Conflicting evidence
encounters us at every point. Eusebius,
in three distinct passages in his “Life o(
Constantine,” asserts that he prohibited
sacrifice ;* that he issued two laws to pro-
hibit, both in the city and in the country,
the pollutions of the old idolatry, the set-
ting up of statues, divinations, and other
unlawful practices; and to command the
total abolition of sacrifice ;f that through-
out the Roman empire the “doors of
idolatry” were closed to the people and
to the army, and every kind of sacri-
fice was prohibited. J Theodoret asserts §
that Constantine prohibited sacrifice, and,
though he did not destroy, shut up all the
temples. In a passage of his Panegyr-
ic, || Eusebius ‘asserts that he sent two of-
ficers into every part of the empire, who
forced the priests to surrender up the
statues of. their gods, which, having been
despoiled of their ornaments, were melted
or destroyed. These strong assertions of

* 0vf.lv dirdpjjTO, ii., 44.

f Avo Kara to avro £tt£{it:ovto vo/ior 6 jj.lv
dpyuv rd jjvGapd rfjg Kara Tc6?i£ig ical x&PaS To
rraXacov GVVT£%ovfi£V7]g diSohoXarpLag, tig utjtf
£y£pG£tg %odvov TTOLUGBai roXftav, jitjtf uav-
ruaig koX ralg dXkatg 7r£pi£pylcug kmx^ipeiv,
prjT£ fjLTjv ,&v£iv icadolov fiTjdbva, ii., 45.

t 'KadoXov, b)£ rolg invb rfj fPojzalov apxy d??-
\LOig T£ KCtl GTpaTLOTLKOlg, TrvXai a'K£Kk£LOVTQ
didoloTiarpiag, d-VGiag te rponog d'KTjyopEVETo nag,
iv(., 23 ; di£K(o?iv£TO jiev -d-v£iv didcohoig, ibid., 25;
c5rjjioig may mean the magistracy, the public cere
monial.

$ Theodoret, vi., 21. Compare Sozomen, iii.,
17. Orosius. vii., 28.

|1 I)e Landih Constant, i., 8.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

3^3

Eusebius are, to a certain extent, con-
firmed by expressions in the laws of his
successors, especially one of Constans,
which appeals to an edict of his father
Constantine which prohibited sacrifice.* * * * * §

On the other hand, Eusebius himself in-
serts, and ascribes to a date posterior to
some of these laws, documents which he
professes to have seen in Constantine’s
own hand, proclaiming the most impartial
toleration to the pagans, and deprecating
compulsion in religious matters. “ Let all
enjoy the same peace; let no one disturb
another in his religious worship ; let each
act as he thinks fit; let those who with-
hold their obedience from Thee” (it is an
address to the Deity) “ have their temples
of falsehood if they think right.”f He ex-
horts to mutual charity, and declares, “ It
is a very different thing willingly to submit
to trials for the sake of irhmortal life, and
to force others by penalties to embrace
one faithd’J These generous sentiments,
if Constantine was issuing edicts to close
the temples, and prohibiting the sacred
rites of his pagan subjects, had been the
grossest hypocrisy. The laws against the
soothsayers spoke, as was before shown,
the same tolerant language with regard to
the public ceremony of the religion.§ Can
the victory over Licinius so entirely have
changed the policy of Constantine as to
induce him to prohibit altogether rites
which but a few years before he had sanc-
tioned by his authority V

The pagan writers, wl}0 are not scrupu-
lous in their charges against the memory
of Constantine, and dwell with bitter re-
sentment on all his overt acts of hostility
to the ancient religion, do not accuse him
of these direct encroachments on pagan-
ism. Neither Julian nor Zosimus lay this
to his charge. Libanius distinctly asserts
that the temples were left open and undis-

• * Cesset superstitio, sacrificiorum aboleatur in-
sania. ■ Nam quicunque contra legem divi Princi-
pis, parentis nostri, et hanc nostra mansuetudinis
jussionem ausus fuerit sacrificia celebrare, compe-
tens in eum vindicta, et prasens sententia exsera-
tur.—Cod. Theodos., xvi., 10, 2. See likewise the
note of Godefroy.

f '0fjLotav rolg tzlgtevovglv oi Trlavcofievoi %ai-
povrsg Tia/idaveruGav mprjvqg re teat i)avxto.g Imb-
Ticlvglv * * M.7j6elg rov erepov Trapero^AemJ- &e-
CLGTOg OTTSp 7} 'IpVXV fiovTlETCll, TOVTO KG,! TTpaTTSTG)

* * Oi S’ bavrovg acpD^KOvrsg, exovruv fiovhofzs-
voi rci Tyg fevdoloyLag rsfiEvr].—Vit Const., ii., 26.

J vA/do yap egtl, rov vttep aOavaGtag adXov
EKovGLQg kriavaLpeiGdai, uTCko to fiera rifuopiag
srcavayKa^ecv.—C. 60.

§ Qui vero id vobis existimatis conducere, adite
aras publicas atque delubra et consuetudinis vestra
celebrate solemnia ; nec enim prohibemus prateri-
tse usurpations officia libera luce tractari.'—Cod.
Theodos , xvi., 10. >

turbed during his reign, and that pagan-
ism remained unchanged.*

All historical records strongly confirm
the opinion that paganism was openly
professed ; its temples restored ;f its rites
celebrated ; neither was its priesthood de-
graded from their immunities, nor the es-
tates belonging to the temples generally
alienated; in short, that it was the public
religion of a great part of the empire ; and.
still confronted Christianity, if not on equal
terms, still with pertinacious resistance,
down to the reign of Theodosius, and even
that of his sons. Constantine himself,
though he neither offered sacrifices, nor
consulted the Sibylline books, nor would
go up to the temple of the Capitoline Ju-
piter with the senate and the people, per-
formed, nevertheless, some of the func-
tions, at least did not disdain the appella-
tion, of supreme pontifff

Perhaps we may safely adopt the fol-
lowing conclusions. There were two
kinds of sacrifices abolished by Constan-
tine. I. The private sacrifices, connected
with unlawful acts of theurgy and of ma-
gic ; those midnight offerings to the pow-
ers of darkness, which in themselves were
illegal, and led to scenes of unhallowed li-
cense.§ II. Those which might be con-
sidered the state sacrifices, offered by the
emperor himself, or by his representatives
in his name, either in the cities or in the

* T?/f Kara vbjiov 6s 'dspa-Ksiag sk/.vjjgsv ov6e
ev.—Pro Templis, vol. ii., p. 162.

Libanus adds that Constantius, on a certain
change of circumstances, first prohibited sacrifice.
— Compare also Orat., 26. Julian, Orat. vii., p. 424.

■f See, in Gruter, p. 100, n. 6, the inscription on
the restoration of the Temple of Concord during
the consulship of Paulinus (A.C.331, 332), by the
authority of the prafect of the city, and S. P. Q. R.
Altars were erected to other pagan gods.—Compare
Beugnot, i., 106.

M. Beugnot, in his Destruction du Paganisme en
Occident, has collected with great industry the
proofs of this. fact, from inscriptions, medals, and
other of the more minute contemporary memorials.

t There is a medal extant of Constantine as su-
preme pontiff.

§ See the laws relating to divination, above, p.
290.

. M. la Bastie and M. Beugnot would consider the
terms ra fiVGapa rrjg elduTioTiarpicig, in the rescript
of Constantine, and the “ insana superstitio” of the
law of Constans, to refer exclusively to these noc-
turnal and forbidden sacrifices. M. Beugnot has ob-
served that Constantine always uses respectful and
courteous language concerning paganism. Yretus
observantia, vetus consuetudo; templorum solem-
nia ; consuetudinis gentilitiae solemnitas. The laws
of the later emperors employ very different terms.
Error; dementia; error veterum; profanus ritus;
sacrilegus ritus; nefarius ritus; superstitio pa-
gana, damnabilis, damnata, deterrima, impia; fu-
nestse superstitionis errores; stolidus paganorum
error.—Cod. Theodos., t. v., p. 255. Beugnot, tom
i , p. 80.324

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

army. Though Constantine advanced
many Christians to' offices of trust, and no
doubt many who were ambitious of such
offices conformed to the religion of the em-
peror, probably most of the high dignities
of the state were held by pagans. An edict
might be required to induce them to depart
from the customary usage of sacrifice,
which with the Christian officers would
quietly fall into desuetude.* But still, the
sacrifices made by the priesthood, at the
expense of the sacerdotal establishments,
and out of their own estates—though, in
some instances these estates were seized
by Constantine, and the sacerdotal colle-
ges reduced to poverty—and the public
sacrifices, offered by the piety of distin-
guished individuals, would be made as
usual. In the capital there can be little
doubt that sacrifices were offered, in the
name of the senate and people of Rome,
till a much later period.

Christianity may now be said to have
Legal estab- ascended the imperial throne :
lishment of with the single exception of Ju-
christiamty. pan^ frorn this period the mon-
archs of the Roman empire professed the
religion of the Gospel. This important
crisis in the history of Christianity almost
forcibly arrests the attention to contem-
plate the change wrought in Christianity
by its advancement into a dominant pow-
er in the state ; and the change in the con-
dition of mankind up to this period, attrib-
utable to the direct authority or indirect
Effects of influence of the new religion. By
this on the ceasing to exist as a separate
religion, community, and by advancing its
pretensions to influence the general gov-
ernment of mankind, Christianity, to a cer-
tain extent, forfeited its independence. It
could not but submit to these laws, framed,
as it might seem, with its own concurrent
voice. It was no longer a republic, gov-
erned exclusively—as far, at least, as its re-
ligious concerns—by its own internal pol-
ity. The interference of the civil power
in some of its most private affairs, the pro-
mulgation of its canons, and even, in some
cases, the election of its bishops by the
state, was the price which it must inevita-
bly pay for its association with the ruling
power. The natural satisfaction, the more
than pardonable triumph, in seeing the em-
peror of the world a suppliant with them-
selves at the foot of the cross, would blind
the Christian world in general to these
consequences of their more exalted posi-
tion. The more ardent and unworldly
would fondly suppose that a Christian em-

* The prohibition to the dr/uot and oTpaTLUTucoi
(see quotation above from Eusebius) refer, I con-
ceive, to these.

peror would always be actuated by Chris-
tian motives; and the imperial authority,
instead of making aggressions on Christian
independence, would rather bow in humble
submission to its acknowledged dominion.
His main object would be to develop the
energies of the new religion in the amplest
freedom, and allow them free scope in the
subjugation of the world.

The emperor as little anticipated that
he was introducing as an antag- On the civil
onist power an indistinguishable Power-
principle of liberty into the administration
of human affairs. This liberty was based
on deeper foundations than the hereditary
freedom of the ancient republics. It ap-
pealed to a tribunal higher than any which
could exist upon earth. This antagonist
principle of independence, however, at
times apparently crushed, and submitting
to voluntary slavery, or even lending it-
self to be the instrument of arbitrary des-
potism, was inherent in the new religion,
and would not cease till it had asserted,
and, for a considerable period, exercised
an authority superior to that of the civil
government. Already in Athanasius might
be seen the one subject of Constantine
who dared to resist his will. From Atha-
nasius, who submitted, but with inflexible
adherence to his own opinions, to .Am-
brose, who rebuked the great Theodosius,
and from Ambrose up to the pope who
set his foot on the neck of the prostrate
emperor, the progress was slow, but natu-
ral and certain. In this profound pros-
tration of the human mind, and the total
extinction of the old sentiments of Ro-
man liberty; in the adumbration of the
world, by what assumed the pomp and
the language of an Asiatic despotism, it
is* impossible to calculate the latent as
well as open effect of this moral resist-
ance. In Constantinople, indeed,' and in
the East, the clergy never obtained suffi-
cient power to be formidable to the civil
authority; their feuds too often brought
them in a sort of moral servitude to the
foot of the throne ; still the Christian, and
the Christian alone, throughout this long
period of human degradation, breathed a
kind of atmosphere of moral freedom,
which raised him above the general level
of servile debasement.

During the reign of Constantine Chris-
tianity had made a rapid ad- how far the
vance, no doubt, in the number religion or
of its proselytes as well as in its the empire*
external position. It was not yet the es-
tablished religion of the empire. It did not
as yet stand forward as the new religion
adapted to the new order of things, as a
part of the great simultaneous changeHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

325

which gave to the Roman world a new
capital, a new system of government,
and, in some important instances, a new
jurisprudence. Yet, having sprung up at
once, under‘the royal favour, to a perfect
equality with the prevailing heathenism,
the mere manifestation of that favour,
where the antagonist religion hung so
loose upon the minds of .men, gave it
much of the power and authority of a
dominant faith. The religion of the em-
peror would soon become that of the
court, and, by somewhat slower degrees,
that of the empire. At present, however,
as we have seen, little open aggression
took place upon paganism. The few tem-
ples which were closed were insulated
cases, and condemned as offensive to pub-
lic morality. In general the temples
stood in all their former majesty, for as
yet the ordinary process of decay from
neglect or supineness could have produced
fittle effect. The difference was, that the
Christian churches began to assume a
more stately and imposing form. In the
new capital they surpassed in grandeur,
and probably in decoration, the pagan
temples, which belonged to old Byzan-
tium. The immunities granted to the
Christian clergy only placed them on the
same level with the pagan priesthood.
The pontifical offices were still held by
the distinguished men of the state : the
emperor himself was long the chief pontiff;
but the religious office had become a kind
of appendage to the temporal dignity.
The Christian prelates were constantly
admitted, in virtue of their office, to the
imperial presence.

On the state of society at large, on its
Effect of the different forms and gradations,
legal estab- little impression had as yet been
Christianity made by Christianity. I he
on society. Christians were still a separate
people ; their literature was exclusively
religious, and addressed, excepting in its
apologies, or its published exhortations
against paganism, to the initiate alone.
Its language would be unintelligible to
those uninstructed in Christian theology.
Yet the general legislation of Constan-
tine, independent of those edicts which
concerned the Christian community, bears
some evidence of the silent underworking
Laws relating of Christian opinion. The re-
tto Sundays, script, indeed, for the religious
observance of the Sunday, which enjoined
the suspension of all public business and
private labour, except that of agriculture,
was enacted, according to the apparent
terms of the decree, for the whole Roman
empire. Yet, unless we had direct proof
that the decree set forth the Christian

reason for the sanctity of the day, it may
be doubted whether the act would not' be
received by the greater part of the empire
as merely adding one more festival to the
fasti of the empire ; as proceeding entire-
ly from the will of the emperor, or even
grounded on his authority as supreme
pontiff, by which he had the plenary pow-
er of appointing holydays.* In fact, as
we have before observed, the day of the
Sun would be willingly hallowed, by al-
most all the pagan world, especially that
part which had admitted any tendency
towards the Oriental theology.

Where the legislation of Constantine
was of a humaner cast, it would Lawstend.
be unjust not to admit the influ- ing to hu
ence of Christian opinions, spread- mailit>'-
ing even beyond the immediate circle of
the Christian community, as at least a con-
current cause of the improvement. In one
remarkable instance there is direct au-
thority that a certain measure was adopt-
ed by the advice of an influential Chris-
tian. During the period of anarchy and
confusion which preceded the universal
empire of Constantine, the misery had
been so great, particularly in Africa and
Italy, that the sale of infants for slaves,
their exposure, and even infanticide, had
become fearfully common. Constantine is-
sued an edict, in which he declared that the
emperor should be considered the father
of all such children. It was a cruelty ir-
reconcilable with the spirit of the times
to permit any subjects of the empire to
perish of starvation, or to be reduced to
any unworthy action by actual hunger.
Funds were assigned for the food and
clothing of such children as the parents
should declare themselves unable to sup-
port, partly on the imperial revenues, part
ly on the revenues of the neighbouring
cities. As this measure did not prevent
the sale of children, parents were declared
incapable of reclaiming children thus sold,
unless they paid a reasonable price for
their enfranchisement.f Children which
had been exposed could not be reclaimed
from those who had received them into
their families, whether by adoption or as
slaves. Whatever may have been the
wisdom, the humanity of these ordinances
is unquestionable. They are said to have
been issued by the advice of Lactantius, to
whom had been intrusted the education
of Crispus, the son of Constantine.

* Cod. Theod., 1. 2, tit. 8 ; 1. 8, tit. 8; 1. 5, tit. 3.
Cod. Just., iii., 12. Euseb., Vit. Const., 18, 19, 20.
Sozom , i., 8.

f Codex Theodos., w, vii., 1. On the exposure
of children at this time, compare Lactantius.—D.
I., ii.f 20.32.6.

.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Child-stealing, for the purpose of selling
Concerning them for slaves, was visited with
slavery. a penalty which, both in its na-
ture and barbarity, retained the stamp of
the old Roman manners. The criminal was
condemned to the amphitheatre, either
to be devoured by wild beasts or exhibited
as a gladiator. Christianity had not as
yet allayed the passion for these savage
amusements of the Roman people ; yet,
in conjunction with the somewhat milder
manners of the East, it excluded gladia-
torial exhibitions from the new capital.
The Grecian amusements of the theatre
and of the chariot-race satisfied the popu-
lace of Constantinople. Whatever might
be the improved condition of the slaves
within the Christian community, the tone
of legislation preserves the same broad
and distinct line of demarcation between
the; two classes of society. The master,
indeed, was deprived of the arbitrary pow-
er of life and death. The death of a slave
under torture, or any excessive severity
of punishment, was punishable as homi-
cide ; but if he died under a moderate chas-
tisement, the master was not responsible.
In the distribution of the royal domains,
care was to be taken not to divide the fam-
ilies of the praedial slaves. It is a cruelty,
says the law, to separate parents and chil-
dren, brothers and sisters, husbands and
wives.* But marriages of free women
with slaves were punishable with death;
the . children of such unions were indeed
free, but could not inherit their mothers’
property. The person of dignity and sta-
tion who had children by a marriage con-
tract with a woman of base condition,
could not make.a testament in their fa-
vour ; even purchases made in their names
or for their benefit might be claimed by
the legitimate heirs. The base condition
comprehended not only slaves, but freed
women, actresses, tavern-keepers and
their daughters, as well as those of courte-
sans or gladiators. Slaves who were con-
cerned in the seduction of their masters’
children were to be burned alive without
distinction of sex. The barbarity of this
punishment rather proves the savage man-
ners of the time than the inferior condi-
tion of the slave ; for the receivers of the
royal domains who were convicted of dep-
redation or fraud were condemned to the
same penalty.f

* Cod. Theod.

t Manumission, which was performed under the
sanction of a religious ceremonial in the heathen
temples, might now be performed in the church;
the clergy might manumit their slaves in the pres-
ence of the Church.—Cod. Theod., iv., 7, 1.

This law must have connected Christianity in the

It can scarcely be doubted that the strict-
er moral tone of Constantine’s
legislation more or less remote- rape and ab.
ly emanated from .Christianity. ducfi011-
The laws against rape and seduction were
framed with so much rigour as probably
to make their general execution difficult,,
if not impracticable.* * The ravisher had
before escape/! with impunity: if the in-
jured party did not prosecute him for hia
crime, she had the right of demanding
reparation by marriage. By the law of
Constantine, the consent of the female
made her an accomplice in the crime ; she
was amenable to the same penalty. What
that penalty was is not quite clear, but it
seems that the ravisher was exposed to
the wild beasts in the amphitheatre. Even
where the female had suffered forcible ab-
duction, she had to acquit herself of all
suspicion of consent, either from levity of
manner or want of proper vigilance. Those
pests of society, the panders, who abused
the confidence of parents, and made a traf-
fic of the virtue of their daughters, were
in the same spirit condemned to a punish-
ment so horrible as no doubt more fre-
quently to ensure their impunity: melted
lead was to be poured down their throats.
Parents who did not prosecute such of-
fences were banished, and their property
confiscated. It is not, however, so much
the severity of the punishments, indica-
ting a stronger abhorrence of the crime, as
the social and moral evils of which it took
cognizance, which shows the remoter
workings of a sterner moral principle. A
religion which requires of its followers a
strict, as regards the Christianity of this
period, it may be said, an ascetic rigour,
desires to enforce on the mass of mankind
by the power of the law that which it can-
not effect by the more legitimate and per-
manent means of moral influence. In a
small community, where the law is the
echo of the public sentiment, or where it
rests on an acknowledged Divine authori-
ty, it may advance farther into the province
of morality, and extend its provisions into
every relation of society. The Mosaic
law, which, simultaneously with Law against
the Christian spirit, began to en- adultery,
ter into the legislation of the Christian em-
perors, in its fearful penalties imposed
upon the illicit commerce of the sexes,
concurred with the rigorous jealousy of
the Asiatic tribes of that region concern-
ing the honour of their women. But when

general sentiment with the emancipation of slaves,
—Compare Sozomen, i., 9, who says that Constan
tine issued three laws on the subject. The manu-
mission took place publicly at Easter.—Greg. Nyss.

* Cod. Theod.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

827

the laws of Constantine suddenly classed
the crime of adultery with those of poison
and assassination, and declared it a capi-
tal offence, it may be doubted whether any
improvement ensued, or was likely to en-
sue, in the public morals. Unless Chris-
tianity had already greatly corrected the
general licentiousness of the Roman world,
not merely within but without its pale, it
may safely be affrmed that the general and
impartial execution of such a statute was
impossible.* The severity of the law
Concerning against the breach of conjugal
divorce. ° fidelity was accompanied with
strong restrictions upon the facility of di-
vorce. Three crimes alone, in the husband,
justified the wife in demanding a legal
separation: homicide, poisoning, or the
violation of sepulchres. This latter crime
was apparently very frequent, and looked
upon with great abhorrence.f In these
cases the wife recovered her dowry; if
she separated for any other cause, she for-
feited all to a single needle, and was lia-
ble to perpetual banishment.J The hus-
band, in order to obtain a divorce, must
convict his wife of poisoning, adultery, or
keeping notoriously infamous company.
In all other cases he restored the whole
of the dowry. If he married again, the
former wife, thus illegally cut off, might
claim his whole property, and even the
dowry of the second wife. These im-
pediments to the dissolution of the mar-
riage tie, the facility of which experience
and reason concur in denouncing as de-
structive of social virtue and domestic
happiness, with its penalties affecting the
property rather than the person, were
more likely to have a favourable and ex-
tensive operation than the sanguinary pro-
scription of adultery. Marriage being a
civil contract in the Roman world, the
state had full right to regulate the stabil-
ity and the terms of the compact. Iii oth-
er respects, in which the jurisprudence as-
sumed a higher tone, Christianity, I should
conceive, was far more influential through
its religious persuasiveness than by the
rigour which it thus impressed upon the

* It may be admitted, as some evidence of the in-
efficiency of this law, that in the next reign the
penalties were actually aggravated. The criminals
were condemned either to be burned alive or sew-
ed up in a sack and cast into the sea.
t Codex Theodos , iii. 16, 1.
t The law of Constantine and Constans, which
made intermarriage with a niece a capital crime, is
supposed by Godefroy to have been a local act, di-
rected against the laxity of Syrian morals in this
respect.—Cod. Theod , iii., 12, 1. The law issued
at Rome, prohibiting intermarriage with the sister
of a deceased wife, annulled the marriage and bas-
tardized the children.—-iii., 12, 2.

laws of the empire. That nameless crime,
the universal disgrace of Greek Against pas-
and Roman society, was far derasty.
more effectively repressed by the abhor-
rence infused into the public sentiment by
the pure religion of the Gospel, than by
the penalty of death enacted by statute
against the offence. Another law of un-
questionable humanity, and prob- Making oi
ably of more extensive opera- eunu hs*
tion, prohibited the making of eunuchs.
The slave who had suffered this mutilation
might at once claim his freedom.*

Perhaps the greatest evidence of the
secret aggression of Christian- LawsfaV0ur-
ity, or rather, in our opinion, able to eoli-
th e foreign Asiatic principle bacy*
which was now completely interwoven
with Christianity, was the gradual’relax-
ation of the laws unfavourable to celibacy.
The Roman law had always proceeded on
the principle of encouraging the multipli-
cation of citizens, particularly in the higher
orders, which, from various causes, es-
pecially the general licentiousness under
the later republic and the early empire,
were in danger of becoming extinct. The
parent of many children was a public bene-
factor; the unmarried man a useless bur-
den, if not a traitor, to the well-being of
the state. The small establishment of the
vestal virgins was evidently the remains
of an older religion, inconsistent with the
general sentiment and manners of Rome.

'On this point the encroachment of Chris-
tianity was slow and difficult. The only
public indication of its influence was the
relaxation of the Papiapoppaean law. This
statute enforced certain disabilities on those
who were unmarried, or without children
by their marriage, at the age of twenty-
five. The former could only inherit from
their nearest relations ; the latter obtained
only the tenth of any inheritance which
might devolve on their wives, the moiety
of property devised to them by will. The
forfeiture went to the public treasury, and
was a considerable source of profit. Con-
stantine attempted to harmonize the two
conflicting principles. He removed the
disqualifications on celibacy, but he left
the statute in force against married per-
sons who were without children. In more
manifest deference to Christianity, he ex-
tended the privilege hitherto confined to
the vestal virgins, of making their will,
and that before the usual age appointed
by the law, to all who had made a reli-
gious vow of celibacy.

Even after his death, both religions vied,

* All these laws will be found in the Theodosian
Code, under the name of Constantine, at the com
mencement of each book.328

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Burial of as it were, for -Constantine. He
Constantine, received with impartial favour,
the honours of both. The first Christian
emperor was deified by the pagans ; in a
later period he was worshipped as a saint
by part of the Christian Church. On the
same medal appears his title of “ God,”
with the monogram, the sacred smybol of
Christianity; in another he is seated in
the chariot of the Sun, in a car drawn by
four horses, with a hand stretched forth
from the clouds to raise him to heaven.* * * §
But to show respect at once to the em-
peror and to the Christian apostle, con-
trary to the rigid usage, which forbade
any burial to take place within the city,
Constantine was interred in the porch of
the church dedicated to the apostles. Con-
stantius did great honour (in Chrysos-
tom’s opinion) 1 a his imperial father by
burying him in the Fisherman’s Porch.f

During the reign of Constantine Chris-
conversion tianity continued to advance be-
of Ethiopia, yond the borders of the Roman
empire, and n. some degree to indemnify
herself for the losses which she sustained
in the kingdom of Persia. The Ethiopi-
ans appear to have attained some degree
of civilization; a considerable part of the
Arabian commerce was kept up with the
other side of the Red Sea through the
port of Adulis; and Greek letters appear,
from inscriptions recently discovered,J to
have made considerable progress among
this barbarous people. The Romans call-
ed this country, with that of the Homer-
ites on the other side of the Arabian gulf,
by the vague name of the nearer India.
Travellers were by no means uncommon
in these times, whether for purposes of
trade, or, following the traditional history
of the ancient sages, from the more dis-
interested desire of knowledge. Metro-
dorus, a philosopher, had extended his
travels throughout this region,§ and, on

* Inter Divos meruit referri.—Eutrop., x., 8. Eck-
hel., doct, numm. viii., 92, 93. Bolland, 21st Maij.
Compare Le Beau, Hist, du Bas Empire, i., p. 388.
Beugnot, i., 109.

There exists a calendar in which the festivals of
the new god are indicated.—Acad, des Inscrip., xv.,
106.

f Chrysost., Horn. 60, in 2 Cor.

t That published by Mr. Salt, from the ruins of
Axum, had already appeared in the work of Cos-
mas Indicopleustes, edited by Montfaucon; Nie-
buhr published another, discovered by Gau in Nu-
bia, relating to Silco, king of that country.

§ The same Metrodorus afterward made a jour-
ney into farther India; his object was to visit the
Brahmins, to examine their religious tenets and
practices. Metrodorus instructed the Indians in
the construction of water-mills and baths In their
gratitude, they opened to him the inmost sanctuary
of their temples. But the virtue of the philosopher
Metrodorus was not proof against the gorgeous

his return, the account of his adventures
induced another person of the same class,
Meropius of Tyre, to visit the same re-
gions. Meropius was accompanied by two
youths, Edesius and Frumentius. Mero
pius, with most of his followers, fell in a
massacre arising out of some sudden in-
terruption of the peace between the Ethi-
opians and the Romans. Edesius and
Frumentius were spared on account of
their youth. They were taken into the
service of the king, and gradually rose
till one became the royal cup-bearer, the
other the administrator of the royal finan-
ces. The king died soon after they had
been elevated to these high distinctions,
and bequeathed their liberty to the stran-
gers. .The queen entreated them to con-
tinue their valuable services till her son
should attain to full age. The Romans
complied with her request, and the su-
preme government of the kingdom of
Ethiopia was administered by these two
Romans, but the chief post was occupied
by Frumentius. Of the causes which dis-
posed the mind of Frumentius towards
Christianity we know nothing ; he is rep-
resented as seized with an eager desire of
becoming acquainted with its tenets, and
anxiously inquiring whether any Chris-
tians existed in the country, or could be
found among the Roman travellers who
visited it.* It is more probable, since
there were so many Jews both on the
Arabian and African side of the gulf, that
some earlier knowledge of Christianity
had spread into these regions. But it
was embraced with ardour by Frumentius;

treasures which dazzled his eyes; he stole a great
quantity of pearls and other jewels; others he
said that he had received as a present to Constan-
tine from the King of India. He appeared in Con-
stantinople. The emperor received, with the high-
est satisfaction, those magnificent gifts which Me-
trodorus presented in his own name. But Metro-
dorus complained that his offerings would have
been far more sumptuous if he had not been at-
tacked on his way through Persia, contrary to the
spirit of the existing peace between the empires,
and plundered of great part of his treasures. Con-
stantine, it is said, wrote an indignant remon-
strance to the King of Persia. This story is cu-
rious, as it shows the connexion kept up by tra-
ders and travellers with the farther East, which
accounts for the allusions to Indian tenets and usa-
ges in the Christian as well as the pagan writers
of the time. It rests on the late authority of Ce-
drenus (t. i., p. 295), but is confirmed by a passage
of Ammianus Marcellinus, wno, however, places
it in the reign of Constantius. Sed Constantium
ardores Parthicossuccendisse, cum Metrodori men*
daciis avidius acquiescit, 1. xxv., c. 4. Compare St.
Martin’s additions to Le Beau, i., 343.

* Sozomen, in his ignorance, has recourse to vis
ions or direct Divine inspiration. Qelaig latog ttpo-
Toairelg km^aveLaig, ?} ml avrofiarug rov
k vovvrog.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

329

ne built a church, and converted many of
the people. When the young king came
of age, notwithstanding the remonstrances
of the prince and his mother, Frumentius
passed through Alexandrea, and, having
communicated to Athanasius the happy
beginnings of the Gospel in that wild re-
gion, the influence of that commanding
prelate induced him to accept the mission
of the Apostle of India. He was conse-
crated Bishop of Axum by the Alexan-
drean prelate, and that see was always
considered to owe allegiance to the patri-
archate of Alexandrea. The preaching of
Frumentius was said to have been emi-
nently successful, not merely among the
Ethiopians, but the neighbouring tribes of
Nubians and Blemmyes. His name is
still reverenced as the first of the Ethio-
pian pontiffs. But probably in no coun-
try did Christianity so soon degenerate
into a mere form of doctrine ; the wild in-
habitants of these regions sank downward
rather than ascended in the scale of civili-
zation ; and the fruits of Christianity, hu-
manity and knowledge, were stifled amid
the conflicts of savage tribes by ferocious
manners and less frequent intercourse with
more cultivated nations.

The conversion of the Iberians* was the
of the work of a holy virgin. Nino was
Iberians, among the Armenian maidens who
fled from the persecutions of the Persians,
and found refuge among the warlike na-
tion of Iberia, the modern Georgia. Her
seclusion, her fasting and-constant pray-
ers, excited the wonder of these fierce
warriors. Two cures which she is said
to have wrought, one on the wife of the
king, still farther directed the attention of
the people to the marvellous stranger.

The grateful queen became a convert to
Christianity. Mihran, the king, still wa
vered between the awe of his ancient dei
ties, the fear of his subjects, and his men
nation to the new and wonder-working
faith. One day, when he was hunting in
a thick and intricate wood, he was en
veloped in a sudden and impenetrable
mist. Alone, separated from his com-
panions, his awe-struck mind thought ol
the Christians’ God; he determined to
embrace the Christian faith. On a sud-
den the mist cleared off, the light shone
gloriously down, and in this natural im-
age the king beheld the confirmation of
the light of truth spread abroad within his
soul. After much opposition, the temple
of the great god Aramazd (the Ormuzd of
the Persian system) was levelled with the
earth. A cross was erected upon its ru-
ins by tbe triumphant Nino, which was
long worshipped as the palladium of the
kingdom.* Wonders attended on the con-
struction of the first Christian church.
An obstinate pillar refused to rise, and
defied the utmost mechanical skill of the
people to force it from its oblique and
pendant position. The holy virgin pass-
ed the night in prayer. On tfie morning
the pillar rose majestically of its own ac-
cord, and stood upright upon its pedestal.
The wondering people burst into accla-
mations of praise to the Christians’ God,
and generally embraced the faith. The
King of Iberia entered into an alliance
with Constantine, who sent him valuable
presents and a Christian bishop. Eusta-
thius, it is said, the deposed patriarch of
Antioch, undertook this mission by the
command of the emperor, and Iberia was
thus secured to the Christian faith.

CHAPTER V.

CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SONS OF CONSTANTINE.

If Christianity was making such rapid
Accession of progress in the conquest of the
the sons of world, the world was making
Constantine. fearful reprisals on Christianity.
By enlisting new passions and interests in
its cause, religion surrendered itself to an
inseparable fellowship with those passions
and interests. The more it mingles with
the tide of human affairs, the more turbid
becomes the stream of Christian history.

* Socrates, i., 20. Sozomen, ii., c. 7. Rufin.,
x., 10. Theodoret, i., 24. Moses Choren, lib. ii.,
c. 83. Klaproth, Travels in Georgia.-

T T

In the intoxication of power, the Christian,
like ordinary men, forgot his original char-
acter: and the religion of Jesus, instead
of diffusing peace and happiness through
society, might, to the superficial observer
of human affairs, seem introduced, only as
a new element of dis ord and misery into
the society of man.

The Christian emperor dies ; he is sue-.

* In 1801 this cross, or that which perpetual tra-
dition accounted as the identical cross, was remo-
ved to Petersburg by Prince Bagration. It was re-
stored, to the great joy of the nation, by order oi
the Emperor Alexander.330

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

cecded by his sons, educated in the faith
of the Gospel. The first act of the new
reign is the murder of one of the brothers,
and of the aiephews of the deceased sov-
ereign, who were guilty of being named
in the will of Constantine as joint heirs to
the empire. This act, indeed, was that of
a ferocious soldiery, though the memory
of Constantius is not free from the sus-
picion, at least, of connivance in these
bloody deeds. Christianity appears only
in a favourable light as interposing be-
tween the assassins and their victim.
Marcus, bishop of Arethusa, saved Julian
from his enemies : the future apostate was
concealed under the altar of the church.
Yet, on the accession of the sons of Con-
stantine, to the causes of fraternal ani-
mosity usual on the division of a kingdom
between several brothers was added that
Religious re^g*ous hostility. The two
differem-is of emperors (for they were speed-
ihe two sur- ily reduced to two) placed them-
vivmg sons. sejves a£ the head of the two
contending parties in Christianity. The
weak and voluptuous Constans adhered
with inflexible firmness to the cause of
Athanasius; the no less weak and tyran-
nical Constantius to that of Arianism.
The East was arrayed against the West.
At Rome, at Alexandrea, at Sardica, and
afterward at Arles and Milan, Athanasius
was triumphantly acquitted; at Antioch,
cA Philippopolis, and finally at Rimini, he
was condemned with almost equal una-
nimity. Even within the Qhurch itself,
the distribution of the superior dignities
became an object of fatal ambition and
Aife. The streets of Alexandrea and
Constantinople were deluged with blood
by the partisans of rival bishops. In the
latter, an officer of high distinction, sent
by the emperor to quelL the tumult, was
slain, and his body treated with the utmost
indignity by the infuriated populace.

To dissemble or to disguise these mel-
ancholy facts is alike inconsistent with
Christian truth and wisdom. In some de-
gree they are accounted for by the pro-
verbial reproach against history, that it is
the record of human folly and crime; and
history, when the world became impreg-
nated with Christianity, did not at once
assume a higher office. In fact, it extends
its view only over the surface of society,
below which, in general, lie human'virtue
and happiness. This would be especially
the case with regard to Christianity,
whether it withdrew from the .sight of
man, according to the monastic interpreta-
tion of its precepts, into solitary commu-
nion with the Deity, or, in its more genuine
spirit, was content with exercising its hu-

manizing influence in the more remote
and obscure quarters of the general social
system.

Even the annals of the Church take be Je
notice of those cities where the Christian
episcopate passed calmly down through a
succession of pious and beneficent prel-
ates, who lived and died in the undisturb-
ed attachment and veneration of their
Christian disciples, and respected by the
hostile pagans ; men whose noiseless
course of beneficence was constantly di-
minishing the mass of human misery, and
improving the social, the moral, as well
as the religious condition of mankind.
But an election contested with violence,
or a feud which divided a city into hostile
parties, arrested the general attention, and
was perpetuated in the records, at first of
the Church, afterward of the empire.

But, in fact, the theological opinions of
Christianity naturally made more
rapid progress than its moral in- slow* thanu
fluence. The former had only to religious
overpower the resistance of a re- reV0iul1011*
ligion which had already lost its hold upon
the mind, or a philosophy too speculative
for ordinary understandings and too un-
satisfactory for the more curious and in-
quiring ; it had only to enter, as it were,
into a vacant place in the mind of man.
But the moral influence had to contest, not
only with the natural dispositions of man,
but with the barbarism and depraved man-
ners of ages. While, -then, the religion of
the world underwent a total change, the
Church rose on the ruins of the temple,
and the pontifical establishment of pagan-
ism became gradually extinct or suffered
violent suppression; the moral revolution
was far more slow and far less complete.
With a large portion of mankind, it must
be admitted that the religion itself was
paganism under another form and with
different appellations ; with another part
it was the religion passively received,
without any change in the moral senti-
ments or habits ; with a third, and perhaps
the more considerable part, there was a
transfer of the passions and the intellect-
ual activity to a new cause.* They were
completely identified with Christianity,
and to a certain degree actuated by its
principles, but they did not apprehend the
beautiful harmony which subsists between
its doctrines and its moral perfection. Its

* “If,” said the dying Bishop of Constantinople,
“ you would have for my successor a man who
would edify you by the example of his life and
improve you by the purity of his precepts, choose
Paul; if a man versed in the affairs of the world,
and able to maintain the interests of religion, you
suffrages must be given to Macedonius.”—Socr.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

331

dogmatic purity was the sole engrossing
subject; the unity of doctrine superseded
and obscured alL other considerations, even
of that sublimer unity of principles and
effects, of the loftiest views of the Divine
nature, with the purest conceptions of hu-
man virtue. Faith not only overpowered,
but discarded from her fellowship Love
and Peace. Everywhere there was exag-
geration of one of the constituent elements
of Christianity ; that exaggeration which
is the inevitable consequence of a strong
impulse upon the human mind. Wherev-
er men feel strongly, they act violently.
The more speculative Christians, there-
fore, who were more inclined, in the deep
and somewhat selfish solicitude for their
own salvation, to isolate themselves from
the infected mass of mankind, pressed into
the extreme of asceticism ; the more prac-
tical, who were earnest in the desire of
disseminating the blessings of religion
throughout society, scrupled little to press
into their service whatever might advance
their cause. With both extremes the dog-
matical part of the religion predominated.
The monkish believer imposed the same
severity upon the aberrations of the mind
as upon the appetites of the body ; and, in
general, those who are severe to them-
selves are both disposed and think them-
selves entitled to enforce the same sever-
ity on others. The other, as his sphere
became more extensive, was satisfied with
an adhesion to the Christian creed instead
of that total change of lifeAlemanded of the
early Christian, and watched over with
such jealous vigilance by the mutual su-
perintendence of a. small society. The
creed, thus become the sole test, was en-
forced with all the passion of intense zeal,
and guarded with the most subtle and scru-
pulous jealousy. In proportion to the ad-
mitted importance of the creed, men be-
came more sternly and exclusively wed-
ded to their opinions. Thus an antago-
nist principle of exclusiveness coexisted
with the most comprehensive ambition.
While they swept in converts indiscrim-
inately from the palace and the public
street, while the emperor and the lowest
of the populace were alike admitted on
little more than the open profession of
allegiance, they were satisfied if their al-
legiance in this respect was blind and
complete. Hence a far larger admixture
of human passions, and the common vul-
gar incentives of action, were infused into
the expanding Christian body. Men be-
came Christians, orthodox Christians, with
little sacrifice of that which Christianity
aimed chiefly to extirpate. Yet, after all,
this imperfect view of Christianity had

probably some effect in concentrating the
Christian community, and holding it to-
gether by a new and more indissoluble
bond. The world divided into two par-
ties. Though the shades of Arianism,
perhaps, if strictly decomposed, of Trini-
tarianism, were countless as the varying
powers of conception or expression in
man, yet they were soon consolidated into
two compact masses. The semi-Arians,
who approximated so closely to the Ni-
cene Creed, were forced back into the
main body. Their fine distinctions were
not seized by their adversaries or by the
general body of the Christians. The bold
and decisive definitiveness of the Athan-
asian doctrine admitted less discretion;
and, no doubt, though political vicissitudes
had some influence on the final establish-
ment of their doctrines, the more illiterate
and less imaginative West was predis-
posed to the Athanasian opinions by its
natural repugnance to the more vague and
dubious theory. All, however, were en-
rolled under one or the other standard,
and the part}" which triumphed eventually
would rule the whole Christian world.

Even the feuds of Christianity at this
period, though with the few more dispas-
sionate and reasoning of the pagans they
might retard its progress, in some respects
contributed to its advancement; they as-
sisted in breaking up that torpid stagna-
tion which brooded over the general mind.
It gave a new object of excitement to the
popular feeling. The ferocious and igno-
rant populace of the large cities, which
found a new aliment in Christian faction
for their mutinous and sanguinary out-
bursts of turbulence, had almost been bet-
ter left to sleep on in the passive and un-
destructive quiet of pagan indifference.
They were dangerous allies, more than
dangerous, fatal to the purity of the Gos-
pel.

Athanasius stands out as the prominent
character of the period in the , ,

history, not merely of Christian- 1 *',asms‘
ity, but of the world. That history is one
long controversy, the life of Athanasius
one unwearied and incessant strife.* . It
.is neither the serene course of a being el-
evated by his religion above the cares and
tumults of ordinary life, nor the restless
activity of one perpetually employed in a
conflict: with the ignorance, vice, and mis-
ery of an unconverted people. Yet even
•now (so eompletely.has this polemic spirit
become incorporated with Christianity)
the memory of Athanasius is regarded by

* Life of Athanasius prefixed to his works —
Tillemont, Vie d’Athanase,332

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

many wise and good men with reverence,
which in Catholic countries is actual ad-
oration, in Protestant approaches towards
it.* It is impossible, indeed, not to ad-
mire the force of intellect which he cen-
tred on this minute point of theology,
his intrepidity, his constancy ; but had he
not the power to allay the feud which his
inexorable spirit tended to keep alive 1
Was the term consubstantialism absolute-
ly essential to Christianity 1 If a some-
what wider creed had been accepted,
would not the truth at least as soon and
as generally have .prevailed 1 Could not
the commanding or persuasive voice of
Christianity have awed or charmed the
troubled waters to peace I
But Athanasius, in exile, would consent
to no peace which did not prostrate his
antagonists before his feet. He had ob-
tained complete command over the minds
of the Western emperors. The demand
for his restoration to his see was not an
appeal to the justice or the fraternal af-
fection of Constantius, it was a question
of peace or war. Constantius submitted;
he .received the prelate on his return with
courtesy, or, rather, with favour and dis-
tinction. Athanasius entered Alexandrea
a.d. 338. at head °f a triumphal pro-
Restoration cession; the bishops of his par-
sfAoAie'*- ty resumed their sees; all Egypt
andrea. returned to its obedience; but
a.d. 340. the more inflexible Syria still
waged the war with unallayed activity.
A council was held at Tyre, in which new
charges were framed against the Alexan-
drean prelate : the usurpation of his see
in defiance of his condemnation by a coun-
cil (the imperial power seems to have
been treated with no great respect); for a
prelate, it was asserted, deposed by a
council, could only be restored by the
same authority ; violence and bloodshed
during his reoccupation of the see ; and
malversation of sums of money intended
for the poor, but appropriated to his own
use. A rival council at Alexandrea at
once acquitted Athanasius on all these
points; asserted his right to the see ; ap-
pealed to and avouched the universal rejoi-
cings at his restoration; his rigid adminis-
tration of the funds intrusted to his care.f

* Compare Mohler, Athanasius der Grosse nnd
seine zeit (Maintz, 1827), and Newman’s Arians.
The former is the work of a very powerful Roman
Catholic writer, labouring to show that all the vital
principles of Christianity were involved in this con-'
troversy, and stating one side of the question with
consummate ability. It is the panegyric of a dutiful
son on him whom he calls the father of Church
theology.—P. 304.

•f Compare throughout the ecclesiastical histo-
rians Theodoret, Socrates, and Sozomen.

A more august assembly of Christian
prelates met in the presence of A.D, 34]<
the emperor at Antioch. Ninety Council a*
bishops celebrated the consecra- Antloch*
tion of a splendid edifice, called the Church
of Gold. The council then entered on
the affairs of the Church; a creed was
framed satisfactory to all, except that it
seemed carefully to exclude the term con-
substantial or Homoousion. The council
ratified the decrees of that of Tyre with
regard to Athanasius. It is asserted, ou
his part, that the majority had withdrawn
to their dioceses before the introduction
of this question, and that a factious mi-
nority of forty prelates assumed and abu-
sed the authority of the council. They
proceeded to nominate a new bishop of
Alexandrea. Pistus, who had before been
appointed to the see, was passed over in
silence, probably as too inactive or unam-
bitious for their purpose. Gregory, a na-
tive of the wilder region of Cappadocia,
but educated under Athanasius himself in
the more polished schools of Alexandrea,
wras invested with this more important
dignity. Alexandrea, peaceably reposing,
it is said, under the paternal episcopate of
Athanasius, was suddenly startled by the
appearance of an edict, signed by the im-
perial praefect, announcing the degradation
of Athanasius and the appointment of
Gregory. Scenes of savage conflict en-
sued ; the churches.were taken, as it were,
by storm ; the priests of the Athanasian
party were treated with the utmost indig-
nity ; virgins scourged; every atrocity
perpetrated by unbridled multitudes, im-
bittered by every shade of religious fac-
tion. The Alexandrean populace were
always ripe for tumult and bloodshed.
The pagans and the Jews mingled in the
fray, and seized the opportunity, no doubt,
of showing their impartial animosity to
both parties, though the Arians (and, as
the original causes of the tumult, not with-
out justice) were loaded with the unpopu-
larity of this odious alliance. They ar-
rayed themselves on the side of the sol-
diery appointed to execute the decree of
the praefect; and the Arian bishop is
charged, not with much probability, with
abandoning the churches to their pillage.
Athanasius fled; a second time Athanasius
an exile, he took refuge in the flies to
West. He appeared again at Rome-
Rome, in the dominions and. under the
protection of an orthodox emperor; for
Constans, who, after the death of Con-
stantine, the first protector of Athanasius,
had obtained the larger part of the empire
belonging to his murdered brother, was
no less decided in his .support of the NkHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

333

cene opinions. The two great Western
prelates, Hosius of Cordova, eminent from
his age and character, and Julius, bishop
of Rome, from the dignity of his see.
openly espoused his cause. Wherever
Athanasius resided — at Alexandrea, in
Gaul, in Rome—in general the devoted
clergy, and even the people, adhered with
unshaken fidelity to his tenets. Such was
the commanding dignity of his character,
such his power of profoundly stamping
his opinions on the public mind.

The Arian party, independent of their
speculative opinions, cannot be absolved
from the unchristian heresy of cruelty and
revenge. However darkly coloured, we
cannot reject the general testimony to
their acts of violence, wherever they at-
tempted to regain their authority. Greg-
Usurpation ory is said to have attempted to
of Gregory, compel bishops, priests, monks,
and holy virgins to Christian communion
with a prelate thus forced upon them, by
every kind of insult and outrage ; by
scourging and beating with clubs : those
were fortunate who escaped with exile.*
But, if Alexandrea was disturbed by the
hostile excesses of the Arians; in Con-
stantinople itself the conflicting religious
parties gave rise to the first of those popu-
lar tumults which so frequently, in later
times, distracted and disgraced the city.
Eusebius, formerly Bishop of Nicomedia,
the main support of the Arian party, had
risen to the episcopacy of the imperial
city. His enemies reproached the world-
ly ambition which deserted an humbler
for a more eminent see; but they were
not less inclined to contest this important
post with the utmost activity. At his
death the Athanasian party revived the
claims of Paul, whom they asserted to
have been canonically elected, and un-
justly deposed froiji the see ; the Arians
Bloody supported Macedonius. The dis-
quarrei at pute spread from the church into
nopietanti" ^e streets’ from the clergy to
SUs the populace ; blood was shed ;
the whole city was in arms on one part or
the other.

The emperor was at Antioch ; he com-
manded Hermogenes, who was appointed
to the command of the cavalry in Thrace,
to pass through Constantinople and expel
the intruder Paul. Hermogenes, at the
-head of his soldiery, advanced to force
Paul from the church. The populace
rose ; the soldiers were repelled; the
general took refuge in a house, which was
instantly set on fire ; the mangled body

* Athanas., Oper., p. 112, 149, 350, 352, and the
ecclesiastical historians in loc.

of Hermogenes was dragged through the
streets, and at length cast into the sea.
Constantius heard this extraordinary in-
telligence at Antioch. The contempt of
the imperial mandate, the murder of an
imperial officer in the contested nomina-
tion of a bishop, were as yet so new in
the annals of the world ‘as to fill him with
equal astonishment and indignation. He
mounted his horse, though it was winter,
and the mountain passes were dangerous
and difficult with snow ; he hastened with
the utmost speed to Constantinople. But
the deep humiliation of the senate and
the heads of the people, who prostrated
themselves at his feet, averted his resent-
ment : the people were punished by a
diminution of the usual largess of corn.
Paul was expelled ; but, as though some
blame adhered to both the conflicting par-
ties, the election of Macedonius was not
confirmed, although he was allowed to
exercise the episcopal functions. Paul
retired, first to Thessalonica, subsequent-
ly to the court of Constans.

The remoter consequences of the Ath-
anasian controversy began to directs of the
develop themselves at this ear- Trinitarian
ly period. The Christianity of controversy
the East and the West gradual- m tle ef5t*
ly assumed a divergent and independent
character. Though, during a short time,
the Arianism of the Ostrogothic conquer
ors gave a temporary predominance in It-
aly to that creed, the West in general sub-
mitted in uninquiring acquiescence to the
Trinitarianism of Athanasius. In the
East, on the other hand, though the doc-
trines of Athanasius eventually obtained
the superiority, the controversy gave birth
to a long and unexhausted line of subordi-
nate disputes. The East retained its min-
gled character of Oriental speculativeness
and Greek subtlety. It could not abstain
from investigating and analyzing the Di-
vine nature, and the relations of Christ
and the Holy Ghost to the Supreme Being.
Macedonianism, Nestorianism, Eutychian-
ism, with the fatal disputes relating to the
procession of the Holy Ghost during al-
most the last hours of the Byzantine em-
pire, may be considered the lineal descend-
ants of this prolific controversy. The op-
position of the East and W~est of itself
tended to increase the authority of that
prelate, who assumed his acknowledged
station as the head and representative of
the Western churches. The commanding
and popular part taken by the Bishop of
Rome in favour of Athanasius and his doc
trines*, enabled him to stand forth in un
disputed authority as at once the chief of
the Western episcopate and the chamoion334

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of orthodoxy. The age of Hosius, and
his residence in a remote province, with-
drew the only competitor for this superi-
Athanasius ority. Athanasius took up his
at Roma, residence at Rome, and, under
the protection of the Roman prelate, de-
fied his adversaries to a new contest. Ju-
juiius, bisti- lius summoned the accusers of
op Of Home. Athanasius to plead the cause
before a council in Rome.* The Eastern
prelates altogether disclaimed his jurisdic-
tion, and rejected his pretensions to re-
judge the cause of a bishop already con-
demned by the council of Tyre. The an-
swer of Julius is directed rather to the
justification of Athanasius than to the as-
sertion of his own authority. The synod
synod at of Rome solemnly acquitted Atli-
iiome. anasius, Paul, and all their adhe-
rents. The Western emperor joined in
the sentiments of his clergy. A second
a.d. 343. council at Milan, in the presence
At Milan. 0f Constans, confirmed the decree
of Rome. Constans proposed to his broth-
er to convoke a general council of both
empires. A neutral or border ground was
chosen for this decisive conflict. At Sar-
Councii of dica met one hundred prelates
Sardica. from the West, from the East
a.d. 345-6. orqy seventy-five.f Notwith-
standing his age and infirmities, Hosius
travelled from the extremity of the empire ;
and it is remarkable that the Bishop of
Rome, so zealous in the cause of Athana-
sius, alleged an excuse for his absence,
which may warrant the suspicion that he
was unwilling to be obscured in this im-
portant scene by the superior authority of
Hosius. Five of the Western prelates,
among whom were Ursacius of Singidu-
num and Valens of Mursa, embraced the
Arian cause: the Arians complained of
the defection of two bishops from their
body, who betrayed their secret counsels
To their adversaries.J In all these coun-
cils :it appears not to have occurred that,
religion being a matter of faith, the suf-
frages of the majority could not possibly

' * Julius is far from asserting any individual au-
thority or pontifical supremacy. “ Why do you
alone write V’ “ Because I represent the opinions
of the bishops of Italy.”—Epist. Julian, Athanas.,
Op., i., 146.

The ecclesiastical historians, however, in the next
century, assert that Rome claimed the right of ad-
judication. Tvuplfrvaiv ovv r& hmcnfattp Tcopyg
'lovXup to, Kad’ kauTovg- 6 6s are irpovopsa rye sv
T6pr] sm\yatag sxovcryg^—Socr., E. H., ii., 15.
Ola 6e rC)v 'kllvtqv Ky6sp.ovlag avr$ TrpoarjKovayg
6ta rrjv a^lav rod d-povov.—Soz. E. H., iii., 8.

. f By som? accounts there were 100 Western
bishops, 73 Eastern.

% Concilia Labbe, vol. iii., Athanas. contr. Arian,
&.c.

impose a creed upon a conscientious mi-
nority. The question had been too often
agitated to expect that it could be placed
in a new light.

On matters of fact, the suffrages of the
more numerous 'party might have weight,
in the personal condemnation, for instance,
or the acquittal of Athanasius; but as
these suffrages could not convince the un-
derstanding of those who voted on the
other side, the theological decisions must
of necessity be rejected, unless the minor-
ity would submit likewise to the humilia-
ting confession of insincerity, ignorance,
or precipitancy in judgment.* The Arian
•minority did not await this issue ; having
vainly attempted to impede the progress
of the council by refusing to sanction the
presence of persons excommunicated, they
seceded to Philippopolis in Thrace. 11.
these two cities sat the rival Rivai C01!n
councils, each asserting itself cii at Phii-
the genuine representative of 1I,popolls
Christendom, issuing decrees and anathe-
matizing their adversaries. The Arians
are accused of maintaining their influence,
even in the East, by acts of great cruelty.
In Adrianople, in Alexandrea, they enfor-
ced submission to their tenets by the
scourge and by heavy penalties.!

The Western council at Milan accepted
and ratified the decrees of the council of
Sardica, absolving Athanasius of all crim-
inality, and receiving his doctrines as the
genuine and exclusive truths of the Gos-
pel. On a sudden affairs took ReconciHa-
a new turn ; Constantius threw tio11 of Co;y
himself, as it were, at the feet Athanasius,
of Athanasius, and in three sue- a.d. 349.
cessive letters entreated him to resume his
episcopal throne. The emperor and the
prelate (who had delayed at first to obey,
either from fear or from pride, the flatter-
ing invitation) met at ^ntioch with mutu-
al expressions of respect and cordiality.J
Constantius commanded all the accusa-
tions against Athanasius to be erased from
the registers of the city. He commended
the prelate to the people of Alexandrea in
terms of courtly flattery, which harshly
contrast with his former, as well as with

* The Oriental bishops protested against the as-
sumption of supremacy by the Western. Novatn
legem introduces putaverunt, ut Orientales Epis-
copi ab Occidentalibus judicarentur.—Apud Hilar,
Fragm., iii.

f The cause of Marcellus of Ancyra, whom the
Eusebian party accused of. Sabellianism, was
throughout connected with that of Athanasius.

f The emperor proposed to Athanasius to leavo
one church to the Arians at Alexandrea ; Athana-
sius dexterously eluded the request by very fairly
demanding that one church in Antioch, where the
Arians predominated, should be set apart for those
of his communion.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

335

his subsequent, conduct to Athanasius.
The Arian bishop, Gregory, was dead, and
Athanasius, amid the universal joy, re-en-
tered the city. The bishops crowded from
all parts to-salute and congratulate the
prelate who had thus triumphed over the
malice even of imperial enemies. Incense
curled up in all the streets ; the city was
brilliantly illuminated. It was an ovation
by the admirers of Athanasius ; it is said
to have been a Christian ovation; alms
were lavished on the poor; every house
resounded with prayer and thanksgiving
as if it were a church; the triumph of
Athanasius was completed by the recan-
tation of Ursacius and Valens, two of his
most powerful antagonists.*

This sudden change in the policy of
a D 349 Constantius is scarcely explicable
upon the alleged motives. It is
ascribed to the detection of an infamous
conspiracy against one of the Western
bishops, deputed on a mission to Constan-
tius. The aged prelate was charged with
incontinence, but the accusation recoiled
on its inventors. A man of infamous char-
acter, Onager the wild ass, the chief con-
ductor of the plot, on being detected, avow-
ed himself the agent of Stephen, the Arian
bishop of Antioch. Stephen was igno-
miniously deposed from his see. Yet this
single fact would scarcely have at once
estranged the mind of Constantius from
the interests of the Arian party ; his sub-
sequent conduct when, as emperor of the
whole world, he could again dare to dis-
play his deep-rooted hostility to Athana-
sius, induces the suspicion of political rea-
sons. Constantius was about to be em-
„ . barrassed with the Persian war;

at this dangerous crisis, the ad-
monitions of his brother, not unmingled
with warlike menace, might enforce the
expediency at least of a temporary recon-
ciliation with Athanasius. The political
troubles of three years suspended the re-
ligious strife. The war of Persia brought
some fame to the arms of Constantius ;
and in the more honourable character, not
of the antagonist, but the avenger of his
Death of murdered brother, the surviving
constans. Son 0f Constantine again united the
East and West under his sole dominion.
The battle of Mursa, if we are to credit a
writer somewhat more recent, was no less
fatal to the interests of Athanasius than
War with to the arms of Magnentius.f Ur-
Magnentius. sacius and Yalens, after their re-
a.d. 351. cantation, had relapsed to Arian-
ism. Yalens was the Bishop of Mursa,
and in the immediate neighbourhood of

* Greg. Nazian., Enc. Athanas. Athanas., Hist.
Arian. f Sulpicius Severus, ii., c. 5T.

that town was fought the decisive Battle of
battle. Constantius retired with Mursa.
Yalens into the principal church, to assist
with his prayers, rather than with his di-
rections or personal prowess, the success
of his-army. The agony of his mind may
be conceived during the long suspense of
a conflict on which the sovereignty of the
world depended, and in which the con-
querors lost more men than the vanquish-
ed.* Yalens stood or knelt by his side; on
a sudden, when the emperor was wrought
to the highest state of agitation, Valens
proclaimed the tidings of his complete vic-
tory ; intelligence communicated to the
prelate by an angel from heaven. Whether
Yalens had anticipated the event by a bold
fiction, or arranged some plan for obtain-
ing rapid information, he appeared from
that time to the emperor as a man espe-
cially favoured by Heaven, a prophet, and
one of good omen.

But either the fears of the emperor or
the caution of the Arian party de- a.d. ssi
layed yet for three or four years t0 355.
to execute their revenge on Athanasius.
They began with a less illustrious victim.
Philip, the praefect of the East, received
instructions to expel Paul, and to replace
Macedonius on the episcopal throne of
Constantinople. Philip remembered the
fate of Hermogenes; he secured himself
in the thermae of Zeuxippus, and summon-
ed the prelate to his presence. He then
communicated his instructions, and fright-
ened or persuaded the aged Paul to con-
sent to be secretly transported in a boat
over the Bosphorus. In the pauI dep0SPd
morning Philip appeared in his from the bish-
ear, with Macedonius by his XminopiT1
side in the pontifical attire ; he Macedonius
drove directly to the church, reinstated,
but the soldiers were obliged to hew their
way through the dense and resisting crowd
to the altar. Macedonius passed over the
murdered bodies (three thousand are said
to have fallen) to the throne of the Chris-
tian prelate. Paul was carried in chains
first to Emesa, afterward to a wild town
in the deserts about Mount Taurus. He
had disappeared from the sight of his fol
lowers, and it is certain that he died in
these remote regions. The Arians gave
out that he died a natural death. It was
the general belief of the Athanasians that
his death was hastened, and even that he
had been strangled by the hands of the
praefect Philip.f

*. Magnentius is said by Zonaras to have sacri-
ficed a girl to propitiate the gods on this moment
ous occasion.—Lib. xiii.. t. ii., p. 16, 17.

f Athanas., Oper., i.,322, 348. Socrat., E. H.. ii.,

26338

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

But, before the decisive blow was struck
against Athanasius, Constantius endeav-
oured to subdue the West to the Arlan
opinions. The emperor, released from
the dangers of war, occupied his triumph-
ant leisure in Christian controversy. He
seemed determined to establish his sole
dominion over the religion as well as the
civil obedience of his subjects. The West-
ern bishops firmly opposed the conqueror
Councils of °f Magnentius. At the councils,
Aries and first of Arles and afterward of
Milan. Milan, they refused to subscribe
the condemnation of Athanasius, or to
communicate with the Arians. Liberius,
Persecution the new bishop of Rome, refused
of Liberius, the timid and disingenuous com-
bishop of promise to which his representa-
E°me. tive at Arles, Vincent, deacon of
Rome, had agreed; to assent to the con-
demnation of Athanasius, if, at the same
time, a decisive anathema should be issued
against the tenets of Arius. At Milan, the
bishops boldly asserted the independence
of the Church upon the empire. The
Athanasian party forgot, or chose not to
remember, that they had unanimously ap-
plauded the interference of Constantine,
when, after the Nicene Council, he drove
the Arian bishops into exile. Thus it has
always been : the sect or party which has
the civil power in its favour is embarrass-
ed with no doubts as to the legality of its
interference ; when hostile, it resists as
an unwarrantable aggression on its own
freedom that which it has not scrupled to
employ against its adversaries.

The new charges against Athanasius
New char- were of very different degrees
{?«* against of magnitude and probability.
Athanasius. jqe was accllsed of exciting the

hostility of Constans against his brother.
The fact that Constans had threatened to
reinstate the exiled prelate by force of
arms might give weight to this charge ;
but the subsequent reconciliation, the gra-
cious reception of Athanasius by the em-
peror, the public edicts in his favour, had
in all justice cancelled the guilt, if there
were really guilt, in this undue influence
over the mind of Constans. He was ac-
cused of treasonable correspondence with
the usurper Magnentius. Athanasius re-
pelled tlxis charge with natural indigna-
tion. He must be a monster of ingrati-
tude, worthy a thousand deaths, if he had
leagued with the murderer of his bene-
factor, Constans, He defied his enemies
to the production of any letters; he de-
manded the severest investigation, the
strictest examination, of his own secre-
taries or those of Magnentius. The de-
scent is rapid from these serious charges

to that of having officiated in a new ana
splendid church, the Caesarean, without
the permission of the emperor; and the
exercising a paramount and almost mo-
narchical authority over the churches
along the whole course of the Nile, even
beyond his legitimate jurisdiction. The
first was strangely construed into an in-
tentional disrespect to the emperor, the
latter might fairly be attributed to the zeal
of Athanasius for the extension of Chris-
tianity. Some of these points might ap-
pear beyond the jurisdiction of an eccle-
siastical tribunal; and in the Council of
Milan there seems to have been an incli-
nation to separate the cause of Athana-
sius from that of his doctrine. As at
Arles, some proposed to abandon the per-
son of Athanasius to the will of the em-
peror, if a general condemnation should
be passed against the tenets of Arius.

Three hundred ecclesiastics formed the
Council of Milan. Few of these council of
were from the East. The Bishop MiJan-
of Rome did not appear in person to lead
the orthodox party. His chief representa-
tive was Lucifer of Cagliari, a man of
ability, but of violent temper and un-
guarded language. . The Arian faction
was headed by Ursacius and Valens, the
old adversaries of Athanasius, and by the
emperor himself. Constantius, that the
proceedings might take place more imme-
diately under, his own superintendence,
adjourned the, assembly from*the church
to the palace. This unseemly intrusion
of a layman in the deliberations of the
clergy, unfortunately, was not without
precedent. Those who had proudly hail-
ed the entrance of Constantine into the
Synod of Nice could not consistently dep-
recate the presence of his son at Milan.

The controversy became a personal
question between the emperor and A D 355
his refractory subject. The emper-
or descended into the arena, and mingled
in all the fury of the conflict. Constan-
tius was not content with assuming the
supreme place as emperor, or interfering
in the especial province of the bishops, the
theological question; he laid claim to di-
rect inspiration. He was commissioned
by a vision from Heaven to restore peace
to the afflicted Church. The scheme of
doctrine which he proposed was asserted
by the Western bishops to be strongly
tainted with Arianism. The prudence of
the Athanasian party was not equal to
their , firmness and courage. The obse-
quious and almost adoring court of the
emperor must have stood aghast at the
audacity of the ecclesiastical synod.
Their language was that of vehement in-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

33?

vective rather than dignified dissent or
calm remonstrance. Constantius, con-
cealed behind a curtain, listened to the
debate; he heard his own name coupled
with that of heretic, of Antichrist. His
indignation now knew no bounds. He
proclaimed himself the champion of the
Arian doctrines, and the accuser of Atha-
nasius. Yet flatteries, persuasions, bribes,
menaces, penalties, exiles, were necessa-
ry to extort the assent of the resolute as-
sembly. Then they became conscious of
the impropriety of a lay emperor’s intru-
sion into' the debates of an ecclesiastical
synod. They demanded a free council,
m which the emperor should neither pre-
side in person nor by his commissary.
They lifted up their hands, and entreated
the angry Constantius not to mingle up
the affairs of the state and the church.*
Three prelates, Lucifer of Cagliari, Euse-
bius of Vercellae, Dionysius of Milan, were
sent into banishment, to places remote
from each other, and the most inhospita-
ble regions of the empire. Liberius, the
Roman pontiff, rejected with disdain the
presents of the emperor; he resisted with
equal firmness his persuasions and his
acts of violence.

Though his palace was carefully closed
Fan of Li- and garrisoned by some of his
berius. faithful flock, Liberius was seiz-
ed at length and carried to Milan. He
withstood, somewhat contemptuously, the
personal entreaties and arguments of the
emperor.f He rejected with disdain the
imperial offers of money for his journey,
and told him to keep it to pay his army.
The same offer was made by Eusebius
the eunuch : “ Does a sacrilegious robber
like thee think to give alms to. me, as to a
mendicant 1” He was exiled to Berbea,
a city of Thrace. An Arian prelate, Fe-
lix, was forced upon the unwilling city.
But two years of exile broke the spirit of
Liberius. He began to listen to the ad-
vice of the Arian bishops of Berbea; the
solitude, the cold climate, and the dis-
comforts of this uncongenial region, had
more effect than the presents or the men-
aces of the emperor. He signed the
Arian formulary of Sirmium ; he assented
to the condemnation of Athanasius. The
Fail of fall of the aged Hosius increased
Hosius. the triumph of the Arians. Some
of the Catholic writers reproach with un-
due bitterness the weakness of an old
man, whose nearer approach to the grave,
they assert, ought to have confirmed him

* MrjSe ava/iLGysiV ttjv Tofia'acyv ry rfo c/c-
K'Xeaiag diarayy.—-Athanas/ ad Mon., c. 34, 36.
Compare c 62. f Theodoret, iv. 16.

V v

in his inalienable fidelity to Christ. Bui
even Christianity has no power over that
mental imbecility which accompanies the
decay of physical strength, and this act
of feebleness ought not for an instant to
be set against the unblemished virtue of a
whole life.

Constantius, on his visit to Rome, was
astonished by an address, pre- Receptionof
sented by some of the principal Constantius
females of the city in their most al Rome*
splendid attire, to entreat the restoration
of Liberius. The emperor offered to re-
admit Liberius to a co-ordinate authority
with the Arian bishop Felix. The fe-
males rejected with indignant disdain this
dishonourable compromise; and when
Constantius commanded a similar proposi-
tion to be publicly read in the circus at the
time of the games, he was answered by a
general shout, “ One God, one Christ, one
bishop.”

Had then the Christians, if this story be
true, already overcome their aversion to
the public games 1 or are we to suppose
that the whole populace of Rome took an
interest in the appointment of a Christian
pontiff?

Athanasius awaited in tranquil dignity
the bursting storm. He had orders to re-
eluded the imperial summons to moveAthan-
appear at Milan, Upon the plea asms*
that it was ambiguous and obscure. Con-
stantius, either from some lingering re-
morse, from reluctance to have his new
condemnatory ordinances confronted with
his favourable and almost adulatory testi-
monies to the innocence of Athanasius, or
from fear lest a religious insurrection in
A'lexandrea and Egypt should embarrass
the government, and cut off the supplies
of corn from the Eastern capital, refused
to issue any written order for the deposal
and expulsion of Athanasius. He chose,
apparently, to retain the power, if con-
venient, of disowning his emissaries. Two
secretaries were despatched with a ver
bal message commanding his abdication.
Athanasius treated the imperial officers
with.the utmost courtesy, but respectfully
demanded their written instructions. A
kind of suspension of hostilities seems to
have been agreed upon till farther instruc-
tions could be obtained from the emperor.
But, in the mean time, Syrianus, the duke
of the province, was drawing the troops
from all parts of Libya and Egypt to in-
vest and occupy the city. A force of 5000
men was thought necessary to depose-a
peaceable Christian prelate. The great
events in the life of Athanasius, as we
have already seen on two occasions, seem,
either designedly or of themselves, totake338

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

. highly dramatic form. It was midnight;
and the archbishop, surrounded by the
more devout of his flock, was performing
the solemn ceremony previous to the sac-
ramental service of the next day, in the
Church of St. Theonas. Suddenly the
, . sound of trumpets, the trampling
me Church of steeds, the clash oi arms, the
of Aiexan- bursting the bolts of the doors, in-
drea‘ terrupted the silent devotions of
the assembly. The bishop on his throne,
in the depth of the choir, on which fell the
dim light of the lamps, beheld the gleam-
ing arms of the soldiery as they burst into
the nave of the church. The archbishop,
as the ominous sounds grew louder, com-
manded the chanting of the 135th (136th)
Psalm. The choristers’ voices swelled
into the solemn strain, “ Oh, give thanks
unto the Lord, for he is gracious the
people took up the burden, “ For his mer-
cy endureth forever!” The clear, full
voices of the congregation rose over the
wild tumult, now without, and now within
the church.

A discharge of arrows commenced the
conflict; and Athanasius calmly exhorted
his people to continue their only defensive
measures, their prayers to their Almighty
Protector. Syrianus at the same time
ordered the soldiers to advance. The
cries of the wounded, the groans of those
who were trampled down in attempting to
force their way out through the soldiery,
the shouts of the assailants, mingled in
wild and melancholy uproar. But, before
the soldiers had reached the end of the
sanctuary, the pious disobedience of his
clergy and of a body of monks hurried the
archbishop by some secret passage out of
the tumult. His escape appeared little
less than miraculous to his faithful follow-
ers. The riches of the altar, the sacred
ornaments of the church, and even the
consecrated virgins, were abandoned to
the license of an exasperated soldiery.
The Catholics in vain drew up an address
to the emperor, appealing to his justice
against this sacrilegious outrage; they
suspended the arms of the soldiery which
had been left on the floor of the church
as a reproachful memorial of the violence.
Constantius confirmed the acts of his
officers.*

The Arians were prepared to replace the
George of deposed prelate; their choice fell
Cappadocia, on another Cappadocian, more
savage and unprincipled than the former
one. Constantius commended George of

* Athanas., Apol rie Fug&, vol. i., p. 334; ad
Monachos, 373, 378, 393, 395; ad Const., 307, 310.
rilletnont., Vied’Athauase.

Cappadocia to the people of Alexandrea
as a prelate above praise, the wisest of
teachers, the fittest guide to the kingdom
of heaven. His adversaries paint him in
the blackest colours; the son of a fuller,
he had been in turn a parasite, a receiver
of taxes, a bankrupt. Ignorant of letters,
savage in manners, he was taken up, while
leading a vagabond life, by the Arian prel-
ate of Antioch, and made a priest before
he was a Christian. He employed the
collections made for the poor in bribing
the eunuchs of the palace. But he pos-
sessed, no doubt, great worldly ability ; he
was without fear and without remorse.
He entered Alexandrea environed by the
troops of Syrianus. His presence let loose
the rabid violence of party ; the Arians
exacted ample vengeance for their long
period of depression ; houses were plun-
dered; monasteries burned ; tombs broken
open to search for concealed Athanasians,
or for the prelate himself, who still eluded
their pursuit; bishops were insulted; vir-
gins scourged; the soldiery encouraged
to break up every meeting of the Catho-
lics by violence, and even by inhuman tor-
tures. The Duke Sebastian, at the head
of 3000 troops, charged a meeting of the
Athanasian Christians : no barbarity was
too revolting; they are said to have em-
ployed instruments of torture to compel
them to Christian unity with the Arians ;
females were scourged with the prickly
branches of the palm-tree. The pagans
readily transferred their allegiance, so far
as allegiance was demanded ; while the
savage and ignorant among them rejoiced
in the occasion for plunder and cruelty.
Others hailed these feuds, and almost an-
ticipated the triumphant restoration oi
their own religion. Men,. they thought
must grow weary and disgusted with a re
ligion productive of so much crime, blood-
shed, and misery. Echoing back the lan
guage of the Athanasians, they shouted
out, “ Long life to the Emperor Constan-
tius, and the Arians who have abjured
Christianity.” And Christianity they seem
to have abjured, though not in the sense
intended by their adversaries. They had
abjured all Christian humanity, holiness,
and peace.

The avarice of George was equal to
his cruelty. Exactions wrere necessary to
maintain his interest with the eunuchs, to
whom he owed his promotion. The prel-
ate of Alexandrea forced himself into the
secular affairs of the city. He endeavour-
ed to secure a monopoly of the nitron pro-
duced in the Lake Mareotis, of the salt-
works, and of the ^papyrus. He became
a manufacturer of those painted coffinsHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

339

which were still in use among the Egyp-
tians. Once he was expelled by a sud-
den insurrection of the people, who sur-
rounded the church in which he was offi-
ciating, and threatened to tear him in pie-
ces. He took refuge in the court, which
was then at Sirmium, and a few months
beheld him reinstated by the command of
his faithful patron the emperor.* A rein-
stated tyrant is in general the most cruel
oppressor; and, unless party violence has
blackened the character of George of Cap-
padocia beyond even its ordinary injustice,
the addition of revenge, and the haughty
sense of impunity derived from the impe-
rial protection, to the evil passions already
developed in his soul, rendered him a still
more intolerable scourge to the devoted
city.

Everywhere the Athanasian bishops
were expelled from their sees; they were
driven into banishment. The desert was
constantly sounding with the hymns of
these pious and venerable exiles, as they
passed along, loaded with chains, to the
remote and savage place of their destina-
tion ; many of them bearing the scars,
and wounds, and mutilations which had
been indicted upon them by. their barba-
rous persecutors, to enforce their compli-
ance with the Arian doctrines.

Athanasius, after many strange adven-
Escape and ^res, having been concealed in
retreat of a dry cistern and in the charn-
Athanasius. ker 0f a beautiful wo man, who
attended him with the mdst officious de-
votion (his awful character was not even
tinged with the breath of suspicion), found
refuge at length among the monks of the
a d 356 ^esert* Egypt bordered on all

.....sides by wastes of sand, or by

barren rocks broken into caves and intri-
cate passes; and all these solitudes were
now peopled by the fanatic followers of
the hermit Antony. They were all de-
voted to the opinions, and attached to the
person of Athanasius. The austerities of
the prelate extorted their admiration : as
he had been the great example of a digni-
fied, active, and zealous bishop, so was he
now of an ascetic and mortified solitary.
The most inured to self-inflicted tortures
of mind and body found themselves equal-
led, if not outdone, in their fasts and aus-
terities by the lofty Patriarch of Alexan-
drea. Among these devoted adherents
his security was complete : their passion-
ate reverence admitted not the fear of
treachery. The more active and inquisi-
tive the search of his enemies, he had

* He was at Sirmium, May, 359; restored in Oc-
tober.

only to plunge deeper into the inaccessi-
ble and inscrutable desert. From this
solitude Athanasius himself is supposed
sometimes to have issued forth, and, pass-
ing the seas, to have traversed even parts'
of the West, animating his followers, and
confirming the faith of his whole widely-
disseminated party. His own language im-
plies his personal, though secret, presence
at the councils of Seleucia and Rimini.*
From the desert, unquestionably, came
forth many of those writings which must
have astonished the heathen world by
their unprecedented boldness. For the
first time since the foundation of the em-
pire, the government was more or less
publicly assailed in addresses, which ar-
raigned its measures as unjust, and as
transgressing its legitimate authority, and
which did not spare the person of the'
reigning emperor. In the West as well
as in the East, Constantius was assailed
with equal freedom of invective. The
book of Hilary of Poictiers against Con-
stantius is said not to have been Hilary of
made public till after the death of Poictiers.
the emperor; but it was most likely cir-
culated among the Catholics of the West;
and the author exposed himself to the
activity of hostile informers, and the in-
discretion of fanatical friends. The em-
peror is declared to be Antichrist, a ty-
rant, not in secular, but likewise in re-
ligious affairs; the sole object of his reign
was to make a free gift to the devil of the
whole world,' for which Christ had suf-
fered.! Lucifer of Cagliari, whose violent

* Athanas., Oper., vol. i., p. 869. Compare Tille-
mont, Vie d’Athanase.

t Nihil prorsus aliud egit, quam ut orbem tei-
rarum, pro quo Christus passus est, diabolo con-
donaret.—Adv. Constant., c. 15. Hilary’s highest,
indignation is excited by the gentle and insidious
manner with which he confesses that Constantins
endeavoured to compass his unholy end. He would
not honour them with the dignity of martyrs, but he
used the prevailing persuasion of bribes, flatteries,
and honours: Non dorsa credit, sed ventrem palpat;
non trudit carcere ad libertatem, sed intra palatium
honorat ad servitutem; non latera vexat, sed cor
occupat * * non contendit ne vincatur; sed adulatur
ut dominetur. There are several other remarkable
passages in this tract. Constantius wished to con-
fine the creed to the language ol Scripture. This:
was rejected, as infringing on the authority of the
bishops, and the forms of apostolic preaching. Nolo,
inquit, verba quae non scripta sunt dici. Hoc tan-
den rogo, quis episcopis jubeat et quis apostoli-
cae praedicationis vetet formam ? c. 16. Among the
sentences ascribed to the Arians, which so much
shocked the Western bishops, there is one which is
evidently the argument of a strong anti-materialist
asserting the sole existence of the Father, and that
the terms of son and generation, &c., are not to be
received in a literal sense. Erat Deus quod est.
Pater non erat, quia neque ei Alius; nam si Alius,-'
necesse est ut et fasmina sit, &c. One phrase has1340

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Lucifer of temper afterward distracted the
Cagliari. Western Church with a schism,
is now, therefore, repudiated by the com-
mon consent of all parties. But Athana-
sius speaks in ardent admiration of the
intemperate writings of this passionate
man, and once describes him as inflamed
by the spirit of God. Lucifer, in his ban-
ishment, sent five books full of the most
virulent invective to the emperor. Con-
stantins—it was the brighter side of his
religious character—received these ad-
dresses with almost contemptuous equa-
nimity. He sent a message to Lucifer to
demand if he was the author of these
works. Lucifer replied, not merely by an
intrepid acknowledgment of his former
writings, but by a sixth, in still more
unrestrained and exaggerated language.
Constantius was satisfied with banishing
him to the Thebaid. Athanasius himself,
who, in his public vindication addressed to
Constantius, maintained the highest re-
spect for the imperial dignity, in his Epis-
tle to the Solitaries gives free vent and
expression to his vehement and contemp-
tuous sentiments. His recluse friends are
cautioned, indeed, not to disclose the dan-
gerous document, in which the tyrants of
the Old Testament, Pharaoh, Ahab, Bel-
shazzar, are contrasted to his disadvan-
tage with the base, the cruel, the hypo-
critical Constantius. It is curious to ob-
serve this new element of freedom, how-
ever at present working in a concealed,
irregular, and, perhaps, still-guarded man-
ner, mingling itself up with, and partially
upheaving, the general prostration of the
human mind. The Christian, or, in some
respects, it might be more justly said, the
hierarchical principle, was entering into
the constitution of human society as an
antagonist power to that of the civil sov-
ereign. The Christian community was

a singularly Oriental, I would say, Indian cast.
How much soever the Son expands himself to-
wards the knowledge of the Father, so much the
Father super-expands himself, lest he should be
known by the Son. Quantum enim Filius se ex-
tendit cognoscere Patrem, tantum Pater superex-
tendit se, ne cognitus Filio sit, c. 13. The parties,
at least in the West, were speaking two totally dis-
tinct languages. It would be unjust to Hilary not
to acknowledge the beautiful and Christian senti-
ments scattered through his two former addresses
to Constantius, which are firm but respectful, and
if rigidly, yet sincerely dogmatic. His plea for
toleration, if not very consistently maintained, is
expressed with great force and simplicity. Deus
cognitionem sui docuit potius quam exegit. * *
Deus universitatis est Dominus; non requirit coac-
tam confessionem. Nostra potius non sua causa
venerandus est * * simplicitate quserendus est,
confessione discendus est, charitate amandus est,
timore venerandus est, voluntatis probitate retinen-
dus est, lib i., c. 6.

no longer a separate republic, governed
within by its own laws, yet submitting,
in all but its religious observances, to the
general ordinances. By the establishment
of Christianity under Constantine, and the
gradual reunion of two sections of man-
kind into one civil society, those two pow-
ers, that of the church and the state, be-
came co-ordinate authorities, which, if any
difference should arise between the heads
of the respective supremacies, if the enr
peror and the dominant party in Christen-
dom should take opposite sides, led to in-
evitable collision.. This crisis had alrea-
dy arrived. An Arian emperor was virtu-
ally excluded from a community in which
the Athanasian doctrines prevailed. The
son of Constantine belonged to an excom-
municated class, to whom the dominant
party refused the name of Christians,
Thus these two despotisms, both founded
on opinion (for obedience to the imperial
authority was rooted in the universal sen-
timent), instead of gently counteracting
and mitigating each other, came at once
into direct and angry conflict. The em-
peror might with justice begin to suspect
that, instead of securing a peaceful and
submissive ally, he had raised up a rival
or a master; for the son of Constantine
was thus in his turn disdainfully ejected
from the society'which his father had in-
corporated with the empire. It may be
doubted how far the violences and barbar-
ities ascribed by the Catholics to their
Arian foes may be attributed to the indig-
nation of the civil power at this new and
determined resistance. Though Constan-
tius might himself feel or affect a com-
passionate disdain at these unusual at-
tacks on his person and dignity, the gener-
al feeling of the heathen population, and
many of the local governors, might resist
this contumacious contempt of the su-
preme authority. It is difficult otherwise
to account for the general tumult excited
by these disputes in Alexandrea, in Con-
stantinople, and in Rome, where at least
a very considerable part of the population
had no concern in the religious quarrel,
The old animosity against Christianity
would array itself under the banners of
one of the conflicting parties, or take up
the cause of the insulted sovereignty of
the emperor. The Athanasian party con-
stantly assert that the Arians courted, or,
at least, did not decline, the invidious alli-
ance of the pagans.

But, in truth, in the horrible cruelties
perpetrated during these unhap- Mutual ac-
py divisions, it was the same sav- cusafions
age ferocity of manners which, ofcruelty-
half a century before, had raged againstHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the Christian Church, which now appa-
rently raged in its cause.* The abstruse
tenets of the Christian theology became
the ill-understood, perhaps unintelligible,
watchwords of violent and disorderly men.
The rabble of Alexandrea and other cities
availed themselves of the commotion to
give loose to their suppressed passion for
the excitement of plunder and bloodshed.
How far the doctrines of Christianity had
worked down into the populace of the
great cities cannot be ascertained, or even
conjectured ; its spirit had not in the least
mitigated their ferocity and inhumanity.
If Christianity is accused as the imme-
diate exciting cause of these disastrous
scenes, the predisposing principle was in
that uncivilized nature of man, which not
merely was unallayed by the gentle and
humanizing tenets of the Gospel, but, as
it has perpetually done, pressed the Gos-
pel itself, as it were, into its own unhal-
lowed service.

The severe exclusiveness of dogmatic
theology attained its height in this contro-
versy. Hitherto the Catholic and hereti-
cal doctrines had receded from each other
at the first outset, as it were, and drawn
off to opposite and irreconcilable ex-
tremes. The heretics had wandered
away into the boundless regions of spec-
ulation ; they had differed on some of the
most important elementary principles of

* See the depositions of the^bishops assembled
at Sardica, of the violence which they had them-
selves endured at the hands, of the Arians. Alii
autem gladiorurn signa, plagas et cicatrices osten-
debant. Alii se fame ab ipsis excruciates quere-
oantur. Et haec non ignobiles testificabantur viri,
sed de ecclesiis omnibus electi propter quas hue
convenerunt, res gestas edocebant, milites arma-
tos, populos cum fnstibus, judicum minas, falsa-
rum literarum suppositiones. * * Ad hsec virginum
nudationes, incendia ecclesiarum, carceres ad ver-
sos ministros Dei.—Hilar., Fragm., Op. Hist., ii.,
c. 4.

The Arians retort the same accusations of vio-
lence, cruelty, and persecution against Athanasius.
They say, Per vim, per caedem, per bellum, Alex-
andrinorum ecclesias depraedatus; and this, Per
pugnas et cades gentilium. Decretum Synodi Ori-
entalium Episcoporum apud Sardicam, apud S.
Hilarium.

Immensa autem confluxerat ad Sardicam multi-
tude sceleratorum omnium et perditorum, adven-
tantium de Constantinopoli, de Alexandrea, qui rei
homicidiorum, rei sanguinis, rei csedis, rei latrocini-
orum, rei praedarum, rei spoliorum, nefandorumque
omnium sacrilegiorum et criminum rei; qui altaria
confregerunt, ecclesias incenderunt, domosque pri-
vatorum compilaverunt ; profanatores mysterio-
irum, proditoresque sacramentorum Christi; qui
impiam sceleratamque hasreticorum doctrinam con-
tra ecclesise fidefn asserentes, sapientissirnos pres-
byteros Dei, diacones, sacerdotes, atrociter demac-
taverunt.—Ibid., 19. And this protest, full of these
tremendous charges, was signed by the eighty se-
ceding Eastern'bishops

311

belief; they had rarely admitted any com-
mon basis for argument. Here the con-
tending parties set out from nearly the
same principles, admitted the same au-
thority, and seemed, whatever their se-
cret bias or inclination, to differ only on
the import of one word. Their opinions,
like parallel lines in mathematics, seemed
to be constantly approximating, yet found
it impossible to unite. The Athanasians
taunted the Arians with the infinite varia-
tions in their belief: Athanasius recounts
no less than eleven creeds. But the
Arians might have pleaded their anxiety
to reconcile themselves to the Church,
their earnest solicitude to make every ad-
vance towards a reunion, provided they
might be excused the adoption of the one
obnoxious word, the Homoousion,or Con-
substantialism. But the inflexible ortho-
doxy of Athanasius will admit no compro-
mise ; nothing less than complete unity,
not merely of expression, but of mental
conception, will satisfy the rigour of the
ecclesiastical dictator, who will permit no
single letter, and, as far as he can detect
it, no shadow of thought, to depart from
his peremptory creed. He denounces his
adversaries, for the least deviation, as en-
emies of Christ; he presses them with
consequences drawn from their opinions ;
and, instead of spreading wide the gates
of Christianity, he seems to unbar them
with jealous reluctance, and to admit no
one without the most cool and inquisito-
rial scrutiny into the most secret arcana
of his belief.

In the writings of Athanasius is imbod-‘-:
ied the perfection of polemic di- Athanasius
vinity. His style, indeed, has no as a writer,
splendour, no softness, nothing to kindle
the imagination or melt the heart. Acute
even to subtlety, he is too earnest to de-
generate into scholastic trifling. It is
stern logic, addressed to the reason of
those who admitted the authority of
Christianity. There is no dispassionate
examination, no candid philosophic in-
quiry, no calm statement of his Adversa-
ries’ case, no liberal acknowledgment of
the infinite difficulties of the subject,
scarcely any consciousness of the total
insufficiency of human language to trace
the question to its depths ; all is peremp-
tory, dictatorial, imperious; the severe
conviction of the truth of his own opin-
ions, and the inference that none but cul-
pable motives, either of pride, or strife,
or ignorance, can blind his adversaries to.
their cogent and irrefragable certainty.
Athanasius walks on the narrow and per-
ilous edge of orthodoxy with a firmness
and confidence which it is impossible not343

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

to admire It canno* be doubted that he
was deep!}', intimately persuaded that the
vital power and energy, the truth, the con-
solatory force of Christianity, entirely de-
pended on the unquestionable elevation of
the Saviour to the most absolute equality
with the Parent Godhead. The ingenuity
with which he follows out his own views
of the consequences of their errors is
wonderfully acute ; but the thought con-
stantly occurs, whether a milder and more
conciliating tone would not have healed
the wounds of afflicted Christianity; wheth-
er his lofty spirit is not conscious that his
native element is that of strife rather than
of peace.* '

Though nothing can contrast more
strongly with the expansive and liberal
spirit of primitive Christianity than the
repulsive tone of this exclusive theology,
yet this remarkable phasis of Christianity
seems to have been necessary, and not
without advantage to the permanence of
the religion. With the civilization of
mankind, Christianity was about to pass
through the ordeal of those dark age
which followed the irruption of the barba-
rians. During this period Christianity
was to subsist as the conservative princi
pie of social order and the sacred charities
of life; the sole, if not always faithful,
guardian of ancient knowledge, of letters,
and of arts. But, in order to preserve its
own existence, it assumed, of necessity,
another form. It must have a splendid
and imposing ritual to command the bar-
barous minds of its new proselytes, and
one which might be performed by an illit-
erate priesthood; for the mass of the
priesthood could not but be involved in
the general darkness of the times. It
must likewise have brief and definite for-
mularies of doctrine. As the original lan-
guages, and even the Latin, fell into disuse,
and before the modern languages of Eu-
rope were sufficiently formed to admit of
translations, the sacred writings receded
from general use ; they became the depos-
itaries of Christian doctrine, totally inac-
cessible to the laity, and almost as much
so to the lower clergy. Creeds therefore
Necessity of became of essential importance
iinedthesuc to comPress the leading points
seeding cen- of Christian doctrine into a small
turies. compass, And as the barbarous
and ignorant mind cannot endure the vague
and the indefinite, so it was essential that
the main points of doctrine should be fixed
and cast into plain and emphatic proposi-

* At a later period Athanasius seems to have
b£en less rigidly exclusive against the semi-Arians.
-^Oomrne Mohler, ii., p. 230.

tions. The theological language was firm-
ly established before the violent breaking
up of society, and no more was required
of the barbarian convert than to accept,
with, uninquiring submission, the establish-
ed formulary of the faith, and gaze in awe-
struck veneration at the solemn ceremo-
nial.

The Athanasian controversy powerfully
contributed to establish the su- T _
premacy of the Roman pontiff the Attiaim-
lt became almost a contest be- con n o-

tween Eastern and Western grovvihof*1*1
Christendom; at least the West hie papal
was neither divided like the power*
East, nor submitted with the same com
paratively willing obedience to the dom
ination of Arianism under the imperial au-
thority. it was necessary that some one
great prelate should take the lead in this
internecine strife. The only Western
bishop whom his character would desig-
nate as this leader was Hosius, the bishop
of Cordova. But age had now disqualified
this good man, whose moderation, abili-
ties, and probably important services to
Christianity in the conversion of Constan-
tine had recommended him to the com-
mon acceptance of the Christian world as
president of the Council of Nice. Where
this acknowledged superiority of character
and talent was wanting, the dignity of the
see would command the general respect;
and what see could compete, at least in
the West, with Rome ? Antioch, Alexan-
dra, or Constantinople could alone rival,
in pretensions to Christian supremacy, tbe
old metropolis of the empire ; and those
sees were either fiercely contested or oc-
cupied by Arian prelates. Athanasius him-
self, by his residence at two separate pe-
riods at Rome, submitted, as it were, his
cause to the Roman pontiff. Rome be-
came the centre of the ecclesiastical af-
fairs of the West; and, since the Trinita-
rian opinions eventually triumphed through
the whole of Christendom, the firmness and
resolution with which the Roman pontiffs,
notwithstanding the temporary fall of Li
berius, adhered to the orthodox faith; their
uncompromising attachment to Athana-
sius, who by degrees was sanctified and
canonized in the memory of Christendom,
might be one groundwork for that belief
in their infallibility, which, however it
would have been repudiated by Cyprian,
and never completely prevailed in the East,
became throughout the West the inalien-
able spiritual heirloom of the Roman pon-
tiffs. Christian history will hereafter show
how powerfully this monarchical principle,
if not established, yet greatly strengthen-
ed by these consequences of the Athan*HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

343

asian controversy, tended to consolidate,
and so to maintain, in still expanding in-
fluence, the Christianity of Europe.*

This conflict continued with unabated
superiority of vigour till the close of the reign
Animism.' of Constanlius. Arianism grad-
ually assumed the ascendant through the
violence and the arts of the emperor; all
the more distinguished of the orthodox
bishops were in exile, or at least in dis-
grace. Though the personal influence of
Athanasius was still felt throughout Chris-
tendom, his obscure place of concealment
was probably unknown to the greater part
of his own adherents. The aged Hosius
had died in his apostacy. Hilary of Poic-
tiers, the bishop of Milan, and the violent
Lucifer of Cagliari, were in exile, and
though Constantins had consented to the
return of Liberius to his see, he had re-
turned with the disgrace of having con-
sented to sign the new formulary framed
at Sirmium, where the term Consubstan-
tial, if not rejected, was at least suppress-
ed. Yet the popularity of Liberius was
undiminished, and the whole city indig-
nantly rejected the insidious proposition
of Constantius, that Liberius and his rival
Felix should rule the see with conjoint au-
thority. The parties had already come to
blows, and even to bloodshed, when Felix,
who, it was admitted, had never swerved
from the creed of Nice, and whose sole
offence was entering into communion with
the Arians, either from moderation, or
conscious of the inferiority of his party,
withdrew to a neighbouring city, where
he soon closed his days, and relieved the
Christians of Rome from the apprehension
of a rival pontiff. The unbending resist-
ance of the Athanasians was no doubt con-
firmed, not merely by the variations of the
Arian creed, but by the new opinions which
they considered its legitimate offspring,
and which appeared to justify their worst
apprehensions of its inevitable eonsequen-

* The orthodox Synod of Sardica admits the su-
perior dignity of the successor of St. Peter. Hoc
enim optimum et valde congruentissimum esse vi-
debitur, si ad caput, id est, ad Petri Apostoli sedem,
de singulis quibusque provinciis Domini referant
sacerdotes.—Epist Syn. Sard, apud Hilarium,
Fragm., Oper. Hist., ii., c. 9. It was disclaimed
with equal distinctness by the seceding Arians.
Novarrs legem introducere putaverunt, ut Orientales
Episcopi ab Occidentalibus judicarentur.—Fragm.,
iii., c. 12. In a subsequent clause they condemn
Julius, bishop of Rome, by name. It is difficult to
calculate the effect which would commonly be pro-
duced on men’s minds by their involving in one
common cause the two tenets, which, in fact, bore
no relation to each other—The orthodox belief in the
Trinity, and the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome.
—Sozomen, iv., II, 13. Theodoret, ii., 17. Phi-
iostorgius, iv., 3.

ces. Aetius fanned a new sect, which
not merely denied the eonsub- Heresy of
stantiality, but the similitude of Aetns,
the Son to the Father. He .was not only
not of the same, but of a totally different
nature. Aetius, according to the account
of his adversities, was a bold and unprin-
cipled adventurer,* and the career of a
person of this class is exemplified in his
life. The son of a soldier, at one-time
condemned to death and to the confiscation
of his property, Aetius became an hum-
ble artisan, first as a worker in copper, af-
terward in gold. His dishonest practices
obliged him to give up the trade, but not
before he had acquired some property.
He attached himself to Paulinus, bishop
of Antioch; was expelled from the city
by his successor; studied grammar at
Anazarba; was encouraged by the Arian
bishop of fhat see, named Athanasius ; re-
turned to Antioch ; was ordained deacon,
and again expelled the city. Discomfited
in a public disputation with.a Gnostic, he
retired to Alexandrea, where, being exer-
cised in the art of rhetoric, he revenged
himself on a Manichean, who died of shame.
He then became a public itinerant teacher,
practising at the same time his lucrative
art of a goldsmith. The Arians rejected
Aetius with no less earnest indignation
than the orthodox, but they could not es-
cape being implicated, as it were, in his
unpopularity ; and the odious Anomeans,
those who denied the similitude of the Son
to the Father, brought new discredit even
on the more temperate partisans of the
Arian creed. Another heresiarch, of a
higher rank, still farther brought disrepute
on the Arian party. Macedonius, the bish-
op of Constantinople, to the Arian orMacedo-
tenet of the inequality of the Son nius-
fo the Father, added the total denial of the
Divinity of the Holy Ghost.

Council still followed council. Though
we may not concur with the Arian bish-
ops in ascribing to their adversaries the
whole blame of this perpetual tumult and
confusion in the Christian world, caused
by these incessant assemblages of the
clergy, there must have been much mel-
ancholy truth in their statement. “ The

* Socrates, ii., 35. Sozomen, iii., 15; iv., 12.
Philostorg., iii., 15, 17. Suidas, voc. A trios. Epi-
phan , Hseres., 76. Gregor. Nyss. contra Eunom.

The most curious part in the history of Aetius is
his attachment to the Aristotelian philosophy. With
him appears to have begun the long strife between
Aristotelianism and Platonism in the Ch urch. Ae-
tius, to prove his unimaginative doctrines, employ-
ed the severe and prosaic categories of Aristotle,
repudiating the prevailing Platonic mode of argu-
ment used by Origen and Clement of Alexandrea
— Socrates, ii., c. 35.344

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

East and the West are in a perpetual state
of restlessness and disturbance. Desert-
ing our spiritual charges, abandoning the
people of God, neglecting the preaching
of the. Gospel, we are hurried about from
place to place, sometimes to great dis-
tances, some of us infirm with age, with
feeble constitutions or ill health, and are
sometimes obliged to leave our sick breth-
ren on the road. The whole administra-
tion of the empire, of the emperor him-
self, the tribunes, and the commanders,
at this fearful crisis of the state, are sole-
ly occupied with the lives and the condi-
tion of the bishops. The people are by
no means unconcerned. The whole broth-
erhood watches in anxious suspense the
event of these troubles; the establish-
ment of post-horses is worn out by our
journeyings ; and all on account of a few
wretches, who, if they had the least re-
maining sense of religion, would say with
the Prophet Jonah, ; Take us up and cast
us into the sea ; so shall the sea be calm
unto you; for we know that it is on our
account that this great tempest is upon
us..’ ”*

The synod at Sirmium had no effect in
reconciling the differences or affirming the
superiority of either party. A double
council was appointed, of the Eastern prel-
ates at Seleucia, of the Western at Rimini.
The Arianism of the emperor himself had
by this time degenerated still farther from
the creed of Nice. Eudoxus, who had
espoused the Anomean doctrines of Ae-
tius, ruled his untractable but passive
Council of mind. The Council of Rimini
Rimini. consisted of at least 400 bishops,
of whom not above eighty were Arians.
Their resolutions were firm and peremp-
tory. They repudiated the Arian doc-
trines ; they expressed their rigid adhe-*
rence to the formulary of Nice. Ten
bishops, however, of each party were de-
puted to communicate their decrees to
Oonstantius. The ten Arians were re-
ceived with the utmost respect, their ri-
vals with every kind of slight and neg-
lect. Insensibly they wTere admitted to
more intimate intercourse ; the flatteries,
perhaps the bribes, of the emperor pre-
vailed ; they returned, having signed a
formulary directly. opposed to their in-
structions. Their reception at first was
unpromising; but by degrees the council,
from which its firmest and most resolute
members had gradually departed, and in
which many poor and aged bishops still
retained their seat, wearied, perplexed,
worn out by the expense and discomfort

* Hilar., Oper. Hist, .Fragm , xi., <? 25.

of a long residence in a foreign city, con-
sented to sign a creed in which the con-
tested word, the Homoousion, was. care-
fully suppressed.* Arianism was thus de-
liberately adopted by a council of which
the authority was undisputed. The world,
says Jerome, groaned to find itself Arian.
But, on their return to their dioceses, the
indignant prelates everywhere protested
against the fraud and violence which had
been practised against them. New per-
secutions followed : Gaudentius, bishop of
Rimini, lost his life.

The triumph of Arianism was far easier
among the hundred and sixty bishops as-
sembled at Seleucia. But it was more
fatal to their cause : the Arians, and semi-
Arians, and Anomeans, mingled in tumult-
uous strife, and hurled mutual anathemas
against each other. The new council met
at Constantinople. By some strange po-
litical or religious vicissitude, the party of
the Anomeans triumphed, while Aetius,
its author, was sent into banishment.f
Macedonius was' deposed; Eudoxus of
Antioch was translated to the imperial
see; and the solemn dedication of the
Church of St. Sophia was celebrated by a
prelate whb denied the similitude of na-
ture between the Father and the Son.
The whole Christian world was in confu-
sion ; these fatal feuds penetrated almost
as far as the Gospel itself had reached.
The emperor, whose alternately partial
vehemence and subtlety had inflamed
rather than allayed the tumult, found his
authority set at naught; a deep, stern, and
ineradicable resistance opposed the impe-
rial decrees. A large portion of em-
pire proclaimed aloud that there were
limits to the imperial despotism ; that
there was a higher allegiance, which su-
perseded that due to the civil authority;
that in affairs of religion they would not
submit to the appointment of superiors
who did not profess their views of Chris-

* It is curious enough that the Latin language
did not furnish terms to express this fine distinc-
tion. Some Western prelates, many of whom
probably did not understand a word of Greek, pro-
posed, “ jam usiae et Homoousii nomina recedant
qusa in divinis Scrinturis de Deo, et Dei Filio, non
inveniuntur scripta.”—-Apud Hilarium, Oper. Hist.,
Fragm., ix.

t Aetius and Eunomius seem to have been the
heroes of the historian Philostorgius, fragments of
whose history have been preserved by the pious
hostility of Photius. This diminishes our regret
for the loss of the original work, which would* be
less curious than a genuine Arian history. Philos-
torgius seems to object to the anti-materialist view
of the Deity maintained by the semi-Arian Euse-
bius, and, according to him, by Arius himself. He
reproaches Eusebius with asserting the Deity to be
incomprehensible and inconceivable: ayvucm'g xal
aKard?i7jiTTog.—Lib. i., 2, 3.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

345

fcian orthodoxy.*. The emperor himself,
by mingling with almost fanatical passion
and zeal in these controversies, at once
lowered himself to the level of his sub-
jects, and justified the importance which
they attached to these questions. If Con-
stantius had firmly, calmly, and consist-
ently enforced mutual toleration — if he
had set the example, of Christian modera-
tion and temper; if he had set his face
. solely against the stern refusal of Athan-
asius and his party to admit the Arians
into communion—he might, perhaps, have

retained some influence over the contend-
ing parties. But he was not content with-
out enforcing the dominance of the Arian
party; he dignified Athanasius with the
hatred of a personal enemy, almost of a
rival; and his subjects, by his own appa-
rent admission that these were questions
of spiritual life and death, were compelled
to postpone his decrees to those of God ;
to obey their bishops, who held the keys
of heaven and hell, rather than Caesar, who
could only afflict them with civil disabili-
ties, or penalties in this life.

CHAPTER VI.

JULIAN.

Amid all this intestine strife within the
pale of Christianity, and this conflict be-
tween the civil and religious authorities
concerning their respective limits, pagan-
ism made a desperate effort to regain its
lost supremacy. Julian has, perhaps, been
somewhat unfairly branded with the ill-
sounding name of Apostate. His Chris-
tianity was but the compulsory obedience
of youth to the distasteful lessons of edu-
cation, enforced by the hateful authority
of a tyrannical relative./ As early as the
maturity of his reason—at least as soon
as he dared to reveal his secret sentiments
—he avowed his preference for the ancient
paganism.

The most astonishing part of Julian’s
history is the development and partial ful-
filment of all his vast designs during a
reign of less than two years. His own
age wondered at the rapidity with which
the young emperor accomplished his mili-
tary, civil, and religious schemes.! During
his separate and subordinate command as
Caesar, his time was fully occupied with
his splendid campaigns upon the Rhine.}
Julian was the vindicator of the old majes-
ty of the empire; he threw back with a
bold and successful effort the inroad of
barbarism, which already threatened to
overwhelm the Roman civilization of Gaul.

* Hilary quotes the sentence of St. Paul. Ubi
tides est, ibi et libertas est; in allusion to the em-
peror’s assuming the cognizance over religious
questions.—Oper. Hist. Fragm., i., c. 5.

f Dicet aliquis : quomodo tarn multa tarn brevi
tempore. Et rect.e. Sed Imperator noster addit ad
tempus quod otio suo detrahit. * * * Itaque grand-
aevum jam imperium videbitur his, qui non ratione
dierum et mensium, sed operum multitudine et ef-
fectarum rerum-modo Juliani tompora metientur.

-Mamertini Grat. Actio, c. xiv.
t Six years, from 355 to 361,

During the two unfinished years Shortre} n
of his sole government, Julian of Julian
had reunited the whole Roman ajd. 361-
empire under his single sceptre ;
he had reformed the army, the court, the
tribunals of justice ; he had promulgated
many useful laws, which maintained their
place in the jurisprudence of the empire ;
he had established peace .on all the fron-
tiers ; he had organized a large and well-
disciplined force to chastise the Persians
for their' aggressions on the eastern border,
and by a formidable diversion within their
own territories, to secure the Euphratic
provinces against the most dangerous rival
of the Roman power. During all these
engrossing cares of empire, he devoted
himself with the zeal and activity of a
mere philosopher and man of letters to
those more tranquil pursuits. The con-
queror of the Franks and the antagonist
of Sapor delivered lectures in the schools,
and published works which, whatever
may be thought of their depth and truth,
display no mean powers of composition:
as a writer, Julian will compete with most
of his age. Besides all this, his vast and
restless spirit contemplated, and had al-
ready commenced, nothing less than a total
change in the religion of the empire; not
merely the restoration of paganism to the
legal supremacy which it possessed before
the reign of Constantine, and the degrada-
tion of Christianity into a private sect,
but the actual extirpation of the new reli-
gion from the minds of men by the revi-
ving energies of a philosophic, and, at the
same time, profoundly religious paganism.

The genius of ancient Rome and of an-
cient Greece might appear to re- character
vive in amicable union in the soul of Julian.

. of Julian. The unmeasured military am-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

'dit>

bition, which turned the defensive into a
war of aggression on all the imperilled
frontiers; the broad and vigorous legisla-
tion;-the unity of administration; the
severer tone of manners, which belonged
to the better days of Rome ; the fine cul-
tivation ; the perspicuous philosophy ; the
lofty conceptions of moral greatness and
purity, which distinguished the old Athe-
nian. If the former (the Roman military
enterprise) met eventually with the fate
of Crassus or of Varus rather than the
glorious successes of Germanicus or Tra-
jan, the times were more in fault than the
general; if the latter (the Grecian eleva-
tion and elegance of mind) more resem-
bled at times the affectation of the sophist
and the coarseness of the Cynic than the
lofty views and exquisite harmony of
Plato or the practical wisdom of Socrates,
the effete and exhausted state of Grecian
letters and philosophy must likewise be
taken into the account.*

In the uncompleted two years of his
sole empire,f Julian had advanced so far
in the restoration of the internal vigour
and unity of adminstration, that it is doubt-
ful how much farther, but for the fatal
Persian campaign, he might have fulfilled
the visions of his noble ambition. He
might have averted, at least for a time, the
terrible calamities which burst upon the
Roman world during the reign of Valen-
tinian and Valens. But, difficult and des-
perate as the enterprise might appear, the
reorganization of a decaying empire was
less impracticable than the restoration of
an extinguishing religion. A religion may
awaken from indifference, and resume its
dominion over the minds of men ; but not,
if supplanted by a new form of faith, which
lias identified itself with the opinions and
sentiments of the general mind. It can
never dethrone a successful invader, who
has been recognised as a lawful sovereign.
And Christianity (could the clear and saga-
cious mind of Julian be blind to this essen-
tial difference!) had occupied the whole
soul of man with a fulness and confidence
which belonged, and could belong, to no
former religion. It had intimately blended
together the highest truths of philosophy
with the purest morality; the loftiest
speculation with the most practical spirit.
The vague theory of another life, timidly
and dimly announced by the later pagan-

* [Mosheim (Instit of E. H., vol. i., p. 21.9, &c.)
will not allow Julian to have possessed true great-
ness. “ If he was in some respects superior to the
sons of Constantine, he was in many respects in-
ferior to Constantine himself, whom he censures so
immoderately.”]

f One year, eight months, and twenty-three days.
—La Bleterie, Vie de Julien, p. 494.

ism, could ill compete with the de ip ana
intense conviction now rooted in the hearts
of a large part of mankind by Christianity ;
the source in some of harrowing fears, in
others of the noblest hopes.

Julian united in his own mind, and at-
tempted to work into his new re- Religion 0/
ligion, the two incongruous char- Juluul-
acters of a zealot for the older supersti-
tions and for the more modern philosophy
of Greece. He had fused together, in that
which appeared to him a harmonious sys-
tem, Homer and Plato. Pie thought that
the whole ritual of sacrifice would com-
bine with that allegoric interpretation of
the ancient mythology which undeified the
greater part of the heathen Pantheon.
All that paganism had borrowed from
Christianity, it had rendered cold and pow-
erless. The one Supreme Deity was a
name and an abstract conception, a meta-
physical being. The visible representa-
tive of the Deity, the Sun, which was in
general an essential part of the new sys-
tem, was, after all, foreign and Oriental;
it belonged to the genuine mythology
neither of Greece nor Rome. The The-
urgy, or awful and sublime communion of
the mind with the spiritual world, was ei-
ther, too fine and fanciful for the vulgar be-
lief, or associated, in the dim confusion of
the popular conception, with that magic
against which the laws of Rome had pro-
tested with such stern solemnity, and
which, therefore, however eagerly pursu-
ed, and reverenced wdth involuntary awe,
was always associated with impressions
of its unlawfulness and guilt. Christiani-
ty, on the other hand, had completely in-
corporated with itself all that it had admit-
ted from paganism, or which, if we may
so speak, constituted the pagan part of
Christianity. The heathen Theurgy, even
in its purest form, its dreamy intercourse
with the intermediate race of daemons, was
poor and ineffective compared with the
diabolic and angelic agency which became
more and more mingled up with Christi-
anity. Where these subordinate daemons
were considered by the more philosophic
pagan to have been the older deities of the
popular faith, it was rather a degradation
of the ancient worship ; where this was
not the case, this fine perception of the
spiritual world was the secret of the initi-
ate few rather than the all-pervading su-
perstition of the many. The Christian
daemonology, on the other hand, which be-
gan to be heightened and multiplied by the
fantastic imagination of the monks brood-
ing in their solitudes, seemed at least to
grow naturally out of the religious system
The gradual darkening into superstitionHISTORY OF CHRISTIAF/TY.

347

was altogether imperceptible, and harmo-
nized entirely with the general feelings of
the time. Christianity was a living plant,
which imparted its vitality to the foreign
suckers grafted upon it; the dead and sap-
less trunk of paganism withered even the
living boughs which were blended with it
by its own inevitable decay.

On the other hand, Christianity at no
Unfavoura- period could appear in a less
bie stat« of amiable and attractive light to a
Christianity. mjn(j preindisposed to its recep-
tion, It was in a state of universal fierce
and implacable discord : the chief cities of
the empire had run with blood shed in re-
ligious quarrels. The sole object of the
conflicting parties seemed to be to confine
to themselves the temporal and spiritual
blessings of the faith ; to exclude as many
as they might from that eternal life, and
to anathematize to that eternal death,
which were revealed by the Gospel, and
placed, according to the general belief, un-
der the special authority of the clergy.
Society seemed to be split up into irrec-
oncilable parties; to the animosities of
pagan and Christian were now added those
of Christian and Christian. Christianity
had passed through its earlier period of
noble moral enthusiasm ; of the energy
with which it addressed its first proclama-
tion of its doctrines to man: of the digni-
ty with which it stood aloof from the in-
trigues and vices of the world ; and of its
admirable constancy under persecution.
It had not fully attained its second state
as a religion generally established in the
minds of men, by a dominant hierarchy of
unquestioned authority. Its great truths
had no longer the striking charm of nov-
elty ; nor were they yet universally and
profoundly implanted in the general mind
by hereditary transmission or early edu-
cation, and ratified by the unquestioning
sanction of ages.

The early education of Julian had been,
it might almost appear, studiously and
skilfully conducted, so as to show the
brighter side of paganism, the darker of
Christianity. His infant years had been
clouded by the murder of his father. How
far his mind might retain any impression
of this awful event, or remembrance of
the place of his refuge, the Christian
Church, or the saviour of his life, the vir-
tuous Bishop of Arethusa, it is of course
impossible to conjecture. But his first in-
structer was a man who, born a Scythian
and educated in Greece,* united the severe
morality of his. ruder ancestors with the

* His name was Mardonius.—Julian., ad Athen.
et Misopogon. Socrat., E. H., iii., 1. Amm. Marc..,
xxii.. 12.

elegance of Grecian accomplishments.
He enforced upon his young pupil the
strictest modesty, contempt for the licen-
tious or frivolous pleasures of youth, the
theatre and the bath. At the same time,
while he delighted his mind with the poe-
try of Homer, his graver studies were the
Greek and Latin languages, the elements
of the philosophy of Greece, and music,
that original and attractive element of
Grecian education.* At the age of about
fourteen or fifteen Julian was shut up, with
his brother Gallus, in Macellse, a fortress
in Asia Minor, and committed, in this sort
of honourable prison, to the rigid superin-
tendence of ecclesiastics. By his Education
Christian instructors the young 01 Jullan*
and ardent Julian was bound down to a
course of the strictest observances; the
midnight vigil, the fast, the long and wea-
ry prayer, and visits to the tombs of mar-
tyrs, rather than a wise and rational initi-
ation in the genuine principles of the Gos-
pel, or a judicious familiarity with the
originality, the beauty, and the depth of
the Christian morals and Christian reli-
gion. He was taught the virtue of im-
plicit submission to his ecclesiastical su-
periors ; the munificence of conferring
gifts upon the churches ; with his brother
Gallus he was permitted, or, rather, inci-
ted to build a chapel over the tomb of St.
Mammas.f For six years he bitterly as-
serts that he was deprived of every kind
of useful instruction.J Julian and his
brother, it is even said, were ordained
readers, and officiated in public in that
character. But the passages of the sacred
writings with which he might thus have
become acquainted were imposed as les-
sons; and in the mind of Julian, Christi-
anity, thus taught and enforced, was in-
separably connected with the irksome and
distasteful feelings of confinement and
degradation. No youths of his own rank
or of ingenuous birth were permitted to
visit his prison; he was reduced, as he in-
dignantly declares, to the debasing socie-
ty of slaves.

At the age of twenty Julian was per-

* See the high character of this man in the Mis-
opogon, p. 351.

f Julian is said even thus early to have betrayed
his secret inclinations ; in his declamations he took
delight in defending the cause of paganism against
Christianity. A prophetic miracle foreboded his fu-
ture course. While this church rose expeditiously
under the labour of Gallus, the obstinate stones
would not obey that of Julian ; an invisible hand
disturbed the foundations, and threw down all his
work. Gregory Nazianzen declares that he had
heard this from eyewitnesses ; Sozomen, from those
who had heard it from eyewitnesses.—• Greg., Of.
iii.. p. 59-61. Sozomen, v., 2.

X Uuyrot '.adijfiaTQg anovdatov348

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

mitted to reside in Constantinople, after-
ward at Nicomedia. The jealousy of Con-
stantins was excited by the popular de-
meanour, sober manners, and the reputa-
tion for talents, which directed all eyes
towards his youthful nephew. He dis-
missed him to the more dangerous and
fatal residence in Nicomedia, in the neigh-
bourhood of the most celebrated and most
attractive of the pagan party. The most
faithful adherents of paganism were that
class with which the tastes and inclina-
tions of Julian brought him into close in-
timacy ; the sophists, the men of letters,
the rhetoricians, the poets, the philoso-
phers. He was forbidden, indeed, perhaps
by the jealousy of his appointed instruct-
or Ecebolus, who at this time conformed
to the religion of the court, to hear the
dangerous lectures of Libanius, equally
celebrated for his eloquence and his ar-
dent attachment to the old religion. But
Julian obtained his writings, which he de-
intercourse vourecl with all the delight of a
with the stolen enjoyment.* He formed
philosophers. an intimate acquaintance with
the heads of the philosophic school, with.
iEdesius, his pupils Eusebius and Chry-
santhius, and at last with the famous Max-
imus. These men are accused of practi-
sing the most subtle and insidious arts upon
the character of their ardent and youthful
votary. His grave and meditative mind
imbibed with eager delight the solemn
mysticism of their tenets,, which were im-
pressed more deeply by significant and
awful ceremonies. A magician at Nico-
media first excited his curiosity and tempt-
ed him to enter on these exciting courses.
At Pergamus he visited the aged iEdesius ;
and the manner in which these philoso-
phers passed Julian onward from one to
another, as if through successive stages
of initiation in their mysterious doc-
trines, bears the appearance of a deliber-
ate scheme to work him up to their pur-
poses. The aged iEdesius addressed him
as the favoured child of wisdom; declined
the important charge of his instruction,
but commended him to his pupils Euse-
bius and Chrysanthius, who could unlock
the inexhaustible source of light and wis-
dom. “ If you should attain the supreme
felicity of being initiated in their myste-
ries, you will blush to have been born a
man; you will no longer endure the name.”
The pupils of iEdesius fed the greedy
mind of the proselyte with all their stores
of wisdom, and then skilfully unfolded the
greater fame of Maximus. Eusebius pro-
fessed to despise the vulgar arts of won*

* Liban., Orat. Par., t, i,, p. 526.

der-working, at least in comparison with
the purification of the soul; but he de-
scribed the power of Maximus in terms
to which Julian could not listen without
awe and wonder. Maximus had led them
into the temple of Hecate ; he had burned
a few grains of incense, he had murmured
a hymn, and the statue of the goddess was
seen to smile. They were awe-struck;
but Maximus declared that this was no-
thing. The lamps throughout the temple
shall immediately burst into light: as he
spoke, they kindled and blazed up. “ But
of these mystical wonder-workers we
think lightly,” proceeded the skilful speak-
er; “ do thou, like us, think only of the in-
ternal purification of the reason.” u Keep
to your book,” broke out the impatient
youth; “ this is the man 1 seek.”* He
hastened to Ephesus. The person and
demeanour of Maximus were well suited
to keep up the illusion. He was a vener-
able man, with a long white beard, with
keen eyes, great activity, soft and persua-
sive voice, rapid and fluent eloquence.
By Maximus, who summoned Chrysan-
thius to him, Julian was brought into direct
communion with the invisible world. The
faithful and officious genii from this time
watched over Julian in peace and war;
they conversed with him in his slumbers,
they warned him of dangers, they conduct-
ed his military operations. Thus far we
proceed, on the authority of pagan writers ;
the scene of his solemn initiation rests on
the more doubtful testimony of Christian
historians,! which, as they were little
likely to be admitted into the secrets of
these dark and hidden rites, is to be re-
ceived with grave suspicion, more espe-
cially as they do not scruple to embellish
them with Christian miracle. Julian was
led first into a temple, then into a subter
ranean crypt, in almost total darkness.
The evocations were made; wild and ter-
rible sounds were heard; spectres of fire
jibbered around. Julian, in his sudden ter-
ror, made the sign of the cross. All dis-
appeared, all was silent. Twice this took
place, and Julian could not but express to
Maximus his astonishment at the power
of this sign. “ The gods,” returned the
dexterous philosopher, “ will have no com-
munion with so profane a worshipper.”
From this time it is said, on better au-
thority,! that Julian burst, like a lion in
his wrath, the slender ties which bound
him to Christianity. But he was still con*
strained to dissemble his secret apostacy.
His enemies declared that he redoubled

* Eunapins, in Vit. flEdesii et Maximi.

f Greg. Naz., Orat, iii, 71. Theodoret, iii„ 3.

i Libanius.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

349

Ins outward zeal for Christianity, and even
shaved his head in conformity with the
monastic practice. His brother Gallus
had some suspicion of his secret views,
and sent the Arian bishop Aetius to con-
firm him in the faith.

How far Julian, in this time of danger,
Conduct of stooped to disguise his real sen-
Constantius timents, it were rash to decide,
to Julian. jgut -t woupj py no means com-
mend Christianity to the respect and at-
tachment of Julian, that it was the religion
of his imperial relative. Popular rumour
did not acquit Constantius of the murder
of Julian’s father; and Julian himself af-
terward publicly avowed his belief in this
crime.* He had probably owed his own
escape to his infant age and the activity
of his friends. Up to this time his life
had been the precarious and permissive
boon of a jealous tyrant, who had inflicted
on him every kind of degrading restraint.
His place of education had been a prison,
and his subsequent liberty watched with
suspicious vigilance. The personal reli-
gion of Constantius; his embarking with
alternate violence and subtlety in theo-
logical disputations; his vacillation be-
tween timid submission to priestly au-
thority and angry persecution, were not
likely to make a favourable impression on
a wavering mind. The pagans them-
selves, if we may take the best historian
of the time as the representative of their
opinions,f considered- that- Constantius
dishonoured the Christian religion by min-
gling up its perspicuous simplicity with
anile superstition. If there was little
genuine Christianity in the theological
discussions of Constantius, there had been
less of its beautiful practical spirit in his
conduct to Julian. It had allayed no jeal-
ousy, mitigated no hatred ; it had not re-
strained his temper from overbearing tyr-
anny, nor kept his hands clean from blood.
And now the death of his brother Gallus,
to whom he seems to have cherished
warm attachment, was a new evidence of
the capricious and unhumanized tyranny
of Constantius, a fearful omen of the un-
certainty of his own life under such a
despotism. He had beheld the advance-
ment and the fate of his brother; and his
future destiny presented the alternative
either of ignominious obscurity or fatal
distinction. His life was spared only
■through the casual interference of the hu-
mane and enlightened empress; and her
influence gained but a slow and difficult
triumph over the malignant eunuchs who

ruled the mind of Constantius. But he
had been exposed to the ignominy of ar-
rest and imprisonment, and a fearful sus-
pense of seven weary months.* His mo-
tions, his words, were watched; his very
heart scrutinized; he was obliged to sup-
press the natural emotions of grief for the
death of his brother; to impose silence on
his fluent eloquence, and act the hypo-
crite to nature as well as to religion. His
retreat was Athens, of all cities Julian at
in the empire that, probably, in Athens,
which paganism still maintained the high-
est ascendancy, and appeared in the most
attractive form. The political religion of
Rome had its stronghold in the capital;
that of Greece in the centre of intellect-
ual culture and of the fine arts. Athens
might still be considered the university of
the empire ; from all quarters, particularly
of the East, young men of talent and
promise crowded to complete their stud-
ies in those arts of grammar, rhetoric,
philosophy, which, however, by no mean?
disdained by the Christians, might still be
considered as more strictly attached to
the pagan interest.

Among the Christian students who at
this time paid the homage of their resi-
dence to this great centre of intellectual
culture, were Basil and Gregory of Nazi
anzum. The latter, in the orations with
which, in later times, he condemned the
memory of Julian, has drawn, with a
coarse and unfriendly hand, the picture of
his person and manners. His manners
did injustice to the natural beauties of his
person, and betrayed his restless, inquisi-
tive, and somewhat incoherent character.
The Christian (we must remember, in-
deed, that these predictions were publish *
ed subsequent to their fulfilment, and that,
by their own account, Julian had already
betrayed, in Asia Minor, his secret pro-
pensities) already discerned in the unquiet
a$d unsubmissive spirit the future apos
tate. But the general impression which
Julian made was far more favourable.
His quickness, his accomplishments, the
variety and extent of his information, his
gentleness, his eloquence, and even his
modesty, gained universal admiration, and
strengthened the interest excited by his
foGorn and perilous position.

Of all existing pagan rites, those which
still maintained the greatest re- junan initi-
spect, and would impress a mind atcd at Eie-
like Julian’s with the profound-' US1S-
est veneration, were the Eleusinian Mys-
teries. They united the sanctity of al-

* ’E^e de atyyice / oyig, brrra firjv&v oXcov £a-
tivcrag rrjde naKslae. -Ad. S P. Ath., p 272.

* Ad Senatum Populumque Atheniensem.—Ju-
lian., Oper,, p. 270. f Amirianus Marcellinus.350

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

most immemorial age with some simili-
tude to the Platonic paganism of the day,
at least, sufficient for the ardent votaries
of the latter to claim their alliance. The
Hierophant of Elen sis was admitted to be
the most potent theurgist in the world.*
Julian.honoured him, or was honoured by
his intimacy ; and the initiation in the
mystery of those emphatically called the
goddesses, with all its appalling dramatic
machinery, and its high speculative and
imaginative doctrines; the impenetrable,
the ineffable tenets of the sanctuary, con-
summated the work of Julian’s conver-
sion.

The elevation of Julian to the rank of
Elevation of Caesar was at length extorted
Julian to thy from the necessities, rather than
rank of Css- freely bestowed by the love, of
the emperor. Nor did the jeal-
ous hostility of Constantius cease with
this apparent reconciliation. Constan-
tius, with cold suspicion, thwarted all his
measures, crippled his resources, and ap-
propriated to himself, with unblushing in-
justice, the fame of his victories.! Ju-
lian’s'assumption of the purple, whether
forced upon him by the ungovernable at-
tachment of his soldiery, or prepared by
his own subtle ambition, was justified, and
perhaps compelled, by the base ingrati-
tude of Constantius; and by his mani-
fest, if not avowed, resolution of prepa-
ring the ruin of Julian, by removing his
best troops to the East.J

The timely death of Constantius alone
Death of prevented the deadly warfare in
< oustantius. which the last of the race of
Constantine were about to contest the
empire. The dying bequest of that em-
pire to Julian, said to have been made by
the penitent Constantius, could not efface
the recollection of those long years of
degradation, of jealousy, of avowed or se-
cret hostility; still less could it allay the
dislike or contempt of Julian for his weqk
and insolent predecessor, who, governed

* Compare (in Eunap., Vit. Andes., p. 52, edit.
Boissonade) the prophecy of the dissolution of pa-
ganism ascribed to this pontiff; a prediction which
may do credit to the sagacity, or evince the appre-
hensions of the seer, but will by no means claim
the honour of divine foreknowledge.

f Ammianus, 1. xv., 8, et seqq. Socrates, iiiM 1.
Sozomen, v., n. La. Bleterie, Vie de Julien, 89, et
seqq. The campaigns of Julian, in La Bleterie,
lib. ii. Gibbon, i., p. 404-408.

The well-known passage in Ammianus shows
the real sentiments of the court. towards Julian.
In odium venit cum victoriis suis capella non ho-
mo; ut hirsutum Julianum carpentes appellan-
tesque loquacem t'alpam, et purpuratam simiam, et
lilterionem Grsecum.—Amm. Marc., xvii., 11.

+ Amm. Marc , xx., &c. Zosimus, iii. Liban.,
Oi. x. Jul. ad S. P. Q. A.

by eunuchs, wasted the precious time
which ought to have been devoted to the
cares of the empire in idle theological
discussions, or quarrels with contending
ecclesiastics. The part in the character
of the deceased emperor least likely to
find favour in the sight of his successor
Julian was his religion. The unchristian
Christianity of Constantius must bear
some part of the guilt of Julian’s apos-
tacy.

Up to the time of his revolt against
Constantius, Julian had respected conduct
the dominant Christianity. The ofjuiian.
religious acts of his early youth, perform-
ed in obedience, or under the influence of
his instructors ; or his submissive con-
formity, when his watchful enemies were
eager for his life, ought hardly to convict
him of deliberate hypocrisy. In Gaul,
still under the strictest suspicion, and en-
gaged in almost incessant warfare, he
would have few opportunities to betray
his secret sentiments. But Jupiter was
consulted in his private chamber, and
sanctioned his assumption of the imperial
purple.* And no sooner had he marched
into Illyria, an independent emperor, at
the head of his own army, than he threw
aside all concealment, and"proclaimed him-
self a worshipper of the ancient gods of
paganism. The auspices were taken, and
the act of divination was not the less held
in honour because the fortunate sooth-
sayer announced the death of Constan-
tius. The army followed the example of
their victorious general. At his command
the neglected temples resumed their cere-
monies ; he adorned them with offerings;
he set the example of costly sacrifices.j
The Athenians in particular obeyed with
alacrity the commands of the new emper-
or; the honours of the priesthood became
again a worthy object of contest; two dis-
tinguished females claimed the honour of
representing the genuine Eumolpidae, and
of officiating in the Parthenon. Julian,
already anxious to infuse as much of the
real Christian spirit as he could into re-
viving paganism, exhorted the contending
parties to peace and unity, as the most ac-
ceptable sacrifice to the gods.

The death of Constantius left the whole
Roman world open to the civil and re-
ligious schemes which lay, floating and un-
formed, before the imagination of Julian.
The civil reforms were executed with ne-

* Amm. Marc., xxi., I.

f The Western army was more easily practised
upon than the Eastern soldiers at a subsequent pe-
riod. Op7]cn<.evojLLev rovg Qeovg avafyavdov Kal to
n:\rjdog rod avyicars^dovrog pot Groaronedov $to-
ae6eg koriv.—Epist. xxxviii.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

351

cessary .severity, our, in some instances,
with more than necessary cruelty. The* *-
elevation of paganism into a rational and
effective faith, and the depression, and
even the eventual extinction, of Christian-
ity were the manifest objects of Julian’s
religious policy. Julian’s religion was the
eclectic paganism of the new Platonic phi-
losophy. The chief speculative tenet was
Oriental rather than Greek or Roman.
The one immaterial inconceivable Father
dwelt alone ; though his majesty was held
in reverence, the direct and material ob-
ject of worship was the great Sun,* the
living and animated, and propitious and
beneficent, image of the immaterial Fa-
ther.f Below this primal Deity and his
glorious image there was room for the
whole Pantheon of subordinate deities, of
whom, in like manner, the stars were the
material representatives, but who pos-
sessed invisible powers, and manifested
themselves in various ways, in dreams
and visions, through prodigies and ora-
cles, the flights of. birds, and the signs in
the sacrificial victims,} This vague and
comprehensive paganism might include
under its dominion all classes and nations
which adhered to the heathen worship;
the Oriental, the' Greek, the Roman, even
perhaps the Northern barbarian, would
not refuse to admit the simplicity of the
primal article of the creed, spreading out
as it did below into the boundless latitude
of Polytheism. The immortality of the
soul appears to follow as an inference
from some of Julian’s Platonic doctrines
but it is remarkable how rarely it is put
forward as an important point of differ-
ence in his religious writings, while in his
private correspondence he falls back to
the dubious and hesitating language of the
ancient heathens : “1 am not one of those
who disbelieve the immortality of the soul;
but the gods alone can know; man can
only conjecture that secretj| but his best

* fTov fdyav TLU07;, to £cov dya%pa ical Efiipvxov,

$ tl evvovv ical ayadospybv, rov votjtov iraTpog.

+ Compare Julian, apud Cyril., lib. ii., p. 65. “
i Julian asserts the various offices of the subor-
dinate deifies, apud Cyril., lib. vii., p. 235.

One of the most remarkable illustrations of this
wide-spread worship of the sun is to be found in the
address of Julius Firmicus Maternus to the Emper-
ors Constantins and Constant. He introduces the
sun as remonstrating against the dishonourable hon-
ours thus heaped upon him, and protests against be-
ing responsible for the acts, or involved in the fate,
of Liber, Attys, or Osiris. Nolo ut errori vestro
nomen meum fomenta suppeditet. * * Quicquid
sum simpliciter Deo pareo, nec aliud volo de me
intelligatis, nisi quod videtis, c. 8.

§ Lib. ii., 58.

H Ov yap d?j ical rjfielg kopev rtiv ttetteicrfievuv
Tag Tirol TzpoairokJ^aQai rCov acoudriov tj

consolation on the loss of friends was the
saying of the Grecian philosopher to Da-
rius, that if he would find three persons
who had not suffered the like calamities,
he would restore his beautiful wife-to life.44
His dying language, however, though still
vague, and allied to the old Pantheistic
system, sounds more like serene, confi-
dence in some future state of being.

The first care of Julian was to restore
the outward form of paganism Restoration
to its former splendour, and to of paganism,
infuse the vigour of reviving youth into
the antiquated system. The temples were
everywhere to be restored to their ancient
magnificence; the municipalities were
charged with the expense of these costly
renovations. Where they had been de-
stroyed by the zeal of the Christians, large
fines were levied on the communities, and
became, as will hereafter appear, a pretext
for grinding exaction, and sometimes cruel
persecution. It assessed on the whole
community the penalty, merited, perhaps,
only by the rashness of a few zealots; it
revived outrages almost forgotten, and in-
juries perpetrated, perhaps with the sanc-
tion, unquestionably with the connivance,
of the former government. In many in-
stances it may have revenged on the in-
nocent and peaceful the crimes of the ava-
ricious and irreligious, who eitheir plun-
dered under the mask of Christian zeal, or
seized the opportunity when the zeal of
others might secure their impunity. That
which takes place in all religious revolu-
tions had occurred to a considerable ex-
tent : the powerful had seized the oppor-
tunity of plundering the weaker party for
their own advantage. The eunuchs and
favourites of the court had fattened on the
spoil of the temples.f If these men had
been forced to regorge their ill-gotten
gains, justice might have approved the
measure; but their crimes were unfairly
visited on the whole Christian body. The
extent to which the ruin and spoliation of
the temples had been carried in the East
may be estimated from the tragic lamenta-
tions of Libanius. The soul of Julian, ac-
cording to the orator, burned for empire,
in order to restore the ancient order of
things.

Gwa/rcoXkvGQai. * * 'Of Tolg fiev avOpQTcoi.g up-
fjCo&i rcspl toiovtov e’uc&&iv, kniGraaQat it avru
Tovg dsovg dvdyKT).— Epist. lxiii, p. 452.

* Epistle to Amerius on the loss of his wife.—
Ep. xxxvii., p. 412.

f Pasti templorum spoliis is the strong expres-
sion of Ammiarius. Libanius says that'some per-
sons had built themselves houses from the materi-
als of the temples. ILpijfiara ds ete2.ovv ol ro/bj
. T&v iepov TitOoig c<pLGiv avToig oiKiag tyeipovTrc.
I — Orat. Parent, p. 504. •352

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

In some respects the success of Julian
answered the high-wrought expectations
of his partisans. His panegyrist indulges
in this lofty language: 'Thou, then, I
say, 0 mightiest, emperor, hast restored to
the republic the expelled and banished vir-
tues ; thou hast rekindled the study of let-
ters ; thou hast not only delivered from
her trial Philosophy, suspected heretofore
and deprived of her honours, and even ar-
raigned as a criminal, but hast clothed her
in purple, crowned her with jewels, and
seated her on the imperial throne. We
may now look on the heavens, and con-
template the stars with fearless gaze, who,
a short time ago, like the beasts of the
field, fixed our downward and grovelling
vision on the earth.”* “ First of all,” says
Libanius, “ he re-established the exiled re-
ligion, building, restoring, embellishing the
temples. Everywhere were altars and
fires, and the blood and fat of sacrifice,
and smoke, and sacred rites, and diviners
fearlessly performing their functions. And
on the tops of mountains were pipings and
processions, and the sacrificial ox, which
was at once an offering to the gods and a
banquet to men.”f The private temple in
the palace of Julian, in which he worship-
ped daily, was sacred to the Sun; but he
founded altars to all the gods. He looked
with especial favour on those cities which
had retained their temples, with abhor-
rence on those which had suffered them
to be destroyed or to fall to ruin.J

Julian so entirely misapprehended Chris-
tianity as to attribute its success and in-
fluence to its internal organization rather
than to its internal authority over the soul
of man. He thought that the religion grew
out of the sacerdotal power, not that the
sacerdotal power was but the vigorous de-
velopment of the religion. He fondly sup-
posed that the imperial edict and the au-
thority of the government could supply
the place of profound religious sentiment,
and transform the whole pagan priesthood,
whether attached to the dissolute worship
of the East, the elegant ceremonial of
Greece, or the graver ritual of Rome, into
a serious, highly moral, and blameless
hierarchy. The emperor was to be at
once the supreme head and the model of
this new sacerdotal order. The sagacious
mind of Julian might have perceived th.e
dangerous power, growing up in the Chris-
tian episcopate, which had already en-
croached upon the imperial authority, and

* Mam.'Grat. Act, c. xxiii. This clause refers,
no doubt, to astrology and divination.

f See v. 1, p. 529, one among many passages;
likewise the Oratio pro Templis, and the Monodia.

t Orat Parent., p. 564.

began to divide the allegiance of the world.
His political apprehensions may have con-
curred with his religious animosities, in
not merely endeavouring to check the in-
crease of this power, but in desiring to
concentrate again in the imperial person
both branches of authority . The supreme
pontificate of paganism had indeed passed
quietly down with the rest of the imperial
titles and functions. But the interference
of the Christian emperors in ecclesiastical
affairs had been met with resistance, obey-
ed only with sullen reluctance, or but in
deference to the strong arm of power.
The doubtful issue of the conflict between
the emperor and his religious antagonist
might awaken reasonable alarm for the
majesty of the empire. If, on the other
hand, Julian should succeed in reorgan-
izing the pagan priesthood in efficiency,
respect, and that moral superiority which
now belonged to the Christian ecclesias-
tical system, the supreme pontificate, in-
stead of being a mere appellation, or an
appendage to the imperial title, would be
an office of unlimited influence and au-
thority.* The emperor would be the un-
disputed and unrivalled head Julian’s new
of the religion of the empire; priesthood,
the whole sacerdotal order would be at his
command ; paganism, instead of being, as
heretofore, a confederacy of different re-
ligions, an aggregate of local systems of
worship, each under its own tutelar deity,
would become a well-regulated monarchy,
withits provincial, civic, and village priest-
hoods, acknowledging the supremacy, and
obeying the impulse, of the high imperial
functionary. Julian admitted the distinc-
tion between the priest and the laity.f In
every province a supreme pontiff was to
be appointed, charged .with the superin-
tendence over the conduct of the inferior
priesthood, and armed with authority to
suspend or to depose those who should be
guilty of any indecent irregularity. The
whole priesthood were to be sober, chaste,
temperate in all things. They were to ab-
stain, not merely from loose society, but,
in a' spirit diametrically opposite to the old
religion, were rarely to be seen at public
festivals, never where women mingled in
them.} In private houses they were only

* See the curious fragment of the sixty-second
epistle, p. 450, in which Julian asserts his suprem-
acy, not merely as Pontifex Maximus, but as hold-
ing a high rank among the worshippers of Cybele.
’Eyw tolvov sttscStj Trep el/u /card fiev rd Tcarpca
fteydg ’Apxiep&vg, e'Xaxov devvv teal rov Aidvpaiov
7rpo^reoeLV.

t Tl7m aol rrov /xereaTiv efineipiag (olug) t£>v
duccLLov, og ovk olada tl llev iepsvg, rt de id'iornc.
—Fragm., Epist. lxii.

t See Epist. xlix.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

353

to be present at the moderate banquets of
the virtuous ; they were never to be seen
drinking in taverns, or exercising any base
or sordid trade. The priesthood were to
stand aloof from society, and only mingle
with it to infuse their own grave decency
and unimpeachable moral tone. The the-
atre, that second temple, as it might be
called, of the older religion, was sternly
proscribed ; so entirely was it considered
sunk from its high religious character, so
incapable of being restored to its old moral
influence. They were to avoid all books,
poetry, or tales which might inflame their
passions ; to abstain altogether from those
philosophical writings which subverted the
foundations of religious belief, those of the
Pyrrhonists and Epicureans, which Julian
asserts had happily fallen into complete
neglect, and had almost become obsolete.
They were to be diligent and liberal in
almsgiving, and to exercise hospitality on
the most generous scale. The Jews had
no beggars, the Christians maintained in-
discriminately all'applicants to their char-
ity ; it was a disgrace to the pagans to be
inattentive to such duties ; and the author-
ity of Homer is alleged to show the prod-
igal hospitality of the older Greeks. They
His charita- were to establish houses of re-
bie institu- ception for strangers in every
llons city, and thus to rival or surpass
the generosity of the Christians. Supplies
of corn from the public granaries were as-
signed for these purposes, and placed at
the disposal of the priests, partly for the
maintenance of their attendants, partly for
these pious uses. They were to pay great
regard to the burial of the dead, a subject
on which Grecian feeling had always been
peculiarly sensitive, particularly of stran-
imitated from gers. The benevolent institu-
ciiristianity. tions of Christianity were to
be imitated and associated to paganism.
A tax was to be levied in every province
for the maintenance of the poor, and dis-
tributed by the priesthood. Hospitals for
the sick and for indigent strangers of eve-
ry creed were to be formed in convenient
places. The Christians, not without jus-
tice, called the emperor “ the ape of Chris-
tianity.” Of all homage to the Gospel,
this was the most impressive and sincere ;
and we are astonished at the blindness of
Julian in not perceiving that these changes,
which thus enforced his admiration, were
the genuine and permanent results of the
religion ; but the disputes, and strifes, and
persecutions, the accidental and temporary
effects of human passions, awakened by
this new and violent impulse on the hu-
man mind.

Something like a universal ritual formed

Y Y

part of the design of Julian. Three
times a day prayer was to be pub- nuua1'
licly offered in the temples. The power-
ful aid of music, so essential a part of the
older and better Grecian instruction, and of
which the influence is so elevating to the
soul,* was called in to impress the minds
of the worshippers. Each temple was to
have its organized band of choristers. A
regular system of alternate chanting was
introduced. It would be curious, if it were
possible, to ascertain whether the Grecian
temples- received back their own music
and their alternately responding chorus
from the Christian churches.

Julian would invest the pagan priest-
hood in that respect, or, rather, Respect
that commanding majesty, with for^empies
which the profound reverence of the Chris
tian world arrayed their hierarchy, Sol
emn silence was to reign in the temples
All persons in authority were to leave
their guards at the door when they enter-
ed the hallowed precincts. The emperor
himself forbade the usual acclamations on
his entrance into the presence of the gods.
Directly as he touched the sacred thresh-
old, he became a private man.

It is said that he meditated a com-
plete course of religious instruc- Religious
tion. Schoolmasters, catechists, instruction,
preachers, were to teach—are we to sup-
pose the Platonic philosophy 1—as a part
of the religion. A penitential form was
to be drawn up for the readmission of
transgressors into the fold. Instead of
throwing open the temples to the free
and promiscuous reception of apostatizing
Christians, the value of the privilege was
to be enhanced by the difficulty of attain-
ing it.f They were to be slowly admitted
to the distinction of rational believers in
the gods. The dii averruncatores (atoning
deities) were to be propitiated; they were
to pass through different degrees of initi-
ation. Prayers, expiations, lustrations,
severe trials, could alone purify their
bodies and their minds, and make them
worthy participants in the pagan myster-
ies.

But Julian was not content with this
moral regeneration of paganism ; Animal
he attempted to bring back the sacrifices;
public mind to all the sanguinary ritual of
sacrifice, to which the general sentiment
had been gradually growing unfamiliar
and repugnant The time was passed
when men could consider the favour of
the gods propitiated according to the num-
ber of slaughtered beasts. The philoso-
phers must have smiled in secret over the

* On Music.—See Epist. lvi. f See Epist. lii354

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

superstition of the philosophic emperor.
Julian himself washed off his Christian
baptism by the new Oriental rite of asper-
sion by blood, the Taurobolia or Kriobolia
of the Mithraic mysteries ;* * * § * he was regen-
erated anew to paganism.f This indeed
was a secret ceremony; but Julian was
perpetually seen, himself wielding the
sacrificial knife, and exploring with his
own hands the reeking entrails of the vic-
tims, to learn the secrets of futurity. The
enormous expenditure lavished on the
sacrifices, the hecatombs of cattle, the
choice birds from all quarters, drained the
re venue. J The Western soldiers, espe-
cially the intemperate Gauls, indulged in
the feasts of the victims to such excess,
and mingled them with such copious liba-
tions of wine, as to be carried to their
tents amid the groans and mockeries of
the more sober.§ The gifts to diviners,
soothsayers, and impostors of all classes
offended equally the more wise and ration-
al. In the public as well as private con-
duct of Julian, there was a heathen Phari-
saism, an attention to minute and trifling
observances, which could not but excite
contempt even in the more enlightened of
his own party. Every morning and even-
ing he offered sacrifice to the sun; he rose
at night to offer the same homage to the
moon and stars. Every day brought the
rite of some other god ; he was constantly
seen prostrate before the image of the
deity, busying himself about the ceremony,
performing the menial offices of cleansing
the wood, and kindling the fire with his
own breath, till the victim was ready for
the imperial hands. ||

Instead of the Christian hierarchy, Ju-
Phiinwip™ lian hastened to environ him-
‘ self with the most distinguished
of the heathen philosophers. Most of
these, indeed, pretended to be a kind of
priesthood. Intercessors between the de-
ities and the world of man, they wrought
miracles, foresaw future events ; they pos-
sessed the art of purifying the soul, so that

* Gregor. Naz., iii., p. 70.

f The person initiated descended into a pit or
trench, and through a kind of sieve, or stone pierced
with holes, the blood of the bull or the ram was
poured over his whole person.

t Julian acknowledges the reluctance to sacri-
fice in many parts. “ Show me,” he says, to the
philosopher Aristomenes, “ a genuine Greek in Cap-
padocia.” Teof yap rove; [ikv ov j3ovXojU,evovg,
oXtyovg de tlvclq kdeXovrag pev, ovk eldorag de
tSvelv, dpti.—Epist. iv., p. 375.

§ I do not believe the story of human sacrifices
in Alexandrea and Athens, Socrat., E. H., iii., 13.

|| Innumeros sine parsimonia mactans; ut cred-
eretur, si revertisset de Parthis, boves jam defec-
turos.—Amm. Marc., xxv., 4.

it should be reunited to the Primal Spirit;
the divinity dwelt within them.

The obscurity of the names which Ju-
lian thus set up to rival in popular estima-
tion an Athanasius or a Gregory of Nazi-
anzum, is not altogether to be ascribed to
the final success of Christianity. The
impartial verdict of posterity can scarcely
award to these men a higher appellation
than that of sophists and rhetoricians
The subtlety and ingenuity of these more
imaginative, perhaps, but far less profound,
schoolmen of paganism, were wasted on
idle reveries, on solemn trifling, and ques-
tions which it was alike useless to agitate,
and impossible to solve. The hand of
death was alike upon the religion, the phi-
losophy, the eloquence of Greece ; and the
temporary movement which Julian exci-
ted was but a feeble quivering, a last im-
potent struggle, preparatory to total dis-
solution. Maximus appears, in his own
time, to have been the most eminent of
his class. The writings of Libanius and
of lamblichus alone survive to any extent
the general wreck of the later Grecian lit-
erature. The genius and the language of
Plato were alike wanting in his degener-
ate disciples. Julian himself is, perhaps,
the best, because the plainest and most
perspicuous, writer of his time: and the
“ Caesars” may rank as no unsuccessful
attempt at satiric irony.

Maximus was the most famous of the
school. He had been among the M
early instructers of Julian. The axllnus-
emperor had scarcely assumed the throne
when he, wrote to Maximus in the most
urgent and flattering terms: life was not
life without him.* Maximus obeyed the
summons. On his journey through Asia
Minor, the cities vied with each other in
doing honour to the champion of paganism.
When the emperor heard of his arrival in
Constantinople, though engaged in an im-
portant public ceremonial, he broke it off
at once, and hastened to welcome his phil-
osophic guest. The roads to the metrop-
olis were crowded with sophists, hurrying
to bask in the sunshine of imperial favour.f
The privilege of travelling at the public
cost, by the posting establishment of the
empire, so much abused by Constantius in
favour of the bishops, was now conceded
to some of the philosophers. Chrysan-
thius, another sophist of great reputation,

* Epist. xv. The nameless person to whom the
first epistle is addressed is declared superior to Py
thagoras or Plato.—Epist. i., p. 372.

i The severe and grave Priscus despised the
youths who embraced philosophy as a fashion.
Kopv6avTi6vr(‘)v em ootyia peLpcudov,—Vit. Prise
apud Eunap., ed. Boisson., p. 67.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

355

was more modest and more prudent; he
declined the dazzling honour, and prefer-
red the philosophic quiet of his native
town. Julian appointed him, with his wife,
to the high-priesthood of Lydia ; and Chry-
santhius, with the prophetic discernment
of worldly wisdom, kept on amicable
terms with the Christians. Of Libanius,
Julian writes in rapturous admiration.
Iamblichus had united all that was excel-
lent in the ancient philosophy and poetry;
Pindar, Democritus, and Orpheus were
blended in his perfect and harmonious
syncretism.* The wisdom of Iamblichus
so much dazzled and overawed the emper-
or that he dared not intrude too much of
his correspondence on the awful sage.
“ One of his letters surpassed in value all
the gold in Lydia.” The influence of men
over their own age may in general be es-
timated by the language of contemporary
writers. The admiration they excite is a
test of their power, at least with their own
party. The idolatry of the philosophers
is confined to the few initiate; and even
with their own party, the philosophers dis-
appointed the high expectations which
they had excited of their dignified superi-
ority to the baser interests and weakness-
es of mankind. They were by no means
proof against the intoxication of court fa-
vour; they betrayed their vanity, their
love of pleasure. Maximus himself is ac-
cused of assuming the pomp and insolence
of a favourite ; the discarded eunuchs had
been replaced, it was feared, by a new, not
less intriguing or more disinterested, race
of courtiers.

To the Christians Julian assumed the
Toleration language of the most liberal tol-
ofJulian, gration. His favourite orator
thus describes his policy: “He thought
that neither fire nor sword could change
the faith of mankind; the heart disowns
the hand which is compelled by terror to
sacrifice. Persecutions only make hypo-
crites, who are unbelievers throughout
life, or martyrs honoured after death.f He
strictly prohibited the putting to death the
Galileans (his favourite appellation of the
Christians), as worthy rather of compas-
sion than of hatred.f “ Leave them to
punish themselves, poor, blind, and mis-
guided beings, who abandon the most glo-
rious privilege of mankind, the adoration of
the immortal gods, to worship the moulder-

* Epist. xv.

t Liban., Orat. Parent., v. i:, p. 562.
t He assexts,; in his 7th epistle, that he is willing
neither to put to death, nor to injure the Christians
in any manner, but the worshippers of the gods
were on all occasions to be preferred—TrponiJ.acdai.

-Compare Epist. lii.

ing remains and bones of the dead.”* He
did not perceive that it was r.ow too late to
reassume the old Roman contempt for the
obscure and foreign religion. Christianity
had sat on the throne, and disdain now
sounded like mortified pride. And the
language, even the edicts, of the emperor,
under the smooth mask of gentleness and
pity, betrayed the bitterness of hostility.
His conduct was a perpetual sarcasm. It
was the interest of paganism to inflame,
rather than to allay, the internal feuds of
Christianity. Julian revoked the sentence
of banishment pronounced against Arians,
Apollinarians, and Donatists. He deter-
mined, it is said, to expose them to a sort
of public exhibition of intellectual gladia-
torship. He summoned the ad- Hissarcas-
vocates of the several sects to tic tone,
dispute in his presence, and presided with
mock solemnity over their debates. His
own voice was drowned in the clamour,
till at length, as though to contrast them,
to their disadvantage, with the wild bar-
barian warriors with whom he had been
engaged, “ Hear me,” exclaimed the em-
peror ; “ the Franks and the Alemanni
have heard me.” “ No wild beasts,” he
said, “ are so savage and intractable as
Christian sectaries.” He even endured
personal insult. The statue of the “ For-
tune of Constantinople,” bearing a cross
in its hand, had been set up by Constan-
tine. Julian took away the cross, and re-
moved the deity into a splendid temple.
While he was employed in sacrifice, he
was interrupted by the remonstrances of
Maris, the Arian bishop of Chalcedon, to
whom age and blindness had added cour-
age. “ Peace,” said the emperor, “ blind
old man, thy Galilean God will not restore
thine eyesight.” “ I thank my God,” an-
swered Maris, “for my blindness, which
spares me the pain of beholding an apos-
tate like thee.” Julian calmly proceeded
in his sacrifice.!

The sagacity of Julian perceived the
advantage to be obtained by con- Taunts their
trasting the wealth, the power, professions
and the lofty tone of the exist- of poverty*
ing priesthood with the humility of the
primitive Christians. On the occasion of
a dispute between the Arian and ortho-
dox party in Edessa, he confiscated their
wealth, in order, as he said, to reduce
them to their becoming and boasted pov-
erty. “ Wealth, according to their admi-
rable law,” he ironically says, “ prevents
them from attaining the kingdom of heav-
en.”!.

* His usual phrase was “ worshippers of the
dead and of the bones of men.”

f Socrates, iii., 12. t Ibid., iii., 13.356

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

But his hostility was not confined to
Privileges these indirect and invidious mea-
withdrawn. sures, or to quiet or insulting
scorn. He began by abrogating all the
exclusive privileges of the clergy ; their
immunity from taxation, and exemptions
from public duties. He would not allow
Christians to be praefects, as their law
prohibited their adjudging capital punish-
ments. He resumed all the grants made
on the revenues of the municipalities,
and the supplies of corn for their mainte-
nance. It was an act of more unwar-
Exciusion rantable yet politic tyranny to
from public exclude them altogether from
education. ^ pUblic education. By a fa-
miliarity with the great models of anti-
quity, the Christian had risen at least to
the level of the most correct and elegant
of the heathen writers of the day. Though
something of Oriental expression, from
the continual adoption of language or of
imagery from the Sacred Writings, adhe-
red to their style, yet even that gives a
kind of raciness and originality to their
language, which, however foreign to the
purity of Attic Greek, is more animating
and attractive than the prolix and languid
periods of Libanius, or the vague meta-
physics of Iamblichus. Julian perceived
the danger, and resented this usurpation,
as it were, of the arms of paganism, and
their employment against their legitimate
parent. It is not, indeed, quite clear how
far or in what manner the prohibition of
Julian affected the Christians. A general
Education of sys^m of education for the free
the higher and superior classes had grad-
ciasses. ually spread through the em-
pire.* * Each city maintained a certain
number of professors, according to its
size and population, who taught grammar,
rhetoric, and philosophy. They were ap-
pointed by the magistracy, and partly paid
from the municipal funds. Vespasian first
assigned stipends to professors in Rome,
the Antonines extended the establishment
to the other cities of the empire. They
received two kinds of emoluments: the
salary from the city, and a small fixed
gratuity from their scholars. They en-
joyed considerable immunities, exemption
from military and civil service, and from
all ordinary taxation. There can be no
doubt that this education, as originally de-
signed, was more or less intimately allied
with the ancient religion. The gramma-
rians, the poets,f the orators, the philos-

* There is an essay on the professors and gen-
eral system of education, by Monsieur Naudet,
M&n. de l’Institut., vol. x., p. 399.
f Homer, then considered, if not the parent, the

ophers of Greece and Rome, were the wri-
ters whose works were explained and in-
stilled into the youthful mind. “ The vi-
tal principle, Julian asserted, in the wri-
tings of Homer, Hesiod, Demosthenes,
Herodotus, Thucydides, Isocrates, Lysias,
was the worship of the gods. Some of
these writers had dedicated themselves to
Mercury, some to the Muses. Mercury
and the Muses were the tutelar deities
of the pagan schools.” The Christians
had glided imperceptibly into some of
these offices, and perhaps some of the
professors had embraced Christianity. But
Julian declared that the Christians must
be shameful hypocrites or the most sor-
did of men, who for a few drachms would
teach what they did not believe.* The
emperor might with some plausibility have
insisted that the ministers of public in-
struction, paid by the state or from public-
funds, should at least not be hostile to the
religion of the state. If the prohibition
extended no farther than their exclusion
from the public professorships, the meas-
ure might have worn some appearance of
equity; but it was the avowed policy of
Julian to exclude them, if possible, from
all advantages derived from the liberal
study of Greek letters. The original edict
disclaimed the intention of compelling the
Christians to attend the pagan schools,
but it contemptuously asserted the right
of the government to control men so com-
pletely out of their senses, and, at the
same time, affected condescension to their
weakness and obstinacy.f But, if the em-
peror did not compel them to learn, he
forbade them to teach. The interdict, no
doubt, extended to their own private and
separate schools for Hellenic learning.
They were not to instruct in Greek let-
ters without the sanction of the municipal
magistracy. He added insult to this nar-
row prohibition : he taunted them with
their former avowed contempt for human
learning; he would not permit them to
lay their profane hands on Homer and
Plato. “Let them be content to explain
Matthew and Luke in the churches of the
Galileans.”} Some of the Christian pro-

great authority for the pagan mythology, was the
elementary schoolbook.

* When Christianity resumed the ascendancy,
this act of intolerance was adduced in justification
of the severities of Theodosius against paganism.
Petunt etiam, ut illis privilegia deferas, qui loquen
di et docendi nostris communem usum Juliani lege
proxima denegarunt. — Ambros., Epist. Resp. ad
Symmach.

f Julian, Epist. xlii, p. 420. Socrates, v., 18.
Theodoret, iii., 8. Sozomen, v., 18. Greg. Naz.<
Or. iii., p. 51, 96, 97.

i Julian , Enist. xlv.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 357

lessors obeyed the imperial edict.* Pro-
aeresius, who taught rhetoric with great
success at Rome, calmly declined the
overtures of the emperor, and retired into
a private station. Musonius, a rival of the
great Proseresius, was silenced. But they
resorted to an expedient which shows that
they had full freedom of Christian instruc-
tion. A Christian Homer, a Christian Pin-
dar, and other works were composed, in
which Christian sentiments and opinions
were interwoven into the language of the
original poets. The piety of the age great-
ly admired these Christian parodies, which,
however, do not seem to have maintain-
ed their ground even in the Christian
schools.f

Julian is charged with employing un-
Arts of Ju- worthy or insidious arts to ex-
iian to tin- tort an involuntary assent to
derrmnc paganism. Heathen symbols
everywhere replaced those of
Christianity. The medals display a great
variety of deities, with their attributes.
Jupiter is crowning the emperor. Mars and
Mercury inspire him with military skill
and eloquence. The monogram of Christ
disappeared from the labarum, and on the
standards were represented the gods of
paganism. As the troops defiled before
the emperor, each man was ordered to
throw a few grains of frankincense upon
an altar which stood bgfore him. The
Christians were horror-stricken when they
found that, instead of a^n act of legitimate
respect to the emperor, they had been be-
trayed into paying homage to idols. Some
bitterly lamented their involuntary sacri-
lege, and indignantly threw down their
arms ; some of them are said to have sur-
rounded the palace, and, loudly avowing
that they, were Christians, reproached the
emperor with his treachery, and cast down
the largess that they had received. For
this breach of discipline and insult to the
emperor they were led out to military ex-
ecution. They vied with each other, it is
said, for the honours of martyrdom.! But
the bloody scene was interrupted by a
messenger from the emperor, who con-

* The more liberal heathens were disgusted and
ashamed at this measure of Julian. Iliad autem
erat inclemens, obmendum perenni silentio, quod
arcebat docere magistros, rhetoricos, et grammati-
cos, ritus Christiani cultores.—Amin. Marcell., xx.,
c. 10.

f After the death of Julian they were contempt-
uously thrown aside by the Christians themselves,
T&v 6e oi 7tovol kv r& Icro) /lit} ypa^fjvat, Tioyc^ov-
rat.—Socrates, E. H., iii., 16.

t Jovian, Valentinian, and Yalens, the future
emperors, are said to have been among those who
refused to serve in the army. Julian, however, de-
clined to accept the resignation of the former.

tented himself with expelling them from
the army and sending them into banish-
ment.

Actual persecutions, though unauthor-
ized by the imperial edicts, would Persecu-
take place in some parts from the tions-
collision of the two parties. The pagans,
now invested in authority, would not be
always disposed to use that authority with
discretion, and the pagan populace would
seize the opportunity of revenging the vio-
lation of their temples or the interruption
of their rites by the more zealous Chris-
tians. No doubt the language of an ad-
dress delivered to Constantius and Con-
stans expressed the sentiments of a large
party among the Christians. “ Destroy
without fear, destroy ye, most religious
emperors, the ornaments of the temples.
Coin the idols into money, or melt them
into useful metal. Confiscate all their
endowments for the advantage of the em-
peror and of the government. God has
sanctioned, by your recent victories, your
hostility to the temples.” The writer
proceeds to thunder out the passages of
the Mosaic law which enforce the duty of
the extirpation of idolaters.* No doubt,
in many places, the eager fanaticism of
the Christians had outstripped the tardy
movements of imperial zeal. In many
cases it would now be thought an act of
religion to reject, in others it would be
impossible to satisfy, the demands for res-
titution. The best authenticated acts of
direct persecution relate to these disputes.
Nor can Julian himself be exculpated from
the guilt, if not of conniving at, of faintly
rebuking these tumultuous acts of revenge
or of wanton outrage. In some of the
Syrian towns, Gaza, Hieropolis, and Cses-
area, the pagans had perpetrated cruelties
too horrible to detail. Not content with
massacring the Christians with every
kind of indignity, they had treated their
lifeless remains with unprecedented out-
rage. They sprinkled the entrails of their
victims with barley, that the fowls might
be tempted to devour them. At Heliopo-
lis their cannibal fury did not shrink from
tasting the blood and the inward parts of
murdered priests and virgins. Julian calm-
ly expresses his regret that the Restoration
restorers of the temples of the of temples,
gods have in some instances exceeded his
expressed intentions; which, however,
seem to have authorized the destruction
of the Christian churches, or, at least,
some of their sacred places.f

* Julius Firmicus Matemus, de Errors Profano-
rum Religionum, c. 29

t Greg. Nazianz. Socrates, iii., 14. Sozomen,358

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Julian made an inauspicious choice in
the battle-field on which he at-
tention011" tempted to decide his conflict
iii-chosen with Christianity. Christianity
ground. predominated to a greater ex-
tent in Constantinople and in Antioch than
in any other cities of the empire. In
Rome he might have appealed to the an-
tiquity of heathenism, and its eternal as-
sociation with the glories, of the republic.
In Athens he would have combined in
more amicable confederacy the philoso-
phy and the religion. In Athens his ac-
cession had given a considerable impulse
to paganism ; the temples, with the rest of
the public buildings, had renewed their
youth.* * Eleusis, which had fallen into
ruin, now reassumed its splendour, and
might have been wisely made the centre
of his new system. But in Constantino-
ple all was modern and Christian. Piety
to the imperial founder was closely con-
nected with devotion to his religion. Ju-
lian could only restore the fanes of the tu-
telary gods of old Byzantium; he could
strip the fortune of the city of her Chris-
tian attributes, but he could not give a pa-
gan character to a city which had grown
up under Christian auspices. Constan-
Constan- tinople remained contumaciously
tinopie. and uniformly Christian. Antioch
had been a chief seat of that mingled
worship of the Sun which had grown up
. in all the Hellenized parts of Asia;
Antl0C ‘ the name of Daphne given to the
sacred grove, implied that the fictions of
Greece had been domiciliated in Syria.
Antioch was now divided by two incon-
gruous but equally dominant passions, de-
votion to Christianity and attachment to
the games, the theatre, and every kind of
public amusement. The bitter sarcasms
of Julian on the latter subject are justified
and confirmed by the grave and serious
admonitions of Chrysostom. By a singu-
lar coincidence, Antioch came into collis-

v., 9. Compare Gibbon, vol. ii., p. 42, who has re-
ferred the following passage in the Misopogon to
these scenes. *

0£ ra pev t&v 'd-euv avsoTrjoav avr'uca rephr}'
rovg Ta,(j>ovg Ss t&v adeov avsrps'ipav ttdvrag vtco
tov (Tvvd^fj-arog, d 6% dzdorai 7rap’ kfiov irpdrjv,
ovrog endpdevreg tov vovv, Kal persQpoi yevopevoi
ttjv diavoiav, 6g Kal tt/1 eov krce^eKBelv rolg eig
rovg &eovg 7vlrjppelovacv, 7} poi rjv.—

Misopogon, p. 361.

Did he mean by the rd<poi chapels like those built
over the remains of St. Babylas, in the Daphne at
Antioch, or the churches in general ?

* Mamertinus, probably, highly paints the ruin,
that he may exalt the restorer. Ipsse ilia? bonarum
artium magistrae et inventrices Athense omnem cul-
tural public^ privatimque perdiderant. In miseran-
dum ruinam conciderat Eleusina.—Mamert., Grat.
Actio., ix., p. 147

ion with the strongest prejudk es of Julian.
His very virtues were fatal to his success
in the re-establishment of paganism; its
connexion with the amusements of the
people Julian repudiated with philosophic
disdain. Instead of attempting to purify
the degenerated taste, he had all the aus-
terity of a pagan monk. Public exhibi-
tions were interdicted to his reformed
priesthood ; once, at the beginning of the
year, the emperor entered the theatre,,
remained in undisguised weariness, and
withdrew in disgust. He was equally im-
patient of wasting his time as a spectator
of the chariot-race ; he attended occasion-
ally out of respect to the presiding deity
of the games ; saw five or six courses, and
retired".* Yet paganism might appear to
welcome Julian to Antioch. It had still
many followers, who clung with juiian as
fond attachment to its pomps and Antioch,
gay processions. The whole city poured
forth to receive him; by some he was
hailed as a deity. It happened to be the
festival of Adonis, and the loud shouts of
welcome to the emperor were mingled
with the wild and shrill cries of the wom-
en, wailing that Syrian symbol of the uni-
versal deity, the Sun. It might seem an.
awful omen that the rites which mourned
the departure of the genial deity should
welcome his ardent worshipper, f The
outward appearance of religion must have
affected-Julian with alternate hope and
disappointment. From all quarters, di-
viners, augurs, magicians, enchanters, the
priests of Cybele, and of the other East-
ern religions, flocked to Antioch. His
palace was crowded with men, whom
Chrysostom describes as branded with
every crime, as infamous for poisonings
and witchcrafts. “ Men who had grown
old in prisons and in the mines, and who
maintained their wretched existence by
the most disgraceful trades, were sudden-
ly advanced to places of dignity, and in-
vested with the priesthood and sacrificial
functions.The severe Julian, as he
passed through the city, was encircled by
the profligate of every age, and by pros-
titutes, with their wanton laughter and
shameless language. Among the former,
the ardent, youthful, and ascetic preach-
er probably included all the theurgists
of the philosophic school; the latter de-
scribes the festal processions, which no
doubt retained much of their old voluptu-
ous character. Julian ascended the lofty
top of Mount Casius to solemnize, under

* Misopogon, p. 339, 340. Amm. Marc., xxii., 9.

t Evenerat iisdem diebus annuo cursu complete
Adonicaritu veteri celebrari.—Amm. Marc.jXxiuy,

t Chrysostom contra Gent.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

353

Temple on broad and all-embracing cope
Mount ca- of heaven, the rites of Jupiter
sins. Philius.* But in the luxurious
grove of Daphne he was doomed to a
melancholy disappointment. The grove
remained with all its beautiful

ie Daphne. sceneYy^ jts sha(iy recesses, its
cool and transparent streams, in which
the heathen inhabitants of Antioch had
mingled their religious rites with their
private enjoyments. But a serious gloom,
a solemn quiet, pervaded the whole place.
The temple of Apollo, the magnificent
edifice in which the devotion of former
ages had sacrificed hecatombs, where the
clouds of incense had soared above the
grove, and in which the pomp of Oriental
worship had assembled half Syria, was
silent and deserted. He expected (in his
own wordsf) a magnificent procession,
victims, libations, dances, incense, boys
with white and graceful vests, and with
minds as pure and unspotted, dedicated to
the service of the god. He entered the
temple ; he found a solitary priest, with a
single goose for sacrifice. The indignant
emperor poured out his resentment in the
bitterest language : he reproached the im-
piety, the shameful parsimony of the in-
habitants, who enjoyed the large estates
attached to the temple, and thus neglected
its services; who at the same time per-
mitted their wives to lavish their treasures
on the infamous Galileans, and on their
scandalous banquets called the Maiuma.

Julian determined to restore the majes-
ty of the temple and worship of Apollo.
But it was first necessary to dispossess
the Christian usurper of the sacred place.
Remains of The remains of Babylas, the mar-
iiabyias. tyred bishop of Antioch, who had
suffered probably in the Decian persecu-
tion, had been removed eleven years be-
fore to Daphne; and the Christians crowd-
ed to pay their devotions near his tomb.
The Christians assert that the baffled
Apollo confessed himself abashed in the
presence of the saint; his oracle dared
not break silence.% At all events, Julian
determined to purify the grove from the
contamination of this worship. The re-
mains of Babylas were ordered to be
transported back to Antioch. They were
met by a solemn procession of a great
part of the inhabitants. The relics were
raised on a chariot, and conducted in tri-
umph, with the excited multitude dancing
before it, and thundering out the maledic-

* The Jupiter Philius or Casius. This god was
the tutelary deity of Antioch, and appears on the
medals of the city.—St. Martin, note to Le Beau,
iii., 6. f Misopogon, 362.

t Chrysostom, Orat. in S. Babylam.

tory psalm : “ Confounded be all they that
worship carved images, and delight in
vain idols.” Julian attempted to punish
this outburst of popular feeling. But the
firmness of the first victim who endured
the torture, and the remonstrances of the
prefect Sallust, brought him back to his
better temper of mind. The restoration of
the temple proceeded with zealous haste.
A splendid peristyle arose around it; when
at midnight Julian received the in- Fire in
telligence that the temple was on the temple,
fire. The roof and all the ornaments were
entirely consumed, and the statue of the
god himself, of gilded wood, yet of such as-
tonishing workmanship that it is said to
have enforced the homage of the conquer-
ing Sapor, was burned to ashes. The Chris-
tians beheld the manifest wrath of Heav-
en, and asserted that the lightning had
come down and smitten the idolatrous
edifice. Julian ascribed the conflagration
to the malice of the Christians. The most
probable account is, that a devout worship-
per had lighted a number of torches before
an image of the Queen of Heaven, which
had set fire to some part of the building.
Julian exacted, as it were, reprisals on
Christianity; he ordered the Cathedral o.f
Antioch to be closed. His orders were
executed with insult to the sacred place,
and the spoliation of the sacred vessels.*
Julian, in the mean time, was not regard-
less of the advancement of the pagan in-
terest in other parts of the empire. Alex-
andra could not be at peace while
any kind of religious excitement A exan rea
inflamed the minds of men. The character
of George, the Arian bishop of George> Ari_
Alexandra, is loaded by hea- an bfshop of
then as well as by Christian Aiexandrea.
writers with every kind of obloquy. His
low birth; the base and sordid occupations
of his youth; his servile and intriguing
meanness in manhood; his tyranny ' in
power, trace, as it were, his whole life
with increasing odiousness. Yet, extra-
ordinary as it may seem, the Arian party
could find no man of better reputation to
fill this important post; and George, the
impartial tyrant of all parties, perished at
last, the victim of his zealous hostility to
paganism. A chief cause of the unpopu-
larity of George was the assertion of the
imperial right over the fee-simple of the
land on which Alexapdrea was built. This
right was gravely deduced from Alexander
the Great. During the reign of Constan-
tius, George had seized every opportunity
of depressing and insulting paganism ; he

* Arum. Marc., xxii., 13. Theodor., iii., 11. Soz-
omen, v., 20.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

3(30

had interdicted the festivals and the sacri-
fices of the heathen; he had*pillaged the
gifts, the statues, and ornaments of their
temple; he had been heard, as he passed
the temple either of Serapis himself, or of
the Fortune of the city, to utter the con-
temptuous expression, “ How long will this
sepulchre be permitted to standi”* He
had discovered a cave where the Mithraic
mysteries were said to have been carried
on with a horrible sacrifice of human life.
The heads of a number of youths were
exposed (probably disinterred from some
old cemetery near which these rites had
been established), as of the victims of this
sanguinary idolatry. These insults and
outrages rankled in the hearts of the pa-
gans. The fate of Artemius, the Duke of
Egypt, the friend and abettor of George in
all his tyrannical proceedings, prepared
the way for that of George. Artemius
was suspected of being concerned in the
death of Gallus. He was charged with
enormous delinquencies by the people of
Alexandrea. Whether as a retribution for
the former offence against the brother of
Julian, or as the penalty for his abuse of
his authority in his government, Artemius
was condemned to death. The intelli-
gence of his execution was the signal for
a general insurrection of the pagans in
Alexandrea. The palace of George was
invested by a frantic mob. In an instant
he was dragged forth, murdered,
Ils eath' trampled under foot, dragged
along the streets, and at length torn limb
from limb. With him perished two officers
of the empire, Dracontius, master of the
mint, and the Count Diodorus; the one
accused of having destroyed an altar of
Serapis, the other of having built a church.
The mangled remains of these miserable
men were paraded through the streets on
the back of a camel, and at length, lest
they should be enshrined and worshipped
as the relics of martyrs, cast into the sea.
The Christians, however, of all parties
appear to have looked with unconcern on
the fate of this episcopal tyrant,f whom
the general hatred, if it did not excite them
to assist in his massacre, prevented them
from attempting to defend. Julian ad-
dressed a letter to the people of Alexan-
drea. While he admitted, in the strongest
terms, the guilt of George, he severely re-
buked their violence and presumption in
thus taking the law into their own hands,
and the horrible inhumanity of tearing like

* Amm. Marcell., xxii., 11. Socrates, iii., 2.

f Poterantque miserandi homines ad crudele sup-
plicium devoti, Christianorum adjumento defendi,
ni Georgii odio omnes indiscrete flagrabant^— A ai-
rman Marcell., xxii., 11.

dogs the bodies of men in pieces, and the*!
presuming to lift up their blood-stained
hands to the gods. He admitted that their
indignation for their outraged temples and
insulted gods might naturally madden
them to just resentment; but they should
have awaited the calm and deliberate
course of justice, which would have ex-
acted the due punishment from the offend-
er. Julian secured to himself part of the
spoils of the murdered prelate. George
had a splendid library, rich not merely in
the writings of the Galileans, but, what
Julian esteemed as infinitely more pre-
cious, the works of the Greek orators and
philosophers. The first he would willingly
have destroyed, the latter he commanded
to be carefully reserved for his own use.*
In the place of George arose a more
powerful adversary. 'Julian knew and
dreaded the character of Atha- ....
nasius, who during these tumults 1 ldndsiu,s-
had quietly resumed his authority over the
orthodox Christians of Alexandrea. The
general edict of Julian for the recall of ah
exiles contained no exception, and Atha-
nasius availed himself of its protecting au-
thority.! Under his auspices, the Church,
even in these disastrous times, resumed
its vigour. The Arians, terrified perhaps
by the hostility of the pagans, hastened to
reunite themselves to the Church; and
Julian heard, with bitter indignation, that
some pagan females had received baptism
from Athanasius. Julian expressed his
astonishment, not that Athanasius had re-
turned from exile, but that he had dared
to resume his see. He ordered him into
instant banishment. He appealed, in a
letter to the prasfect, to the mighty Serapis,
that if Athanasius, the enemy of the gods,
was not expelled from the city before the
calends of December, he should impose a
heavy fine. “ By his influence the gods
were brought into contempt; it would be
better, therefore, that ‘ this most wicked
Athanasius’ were altogether banished from
Egypt.” To a supplication from the Chris-
tian inhabitants of the city in favour of
Athanasius, he returned a sarcastic and
contemptuous reply, reminding the people
of Alexandrea of their descent from pagan
ancestors, and of the greatness of the gods
they worshipped, and expressing his aston-
ishment that they should prefer the wor-
ship of Jesus, the Word of God, to that of
the Sun, the glorious, and visible, and eter-
nal emblem of the Deity.J

In other parts, justified perhaps in their
former excesses, or encouraged to future
acts of violence, by the impunity of the

* Julian, Epist. ix. and x. f lb., xxvi., p. 398-
t Ib*» xi , p. 378.HISTORY )F CHRISTIANITY.

361

Alexandreans, paganism awoke, if not to
make reprisals by conversion, at least to
take a bloody revenge on its Christian ad-
versaries.* The atrocious persecutions of
the fanatic populace in some of the cities
of Syria have already been noticed. The
aged Mark of Arethusa was, if not the
most blameless, at least the victim of these
cruelties, whose life ought to have been
sanctified even by the rumour which as-
cribed the preservation of Julian, when an
Death of infant, to the pious bishop. Mark
Mark of was accused of having destroyed
Arethusa. a temple; he was summoned to
rebuild it at his own expense. But Mark,
with the virtues, inherited the primitive
poverty of the apostles ; and, even if he
had had the power, no doubt would have
resisted this demand.f But the furious
populace, according to Sozomen, men,
women, and schoolboys, seized on the old
man, and inflicted every torment which
their inventive barbarity could suggest.
The patience and calm temperament of
the old man resisted and survived the
cruelties.J Julian is said to have express-
ed no indignation, and ordered no punish-
ment. The praefect Sallust reminded him
of the disgrace to which paganism was
exposed by being thus put to shame by a
feeble old man.

The policy of Julian induced him to
Julian courts seek out every -alliance which
the Jews. could strengthen the cause of
paganism against • Christianity. Polythe-
ism courted an unnatural union with Juda-
ism ; their bond of connexion was their
common hatred to Christianity. It is not
clear whether Julian was sufficiently ac-
quainted with the writings of the Chris-
tians distinctly to apprehend that they
considered the final destruction of the Jew-
ish Temple to be one of the great proph-
ecies oh which their religion rested. The
rebuilding of that temple was bringing, as
it were, this question to direct issue; it
was an appeal to God whether he had or
had not finally rejected the people of Is-
rael, and admitted the Christians to all
their great and exclusive privileges. At
all events, the elevation of Judaism was
the depression of Christianity. It set the
Old Testament, to which the Christians
appealed, in direct and hostile opposition
to the New.

* Julian., Epist. x., p. 377.
f According to Theodoret, 'O de, laov elg das-
6eiav i-<pr}, to o6o7idv yovv £va dovvat, tg3 ttdvra
Sovvat.—E. H., iii., 7.

+ Sozomen gives the most detailed account of
vhis cruel scene, which was clearly a kind of popu-
lar tumult, which the authorities in no way inter-
fered to repress —E. H , v., 10.

Z z

The profound interest awakened in the
Jewish mind showed that they embraced
with eager fervour this solemn appeal to
Heaven. With the joy which animated
the Jew at this unexpected summons to
return to his native land and to rebuild
his fallen temple, mingled, no doubt, some
natural feeling of triumph and of gratified
animosity over the Christian. In every
part of the empire the Jews awoke from
their slumber of abasement and of de-
spondency. It was not for them to repu-
diate the overtures of paganism. The em-
peror acknowledged their God Determines
by the permission to build again t.o rebuild tin
the Temple to his glory ; and, if Temple at
not as the sole and supreme Jerusalem-
God, yet his language affected a mono-
theistic tone, and they might indulge the
fond hope that the re-establishment of the
Temple upon Mount Moriah might be pre-
paratory to the final triumph of their faith,
in the awe-struck veneration of the whole
world; the commencement of the Mes-
siah’s kingdom ; the dawn of their long-
delayed, but, at length, approaching mil-
lennium of empire and of religious suprem-
acy. Those who could not contribute
their personal labour devoted their wealth
to the national work. The extent of their
sacrifices, the eagerness of their hopes,
rather belong to the province of Jewish
history. But every precaution was taken
to secure the uninterrupted progress of
the wprk. It was not an affair of the Jew-
ish nation, but of the imperial government.
It was intrusted to the ruler of the prov-
ince, as the delegate of the emperor.
Funds were advanced from the public
treasury; and if the Jews themselves, of
each sex and of every age, took pride in
hallowing their own hands by assisting in
heaping up the holy earth or hewing the
stone to be employed in this sacred de-
sign ; if they wrought their wealth into
tools of the precious metals, shovels and
spades of silver, which were to become
valued heirlooms, as consecrated by this
pious service, the emperor seemed to take
a deep personal interest in the design,
which was at once to immortalize his
magnificence, and to assist his other glori-
ous undertakings. The Jews, who ac-
knowledged that it was not lawful to offer
sacrifice except on that holy place, were
to propitiate their God during his expedi-
tion into Persia; and on his triumphant
return from that region, he promised to
unite with them in adoration in the re-
stored city, and in the reconstructed fane
of the .great God of the Jews.*

* In his letter to the Jews, he called Ihe God o362

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Judaism and paganism had joined in this
solemn adjuration, as it were, of the Deity.
Their vows were met with discomfiture
and disappointment. The simple fact of
the interruption of their labours,
interrupted, ^ ail event which the mass of

mankind could not but consider praeter-
natural, even as recorded by the pagan
historians, appeared, in the more excited
and imaginative minds of the Christians,
a miracle of the most terrific and appalling
nature. Few, if any, of the Christians
could have been eye-witnesses of the
scene. The Christian world would have
averted its face in horror from the impious
design. The relation must, in the first in-
stance, have come from the fears of the
discomfited and affrighted workmen. The
main fact is indisputable, that, as they dug
down to the foundations, terrific explosions
took place; what seemed balls of fire burst
forth; the works were shattered to pieces ;
clouds of smoke and dust enveloped the
whole in darkness, broke only by the wild
and fitful glare of. the flames. Again the
work was renewed by the obstinate zeal
of the Jews ; again they were repelled by
this unseen and irresistible power, till they
cast away their implements, and abandoned
the work in humiliation and despair. How
far natural causes, the ignition of the foul
vapours confined in the deeply-excavated
recesses of the temple, according to the
recent theory, will account for the facts,
as they are related in the simpler narra-
tive of Marcellinus, may admit of some
question; but the philosophy of the age,
whether heathen or Christian, was as un-
able as it was unwilling to trace such ap-
palling events to the unvarying operations
of nature.* *

Christianity may have embellished this

the Jews Kpsirruv ; in his Theologic fragment (p.
295), jueyac 0eog.

* See M. Guizot’s note on Gibbon [ii., p. 37],
with my additional observations. [This note is
well worth consulting. It describes the immense
excavations in the mountain, and explains the ex-
plosions on the principle of fire-damps in mines.
Bishop Warburton, in his Julian, maintained the
reality of the miracle.—See Mosheim’s Instit. of
E. H., i., p. 222.] There seems a strong distinction
in point of credibility between miracles addressed
to the terror and those which appeal to the calmer
emotions of the mind, such as most of those record-
ed in the Gospel. The former, in the first place,
are usually momentary, or, if prolonged, endure but
a short time. But the passion of fear so completely
unhinges and disorders the mind, as to deprive it of
all trustworthy power of observation or discrimina-
tion. In themselves, therefore, I should venture to
conclude that terrific miracles, resting on human
testimony, are less credible than those of a less ap-
palling nature. Though the other class of emo-
tions, those of joy or gratitude, or religious* venera-
tion, likewise disturb the equable and dispassion-
ate state of mind requisite fo** cool reasoning, yet

wonderful event, but Judaism and pagan-
ism confessed by their terrors the prostra-
tion of their hopes. The work was aban-
doned ; and the Christians of later ages
could appeal to the remains of the shat-
tered works and unfinished excavations
as the unanswerable sign of the Divine
wrath against their adversaries, as the
public and miraculous declaration of God
in favour of their insulted religion.

But it was not as emperor alone that the
indefatigable Julian laboured to overthrow
the Christian religion. It was not by the
public edict, the more partial favour shown
to the adherents of paganism, the insidi-
ous disparagement of Christianity, by the
depression of its ministers and apostles,
and the earnest elevation of heathenism
to a moral code and a harmonious reli-
gion, with all the pomp of a sumptuous rit-
ual ; it was not in the council, or the camp,
or the temple alone, that Julian stood forth
as the avowed antagonist of Christianity.
He was ambitious, as a writer, of confu-
ting its principles and disproving writings oi
its veracity: he passed in his .mimn.
closet the long nights of the winter, and
continued, during his Persian campaign,
his elaborate work against the faith of
Christ. He seemed, as it were, possessed
with an equal hatred of those whom he
considered the two most dangerous ene-
mies of the Roman empire, the Persians
and the Christians. While oppressed by
all the serious cares of organizing and
moving such an army as might bring back
the glorious days of Germanicus or of
Trajan; while his ambition contemplated
nothing less than the permanent humilia-
tion of the great Eastern rival of the em-
pire, his literary vanity found time for its
exercise, and in all his visions of military
glory and conquest Julian never lost sight
of his fame as an author.* It is difficult
to judge from the fragments of work against
this work, selected for confu- Christianity
tation after his death by Cyril of Jerusa-
lem, of the power, or even of the candour,
shown by the imperial controversialist.
But it appears to have been composed in
a purely polemic spirit, with no lofty or
comprehensive views of the real nature of
the Christian religion, no fine and philo-
sophic perception of that which in the new
faith had so powerfully and irresistibly oc-
cupied the whole soul of man; with no
consciousness of the utter inefficiency of
the cold and incoherent pagan mysticism,

such miracles are in general both more calmly sur-
veyed and more permanent in their effects.

* Julianus Augustus septem libros in expedi-
tione Partnica adversum Christum evomuit.—Hie-

ronym., Oper., Epist. lxx.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

363

which he endeavoured to substitute for the
Gospel.

But, at least, this was a grave and seri-
ous employment. Whatever might be
thought of his success as a religious dis-
putant, there was no loss of dignity in the
emperor condescending to enlighten his
subjects on such momentous questions.
But when he stooped to be the satirist of
the inhabitants of a city which had ridicu-
led his philosophy and rejected his reli-
gion, the finest and most elegant irony, the
keenest and most delicate wit, would
scarcely have justified this compromise
of imperial majesty. But in the Misopo-
... gon—the apology for his philo-

lsopogon. SOp|1jc 5earc[—Julian mingled the
coarseness of the Cynic with the bitter-
ness of personal indignity. The vulgar
ostentation of his own filthiness, the de-
scription of the vermin which peopled his
thick beard, ill accord with the philosophic
superiority with which Julian rallies the
love of amusement and gayety among his
subjects of Antioch. Their follies were
at least more graceful and humane than
this rude pedantry. There is certainly
much felicity of sarcasm, doubtless much
justice, in his animadversions on the dis-
solute manners, the ingratitude for his lib-
erality, the dislike of his severe justice,
the insolence of their contempt for his
ruder manners, throughout the Misopogon;
but it lowers Julian from a follower of Pla-
to to a coarse imitator of Diogenes; it
exhibits him as borrowing the worst part
of the Christian monkish character, the
disregard of the decencies and civilities of
life, without the high and visionary enthu-
siasm, or the straining after superiority to
the low cares and pursuits of the world.
It was singular to hear a Grecian sophist,
for such was undoubtedly the character
of Julian’s writings, extolling the barbari-
ans, the Celts and Germans, above the pol-
ished inhabitants of Greece and Syria.

Paganism followed with faithful steps
’Julian sets anc* with eager hopes the career
forth on his of Julian on the brilliant outset
Persian ex- of his Persian campaign. Some
pe i ion. ^ the Syrian cities throug
which he passed, Batne and Hierapolis,
and Carrhae, seemed to enter into his
views, and endeavoured, with incense and
sacrifice, to propitiate the gods of Julian.*
For the last time the Etruscan haruspices
accompanied a. Roman emperor; but, by
a singular fatality, their adverse interpre-
tation of the signs of Heaven was dis-
dained, and Julian followed the advice of

* Julian., Epist. xxvii., p, 399. Aram. Marc.,
xxii.,2.

the philosophers, who coloured their pre-
dictions with the bright hues of the em
peror’s ambition.*

The death of Julian did greater honour
to his philosophy. We may re- Death of
ject as in itself improbable, and -Julian,
as resting on insufficient authority, the
bitter sentence ascribed to him when he
received his fatal wound : “ Thou hast
conquered, 0 Galilean.”! He comforted
his weeping friends; he expressed his
readiness to pay the debt of nature, and
his joy that the purer and better part of
his being was so soon to be released from
the gross and material body. “ The gods
of heaven sometimes bestow an early
death as the best reward of the most pi-
ous.” His conscience uttered no re-
proach ; he had administered the empire
with moderation, firmness, and clemency ;
he had repressed the license of public
manners ; he had met danger with firm-
ness. His prescient spirit had long in-
formed him that he should fall by the
sword. And he thanked the everlasting
Deity that he thus escaped the secret as-
sassination, the slow and wasting disease,
the ignominious death, and departed from
the world in the midst of his glory and
prosperity. “ It is equal cowardice to
seek death before our time, and to at-
tempt to avoid it when our time is come.”
His calmness was only disturbed by the
intelligence of the loss of a friend. He
who despised his own death lamented
that of another. He reproved the dis-
tress of his attendants, declaring that it
was humiliating to mourn over a prince
already reconciled to the heavens and to
the stars; and, thus calmly discoursing
with the philosophers Priscus and Maxi-
mus on the metaphysics of the soul, ex-
pired Julian, the philosopher and effl-
peror.I

Julian died, perhaps happily for his
fame. Perilous as his situation was, he
might still have extricated himself by his

* Amm. Marc., xxiii., 5.

t NsviKTjKac, VaAilaie.—Theodoret, Hist. Ec.,
iii., 25.

t Amm. Marc., ibid. Even the Christians, at a
somewhat later period, did justice to the great
qualities of Julian. The character drawn by the
pagan Aurelius Victor is adopted by Prudentius,
who kindles into unusual vigour. Cupido laudis
immodicse; cultus numinum superstitiosus: au-
dax plus, quarn imperatorem decet, cui salus pro-
pria cum semper ad securitatem omnium, maxim&
in bello, conservanda est.—Epit., p. 228.

Ductor fortissimus armis;

Conditor et legum celeberrimus ; ore manuque

.Consultor patrise, sed non consultor habendae

Religionis ; amans ter centum millia Divum ;

Perfidus ille Deo, sed non et perfidus orbi.

Apoth., 430HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

3d 4

military skill and courage, and eventually
succeeded in his conflict with the Persian
empire ; he might have dictated terms to
Sapor far different from those which the
awe of his name and the vigorous organi-
zation of his army, even after his death,
probable re- extorted from the prudent Per-
Mifs ofJu" sian. But in his other, his in-
flict with1" ternal conflict, Julian could have
Christianity, obtained no victory, even at the
price of rivers of blood shed in persecu-
tion, and perhaps civil wars, throughout
the empire. He might have arrested the
fall of the empire, but that of paganism
was beyond the power of man.* The in-
vasion of arms may be resisted or re-
pelled ; the silent and profound encroach-
ments of opinion and religious sentiment
will not retrograde. Already there had
been ominous indications that the temper
of Julian would hardly maintain its more
moderate policy ; nor would Christianity
in that age have been content with oppo-
sing him with passive courage ; the in-
sulting fanaticism of the violent, no less

than the stubborn contumacy of the diso-
bedient, would have goaded him by de-
grees to severer measures, The whole
empire would have been rent by civil dis-
sensions ; the bold, adventurer would
scarcely have been wanting, who, either
from ambition or enthusiasm, would have
embraced the Christian cause; and the
pacific spirit of genuine Christianity, its
high notions of submission to civil au-
thority, would scarcely, generally or con-
stantly, have resisted the temptation of
resuming its seat upon the throne. Ju-
lian could not- have subdued Christianity
without depopulating the empire, nor con-
tested with it the sovereignty of the world
without danger to himself and to the civil
authority, nor yielded without the dis-
grace and bitterness of failure. He who
stands across the peaceful stream of pro-
gressive opinion, by his resistance mad-
dens it to an irresistible torrent, and is
either swept away by it at once, or di-
verts it over the whole region in one de-
vastating deluge.*

CHAPTER VII.

VALENTINIAN AND VALENS.

It is singular to hear the pagans taking
Lamenta- up, in their altered position, the
tions of the arguments of the Christians,
ihe death of The extinction of the family of
Julian. Constantine was a manifest in-
dication of the Divine displeasure at the
abandonment of paganism.f But this was
the calmer conclusion of less recent sor-
row and disappointment. The immediate
expression of pagan regret was a bitter
and reproachful complaint against the in-
gratitude of the gods, who made so bad a
return for the zealous services of Julian.
“ Was this the reward for so many vic-
tims, so many prayers, so much incense,
so much blood, shed on the altar by night
as well as by day. Julian, in his profuse
and indiscriminate piety,had neglected no
deity; he had worshipped all who lived in
the tradition of the poets—fathers and
children, gods and goddesses, superior and
subordinate deities ; and they, instead of
hurling their thunderbolts and lightnings,
and all the armory of heaven, against the
hostile Persians, had thus basely aban-
doned their sacred charge. The new Sal-

* Julian’s attempt to restore paganism was like
that of Rienzi to restore the liberties of Rome,
t Liban. pro Templis, ii., 184.

moneus, the more impious Lycurgus, the
senseless image of a man (such were the
appellations with which the indignant rhet-
orician alluded to Constantius), who had
waged implacable warfare with the gods,
quenched the sacred fires, trampled on the
altars, closed, or demolished, or profaned
the temples, or alienated them to loose
companions—this man had been permitted
to pollute the earth for fifty years, and
then departed by the ordinary course of
nature ; while Julian, with all his piety
and all his glory, had only given to the
world a hasty glimpse of his greatness,
and suddenly departed from their unsatis-
fied sight.”f But, without regarding the

* Theodoret describes the rejoicings at Antioch
on the news of the death of Julian. There were
not only festal dancings in the churches and the
cemeteries of the martyrs, but in the theatres they
celebrated the triumph of the cross, and mocked at
his vaticinations.

fH de ’Avtioxov rcohg rrjv etceivov fiEpadrjtevLa
ofyayrjv, d7][io6oivLag etteteXel teal iravrjyvpELg tea?
ov' fiovov kv ralg ktetefoioiaig kxopsvov teal role
fmprvpov gtjkolq, dTCXd teal kv rolg fiedTpoig rov
aravpov ttjv vlkev kierjpvrrov, teal rolg ekelvov
fiavrsvfmoiv ktrerdOa^ov.—E. H., iii.,27.

f Libanius insults, in this passage, the worship
of the dead man, whose sarcophagus (he seems toHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

365

vain lamentations of paganism, Christian-
iteign of ity calmly resumed its ascendan-
Jovian. Cy. The short reign of Jovian
sufficed for its re-establishment; and, as
yet, it exacted no revenge for its suffer-
ings and degradation under Julian.* * The
character of the two brothers who suc-
vaieminian ceeded to the empire, Valentin-
and vaiens. jan and Valens, and their reli-
gious policy, were widely at variance.
Yalentinian "ascended the throne with the
fame of having rejected the favour of Ju-
lian and the prospects of military distinc-
tion for the sake of his religion. He had
withdrawn from the army rather than offer
even questionable adoration to standards
decorated with the symbols of idolatry.
Hut Yalentinian was content to respect
those rights of conscience which he had
so courageously asserted.

The Emperor of the West maintained a
A D 364 calm and uninterrupted toleration,
Toleration which incurred the reproach of
tudan011* indifference from the Christian
1 ' party, but has received the re-

spectful homage of the pagan historian.!
The immunities and the privileges of the
pagan priesthood were confirmed;! the
rites of divination were permitted, if per-
formed without malicious intent.§ The
prohibition of midnight sacrifices, which
seemed to be required by the public mor-
als, threatened to deprive the Greeks of
their cherished mysteries. " Praetextatus,
then proconsul of Achaia, the head of the
pagan party, a man of high and unblem-
ished character, represented to the emper-
or that these rites were necessar)r to the
existence of the Greeks. The law was
relaxed in their favour, on the condition
of their strict adherence to ancient usage.
In Rome the vestal virgins maintained

allude to the pix or consecrated box in which the
sacramental symbol of our Saviour’s body was en-
closed) is introduced into the icXijpos of the gods.—
Monod. in Julian., i., p. 509.

* Themistius praises highly the toleration of
Jovian. “ Thy law and that of God is eternal and
unchangeable ; that which leaves the soul of every
man free to follow that form of religion which
seems best to him.”—Ad Jovian., p. 81, ed. Din-
dorf. He proceeds to assert that the general piety
will be increased by the rivalry of different reli-
gions. “ The Deity does not demand uniformity
of faith.” He touches on the evils which had
arisen out of religious factions, and urges him to
permit supplications to ascend to Heaven from all
parts of t.he empire for his prosperous reign. He
praises him, however, for suppressing ma'gic and
Goetic sacrifices.

t Ammianus Marcellinus, 1. xxx., c. 9.

Testes sunt leges a me in exordio imperii mei
datae ; quibus unicuique quod animo imbibisset,
colendi libera facultas tributa est.—Cod. Tlieod.,
l.ix., tit. 16, 1. 9.

t Cod. Theod. xii., 1, 60, 75. § Ibid, ix., 16, 9.

their sanctity; the altar of Victory, resto-
red by Julian, preserved its place; a mil-
itary guard protected the temples from
insult, but a tolerant as well as prudent
provision forbade the employment of Chris-
tian soldiers on this service.* On the oth-
er hand, Yalentinian appears to Laws or
have retracted some of the lav-
ish endowments conferred by Julian on
the heathen temples. These estates were
reincorporated with the private treasure
of the sovereign.f A t a later period of
his reign there must have been some gen-
eral prohibition of animal sacrifice; the
pagan worship was restricted to the offer-
ing of incense to the gods.J But, accord-
ing to the expression of Libanius, they
dared not execute this law in Rome, so
fatal would it have been considered to the
welfare of the empire.^

Valens in the East, as . Valeminian in
the West, allowed perfect free- prosecutions
dom to the public ritual of pa- fbr masic-
ganism. But both in the East and in the
WTest, the persecution against magic and
unlawful divination told with tremendous
force against the pagan cause. It was
the more fatal because it was not openly
directed against the religion, but against
practices denounced as criminal and be-
lieved to be real-by the general sentiment
of mankind, and prosecuted by that fierce
animosity which is engendered by fear.
Some compassion might be felt for inno-
cent victims, supposed to be unjustly im-
plicated in such charges ; the practice of
extorting evidence or confession by tor-
ture might be revolting, to those especial-
ly who looked back with pride and with
envy to the boasted immunity of all Ro-
man citizens from such cruelties; but
where strong suspicion of guilt prevailed,
the public feeling would ratify the stern
sentence of the law against such delin-
quents ; the magician or the witch would
pass to execution amid the universal ab-
horrence. The notorious connexion of
any particular religious party with such
dreaded and abominated proceedings, par-
ticularly if proved by the conviction of a
considerable majority of the condemned
from their ranks, would tend to depress
the religion itself. This sentiment was
not altogether unjust. Paganism had, as
it were, in its desperation, thrown itself
upon the inextinguishable superstition of

* Cod. Theod., xvi, 1, 1.
f Cod. Theod., x., 1, 8. The law reads as if it
were a more general and indiscriminate confisca-
tion. *

% Lib. pro Templis, vii., p. 163, ed. Reiske
This arose out of some recent and peculiar cir
cumstances. § Liban., vol. ii., p. 180366

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the human mind. The more the pagans
were depressed, the hope of regaining their
lost superiority, the desire of vengeance,
would induce them to seize on every meth-
od of awing or commanding the minds of
their wavering votaries. Nor were those
who condescended to these arts, or those
who in many cases claimed the honours
annexed to such fearful powers, only the
bigoted priesthood or mere itinerant tra-
ders in human credulity ; the high philo-
sophic party, which had gained such pre-
dominant influence during the reign of
Julian, now wielded the terrors and incur-
red the penalties of these dark and forbid-
den practices. It is impossible to read
their writings without remarking a boast-
ful display of intercourse with supernatu-
ral agents, which to the Christian would
appear an illicit communion with malig-
nant spirits. This was not indeed magic,
but it was the groundwork of it. The
theurgy, or mysterious dealings of the Pla-
tonic philosopher with the daemons or still
higher powers, was separated by a thin
and imperceptible distinction from Goetic
or unlawful enchantment. Divination, in-
deed, or the foreknowledge of futurity by
different arts, was an essential part of the
Greek and Roman religion. But divina-
tion had, in Greece at least, withdrawn
from its public office. It had retired from
the silenced oracles of Delphi or Dodona.
The gods, rebuked according to the Chris-
tian, offended according to the pagan, had
withdrawn their presence. In Rome the
Etruscan soothsayers, as part of the great
national ceremonial, maintained their place,
and to a late period preserved their influ-
ence over the public mind. But, in gen-
eral, it was only in secret, and to its pe-
culiar favourites, that the summoned or
spontaneous deity revealed the secrets of
futurity ; it was by the dream or the pri-
vate omen, the sign in the heavens vouch-
safed only to the initiate, or the direct in-
spiration ; or, if risked, it was by the se-
cret, mysterious, usually the nocturnal rite,
that the reluctant god was compelled to
disclose the course of fate.

The persecutions of Valentinian in
Cruelty of Rome were directed against
valentinian. magical ceremonies. The pa-
gans, who remembered the somewhat os-
tentatious lenity and patience of Julian on
the public tribunal, might contrast the
more than inexorable, the inquisitorial and
sanguinary, justice of the Christian Valen-
tinian, even in ordinary cases, with the be-
nignant precepts of his religion. But jus-
tice with Valentinian in all cases, more
particularly in these persecutions, degen-
erated into savage tyranny. The emperor

kept two fierce bears by his own chamber,
to which the miserable criminals were
thrown in his presence, while the unre-
lenting Valentinian listened with ferocious
delight to their groans. One of these an-
imals, as a reward for his faithful service
to the state, received his freedom, and
was let loose into his native forest.*

Maxi min, the representative of Valen-
tinian at Rome, administered the Trials in
laws with all the vindictive fe- Rome before
rocity, but without the severe Maxirnin-
dignity, of his imperial master. Maxiinin
was of an obscure and barbarian family
settled in Pannonia. He had attained the
government of Corsica and Sardinia, and
subsequently of Tuscany. He was pro-
moted in Rome to the important office of
superintendent of the markets of the city.
During the illness of Olybius, the praofect
of Rome, the supreme judicial authority
had been delegated to Maximin. Maxirnin
was himself rumoured to have dabbled in
necromantic arts, and lived in constant
terror of accusation till released by the
death of his accomplice. This rumour
may create a suspicion that Maximin was,
at least at the time at which the accu-
sation pointed, a pagan. The paganism
of a large proportion of his victims is more
evident. The first trial over which Maxi-
min presided was a charge made by Chi-
Ion, vicar of the prefects, and his wife
Maximia, against three obscure persons
for attempting their lives by magical arts :
of these, one was a soothsayer.f Cruel
tortures extorted from these miserable
men a wild string of charges at once against
persons of the highest rank and of the
basest degree. All had tampered with
unlawful arts, and mingled up with them
the crimes of murder, poisoning, and adul-
tery. A general charge of magic hung
over the whole city. Maximin poured
these dark rumours into the greedy ear of
Valentinian, and obtained the authority
which he coveted, for making a strict in-
quisition into these offences, for exacting
evidence by torture from men of every
rank and station, and for condemning them
to a barbarous and ignominious death.
The crime of magic was declared of equal
enormity with treason; the rights of Ro-
man citizenship, and the special privileges
granted by the imperial edicts, were sus-

* The Christians did not escape these legal mur-
ders, constantly perpetrated by the orders of Valen-
tinian. In Milan, the place where three obscure
victims were buried, was called ad Innocentes.
When he had condemned the decurions of three
towns to be put to death, in a remonstrance against
their execution it was stated that they would be
worshipped as martyrs by the Christians.—Amm.
Marc., xxvii., 7. f Haruspex.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

36 7

pended;* * * * § neither the person of senator
nor dignitary was sacred against the
scourge or the rack. The powers of this
extraordinary commission were exercised
with the utmost latitude and most impla-
cable severity. Anonymous accusations
were received; Maximin was understood
to have declared that no one should be
esteemed innocent whom he chose to find
guilty. But the details of this persecution
belong to our history only as far as they
relate to religion. On general grounds it
may be inferred that the chief brunt of
this sanguinary persecution fell on the
pagan party. Magic, although even at
that time, perhaps, the insatiate curiosity
about the future, the indelible passion for
supernatural excitement, even more crim-
inal designs, might betray some few pro-
fessed Christians into this direct treason
against their religion, was a crime which,
in general, would have been held in dread
and abhorrence by the members of the
Church. In the laws it is invariably de-
nounced as a pagan crime. . The aristoc-
racy of Rome were the chief victims of
Maximin’s cruelty, and in this class, till
its final extinction, was the stronghold of
paganism. It is not assuming too much
Connexion of influence to the Christianity
these crimes of that age to consider the im-
wuh paganism. moralities and crimes, the
adulteries and the poisonings, which were
mingled up with these charges of magic,
as the vestiges of the old unpurified Ro-
man manners. The Christianity of that
period ran into the excess of monastic as-
ceticism, for which the enthusiasm, to
judge from the works of St. Jerom, was
at its height; and this violation of nature
had not yet produced its remote but ap-
parently inevitable consequence, disso-
luteness of morals. In almost every case
recorded by the historian may be traced
indications of pagan religious usages. A
soothsayer, as it has appeared, was involved
in the first criminal charge. While his
meaner accomplices were beaten to death
by straps loaded with lead, the judge having
bound himself by an oath that they should
neither die by fire nor steel, the sooth-
sayer, to whom he had made no such
pledge, was burned alive. The affair of
Hymettius betrays the same connexion
with the ancient religion. Hymettius had
been accused, seemingly without justice,
of malversation in his office of proconsul
of Africa, in the supplies of corn to the
metropolis. A celebrated soothsayer (ha-
ruspex) named Amantius was charged
with offering sacrifices, by the command

* Juris prisci justitiaetdivorumarbitria.—Amm.
Marc.

of Hymettius, with some unlawful or trea-
sonable design. Amantius resisted the
torture with unbroken courage, but among
his papers was found a writing of Hymet-
tius, of which one part contained bitter in-
vectives against the avaricious and cruel
Valentinian; the other implored him, by
sacrifices, to induce the gods to mitigate
the anger of both the emperors. Aman-
tius suffered capital punishment. A youth
named Lollianus, convicted of inconsider-
ately copying a book of magic incanta-
tions, and condemned to exile, had the
rashness to appeal to the emperor, and
suffered death. Lollianus was the son oi
Lampadius, formerly prsefect of Rome,*
and, for his zeal for the restoration of the
ancient buildings, and his vanity in caus-
ing his own name to be inscribed on them,
was called the Lichen. Lampadius was
probably a pagan. The leader of that par-
ty, Praetextatus, whose unimpeachable
character maintained the universal respect
of all parties, was the head of a deputation
to the emperor,f entreating him that the
punishment might be proportionate to the
offences, and claiming for the senatorial or-
der their immemorial exemption from the
unusual and illegal application of torture.
On the whole, this relentless and sangui-
nary inquisition into the crime of magic,
enveloping in one dreadful proscription a
large proportion of the higher orders of
Rome and of the West, even if not direct-
ly, must incidentally have weakened the
cause of paganism ; connected it in many
minds with dark and hateful practices,
and altogether increased the deepening
animosity against it.

In the East the fate of paganism was still
more adverse. There is strong _
ground for supposing that the Jebeiiionof
rebellion of Procopius was con- Procopius,
nected with the revival of Ju- A D-365*
Man's party. It was assiduously rumour-
ed abroad that Procopius had been desig-
nated as his successor by the expiring
Julian. Procopius, before the soldiery,
proclaimed himself the relative and heir
of Julian. J The astrologers had predicted
the elevation of Procopius to the greatest
height—of empire, as his partisans fondly
hoped—of misery, as the ingenious seers
expounded the meaning of their oracle af-
ter his death.§ The pagan and philosoph-

* Tillemont thinks Lampadius to have been a

Christian ; but his reasons are to me inconclusive,

f Amm. Marc., xxvii., 1, &c. J Ibid., xxvi., G.

§ See Le Beau, iii., p. 250.

"flore avrov rtiv ettI ralg fiEyiaraig apxalg yvu-
ptadsvrcov, hv r<p /usyEdsi rrjg cvfi(}>opag yEvsodai
dccMJTjftoTEpov. He was deceived by the Genethli-
aci.—Greg. Nyss., de Fato388

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tc party were more directly and exclu-
sively implicated in the fatal event, which
was disclosed to the trembling Valens at
Antioch, and brought as wide and relent-
less desolation on the East as the cruelty
ad nos °*r 011 ^ie West. It was

mingled up with treasonable de-
signs against the throne and the life of
the emperor. The magical ceremony of
divination, which was denounced before
Valens, was pagan throughout all its dark
and mysterious circumstances.* The tri-
pod on which the conspirators performed
their ill-omened .rites was modelled after
that at Delphi; it was consecrated by
magic songs and frequent and daily cere-
monies, according to the established ritu-
al. The house where the rite was held
was purified by incense; a kind of char-
ger made of mixed metals was placed
upon the altar, around the rim of which
were letters at certain intervals. The
officiating diviner wore the habit of a hea-
then priest, the linen garments, sandals,
and a fillet wreathed round his head, and
held a sprig of an auspicious plant in his
hand; he chanted the accustomed hymn
to Apollo, the god of prophecy. The div-
ination was performed by a ring running
round on a slender thread and pointing to
certain letters, which formed an oracle in
heroic verse, like those of Delphi. The
fatal prophecy then pointed to the three
first and the last letters of a name, like
Theodoms, as the fated successor of Va-
lens.

Among the innumerable victims to the
fears and the vengeance of Valens, whom
the ordinary prisons were not capacious
enough to contain, those who either were,
or were suspected of having been intrust-
ed with the fatal secret, were almost all
the chiefs of the philosophic party. Hi-
lary of Phrygia, with whom is associated,
by one historian, Patricius of Lydia and
Andronicus of Caria, all men of the most
profound learning! and skilled in divina-
tion, were those who had been consulted
on that unpardoned and unpardonable of-
fence, the inquiring the name of the suc-
cessor to the reigning sovereign. They
were, in fact, the conductors of the magic
ceremony, and on their confession betray-
ed the secret circumstances of the incan-
tation. Some, among whom appears the

* Philostorgius describes it as a prediction of the
Gentile oracles. Tov 'EXTltjvik&v xpV^TVp'^v-—
Lib. viii., c. 15.

I cannot but suspect that the prohibition of sacri-
fice mentioned by Libanius, which seems contrary
to the general policy of the brothers, and was but
partially carried into execution, may have been con-
nected with these transactions.

t Zosimus, iv., 15.

name of Iamblichus, escaped by miracle
from torture and execution.* Libanius
himself (it may be observed, as evidence
how closely magic and philosophy were
mingled up together in the popular opin-
ion) had already escaped with difficulty
two charges of unlawful practices;! on
this occasion, to the general surprise, he
had the same good fortune : either the
favour or the clemency of the emperor,
or some interest with the general accu-
sers of his- friends, exempted him from
the common peril. Of those whose suf-
ferings are recorded, Pasiphilus resisted
the extremity of torture rather than give
evidence against an innocent man: that
man was Eutropius, who held the rank
of proconsul of Asia. Simonides, though
but a youth, was one of the most austere
disciples of philosophy. He boldly ad-
mitted that he was cognizant of the dan-
gerous secret, but he kept it. undivulged.
Simonides was judged worthy of a more
barbarous death than the rest; he was
condemned to be burned alive ; and the
martyr of philosophy calmly ascended the
funeral pile. The fate of Maximus, since
the death of Julian, had been marked
with strange vicissitude. With Priscus,
on the accession of Valentinian, he was
summoned before the imperial tribunal;
the blameless Priscus was dismissed, but
Maximus, who, according to his own
friends, had displayed, during the life of
Julian, a pomp and luxuriousness un-
seemly in a philosopher, was sent back
to Ephesus, and amerced in a heavy fine
utterly disproportioned to philosophic pov-
erty. The fine was mitigated, but in its
diminished amount exacted by cruel tor-
tures. Maximus, in his agony, entreated
his wife to purchase -poison to rid him of
his miserable life. The wife obeyed, but
insisted on taking the first draught: she
drank, expired; and Maximus—declined to
drink. He was so fortunate as to attract
the notice of Clearchus, proconsul of Asia;
he was released from his bonds, rose in
wealth and influence, returned to Constan-
tinople, and resumed his former state.
The fatal secret had been communicated
to Maximus. He had the wisdom, his par-
tisans declared the prophetic foresight, to
discern the perilous consequences of the
treason. He predicted the speedy death
of himself and of all who were in posses-
sion of the secret. He added, it is said, a
more wonderful oracle ; that the emperor
himself would soon perish by a strange
death, and not even find burial. Maxi-
mus was apprehended and carried to An-
tioch. After a hasty trial, in which he

* See Zonaras, 13, 2.

t Vit., i., 114.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

confessed his knowledge of the oracle,
but declared that he esteemed it unwor-
thy of a philosopher to divulge a secret
intrusted to him by his friends, he was
taken back to Ephesus, and there exe-
cuted with all the rest of his party who
were implicated in the conspiracy. Fes-
tus, it is said, who presided over the exe-
cution, was haunted in after life by a vis-
ion of Maximus dragging him to judg-
ment before the infernal deities.* Though
a despiser of the gods, a Christian, he was
compelled by his terrors to sacrifice to the
Eumenides, the avengers of blood; and
having so done, he fell down dead. So
completely'did the cause of the pagan dei-
ties appear involved with that of the per-
secuted philosophers.

Nor was this persecution without con-
siderable influence on the literature of
Greece. So severe an inquisition was
instituted into the possession of magical
books, that, in order to justify their san-
guinary proceedings, vast heaps of man-
uscripts relating to law and general litera-
ture were publicly burned, as if they con-
tained unlawful matter. Many men of
letters throughout the East in their ter-
ror destroyed their whole libraries, lest
some innocent or unsuspected work should
be seized by the ignorant or malicious in-
former, and bring them unknowingly with-
in the relentless penalties x>f the law.f
Ffom this period philosophy is almost ex-
tinct, and paganism in the East drags on
its silent and inglorious existence, de-
prived of its literary aristocracy, and op-
posing only the inert resistance of habit
to the triumphant energy of Christianity.

Arianism, under the influence of Yalens,
state of maintained its ascendancy in the
Christianity East. Throughout the whole of
in the East, division of the empire the
two forms of Christianity still subsisted
in irreconcilable hostility.. Almost every
city had two prelates, each at the head of
his separate communion; the one, ac-
cording to the powers or the numbers of
his party, assuming the rank and title of
the legitimate bishop, and looking down,
though with jealous animosity, on his
factious rival. During the life of Atha-
nasius the see of Alexandrea remained
faithful to the Trinitarian doctrines. For
a short' period, ihdeed, the prelate was
obliged to retire, during what is called- his
fifth exile, to the tomb of his father; but
he was speedily welcomed back by the

* Eunap., Vit. Maxim. A mm. Marc., xxix., 1.

f Amm. Marcell., xxix., 1. Inde factum est per
Orientales provineias, ut omnes m'etu similium ex-
urerent libraria omnia : tantus universos invaserat
terror,xxix.,2.—Compare Heyne,note on Zosimus.

3 A

3fl»

acclamations of his followers, and the
baffled imperial authority acquiesced in
his peaceful rule till his decease. But at
his death, five years afterward, were re-
newed the old scenes of discord and blood-
shed. Palladius, the praefect of AD 3?3
Egypt, received the imperial com-
mission to install the Arian prelate, Lu-
cius, on the throne of Alexandrea. Pal-
ladius was a pagan, and the Catholic wri-
ters bitterly reproach their rivals with
this monstrous alliance. It was rumour-
ed that the pagan population welcomed
the Arian prelate with hymns of gratula-
tion as the friend of the god Serapis, as
the restorer of his worship.

In Constantinople Valens had received
baptism from Eudoxus, the aged A D 3rQ
Arian prelate of that see. Sacer-
dotal influence once obtained over the
feeble mind of Yalens, was likely to car-
ry him to any extreme ; yet, on the other
hand, he might be restrained and over-
awed by calm and dignified resistance.
In general, therefore, he might yield him-
self up as an instrument to the passions,
jealousies, and persecuting violence of
his own party; while he might have re
course to violence to place Demophilus
on the episcopal throne of Constantinople,
he might be awed into a more tolerant and
equitable tone by the eloquence and com-
manding character of Basil. It is unjust
to load the memory of Valens with the
most atrocious crime which has been
charged upon him by the vindictive exag-
geration of his triumphant religious ad-
versaries. As a deputation of eighty
Catholic ecclesiastics of Constantinople
were returning from Nicomedia, the ves-
sel was burned, the crew took to the
boat, the ecclesiastics perished to a man.
As no one escaped to tell the tale, and the
crew, if accomplices, were not likely to
accuse themselves, we may fairly doubt
the assertion that orders had been secret-
ly issued by Yalens to perpetrate this wan-
ton barbarity.*

[* The story is circumstantially narrated by Soc-
rates, H. E., iv., c. 16; by Sozomen, H. E., vi., 14;
and by Theodoret, H. E., iv., 24. They say that
Valens ordered his minister Modestus to put these
envoys to death. Modestus, fearing it would pro-
duce an insurrection, pretended to have orders to
send them into exile; and, under this pretence, put
them on board the vessel, ordering the captain,
when well out at sea, to fire the vessel and leave
the envoys to perish, while the captain and sailors
escaped in the boat. This was done. But, after
the sailors left the vessel on fire, a strong wind
drove it to the shore, where it was consumed, with
the .persons on board. Most historians admit the
facts as slated.—See Schroeckh, K. G., vol. xii., p.
35, Ac. Milman’s confident assertion.needs quali
fication.]370

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

The memorable interview with Saint
interview Basil, as it is related by the Cath-
with Basil. olic party, displays, if the weak-
ness, certainly the patience and tolera-
tion, of the sovereign; if the uncompro-
mising firmness of the prelate, some of
that leaven of pride with which he is
taunted by Jerome.

During his circuit through the Asiatic
provinces, the emperor approached the
city of Caesarea in Cappadocia. Modes -
tus, the violent and unscrupulous favour-
ite of Yalens, was sent before, to persuade
the bishop to submit to the religion of the
emperor. Basil was inflexible.
A‘ “ Know you not,” said the of-
fended officer, “that 1 have power to strip
you of all your possessions, to banish you,
to deprive you of life 1” “ He,” answer-

ed Basil, “ who possesses nothing can
lose nothing ; all you can take from me is
the wretched garments I wear, and the few
books, which are my only wealth. As to
exile, the earth is the Lord’s ; everywhere
it will be my country, or, rather, my place
of pilgrimage. Death will be a mercy;
it will but admit me into life : long have
L been dead to this world.” _ Modestus
expressed his surprise at this unusual
tone of intrepid address. “You have
never, then,” replied the prelate, “ con-
versed before with a bishop 1” Modestus
returned to his master. “ Violence will
fee the only course with this man, who is
neither to be appalled by menaces nor
won by blandishments.” But the emperor
shrunk from violent measures. His hum-
bler supplication confined itself to the ad-
mission of Arians into the communion of
Basil; but he implored in vain. The em-
peror mingled with the crowd of undis-
tinguished worshippers; but he was so
impressed by the solemnity of the Catho-
lic service, the deep and full chanting of
the psalms, the silent' adoration of the
people, the order and the majesty, by the
calm dignity of the bishop and of his at-
tendant clergy, which appeared more like
the serenity of angels than the busy scene
of mortal men, that, awe-struck and over-
powered, he scarcely ventured to approach
to make his offering. The clergy stood
irresolute whether they were to receive it
from the infectious hand of an Arian; Ba-
sil at length, while the trembling emperor
leaned for support on an attendant priest,
condescended to advance and accept the
oblation. . But neither supplications, nor
bribes, nor threats could induce the bish-
op to admit the sovereign to the commu-
nion. In a personal interview, instead of
convincing the bishop, Yalens was so over-
powered by the eloquence of Basil as to

bestow an endowment on the Church ior
the use of the poor. A scene of mingled
intrigue and asserted miracle ensued. The
exile of Basil was determined, but the
mind of Yalens was alarmed by the dan-
gerous illness of his son. The prayers
of Basil were said to have restored the
youth to life; but a short time after, hav
ing been baptized by Arian hands, he re
lapsed and died. Basil, however, main
tained his place and dignity to the end.* * *
But the fate of Yalens drew on ; it was
followed by the first permanent Effect of
establishment of the barbarians Christianity
within the frontiers of the Ro- [U^evifsot,S
man empire. Christianity now barbarian in
began to assume a new and im- vaslon*
portant function, that assimilation and
union between the conquerors and the
conquered which prevented the total ex-
tinction of the Roman civilization, and the
oppression of Europe by complete and al-
most hopeless barbarism. However Chris-
tianity might have disturbed the peace,
and therefore, in some degree, the stabili-
ty of the empire, by the religious factions
which distracted the principal cities ; how-
ever that foreign principle of celibacy,
which had now become completely identi-
fied with it, by withdrawing so many ac-
tive and powerful minds into the cloister
or the hermitage, may have diminished the
civil energies, and even have impaired the
military forces of the empire,! yet the en-
terprising and victorious religion amply
repaid those injuries by its influence in
remodelling the new state of society. H
treacherous to the interests of the Roman
empire, it was true to those of mankind.
Throughout the whole process of the re-
settling of Europe and the other provinces
of the empire by the migratory tribes from
the north and east, and the vast system
of colonization and conquest which intro-
duced one or more new races into every
province, Christianity was the one com-
mon bond, the 'harmonizing principle,
which subdued to something like unity
the adverse and conflicting elements of
society. Christianity, no doubt, while it
discharged this lofty mission, could not but
undergo a great and desecrating change.
It might repress, but could not altogether

* Greg. Naz., Orat. xx. Greg. Nyss. contra Eu-
nom.; and the ecclesiastical historians in loco.

f Yalens, perceiving the actual operation of this
unwarlike dedication of so many able-bodied men
to useless inactivity, attempted to correct the evil
by law, and by the strong interference of the gov-
ernment. He invaded the monasteries and solitary
hermitages of Egypt, and swept the monks by
thousands into the ranks of his army. But a re-

luctant Egyptian monk would, in general, make

but no 'TunTevent soldi****HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

371

subdue, the advance of. barbarism ; it was
constrained to accommodate itself to the
spirit of the times; 'while struggling to
counteract barbarism, itself became bar-
barized. It lost at once much of its purity
and its gentleness; it became splendid and
imaginative, warlike, and at length chival-
rous. When a country in a comparatively
high state of civilization is overrun by a
foreign and martial horde, in numbers too
great to be absorbed by the local popula-
tion, the conquerors usually establish
themselves as a kind of armed aristocracy,
while the conquered are depressed into a
race of slaves. Where there is no con-
necting, no intermediate power, the two
races coexist in stern and irreconcilable
hostility. The difference in privilege, and
often in the territorial possession of the
land, is increased and rendered more
strongly marked by the total want of com-
munion in blood. Intermarriages, if not,
as commonly, prohibited by lav/, are al-
most entirely discountenanced by general
opinion. Such was, in fact, the ordinary
process in the fprmation of the societ}^
which arose out of the ruins of the Roman
empire. The conquerors became usually
a military aristocracy; assumed the prop-
erty in the conquered lands, or, at least,
a considerable share in the landed estates,
and laid the groundwork, as it were, for
that feudal system which was afterward
developed with more or less completeness
in different countries of Europe.

One thing alone in some cases tempered,
influence of during the process of conquest,
{.heclergy, the irreclaimable hostility; in
all, after the final settlement, moulded up
together in some degree the adverse
powers. Where, as in the Gothic inva-
sion, it had made some previous impres-
sion on the invading race, Christianity
was constantly present, silently mitigating
the horrors of the war, and afterward
blending together, at least to a certain ex-
tent, the rival races. At all times it be-
came the connecting link, the intermediate
power, which gave some community of
interest, so me-similarity of feeling, to the
master and the slave. They worshipped at
least the same God in the same church ;
and the care of the same clergy embraced
both with something of a harmonizing and
equalizing superintendence. The Chris-
tian clergy occupied a singular position
in this new state of society. At the
.earlier period they were in general Ro-
man ; later, though sometimes barbarian
by birth, they were Roman in education.
When the prostration of the conquered
people was complete, there was still an
order of people, not strictly belonging to

either race, which maintained a command-
ing attitude, and possessed certain au-
thority. The Christian bishop confronted
the barbarian sovereign, or took his rank
among the leading nobles. During the
invasion, the Christian clergy, though
their possessions, were ravaged in the in-
discriminate warfare, though their per-
sons were not always secure from insult
or from slavery, yet, on the whole, re-
tained, or very soon resumed, a certain
sanctity, and hastened before long to
wind their chains around the minds of the
conquerors. Before a new invasion, Chris-
tianity had in general mingled up the in-
vaders with the invaded; till at length
Europe, instead of being a number of dis-
connected kingdoms, hostile in race, in
civil polity, in religion, was united in a
kind of federal Christian republic, on i
principle of unity, acknowledging the su-
premacy of the pope.

The overweening authority claimed and
exercised by the clergy ; their . .
existence as a separate and ex- tance- in this
elusive caste, at this particular new state of
period in the progress of civiliza- tllings*
tion, became of the highest utility. A re
ligion without a powerful and separate-
sacerdotal order, even perhaps if that
order had not in general been bound to
celibacy, and so prevented from degenera-
ting into an hereditary caste, would have
been absorbed and lost in the conflict and
confusion of the times. Religion, unless
invested by general opinion in high author-
ity, and that authority asserted by an ac-
tive and incorporated class, would scarcely
have struggled through this complete dis-
organization of all the existing relations of
society. The respect which the clergy
maintained was increased by their being
almost the exclusive possessors of that
learning which commands the reverence
even of barbarians when not actually en-
gaged in war. A religion which rests on
a written record, however that record may
be but rarely studied, and by a few only
of its professed interpreters, enforces the
general respect to literary attainment.
Though the traditional commentary may
overload or supersede the original book,
the commentary itself is necessarily com-
mitted to writing, and becomes another
subject of honoured and laborious study.
All other kinds of literature, as Iflfluence 0f
far as they survive, gladly rank Christianity
themselves under the protection 011 literature
of that which commands reverence for its
religious authority. The cloister or the
religious foundation thus became the place
of refuge to all that remained of letters or
of arts. Knowledge brooded in secret,372

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

though almost with unproductive, yet with
life-sustaining warmth, over these seclu-
ded treasures. But it was not merely an
inert and quiescent resistance which was
thus offered to barbarism ; it was perpetu-
ally extending its encroachments, as well
as maintaining its place. Perhaps the de-
gree to which the Roman language modi-
fied the Teutonic tongues may be a fair
example of the extent to which the Roman
civilization generally modified the man-
ners and the laws of the Northern nations.

The language of the conquered people
~ . lived in their religious ritual.

n anguage. ThrernglKMi; the rapid succes-
sion of invaders who passed over Europe,
seeking their final settlement, some in the
remotest province of Africa, before the
formation of other dialects, the Latin was
kept alive as the language of Western
Christianity. The clergy were its con-
servators, the Vulgate Bible and the offi-
ces of the Church its depositaries, unvio-
lated by any barbarous interruption, re-
spected as the oracles of Divine truth.
But the constant repetition of this lan-
guage in the ears of the mingled people
can scarcely have been without influence
in increasing and strengthening the Roman
element in the common language, which
gradually grew up from mutual intercourse,
intermarriage, and all the other bonds of
community which blended together the
various races.

The old municipal institutions of the
On the muni- empire probably owed their per-
cipai institu- manence,1 in no inconsiderable
turns. degree, to Christianity. It has
been observed in what manner the decu-
rionate, the municipal authdrities of each
town, through the extraordinary and op-
pressive system of taxation, from guardi-
ans of the liberties of the people became
mere passive and unwilling agents of the
government. Responsible for payments
which they could not exact, men of opu-
lence, men of humanity, shrunk from the
public offices. From objects of honour-
able ambition they had become burdens,
loaded with unrepaid unpopularity, as-
sumed by compulsion, and exercised with
reluctance. The defensors, instituted by
Valentinian and Valens, however they
might afford temporary protection and re-
lief to the lower orders, scarcely exercised
any long or lasting influence on the state
of society. Yet the municipal authorities
at least retained the power of administer-
ing the laws; and, as the law became more
and more impregnated with Christian sen-
timent, it assumed something of a religious
as well as civil authority. The magis-
trate became, as it were, an ally of the |

Christian bishop ; the institutions had a,
sacred character besides that of their
general utility. Whatever remained of
commerce and of art subsisted chiefly
among the old Roman population of the
cities, which was already Christian’; and
hence, perhaps, the guilds and fraternities
of the trades, which may be traced up to
an early period, gradually assumed a sort
of religious bond of union. In all points
the Roman civilization and Christianity,
when the latter had completely pervaded
the various orders of men, began to make
common cause; and during all the time
that this disorganization of conquest and
new settlement was taking place in this
groundwork of the Roman social system,
and the loose, elements of society were
severing by gradual disunion, a new con-
federative principle arose in these smaller
aggregations, as well as in the general
population of the empire. The Church
became another centre of union. JVIen in-
corporated themselves together, not only
nor so much as fellow-citizens, as fellow
Christians. They submitted to an au-
thority co-ordinate with the civil power,
and united as members of the same reli
gious fraternity.

Christianity, to a certain degree, chan-
ged the general habits of men. on genera'
For a time, at least,. they were habits,
less public, more private and domestic
men. The tendency of Christianity, while
the Christians composed a separate and
distinct community, to withdraw men from
public affairs; their less frequent attend
ance on the courts of law, which were
superseded by their own peculiar arbitra-
tion; their repugnance to the ordinary
amusements, which soon, however, in the
large cities, such as Antioch and Constan-
tinople, wore off; all these principles of
disunion ceased to operate when Chris-
tianity became the dominant, and at length
the exclusive, religion. The Christian
community became the people; the shows,
the pomps, the ceremonial of the religion
replaced the former seasons of ^periodical
popular excitement; the amusements
which were not extirpated by the change
of sentiment, some theatrical exhibitions
and the chariot-race, were crowded with
Christian spectators; Christians ascended
the tribunals of law ; not only the spirit
and language of the New Testament, but
likewise of the Old, entered both into the
Roman jurisprudence and into the various
barbarian codes, in which the Roman law
was mingled with the old Teutonic usages.
Thus Christianity was perpetually dis-
charging the double office of conservator
with regard to the social institutions withHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

373

which she had entered into alliance, and
of mediator between the conflicting races
which she was gathering together under
her own wing. Where the relation be-
tween the foreign conqueror and the con-
quered inhabitant of the empire was that
of master and slave, the Roman ecclesi-
astic still maintained his independence
and speedily regained his authority; he
only admitted the barbarian into his order
on the condition that he became to a cer-
tain degree Romanized ; and there can be
no doubt that the gentle influence of Chris-
tian charity and humanity was not without
its effect in mitigating the lot, or at least
in consoling the misery, of the change
from independence or superiority to hu-
miliation and servitude. Where the two
races mingled, as seems to have been the
case in some of the towns and cities, on
more equal terms, by strengthening the
municipal institutions with something of
a religious character and by its own pow-
erful federative principle, it condensed
them much more speedily into one people,
and assimilated their manners, habits, and
usages.

Christianity had early, as it were, pre-
Earfy Chris- pared the way for this amalga-
«canity among mation of the Goths with the
theGoihs. Roman empire. In their first
inroads, during the reign of Gallienus,
when they ravaged a large,, part of the
Roman empire, they carried away num-
bers of slaves, especially from Asia Minor
and Cappadocia. Among these were many
Christians. The slaves subdued the con-
querors ; the gentle doctrines of Christi-
anity made their way to the hearts of the
barbarous warriors. The families of the
slaves continued to supply the priesthood
to this growing community. A Gothic
bishop* * with a Greek* name, Theophilus,
ui hiias’s atteilded Council of Nice ;

version^ Ulphilas, at the time of the inva-.
the scrip- sion in the reign of Valens, con-
tures* . secrated bishop of the Goths du-
ring an embassy to-Constantinople, was of
Cappadocian descent.f Among the Goths
Christianity first assumed its new office,
the advancement of general civilization, as
well as of purer religion. It is difficult to
suppose that the art of writing was alto-
gether unknown to the Goths before the
time of Ulphilas. The language seems
to have attained a high degree of artifi-
cial perfection before it was employed by
that prelate in the translation of the Scrip-
tures.! Still the Maeso-Gothic alphabet,

w Philo6torgius, ii., 5. f Socrates, ii., 41.

$ The Gothic of Ulphilas is the link between the
East and Europe, the transition state from the San-
scrit to the modern Teutonic languages. It is pos-

of which the Greek is by far the principal
element, was generally adopted by the
Goths.* It was universally dissemina-
ted ; it was perpetuated, until the extinc-
tion or absorption of the Gothic race in
other tribes, by the translation of the sa-
cred writings. This was the work of
Ulphilas, who, in his version of the
Scriptures,! is reported to have omitted,
with a Christian but vain precaution, the
books of Kings, lest, being too congenial
to the spirit of his countrymen, they
should inflame their warlike enthusiasm.
Whether the genuine mildness of Christi-
anity, or some patriotic reverence for the
Roman empire, from which he drew his
descent, influenced the pious bishop, the
martial ardour of the Goths was not the
less fatal to the stability of the Roman
empire. Christianity did not even miti-
gate the violence of the shock with which,
for the first time, a whole host of North-
ern barbarians was thrown upon the em-
pire, never again to be shaken off. This
Gothic invasion, which first established s
Teutonic nation within the frontier of the
empire, was conducted with all the feroci-
ty, provoked, indeed, on the part of the
Romans, by the basest treachery, of hos-
tile races with no bond of connexion.!

The pacificatory effect of the general
conversion of the Goths to Christianity

sible that the Goths, after their migration from the
East to the north of Germany, may have lost the
art of writing, partly from the want of materials.
The German forests would afford no substitute
for the palm-leaves of the East; they may have
bebn reduced to the barbarous runes of the heathen
tribes.—Compare Bopp, Conjugations System.

* The Mseso-Gothic alphabet has twenty-five
letters, of which fifteen are evidently Greek, eight
Latin. The two, th and hw, to which the Greek
and Latin have no corresponding sound, are derived
from some other quarter. They are most likely
ancient characters. The th resembles closely the
runic letter which expresses the same sound.—See
St. Martin, note on Le Beau, iii., p. 120.

f The greater part of the fragments of Ulphilas’s
version of the Scriptures now extant is contained
in the celebrated Codex Argenteus, now at Upsala.
This splendid MS., written in silver letters on
parchment of a purple ground, contains almost the
whole four Gospels. Knittel, in 17G2, discovered
five chapters of St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans
in a Palimpsest MS. at Wolfenbuttel. The best
edition of the whole of this is by J. Christ. Zahn,
Weisenfels, 1805. Since that time M. Mai has
published, from Milan Palimpsests, several other
fragments, chiefly of the other Epistles of St. Paul,
Milan, 1819—St. Martin, notes to Le Beau, iii.,
100. On the Gothic translation of the Scrip-
tures. See Socrates, iv„ 33. Sozomen, vi., 37.
Philostorgius, ii., 5. Compare Theodoret, v.,30,3L

$ It is remarkable to find a Christian priest em-
ployed as an ambassador between the Goths and
the Romans, and either the willing or undesigning
instrument of that stratagem of the Gothic general
which was so fatal to V alens.—Aram. Marc.. xxxU
12.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

‘374

was impeded by the farm of faith which
they embraced. The Gothic prelates,
Arianism of Ulphilas among the rest, who
the Goths, visited the court of Constantino-
ple, found the Arian bishops in possession
of the chief authority ; they were the rec-
ognised prelates of the empire. Whether
Hjeir less cultivated minds were unable to
com'pre&end, or their language to express,
the fine and subtle distinctions of the
Trinitarian faith, or persuaded, as it was
said, by the Arian bishops, that it was
mere verbal dispute, these doctrines were
introduced among the Goths before their
passage of the Danube or their settle-
ment within the empire. The whole na-
tion received this form of Christianity ;
from them it appears to have spread, first
embracing the other branch of the nation,
the Ostrogoths, among the Gepidae, the
Vandals, and the Burgundians.* Among
the barbaric conquerors was the strong-
hold of Arianism ; while it was gradually

repudiated by the Romans both in tire
East and in the West, it raised its head,
and obtained a superiority which’it had
never before attained, in Italy and Spain.
Whether more congenial to the simplicity
of the barbaric mind, or in some respects
cherished on one side by the conqueror a:*
a proud distinction, more cordially detest-
ed by the Roman population as the creed
of their barbarous masters, Arianism ap-
peared almost to make common cause
with the Teutonic invaders, and only fell
with the Gothic monarchies in Italy and
in Spain. While Gratian and Valentinian
the Second espoused the cause of Trinita-
rianism in the West (we shall hereafter
resume the Christian history of that di
vision of “the empire), by measures which
show that their sacerdotal advisers were
men of greater energy and decision than
their civil ministers, it subsisted almost as
a foreign and barbarous form of Christi-
anity.

CHAPTER VIII.

THEODOSIUS. ABOLITION OF PAGANISM

The fate of Valens summoned to the
empire a sovereign not merely qualified
to infuse a conservative vigour into the
civil and military administration of the
empire, but to compress into one uniform
system the religion of the Roman world.
It was necessary that Christianity should
acquire a complete predominance, and that
it should be consolidated into one vigor-
ous and harmonious system. The rele-
gation, as it were, of Arianism among the
Goths and other barbarous tribes, though
it might thereby gain a temporary acces-
sion of strength, did not permanently im-
pede the final triumph of Trinitarianism.
While the imperial power was thus lend-
ing it's strongest aid for the complete tri-
umph and concentration of Christianity,
from the peculiar character of the mrnd
of Theodosius, the sacerdotal order, on
the strength and unity of which was to
rest the permanent influence of Christi-
anity during the approaching centuries of
darkness, assumed new energy. A re-
ligious emperor, under certain circum-

* Sic quoque Visigothi a Valente Imperatore
Ariani potius quam Christiani effecti. De coetero
tam Ostrogothis, quam Gepidis parentibus suis per
affectionis giatiam .evangelizanies, hujus perfidise
culturam edocentes omnem ub.ique linguas hujus
nationem ad culturam hujus sectae incitavere.—
Jornand., c. 25.

stances, might have been the most’danger-
ous adversary of the priestly power; he
would have asserted with vigour, which
could not at that time be resisted, the su-
premacy of the civil authority. But the
weaknesses, the vices of the great Theo-
dosius, bowed him down before the aspi-
ring priesthood, who, in asserting and ad-
vancing their own authority, were assert-
ing the cause of humanity. The passion-
ate tyrant at the feet of the Christian prel-
ate, deploring the rash resentment which
had condemned a whole city to. massacre;
the prelate exacting the severest penance
for the outrage on justice and on humani-
ty, stand in extraordinary contrast with
the older Caesars', without remonstrance
or without humiliation glutting their lusts
or their resentment with the misery and
blood of their subjects.

The accession of Theodosius was hailed
with universal enthusiasm through- 379

out the empire. The pressing fears A*
of barbaric invasion on every frontier si-
lenced for a time the jealousies of Chris-
tian and pagan, of Arian and Trinitarian.
On the shore of each of the great rivers
which bounded the empire appeared a
host of menacing invaders. The Per-
sians, the Armenians, the Iberians were
prepared to pass the Euphrates on the
eastern frontier; the Danube had alreadyHI6T0KV OF OilRI»TI A Nl TV.

afforded a passage to the Goths; behind
„ them were the Huns, in still more formi-
dable and multiplying swarms ; the Franks
and the rest of the German nations were
crowding to the Rhine. Paganism, as
weil as Christianity, hastened to pay its
grateful homage to the deliverer of the
empire; the eloquent Themistius address-
ed the emperor in the name of the imperi-
al city; Libanius ventured to call on the
Christian emperor to revenge the death of
Julian, that crime for which the gods were
exacting just retribution; pagan poetry
awoke from its long silence ; the glory of
Theodosias and his family inspired its last
noble effort in the verse of Claudian.

Theodosius was a .Spaniard. In that
province Christianity had probably found
less resistance from the feeble provincial
-paganism ; nor was there, as in Gaul, an
old national religion which lingered in the
minds of the native population. Christi-
anity was early and permanently estab-
lished in the Peninsula. Tq Theodosius,
who was but slightly tinged with the love
of letters or the tastes of a more liberal
education, the colossal temples of the
East or the more graceful and harmoni-
ous fabrics of Europe would probably
create no feeling but that of aversion
from the shrines of idolatry. Iiis Chris-
tianity was pure from any of the old pa-
gan associations ; unsoftened, if may per-
haps be said, by any feeling for art, and
unawed by any reverence for the ancient
religion of Rome; he was a soldier, a
provincial, an hereditary Christian of a
simple and unquestioning faith ; and he
added to all this the consciousness of con-
summate vigour and ability, and a choler-
ic and vehement temperament.

Spain, throughout the Trinitarian con-
troversy, perhaps from the commanding
influence of Hosius, had firmly adhered to
the Athanasian doctrines. The Maniche-
an tenets, for which Priscillian and his
followers suffered (the first heretics con-
demned to death for their opinions), were
but recently introduced into the province.

Thus by character and education deep-
ly impressed with Christianity, and tliat of
a severe and uncompromising orthodoxy,
Theodosius undertook the sacred obliga-
tion of extirpating paganism, and resto-
ring to Christianity its severe and invio-
lable unity. Without tracing the succes-
sion of events throughout his reign, we
may survey the Christian emperor in his
acts ; first, as commencing, if not com-
pleting, the forcible extermination of pa-
ganism; secondly, as confirming Christi-
anity, and extending the authority of the
sacerdotal order; and, thirdly, as estab-

375

lishing the uniform orthodoxy of the West-
ern Roman Church.

The laws of Theodosius against the pa-
gan sacrifices grew insensibly Hostility or
more and more severe. The Theodosius
inspection of the entrails of vie- t0Pasa,l,sir‘-
tims and magic rites were made a capital
offence. In 391 issued an edict prohibit-
ing sacrifices, and even the entering into
the temples. In the same year a rescript
was addressed to the court and prsefect of
Egypt, fining the governors of provinces
who should enter a temple fifteen pounds
of gold, and giving a kind of authority to
the subordinate officers to prevent their
superiors from committing such offences.
The same year all unlawful sacrifices are
prohibited by night or day, within or with-
out the temples. In 392 all immolation
is prohibited under the penalty of death,
and all other acts of idolatry under for-
feiture of the house or land in which the
offence shall have been committed.*

The pagan temples, left standing in all
their majesty, deserted, overgrown, would
have been the most splendid monument to
the triumph of Christianity. If, with the
disdain of conscious strength, she had al-
lowed them to remain without victim,
without priest, without worshipper, but
uninjured, and only exposed to natural de-
cay from time and neglect, posterity would
not merely have been grateful for the pres-
ervation of such stupendous models of an,
but would have been strongly impressed
with admiration of her magnanimity. But.
such magnanimity was neither to be ex-
pected from the age nor the state of the re-
ligion. The Christians believed in the ex-
istence of the heathen deities, with, per-
haps, more undoubting faith than the hea-
thens themselves. The daemons who
inhabited the temples were spirits of ma-
lignant and pernicious power, which it
was no less the interest than the duty of
the Christian to expel from their proud
and attractive mansions.! The temples
were the strongholds of the vigilant and
active adversaries of Christian truth and
Christian purity, the enemies of God and
man. The idols, it is true, were but wood
and stone, but the beings they represented
were real; they hovered, perhaps, in the
air ; they were still present in the conse-
crated spot, though rebuked and control-
led by the mightier name o.f Christ, yet
able to surprise the'careless Christian in
his hour of supineness or negligent adhe-
rence to his faith or his duty. When zeal
inflamed the Christian populace to aggres-

* Cod. Theod., xvi., 10, 7, 11, 12.

f Dii enim Gentium dsemonia, ut Scriptura docet
—Ambros., Epist. Resp. ad Symmach. in init.376

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

sion upon any of these ancient and time-
hallowed buildings, no doubt some latent
awe lingered within ; something of the
suspense of doubtful warfare watched the
issue of the strife. However they might
have worked themselves up to the convic-
tion that their ancient gods were but of
? his inferior and hostile nature, they would
still be haunted by some apprehensions
lest they should not be secure of the pro-
tection of Christ, or of the angels and
saints in the new tutelar hierarchy of
Heaven. The old deities might not have
been so completely rebuked and control-
led a,s not to retain some power of injuring
their rebellious votaries. It was at last,
even to the faithful^ a conflict between
two unequal supernatural agencies; une-
qual indeed, particularly where the faith
of the Christian was fervent and sincere,
yet dependant for its event on the confi-
dence of that faith, which sometimes
trembled at its own insufficiency, and fear-
ed lest it should be abandoned by the Di-
vine support in the moment of strife.

Throughout the East and West the
monks were the chief actors in this holy
warfare. They are constantly spoken of
by the heathen writers in terms of the
bitterest reproach and contempt. The
most particular account of their proceed-
ings relate to the East. Their desultory
attacks were chiefly confined to the coun-
try, where the numberless shrines, images,
and smaller temples were at the same
time less protected and more dear to the
feelings of the people. In the towns, the
larger fanes, if less guarded by the rever-
ence of their worshippers, were under the
protection of the municipal police.* Chris-
tianity was long almost exclusively the
religion of the towns; and the term pa-
ganism (notwithstanding the difficulties
which .embarrass this explanation) ap-
pears to owe its origin to this general dis-
tinction. The agricultural population, li-
able to frequent vicissitudes, trembled to
offend the gods, on whom depended the
plenty or the failure of the harvest. Hab-
its are more intimately enwoven with the
whole being in the regular labours of hus-
bandry than in the more various and
changeable occupations of the city. The
whole heathen ritual was bound up with
the course of agriculture: this was the
oldest part both of the Grecian and Italian
worship, and had experienced less change
from the spirit of the times. In every
field, in every garden, stood a deity;
shrines and lesser temples were erected

* Tokfiarai fiev ovv kuv ralg 7roTiscrt, ro ttoTiv
tie tv rolg aypoXg.—Liban. pro Templis.

in every grove, by every fountain. The
drought, the mildew, the murrain, the lo-
custs, whatever was destructive to the
harvest or to the herd, were in the power of
these capricious deities ;* even when con-
verted to Christianity, the peasant trem-
bled at the consequences of his oyvn apos-
tacy ; and it is probable that not until the
whole of this race of tutelary deities had
been gradually replaced by what we must
call the inferior divinities of paganizing
Christianity, saints, martyrs, and angels,
that Christianity was extensively or per-
manently established in the rural dis-
tricts.!

During the reign of Constantine, that
first sign of a decaying religion, Alienalionof
the alienation of the property the revenue
attached to its maintenance, be- °J'the tem-
gan to be discerned. Some es- pes'
tates belonging to the temples were seized
by the first Christian emperor, and appro-
priated to the building of Constantinople.
The. favourites of his successor, as we
have seen, were enriched by the donation
of other sacrqd estates, and even of the
temples themselves.$ Julian restored the
greater part of these prodigal gifts, but
they were once more resumed under Val-
entinian, and the estates escheated to the
imperial revenue. Soon after the acces-
sion of Theodosius, the pagans, particu-
larly in the East, saw the storm gathering
in the horizon. The monks, with perfed
impunity, traversed the rural districts, de-
molishing all the unprotected edifices. In
vain did the pagans appeal to the episco-
pal authority ; the bishops declined to re-
press the over-active, perhaps, but pious
zeal of their adherents. Already much
destruction had taken, place among the
smaller rural shrines ; the temples in An-
tioch, of Fortune, of Jove, of Athene, of
Dionysus, were still standing; but the de-
molition of one stately temple, either at
Edessa or Palmyra, and this under the pre-
text of the imperial authority, had awaken-
ed all the fears of the pagans. Libanius ad-
dressed an elaborate oration to the emper-

* Kal rolg yeopyovaiv h avroXg al klirlStg,
baai Tvepl re avdp&v ko'l ywauctiv, Kal tskvov Kal
fiotiv, Kal rfjg OTTEipofievrig yf/g Kal 'jrefyvrev/Lievrjg.
—Liban. de Tempi.

f This difference prevailed equally in the West.
Fleury gives an account of the martyrdom of three
missionaries by the rural population of a district in
the Tyrol, who resented the abolition of their dei
ties and their religious ceremonies.—Hist. Eccles.
v., 64.

t They were bestowed, according to Libanius,
with no more respect than a horse, a slave, a dog,
or a golden cup. The position of thesla?>e between
the horse and the dog, as cheap gifts, is curious
enough.—Liban., Op., v. ii., p. 185.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

877

Oration of or, “For the Temples.”* * * § * Like
i.ibanius. Christianity under the Antonines,
paganism is now making its apology for
its public worship. Paganism is reduced
to still lower humiliation ; one of its mod-
est arguments against the destruction of
its temples is an appeal to the taste and
love of splendour, in favour of buildings
at least as ornamental to the cities as the
imperial palaces.f The orator even stoops
to suggest that, if alienated from religious
uses and let for profane purposes, they
#might be a productive source of revenue.
But the eloquence and arguments of Liba-
nius were wasted on deaf and unheeding
ears. The war against the temples com-
Syrian tem- menced in Syria, but it was
pies destroyed, not conducted with complete
success. In many cities the inhabitants
rose in defence of their sacred buildings,
and, with the Persian on the frontier, a
religious war might have endangered the
allegiance of these provinces. The splen-
did temples, of which the ruins have re-
cently been discovered, at Petra,J were
defended by the zealous worshippers ; and
in those, as well as at Areopolis and Ra-
phia, in Palestine, the pagan ceremonial
continued without disturbance. In Gaza,
the temple of the tutelar deity Manias, the
lord of men, was closed; but the Chris-
tians did not venture to violate it. The
form of some of the Syrian edifices allow-
ed their transformation into Christian
churches ; they were enclosed, and made
to admit sufficient light for the services
of the Church. A temple at Damascus,
and another at Heliopolis or Baalbec,^
-were consecrated to the Christian wor-
ship. Marcellus of Apamea was the mar-
tyr in this holy warfare. He had signal-
ized himself by the destruction of the tem-
ples in his own city, particularly that of
Jupiter, whose solid foundations defied the
artificers and soldiery employed in the work
of demolition, and required the aid of mir-
acle to undermine them. But, on an ex-
pedition into the district of Apamea, called
the Aulon, the rude inhabitants rose in de-
fence of their sacred edifice, seized Mar-
cellus, and burned him alive. The synod
of the province refused to revenge on his

* This oration was probably not delivered in the
presence of Theodosius.

f Liban. pro Templis, p. 190.

J Laborde’s Journey. In most of these buildings
Roman architecture of the age of the Antonines is
manifest, raised in general on the enormous sub-
structions of much earlier ages.

§ If this (as indeed is not likely) was the vast
Temple of the Sun, the work of successive ages, it
is probable that a Christian church was enclosed
in some part of its precincts. The sanctuary was
usually taken for this purpose.

2 B

barbarous enemies a death so happy for
Marcellus and so glorious for his family.*

The work of demolition was not long
content with these less famous edifices,
these outworks of paganism ; it aspired to
attack one of its strongest citadels, and, by
the public destruction of one of the most
celebrated temples in the world, to an-
nounce that Polytheism had forever lost
its hold upon the minds of men.

It was considered the highest praise of
the magnificent temple at Edes- Ternple of
Sa, Of which the roof Was Of Serapis at
remarkable construction, and Alexandrea-
which contained in its secret sanctuary
certain very celebrated statues of wrought
iron, and whose fall had excited the indig-
nant eloquence of Libanius, h) compare it
to the Serapion in Alexandrea. The Se-
rapion at that time appeared secure in
the superstition which connected its invi-
olable sanctity and the honour of its godf
with the rise and fall of the Nile, with the
fertility and existence of Egypt, and, as
Egypt was the granary of the East, of
Constantinople. 'The pagans had little
apprehension that the Serapion itself, be-
fore many years, would be levelled to the
ground.

The temple of Serapis, next to that of
Jupiter in the Capitol, was the a.d. 339
proudest monument of pagan re- or 391.
ligious architecture.:]: Like the more cel-
ebrated structures of the East, and that of
Jerusalem in its glory, it comprehended
within its precincts a vast mass of build-
ings, of which the temple itself formed the
centre. It was built on an artificial hill,
in the old quarter of the city called Rha-
cotis, to which the ascent was by a hun-
dred steps. All the substructure was
vaulted over; and in these dark chambers,
which communicated with each other,
were supposed to be carried on the most
fearful, and, to the Christian, abominable
mysteries. All around the spacious level
platform were the habitations of the priests,
and the ascetics dedicated to the worship
of the god. Within these outworks of this
city rather than temple was a square, sur-
rounded on all sides with a magnificent
portico. In the centre arose the temple,
on pillars of enormous magnitude and
beautiful proportion. . The work either of
Alexander himself or of the first Ptolemy
aspired to unite the colossal grandeur of
Egyptian with the fine harmony of Gre
cian art. The god himself was the espe-

* Sozomen, vii., 15. Theodoret, v., 21.

f Libanius expresses himself to this effect.

t Post Capitolium, quo se venerabilis Roma in
sternum attollit nihil orbis terrarum ambitiosius
cernat.—Ammtan. Marcell,, xxii., 16.378'

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

cial object of adoration throughout the
whole country, and throughout every part
of the empire into which the Egyptian
worship had penetrated,* but more par-
ticularly in Alexandrea ; and the wise pol-
icy of the Ptolemies had blended together,
under this pliant and all-embracing reli-
gion, the different races of their subjects
Egyptian and Greek met as worshippers
worship of of Serapis. The Serapis of
sm-apis. Egypt was said to have been
worshipped for ages at Sinope; he was
transported from that city with great pomp
and splendour, to be reincorporated, as it.
were, and reidentified with his ancient
prototype. While the Egyptians worship-
ped in Serapis the great vivific principle
of the universe, the fecundating Nile, hold-
ing the Kilometer for his sceptre, the lord
of Amen-ti, the president of the regions
beyond the grave, the Greeks at the same
time recognised the blended attributes of
their Dionysus, Helios, Aesculapius, and
Hades,f

The colossal statue of Serapis imbodied
statue of these various attributes.! It filled
Serapis. the sanctuary : its outstretched and
all-embracing arms.touched the walls; the
right the one, the* left the other. It was
said to have been the work of Se.sostris ;
it was made of all the metals fused to-
gether, gold, silver, copper, iron, lead, and
tin; it was inlaid with all kinds of precious
stones; the whole was polished, and ap-
peared of an azure colour. The measure
or bushel, the emblem of productiveness
or plenty, crowned its head. By its side
stood the symbolic three-headed animal,
one the forepart of a lion, one of a dog,
one of a wolf. In this the Greeks saw
the type of their poetic Cerberus.§ The
serpent, the symbol of eternity, wound
round the whole and returned, resting its"
head oif the hand of the. god.

The more completely the adoration of
Serapis had absorbed the worship of the
whole Egyptian pantheon, the more eager-
ly Christianity desired to triumph over the
representative of Polytheism. However,

* In Egypt alone he had forty-two temples ; in-
numerable others in every part of the Roman em-
pire,— Aristid., Orat. in Canop.

f This appears to me the most natural interpre-
tation of the celebrated passage in Tacitus.—Com-
pare De Guigniaut, Le Dieu Serapis et son Origine,
originally written as a note for Bournouf’s trans-
lation of Tacitus.

t The statue is described by Macrobius, Saturn.,
i., 20. Clemens Alexandria, Exhortat. ad Gent., i.,
p. 42. Rufinus, E. H., xii., 23.

§ According to the interpretation of Macrobius,
the three heads represented the past, the present,
and the future; the rapacious wolf the past, the
central lion the intermediate present, the fawning
dog the hopeful future..

in the time of Hadrian, the philosophic
party may have endeavoured to blend and
harmonize the two faiths,* they stood now
in their old direct and irreconcilable oppo-
sition. The suppression of the internal
feuds between the opposite parties in
Alexandrea enabled Christianity to direct
all its concentred lorce against paganism.
Theophilus, the archbishop, was The first aN
a man of boldness and activity, tacks on pa-
eager to seize, and skilful to sanism-
avail himself of, every opportunity to in-
flame the popular mind against the he a-1
tffens. A priest of Serapis was accused
and convicted of practising those licentious
designs against the virtue of the female
worshippers so frequently attributed to
the priesthood of the Eastern religions.
'The noblest and most beautiful women
were persuaded to submit to the embraces
of the god, whose place, under the favour-
able darkness caused by the sudden ex-
tinction of the lamps in the temple, was
filled by the priest. 'These inauspicious
rumours prepared the inevitable collision.
A neglected temple of Osiris or Dionysus
had been granted by Constantius to the
Arians of Alexandrea. Theophilus ob-
tained from the emperor a grant of the
vacant site for a new church, to accom-
modate the increasing numbers of the
Catholic Christians. On digging the found-
ation, there were discovered many of the
obscene symbols used in the Bacchic or
Osirian mysteries. Theophilus, with more
regard to the success of his cause than to
decency, exposed these ludicrous or dis-
gusting objects in the public market-place
to the contempt and abhorrence of the
people. The pagans, indignant at this
treatment of their sacred symbols, and
maddened by the scorn and ridicule of the
Christians, took up arms. The streets
ran with blood ; and many Christians who
fell in this tumultuous fray received the
honours of martyrdom. Aphilos- Olympus the
opher named Olympus placed philosopher,
himself at the head of the pagan party.
Olympus had foreseen and predicted the
ruin of the external worship of Polytheism.
He had endeavoured to implant a profound
feeling in the hearts of the pagans which
might survive the destruction of their or-
dinary objects of worship. u The statues
of the gods are but perishable and material
images; the eternal intelligences which
dwelt within them have withdrawn to the
heavens.”! Yet Olympus hoped, and at

* See the letter of Hadrian, p. 223.

t ’"T2.7JV <pdapr7}v ical IvdaTiftara Myov elvai rd
ajdXfiara, Kal did tovto utyavLOfiov vnofieveiv
dvvu/UEig 6e nvag evoiKrjaat avroic, Kal slg ovpav-
bv divoTtTfjvai.— Sozom., H. E., m, 15.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

% Jt; with his impassioned eloquence, suc-
ceeded, in rousing his pagan compatriots
to a bold defiance of the public authorities
in support of their religion; faction and
rivalry supplied what was wanting to faith,
md it appeared that paganism would like-
wise boast its army of martyrs—martyrs,
not. indeed through patient submission to
the persecutor, but in heroic despair per-
ishing with their gods.

The pagans at first were the aggressors ;
War in they sallied from their fortress,
uie city, j-j^ Serapion, seized the unhappy
Christians whom they met, forced them
to sacrifice on their altar, or slew them
upon it, or threw them into the deep trench
defiled with the blood and offal of sacrifice.
In vain Evagrius, the praefect of Egypt, and
Itomanus, the commander of the troops,
appeared before the gates of the temple,
remonstrated with the garrison, who ap-
peared at the windows, against their bar-
barities, and menaced them with the just
vengeance of the law. They were obliged
to withdraw, baffled and disregarded, and
lo await the orders of the emperor. Olym-
pus exhorted his followers to the height of
religious heroism. u Having made a glori-
ous sacrifice of our enemies, let us immo-
late ourselves and perish with our gods.”
Flight of But, before the rescript arrived,
Olympus. Olympus had disappeared : he had
stolen out of the temple, and embarked for
Italy. The Christian writers do honour
to his sagacity or to his prophetic powers,
at the expense of his courage and fidelity
to his party. In the dead of night, when
all was slumbering around, and all the
gates closed, he had heard the Christian
Alleluia pealing from a single voice through
the silent temple. He acknowledged the
sign or the omen, and anticipated the un-
favourable sentence of the emperor, the
fate of his faction and of his gods.

The Eastern pagans, it should seem,
were little acquainted with the real char-
acter of Theodosius. When the rescript
arrived they laid down their arms, and
assembled in peaceful array before the
temple, as if they expected the sentence
of the- emperor in their own favour.*
Rescript of The officer began; the first
Theodosius, words of the rescript plainly
intimated the abhorrence of Theodosius
against idolatry. Cries of triumph from

* If the oration of Libanius, exhorting the em-
peror to revenge the'death of Julian, was really
presented to Theodosius, it betrays something of
the same ignorance. He seems to think his argu-
ments not unlikely to meet with success ; at all
events, he appears not to have the least notion that
Theodosius would not respect the memory ol the
apostate.

the Christians interrupted the proceed-
ings ; the panic-stricken pagans, aban-
doning their temple and their god, si-
lently dispersed ; they sought out the
most secret places of refuge ; they fled
their country. Two of the celebrated
pontiffs, one of Amoun, one of “ the
Ape,” retired to Constantinople, where
the one, Ammonius, taught in a school,
and continued to deplore the fall of pa-
ganism ; Helladius, the other, was known
to boast the part he had taken in the se-
dition of Alexandrea, in which, with his
own hand, he had slain nine Christians.*

The imperial rescript at once went be-
yond and fell short of the fears of the pa-
gans. It disdained to exact vengeance
for the blood of the Christian martyrs,
who had been so happy as to lay down
their lives for their Redeemer; but it com-
manded the destruction of the idolatrous
temples ; it confiscated all the ornaments,
and ordered the statues to be melted or
broken up for the benefit of the poor.

Theophilus hastened ’in his triumphant
zeal to execute the ordinance of The temple
the emperor. Marching, with assiiied.
the p roe feet at the head of the military,
they ascended the steps to the temple
of Serapis. They surveyed the vacant
chambers of the priests and the ascetics;
they paused to pillage the library ;f they
entered the deserted sanctuary; they
stood in the presence of the god. The
sight of this colossal image, for T.
centuries an object of worship,
struck awe to the hearts of the Christians
themselves. They stood silent, inactive,
trembling. The archbishop alone main-
tained his courage : he commanded a sol-
dier to proceed to the assault. The soldier
struck the statue with his hatchet on the
knee. The blow echoed through the
breathless hall, but no sound or sign of Di-
vine vengeance ensued; the roof of the
temple fell not to crush the sacrilegious as-
sailant, nor did the pavement heave and
quake beneath his feet. The imboldened
soldier climbed up to the head and struck
it off; it rolled upon the ground. Serapis
gave no sign of life, but a large colony of
rats, disturbed in their peaceful abode, ran
about on all sides. The passions of the
multitude are always in extremes. From
breathless awe they passed at once to

* Socrat, Eccl. Hist., v., 16. Helladius is men-
tioned, in a law of Theodosius the Younger, as a
celebrated grammarian elevated to certain honours.
This law is, however, dated 425; at least five-and-
thirty years after this transaction.

t Nos vidimus armaria librorum ; quibus direptis,
exinanita ea a noslris hominibus, nostris tempor*
bus memorant.—Oros - vi \5.380

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ungovernable mirth. The work of de-
struction went on amid peals of laughter,
coarse jests, and shouts of acclamation ;
and as the fragments of the huge body of
Sera pis were dragged through the streets,
the pagans, with that revulsion of feeling
common to the superstitious populace,
joined in the insult and mockery against
their unresisting and self-abandoned god.*

The solid walls and deep foundations of
the temple offered more unsurmountable
resistance to the baffled zeal of the Chris-
tians ; the work of demolition proceeded
but slowly with the massive architecture ;f
and some time after a church was erect-
ed in the precincts, to look down upon the
ruins of idolatry, which still frowned in
desolate grandeur upon their conquerors.}

Yet the Christians, even after their
complete triumph, were not without some
lingering terrors; the pagans not without
hopes that a fearful vengeance would be
exacted from the land for this sacrile-
gious extirpation of their ancient deities.
Serapis was either the Nile, or the deity
who presided over the periodical inunda-
tions of the river. The Nilometer, which
measured the rise of the waters, was kept
in the temple. Would the indignant river
refuse its fertilizing moisture; keep sullen-
ly within its banks, and leave the ungrate-
ful land blasted with perpetual drought and
barrenness 1 As the time of The inunda-
tion approached, all Egypt was in a state
of trembling suspense. Long beyond the
accustomed day the waters remained at
their usual level; there .was no sign of
overflowing. The people began to mur-
mur; the murmurs swelled into indignant
remonstrances; the usual rites and sacri-
fices were, demanded from the reluctant
prsefect, who despatched a hasty messen-
ger to the emperor for instructions. There
was every appearance of a general insur-

* They were said to have discovered several of
the tricks by which the priests of Serapis itnposed
on the credulity of their worshippers. An aper-
ture of the wall was so contrived, that the light of
the sun, at a particular time, fell bn the face of Se-
rapis. The sun was then thought to visit. Serapis;
and, at the moment of their meeting, the flashing
light threw a smile on the lips of the deity. There
is another story of a magnet on the roof, which, as
in the fable about Mohammed’s coffin, raised either
a small statue of the Deity, or the sun in a car
with foui horses, to the roof, and there held it sus-
pended. A Christian withdrew the magnet, and
the car fell, and was dashed to pieces on the pave-
ment.

1 Compare Eunap., Vit. iEdesii, p. 44, edit. Bois-
sonade.

t The Christians rejoiced in discovering the
cross in various parts of the building; they were
inclined to suppose it miraculous, or prophetic of
fcheir triumph But, in fact, the crux ansata is a
common hieroglyphic, a symbol of life.

recticm ; the pagans triumphed' in their
turn;. but, before the answer of the em-
peror arrived, which replied, in uncom-
promising faith, u that if the inundation
of the river could only be obtained by
magic and impious rites, let it remain
dry ; the fertility of Egypt must not be
purchased by an act of infidelity to God,”*
suddenly the waters began to swell*, an
inundation more full and extensive than
usual spread over the land, and the versa-
tile pagans had now no course but to
join again with the Christians in mock-
eries against the impotence of their gods.

But Christianity was not content with
the demolition of the Serapion ; its pre-
dominance throughout Egypt may be es-
timated by the bitter complaint of the pa-
gan writer: “ Whoever wore a black dress
(the monks are designated by this descrip-
tion) was invested in tyrannical power;
philosophy and piety to the gods were
compelled to retire into secret places, and
to dwell in contented poverty and dignified
meanness of appearance. The temples
were turned into tombs for the adoration
of the bones of the basest and most de-
praved of men, who had suffered the pen-
alty of the law, whom they made their
gods.”f Such was the light in which the
martyr-worship of the Christians appear-
ed to the pagans.

The demolition of the Serapion was a
penalty inflicted on the pagans of Alexan-
dra for their sedition and sanguinary vio-
lence ; but the example was too encour-
aging, the hope of impunity under the
present government too confident, not to
spread through other cities of Egypt. To
Canopus, where the principle of humidity
was worshipped in the form of a vase with
a human head, Theophilus, who consider-
ed Canopus within his diocese, marched
at the head of his triumphant party, de-
molished the temples, abolished the rites,
which were distinguished for their disso-
lute license, and established monasteries
in the place. Canopus, from a city of revel
and debauchery, became a city of monks.}

The persecution extended throughout

* Improbable as it may seem that such an an-
swer should be given by a statesman like Theodo
sius, yet it is strongly characteristic of the times.
The emperor neither denies the power of the ma-
lignant daemons worshipped by the idolaters, nor
the efficacy of enchantments to obtain their fa-
vour, and to force from them the retarded overflow
of the river.

t Runap. Yit ACdesii, loc. cit.

t The Christians laughed at Canopus being call
ed “ the conqueror of the gods.” The origin of.
this name was, that the principle of fire, the god
of the Chaldeans, had been extinguished by the
water within the statue of Canopus, the pi inciple
of humidity.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Egypt; but the vast buildings which even
now subsist, the successive works of the
Pharaohs, the Ptolemies, and the Roman
emperors, having triumphed alike over
time, Christianity, and Mohammedanism,
show either some reverent reluctance to
deprive the country of its most magnificent
ornaments, or the inefficiency of the in-
struments which they employed in the
work of devastation. For once it was
less easy for men to destroy than to pre-
serve ; the power of demolition was re-
buked before the strength and solidity of
these erections of primeval art.

The war, as we have seen, raged with
the same partial and imperfect success
in Syria; with less, probably, in Asia Mi-
nor; least of* all in Greece. The demo-
lition was nowhere general or systemat-
ic. Wherever monastic Christianity was
completely predominant, there emulous
zeal excited the laity to these aggressions
on paganism. But in Greece the noblest
buildings of antiquity, at Olympia, Eleusis,
Athens,* show in their decay the slower
process of neglect and time, of accident
and the gradual encroachment of later
barbarism, rather than the iconoclastic
destructiveness of early religious zeal.f

In the West, the task of St. Martin of
'Pours, the great extirpator of idolatry in
Gaul, was comparatively easy, and his
achievements by no means so much to be
lamented as those of the destroyers of the
purer models of architecture in the East.
The life of this saint, of which the com-
paratively polished and classical style sin-
gularly contrasts with the strange and le-
gendary incidents which it relates, de-
scribes St. Martin as making regular cam-
paigns into all the region, destroying wher-
ever he could the shrines and temples of
the heathen, and replacing them by church-
es and monasteries. So completely was
his excited imagination full of his work,
that he declared that Satan often*assumed
the visible form of Jove, of Mercury, of
Venus, or of Minerva, to divert him, no
doubt, from his holy design, and to protect
their trembling fanes.J

But the power and the majesty of pa-
Paganism ganism were still concentred at
&t Home. Rome; the deities of the ancient
faith found their last refuge in the capital
of the empire. To the stranger, Rome

* The Parthenon, it is well known, wa$ entire
till towards the close of the sixteenth century. Its
roof was destroyed during the siege by the Vene-
tians.—See Spon. and Wheler’s Travels.

I The council of Illiberis refused the honours of
martyrdom to those who were killed while break-
ing idols.—Can. lx.

} Sulpic. Sever., Vit. B. Martini, p. 469.

38 i

still offered the appearance of a pagan
city : it contained one hundred and fifty-
two temples and one hundred and eighty
smaller chapels or shrines, still sacred to
their tutelary god, and used for public wor-
ship.* Christianity had neither ventured
to usurp those few buildings which might
be converted to her use, still less had she
the power to destroy them. The religious
edifices were under the protection of the
praefect of the city, and the prefect was
usually a pagan; at all events, he would
not permit any breach of the public peace
or violation of public property. Above
all still towered the Capitol, in its unas-
sailed and awful majesty, with its fifty
temples or shrines, bearing the most sa-
cred names in the religious and civil an-
nals of Rome, those of Jove, of Mars, of
Janus, of Romulus, of Caesar, of Victory.
Some years after the accession of Theo-
dosius to the Eastern empire, the sacri-
fices were still performed as national rites
at the public cost; the pontiffs made their
offerings in the name of the whole human
race. The pagan orator ventures to as-
sert that the emperor dared not to endan-
ger the safety of the empire by their abo-
lition, t The emperor still bore the title
and insignia of the supreme pontiff; the
consuls, before they entered upon their
functions, ascqnded the Capitol; the reli-
gious processions passed along the crowd-
ed streets, and the people thronged to the
festivals and theatres, which still formed
part of the pagan worship.

But the edifice had begun to tremble to
its foundations. The emperor Gratian,em-
had ceased to reside at Rome; peror, a.d.
his mind, as well that of Gra- ijS'entinian
tian and the younger Valentin- ii 'a d 3W.
ian as of Theodosius, was free
from those early-inculcated and A‘ *
daily-renewed impressions of the majesty
of the ancient paganism which still en-
thralled the minds of the Roman aristoc-
racy. Of that aristocracy, the flower and
the pride was Vettius Agorius Prsetexta-
tus.J In him the wisdom of pagan philos-
ophy blended with the serious piety of pa-
gan religion : he lived to witness the com-

* See the Descriptiones Urbis, which bear the
names of Publicus Victor and Sextus Rufus Fes-
tus. These works could not have been written be-
fore or long after the reign of Valentinian.—Com-
pare Beugnot, Histoire de la Destruction du Pagan-
isme en Occident. M. Beugnot has made out, on
more or less satisfactory evidence, a list of the dei-
ties still worshipped in Italy, t. i., 1. viii., c. 9. St.
Augustine, when young, was present at the rites ol
Cybele, about A.D. 374.

f Liban. pro Templis.

j See on Prsetextatus, Macrob., Saturn., i., 2.
Symmachi, Epistolae, i., 40, 43, 45 ; ii., 7, 34, 36, 53,
59. Hieronym., Epistolse, xxiii.382

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

mencemerit of the last fatal change, which
he had no power to avert; he died, and
his death was deplored as a public calam-
ity, in time to escape the final extinction,
ad 376 or’ rat^er? degradation of pagan-
ism, But eight years before the
fatal accession of Gratian, and the year of
his own death, he had publicly consecra-
ted twelve statues in the Capitol, with all
becoming splendour, to the Dii curantes,
the great guardian deities of Rome.* * * § It
was not only the ancient religion of Rome
which still maintained some part of its
dignity ; alMhe other religions of the em-
pire, which still publicly celebrated their
rites and retained their temples in the me-
tropolis, concentred all their honours on
Prsetextatus, and took refuge, as it were,
under the protection of his blameless and
venerable name. His titles in an extant
inscription announce him as having attain-
ed, besides the countless honours of Ro-
man civil and religious dignity, the high-
est rank in the Eleusinian, Phrygian, Syr-
ian, and Mithraic mysteries f His wife
boasted the same religious titles; she was
the priestess of the same mysteries, with
the addition of some peculiar to the fe-
male sex.f She celebrated the funeral,
a d 3S4 even the apotheosis, of her noble
husband with the utmost pomp:
he was the last pagan, probably, who re-
ceived the honours of deification. All
Rome crowded in sorrow and profound
reverence to the ceremony. In the lan-
guage of the vehement Jerom there is a
singular mixture of enforced respect and
of aversion; he describes (to moralize at
the awful change) the former triumphant
ascent of the Capitol -byPraetextatus amid
the acclamations of the whole city ; he
admits the popularity of his life, but con-
demns him, without remorse, to eternal
misery. § • .

* This appears from an inscription recently dis-
covered (A.D. 1835), and published in the Bulietino
of the Archeological Society of Rome.—Compare
Bunsen, Roms Beschreibung, vol. iii., p. 9.

t Augur. Pontifex Vest®, Pontifex S*olis, Quin-
decimvir, Curialis Herculis, sacratus Libero et
Eleusiniis, Hierophanta, Neocorus, Tauroboliatus,
Pater Patrurn.—Gruter, p 1102, No. 2.

t Sacratse apud Eleusinam Deo Baccho, Cereri,
et Corse, apud Lernam, Deo Libero, et Cereri, et
Corse, sacratse apud AEginam Deabus; Tauroboli-
tse, Isiacse, Hierophantise Dese Hecatse, sacratse
Dese Cereris.—Gruter, 309.

§ O quanta rerum mutatio ! Ille quem ante pau-
cos dies dignitatum omnium culmina prsecedebant,
qui quasi de subjectis hostibus triumpharet, Cap-
itolinas ascendit arces; quem plausu quodam et
tripudio populus Romanus excepit, ad cujus inten-
tum urbs universa commota est; nunc desolatuset
nudus, * * * non in lacteo coeli palatio ut uxor,
mentitur infelix, sed in sordentibus tenebris contin-
etur.—Hieronym , Epist. xxiii., vol. i., p. 135.

Up to the accession of Gratian, the
Christian emperor had assumed, m
as a matter of course, the suprem-
acy over the religion as well as the state
of Rome. He had been formally Augustus,
arrayed in the robes of the sover- A-^-378-
eign pontiff. For the first few years of
his reign, Gratian maintained the Gratian re
inaggressive policy of his father.* fuses the
But the masculine mind of Am- P°nufical:“-
brose obtained, and indeed had deserved
by his public services, the supremacy over
the feeble youth ; and his influence began
to reveal itself in a succession of acts
which plainly showed that the fate of pa-
ganism drew near. When Gratian was in
Gaul, the senate of Rome remembered
that he had not been officially arrayed in
the dignity of the supreme pontificate. A
solemn deputation from Rome at- A D 382
tended to perform the customary
ceremonial. The idolatrous honour was
disdainfully rejected. The event was
heard in Rome with consternation ; it was
the first overt act of separation between
the religious and the civil power of the
empire.f The next hostile measure was
still more unexpected. Notwithstanding
the. manifest authority assumed by Chris-
tianity, and by one of the Christian prel-
ates best qualified by his own determined
character to wield at his will the weak
and irresolute Gratian; notwithstanding
the long ill-suppressed murmurs, and now
bold and authoritative remonstrances
against all toleration, all connivance at
heathen idolatry, it might have been
thought that any other victim would have
been chosen from the synod of gods; that
all other statues would have been thrown
prostrate, all other worship pro- statue of
scribed, before that of Victory. Viclory-
Constantius, though he had calmly sur-
veyed the other monuments of Roman su-
perstition, admired their majesty, read the
inscriptions over the porticoes of the tem-
ples, had nevertheless given orders for the
removal of this statue, and this alone : its
removal, it may be suspected not without
some superstitious reverence, to the rival
capital.^ Victory had been restored by

* M. Beugnot considers that Gratian was toler-
ant of paganism from his accession, A D. 367 to 382.
He was sixteen when he ascended the throne, and
became the first Augustus on the death of Valens,
A.D. 378.

f Zosimus, iv., 3Q. The date of this* transaction
is conjectural. Tne opinion of La Bastie, Mem.
des Inscrip., xv., 141, is followed.

t Constantius (the Whole account of this trans-
action is vague and uncircumstantial), acting in the
spirit of his father, who collected a number of the
best statues to adorn the new capital, perhaps in
tended to transplant Victory to ConstantinopleHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

383

Julian to the senate-house at Rome, where
she had so long presided over the counsels
of the conquering republic and of the em-
pire. She had maintained her place du-
ring the reign of Vaientinian. The de-
cree that the statue of Victory was to be
ignominiously dragged from its pedestal
in the senate-house, that the altar was to
be removed, and the act of public worship,
a d 382 vyhich the senate had for

centuries of uninterrupted pros-
perity and glory commenced and hallow-
ed its proceedings, discontinued, fell like a
thunderbolt among the partisans of the an-
cient worship. Surprise yielded to indig-
nation. By the advice of Prsetextatus, a
solemn deputation was sent to remon-
strate with the emperor. The Christian
party in the senate were strong enough to
forward, through the Bishop Damasus, a
counter petition, declaring their resolution
to abstain from attendance in the senate
so long as it should be defiled by an idola-
trous ceremonial. Gratian coldly dismiss-
ed the deputation, though headed by the
eloquent Syrnmachus, as not represent-
ing the unanimous sentiments of the sen-
ate.*

This first open aggression on the pagan-
ism of Rome was followed by a law which
confiscated at once all the property of the
temples, and swept away the privileges and
.immunities of the priesthood. The fate
of the vestal virgins excited the strongest
commiseration. They now passed unhon-
oured through the streets. The violence
done to this institution, coeval with Rome
itself, was aggravated by the bitter mock-
ery of the Christians at the importance
attached to those few and rare instances
of chastity by the pagans. They scoffed
at the small number of the sacred virgins;
at the occasional delinquencies (for it is
singular that almost the last act of pagan
pontifical authority was the capital punish-
ment of an unchaste vestal); the privilege
they possessed, and sometimes claimed,
of marriage, after a certain period of ser-
vice, when, according to the seyerer Chris-
tians, such unholy desires should have been
long extinct.f If the state is to reward vir-

* It is very singular that, even at this very time,
severe laws seem to have been necessary to punish
mMst.ates from Christianity. In 381 Theodosius
d mrived such persons of the right of bequeathing
toeir property. Similar laws were passed in 383
and 391 against those quiex Christianis pagani fac-
ti sunt; quid ad paganosrituscultusque migrarunt;
qni venerabilPreligione neglecta ad aras et templa
transierint.--Cod. Theodos., xvi., 7, 1,2, 4, 5.

f Prudentius, though he wrote later, expresses
this sentiment:

Nubit anus veterana, sacro perfuncta labore,
Desertisque focis, quibus est famulata juventus,

ginity (said the vehement Ambrose), the
claims of the Christians would exhaust
the treasury.

By this confiscation of the sacerdotal
property, -which had hitherto maintained
the priesthood in opulence, the temples
and the sacrificial rites in splendour, the
pagan hierarchy became stipendiaries of
the state, the immediate step to their total
dissolution. 'The public funds were still
charged with a certain expenditure* * for
the maintenance of the public ceremonies.
This was not abrogated till after Theodo-
sius had again united the whole empire
under his conquering sway, and shared
with Christianity the'subjugated world.

In the interval, heathenism made per-
haps more than one desperate though fee-
ble struggle for the ascendancy. Gratian
was murdered in the year 383. Vaien-
tinian II. succeeded to the sole empire of
the West. The celebrated Syrnmachus
became prefect of Rome. Syrnmachus
commanded the respect, and even deserv-
ed the common attachment, of all his
countrymen; he ventured (a rare exam-
ple in those days) to interfere between
the tyranny of the sovereign and the men-
aced welfare of the people. An uncor-
rupt magistrate, he deprecated the in-
creasing burdens of unnecessary taxes,
which weighed down the people ; he dared
to suggest that the eager petitions for of-
fice should be at once rejected, and the
worthiest chosen out of the unpretending
multitude. Syrnmachus inseparably con-
nected, in his pagan patriotism, the an-
cient religion with the welfare of Rome.
I-Ie mourned in bitter humiliation over
the acts of Gratian; the removal of the
statue of Victory; the abrogation of the
immunities of the pagan priesthood: he
hoped to obtain from the justice, or per-
haps the fears, of the young Vaientinian,
that which had been refused by Gratian.
The senate met under his authority; a pe-
tition was drawn up and presented in the
name of that venerable body to the em-
peror. In this composition Syrnmachus
lavished all his eloquence. liis oration
is written with vigour, with dignity, with
elegance. It is in this respect, perhaps,
superior to the reply of Saint Ambrose.!

Transfert invitas ad fulcra jugalia rugas.

Discit et in gelido nova nnpta calescere Jecto.

Adv. S-ymrn., lib. ii.

* This was called the Annona.
f He.yne has expressed himself strongly on the
superiority of Syrnmachus. Argumentorum de
jectu, vi, pondere, aculeis, non minus admirabilis
ilia est quam prudentia, cautione, ac verecundia;
quam tanto magis sentias si verbosam et inanem,
interdum calmimiosam et veteratoriam declama.384

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Apology of But in the feeble and apologetic
symmaehus. tone, we perceive at once that it
is the artful defence of an almost hopeless
cause; it is cautious to timidity; dexter-
ous; elaborately conciliatory; moderate
from fear of offending rather than from
tranquil dignity.. Ambrose, on the other
hand, writes with all the fervid and care-
less energy of one confident in his cause,
and who knows that he is appealing to an
audience already pledged by their own
passions to his side; he has not to obvi-
ate objections, to reconcile difficulties, to
sue or to propitiate ; his contemptuous
and criminating language has only to in-
flame zeal, to quicken resentment and
scorn. He is flowing down on the full tide
of human passion, and his impulse but ac-
celerates and strengthens the rapid current.

The personification of Rome in the ad-
dress of Symmachus is a bold stroke of
artificial rhetoric, but it is artificial; and
Rome pleads instead of commanding; en-
treats for indulgence rather than mena-
ces for neglect. “ Most excellent prin-
ces, fathers of your country, respect my
years, and permit me still to practise the
religion of my ancestors, in which I have
grown old. Grant me but the liberty of
living according to my ancient usage.
This religion has subdued the world to
my dominion ; these rites repelled Han-
nibal from my walls, the Gauls from the
Capitol. Have I lived thus long, to be
rebuked in my old age for my religion 1
It is too late; it would be discreditable
to amend in my old age. I entreat but
peace for the gods of Rome, the tutelary
gods of our country.” Rome condescends
to that plea, which a prosperous religion
neither uses nor admits, but to which a
falling faith always clings with desperate
‘energy. “ Heaven is above us all; we
cannot all follow the same path; there
are many ways by which we arrive at the
great secret. But we presume not to con-
tend ; we are humble suppliants!” The end
of the third century had witnessed the
persecutions of Dioclesian; the fourth had
not elapsed when this is the language of
paganism, uttered in her strongest hold by
the most earnest and eloquent of her par-
tisans. Symmachus remonstrates against
the miserable economy of saving the main-
tenance of the vestal virgins ; the disgrace
of enriching the imperial treasury by such
gains ; he protests against the confiscation
of all legacies bequeathed to them by the

tionem Ambrosii compares.—Censor, ingen. et mor.*
Q. A. Symmachi, in Heyne, Opuscul.

The relative position of the parties influenced no
doubt the style, and will perhaps the judgment, of
posterity on the merit of the compositions.

piety of individuals. “ Slaves may inhe^
it; the vestal virgins alone, and the min-
isters of religion, are precluded from this
common privilege.” The orator.concludes
by appealing to the deified father of the
emperor, who looks down with sorrow
from the starry citadel, to see that tolera
tion violated which he had maintained with
willing justice.

But Ambrose was at hand to confront
the eloquent pagan and to pro- Reply of
hibit the fatal concession. Far Ambrose,
different is the tone and manner of the
Archbishop of Milan. He asserts, in plain
terms, the unquestionable obligation of a
Christian sovereign to permit no part of
the public revenue to be devoted to the
maintenance of idolatry. Their Roman
ancestors were to-be treated with rever-
ence ; but in a question of religion they
were to consider God alone. He who ad-
vises such grants as those demanded by
the suppliants is guilty of sacrifice. Grad-
ually he rises to still more imperious lan-.
guage, and unveils all the terrors of the
sacerdotal authority. “ The emperor who
shall be guilty of such concessions will
find that the bishops will neither endure
nor connive at his sin. ; If he enters a
church he will find no priest, or one who
will.defy his authority. The Church will
indignantly reject the gifts of him who
has shared them with Gentile temples.
The altar disdains the offerings of him
who has made offerings to images. It is
written, ‘ Man . cannot serve two mas-
ters.’ ” Ambrose, imboldened, as it were,
by his success, ventures in his second let-
ter to treat the venerable and holy tradi-
tions of Roman glory with contempt.
“ How long.did. Hannibal insult the gods
of. Rome I - It was the goose, and not the
Deity* that saved the Capitol. Did Jupi-
ter speak in the goose ! ; Where were the
gods in all the defeats, some of them but
recent, of the pagan emperors 1 Was not
the altar of Victory then standing !” He
insults the number, the weaknesses, the
marriages of the vestal virgins. “If the
same munificence were shown to Chris-
tian. virgins, the beggared treasury would
be exhausted by the claims. Are not the
baths, the porticoes, the streets, still crowd-
ed with images ! Must they still keep
their place in the great council of the em-
pire 1 You compel to worship if }T)u re-
store the altar. And who is this deity ?
Victory is a gift, and not a power ; she
depends, on the courage of the legions,
not on the influence of the religion : a
mighty deity, who is bestowed by the
numbers of an army, or the doubtful issue
of a battle !”HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

385

Foiled in argument, paganism vainly
Murder of grasped at other arms, which
vaientmian. she 'had as little power to w:ield.
a.d. 392. Qn the murder of Valentinian,
Arbogastes the Gaul, whose authority
Dver the troops was without competitor,
hesitated to assume the purple, which
had neter yet been polluted by a barba-
rian. He placed Eugenius, a rhetorician,
Accession of on the throne. The elevation
Eugenius. 0f Eugenius was an act of mil-
itary violence; but the pagans of the
West hailed his accession with the most
eager joy and the fondest hopes. The
Christian writers denounce the apostacy of
Eugenius not without justice, if Eugenius
ever professed Christianity.* Through-
out Italy the temples were reopened; the
smoke of sacrifice ascended from all quar-
ters ; the . entrails of victims were ex-
plored for the signs of victory. The
frontiers were guarded by all the terrors
of the old religion. The statue of Jupiter
the Thunderer, sanctified by magic rites
of the most awful significance, and placed
on the fortifications amid the Julian Alps,
looked defiance on the advance of the
Christian emperor. The images of the
gods were unrolled on the banners, and
Hercules was borne in triumph at the
head of the army. Ambrose fled from
Milan, for the soldiery boasted that they
would stable their horses in the churches,
and press the clergy to fill their legions.

In Rome Eugenius consented, without
reluctance, to the restoration of the altar
of Victory, but he had the wisdom to
foresee the danger which his cause might
incur by the resumption of the temple es-
tates, many of which had been granted
away : he yielded with undisguised un-
willingness to the irresistible importuni-
ties of Arbogastes and Flavianus.

While this reaction was taking place in
the West, perhaps irritated by the intelli-
gence of this formidable conspiracy of
paganism, with the usurpation of the
throne, Theodosius published in the East
the last and most peremptory of those
edicts which, gradually rising in the stern-
ness of their language, proclaimed the
ancient worship a treasonable and capital
crime. In its minute and searching phra-
ses it seemed eagerly to pursue paganism
to its most secret and private lurking-pla-
ces. Thenceforth no man of any station,
rank, or dignity, in any place in any city,
was to offer an innocent victim in sacri-
fice ; the more harmless worship of the

* Compare the letter of Ambrose to Eugenius.
He addresses Eugenius apparently as a Christian,
but one in the hands of more powerful paeans.

3 C

household gods, which lingered, probably,
more deeply in the hearts of the pagans
than any other part of their system, not
merely by the smoke of victims, but by
lamps, incense, and garlands, was equally
forbidden. To sacrifice or to consult the
entrails of victims was constituted high
treason, and thereby a capital offence, al-
though with no treasonable intention of
calculating the days of the emperor. It
was a crime of sufficient magnitude to in-
fringe the laws of nature, to pry into the
secrets of futurity, or to inquire concern-
ing the death of any one. Whoever per-
mitted any heathen rite—hanging a tree
with chaplets, or raised an altar of turf—
forfeited the estate on which the offence
was committed. Any house profaned
with the smoke of incense was confisca-
ted to the imperial exchequer. A 3Q4
Whoever violated this prohibition,
and offered sacrifice either in a public
temple or on the estate of another, was
amerced in a fine of twenty-five pounds
of gold (a thousand pounds of our money),
and whoever connived at the offence was
liable to the same fine ; the magistrate
who neglected to enforce it to a still
heavier penalty.* This law, stem and
intolerant as it was, spoke, no doubt, the
dominant sentiment of the Christiart
world ;f but its repetition by the suc-
cessors of Theodosius, and the employ-
ment of avowed pagans in many of the
high offices of the state and army, may
permit us charitably to doubt * whether
the exchequer was much enriched by
the forfeitures, or the sword of the exe-
cutioner stained with the blood of con-
scientious pagans. Polytheism boasted
of no martyrs, and we may still hope
that, if called upon to carry its own de-
crees into effect, its native clemency—
though, unhappily, Christian bigotry had
already tasted of heretical blood—would
have revolted from the sanguinary deed,J
and yet have seen the inconsistency of
these acts (which it justified in theory, on
the authority of the Old Testament) with
the vital principles of the Gospel.

* Cod. Theod., xvi., 10, 12.

t Gibbon has quoted from Le Clerc a fearful sen-
tence of St. Augustine, addressed to the Donatists.
“ Quis nostrum, quis vestrum non laudat leges ab
Imperatoribus datas adversus sacrificia pagano-
rum ? Et cert& lon.g& ibi poena severior constituta
est; illius quippe irnpietatis capitale supplicium
est.”—Epist., xciii. But passages amiably incon-
sistent with this fierce tone might be quoted on
the other side.—Compare the editor’s note on Gib
bon, ii., p. 192.

X Quis eorum comprehensus est in sacrificio
(cum his legibus ista prohiberentur) et nonnegavit.
—Augustine, in Psalm cxx., quoted by Gibbon from
Lardner.38 o

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

The victory of Theodosius in the West
dissipated at once the vain hopes of pagan-
ism; the pageant vanished away. Rome
heard of the triumph, perhaps witnessed
the presence of the great conqueror, who,
*n the East, had already countenanced the
most destructive attacks against the tem-
ples of the gods. The Christian poet de-
scribes a solemn debate of the senate on
the claims of Jupiter and of Christ to the
adoration of the Roman people. Accord-
ing to his account, Jupiter was outvoted
by a large number of suffrages; the de-
cision was followed by a general desertion
of their ancestral deities by the obsequious
minority; the old hereditary names, the
Annii and the Probi, the Anicii and Olybii,
the Paulini and Bassi, the popular Gracchi,
six hundred families, at once passed over
to the Christian cause.* The pagan his-
torian to a certain degree confirms the fact
of the deliberate discussion, but differs as
to the result. The senate, he states, firmly,
but respectfully, adhered to their ancient
deities.f But the last argument of the pa-
gan advocates was fatal to their cause.
Theodosius refused any longer to assign
funds from the public revenue to maintain
the charge of the idolatrous worship. The
senate remonstrated, that if they ceased
to be supported at the national cost, they
would cease to be national rites. This'
argument was more likely to confirm than
to shake the determination of the Christian
emperor.( From this time the temples were
deserted; the priests and priestesses, de-
prived of their maintenance, were scatter-
ed abroad. The public temples still stood,
nor was it forbidden to worship within
them, without sacrifice; the private, and
family, or Gentile, deities still preserved
their influence. Theodosius died the year
after the defeat of Eugenius.

We pursue to its close the Iiistory of
ad 395 Western paganism, which was
buried at last in the ruins of the
empire. Gratian had dissevered the su-
premacy of the national religion from the
imperial dignity; he ■ had confiscated the
property of the temples; Theodosius had
refused to defray the expense of public
sacrifices from the public funds. Still,
however, the outward form of paganism
remained. Some priesthoods were still
handed down in regular descent; the rites
of various deities, even of Mithra and Cyb-

* Sexcentas numerare domos de sanguine prisco
Nobilium licet, ad Christi signacula versas,
Turpis ab idolii vasto emersisse profundo.

Prud. ad Symmach.

Prudentius has probably am pi i bed some consider-
able desertion of the wavering and dubious believ-
ers * Zosim., Hist., iv , 59

ele, were celebrated without sacrifice, or
with sacrifice furtively performed; the
corporation of the aruspices was not abol-
ished. There still likewise remained a
special provision for certain festivals and
public amusements.* The expense of the
sacred banquets and of the games was de-
frayed by the state : an early la\V of Ho-
norius respected the common enjoyments
of the people.f

The poem of PrudentmsJ acknowledges
that the enactments of Theodosius had
been far from altogether successful his
bold assertion of the universal adoption of
Christianity by the whole senate is in some
degree contradicted by his admission that
the old pestilence of idolatry had again
broken out in Rome.|| It implies that the
restoration of the statue of Victory had
again been urged, and by the indefatigable
Symmachus, on the sons of Theodosius
The poem was written after the battle of
Follentia, as it triumphantly appeals to the
glories of that day, against the ar-
gument that Rome was indebted ' ’
for the victories of former times to her
ancient gods. It closes with an earnest
admonition to the son of Theodosius to
fulfil the task which was designedly left
him by the piety of his father,** * * * § ** to suppress
at once the vestal virgins, and, above all,
the gladiatorial shows, which they were
accustomed to countenance by their pres-
ence.

In the year 408 came forth the edict
which aimed at the direct and Law of IIo
complete abolition of paganism noriuf?-
throughout the Western empire. The
whole of this reserved provision for festi-
vals was swept away; it was devoted to

* It was called the vectigal templorum.

f Communis populi laetitia.

% The poem of Prudentius is by no means a re-
capitulation of the arguments of St. Ambrose ; it is
original, and in some parts very vigorous.

§ Inclitus ergo parens, patriae, moderator et orbis.
Nil egit prohibendo, vagas ne pristinus error
Crederet esse Deum nigrante sub aere formas,
j] Sed quoniam renovata lues turbare salutem
Tentat Romulidum.

Armorum dominos, vernantes fiore juventae;
Inter castra patris genitos, sub imagine avita
Rductos, exempla domi congesta tenentes,
Orator catus instigat. ....

Si vobis vel parta, viri, victoria cordi est,

Yel parienda dehinc, templum Dea virgo sacra
turn

Obtineat, vobis regnantibus.

The orator catus is Symmachus; the parta vic-
toria that of Pollentia ; the Dea virgo, Victory.

** Quam tibi supplendam Deus, et genitoris arnica
Servavit pietas: solus ne prcemia tantse
Virtutis caperet. “ partem, tibi, nate reservo.”
Dixit, et integru n d-'cus intacturnque reliquit.—

. Sub fin.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

387

the more useful purpose, the pay of the
loyal soldiery.* The same edict proceed-
ed to actual violence, to invade and take
possession of the sanctuaries of religion.
All images were to be thrown down; the
edifices, now useless and deserted, to be
occupied by the imperial officers, and ap-
propriated to useful purposes.! The gov-
ernment, wavering between demolition
and desecration, devised this plan for the
preservation of these great ornaments of
the cities, which thus, taken under the pro-
tection of the magistracy as public prop-
erty, were secured from the destructive
zeal of the more fanatical Christians. All
sacrilegious rites*, festivals, and ceremo-
nies were prohibited. The bishops of the
towns were invested with power to sup-
press these forbidden usages, and the civil
authorities, as though the government
mistrusted their zeal, were bound under
a heavy penalty to obey the summons,
and to assist the prelates in the extirpa-
tion of idolatry. Another edict excluded
all enemies of the Christian faith from the
great public offices in the state and in the
army, and this, if fully carried' into effect,
would have transferred the-whole power
throughout the empire into the hands of
the Christians. But the times were not
yet ripe for this measure. Generides, a
pagan in high command in the army, threw
up his commission. The edict was re-
pealed.}

* Expensis devotissimorum militum profutura.
f Augustine (though not entirely consistent) dis-
approved of' the forcible demolition of the temples.
“Let us first extirpate the idolatry of the hearts of
the heathen, and they will either themselves invite
us, or anticipate us in the execution of this good
work.”—Torn, v., p. 62.

X Prudentius ventures to admire the tolerant im-
partiality of Theodosius in admitting both parties
alike to civil and military honours. He urges this
argumentum ad hominem against Symmachus :
Denique pro meritis terrestribus aequa rependens
Munera, sacricolis summos impertit honores
Dux bonus, et certare sinit cum laude suorurn.
Nec pago implicitos per debita culmina mundi
Irevetat.

Ipse magistratum tibi consulis, ipse tribunal
Contulit.

In the East, the pagan Themistius had been ap-
pointed prasfect of Constantinople by Theodosius.
It is curious to read his flatteries of the orthodox
Christian emperor; he praises his love of philoso-
phy in the most fervent language.

The most remarkable instance of this inconsist-
ency, at a much later period, occurs in the person
of Merobaudes, a general and a poet, who flourish-
ed in the first half of the fifth century. A statue in
honour of Merobaudes was placed in the Forum of
Trajan, of which the inscription is still extant.
Fragments of his poems have been discovered by
the industry and sagacity of Niebuhr. In one pas-
sage Merobaudes, in the genuine heathen spirit, at-
tributes the ruin of the empire to the abolition of

Rome once more beheld the shadow of
a pagan emperor, Attalus, while the Chris-
tian emperor maintained his court at Ra-
venna; and both stood trembling before
the victorious Alaric. When that tri-
umphant Goth formed the siege of Rome,
paganism, as if grateful for the fidelity of
the imperial city, made one last desperate
effort to avert the common ruin. Pagan
magic was the last refuge of conscious
weakness. The Etrurian soothsayers
were called forth from their obscurity,
with the concurrence of the whole city (the
pope himself is said to have assented to
the idolatrous ceremony), to blast the bar-
baric invader with the lightnings of Jupi-
ter. The Christian historian saves the
credit of his party by asserting that they
kept away from the profane rite.* But
it may be doubted, after all, whether the
ceremony really took place ; both parties
had more confidence in the power of a
large sum of money, offered to arrest the
career of the triumphant barbarian.

The impartial fury of Alaric fell alike
on church and temple, on Chris- capture of
tian and pagan. But the capture Rome by
of Rome consummated the ruin Alarlc*
of paganism. The temples, indeed, were
for the most part left standing, but their
worshippers had fled. The Roman aris-
tocracy, in whom alone paganism still re-
tained its most powerful adherents, aban-
doned the city, and, scattered in the prov-
inces of the empire, were absorbed in the
rapidly Christianizing population. Tht>
deserted buildings had now neither public
authority nor private zeal and munificence
to maintain them against the encroach-
ments of time or accident, to support the
tottering roof or repair th« broken column.
There was neither public fund nor private,
contribution for their preservation, till at
length the Christians, in many instances,

paganism, and almost renews the old accusation of
Atheism against Christianity. He impersonates
some deity, probably Discord, who summons Bello-
na to take arms for the destruction of Rtnne ; and,
in# strain of fierce irony, recommends to her,
among other fatal .measures, to extirpate the gods
of Rome:

Roma, ipsique tremant furialia murmura reges.
Jam superos terris, atque hospita numinapelle:
Romanos populate Deosy et nullus in aris
Vestas exoratas, fotus strue, palleat ignis.

His instructa dolis palatia celsa subibo,

Majorum mores, et pectora prisca fugabo
Funditus, atque sirnul, nullo discrimine rerum,
Spernantur fortes, nec sit reverentia justis.

Attica neglecto pereat facundia Phoebo,

Indignis con ting at honos, et pondera rerum.

Non virtus sed casus agat, tristisque cupido ;
Pectoribus saevi demens furor aestuet aevi;
Omniaque has'c sine mente Jovis, sine numine summo,
—Merobaudes, in Niebuhr’s edit, of the Byzantine*

* Zosimus, v. Sozomen, ix., 6388

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

took possession of the abandoned edifice,
converted it to their own use, and hallow-
ed it by a new consecration.* * * § * Thus, in
many places, though marred and disfig-
ured, the monuments of architecture sur-
vived, with no great violation of the ground-
plan, distribution, or general proportions.!

Paganism was in fact left to die out by
gradual dissolution.} The worship of the
heathen deities lingered in many temples
till it was superseded by the new form of
Christianity, which, at least in its outward
appearance, approximated to Polytheism :
the Virgin gradually supplanted many of
the local deities. In Sicily, which long
remained obstinately wedded to the an-
cient faith, eight celebrated temples were
dedicated to the Mother of God.6 It was
not till the seventh century that the Pan-
theon was dedicated by Pope Boniface IV.
to the Holy Virgin. Of the public festi-
vals, the last which clung with tenacious
grasp to the habits of the Roman people
was the Lupercalia. It was suppressed
a tw<m towards the close of the fifth cen-
tury by Pope Gelasius. The ru-
ral districts wTere not completely Chris-
tianized until the general introduction of
monasticism. Heathenism was still prev-
alent in many parts of Italy, especially in

the neighbourhood of Turin, in the middle
of the fifth century.* It was the mission-
ary from the convent who wandered
through the villages, or who, from his
monastery, regularly discharged the duties
of a village pastor. St. Benedict of Nur-
sia destroyed the worship of Apollo on
Mount Casino.

Everywhere the superstition survived
the religion, and that which was unlaw-
ful under paganism continued to be un-
lawfully practised under Christianity. The
insatiable propensity of men to inquire
into futurity, and to deal with secret and
invisible agencies, which reason condemns,
and often while it condemns consults, re-
tained its old formularies, some religious,
some pretending to be magical or theur-
gic. Divination and witchcraft have nev-
er been extinct in Italy, or, perhaps, in
any part of Europe. The descendants of
Canidia or Erictho, the seer and the ma-
gician, have still practised their arts, to
which the ignorant, including at times all
mankind, have listened with unabated cre-
dulity.

We must resume our consideration of
paganizing Christianity as the parent of
Christian art and poetry, and, in fact, the
ruler of the human mind for many ages

CHAPTER IX.

THEODOSIUS. TRIUMPH OF TRINIT ARIANISM.

But the unity, no less than the triumph
Orthodoxy of Christianity, occupied the vig-
of Theodo- orous mind of Theodosius. He
®ius- had been anticipated in this de-
sign in the West by his feeble predeces-
sors and colleagues Gratian and Valen-
tinian the younger. The laws began to

* There are many churches in Rome, which,
like the Pantheon, are ancient temples ; thirty-nine
built on the'foundations of temples. Four retlin
pagan names. S. Maria sopra Minerva, 8. Maria
Aventina, S. Lorenzo in Matuta, S. Stefano in Cac-
co. At Sienna the temple of Quirinus became the
church of S. Q'uirino.—Beugnot, ii., p. 266. See
in Bingham, book viii., s. 4, references to several
churches in the East converted to temples. But
this passage must be read with caution.

f In some cases, by a more destructive appropri-
ation, they converted the materials to their own
use, and worked them up into their own barbarous
churches.

J The fifth Council of Carthage (A.D. 398), can.
xv., petitioned the most glorious emperors to de-
stroy the remains of idolatry, not merely “ in simu-
lacris,” but in other places, groves, and trees.

§ Beugnot, ii., 271; from Aprile, Chronologia
Universale de Sicilia.

THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE EAST.

speak the language of the exclusive es-
tablishment of Christianity, and of Chris-
tianity under one rigorous and unaccom-
modating creed and discipline. Almost
the first act of Theodosius was T
the edict for the universal ac- heret1cs?ams
ceptance of the Catholic faith.f AE>.*80.

It appeared under the name and with the
conjoint authority of the three emperors,
Gratian, Valentinian II., and Theodosius
It was addressed to the inhabitants of
Constantinople. “ We, the three emper
ors, will that all our subjects follow the
religion taught by St. Peter to the Ro-
mans, professed by those saintly prelates,
Damasus, pontiff of Rome, and Peter, bish-
op of Alexandrea; that we believe the one
divinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spir-
it, of majesty coequal, in the Holy Trin-
ity. We will that those who embrace this
creed be called Catholic Christians; we

* Seethe sermons of Maximus, bishop of Turin;
quoted in Beugnot, ii., 253.
t Codex Theodos., xvi ,1,2.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

38#

brand all the*senseless followers of other
religions by the infamous name of here-
tics, and forbid their conventicles to as-
sume the name of churches ; we reserve
their punishment to the vengeance of
heaven, and to such measures as Divine
inspiration shall dictate to us.”* Thus
the religion of the whole Roman world
was enacted by two feeble boys and a
rude Spanish soldier.f The next year
witnessed the condemnation of all here-
tics, particularly the Photinians, Arians,
and Eunomians, and the expulsion of the
Arians from the churches of all the cities
in the East,J and their surrender to the
only lawful form of Christianity. On the
assembling of the Council of Chalcedon,
t.wo severe laws were issued against apos-
tates and Manicheans, prohibiting them
from making wills. During its sitting, the
emperor promulgated an edict prohibiting
The Arians from building churches, either
in the cities or in the country, under pain
of the confiscation of the funds devoted
to the purpose.§

The circumstances of the times happily
All the mere coincided with the design of The-
powerfui ec- odosius to concentre the whole
wrftersfa1 ^ir*s^a11 world into one vigor-
vounibie^tG ous and consistent system. The,
Trinitarian- more legitimate influence of ar-
2sm' gument, and intellectual and re-

ligious superiority, concurred with the
stern mandates of the civil power. All
the great and commanding minds of the
age were on the same side as to the mo-
mentous and strongly-agitated questions
of the faith. The productive energies of
Arianism seemed, as it were, exhausted ;
its great defenders had passed away, and
left, apparently, no heirs to their virtues
or abilities. It was distracted with schisms,
and had to bear the unpopularity of the
sects which seemed to have sprung from
it in the natural course, the Eunomians,
Macedonians, and a still multiplying pro-
geny of heresies. Everywhere the Trin-
itarian prelates rose to ascendancy, not
merely from the support of the govern-
ment, but from their pre-eminent charae-

* Post etiarn motus nostri, quem ex coslesti ar-
foitrio sumpserimus, ultione plectendos. Godefroy
supposes these words not to mean “ coeleste oracu-
tum,” but “ Dei arbitrium, regulam et formulam
juris divini.”

+ Baronins, and even Godefroy, call this law a
golden, pious, and wholesome statute. Happily it
was on the right side.

t On the accession of Theodosius, according to
Sozomen, the Arians possessed all the churches of
the East except Jerusalem.—H. E., vii., 2.

$ Sozomen mentions these severe laws, but as-
serts that they were enacted merely in terrorem,
and with no design of carrying them into execution.
•—H. E., vii., 12.

ter or intellectual powers. Each prov-
ince seemed to have produced some indi-
vidual adapted to the particular period and
circumstances of the time, who devoted
himself to the establishment of the Atha-
nasian opinions. The intractable Egypt,
more particularly turbulent Alexandrea,
was ruled by the strong arm of the bold
and unprincipled Theophilus. The dreamy
mysticism of Syria found a congenial rep-
resentative in Ephrem. A more intellect-
ual, yet still somewhat imaginative, Orien-
talism animates the writings of St. Basil;
in a less degree those of Gregory of Na-
zianzum ; still less those of Gregory of
Nyssa. The more powerful and Grecian
eloquence of Chrysostom swayed the pop-
ular mind in Constantinople. Jerom, a
link, as it were, between the East and the
West, transplanted the monastic spirit and
opinions of Syria into Rome, and brought
into the East much of the severer thought
and more prosaic reasoning of the Latin
world. In Gaul, where Hilary of Poictiers
had long maintained the cause of Trinita-
rianism on the borders of civilization, St.
Martin of Tours acted the part of a bold
and enterprising missionary; while in Mi
lan, the court capital of the West, the
strong practical character of Ambrose,
his sternly conscientious moral energy,
though hardening at times into rigid in-
tolerance with the masculine strength of
his style, confirmed the Latin Church in
that creed to which Rome had adhered
with almost unshaken fidelity. If not the
greatest, the most permanently influential
of all, Augustine, united the intense pas-
sion of the African mind with the most
comprehensive and systematic views, and
intrepid dogmatism on the darkest sub-
jects. United in one common cause, act-
ing in their several quarters according to
their peculiar temperaments and charac-
ters, these strong-minded and influential
ecclesiastics almost compelled the world
into a temporary peace, till first Pelagian-
ism and afterward Nestorianism unsettled
again the restless elements; the contro-
versies, first concerning grace, free-will,
and predestination, then on the incarnation
and two natures of Christ, succeeded to
the silenced and exhausted feud concern-
ing the trinity of persons in the Godhead.

Theophilus of Alexandrea^* performed
his part in the complete subjec- Theoptiiius
tion of the world by his energy
as a ruler, not by the slower and fom sS to’
more legitimate influence of Hu-
moral persuasion through his preaching

* I have not placed these writers in their strict
chronological order, but according to the countries
in which they lived.390.

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY,

or his writings,* He suppressed Arian-
ism by the same violent and coercive
means with which he extirpated pagan-
ism. The tone of this prelate’s epistles
is invariably harsh and criminatory. He
appears in the best light as opposing the
vulgar anthropomorphism of the monks
in the neighbourhood of Alexandrea, and
insisting on the pure spiritual nature of
the Deity. Yet he condescended to ap-
pease these turbulent adversaries by an
unmanly artifice. He consented to con-
demn the doctrines of Origen, who, hav-
ing reposed quietly in his tomb for many
years, in general respect, if not in the
odour of sanctity, was exhumed, as it
were, by the zeal of later times, as a dan-
.gerous heresiarch. The Oriental doc-
trines with which Origen had impregna-
ted his system were unpopular, and per-
haps not clearly understood.! The na-
tion that the reign of Christ was finite
was rather an inference from his wri-
tings than a tenet of Origen. For if all
bodies were to be finally annihilated (ac-
cording to his anti-materialist system),
the humanity of Christ, and, consequent-
ly, his personal reign, must cease. The
possibility that the devil might, after long
purification, be saved, and the corruptibil-
ity of the body after the resurrection,
grew out of the same Oriental cast of
opinions. But the perfectly pure and im-
material nature of the Deity was the tenet
of Origen which was the most odious to
the monks; and Theophilus, by anathe-
matizing Origenism in the mass, while he
himself held, certainly the sublimest, but
to his adversaries the most objectionable,
part of the system, adopted a low and undig-
nified deception. The persecution of Isi-
dore, and the heads of the monasteries
who befriended his cause (the tall , breth-
ren, as they were called), from personal
motives of animosity, display the Alex-
andrean prelate in his ordinary character.
We shall again encounter Theophilus in
the lamentable intrigues against the ad-
vancement and influence of Chrysostom.

The character of Ephrem,J the Syrian,
s. Ephrem, was the exact counterpart to
the Syrian, that of the busy and worldly
died 37!). Theophilus. A native of Nisi-
bis, or, rather, of its neighbourhood,
Ephrem passed the greater part of his
life at Edessa, and in the monastic estab-
lishments which began to abound in Mes-

* The Trinitarian doctrines had been maintained
in Alexandrea by the virtues and abilities of Didy-
inus the Blind.

f Socrates, vi., 10. Sozomen, viii., 13*.

$ See the Life of Ephrem prefixed to his works;
and in Tillemont.

opotamia and Syria, as in Egypt. Hh
genius was that of the people in whos#
language he wrote his numerous compo-
sitions in prose and verse.* In Ephren
something of the poetic mysticism of the
‘Gnostic was allied with the most rigid
orthodoxy of doctrine. But with his im-
aginative turn were mingled a depth and
intensity of feeling, which gave him his
peculiar influence over the kindred minds
of his countrymen. Tears were as natu- •
ral to him as perspiration ; day and night.,
in his devout seclusion, he wept for the
sins of mankind and for his own; his
very writings, it was said, weep ; there
is a deep and latent sorrow even in his
panegyrics or festival homilies.f

Ephrem was a poet, and his hymns,
poured forth in the prodigality of his zeal,
succeeded at length in entirely disenchant'
mg the popular ear from the heretical
strains of Bardesanes and his son Har- 4
monius, which lingered after the general •
decay of Gnosticism.$ The hymns ol
Ephrem were sung on the festivals of the
martyrs. His psalms, the constant occu-
pation which he enjoins upon his monkish
companions, were always of a sorrowful
and contrite tone. Laughter was the
source and the indication of all wicked-
ness, sorrow of all virtue. During the
melancholy psalm, God was present with
his angels; all more joyous strains belong-
ed to heathenism and idolatry.

The monasticism as well as the Tri'm-
tarianism of Syria received a strong im-
pulse from Ephrem, and in Syria monas-
ticism began to run into its utmost ex-
travagance. There was one class of as-
cetics who at certain periods forsook
their cities, and retired to the mountains
to browse on the herbage which they
found, as their only food. The writings
of Ephrem were the occupation and de-
light of all these gentle and irreproachable
fanatics; and, as Ephrem was rigidly
Trinitarian, he contributed to fix the doc-
trinal language of the various ccenobitie
institutions and solitary hermitages. In
fact, the quiescent intellect probably re-
joiced in being relieved from these severe
and ungrateful inquiries ; and full freedom
being left to the imagination, and ample
scope to the language, in the vague and

* According to Theodoret, he was unacquainted
with Greek. IIaidetag yap ov yeyevpevog eXkr)
viKTjg, tovq re ‘TroTiVGXLdetg raxv ijvuv <k?/-
Tieytje nxkdvovg, ical ttdorjg alperucqg Kanorex“
viag kyvjJLvtdoe ttjv cwdeveiav. The refutation of
Greek heresy in Syriac must have been curious
t See the two treatises in his works, vol. i., 104-
107. Non esse ridendum sed lugendum potius at-
que plorandum ; and, Quod ludicris rebus abstmen.
dum sit Christiania. + Theodcret, iv., 29.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

391

fervent expressions of Divine love, the
Syrian mind felt not the restriction of the
rigorous creed, and passively, surrendered
itself to ecclesiastical authority. Absorbed
in its painful and melancholy struggles
with the internal passions and appetites,
it desired not to provoke, but rather to re-
press, the dangerous activity of the reason.
The orthodoxy of Ephrem himself savours
perhaps of timidity and the disinclination
to agitate such awful and appalling ques-
tions. He would elude and escape them,
and abandon himself altogether to the more
edifying emotions which it is the chief ob-
ject of his writings to excite and maintain.
The dreamer must awake in order to rea-
son, and he prefers the passive tranquillity
of the half waking state.

Greece, properly so called, contributed
none of the more distinguished names in
Eastern Christianity. Even the Grecian
part of Asia Minor was by no means fertile
in names which survive in the annals of
the Church. In Athens philosophy still
lingered, and struggled to maintained its
predominance. Many of the more emi-
nent ecclesiastics had visited its schools
in their youth, to obtain those lessons of
rhetoric and profane knowledge which
they were hereafter to dedicate to their
own sacred uses. But they were foreign-
ers, and, in the old language of Greece,
would have been called barbarians.

The rude and uncivilized Cappadocia
Cappadocia. £ave birth ^ Basil and the two
Gregones. The whole of the
less dreamy, and still active and commer-
cial, part of Asia was influenced by Basil,
on whose character and writings his own
age lavished the most unbounded praise.
The name of Basil is constantly united
with those of the two Gregories. One,
Gregory of Nyssa, was his brother; the
other, named from his native town of
Nazianzum, of which his father was bish-
op, was the intimate friend of his boyhood
and of his later years. The language, the
eloquence, the opinions of these writers
retain, in different degrees, some tinge of
Asiatic colouring. Far more intelligible
and practical than the mystic strains and
passionate homilies of Ephrem, they de-
light in agitating, though in a more modest
spirit, the questions which had inflamed
the imagination of the Gnostics. But with
them,likewise, inquiry proceeds with cau-
tious and reverent steps. »On these sub-
jects they are rigorously orthodox, and
assert the exclusive doctrines of Atha-
nasius with the most distinct and uncom-
promising energy. Basil maintained the
cause of Trinitarianism with unshaken
fidelity during its days of depression and

adversity. His friend Gregory of Nazian-
zum lived to witness and bear a great part
in its triumph. Both Basil and Gregory
were ardent admirers, and in themselves
transcendent models of the more monastic
Christianity. The influence of Basil crowd-
ed that part of Asia with ccenobitic insti-
tutions ; but in his monasteries labour and
useful industry prevailed to a greater ex-
tent than in the Syrian deserts.

Basil was a native of the Cappadocian
Caesarea.* He was an hereditary
Christian. His grandfather had re- ' 'uSl'
tired during the Dioclesian persecution to
a mountain forest in Pontus. His fathei
was a man of estimation as a lawyer, pos-
sessed considerable property, and was re-
markable for his personal beauty. His
mother, in person and character, was wor-
thy of her husband. The son of such
parents received the best education which
could be bestowed oil a Christian youth.
Having exhausted the instruction to be
obtained in his native city of Caesarea, ho
went to Constantinople, where he is re-
puted to have studied the art of rhetoric
under the celebrated Libanius. But A thens
was still the centre of liberal education,
and, with other promising youths from the
Eastern provinces, Basil and his friend
Gregory resided for some time in that
city. But, with all his taste for letters and
eloquence (and Basil always spoke even
of profane learning with generous respect,
far different from the tone of contempt,
and animosity expressed by some writers),
Christianity was too deeply rooted in his
heart to be endangered either by the stud-
ies or the society of Athens. On his re-
turn to Caesarea, he embraced the ascetic,
faith of the times with more than ordinary
fervour. He abandoned his property, ho
practised such severe austerities as to in-
jure his health, and to reduce his bodily
form to thte extreme of meagerness and
weakness. He was “ without wife, with-
out property, without flesh, almost with-
out blood.” He fled into the desert; his
fame collected, as it were, a city around
him; he built a monastery, and monas-
teries sprang up on every side. Yet the
opinions of Basil concerning the monastic
life were far more moderate and practical
than the wilder and more dreamy asceti-
cism which prevailed in Egypt and in
Syria. He admired and persuaded his fol-
lowers to ccenobitic, not to- eremitical, life.
It was the life of the industrious religious
community, not of the indolent and soli-
tary anchorite, which to Basil was the

* Life of Basil, prefixed to his works, and Tills-
ment, Vie de S. Basile.392

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

perfection of Christianity. All ties of
kindred were indeed to give place to that
of spiritual association. He that loves a
brother in blood more than a brother in
the religious community is still a slave to
his carnal nature.* The indiscriminate
charity of these institutions was to re-
ceive orphans of all classes for education
and maintenance, but other children only
with the consent, or at the request, of
parents, certified before witnesses; and
vows of virginity were by no means to
be enforced upon these youthful pupils.f
Slaves who fled ,o the monasteries were
to be admonished and sent back to their
owners. There is one reservation, that
slaves were not bound to obey their mas-
ter, if he should order what is contrary to
the laws of God.} Industry was to be
the animating principle of these settle-
ments. Prayer and psalmody were to
have their appointed hours, but by no
means to intrude upon those devoted to
useful labour. These labours wTere strict-
ly defined, such as were of real use to the
community, not those which might con-
tribute to vice and luxury. Agriculture
was especially recommended. The life
was in no respect to be absorbed in a per-
petual mystic communion with the Deity.

Basil lived in his monastic retirement
a,.d. 366. during a great part of the tri-
Seejoti. viii., umphant period of Arianism in
p,37°. the East; but during the reign
of Valens he was recalled to Caesarea, to
a d 370 ^e champion of Trinitarianism
against the emperor and his Arian
partisans. The firmness of Basil, as we
have seen, commanded the respect even
of his adversaries. In the midst of the
raging controversy he was raised to the
archepiscopal throne of Caesarea. He
governed the see with activity and dili-
gence : not only the influence of his wri-
tings, but his actual authority*(his pious
ambition of usefulness induced him per-
haps to overstep the limits of his diocese),
extended beyond Cappadocia into Arme-
nia and parts of Asia. Minor. He was the
firm supporter of the Nicene Trinitarian-
A D S79 *sm’ but did not live to behold its

’ Anal triumph. His decease fol-
lowed immediately upon the defeat and
death of Valens.

* The style of Basil did no discredit to
his Athenian education; in purity^ and
perspicuity he surpasses most of the hea-
then, as well as the Christian writers of
his age.

Gregory of Nazianzum, as he shared

* Basil, Opera, ii., 325. Serrno Asceticus.
+ lb., ii., 355. t lb., ii., 357.

the friendship, so he has con- Gregory of
stantly participated in the fame Nazkn.zum
of Basil. He was born in a village, Ari-
anza, within the district of Nazianzum,
his father was bishop of that city.* With
Basil he passed a part of his youth at Ath-
ens, and predicted, according to his own ac-
count, the apostacy of Julian, from the ob-
servation of his character, and even of his
person. Gregory is his own biographer;
one, or rather two poems, the first con
sisting of above two thousand iambics, the
second of hexameters, describe the whole
course of his early life. But Grecian po-
etry was not to be awakened
from its long slumber by the IlsPoems*
voice of a Christian poet. It was faithful to
its ancient source of inspiration. Chris-
tian thoughts and images will not blend
with the language of Homer and the tra-
gedians. Yet the autobiographical poems
of Gregory illustrate a remarkable pecu-
liarity, which distinguishes modern and
Christian from the older, more particu-
larly the Grecian, poetry. In the Grecian
poetry, as in Grecian life, the public ab-
sorbed the individual character. The per-
son of the poet rarely appears, unless oc-
casionally as the poet, as the objective au-
thor or reciter, not as the subject of the
poem. The elegiac poets of character-
Greece, if we may judge from isticdiffer-
the few surviving fragments, G^eekS66"
and the amatory writers of Christian
Rome, speak in their proper P°etry-
persons, utter their individual thoughts,
and imbody their peculiar feelings. In
the shrewd common-life view of Horace,
and, indeed, in some of his higher lyric
poetry, the poet is more prominent; and
the fate of Ovid, one day basking in the
imperial favour, the next, for some mys-
terious offence, banished to the bleak
shores of the Euxine, seemed, to give him
the privilege of dwelling upon his own
sorrows; his strange fate invested his life
in peculiar interest. But by the Chris-
tian scheme, the individual man has as-
sumed a higher importance; his actions,
his opinions, the emotions of his mind, as
connected with his immortal state, have
acquired a new and commanding interest,
not only to himself, but to others. The
poet profoundly scrutinizes and elabo-
rately reveals the depths of his moral be-
ing. The psychological history of the
man, in all its minute paitioirtars, be-

* Tillemont is. grievously embarrassed by the time
of Gregory’s birth. The stubborn dates insist upon
his having been born after hie father had attained
the episcopate. He is forced to acknowledge Wit
laxity of ecclesiastical discipline on this hs.-w at
this period of the church.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

393

comes the predominant matter of the po-
em. In this respect, these autobiograph-
vaiueof ical poems of Gregory, loose as
Gregory’s, they are in numbers, and spun
out with a wearisome and garrulous me-
diocrity, and wanting that depth and pas-
sion of religion which has made the Con-
fessions of Augustine one of the most per-
manently popular of Christian writings,
possess, nevertheless, some interest, as in-
dicating the transition state in poetry, as
well as illustrating the thought and feeling
prevalent among the Christian youth of
the period. The one great absorbing ques-
tion was the comparative excellence of the
secular and the monastic life, the state of
marriage or of virginity. The enthusiasm
of the East scarcely deigned to submit this
point to discussion. In one of Gregory’s
poems, Marriage and Virginity each plead
their cause; but there can be no doubt,
from the first, to which will be assigned
the victory. The Saviour gives to Virgin-
ity the place of honour on his right hand.
Gregory had never entangled himself with
marriage, that fatal tie which inthrals the
soul in the bonds of matter. For him, silk-
en robes, gorgeous banquets, splendid pal-
aces, music and perfumes, had no charm.
He disregarded wealth, and feasted con-
tentedly on bread with a little salt, and wa-
ter for his only drink. The desire of sup-
porting the declining age of his parents
thwarted his holy* ambition of withdraw-
ing from all worldly intercourse: but this
became a snare. He -was embarrassed
by refractory servants, by public and pri-
vate business. The death of his brother in-
volved him still more inextricably in affairs
arising out of his contested property. But
the faithless friendship of Basil, which he
deplores in the one touching passage of
his whole poem,* still farther endanger-
ed his peace. In the zeal of Basil to fill
the bishoprics of his metropolitan
Sop of diocese, calculating perhaps that
Sasima. Gregory, like himself, would gen-
a.d.3/2. erous}y sacrifice the luxury of re-
ligious quietude for the more useful duties
of a difficult active position, he imposed
upon his reluctant friend the charge of the

* Gibbon’s selection of this passage, and his hap-
py illustration from Shakspeare, do great credit to
his poetical taste:

Uqvol KOtVOL XoyQv
rOpoareyog re, ml avveanog ftiog,

Novg elv ev aptyolv * * * *

AteGfcedacTcu rravra, Kqtpfitirrai xaflah
kfipat (pepovat rag nalaiag kXmdag.

Is all the counsel that we two have shared,

The sisters’ vows, &c.—Helena, in the Mid-
summer Night’s Dream. See Gibbon, c. xxvii.,
vol. ii., p. 158.

3 D

newly-created see of Sasima. This was
a small and miserable town, at the meet-
ing of three roads, in a country at once
arid, marshy, and unwholesome, noisy and
dusty from the constant passage of travel-
lers, the disputes with extortionate cus-
tom-house officers, and all the tumult and
drunkenness belonging to a town inhabit-
ed by loose and passing strangers. With
Basil, Gregory had passed the tranquil
days of his youth, the contemplative pe-
riod of his manhood; together they had
studied at Athens, together they had twice
retired to monastic solitude; and this was
the return for his long and tried attach-
ment ! Gregory, in the bitterness of his
remonstrance, at one time assumes the
language of an Indian faquir. Instead of
rejoicing in the sphere opened to his ac
tivity, he boldly asserts his supreme feli-
city to be total inaction.* He submitted
with the strongest repugnance to the of-
fice, and abandoned it almost immediate-
ly, on the first opposition. He afterward
administered the see of Nazianzum un-
der his father, and even after his father’s
decease, without, assuming the episcopal
title.

But Gregory was soon compelled, by his
own fame for eloquence and for Gregory
orthodoxy, to move in a more ar- bishop of
duous and tumultuous sphere. For ^s[gn'
forty years Arianism had been inope
dominant in Constantinople. The Arians
mocked at the small number From a.d.
which still lingered in the single 339 t0 379-
religious assemblage of. the Athanasian
party.f Gregory is constrained to admit
this humiliating fact, and indignantly in-
quires whether the sands are more pre-
cious than the stars of heaven, or the
pebbles than pearls, because they are
more numerous If But the accession of
Theodosius opened a new sera to the
Trinitarians. The religion of the emper-
or would no longer condescend to this
humble and secondary station. Gregory
was invited to take charge of the small
community which was still faithful to the
doctrines of Athanasius. Gregory was
already bowed with age and infirmity;
his bald head stooped to his bosom ; his
countenance was worn by his austerities
and his inward spiritual conflicts when
he reluctantly sacrificed his peace for this
great purpose.§ The Catholics had no
church; they met in a small house, on
the site of which afterward arose the cel-

* ’Epol tie peytorr} 'Ttpa^cg lanv tj airpa&a.—
Epist. xxxiii., p. 797.

f In the reign of Valentinian, they met kv piKpti
obiiaKCd.—Socrates, iv., 1.

| Orat. xxv., p. 431. $ Tilkmont, art xlviHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

394

ebrated Church of St. Anastasia. The
eloquence of Gregory wrought wonders
m the busy and versatile capital. The
Avians themselves crowded to hear him.
His adversaries were reduced to violence ;
the Anastasia was attacked ; the Arian
monks, and even the virgins, mingled in
the fray : many lives were lost, and Greg-
ory was accused as the cause of the tu-
mult. His innocence, and the known fa-
vour of the emperor, secured his acquit-
tal ; his eloquence was seconded by the
imperial edicts. The law had been pro-
mulgated which denounced as heretics all
who rejected the Nicene Creed.

The influence of Gregory was thwart-
ed, and his peace disturbed, by the strange
intrigues of one Maximus to possess him-
self of the episcopal throne of Constanti-
nople. Maximus was called the Cynic,
from his attempt to blend the rude man-
ners, the coarse white dress, his enemies
added the vices, of that sect with the pro-
fession of Christianity. His memory is
loaded, with every kind of infamy ; yet,
by dexterous flattery and assiduous at-
tendance on the sermons of Gregory, he
had stolen into his unsuspecting confi-
dence, and received his public commenda-
tions in a studied oration.* Constantino-
ple and Gregory himself were suddenly
amazed with the intelligence that Maxi-
mus had been consecrated the Catholic
bishop of the city. This extraordinary
measure had been taken by seven Alex-
andreans of low birth and character,! with
some bishops deputed by Peter, the or-
thodox Archbishop of Alexandrea.f A
number of mariners, probably belonging
to the corn fleet, had assisted at the cere-
mony, and. raised the customary acclama-
tions. A great tumult of all orders arose ;
all rushed to the church, from which Max-
imus'and his party withdrew, and hastily
completed a kind of tonsure (for the cynic
prided himself on his long hair) in the
private dwelling of a flute-player. Maxi-
mus seems to have been rejected with in-
dignation by the Athanasiaris of Constan-
tinople, who adhered with unshaken fidel-
ity to Gregory ; he fled to the court of

* The panegyric on the philosopher Heron,
f Some of their names were whimsically con-
nected with the Egyptian mythology, Ammon,
Anubis, and Hermanubis.

% The interference of the Egyptians is altogether
remarkable. Could there be a design to establish
the primacy of Alexandrea over Constantinople,
and so over the East ? : It is observable,that in his
law Theodosius names as the examples of doctrine,
the Bishop of Rome in the West, of Alexandrea in
the East. The intrigues of Theophilus against
Chrysostom rather confirm this notion of an at-
tempt to erect an Eastern papacy.

Theodosius, but the earliest measure
adopted by the emperor to restoie strength
to the orthodox party was the rejection
of the intrusive prelate.

The first act of Theodosius on his arri-
val at Constantinople was to issue 24th Nov.
an edict, expelling the Arians from A-D- 3Si)*
the churqhes, and summoning Hemophilus,
the Arian bishop, to conform to the Ni-
cene doctrine. Demophilus refused. The
emperbr commanded that those who
would not unite to establish Christian
peace should retire from the houses of
Christian prayer. Demophilus assembled
his followers, am quoting the words of the
Gospel, u If you ire persecuted in one city,
fiee unto another,” retired before the irre-
sistible authority of the emperor. The
next step was the appointment of the re-
luctant Gregory to the see, and his enthro
nization in the principal church of tlie
metropolis. Environed by the armed le-
gionaries, in military pomp, accompanied
by the emperor himself, Gregory, amazed
and bewildered, and perhaps sensible of
the incongruity of the scene with the true
Christian character, headed the triumphal
procession. All around he saw the sullen
and menacing faces of the Arian multi-
tude, and his ear might catch their sup-
pressed murmurs; even the heavens, for
the morning was bleak and cloudy, seem-
ed to look down with cold indifference
on the scene. No sooner, however, had
Gregory, with the emperor, passed the
rails which divided-the sanctuary from, the
nave of the church, than the sun burst
forth in his splendour, the clouds were
dissipated, and the glorious light came
streaming in upon the applauding congre-
gation. At once a shout of acclamation
demanded the enthronization of Gregory.

But Gregory, commanding only in his
eloquence from the pulpit, seems to have
wanted the firmness and vigour necessary
for the prelate of a great metropolis.
Theodosius summoned the council of
Constantinople; and Gregory, embarrass-
ed by the multiplicity of affairs ; harassed
by objections to the validity of his own
election; entangled in the feuds whjch
arose out of the contested election to the
see of Antioch, entreated, and obtained,
apparently the unreluctant, assent of the
bishops and the emperor to abdicate his
dignity, and to retire to his beloved priva-
cy. His retreat, in some degree disturbed
by the interest which he still took in the
see of Nazianzum, gradually became more
complete, till at length he withdrew into
solitude, and ended his days in that peace
which perhaps was not less sincerely en-
joyed from his experience of the caresHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

39ss

and vexations of worldly dignity. Arian-
'za,his native village, was the place of his
seclusion; the gardens, the trees, the foun-
tain, familiar to his youth, welcomed his
old age. But Gregory had not exhausted
the fears, the dangers, or the passions of
life. The desires of youth still burned in
his withered body, and demanded the se-
verest macerations. The sight or even
the neighbourhood of females afflicted his
sensitive conscience; and, instead of al-
lowing ease or'repose to his aged frame,
his bed was a hard mat, his coverlid sack-
cloth, his dress one thin tunic; his feet
were bare; he allowed himself no fire,
and here, in the company of the wild
beasts, he prayed with bitter tears, he fast-
ed, and devoted his hours to the composi-
tion of poetry, which, from its extreme
difficulty, he considered as an act of pen-
itence. His painful existence was pro-
tracted to the age of ninety.

The complete restoration of Constanti-
nople to the orthodox communion de-
manded even more powerful eloquence,
and far more vigorous authority, than that
of Gregory. If it was not finally achiev-
ed, its success was secured, by the most
splendid orator who had ever adorned the
Eastern Church. Sixteen years after the
retirement of Gregory, the fame of Chry-
sostom designated him as the successor to
that important dignity.

Chrysostom was the model of a preach-
Chrysos- er for a great capital.* Clear
tonfi- rather than profound, his dogmatic
is essentially moulded up with his moral
teaching. He is the champion, not so ex-
clusively of any system of doctrines, as
of Christian holiness against the vices, the
dissolute manners, the engrossing love of
amusement, which prevailed in the new
Rome of the East. His doctrines flow
naturally from his subject cr from the
passage of Scripture under liscussion;
his illustrations are copious and happy ;
his style free and fluent; while he is an
unrivalled master in that rapid and forci
ble application of incidental occurrences,
which gives such life and reality to elo-
quence. He is, at times, in the highest
sense, dramatic in his manner.

Chrysostom, like all the mo-re ardent
spirits of his age, was enamoured in his
early youth of monasticism. But this he
had gradually thrown off, even while he re-
mained at Antioch. Though by no means
formally abandoning these principles or
lowering his admiration of this imaginary

* Compare the several lives of Chrysostom by
Palladius, that in the Benedictine edition of his
works, and in Tillemont. I have only the first vol-
ume of Neander’s Joannes Chrysostomus.

perfection of religion, in his later worxs
he is more free, popular, and practical.
His ambition is not so much to elevate a
few enthusiastic spirits to a high-toned
and mystic piety, as to impregnate the
whole population of a great capital with
Christian virtue and self-denial.

John, who obtained the name of Chry
sostorn, the golden-mouthed, was ufeof
born at Antioch about the year 347. Chrysos
He was brought up by his mother torn-
in the Christian faith; he studied rhetoric
under the celebrated Libanius, who used
his utmost arts, and displayed all that is
captivating in Grecian poetry and philoso-
phy, to inthral the imagination of his
promising pupil. Libanius, in an extant
epistle, rejoices at the success of Chry-
sostom at the bar in Antioch. He is said
to have lamented on his deathbed the sac-
rilegious seduction of the young orator by
the Christians; for to him he had intend-
ed to bequeath his school, and the office of
maintaining the dignity of paganism.

But the eloquence of Chrysostom was
not to waste itself in the barren litigations
of the courts of justice in Antioch, .or in
the vain attempt to infuse new life into the
dead philosophy and religion of Greece.
He felt himself summoned to a nobler
field. At the age of eighteen, Chrysos-
tom began to study that one source of el-
oquence, to which the human heart re-
sponded, the sacred writings of the Chris-
tians. The Church was not slow in rec-
ognising the value of such a proselyte.
He received the strongest encouragement
from Meletius, bishop of Antioch; he
was appointed a reader in the Church.
But the soul of Chrysostom was not like-
ly to embrace these stirring tenets with
coolness or moderation. A zealous friend
inflamed, by precept and emulation, the
fervour of his piety : they proposed to re-
tire to one of the most remote hermita-
ges in Syria; and the great Christian ora-
tor was almost self-doomed to silence, or
to exhaust his power of language in pray-
ers and ejaculations heard by no human
ear. The mother of Chrysostom saved
the Christian Church from this fatal loss.
There is something exquisitely touching
in the traits of domestic affection which
sometimes gleam through the busy pages
of history. His mother had become a
widow at the age of twenty; to the gen-
eral admiration, she had remained faithful
to the memory of her husband and to her
maternal duties. As soon as she heard
the determination of her son to retire to a
distant region (Chrysostom himself re-
lates the incident), she took him by the
hand, she led him to her chamber, sh&396

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

made him sit by her on the bed in which
she had borne him, and burst out into
tears, and into language more sad than
tears. She spoke of the cares and troub-
les of widowhood; grievous as they had
been, she had ever one consolation, the
gazing on his face, and beholding in him
the image of his departed father. Before
he could speak, he had thus been her
comfort and her joy. She reminded him
of the fidelity with which she had admin-
istered the paternal property. “Think
not that I would reproach you with these
things. I have but one favour to entreat:
make me not a second time a widow;
awaken not again my slumbering sorrows.
Wait at least for my death; perhaps I
shall depart before long. When you have
laid me in the earth and reunited my
bones to those of your father, then travel
wherever thou wilt, even beyond the sea;
but, as long as I live, endure to dwell in
my house, and offend not God by afflict-
ing your mother, who is at least blameless
towards thee.”*

Whether released by the death of his
mother, or hurried away by the irresistible
impulse which would not allow him to
withhold himself from what he calls “ the
true philosophy,” Chrysostom some years
afterward entered into one of the monas-
teries in the neighbourhood of Antioch.
He had hardly escaped the episcopal dig-
nity, which was almost forced upon him
by the admirers of his early piety. Wheth-
er he considered this gentle violence law-
ful to compel devout Christians to assume
awful dignity, he did not hesitate to prac-
tise a pious fraud on his friend Basilius,
with whom he promised to submit to con-
secration. Basilius found himself a bish-
op, but looked in vain for his treacherous
friend, who had deceived him into this mo-
mentous step, but deserted him at the ap-
pointed hour.

But the voice of Chrysostom was not
doomed to silence even in his seclusion.
The secession of so many of the leading
youths from the duties of civil life, from
the municipal offices and the service of
the army, had awakened the jealousy of
the government. Valens issued his edict
against those “ followers of idleness.”!
The monks were in some instances as-
sailed by popular outrage ; parents, against
whose approbation their children had de-
serted their homes and retired into the
desert, appealed to the imperial authority

* M. Villemain, in his Essai sur l’Eloquence
Chr£tienne dans le Quatri&me Siecle, has pointed
out the exquisite simplicity and tenderness of this
passage. De Sacerdotio, i.

t Ignavi® sectatores.

to maintain their own. Chrysostom came
forward as the zealous, the vehement ad-
vocate of the “ true philosophy.”* He
threatened misery in this life, and all the
pains of hell (of which he is prodigal in
his early writings), against the unnatural,
the soul-slaying fathers, who forced their
sons to expose themselves to the guilt and
danger of the world, and forbade them to
enter into the earthly society of angels ;
thus he describes the monasteries near
Antioch. He relates with triumph the
clandestine conversion of a noble youth,
through the connivance of his mother,
whom the father, himself a soldier, had
destined to serve in the armies of the em-
pire.

But Chrysostom himself, whether he
considered that the deep devotion of the
monastery for some years had braced
his soul to encounter the more perilous
duties of the priesthood, appeared again
in Antioch. His return was hailed by Fla-
vianus, the bishop who had succeeded to
Meletius. He was ordained deacon, and
then presbyter, and at once took his sta-
tion in that office, which was sometimes
reserved for the bishop, as the principal
preacher in that voluptuous and effeminate
city.

The fervid imagination and glowing elo-
quence of Chrysostom, which had been
lavished on the angelic immunity of. the
coenobite or the hermit from the passions,
ambition, and avarice inseparable from a
secular life, now arrayed his new office in
a dignity and saintly perfection which
might awake the purest ambition of the
Christian. Chrysostom has the most ex-
alted notion of the majesty, at the same
time of the severity, of the sacerdotal*
character. His views of the office, of its
mission and authority, are the most sub-
lime ; his demands upon their purity,
blamelessness, and superiority to the rest
of mankind, proportionabiy rigorous.

Nor in the loftiness of his tone as a
preacher or his sanctity as a man did he
fall below his own standard of the Chris-
tian priesthood. His preaching already
took its peculiar character. It was not
so much addressed to the opinions as to
the conscience of man. He threw aside
the subtleties of speculative theology, and
repudiated, in general, the fine-drawn alle-
gory in which the interpreters of Scrip-
ture had displayed their ingenuity, and
amazed and fruitlessly wearied their un-
improved audience. His scope was plain,
severe, practical. Rigidly orthodox in his
doctrine, he seemed to dwell more on the

* A ri versus Ooirngnatores A'itse Monastic®.history of Christianity.

397

fruits of a pure theology (though at times
he could not keep aloof from controversy)
than on theology itself.

If, in her ordinary course of voluptuous
amusement, of constant theatrical excite-
ment, Antioch could not but listen to the
commanding voice of the Christian ora-
tor, it is no wonder that in her hour of
danger, possibly of impending ruin, the
whole city stood trembling and awe-struck
beneath his pulpit. Soon after he assu-
med the sacerdotal office, Chrysostom was
placed in an extraordinary position as the
representative of the bishop.

In one of those sudden tumultuous insur-
3g7 rections which take place among
the populace of large cities, Anti-
och had resisted the exorbitant demands
of a new taxation, maltreated the impe-
rial officers, and thrown down and drag-
ged about, with every kind of insult, the
statues of Theodosius, his empress, and
their two sons.* The stupor of fear suc-
ceeded to this momentary outbreak of
mutiny, which had been quelled by a sin-
gle troop of archers. For days the whole
people awaited in shuddering agitation the
sentence of the emperor. The anger of
Theodosius was terrible ; he had not yet,
it is true, ordered the massacre of the
whole population of Thessalonica, but his
stern and relentless character was too
well known. Dark rumours spread abroad
that he had threatened to bum Antioch, to
exterminate its inhabitants, and to pass
the ploughshare over its ruins. Multi-
tudes fled destitute from the city; others
remained shut up in their houses, for fear
of being seized. Instead of the Forum
crowded with thousands, one or two per-
sons were seen timidly wandering about.

« The gay and busy Antioch had the ap-
pearance of a captured and depopulated
city. The theatres, the circus,.were clo-
sed ; no marriage song was heard ; even
the schools were shut up.f In the mean
time, the government resumed its unlimit-
ed and unresisted authority, which it ad-
ministered with the sternest severity, and
rigorous inquisition into the guilt of indi-
viduals. The prisons were thronged with

* It is curious to observe the similarity between
the pagan and Christian accounts of this incident
which we have the good fortune to possess. Both
ascribe the' guilt to a few strangers, under the in-
stigation of diabolical agency. Totovroig vnrjpe-
raig 6 Kaicog xpopevog daipov, pa^ev, a cnoTrav
eSovTioprjv. This is a sentence of Libahius (ad
Theodos., iv;, p. 638), not of Chrysostom. Flavian
exhorts Theodosius to pardon Antioch, in order,
that he may disappoint the malice of the devils, to
whom he ascribes the guilt.—Chrys., Horn., xvi.,
ad Antioch.

t Liban. ad Theod., in fin.

criminals of every rank and station; con-
fiscation swept away their wealth, pun-
ishments of every degree were-inflicted
on their persons. Citizens of the high-
est rank were ignominiously scourged ;
those who confessed their guilt were put
to the sword, burned alive, or thrown to
the wild beasts.* Chrysostom’s descrip-
tion of the agony of those days is in. the
highest .style of dramatic oratory. Women
of the highest rank, brought up with the
utmost delicacy, and accustomed to every
luxury, were seen crowding around the
gates or in the outer judgment-hall, un-
attended, repelled by the rude soldiery,
but still clinging to the doors or prostrate
on the ground, listening to the clash of
the scourges, the shrieks of the tortured
victims, and the shouts of the execution-
ers ; one minute supposing that they rec-
ognised the familiar voices of fathers,
husbands, or brothers; or trembling lest
those who were undergoing torture should
denounce their relatives and friends.
Chrysostom passes from this scene, by a
bold but natural transition, to the terrors
of the final judgment, and the greater ag-
ony of that day.

Now was the time to put to the test the
power of Christianity, and to ascertain
whether the orthodox opinions of Theo-
dosius were altogether independent of
that humanity which is the essence of the
Gospel. Would the Christian emperor
listen to the persuasive supplications of
the Christian prelate—that prelate for
whose character he had expressed the
highest respect 1

While Flavianus, the aged and feeble
bishop, quitting the bedside of F]avianus
his dying sister, sets forth on sets forth to
his pious mission to the West, ^4cedefor
on Chrysostom devolved the du- mcicy’
ty of assuaging the fears, of administer-
ing consolation, and of profiting by this
state of stupor and dejection to correct
the vices and enforce serious thoughts
upon the light and dissolute people. Day
after day he ascended the pulpit; the
whole population, deserting the Forum,
forgetting the theatre and the * circus,
thronged the churches. There was even
an attendance (an unusual circumstance)
after the hour of dinner. The whole city
became a church. There is wonderful
skill and judgment in the art^with which
the orator employs the circumstances of
the time for his purpose ; in the manner

* Chrysostom asserts this in a fine passage, in
which he reminds his hearers of their greater of-
fences against God. Kat oi pbv cnd7jp(p, ol SI
7rvpl, ol de i^rjpioig ivapadoOevreg uttuXqvto —
Horn., iii., 6, p. 45.398

HISTORY OF**CHRISTIANITY

in which he allays the terror, without too
highly encouraging the hopes, of the peo-
ple : “ The clemency of the emperor may
forgive their guilt, but the Christians ought
to be superior to the fear of death; they
cannot be secure of pardon in this world,
but they may be secure of immortality in
the world to come.”

Long before the success of the bishop’s
sentence or intercession could be , known,
Theodosius, the delegates of the emperor,
Hellabichus and Caesarius, arrived with
the sentence of Theodosius, which was
merciful, if compared with what they had
feared, the destruction of the city and
he massacre of its inhabitants. But it
was fatal to the pleasures, the comforts,
the pride of Antioch. The theatres and
the circus were to be closed ; Antioch
was no longer to enjoy theatrical repre-
sentations of any kind ; the baths, in an
Eastern city not objects of luxury alone,
but of cleanliness and health, were to be
shut; and Antioch was degraded from the
rank of a metropolitan city to a town un-
der the jurisdiction of Laodicea.

The city was in the deepest depression,
but Chrysostom maintained his lofty tone
of consolation. Antioch ought to rejoice
at the prohibition of those scenes of vice
and dissipation which disgraced the thea-
tres : the baths tended to .effeminacy and
luxury ; they were disdained by true phi-
losophy—the monastic system ; the dig-
nity of the city did not depend on its rank
in the empire, but on the virtue of its citi-
zens ; it might be a heavenly, if no longer
an earthly, metropolis.

The inquisition into the guilt of those
who had actually assisted, or had looked
on in treasonable indifference while the
statues'of the emperor and his family
were treated with such unseemly contu-
mely, had commenced under the regular
authorities; it was now carried on with
stern and indiscriminate impartiality. The
prisoners were crowded together in a
great open enclosure, in one close and
agonizing troop, which- comprehended the
whole senate of the city. The third day
of-the-inquiry was to witness the execu-
tion of the guilty, and no one, not the rel-
atives or kindred of the wealthiest, the
noblest, or the highest in station, knew
whether the doom had not fallen on their
fathers or husbands.

But Hellabichus and Cassarius were men
of humanity, and ventured to suspend the
execution of the sentence. They listen-
ed to the supplications of the people.
One mother especially seized and clung
to the reins of the horse of Hellabichus.
The monks, who, while the philosophers,

as Chrysostom asserts, had fled the city,
had poured down from their mountain
solitudes, and during the whole time had
endeavoured to assuage the fear of the
people and to awaken the compassion of
the government, renewed, not without ef-
fect, their pious exertions.* They crowd
ed round the tribunal, and one, named Ma-
cedonius, was so courageous as boldly to
remonstrate against the crime of aven-
ging the destruction of a few images of
brass by the destruction of the image of
God in so many human beings. Caesar-
ius himself undertook a journey to Con-
stantinople for farther instructions.

At length Chrysostom had the satisfac-
tion to announce to the people the return
of the bishop with an act of unlimited am-
nesty. He described the inter-
view of Flavianus with the era- Issue of the.

, . ., , . , interview of

pcror ; his silence, his shame, Flavianus
his tears, when Theodosius gen- with the cm
tiy reminded him of his benefac- per0l‘
tions to the city, which enhanced their
heinous ingratitude. The reply of Flavi-
anus, though the orator professes to re-
late it on the authority of one present at
the interview, is no. doubt coloured by
the eloquence of Chrysostom. The bish-
op acknowledged the guilt of the city in
the most humiliating language. But he
urged, that the greater that guilt, the great-
er would be the magnanimity of the em-
peror if he should pardon it. He would
raise statues, not of perishable materials,
in the hearts of all mankind. It is not
the glory of Theodosius, he proceeded, but
Christianity itself, which is put to the test
before the world. The Jews and Greeks,
even the most remote barbarians, are anx-
iously watching whether this sentence will
be that of Christian clemency. How will *
they all glorify the Christian’s God if he
shall restrain the wrath of the master of
the world, and subdue him to that human-
ity which would be magnanimous even in
a private man. Inexorable punishment
might awe other cities into obedience,
but mercy would attach mankind by the
stronger bonds of love. It would be an
imperishable example of clemency, and all
future acts of other sovereigns would be
but the fruit of this, and would reflect their
glory on Theodosius. What glory to con-
cede that to a single aged priest, from the
fear of God, which he had refused to all
other suppliants. For himself, Flavianus
could never bear to return to his native
city ; he would remain an exile until that
city was reconciled with the emperor.
Theodosius, it is said, called to mind th<

* Chrysostom, Horn., xvii., vml. ii., p. 172.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

399

piayei of the Saviour for his enemies, and
satisfied his wounded pride that in his
mercy he imitated his Redeemer. He was
even anxious that Flavianus should return
to announce the' full pardon before the
festival of Easter. “‘Let the Gentiles,”
exclaims the ardent preacher, “ be con-
founded, or, rather, let them be instructed
by this unexampled instance of imperial
clemency and episcopal influence.”*

Theodosius had ceased to reign many
a d 398 years before Chrysostom was sum-
c’hrysos- moned to the pontifical throne of
tombish- Constantinople. The East was
constan- governed by women and eunuchs,
tinopie. in assuming the episcopal throne
of the metropolis, to which he is said to
have been transported almost by force,
Chrysostom, who could not but be con-
scious of his power over the minds of men,
might entertain visions of the noblest and
purest ambition. His views of the dig-
nity of the sacerdotal character were as
lofty as those of his contemporaries in the
West; while he asserted their authority,
which set them apart and far above the
rest of mankind, he demanded a moral
superiority and entire devotion to their
calling, which could not but rivet their
authority upon the minds of men. The
clergy, such as his glowing imagination
conceived them, would unite the strongest
corporate spirit with the highest individ-
ual zeal and purity. The influence of the
bishop in Antioch, the deference which
Theodosius had shown to the intercession
of Flavianus, might encourage Chrysos-
tom in the fallacious hope of restoring
peace, virtue, and piety, as well as ortho-
doxy, in the imperial city.

But in the East, more particularly in
Difference the metropolis, the sacerdotal
ofthesacer- character never assumed the
Rome and unassailable sanctity, the awful
constant!1-11 inviolability, which it attained
nopie. in the West. The religion of
Constantinople was that of the emperor.
Instead of growing up like the Bishop of
Rome, first to independence, afterward to
sovereignty, the presence of. the imperial
government overawed and obscured the
religious supremacy. In Rome, the pope
was subject at times to the rebellious con-
trol of the aristocracy, or exposed to the
irreverent fury of the populace; but he
constantly emerged from his transient ob-
scurity and resumed his power. In Con-
stantinople, a voluptuous court, a savage
populace, at this period multitudes of con-

* Chrysostom had ventured to assert, *A.irep bv
bsvl brepo), ravra x^P^at roZg iepcvzt.—Horn.,
xxi., 3. *

cealed Arians, and heretics of countless
shades and hues at all periods, thwarted
the plans, debased the dignity, and dese-
crated the person of the Patriarch of Con-
stantinople.

In some respects Chrysostom’s char-
acter wanted the peculiar, and perhaps
•inconsistent qualifications requisite for his
position. He was the preacher, but not
the man of the world. A great capital is
apt to demand that magnificence in its
prelate at which it murmurs. It will not.
respect less than splendid state and the
show of authority, while at the same time
it would have the severest austerity and
the strongest display of humility; the
pomp of the pontiff with the poverty and
lowliness of the apostle. Chrysostom
carried the asceticism of the monk not
merely into his private chamber, but into
his palace and his hall. The great prel-
ates of the West, wlien it was expedient,
could throw off the monk, and appear as
statesmen . or as nobles in their public
transactions ; though this, indeed, was
much less necessary than in Constantino-
ple. But Chrysostom cherished all these
habits with zealous., perhaps with osten-
tatious fidelity. Instead of munificent
hospitality, he took his scanty meal in his
solitary chamber. His rigid economy en-
dured none of that episcopal sumptuous-
ness with which his predecessor Necta-
rius had dazzled the public eye : he pro-
scribed all the carpets, all silken dresses;
he sold the costly furniture and the rich
vessels of his residence ; he was said
even to have retrenched from the Church
some of its gorgeous plate, and to have
sold some rich marbles and furniture de-
signed for the Anastasia. He was lavish,
on the other hand, in his expenditure on
the hospitals and charitable institutions.
But even the use to which they were ap-
plied did not justify to the general feeling
the alienation of those ornaments from
the service of the Church. The populace,
who, no doubt, in their hours of discon-
tent, had contrasted the magnificence of
Nectarius with apostolical poverty, were
now offended by the apostolical poverty
of Chrysostom, which seemed unworthy
of his lofty station.

But the Bishop of Constantinople had
even a more difficult task in pre- PolitiCai air-
scribing to himself the limits of Acuities or
his interference with secular chrysost(mi-
affairs. It is easy to imagine, in the clergy,
a high and serene indifference to the polit-
ical tumults of society. This is Iriterferenco
perpetually demanded by those of the clergy
who find the sacerdotal influence in secular
adverse to their, own views; but a a’5S’400

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

to the calm inquirer, this simple question
becomes the most difficult and intricate
problem in religious history. If religion
consisted solely in the intercourse be-
tween man and his Creator ; if the Chris-
tian minister were merely the officiating
functionary in the ceremonial of the
Church; the human mediator between
the devotion of man and the providence
of God; the voice which expresses the
common adoration; the herald who an-
nounces the general message of revelation
to mankind, nothing could be more clear
than the line which might exclude him
from all political, or even all worldly
affairs. But Christianity is likewise a
moral power ; and as that moral power or
guide, religion, and the minister of reli-
gion, cannot refrain from interposing in
all questions of human conduct; as the
interpreter of the Divine law to the per-
plexed and doubting*conscience, it cannot
but spread its dominion over the whole
held of human action. In this character
religion embraced the whole life of man,
public as well as private. How was the
minister of that religion to pause and dis-
criminate as to the extent of his powers,
particularly since the public acts of the
most eminent’ in station possessed such
unlimited influence over the happiness of
society, and even the eternal welfare of
the whole community 1 What public mis-
conduct was not, at the same time, an un-
christian act 1 Were the clergy, by con-
nivance, to become accomplices in vices
which they did not endeavour to coun-
teract 1 Christianity, on the throne as
in the cottage, was equally bound to sub-
mit on every point in which religious mo-
tive or principle ought to operate, in every
act, therefore, of life, to the admitted re-
straints of the Gospel; and the general
feeling of Christianity at this* period had
invested the clergy with the right, or,
rather, the duty of enforcing the precepts
of the Gospel on every professed believer.
How, then, were the clergy to distinguish
between the individual and political capa-
city of the man; to respect the prince,
yet to advise the Christian; to look with
indifference on one set of actions as secu-
lar, to admonish on the danger of another
as affairs of conscience 1

Nor at this early period of its still ag-
gressive, still consciously beneficial influ-
ence, could the hierarchy be expected to
anticipate with coldly prophetic prudence
the fatal consequence of some of its own
* encroachments on worldly authority. The
bishop of a great capital was the conductor,
the representative of the moral power of
the Gospel, which was perpetually striving

to obtain its ascendancy over brute force
violence, and vice ; and of necessity, per
haps, was not always cautious or discreet
in the means to which it resorted. It be-
came •contaminated in the incessant strife,
and forgot its end, or, rather, sought for the
mastery as its end rather than as the le-
gitimate means of promoting its beneficial
objects. Under the full, and, no doubt, at
first, warrantable persuasion that it was
advancing the happiness and virtue of man-
kind, where should it arrest its own course,
or set limits to its own humanizing and
improving interpositions 1 Thus, under
the constant temptation of assuming, as
far as possible, the management of af-
fairs which were notoriously mismanaged
through the vices of public men, the ad-
ministration even of public matters by the
clergy might seem, to them at least, to en-
sure justice, disinterestedness, and clem-
ency : till, tried by the possession of power,
they would be the last to discern the dan-
ger of being invested in that power.

The first signal interposition of Chrysos-
tom in the political affairs of Con- Eutropius
stantinople was an act not mere- the eunuch,
ly of humanity, but of gratitude. Eutropius
the eunuch, minister of the feeble Arcadi-
us, is condemned to immortal infamy by
the vigorous satire of Claudian. Among
his few good deeds had been the advance-
ment of Chrysostom to the see of Con-
stantinople. Eutropius had found it neces-
sary to restrict the right of asylum, which
began to be generally claimed by all the
Christian churches, little foreseeing that
to the bold assertion of that right he would
owe his life.

There is something sublime in the first
notion of the right of asylum. It Right of
is one of those institutions based in asylum,
the universal religious sentiment of man,
it is found in almost all religions. In the
Greek, as in the Jewish,*man took refuge
from the vengeance, often from the injus-
tice, of his fellow-men, in the presence of
the gods. Not merely private revenge,
but the retributive severity of the law,
stands rebuked before the dignity of the
Divine court in which the criminal has
lodged his appeal. The lustrations in the
older religions, the rites of expiation and
reconciliation performed in many of the
temples, the appellations of certain deities,
as the reconcilers or pacifiers of man,*
were enwoven with their mythology, and
imbodied in their poetry. But Christian-
ity, in a still higher and more universal
sense, might assume to take under its pro-
tection, in order to amend and purify, the

* The airoTfjOTrcuo'i, or averruncatores.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

401

outcast of society, whom human justice
followed with relentless vengeance. As
the representative of the God of mercy, it
excluded no human being from the pale of
repentance, and would protect them, when
disposed to that salutary change, if it
could possibly be made consistent with
the public peace and safety. The merciful
intervention of the clergy between the
criminal and his sentence, at a period
when the laws were so implacable and
sanguinary, was at once consistent with
Christian charity, and tended to some
mitigation of the ferocious manners of the
age. It gave time at least for exasperated
justice to reconsider its sentence, and
checked that vindictive impulse, which, if
it did not outrun the law, turned it into in-
stantaneous and irrevocable execution.#
But that which commenced in pure benev-
olence had already, it should seem, begun
to degenerate into a source of power. The
course of justice was impeded, but not by
a wise discrimination between the more
or less heinous delinquents, or a salutary
penitential system, which might reclaim
the guilty, and safely restore him to so-
ciety.

Like other favourites of arbitrary sov-
\ d 399 ereigns, Eutropius was suddenly
precipitated from the height of
power; the army forced the sentence of
. his dismissal from the timid-emperor, and
the furious populace, as usual, thirsted for
the blood of him to whose unbounded sway
they had so long submitted in humble obe-
dience. Eutropius fled in haste to that
asylum, the sanctity of which had been
limited by his own decree ; and the cour-
age and influence of Chrysostom protected
that most forlorn of human beings, the
discarded favourite of a despot. The arm-
ed soldiery and the raging populace were
met at the door of the church by the de-
fenceless ecclesiastic ; his demeanour and
the sanctity of the place arrested the blind
fury of the assailants ; Chrysostom before
the emperor' pleaded the cause of Eutro-
pius with the same fearless freedom, and

* In a law which is extant in Greek, there is an
elaborate argument, that if the right of asylum had
been granted by the heathen to their altars, and to
the statues of the emperors, it ought to belong to
the temples of God.

See the laws which defined the right of asylum,
Cod. Theodos., ix., 45, 3, et seqq. The sacred space
extended to the outer gates of the church. But
those who took refuge in the church were on no
account to be permitted to profane the holy build-
ing itself by eating or sleeping within it. “ Quibus
si perfuga non adnuit, neque consentit, praeferenda
humanitali religio est.” There was a strong pro-
hibition against introducing arms into the churches;

* prohibition which the emperors themselves did
aot scruple to violate on more than one occasion. [
3 E

for once the life ol a fallen min- Chrysostom
ister was spared; his sentence saves the
was commuted for banishment. hfeofEutro-
His fate, indeed, was only de- piU6'
layed; he was afterward brought back
from Cyprus, his place of exile, and be-
headed at Chaleedon.

But, with all his courage, his eloquence,
his moral dignity, Chrysostom, instead of
establishing a firm and permanent author-
ity over Constantinople, became himself
the victim of intrigue and jealousy. Be-
sides his personal habits and maimers, the
character of Chrysostom, firm on great
occasions, and eminently persuasive when
making a general address to the multitude,
was less commanding and authoritative in
his constant daily intercourse with the va-
rious orders : calm and self-possessed as
an orator, he was accused of being pas-
sionate and overbearing in ordinary busi-
ness : the irritability of feeble health may
have caused some part of this infirmity.
Men whose minds, like that of Chrysos-
tom, are centred on one engrossing ob-
ject, are apt to abandon the details of busi-
ness to others, who thus become necessary
to them, and at length, if artful and'dex-
terous,. rule them with inextricable sway :
they have much knowledge of mankind,
little practical acquaintance with individ-
ual men. Thus Chrysostom was com-
pletely governed by his deacon cbrysDStom
Serapiou, who managed his af- governed by
fairs,* and, like all men of address ^sr^°n .
in such stations, while he exer-
cised all the power and secured the solid
advantages, left the odium and responsi-
bility upon his master. On the whole, the
character of Chrysostom retained some-
thing of the unworldly monastic enthusi-
asm, and wanted decisive practical wis-
dom, when compared, for instance, with
Ambrose in the West, and thus his char-
acter powerfully contributed to his fall.*
But the circumstances of his. situation
might have embarrassed even Ambrose
himself. All orders and interests con-
spired against him. The court would not
endure the grave and severe censor; the
clergy rebelled against the rigour of the
prelate’s discipline ; the populace, though,
when under the spell of his eloquence,
fondly attached to his person-no doubt, in
general resented his implacable condem-
nation of their amusements. The Arians,
to whom, in‘his uncompromising zeal, he
had persuaded the emperor to refuse a

* The unfavourable view of Chrysostom’s char-
acter is brought, out. perhaps, with more thanjmparr
tiality by the ecclesiastical historian Sozomen, who
wrote at Constantinople, and may have preserved
much of the hostile tradition relating to him.402

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

single church, though demanded by the
most powerful subject of the empire,
Gainas the Goth, were still, no doubt, se-
cretly powerful. A pagan praefect, Opta-
tus, seized the opportunity of wreaking his
animosity towards Christianity itself upon
its powerful advocate. Some wealthy fe-
males are named as resenting the severe
condemnation of their dress and manners.*
Of all these adversaries, the most dan-
gerous, the most persevering, and the most
implacable were those of his own order
and his own rank.f The sacerdotal au-
thority in the East was undermined by its
own divisions. The imperial power, which,
in the hands of a violent and not irre-
proachable woman, the Empress Eudoxia,
might perhaps have quailed before the en-
ergy of a blameless and courageous prel-
ate, allied itself with one section of the
Church, and so secured its triumph over
the whole. The more Chrysostom en-
deavoured to carry out by episcopal au-
thority those exalted notions of the sacer-
dotal character which he had developed
in his work upon the priesthood, the more
he estranged many of his natural support-
ers. He visited the whole of Asia Minor;
degraded bishops; exposed with unsparing
indignation the vices and venality of the
clergy, and involved them all in.one indis-
criminate charge of simony and licentious-
ness. The assumption of this aqthority
was somewhat questionable ; the severity
with which it was exercised did not recon-
cile the reluctant province to submission.
Among the malecontent clergy, four bish-
ops took the lead; but the head of this unre-
Tiieophiius of lenting faction was Theophilus,
Alexandra, the violent and unscrupulous
prelate of Alexandrea. The apparently
trivial causes which inflamed the hostility
of Theophilus confirm a suspicion, previ-
ously suggested, that the rivalry of the two
principal sees in the East mingled with the
personal animosity of Theophilus against
the Bishop of Constantinople. Chrysos-
tom had been accused of extending his ju-
risdiction beyond its legitimate bounds.
Certain monks of Nitria had fled from the
persecutions of Theophilus, and taken
refuge in Constantinople; and Chrysos-
tom had extended his countenance, if not
his protection, to these revolted subjects
of the Alexandrean prelate; but he had
declined to take legal cognizance of the
dispute as a superior prelate or as the
head of a council; partly, he states,! out

* Tillemont, p. 180.

f The good Tillemont confesses this humiliating
truth with shame and reluctance.-—Vie de Chrysos-
tome, p. 181.

t Epist. ad Innocentium Papam, vol. iii., p. 516.

of respect for Theophilus, paitiy because
he was unwilling to interfere in the affairs
of another province. But Theophilus was
not so scrupulous; he revenged himself
for the supposed invasion of his own prov-
ince by a most daring inroad on that of his
rival. He assumed for the Patriarch ol
Alexandrea the right of presiding over the
Eastern bishops, and of summoning the
Bishop of Constantinople before this irreg-
ular tribunal. Theophilus, with the sanc-
tion, if not by the invitation, of the empress,
landed at Constantinople. He was ac-
companied by a band of Alexandrean mar-
iners, as a protection against the popu-
lace of the city.

The council was held, not in Constan-
tinople, but at a place called the council < (
Oak, in the suburbs of Chalce- tlie0ak-
don. It consisted for the most part of
Egyptian bishops, under the direct influ-.
ence of Theophilus, and of Asiatic prelates,
the personal enemies of Chrysostom.* For
fourteen days it held its sessions, and re-
ceived informations, which gradually grew
into twenty-nine grave and specific char-
ges. Four times was Chrysostom sum-
moned to appear before this self-appointed
tribunal, of which it was impossible for
him to recognise the legal authority. In
the mean time, he was not inactive in his
peculiar sphere, the pulpit. Unfortunate-
ly, the authenticity of the sermon ascribed
to him at this period is not altogether cer-
tain, nor the time at which some extant
discourses, if genuine, were delivered,
conclusively settled. One, however, bears
strong indications of the manner and sen-
timents of Chrysostom ; and it is gener-
ally acknowledged that he either did bold-
ly use, or was accused of using, language
full of contumelious allusion to the em-
press. This sermon, therefore, if not an
accurate report of his expressions, may
convey the sense of what he actually ut-
tered, or which was attributed to him by
his adversaries.! “ The billows,” said the

* It is contested whether there were thirty or
forty-six bishops.

t It is singularly characteristic of the Christian-
ity of the times to observe the charges against
which Chrysostom protests with the greatest ve
hemence ; and this part of the oration in questior
is confirmed by one of his letters to Cyriacns.
Against that of personal impurity with a female,
he calmly offers the most unquestionable evidence.
But he was likewise accused of having administer-
ed baptism after he had eaten. On this he breaks
out: “If I. have done this, Anathema upon me,
may 1 be no longer counted among bishops, nor
be admitted among the angels accepted of God.”
He was said to have administered the sacrament
to those who had in like manner broken their fast.
“ If I have done so, may I be rejected of Christ.”
He then justifies himself, even if guilty, bv theHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

403

energetic prelate, “ are mighty, and the
storm furious ; but we fear not to be
wrecked, for we are founded on a rock.
What can I fear 1 Death 1 To me to live
is Christ, and to die is gain. -Exile % The
earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof.
Confiscation \ We brought nothing into
this ivorld, and it is certain ive can carry no-
thing out of it. I scorn the terrors, and -
smile at the advantages, of life. I fear
not death. I desire to live only for your
profit. The Church against which you
• strive dashes away your assaults into idle
foam. It is fixed by God, who shall re-
voke it 1 The Church is stronger than
Heaven itself! Heaven and earth shall
pass away, hut my words shall not pass
away. * * * But you know, my brethren,
the true cause of my ruin. Because I
have not strewn rich carpets on my floors,
nor clothed myself in silken robes ; be-
cause I have discountenanced the sensu-
ality of certain persons. The seed of
the serpent is still alive, but grace is still
on the side of Elijah.” Then follows, in
obscure and embarrassed language, as
though, if genuine, the preacher was start-
led at his own boldness, an allusion to the
fate of John the Baptist and to the hos-
tility of Herodias : “ It is a time of wail-
ing : lo, all things tend to disgrace; but
time judgeth all things.” The fatal word
“ disgrace” (adotjia) was supposed to be an
allusion to Eudoxia, the empress.

There was a secret understanding be-
Condemna- tween the court and the council,
don of chry- The court urged the proceed-
sostom. jngS 0f the council, and the

council pronounced the sentence of dep-
osition, but left to the court to take cogni-
zance of the darker charge of high treason,
of which they asserted Chrysostom to be
guilty, but which was beyond their juris-
diction. The alleged treason was the
personal insult to the Empress Eudoxia,
which was construed into exciting the
people to rebellion. But the execution
of this sentence embarrassed the council
and the irresolute government. Chry-
sostom now again ruled the popular mind
with unbounded sway. It would have
been dangerous to have seized him in the
church, environed, as he constantly was,
by crowds of admiring hearers, whom a
few fervent words might have maddened
into insurrection.

Chrysostom, however, shrunk, whether
Chrysostom from timidity or Christian peace-
leaves con- fulness of disposition, from be-
stammopie. jDg ^he cause, even intfocently,

example of Paul, and even of Christ himself, but
still seems to look or *his breach of discipline with
the utmost horror.

of tumult and bloodshed. He had neither
the ambition, the denperate recklessness,
nor perhaps the resolution, of a dema-
gogue. He would not be the Christian
tribune of the people. He seized the first
opportunity of the absence of his hearers
quietly to surrender himself to the imperi-
al officers. He was cautiously transport-
ed by night, though the jealous populace
crowded the streets in order to release
their prelate from the hands of his ene-
mies, to the opposite side of the Bospho-
rus, and confined in a villa on the Bithyn-
ian shore.

The triumph of Chrysostom’s enemies
was complete. Theophilus entered the
city, and proceeded to wreak his ven-
geance on the partisans of his adversary;
the empress rejoiced in the conscious as-
surance of her power; the people were
overawed into gloomy and sullen silence.

The night of the following day, strange
and awful sounds were heard „ .

throughout the city. The pal- Earthquake-
ace, the whole of Constantinople, shook
with an earthquake. The empress, as su-
perstitious as* she was violent, when she
felt her chamber rock beneath her, shud-
dering at the manifest wrath of Heaven,
fell on her knees, and entreated the em-
peror to revoke the fatal sentence. She
wrote a hasty letter disclaiming all hostil-
ity to the banished prelate, and protesting
that she was “ innocent of his blood.”
The next day the palace was surrounded
by clamorous multitudes, impatiently de-
manding his recall. The voice of the
people and the voice of God seemed to join
in the vindication of Chrysostom. The
edict of recall was issued ; the Return of
Bosphorus swarmed with barks, Chrysostom,
eager to communicate the first intelligence,
and to obtain the ^honour of bringing back
the guardian and the pride of the city.
He was met on his arrival by the whole
population, men, women, and children all
who could bore torches in their hands,
and hymns of thanksgiving, composed for
the occasion, were chanted before him as
he proceeded to the great church. His
enemies fled on all sides. Soon after,
Theophilus, on the demand of a free coun-
cil, left Constantinople at the dead of
night, and embarked for Alexandrea.

There is again some doubt as to the au-
thenticity of the first discourse delivered
by Chrysostom on this occasion, none of
the second. But the first was an extem-
poraneous address, to which the extant
speech appears to correspond. “ What
shall I sayl Blessed be God! These
were my last words on my departure,
these the first on my return. Blessed be404

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

God! because he permitted the storm to
rage ; blessed be God! because he has
allayed it. Let my enemies behold how
their conspiracy has advanced my peace
and redounded to my glory. Before, the
church alone was crowded, now the whole
forum is become a church. The games
are celebrating in the circus, but the whole
people pour like a torrent to the church..
Your prayers in my behalf are more glo-
rious than a diadem—the prayers both of
men and women; for in Christ there is
neither male nor female.”

In the second oration he draws an elab-
orate comparison between the situation
of Abraham in Egypt and his own. The
barbarous Egyptian (this struck, no doubt,
at Theophilus) had endeavoured to defile
his Sarah, the Church of Constantinople ;
but the faithful Church had remained, by
the power of God, uncontaminated by this
rebuked Abimelech. He dwelt with par-
donable pride on the faithful attachment
of his followers. They had conquered ;
but how 1 by prayer and submission. The
enemy had brought arms into the sanctu-
ary ; they had prayed; like a spider’s web
the enemy had been scattered, they re-
mained firm as a rock. The empress her-
self had joined the triumphal procession,
when the sea became, as the city, covered
with all ranks, all ages, and both sexes.*

But the peace and triumph of Chrysos-
tom were not lasting. As the fears of the
empress were allayed, the old feeling of
hatred to the bishop, imbittered by the
shame of defeat, and the constant suspi-
cion that either the preacher or his audi-
ence pointed at her his most vigorous dec-
lamation, rankled in the mind of Eudoxia.
It had become a strife for ascendancy, and
neither could recede with safety and hon-
our. Opportunities could not but oc-
cur to enrage and exasperate ; nor would
ill-disposed persons be wanting to inflame
the passions of the empress, by misrepre-
senting and personally applying the bold
and indignant, language of the prelate.

A statue of the empress was about to
statue of the be erected ; and on these occa-
empress. sions of public festival the peo-
ple were wont to be indulged in dances,
pantomimes, and every kind of theatrical
amusement. The zeal of Chrysostom
was always especially directed against
these idolatrous amusements, which often,
he confesses, drained the church of his
hearers. This, now ill-timed, zeal was es-
pecially awakened because the statue was.
to be erected, and the rejoicings to take

* Chrysostom, in both these discourses, states a
curious circumstance, that the Jews of Constanti-
nople took great interest in his cause.

place, in front of the entrance to the great
church, the St. Sophia. His denunciations
were construed into personal insults to the
empress ; she threatened a new council.
The prelate ,threw of!' the remaining re-
straints of prudence; repeated more ex-
plicitly the allusion which he had before
but covertly hinted. He thundered out a
homily, with the memorable exordium,

“ Herodias is maddening, Herodias is dan-
cing, Herodias demands the head of John.”
If Chrysostom could even be suspected oil
such daring outrage against the temporal
sovereign; if he ventured on language
approaching to such unmeasured hostility,
it was manifest that either the imperial au-
thority must quail and submit to the sa-
cerdotal domination, or employ without
scruple its power to crush the bold usur-
pation.

An edict of the emperor suspended
the prelate from his functions, second con-
Though forty-two bishops ad- tarnation of
hered with inflexible fidelity to Chr>'sostom.
his cause, he was condemned by a second
hostile council, not on any new charge,
but for contumacy in resisting the decrees
of the former assembly, and for a breach
of the ecclesiastical laws in resuming his
authority while under the condemnation
of a council.

The soldiers of the emperor were more
dangerous enemies than the prel- Aj>. 404.
ates. In the midst of the sol- Tumults m
emn celebration of Good Friday, the Church'
in the great Church of Santa Sophia, the
military forced their way, not merely into
the nave, but up to the altar, on which
were placed the' consecrated elements.
Many were trodden under foot; many
wounded by the swords of the soldiers ;
the clergy were dragged to prison ; some
females, who were about to be baptized,
were obliged to fly with their disordered.
apparel: the waters of the font were
stained with blood; the soldiers pressed
up to the altar; seized the sacred vessels
as their plunder: the sacred elements
were scattered around ; their garments
were bedewed with the blood o.f the Re-
deemer.* Constantinople for several days
had the appearance of a city which had
been stormed. Wherever the partisans
of Chrysostom were assembled, they were
assaulted and dispersed by the soldiery ;
females were exposed to insult, and one
frantic attempt was made to assassinate
the prelate.f

* Chrysostom, Epist. ad Innocentium, c. iii., v.
iii., p. 519. Chrysostom exempts the emperor
from all share in this outrage, but attributes it to
the hostile bishops

f See Letter to Olympias, p. 548.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

405

Chrysostom at length withdrew from
Chrysostom the contest; he escaped from the
surrenders, friendly custody of his adherents,
and surrendered himself to the imperial
officers. He was immediately conveyed
by night to the Asiatic shore. At the in-
stant of his departure, another fearful ca-
lamity agitated the public mind. The
church which he left burst into flames,
and the conflagration, said to have first
broken out in the episcopal throne, reach-
ed the roof of the building, and spread
from thence to the senate-house. These
two magnificent edifices, the latter of
which contained some noble specimens
of ancient art, became in a few hours a
mass of ruins. The partisans of Chry-
sostom, and Chrysostom himself, were, of
course, accused of this act, the author of
which was never discovered, and in which
no life was lost. But the bishop was
charged with the horrible design of de-
stroying his enemies in the church; his
followers were charged with the guilt of
incendiarism with a less atrocious object,
that no bishop after Chrysostom might be
seated in his pontifical throne.*

The prelate was not permitted to choose
his place of exile. The peaceful spots
which might have been found in the more
genial climate of Bithynia or the adjacent
provinces, would have been too near the
capital. He was transported to Cucusus,
a small town in the mountainous and sav-
age district of Armenia. On his journey
thither of several days, he suffered much
from fever and disquiet of mind, and from
the cruelty of the officer who commanded
the guard.

Yet his influence was not extinguished
. by his absence. The Eastern
Church was almost governed
from the solitary cell of Chrysostom.
He corresponded with all quarters; wom-
en of rank and opulence sought his soli-
tude in .disguise. The bishops of many
distant sees sent him assistance, and cov-
eted his advice. The Bishop of Rome
received his letters with respect, and
wrote back ardent commendations of his
patience. The exile of Cucusus exer-
cised, perhaps, more extensive authority
than the Patriarch of Constantinople.!

* There are three laws in the Theodosian Code
igainst unlawful and seditious meetings (conventi-
cula), directed against the followers of Chrysos-
tom : the Joannitae, as they were called, “ qui sac-
rilege animo auetoritatem nostri numinis ausi fue-
rint expugnare ” The deity is the usual term, hut
the deity of the feeble Arcadius and the passionate
Eudoxia reads strangely.

f Among his letters may be remarked those
written to the celebrated Olympias. This wealthy
widow, who had refused the solicitations or com-

He was not, howevei, permitted to re-
main in peace in this miserable seclu-
sion : sometimes his life was endangered
by the invasions of the Isaurian marau-
ders ; and he was obliged to take refuge
in a neighbouring fortress named Ardissa.
He encouraged his ardent disciples with
the hope, the assurance, of his speedy re-
turn ; but he miscalculated the obstinate
and implacable resentment of his perse-
cutors. At length an order came to re-
move him to Pityus, on the Euxine, a still
more savage place on the verge of the
empire. He died on the journey, near
Comana, in Pontus.

Some years afterward, the remains of
Chrysostom were transported to His remain8
Constantinople with the utmost transported
reverence, and received with J°no°{eSlan'
solemn .pomp. Constantinople p
and the imperial family submitted with
eager zeal to worship as a saint him whom
they would not endure as a prelate.

The remarkable part in the whole of
this persecution of Chrysostom is, that it
arose not out of difference of doctrine or
polemic hostility. No charge of heresy
darkened the pure fame of the great Chris-
tian orator. His persecution had not the
dignity of conscientious bigotry ; it was
a struggle for power between the tempo-
ral and ecclesiastical supremacy; but the
passions and the personal animosities of
ecclesiastics, the ambition, and perhaps
the jealousy of the Alexandrean patri.
arch as t*o jurisdiction, lent themselves to
the degradation of the episcopal authority
in Constantinople, from which it never
rose. No doubt the choleric temper, the
overstrained severity,, the monastic hab-
its, the ambition to extend his authority,
perhaps, beyrnnd its legitimate bounds, and
the indiscreet zeal of Chrysostom, laid
him open to his adversaries ; but in any
other station, in the episcopate of any
other city, these infirmities would have
been lost in the splendour of his talents
and his virtues. Though he might not
have weaned the general mass of the peo-
ple from their vices or their amusements,
which he proscribed with equal severity,
yet he would have commanded general
respect; and nothing less than a schism

mands of Theodosius to marry one of his favourites,
had almost washed away, by her austerities and
virtues, the stain of. her nuptials, and might rank
in Christian estimation with those unsullied vir-
gins who had never been contaminated by mar-
riage. She was the friend of all the distinguished
and orthodox clergy; of Gregory of Nazianzum,
and of Chrysostom. Chrysostom records to hei
praise, that by her austerities she had brought on
painful diseases, which baffled the art of medicine.
—Chrysost, Foist., viii., p. 540.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

406

arising out of religious difference would
have shaken or impaired his authority.

At all events, the fall of Chrysostom
was an inauspicious omen, and a warning
which might repress the energy of future
prelates; and, doubtless, the issue of this
conflict materially tended to degrade the
office of the chief bishop in the Eastern
empire. It may be questioned whether
the proximity of the court, and such a
court as that of the East, would under
any circumstances have allowed the epis-
copate to assume its legitimate power,
far less to have encroached on the tem-
poral sovereignty. But after this time
the Bishop of Constantinople almost sank
into a high officer of state; appointed by
the influence, if not directly nominated by
the emperor, his gratitude was bound to
reverence or his prudence to dread that
arbitrary power which had raised him
from nothing, and might dismiss him to his
former insignificance. Except on some
rare occasions, he bowed with the rest of I
the empire before the capricious will of j

the sovereign or the ruling favourite; he
was content if the emperor respected the
outward ceremonial of the Church, and
did not openly espouse any heretical doc-
trine.

Christianity thus remained in some re-
spects an antagonist principle, counter-
acting by its perpetual remonstrance, and
rivalling by its attractive ceremonial, the
vices and licentious diversions of the cap-
ital ; but its moral authority was not al-
lied with power; it quailed under the uni-
versal despotism, and was entirely ineffi-
cient as a corrective of imperial tyranny.
It thus escaped the evils inseparable from
the undue elevation of the sacerdotal char-
acter, and the temptations to encroach be-
yond its proper limits on the civil power;
but it likewise gradually sank far below
that uncompromising independence, that
venerable majesty, which might impose
some restraint on the worst excesses oI
violence, and infuse justice and humanity
into the manners of the. court and of the
people.

CHAPTER X

THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE WEST.

The character and the fate of Ambrose
Ambrose, °^*er strongest contrast with
Archbishop that of Chrysostom. Ambrose
of Milan. was n0 dreaming solitary, brought
up in the seclusion of the desert, or among
a fraternity of religious husbandmen. . He
had been versed in civil business from his
youth; he had already obtained a high sta-
tion in the imperial service. His elo-
quence had little of the richness, imagina-
tive variety, or dramatic power of the Gre-
cian orator; hard but vigorous, it was Ro-
man, forensic, practical; we mean where
it related to affairs of business or address-
ed men in general; it has, as we shall
hereafter observe, a very different charac-
ter in some of his theological writings.

In Ambrose the sacerdotal character
assumed a dignity and an influence as yet
unknown; it first began to confront the
throne, not only on terms of equality, but
of superior authority, and to exercise a
spiritual dictatorship over the supreme
magistrate. The resistance of Athana-
sius to the imperial authority had been
firm but deferential, passive rather than
aggressive. In his public addresses he
had respected the majesty of*the empire ;
at all events, the hierarchy of that period
only questioned the authority of the sov-

ereign in matters of faith. But in Am-
brose the episcopal power acknowledged
no limits to its moral dominion, and ad-
mitted no distinction of persons. While
the bishops of Rome were comparatively
without authority, and still partially ob-
scured by the concentration of paganism
in the aristocracy of the Capitol, the
Archbishop of Milan began to develop pa-
pal power and papal imperiousness. Am-
brose was the spiritual ancestor of the Hil-
debrands and the Innocents. Like Chry-
sostom, Ambrose had to strive against the
passionate animosity of an' empress, not
merely exasperated against him by his sus-
pected disrespect and disobedience, but by
the bitterness of religious difference. Yet
how opposite the result! And Ambrose
had to assert his religious authority, not
against the feeble Arcadius, but against bis
father, the great Theodosius. We cannot,
indeed, but recognise something of the un-
degraded Roman of the Whst in Ambrose;
Chrysostom lias something of the feeble-
ness and degeneracy of the Byzantine.

The father of Ambrose, who bore the
same name, had administered the Youth of
province of Gaul as prsetorian pre- Ambrose-.,
feet. The younger Ambrose, while pur-
suing his studies at Rome, had attractedHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

407

uie notice of Probus, praetorian prefect of
Italy. Ambrose, through his influence,
was appointed to the administration of the
provinces of AEmilia and Liguria.* * * § Pro-
bus was a Christian, and his parting ad-
monition to the young civilian was couch-
ed in these prophetic words: “ Rule the
province, not as a judge, but as a bishop.”f
Milan was within the department assigned
to Ambrose. This city had now begun al-
most to rival or eclipse Rome, as the capi-
tal of the Occidental empire, and from the
celebrity of its schools it was called the
Athens of the West. The Church of Mi-
lan was rent with divisions. On a vacan-
cy caused by the death of Auxentius, the
celebrated Arian, the two parties, the Ari-
an and the Athanasian, violently contested
the appointment of the bishop.

Ambrose appeared in his civil character,
Ambrose aRay the tumult by the awe of
bishop^ his presence and by the persua-
a.d.374. sjve force 0f hjs eloquence. He
spoke so wisely, and in such a Christian
spirit, that a general acclamation suddenly
broke forth, “Ambrose, be bishop—Am-
brose, be bishop.” Ambrose was yet only
a catechumen; he attempted in every way,
by assuming a severe character as a ma-
gistrate, and by flight, to elude the unex-
pected honour.J The ardour of the peo-
ple and the approbation of the emperor^
compelled him to assume the office. Am-
brose cast off* at once the pomp and maj-
esty of his civil state ; but that which was
in some degree disadvantageous to Chry-
sostom, his severe simplicity of life, only
increased the admiration and attachment
of the less luxurious, or, at least, less ef-
feminate West to their pious prelate: for
Ambrose assumed only the austerity,
nothing of the inactive and contemplative
seclusion, of the monastic system. The
Ambrose ihe only Eastern influence which
advocate of fettered his strong mind was his
celibacy. earnest admiration of celibacy ;
in all other respects he was a Roman
statesman, not a meditative Oriental or
rhetorical Greek. The strong contrast of
this doctrine with the dissolute manners
of Rome, which no doubt extended to Mi-
lan, made it the more impressive : it was
received with all the ardour of novelty,
and the impetuosity of the Italian charac-
ter ; it captivated all ranks and all orders.

* Chiefly from the life of Ambrose affixed to the
Benedictine edition of his works; the life by Pauli-
nus, and Tillemont.

f Paul., Vit. Ambros., 8.

t He Offic. Vita S. Arnbros., p. xxxiv. Epist.
xxi., p. 865. Epist. Ixiii.

§ Compare the account of Valentinian’s conduct
in Theodoret, iv., 7.

Mothers shut up their daughters, lest they
should be exposed to the chaste seduction
of the bishop’s eloquence; and, binding
themselves by rash vows of virginity, for-
feit the hope of becoming Roman matrons.
Ambrose, immediately on his appointment
under Valentinian I., asserted that eccle-
siastical power which he confirmed under
the feeble reign of Gratian and Valentinian
II. ;* he maintained it when he was con-
fronted by a nobler antagonist, the great
Theodosius. He assumed the office of
director of the royal conscience, a*id he
administered it with all the uncompromi-
sing moral dignity which had no indul-
gence for unchristian vices, for injustice or
cruelty, even in an emperor, and with ail
the stern and conscientious intolerance of
one with whom hatred of paganism and of
heresy were articles of his creed. The
Old and the New Testament met in the
person of Ambrose : the implacable hos-
tility to idolatry, the abhorrence of every
deviation from the established formulary
of belief; the wise and courageous benev-
olence, the generous and unselfish devo-
tion to the great interests of humanity.

If Christianity assumed a haughtier and
more rigid tone in the conduct and wri-
tings of Ambrose, it was by no means for-
getful of its gentler duties, in allaying hu-
man misery, and extending its beneficent
care to the utmost bounds of society.
With Ambrose it began its high office of
mitigating the horrors of slavery, which,
now that war raged in turn on every fron-
tier, might seem to threaten individually
the whole free population of the empire.
Rome, which had drawn new supplies of
slaves from almost every frontier of her
dominions, now suffered fearful reprisals ;
her free citizens were sent into captivity
and sold in the markets by the barbarians,
whose ancestors had been bought and bar-
tered by her insatiable slave-trade. The
splendid offerings of piety, the Redemption
ornaments, even the consecrated of captives
vessels of the churches, were byArnbrose*
prodigally expended by the Bishop of Mi-
lan in the redemption of captives.f “ The
Church possesses gold, not to treasure up,
but to distribute it for the welfare and hap-
piness of men. We are ransoming the
souls of men from eternal perdition. It is
not merely the lives of men and the hon-
our of women which are endangered in
captivity, but the faith of their children.
The blood of redemption which has gleam-
ed in those golden, cups has sanctified

■* Theodoret, iv., 7.

f Numerent quos redemerint templa captivo<-
So Ambrose appeals in excusable pride to a hea-
then orator.—Ambros., Epist. ii., in Syrnmachum.408

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

them, not for the service alone, but for the
redemption of man.”* These arguments
may be considered as a generous repudia-
tion of the ecclesiastical spirit for the no-
bler ends of beneficence ; and no doubt, in
that mediation of the Church between
mankind and the miseries of slavery,
which was one of her most constant and
useful ministrations during the darker pe-
riod of human society, the example and
authority of Ambrose perpetually encour-
aged the generosity of the more liberal,
and repressed the narrow views of those
who considered the consecrated treasures
of the Church inviolable, even for these
more sacred objects.f

The ecclesiastical zeal of Ambrose, like
that of Chrysostom, scorned the limits of
his own diocese. The see of Sirmium
was vacant; Ambrose appeared in that
city to prevent the election of an Arian,
and to secure the appointment of an ortho-
dox bishop. The strength of the opposite
. party lay in the zeal and influence
' of the Empress .Tustina. Ambrose
defied both, and made himself a powerful
and irreconcilable enemy.

But for a time Justina was constrained
to suppress her resentment. In a
' ’ ' few years Ambrose appears in a

new position for a Christian bishop, as the
mediator between rival competitors for the
empire. The ambassador sent to Maxi-
mus (who had assumed the purple in Gaul,
and, after the murder of Gratian, might
be reasonably suspected of hostile designs
on Italy) was no distinguished warrior or
influential civilian; the difficult negotia-
tion was forced upon the Bishop of Milan.
The character and weight of Ambrose ap-
peared th*e best protection of the young
Valentinian. Ambrose is said to have re-
ad 375 fused t0 communicate with Maxi-
/0’ mus, the murderer of his sover-
eign. The interests of his earthly mon-
arch or of the empire would not induce
him to sacrifice for an instant those of his
heavenly Master; he would have no fel-
lowship with the man of blood.J Yet so
completely, either by his ability as a ne-
gotiator, or his dignity and sanctity as a
prelate, did he overawe the usurper as to
avert the evils of war, and to arrest the
hostile invasion of his diocese and of Italy.
He succeeded in establishing peace.

But the gratitude of Justina for this es-
sential service could not avert the collision
of hostile religious creeds. The empress

* Offic., c. 15, c. 28.

f Even Fleury argues that these could not be
consecrated vessels.

t The seventeenth Epistle of Ambrose relates
the whole transaction, p. 852.

demanded one of the churches Dispute wan-
in Milan for the celebration of the Empress
the Arian service. The first Justnm-
and more modest request named the Por-
cian Basilica without the gates, but these
demands rose to the new and largest edi-
fice within the walls.* The answer of
Ambrose was firm and distinct; it assert-
ed the inviolability of all properly in the
possession of the Church : “ A bishop can-
not alienate that which is dedicated to
God.” After some fruitless negotiation,
the officers of the emperor proceeded to
take possession of the Porcian Basilica.
Where these buildings had belonged to the.
state, the emperor might still, perhaps,
assert the right of property. Tumults
arose : an Arian priest was severely han-
dled, and only rescued from the hands of
the populace by the influence of Ambrose.
Many wealthy persons were thrown into
prison by the government, and heavy fines
exacted on account of these seditions.
But the inflexible Ambrose persisted in
his refusal to acknowledge the imperial
authority over things dedicated to God.
When he was commanded to allay the
populace, “ It is in my power,” he answer-
ed, “ to refrain from exciting their violence,
but it is for God to appease it when
excited.”! The soldiers surrounded the
building; they threatened to violate the
sanctity of the church in which Ambrose
was performing the usual solemnities.
The bishop calmly continued his func-
tions, and his undisturbed countenance
seemed as if his whole mind was absorbed
in its devotion. The soldiers entered the
church; the affrighted females began to
fly; but the rude and armed men fell on
their knees, and assured Ambrose that they
came to pray, and not to fight.J Ambrose
ascended the pulpit; his sermon was on
the Book of Job; he enlarged on the con
duct of the wife of the patriarch, who com-
manded him to blaspheme God; he com-*
pared the empress with this example of
impiety ; he went onto compare her with
Eve, with Jezebel, with Herodias. “ The
emperor demands a church : what has the
emperor to do with the adulteress, the
church of the heretics 1” Intelligence ar-
rived that the populace were tearing down

* Paul., Vit. Ambrose. Ambros., Epist. xx.
f Referebam in meo jure esse, ut non excitarem,
in Dei manu, uti mitagaret.

t It would be curious if we could ascertain the
different constitution of the troops employed in the
irreverent scenes in the churches of Alexandrea
and Constantinople, and here at Milan. Were the
one raised from the vicious population of the East-
ern cities, the other partly composed of barbarians ?■
How much is justly to be attributed to the charactei
of the prelate?HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

409

the hangings of the church, on which was
the sacred image of the sovereign, and
which had been suspended in the Porcian
Basilica as a sign that the church had
been taken into the possession of the em-
peror. Ambrose sent some of his priests
to allay the tumult, but went not himself.
He looked triumphantly around on his
armed devotees : “ The Gentiles have en-
tered into the inheritance of the Lord, but
the armed Gentiles have become Chris-
tians and coheirs of God. My enemies
are now my defenders.”

A confidential secretary of the emperor
appeared, not to expel or degrade the re-
fractory prelate, but to deprecate his tyr-
anny. “ Why do ye hesitate to strike
down the tyrant,” replied Ambrose ; “ my
only defence is in my power of exposing
my lifje for the honour of God,” He pro-
ceeded with proud humility, “Under the
ancient law, priests have bestowed, they
have not condescended to assume, empire ;
kings have desired the priesthood rather
than priests the royal power.” He ap-
pealed to his influence over Maximus,
which had averted the invasion of Italy.
The emperor The imperial authority quailed
yields to Am- before the resolute prelate; the
brosc- soldiers were withdrawn, the
prisoners released, and the fines annulled.*
When the emperor himself was urged to
confront Ambrose in the Church, Ihe timid
or prudent youth replied, “ His eloquence
would compel yourselves to lay me bound
hand and foot before his throne.” To
such a height had the sacerdotal power
attained in the West, when wielded by a
man of the energy and determination of
Ambrose.f

But the pertinacious animosity of the
empress was not yet exhausted. A law
was passed authorizing the assemblies of
the Arians. A second struggle took place :
a new triumph for Ambrose ; anew defeat
for the imperial power. From his inviola-
ble citadel, his church, Ambrose uttered,
in courageous security, his defiance. An
emphatic sentence expressed the prelate’s
notion of the relation of the civil and re-
ligious power, and proclaimed the subor-
dination of the emperor within the mys-

* Certatim hoc nuntiare milites, irruentes in al-
taria, osculis significare pacis insigne. Ambrose
perceived that God had stricken Lucifer, the great
dragon (vermern antelucanum).

t Ambrose relates that one of the officers of the
court, more daring than the rest, presumed to resent
this outrage, as he considered it, on the emperor.
“ While 1 live, dost thou thus.treat Valentinian with
contempt? I will strike off thy head.” Ambrose
replied, “ God grant that thou mayst fulfil thy men-
ace. 1 shall suffer the fate of a bishop ; thou wilt
do the act of a eunuch (tu facies, quod spadones).

3 F

terious circle of st eerdotal authority:

“ The emperor is of the Church, and in
the Church, but not above the Church.”

Was it to be supposed that the remon-
strances of expiring paganism would make
any impression upon a court thus under
subjection to one who, by exercising the
office of protector in the time of peril, as-
sumed the right to dictate on subjects
which appeared more completely within
his sphere of jurisdiction? If Arianism
in the person of the empress' was com-
pelled to bow, paganism could scarcely
hope to obtain even a patient hearing.

We have already related the contest be-
tween expiring Polytheism and ascendant
Christianity in the persons of Symmachus
and of Ambrose. The more polished pe-
riods and the gentle dignity of Symma-
chus might delight the old aristocracy of
Rome. But the full flow of the more ve-
hement eloquence of Ambrose, falling into
the current of popular opinion at Milan,
swept all before it.* By this time the Old
Testament language and sentiment with
regard to idolatry were completely incor-
porated with the Christian feeling ; and
when Ambrose enforced on a Christian
emperor the sacred duty of intolerance
against opinions and practices, which
scarcely a century before had been the es-
tablished religion of the empire, his zeal
was supported almost by the unanimous
applause of the Christian world.

Ambrose did not rely on his eloquence
alone, or on the awfulness of his sacerdo-
tal character, to control the public mind.
The champion of the Church was invested
by popular belief, perhaps by his own ar-
dent faith, with miraculous power, and
the high state of religious excitement was
maintained in Milan by the increasing dig-
nity and splendour of the ceremonial, and
by the pompous installation of the relics
of saints within the principal church.

It cannot escape the observation of a

* The most curious fact relating to Ambrose is
the extraordinary contrast between his vigorous,
practical, and statesmanlike character as a man, as
well as that of such among his writings as may be
called public and popular, and the mystic subtlety
which fills most of his theological works. He treats
the Scripture as one vast allegory, and propounds
his own fanciful interpretation or corollaries witl
as much authority as if they were the plain sense o.
the sacred writer. No retired schoolman follows
out the fantastic analogies and recondite significa-
tions which he perceives in almost every word, with
the vain ingenuity of Ambrose : every word or num-
ber reminds him of every other place in the Scrip-
ture in which the same word or number occurs ;
ar„J, stringing them together with this loose con
nexion, he works out some latent mystic significa-
tion which he would suppose to have been within
the intention of the inspired writer.—See particu
larly the Hexaemeron.410

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

calm inquirer into the history of man, or
be disguised by an admirer of a rational,
pious, and instructive Christian ministry,
that whenever, from this period, the cler-
gy possessed a full and dominant power,
the claim to supernatural power is more
frequently and ostentatiously made, while,
where they possess a less complete as-
cendancy, miracles cease. While Am-
brose was at least availing himself of, if
not encouraging, this religious credulity,
Chrysostom, partly, no doubt, from his
own good sense, partly from respect for
the colder and more inquisitive character
of his audience, not merely distinctly dis-
avows miraculous powers in his own per-
son, but asserts that long ago they had
(mine to an end.* * But in Milan the arch-
bishop asserts his own belief in, and the
eager enthusiasm of the people did not
hesitate to embrace as unquestionable
truth, the public display of preternatural
power in the streets of the city. A dream
revealed to the pious prelate the spot
where rested the relics of the martyrs St.
Gervaise and Protadius. As they ap-
proached the spot, a man possessed by a
demon was seized with a paroxysm, which
betrayed his trembling consciousness of
the presence of the holy remains. The
bones of two men of great stature were
found, with much blood.f The bodies

* A la tovto Tzapa /xev tj]v apxvv ,lCLL ava^loig
XaptouaTa ecYlSoto’ xpeiav yap eIxe to 7tahaiov,
r?]g ttlgtcQc Evstca, TCLVTTjQ Trig (3o'/]dsLag* vvv 6e
ovde a^ioig didorai.—In Act., vol. lii., 65. Mr/ tol-
vvv to fir/ yivEoQai vvv orpiEla, TE/c/ir/p/ov ttolov
tov fiy yoyEvrjodai tote, /cal yap drj tote xpvolpug
kyivETO, /cal vvv XPV^'^Q °v ylvETai.—See the
whole passage in Cor., Horn, vi., xi., 45. On Psalm
cx., indeed, vol. v, p. 271, he seems to assert the
continuance of miracles, particularly during the
reign of Julian and of Maximin. But he gives the
death of Julian as one of those miracles. Kcu. yap
teal Sea tovto, /cal St’ '&T£pov to, OTjfiEia EnavoEv
6 Qsog, in Matt., vii., 375. Compare also vol. i., p:
411; xi., 397, in Coloss., on Psalm cxlii., vol. v., p.
4,55. Middleton has dwelt at length on this sub-
ject.—Works, vol. i., p. 103.

Augustine denies the continuance of miracles
with equal distinctness. Cum enim Ecclesia Ca-
tholica per totum orbem diffusa atque fundata sit,
nec miracula ilia in nostra tempora durare permis-
sa sunt, ne animus semper visibilia quaereret, et
eorum consuetudine frigesceret genus hurnanum,
quorum novitate flagravit.—De Vera Kelig., c; 47.
Oper., i„, 765. Yet Fleury appeals, and not without
ground, to the repeated testimony of St. Augustine
as eyewitness of this miracle ; and the reader of St.
Augustine’s works, even his noblest (see lib xx.,
c. 8), the City of God, cannot but call to mind per-
petual instances of miraculous occurrences related
with unhesitating faith. It is singular how often
we hear at one time the strong intellect of Augus-
tine, at another the age of Augustine, speaking in his
works;

f The Arians denied this miracle.—Ambrose,

were disinterred, and conveyed in solemn
pomp to the Ambrosian Church. They
were reinterred under the altar; they be ■
came the tutelary saints of the spot.* A
blind butcher, named Severus, recovered
his eyesight by the application of a hand-
kerchief whichhad touched the relics, and
this was but one of many wonders which
were universally supposed to have been
wrought by the smallest article of dress
which had imbibed the miraculous virtue
of these sacred bones.

The awe-struck mind was never per-
mitted to repose; more legitimate means
were employed to maintain the ardent be-
lief thus enforced upon the multitude.
The whole ceremonial of the Church was
conducted by Ambrose with unrivalled so-
lemnity and magnificence. Music was
cultivated with the utmost care ; some of
the noblest hymns of the Latin Church
are attributed to Ambrose himself, and the
Ambrosian service for a long period dis-
tinguished the Church of Milan by the
grave dignity and simple fulness of its
harmony, f

But the sacerdotal dignity of Ambrose
might command a feeble boy : he had now
to confront the imperial majesty in the
person of one of the greatest men who
had ever worn the Roman purple. Even
in the midst of his irreconcilable feud with
the heretical empress, Ambrose had been
again entreated to spread the shield of his
protection over the youthful emperor. He
had undertaken a second 'em- second
bassy to the usurper Maximus, embassy to
Maximus, as if he feared the aw- Maximus-
ful influence of Ambrose over his mind,
refused to admit the priestly ambassador
except to a public audience. Ambrose
was considered as condescending from
his dignity in approaching the throne of
the emperor. The usurper reproached
him for his former interference, by which
he had been arrested in his invasion of It-
aly, and had lost the opportunity of becom-
ing master of the unresisting province.

Epist. xxii. Invenimus mine magnitudinis viros
duos, ut prisca (Bias ferebat. Did Ambrose suppose
that the race of men had degenerated in the last
two or three centuries ? or that the heroes of the
faith had been gifted with heroic stature? The
sermon of Ambrose is a strange rhapsody, which
would only suit a highly-excited audience. He
acknowledges that these martyrs were unknown,
and that the Church of Milan was before barren of
relics.

* “ Succedunt victim® triumphales in locum ubi
Christus natus est; sed ille super altare qui pro
omnibus passus est; ist-i sub altari qui illius reveriti
sunt passionembut Ambrose calls them the guar-
dians and defenders of the Church.

t This subject will recur at a later part of this
volume.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

411

Ambrose answered with pardonable pride
that he accepted the honourable accusa-
tion of having- saved the orphan emperor.
Me then arrayed himself, as it were, in his
priestly inviolability, reproached Maximus
with the murder of Gratian, and demand-
ed his remains. He again refused all
spiritual communion with one guilty of in-
nocent blood, for which, as yet, he had sub-
mitted to no ecclesiastical penance. Max-
imus, as might have been expected, drove
from his court the daring prelate who had
thus stretched to the utmost the sanctity
of person attributed to an ambassador and
a bishop. Ambrose, however, returned,
not merely safe, but without insult or out-
rage, to his Italian diocese.*

The arms of Theodosius decided the
Accession of contest, and secured the trem-
Theodosius. bling throne of Valentinian the
a.d.-3o8. Younger. But the accession of
Theodosius, instead of obscuring the ri-
val pretensions of the Church to power
and influence, seemed to confirm and
strengthen them. That such a mind as
that of Theodosius should submit with
humility to ecclesiastical remonstrance
and discipline, tended, no doubt, beyond
all oilier events, to overawe mankind.
Everywhere else throughout the Roman
world, the state, and even the Church,
bowed at the feet of Theodosius; in Mi-
lan alone, in the height of- his power, he
was confronted and subdued by the more
commanding mind and religious majesty
of Ambrose. His justice as well as his
dignity quailed beneath the ascendancy
of the prelate. A synagogue of the Jews
Jewish syn- Callinicum, in Osroene, had
agogue de- been burned by the Christians,
stroyed. was at instigation, if

not under the actual sanction, of the bish-
op. The church of the Valentinian Gnos-
tics had likewise been destroyed and plun-
dered by the zeal of some monks. Theo-
dosius commanded the restoration of the
synagogue at the expense of the Chris-
tians, and a fair compensation to the he-
retical Valentinians for their losses.

The pious indignation of Ambrose was
not restrained either by the remoteness
of these transactions from the scene of
his own labours, or by the undeniable vi-
Conduct of olence of the Christian party.
Ambrose. [qe st0od forward, designated, it
might seem, by his situation and charac-
ter, as the acknowledged champion of the
whole of Christianity; the sacerdotal
power was imbodied in his person. In a
letter to the emperor, he boldly vindicated
the bishop ; he declared himself, as far as

* Epist. xxiv.

his approbation could make him so, an ac-
complice in the glorious and holy crime.
If martyrdom was the consequence, he
claimed the honour of that martyrdom ;
declared it to be utterly irreconcilable
with Christianity that it should in any
way contribute to the restoration of Jew-
ish or heretical worship.* If the bish-
op should comply with the mandate, he
would be an apostate, and the emperor
would be answerable for his apostacy.
This act was but a slight and insufficient
retaliation for the deeds of plunder and de-
struction perpetrated by the Jews and here-
tics against orthodox Christians. The let-
ter of Ambrose did not produce the desired
effect; but the bishop renewed his address
in public in the church, and at length ex-
torted from the emperor the impunity of
the offenders. Then, and not till then, he
condescended to approach the altar, and
to proceed with the service of God.

Ambrose felt his strength ; he feared
not to assert that superiority of the altar
over the throne which was a fundamental
maxim of his Christianity. There is no
reason to ascribe to ostentation, or to sa-
cerdotal ambition rather than to- the pro-
found conviction of his mind, the dignity
which he vindicated for the priesthood, the
authority supreme and without appeal in
all things which related to the ceremonial
of religion. Theodosius endured, and the
people applauded, his public exclusion of
the emperor from within the impassable
rails which fenced off the officiating
priesthood from the profane laity. An
exemption had usually been made for
the sacred person of the emperor, and,
according to this usage, Theodosius ven-
tured within the forbidden precincts. Am-
brose, with lofty courtesy, pointed to the
seat or throne reserved for the emperor
at the head of the laity. Theodosius sub-
mitted to the rebuke, and withdrew to the
lowlier station.

But if these acts of Ambrose might to
some appear unwise or unwarrantable ag-
gressions on the dignity of the civil ma-
gistrate, or if to the prophetic sagacity

* Hac proposita conditione, puto dicturum epis-
copum, quod ipse ignes sparserit, turbas compu-
lerit, populos concluserit, ne amittat occasionem
marly rii, ut pro invalidis subjiciat validiorem. O
beatum inendacium quo adquiritur sibi aliorum
absolutio, sui gratia. Hoc est, Imperator, quod
poposci et ego, ut in me magis vindicares, et hoc
si crimen putares mihi adscriberes. Quid mandas
in absentes judicium ? Habes pragsentem, habes
confitentem reum. Proclamo, quod ego synago-
gam incenderim, cert& quod ego illis mandaverim,
ne esset locus, in quo Christus negaretur. Si
objiciatur mihi, cur hie non incenderim? Divino
jam coepit cremari judicio ; meum cessavit opus.—^
Epist. xxiv., p. 561.412

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of others they might foreshow the growth
of an enormous and irresponsible authori-
ty, and awaken well-grounded apprehen-
sion or jealousy, the Roman World could
not withhold its admiration from another
act of the Milanese prelate : it could not
but hail the appearance of a new moral
power, enlisted on the side of humanity
and justice; a power which could bow
the loftiest, as well as the meanest, under
its dominion. For the first time since
the establishment of the imperial despot-
sm, the voice of a subject was heard in
deliberate, public, and authoritative con-
demnation of a deed of atrocious tyranny
and sanguinary vengeance ; for the first
time an emperor of Rome trembled before
public opinion, and humbled himself to a
contrite confession of guilt and cruelty.

With all his wisdom and virtue, Theo-
Massacre or dosius was liable to paroxysms
Thessaionica. of furious and ungovernable an-
a.d. 390. ger< a dispute had arisen in
Thessaionica about a favourite charioteer
in the circus ; out of the dispute a sedi-
tion, in which some lives were lost. The
imperial officers, who interfered to sup-
press the fray, were wounded or slain, and
Botheric, the representative of the em-
peror, treated with indignity. Notwith-
standing every attempt on the part of the
clergy to allay the furious resentment of
Theodosius, the counsels of the more vi-
olent-advisers prevailed. Secret orders
were issued ; the circus, filled with the
whole population of the city, was sur-
rounded by troops, and a general and in-
discriminate massacre of all ages and
sexes, the guilty and the innocent, re-
venged the insult on the imperial dignity.
Seven thousand lives were sacrificed in
this remorseless carnage.

On the first intelligence of this atrocity,
Ambrose, with prudent self-command, kept
aloof from the exasperated emperor. He
retired into the country, and a letter from
his own hand was delivered to the sover-
eign. The letter expressed the horror of
Ambrose and his brother bishops at this
inhuman deed, in which he should consid-
er himself an accomplice if he could re-
frain from expressing liis detestation of
its guilt; if he should not refuse to com-
municate with a man stained with the in-
nocent blood, not of one, but of thousands.
He exhorts him to penitence ; he promis-
es his prayers in his behalf. He acted
up to his declaration; the emperor of
the world found the doors of the Church
closed against him. For eight months
he endured this ignominious exclusion.
Even on the sacred day of the Nativity,
he implored in vain to be admitted within

those precincts which were open to the
slave and to the beggar; those precincts
which were the vestibule to heaven, for
through the Church alone was heaven to
be approached. Submission and remon-
strance were alike in vain; to an urgent
minister of the sovereign, Ambrose calm-
ly replied that the emperor might kill him,
and pass over his body into the sanctuary.

At length Ambrose consented to admit
the emperor to an audience ; with difficul-
ty he was persuaded to permit him to en-
ter, not into the church itself, but into the
outer porch, the place of the public peni-
tents. At length the interdict was re-
moved on two conditions: that.the em-
peror should issue an edict prohibiting the
execution of capital punishments for thir-
ty days after conviction, and that he should
submit to public penance. Stripped of
his imperial ornaments, prostrate on the
pavement, beating his breast, tearing his
hair, watering the ground with his tears,
the master of the Roman empire, the con-
queror in so many victories, the legislator
of the world, at length received, the hard-
wrung absolution.

This was the culminating point of pure
Christian influence. Christianity appear-
ed before the world as the champion and
vindicator of outraged humanity ; as hav-
ing founded a tribunal of justice which
extended its protective authority over the
meanest, and suspended its retributive
penalties over the mightiest of mankind.

Nearly at the same time (about foui
years before) had been revealed First capita,
the latent danger from this new punishment
unlimited sovereignty over the
human mind. The first blood
was judicially shed for religious opinion.
Far, however, from apprehending the fatal
consequences which might arise out of
their own exclusive and intolerant senti-
ments, or foreseeing that the sacerdotal
authority, which they fondly and sincere-
ly supposed they were strengthening for
the unalloyed welfare of mankind, would
seize and wield the sword of persecution
with such remorseless and unscrupulous
severity, this first fatal libation of Christian
blood, which was the act of a usurping
emperor and a few foreign bishops, was
solemnly disclaimed by all the more influ-
ential dignitaries of the Western Church.
Priscillian, a noble and eloquent PriscilIian
Spaniard, had embraced some and his roi-
Manichean or rather Gnostic lowers-
opinions. The same contradictory accu-
sations of the severest asceticism and of
licentious habits, which were so perpet-
ually adduced against the Manicheans,
formed the chief charge against PrisffiFHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

413

kan and his followers. The leaders of
the sect had taken refuge from the perse-
cutions of their countrymen in Gaul, and
propagated their opinions to some extent
in Aquitaine. They were pursued with
unwearied animosity by the Spanish bish-
ops Ithacius and Idacius. Maximus, the
usurping emperor of Gaul, who then re-,
sided at Treves, took cognizance of the
case. In vain the celebrated Martin of
Martin of Tours, whose life was almost an
Tours, unwearied campaign against idol-
atry, and whose unrelenting hand had de-
molished every religious edifice within his
reach ; a prelate whose dread of heresy
was almost as sensitive as of paganism,
urged his protest against these proceed-
ings with all the vehemence of his char-
acter. During his absence, a capital sen-
tence was extorted from the emperor ;
Friscillian arid some of his followers were
put to death" by the civil authority for the
crime of religious error. The fatal pre-
cedent was disowned by the general voice
of Christianity. It required another con-
siderable period of ignorance and bigotry
to deaden the fine moral sense of Chris-
tianity to the total abandonment of its
Conduct of spirit of love. When Ambrose
Ambrose, reproached the usurper with the
murder of his sovereign Gratian, he re-
minded him likewise of the unjust execu-
tion of the Priscillianists ; he refused to
communicate with the bishops who had
any concern in that sanguinary and. un-
christian transaction.*

Ambrose witnessed and lamented the.
ad 392. death of the young Valentinian,
Heath of over whom- he pronounced a
IaDn393iaR* funera* oration. On the usur-
pation of the pagan Eugenius
he fled from Milan, but returned to behold
and to applaud the triumph of Theodosius.
The conquering emperor gave a new proof
ot his homage to Christianity and to its
representative. Under the influence of
Ambrose, he refrained for a time from
communicating in the Christian myste-
ries, because his hands were stained with
blood, though that blood had been shed in
a just and necessary war.f To Ambrose
Death of the dying emperor commended
Theodosius, his sons, and the Bishop of Mi-
a.i). 395. ]an pronounced the funeral ora-
tion over tlig last great emperor of the
world.

He did not long survive his imperial
Death of friend* It' is related that, when
'Ambrose.. Ambrose was on his deathbed,
a.d.397 stilicho, apprehending the loss of

* Ambros., Epist. xxiv. The whole transaction
in Sulpicius Sever., E. II., and Life of St. Martin.

i Oratio de Obitu Theodos.. 34.

such a man to Italy and to Christendom,
urged the principal inhabitants of Milan to
entreat the effective prayers of the bishop
for his own recovery. “ I have not so
lived among you,” replied Ambrose, “ as
to be ashamed to live ; I have so good a
Master that I am not afraid to dje.” Am-
brose expired in the attitude and in the
act of prayer.

While Ambrose was thus assuming an
unprecedented supremacy over his own
age, and deepening and strengthening the
foundation of the ecclesiastical power, Au-
gustine was beginning gradually to con-
summate that total change in human opin-
ion which was to influence the Christian-
ity of the remotest ages.

Of all Christian writers since the apos-
tles, Augustine has maintained
the most permanent and exten- ll?ustine”
sive influence. That influence, indeed,
was unfelt, or scarcely felt, in the East;
but as the East gradually became more
estranged, till it was little more than a
blank in Christian history, the dominion
of Augustine over the opinions of the
Western world was eventually over the
whole of Christendom. Basil and Chry-
sostom spoke a language foreign or dead
to the greater part of the Christian world.
The Greek empire, after the reign of Jus-
tinian, gradually contracting its limits and
sinking into abject superstition, forgot its
own great writers on the more momentous
subjects of religion and morality, for new
controversialists on frivolous and insignifi-
cant points of difference. The more im-
portant feuds, as of Nestorianism, made
little progress in the West; the West re-
pudiated almost with one voice the icon-
oclastic opinions; and at length Moham-
medanism swept away its fairest provin-
ces, and limited the Greek Church to a still
narrowing circle. The Latin language
thus became almost that of Christianity;
Latin writers the sole authority to which
men appealed, or from which they imper-
ceptibly imbibed the tone of religious doc-
trine or sentiment. Of these, Augustine
was the most universal, the most com-
manding, the most influential.

The earliest Christian writers had not
been able or willing altogether to decline
some of the more obvious and prominent
points of the Augustinian theology; but
in his works they were first wrought up
into a regular system. Abstruse topics,
which had been but slightly touched or
dimly hinted in the apostolic writings,
and of which the older creeds had been
entirely silent, became the prominent and
unavoidable tenets of Christian doctrine.
Augustinianism has constantly revived, inHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

414

all its strongest and most peremptory
statements, in every period of religious
excitement. In later days it formed much
of the doctrinal system of Luther; it was
worked up into a still more rigid and un-
compromising system by the severe intel-
lect of Calvin; it was remoulded into the
Roman Catholic doctrine by- Jansenius ;
the popular theology of most of the Prot-
estant sects is but a modified Augustin-
ianism.

Christianity had now accomplished its
Augustinian Divine mission, so far as impreg-
theoiogy. nating the Roman world with its
lirst principles, the unity of God, the im-
mortality of the soul, and future retribu-
tion. These vital questions between the
old paganism and the new religion had
been decided by their almost general adop-
tion into the common sentiments of man-
kind. And now questions naturally and
necessarily arising out of the providential
government of that Supreme Deity, out of
that conscious immortality, and out of that
acknowledged retribution, had begun pro-
foundly to agitate the human heart. The
nature of man had been stirred in its in-
most depths. The hopes and fears, now
centred on another state of being, were
ever restlessly hovering over the abyss
into which they were forced to gaze. As
men were not merely convinced, but deep-
ly penetrated, with the belief that they had
souls to be saved,, the means, the process,
the degree of attainable assurance con-
cerning salvation became subjects of anx-
ious inquiry; Every kind of information
on these momentous topics was demand-
ed with importunity and hailed with ea-
gerness. With the ancient philosophy,
the moral condition of man was a much
simpler and calmer subject of considera-
tion. It could coldly analyze every emo-
tion, trace the workings of every passion,
and present its results ; if in eloquent lan-
guage, kindling the mind of the hearer
rather by that language than by the ex-
citement of the inquiry. It was the at-
tractive form of the philosophy, the ad-
ventitious emotion produced by bold para-
dox, happy invention, acute dialectics,
which amused and partially enlightened
the inquisitive mind. But now, mingled
up with religion, every sensation, every
feeling, every propensity, every thought,
had become, not merely a symptom of the
moral condition, but an element in that
state of spiritual advancement or deteri-
oration which was to be weighed and ex-
amined in the day of judgment. The ul-
timate and avowed object of philosophy,
the summum bonum, the greatest attaina-
ble happiness, shrunk into an unimportant

consideration. These were questions of
spiritual life and death, and the solution
was therefore embraced rather by the will
and the passions than by the cool and so-
ber reason. The solution of these diffi-
culties was the more acceptable in pro-
portion as it was peremptory and dogmat-
ic; anything could be endured rather than
uncertainty; and Augustine himself was
doubtless urged more by the desire' of
peace to his own anxious spirit than by
the ambition of dictating to Christianity
on these abstruse topics. The influence
of Augustine thus concentred the Chris-
tian mind on subjects to which Christian
ity led, but did not answer with fulness
or precision. The Gospels and apostol-
ic writings paused within the border of
attainable human knowledge ; Augustine
fearlessly rushed forward, or was driven
by his antagonists; and partly from the
reasonings of a new religious philosophy,
partly by general inferences from limited
and particular phrases in the sacred wri
tings, framed a complete, it must be ac-
knowledged, and, as far as its own con-
sistency, a harmonious system ; but of
which it was the inevitable tendency to
give an overpowering importance to prob-
lems on which Christianity, wisely meas-
uring, it should seem, the capacity of the
human mind, had declined to utter any
final or authoritative decrees. Almost up
to this period in Christian history,* on
these mysterious topics, all was unques-
tioned and undefined; and though. they
could not but cross the path of Christian
reasoning, could not but be incidentally
noticed, they had as yet undergone no
full or direct investigation. Nothing but
the calmest and firmest philosophy could
have avoided or eluded these points, on
which, though the human mind could not
attain to knowledge, it was impatient of
ignorance. The immediate or more re-
mote, the direct or indirect, the sensible
or the imperceptible, influence of the Di-
vine agency (grace) on the human soul,
with the inseparable consequences of ne-
cessity and free-will, thus became the
absorbing and agitating points of Chris-
tian doctrine. From many causes, these
inevitable questions have forced them-
selves at this period on the general atten-
tion ; Manicheisrn on one hand, Pelagian-
ism on the other, stirred up their darkest

* In the Historia Pelagiana of Vossius may be
found quotations expressive of the sentiments of
the earlier fathers on many of these points. [The
whole subject is far better handled in Walch’s Ket-
zerhistorie, vol. iv.. p. 519, &c.; Miinscher’s I-Tndb.
der Dogmengesch., vol. iv., p. 170, &c.; and in
G. F. Wiggers' Hist. of Augustinianism and l elagi-
anism, translated by Prof. Emerson].HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

415

depths. The Christian mind demanded
on all these topics at once excitement and
rest. Nothing could be more acceptable
than the unhesitating and peremptory de-
cisions of Augustine; and his profound
piety ministered perpetual emotion ; his
glowing and perspicuous language, his con-
fident dogmatism, and the apparent com-
pleteness of his system, offered repose.

But the primary principle of the Au-
gustinian theology was already deeply
rooted in the awe-struck piety of the
Christian world. In this state of the gen-
eral mind, that which brought the Deity
more directly and more perpetually in
contact with the soul, at once enlisted all
minds which were under the shadow of
religious fears, or softened by any milder
religious feeling. It was not a remote
supremacy, a government through unseen
and untraceable influences, a general rev-
erential trust in the Divine protection,
which gave satisfaction to the agitated
spirit; but an actually felt and immediate
presence, operating on each particular and
most minute part of the creation ; not a
regular and unvarying emanation of the
Divine will, but a special and peculiar in-
tervention in each separate case. The
whole course of human events, and the
moral condition of each individual, were
alike under the acknowledged, or con-
scious and direct, operation of the Deity.
But, the more distinct and unquestioned
this principle, the morejthe problem which,
in a different form, had agitated the East-
ern world—the origin of evil—forced it-
self on the consideration. There it had
taken a kind of speculative or theogonical
turn, and allied itself with physical no-
tions ; here it became a moral and prac-
tical, and almost every-day question, in-
volving the prescience of God and the free-
dom of the human soul. Augustine had
rejected Manicheism ; the antagonist and
equally conflicting powers of that system
had offended his high conception of the
supremacy of God. Still his earlier Man-
icheism lent an unconscious colouring to
his maturer opinions.* In another form,
he divided the world into regions of cloud-
less light and total darkness. But he did
not mingle the Deity in any way in the
darkness which enveloped the whole of
mankind, a chosen portion of which alone
were rescued, by the gracious interven-
tion of the Redeemer and the Holy Spirit.
The rest were separated by an insupera-
ble barrier, that of hereditary evil; they
bore within the fatal and inevitable pro-

[* This derivation of the peculiarities of Augus-
tine’s theory to his early Manicheism is ingenious,
hut is ;t capable of proof?]

scription. Within the pale of Election
was the world of Light; without, the world
of Perdition ; and the human soul was so
reduced to a subordinate agent before the
mysterious and inscrutable power which,
by the infusion of faith, rescued it from
its inveterate hereditary propensity, as to
become entirely passive, altogether anni-
hilated, in overleaping the profound though
narrow gulf which divided the two king-
doms of Grace and of Perdition.

Thus, that system which assigned the
most unbounded and universal influence
to the Deity, was seized upon by devout
piety as the truth which it would be an
impious limitation of Omnipotence to
question. Man offered his free agency
on the altar of his religion, and forgot
that he thereby degraded the most won-
derful work of Omnipotence, a being en-
dowed with free agency. While the in-
ternal consciousness was not received as
sufficient evidence of the freedom of tne
will, it was considered as unquestionable
testimony ■ to the operations of Divine
grace.

At all events, these questions now be-
came unavoidable articles of the Christian
faith; from this time the simpler Apos-
tolic Creed, and the splendid amplifica-
tions of the Divine attributes of the Trin-
ity, were enlarged, if not by stern defini-
tions, by dictatorial axioms on original
sin, on grace, predestination, the total de-
pravity of mankind, election to everlast-
ing life, and final reprobation. To the
appellations which awoke what was con-
sidered righteous and legitimate hatred in
all true believers, Arianism and Maniche-
ism, was now added, as a term of equal
obloquy, Pelagianism.*

* The doctrines of Pelagius have been repre-
sented as arising out of the monastic spirit, or, at
least, out of one form of its influence. The high
ideal of moral perfection which the monk set be-
fore himself, the conscious strength of will which
was necessary to aspire to that height, the proud
impatience and disdain of the ordinary excuse for
infirmity, the inherent weakness and depravity of
human nature, induced the colder and more severe
Pelagius to embrace his peculiar tenets : the rejec-
tion of original sin; the assertion of the entire
freedom of the will; the denial or limitation of the
influence of Divine grace. Of the personal history
of Pelagius little is known except that he was a
British or French monk (his name is said, in one
tradition, to have been Morgan); but neither he
nor his colleague Cselestius appears to have been a
secluded ascetic; they dwelt in Rome for some
time, where they propagated their doctrines.-' Of
his character perhaps still less is known* unless
from his tenets, and some fragments of his wri-
tings preserved by his adversaries, excepting that
the blamelessness of his manners is admitted by
his adversaries (the term egregie Christianus is
the expression of St. Augustine); and even the vio-
lent Jerome bears testimony to his innocence of life.416

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Augustine, by the extraordinary adapta-
tion of his genius to his own age, the com-
prehensive grandeur of his views, the in-
tense earnestness of his character, his in-
exhaustible activity, the vigour, warmth,
and perspicuity of his style, had a right to
command the homage of Western Chris-
tendom. He was at once the first universal,
and the purest and most powerful of the
Latin Christian writers. It is singular
that almost all the earlier Christian authors
in the West were provincials, chiefly of
Africa. But the works of Tertullian were
in general brief treatises on temporary
subjects of controversy ; if enlivened by
the natural vehemence and strength of the
man, disfigured by the worst barbarisms
of style. The writings of Cyprian were
chiefly short .epistles or treatises on sub-
jects of immediate or local interest. Au-
gustine retained the fervour and energy of
the African style, with much purer and
more perspicuous Latinity. His ardent
imagination was tempered by reasoning

But the tenets of Augustine appear to flow more
directly from the monastic system. His doctrines
(in his controversy with Pelagius, for in his other
writings he holds another tone) are tinged with the
Encratite or Manichean notion that there was a
physical transmission of sin in the propagation of
children, even in lawful marriage.—(See, among
other writers, Jer. Taylor’s Vindication of his Deus
Justificatus.) Even this concupiscentia carnis pec-
catum est, quia inest illi inobedientia contra domi-
natum mentis.—De Pecc. Remis., i., 3. This is
the old doctrine of the inherent evil of matter.
We are astonished that Augustine, who had been a
father, and a fond father, though of an illegitimate
son, could be driven by the stern logic of polemics
to the damnation of unbaptized infants, a milder
damnation, it is true, to eternal fire. This was the
more genuine doctrine of men in whose hearts all
the sweet charities of life had been long seared up
bv monastic discipline; men like Fulgentius, to
whose name the title of saint is prefixed, and who
lavs down this benignant and Christian axiom :

'• Firrnissime tene et nullatenus dubit.es, parvulos,
sive in uteris matrum vivere. incipiunt, et ibi mori-
uutur, sive cum de matribus nati, sine Sacramento
sancto baptismatis de hoc seculo transeunt, ignis
(Bterni sempiterno supplicio puniendos.'”—Fulgentius,
de Fide, quoted in Vossius, Hist. Pelag., p. 257.

The assertion of the entire freedom of the will,
and the restricted sense in which Pelagius seems
to have received the doctrine.of Divine grace, con-
fining it to the influences of the Divine revelation,
appear to arise out of philosophical reasonings
rather than out of the monastic spirit. The se-
vere monastic discipline was more likely to infuse
the sense of the slavery of the will; and the brood-
ing over bodily and mental emotions, the general
cause and result of the monastic spirit, would tend
to exaggerate rather than to question or limit the
actual, and even sensible workings of the Divine
spirit within the soul. The calmer temperament,
indeed, and probably more peaceful religious de-
velopment of Pelagius, may have disposed him to
his system ; as the more vehement character and
agitated religious life of Augustine, to his vindica-
tion, founded on his internal experience of the con-
stant Divine agency upon the beau and the soul.

powers which boldly grappled with every
subject. He possessed and was unem-
barrassed by the possession of all the
knowledge which had been accumulated
in the Roman world. He commanded the
whole range of Latin literature, and per-
haps his influence over his own hemi-
sphere was not diminished by his igno-
rance, or, at best, imperfect and late-ac-
quired acquaintance with Greek.* But all
his • knowledge and all his acquirements
fell into the train of his absorbing religious
sentiments or passions. On the subjects
with which he was conversant, a calm
and dispassionate philosophy would have
been indignantly repudiated by the Chris-
tian mind, and Augustine’s temperament
was too much in harmony with that of the
time to offend by deficiency in fervour. It
was profound religious agitation, not cold
and abstract truth, which the age required;
the emotions of piety rather than the con-
victions of severe logical inquiry; and in
Augustine, the depth or abstruseness of the
matter never extinguished or allayed the
passion, or, in one sense, the popularity of
his style. At different periods of his life,
Augustine aspired to and .'succeeded in en-
thralling all the various powers and facul-
ties of the human mind. That life was
the type of his theology ; and as it passed
through its various changes of age, of cir-
cumstance, and of opinion, it left its own
impressions strongly and permanently
stamped upon the whole Latin Christian-
ity. The gentleness of his childhood, the
passions of his youth, the studies of his
adolescence, the wilder dreams of his im-
mature Christianity, the Manicheism, the
intermediate stage of Platonism, through
which he passed into orthodoxy, the fer-
vour with which he embraced, the vigour
with which he developed, the unhesitating
confidence with which he enforced his
final creed, all affected more or less the
general mind. His Confessions became
the manual of all those who were forced
by their temperament or inclined by their
disposition to brood over the inward sen-
sations of their own minds ; to trace within
themselves all the trepidations, the mis-
givings, the agonies, the exultations of
the religious conscience ; the gradual for-
mation of opinions till they harden into
dogmas, or warm into objects of ardent
passion. Since Augustine, this internal
autobiography of the soul has always had
the deepest interest for those of strong re-
ligious convictions; it was what multi-

* On St. Augustine’s knowledge of Greek, com-
pare Tillemont, in his Life, p. 7. Punic was still
spoken by the common people in the neighbour-
hood of Carthage.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

417

tudes had felt, but no one had yet imbodied
in words; it was the appalling yet attract-
ive manner in which men beheld all the
conflicts and adventures of their own
spiritual life reflected with bold and speak-
ing truth. Men shrunk from the Divine
and unapproachable image of Christian
perfection in the life of the Redeemer, to
the more earthly, more familiar picture of
the development of the Christian charac-
ter, crossed with the light and shade of
human weakness and human passion.

The religious was more eventful than
the civil life of St. Augustine. He was
bom A.D. 354, in Tagasta, an episcopal
city of Numidia. His parents were Chris-
tians of respectable rank. In his child-
hood he was attacked by a dangerous ill-
ness ; he entreated to be baptized; his
mother Monica took the alarm; all was
prepared for that solemn ceremony ; but
on his recovery it was deferred, and Au-
gustine remained for some years in the
humbler rank of catechumen. He received
the best education in grammar and rhet-
oric which the neighbouring city of Ma-
daura could afford. At seventeen

a.d. 3/i. wag gent Qar{-]lage £0 finish

his studies. Augustine has, perhaps, high-
ly coloured both the idleness of his period
of study in Madaura, and the licentious
habits to which he abandoned himself in
the dissolute city of Carthage. His ardent
mind plunged into the intoxicating enjoy-
ments of the theatre, and his excited pas-
sions demanded every kind of gratification.
He had a natural son, called by the some-
what inappropriate name A-deo-datus. He
was first arrested in his sensual course,
not by the solemn voice of religion, but by
the gentler remonstrances of pagan litera-
ture. He learned from Cicero, not from
the Gospel, the higher dignity of intellect-
ual attainments. From his brilliant suc-
cess in his studies, it is clear that his life,
if yielding at times to the temptations of
youth, was not a course of indolence or
total abandonment to pleasure. It was
the Hortensius of Cicero which awoke his
mind to nobler aspirations and the con-
tempt of worldly enjoyments.

But philosophy could not satisfy the
lofty desires which it had awakened: he
panted for some better hopes and more
satisfactory objects of study. He turned
to the religion of his parents, but his mind
was not subdued to a feeling for the in-
imitable beauty of the New Testament.
Its simplicity of style appeared rude after
the stately march of Tully’s eloquence.
But Manicheism seized at once upon his
kindled imagination. For nine years, from
the age of nineteen to twenty-eight, the
3 G

mind of Augustine wandered among the
vague and fantastic reveries of Oriental
theology. The virtuous and holy Monica,
with the anxious apprehensions and pre-
scient hopes of a mother’s heart, watched
over the irregular development of his
powerful mind. Her distress at his Man-
ichean errors was consoled by an aged
bishop, who had himself been involved in
the same opinions. “Be of good cheer,
the child of so many tears cannot perish.”
The step against which she remonstrated
most strongly led to that result which
she scarcely dared to hope. Augustine
grew discontented with the wild Mani-
chean doctrines, which neither satisfied
the religious yearnings of his heart, nor the
philosophical demands of his understand-
ing. He was in danger of falling into a
desperate Pyrrhonism, or, at best, the
proud indifference of an Academic. He
determined to seek a more distinguished
sphere for his talents as a teacher of rhet-
oric ; and, notwithstanding his mother’s
tears, he left Carthage for Rome. a.d. 383.
The fame of his talents obtained -Etat. 29.
him an invitation to teach at Milan. He
was there within the magic circle of the
great ecclesiastic of the West. But
we cannot pause to trace the throes A‘ ‘
and pangs of his final conversion. The
writings of St. Paul accomplished what
the eloquence of Ambrose had begun. In
one of the paroxysms of his religious
agony, he seemed to hear a voice from
heaven, “ Take and read, take and read.”
Till now he had rejected the writings of
the apostles; he opened on the passage
which contains the awful denunciations of
Paul against the dissolute morals of the
heathen. The conscience of Augustine
recognised “ in the chambering and wan-
tonness” the fearful picture of his own
life; for, though he had abandoned the
looser indulgences of his youth (lie had
lived in strict fidelity, not to a lawful wife
indeed, but to a; concubine), even his
mother was anxious to disengage him, by
an honourable marriage, from the bonds
of a less legitimate connexion. But he
burst at once his thraldom ; shook his old
nature from his heart; renounced forever
all, even lawful indulgences, of the carnal
desires; forswore the world, and with-
drew himself, though without exciting any
unnecessary astonishment among his hear-
ers, from his profaner function as teacher
of rhetoric. His mother, who had Baptism of
followed him to Milan, lived to Augustine
witness his baptism as a Catholic AJ)* 38/‘
Christian by the hands of Ambrose; and
in all the serene happiness of her accom-
plished hopes md prayers, expired in his418

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

arms before his return to Africa. His
son, Adeodatus, who died a few years
afterward, was baptized at the same time.

To return to the writings of St. Augus-
controver- tine, or, rather, to his life in his
siai writings, writings. In his controversial
treatises against the Manicheans and
against Pelagius, Augustine had the pow-
er of seemingly, at least, bringing down
those abstruse subjects to popular com-
prehension. His vehement and intrepid
dogmatism hurried along the unresisting
mind, which was allowed no pause for the
sober examination of difficulties, or was
awed into acquiescence by the still sus-
pended charge of impiety. The imagina-
tion was at the same time kept awake by
a rich vein of allegoric interpretation, dic-
tated by the same bold decision, and en-
forced as necessary conclusions from the
sacred writings, or latent truths intention-
ally wrapped up in those mysterious
phrases.

The City of God was unquestionably the
noblest work, both in its original
iyo 0 ‘ design and in the fulness of its
elaborate execution, which the genius of
man had as yet contributed to the support
of Christianity. Hitherto the Apologies
had been framed to meet particular exi-
gences : they were either brief and preg-
nant statements of the Christian doct rines;
refutations of prevalent calumnies ; invec-
tives against the follies and crimes of pa-
ganism ; or confutations of anti-Christian
works, like those of Celsus, Porphyry, or
Julian, closely following their course of
argument, and rarely expanding into gen-
eral and comprehensive views of the great
conflict. The City of God, in the first
place, indeed, was designed to decide for-
ever the one great question, which alone
kept in suspense the balance between pa-
ganism and Christianity, the connexion
between the fall of the empire and the
miseries under which the whole Roman
society was groaning, with the desertion
of the ancient religion of Rome. Even
this part of his theme led Augustine into a
full, and, if not impartial, yet far more com-
prehensive survey of the whole religion
and philosophy of antiquity, than had been
yet displayed in any Christian work. It
has preserved more on some branches of
these subjects than the whole surviving
Latin literature. The City of God was not
merely a defence, it was likewise an ex-
position of Christian doctrine. The last
twelve books developed the whole system
with a regularity and copiousness, as far
as we know, never before attempted by
any Christian writer. It was the first
complete Christian theology.

The immediate occasion of this impor-
tant work of Augustine was wor-
thy of this powerful concentration
of his talents and knowledge. The cap-
ture of Rome by the Goths had occasion or
appalled the whole empire. So its eomposi-
long as the barbarians only broke tl0!1*
through the frontiers, or severed province
after province from the dominion of the
emperor, men could close their eyes to the
gradual declension and decay of the Ro-
man supremacy ; and in the rapid alterna-
tions of power, the empire, under some
new Csesar or Constantine, might again
throw back the barbaric inroads ; or where
the barbarians were settled within the
frontiers, awe them into peaceful subjects,
or array them as valiant defenders of their
dominions. As long as both Romes, more
especially the ancient city of the West,
remained inviolate, so long the fabric of
the Roman greatness seemed unbroken,
and she might still assert her title as mis-
tress of the world. The capture of Rome
dissipated forever these proud illusions;
it struck the Roman world to the heart;
and in the mortal agony of the old social
system, men wildly grasped at every cause
which could account for this unexpected,
this inexplicable phenomenon. They were
as much overwhelmed with dread and
wonder as if there had been no previous
omens of decay, no slow and progressive
approach to the sacred walls ; as if the
fate of the city had not been already twice
suspended by the venality, the mercy, or
the prudence of the conqueror. Murmurs
were again heard impeaching the new re-
ligion as the cause of this disastrous con-
summation : the deserted gods had de-
serted in their turn the apostate city.*
There seems no doubt that pagan cer-
emonies took place in the hour of peril,
to avert, if possible, the imminent ruin.
The respect paid by the barbarians to the
churches might, in the zealous or even the
waveringvotaries of paganism, strengthen
the feeling of some remote connexion be-
tween the destroyer of the civil power
and the destroyer of the ancient religions.
The Roman aristocracy, which fled to dif-
ferent parts of the world, more particu-
larly to the yet peaceful and uninvaded
province of Africa, and among whom the
feelings of attachment to the institutions

* Orosius attempted the same theme: the pa-
gans, he asserts, “ prsesentia tantum ternpora, ve-
luti malis extra solitum infestissima, ob hoc solum,
quod creditur Christus, et colitur, idola autern mi-
nus coluntur. infamant.” Hevne has well observed
on this work of Orosius: Excitaverat Augustini
vibrantis arma exemplum Orosium, discipulum, ut
et ipse arma sumeret, etsi imbellibus manibr*- -
Opusoula, vi., p 130.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

410

and to ‘he gods of Rome were still the
strongest, were not likely to suppress the
language of indignation and sorrow, or to
refrain from the extenuation of their own
cowardice and effeminacy, by ascribing
the fate of the city to the irresistible pow-
er of the alienated deities.

Augustine dedicated thirteen years to
a.d. 413 the completion of this work, which
to 426. was forever to determine this sol-
emn question, and to silence the last mur-
murs of expiring paganism. The City of
God is at once the funeral oration of the
ancient society, the gratulatory panegyric
on the birth of the new. It acknowledged,
it triumphed in the irrevocable fall of the
Babylon of the West, the shrine of idol-
atry; it hailed at the same time the uni-
versal dominion which awaited.the'new
theocratic polity. The earthly city had
undergone its predestined fate; it had
passed away with all its vices and super-
stitions, with all its virtues and its glories
(for the soul of Augustine was not dead to
the noble reminiscences of Roman great-
ness), with its false gods and its heathen
sacrifices : its doom was sealed, and for-
ever. But in its place had arisen the City
of God, the Church of Christ ; a new so-
cial system had emerged from the ashes
of the old; that system was founded by
God, was ruled by Divine laws, and had
the Divine promise of perpetuity.

The first ten books are devoted to the
question of the connexion between the
prosperity and the religion of Rome ; five
to the influence of paganism in this world ;
five to that in the world to come. Augus-
tine appeals in the first five to the mercy
shown by the conqueror, as the triumph
of Christianity. Had the pagan Radagai-
sus taken Rome, not a life would have
been spared, no place would have been
sacred. The Christian Alaric had been
checked and overawed by the sanctity of
the Christian character, and his respect
for his Christum brethren. He denies
that worldly prosperity is an unerring
sign of the Divine favour; he denies the
exemption of the older Romans from dis-
grace and distress, and recapitulates the
crimes and the calamities of their history
during their worship of their ancient gods.
He ascribes their former glory to their
valour, their frugality, their contempt of
wealth, their fortitude, and their domes-
tic virtues; he assigns their vices, their
frightful profligacy of manners, the.'r pr'de,
their luxury, their effeminacy, as the prox-
imate causes of their ruin. Even in their
ruin they could not forget' heir dissolute
amusements ; the theatres Carthage
were crowded with the fug; ves from

Rome. In the five following books he
examines the pretensions of heathenism
to secure felicity in the world to come ;
he dismisses with contempt the old pop-
ular religion, but seems to consider the
philosophic Theism, the mystic Platonism
of the later period, a worthier antagonist.
He puts forth all his subtlety and power
in refutation of these tenets.

The last twelve books place in contrast
the origin, the pretensions, the fate of the
new city, that of God: he enters at large
into the evidences of Christianity; he
describes the sanctifying effects of the
faith, but pours forth all the riches of his
imagination and eloquence on the des-
tinies of the Church at the resurrection.
Augustine had no vision of the worldly
power of the new city; he foresaw not
the spiritual empire of Rome which would
replace the new-fallen Rome of heathen-
ism. With him the triumph of Christian-
ity is not complete till the world itself,
not merely its outward framework of so-
ciety and the constitution of its kingdoms,
has experienced a total change. In the
description of the final kingdom of Christ,
he treads his way with great dexterity and
address between the grosser notions of
the Millenarians, with their kingdom of
earthly wealth, and power, and luxury
(this he repudiates with devout abhor-
rence) ; and that, finer and subtler spirit-
ualism which is ever approaching to pan-
theism, and, by the rejection of the bodily
resurrection, renders the existence of the
disimbodied spirit too fine and impalpable
for the general apprehension.

The uneventful personal life of St. Au-
gustine, at least till towards its Life 0f
close, contrasts with that of Am- Augustine,
brose and Chrysostom. After the first
throes and travail of his religious life, de-
scribed with such dramatic fidelity in his
Confessions, he subsided into a peaceful
bishop in a remote and rather inconsider-
able town.* He had not, like Ambrose,
to interpose between rival emperors, or to
rule the conscience of the universal sov-
ereign ; or, like Chrysostom, to enter into
a perilous conflict with the vices of a cap-
ital and the intrigues of a court. Forced
by the devout admiration of the people to
assume the episcopate in the city of Hip-
po, he was faithful to his first bride, his
earliest, though humble see. Not that his
life was that of contemplative inactivity
or tranquil literary exertion; his personal
conferences with the leaders of the Do-
natists, the Manicheans, the Arians, and

* He was thirty-five before he was ordained
presbyter, A.D. 389 : he was chosen coadjutor to
the Bishop of Hippo, A.D. 395.420

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Pelagians, and his presence in the councils
of Carthage, displayed his power of deal-
ing with men. His letter to Count Bon-
iface showed that he was not unconcern -
ed with the public affairs ; and his former
connexion with Boniface, who at one time
had expressed his determination to em-
brace the monastic life, might warrant
his remonstrance against the fatal revolt,
which involved Boniface and Africa in
ruin.

At the close of his comparatively peace-
ful life, Augustine was exposed to the trial
of his severe and lofty principles; his
faith and his superiority to the world
were brought to the test in the fearful ca-
lamities which desolated the whole Afri-
can province. No part of the empire had
so long escaped; no part was so fearfully
visited as Africa by the invasion of the
Vandals. The once prosperous and fruit-
ful region presented to the view only ru-
ined cities, burning villages, a population
thinned by the sword, bowed to slavery,
and exposed to every kind of torture and
mutilation. With these fierce barbarians
the awful presence of Christianity impo-
sed no respect. The churches were not
exempt from the general ruin, the bishops
and clergy from cruelty and death, the
dedicated virgins from worse than death.
In many places the services of religion
entirely ceased from the extermination

of the worshippers or the flight of the
priests. To Augustine, as the supreme
authority in matters of faith or conduct,
was submitted the grave question of the
course to be pursued by the clergy; wheth-
er they were to seek their own security,
or to confront the sword of the ravager.
The advice of Augustine was at once
lofty and discreet. Where the flock re-
mained, it was cowardice, it was impiety
in the clergy to desert them, and to de-
prive them in those diastrous times of
the consolatory offices of religion, their
children of baptism, themselves of the
holy Eucharist. But where the priest
was an especial object of persecution,
and his place might be supplied by anoth-
er; where the flock was massacred or
dispersed, or had abandoned their homes,
the clergy might follow them, and, if pos-
sible, provide for their own security.

Augustine did not fall below his own
high notions of Christian, of episcopal
duty. When the Vandal army gathered
around Hippo, one of the few cities which
still afforded a refuge for the persecuted
provincials, he refused, though more than
seventy years old, to abandon his post.
In the third month of the siege AD<430
he was released by death, and es-
caped the horrors of the capture, the cru-
elties of the conqueror, and the desolation
of his church.*

CHAPTER IV.

JEROME. THE P/IONASTIC SYSTEM.

Though not so directly or magisterially
. dominant over the Christianity of
Jerome* the West, the influence of Jerome
has been of scarcely less importance than
that of Augustine. Jerome was the con-
necting link between the East and the
West; through him, as it were, passed
over into the Latin hemisphere of Chris-
tendom that which was still necessary for
its permanence and independence during
the succeeding ages. The time of separ-
ation approached, when the Eastern and
Western empires, the Latin and the Greek
languages, were to divide the world. West-
ern Christianity was to form an entirely
separate system; the different nations
and kingdoms which were to arise out of
the wreck of the Roman empire were to
maintain each its national church, but
there was to be a permanent centre of
unity in that of Rome, considered as the
common parent and federal head of West-

ern Christendom. But before this vast
and silent revolution took place, certain
preparations, in which Jerome was chief-
ly instrumental, gave strength, and har-
mony, and vitality to the religion of the
West, from which the precious inherit-
ance has been secured to modern Europe

The two leading transactions in which
Jerome took the effective part were, 1st,
The introduction, or, at least, the general
reception, of Monachism in the West; 2d,
The establishment of an authoritative and
universally recognised version of the sa
cred writings into the Latin language.
For both these important services Je-
rome qualified himself by his visits to the
East; he was probably the first Occi-
dental (though bora in Dalmatia, he may
be almost considered a Roman, having

* In the life of Augustine, I have chiefly consult-
ed that prefixed to his works, and Tillernont, W'i
the passages in his Confessions and Epistle?HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

421

passed all his youth in that city) who be-
came completely naturalized and domi-
ciliated in Judsea ; and his example,
though it‘did not originate, strengthened
to an extraordinary degree the passion
for pilgrimages to the Holy Land ; a sen-
timent in later times productive of such
vast and unexpected results. In the ear-
lier period, the repeated devastations of
that devoted country, and still more its
occupation by the Jews, had overpowered
the natural veneration of the Christians
for the scene of the life and sufferings of
the Redeemer. It was an accursed rath-
er than a holy region, desecrated by the
presence of the murderers of the Lord,
rather than endeared by the reminiscences
of his personal ministry and expiatory
death. The total ruin of the Jews, and
their expulsion from Jerusalem by Hadri-
an ; their dispersion into other lands, with
the simultaneous progress of Christianity
in Palestine, and their settlement in Allia,
the Roman Jerusalem, notwithstanding
the profanation of that city by idolatrous
emblems, allowed those more gentle and
sacred feelings to grow up in strength
and silence.* Already, before the time
of Jerome, pilgrims had flowed from all
quarters of the world; and during his life,
whoever had attained to any proficiency
hi religion, in Gaul, or in the secluded isl-
and of Britain, was eager to obtain a per-
sonal knowledge of these hallowed places.
They were met by strangers from Arme-
nia, Persia, India (the Southern Arabia),
./Ethiopia, the countless monks of Egypt,
and from the whole of Western Asia.f
Yet Jerome was no doubt the most influ-
ential pilgrim to the Holy Land; the in-
creasing and general desire to visit the
soil printed, as it were, with the foot-

* Augustine asserts that the whole world flocked
to Bethlehem to see the place of Christ’s nativity,
t. i., p 561. Pilgrimages, according to him, were
undertaken to Arabia to see the dung-heap on
which Job sat, t. ii., p. 59. For 180 years, accord-
ing to Jerome, from Hadrian to Constantine, the
statue of Jupiter occupied the place of the resur-
rection, and a statue of Venus was worshipped on
the rock of Calvary. But as the object of Hadrian
was to insult the Jewish, not the Christian, reli-
gion, it seems not very credible that these two sites
should be chosen for the heathen temples.—Hier-
onym., Oper., Epist. xlix., p. 505.

f Quicunque in Gallia fuerat primus hue prope-
rat. Divisus ab orbe nostros Britannus, si in reli-
yione processerit, occiduo sole dimisso, quaerit lo^-
eurn fama sibi tantum, et Scripturarum relatione
cognitum. Quid referamus Armenios, quid Persas,
quid Indiae,quid Althiopiae populos, ipsamque juxta
AEgyptumi fertilem monachorum, Pontum et Cap-
padociam, Syriam, Cretam, et Mesopotamiam cunc-
taque Orientis examina. This is the letter of a Ro-
man female, Paula.—Hieronym., Oper., Epist. xliv.,
fi. 551-

steps, and moist with the redeeming
blood of the Saviour, may be traced to
his writings, which opened, as it were, a
constant and easy communication, and
established an intercourse, more or less
regularly maintained, between Western
Europe and Palestine.*

But besides this subordinate, if indeed
subordinate, effect of Jerome’s peculiar po-
sition between the East and West, he was
thence both incited and enabled to accom-
plish his more immediately influential un-
dertakings. In Palestine and in Egypt,
Jerome became himself deeply imbued
with the spirit of Monachism, and labour-
ed with all his zeal to awaken the more
tardy West to rival Egypt and Syria in
displaying this sublime perfection of Chris-
tianity. By his letters, descriptive of the
purity, the sanctity, the total estrange-
ment from the deceitful world in these
blessed retirements, he kindled the holy
emulation, especially of the females, in
Rome. Matrons and virgins of patrician
families embraced with contagious fervour
the monastic life ; and though the populous
districts in the neighbourhood of the me-
tropolis were not equally favourable for
retreat, yet they attempted to practise the
rigid observances of the desert in the midst
of the busy metropolis.

For the second of his great achieve-
ments, the version of the sacred Scrip-
tures, Jerome derived inestimable advan-
tages, and acquired unprecedented author-
ity, by his intercourse with the East. His
residence in Palestine familiarized him
with the language and peculiar habits of
the sacred writers. He was the first Chris-
tian writer of note who thought it worth
while to study Hebrew. Nor was it the
language alone; the customs, the topog-

* See the glowing description of all the religious
wonders in the Holy Land, in the Epitaphium Pau-
las. An epistle, however, of Gregory of Nyssen
strongly remonstrates against pilgrimages to the
Holy Land, even from Cappadocia. He urges the
dangers and suspicions to which pious recluses,
especially women, would be subject with male at-
tendants, eiljher strangers or friends, on a lonely
road ; the dissolute words and sights which may
be unavoidable in the inns ; the dangers of robbery
and violence in the Holy Land itself, of the moral
state of which he draws a fearful picture. He as-
serts the religious superiority of Cappadocia, which
had more churches than any part of the world;
and inquires, in plain terms, whether a man will
believe the virgin birth of Christ the more by see-
ing Bethlehem, or his resurrection by visiting his
tomb, or his ascension by standing on the Mount of
Olives.—Greg. Nyss , de eunt. Hieros.

The authenticity of this epistle is indeed con
tested by Roman Catholic writers; but I can see
no internal evidence against its genuineness. Je-
rome’s more sober letter to Paulinus, Epist. xxix.
vol. iv.4 p. 563, should also be compared.422

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

raphy, the traditions of Palestine were
carefully collected and applied by Jerome,
if not always with the soundest judgment,
yet occasionally with great felicity and
success, to the illustration of the sacred
writings.

The influence of Monachism upon the
manners, opinions, and general
1 onaciIsm* character of Christianity, as well
as that of the Vulgate translation of the
Bible, not only on the religion, but on the
literature of Europe, appear to demand a
more extensive investigation; and as Je-
rome, if not the representative, was the
great propagator of Monachism in the
West, and as about this time this form of
Christianity overshadowed and dominated
throughout the whole of Christendom, it
will be a fit occasion, although we have in
former parts of this work not been able
altogether to avoid it, to develop more
fully its origin and principles.

It is singular to see this Oriental influ-
ence successively enslaving two religions,
in their origin and in their genius so totally
opposite to Monachism as Christianity and
the religion of Mohammed. Both gradual-
ly and unreluctantly yield to the slow and
inevitable change. Christianity, with very
slight authority from the precepts, and
none from the practice of the Author and
first teachers, admitted this without in-
quiry as the perfection and consummation
of its own theory. Its advocates and their
willing auditors equally forgot that if
Christ and his apostles had retired into
the desert, Christianity would never have
spread beyond the wilderness of Judaea.
The transformation which afterward took
place of the fierce Arab marauder, or the
proselyte to the martial creed of the Ko-
ran, into a dreamy dervish, was hardly
more violent and complete than that of the
disciple of the great example of Christian
virtue, or of the active and popular Paul,
into a solitary anchorite.

Still that which might appear most ad-
,, .... verse to the universal dissemina-

ceno nism, tjon 0f Christianity eventually
tended to its entire and permanent incor-
poration with the whole of society. When
Eremitism gave place to Ccenobitism,
when the hermitage grew up into a con-
vent, the establishment of these religious
fraternities in the wildest solitudes gather-
ed round them a Christian community, or
spread, as it were, a gradually-increasing
belt of Christian worship, which was main-
tained by the spiritual services of the
monks, who, though not generally ordain-
ed as ecclesiastics, furnished a constant
supply for ordination. In this manner the
rural districts, which in most parts, long

after Christianity had gained the predom-
inance in the towns, remained attached by
undisturbed habit to the ancient supersti-
tion, were slowly brought within the pale
of the religion. The monastic communi-
ties commenced in the more remote and
less populous districts of the Roman world,
that ameliorating change which, at later
times, they carried on beyond the frontiers.
As afterward they introduced civilization
and Christianity among the barbarous
tribes of North Germany or Poland, so
now they continued in all parts a quiet but
successful aggression on the lurking pa-
ganism.

Monachism was the natural result of
the incorporation of Christian- origin or
ity with the prevalent opinions Monachism.
of mankind, and, in part, of the state of
profound excitement into which it had
thrown the human mind. We have traced
the universal predominance of the great
principle, the inherent evil of matter.
This primary tenet, as well of the East-
ern religions as of the Platonism of the*
West, coincided with the somewhat am-
biguous use of the term world in the sa-
cred writings. Both were alike the irre-
claimable domain of the Adversary of
good. The importance assumed by the
soul, now through Christianity become
profoundly conscious of its immortality,
tended to the same end. The deep and
serious solicitude for the fate of that ever-
lasting part of our being, the concentra-
tion of all its energies on its own indi-
vidual welfare, withdrew it entirely with-
in itself. A kind of sublime selfishness
excluded all subordinate considerations.*
The only security against the corruption
which environed it on all sides seemed
entire alienation from the contagion of
matter; the constant mortification, the
extinction, if possible, of those senses
which were necessarily keeping up a dan-
gerous and treasonable correspondence
with the external universe. On the other
hand, entire estrangement from the rest
of mankind, included in the proscribed
and infectious world, appeared no less in-
dispensable. Communion with God alone
was at once the sole refuge and perfection

* It is remarkable how rarely, if ever (I cannot
call to mind an instance), in the discussions on the
comparative merits of marriage and celibacy, the
social advantages appear to have occurred to the
mind; the benefit to mankind of raising up a race
bom from Christian parents and brought up in
Christian principles. It is always argued with re-
lation to the interests and the perfection of the in-
dividual soul; and even with regard to that, the
writers seem almost unconscious of the softening
and humanizing effect of the natural affections, the
beauty of parental tenderness and filial loveHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

T23

cf the abstracted spirit; prayer the sole
imendangered occupation, alternating only
with that coarse industry which might
give employment to the refractory mem-
bers, and provide that scanty sustenance
required by the inalienable infirmity of
corporeal existence. The fears and the
hopes were equally wrought upon : the
fear of defilement, and, consequently, of
eternal perdition; the hope of attaining
the serene enjoyment of the Divine pres-
ence in the life to come. If any thought
of love to mankind, as an unquestionable
duty entailed by Christian brotherhood,
intruded on the isolated being thus labour-
ing on the single object, his own spiritual
perfection, it found a vent in prayer for
their happiness, which excused all more
active or effective benevolence.

On both principles, of course, mar-
riage was inexorably condemned.*
Celibacy. Some expressions in the writings
of St. Paul,f and emulation of the Gnostic
sects, combining with these general senti-
ments, had very early raised celibacy into
the highest of Christian virtues : marriage
was a necessary evil, and inevitable in-
firmity of the weaker brethren. With the
more rational and earlier writers, Cyprian,
Athanasius, and even in occasional pas-
sages in Ambrose or Augustine, it had its
own high and peculiar excellence ; but
even with them, virginity, the absolute
estrangement from all sensual indulgence,
was the transcendent virtue, the presump-
tion of the angelic state, the approxima-
tion to the beatified existence. J

Everything conspired to promote, no-

* There is a sensible and judicious book, entitled
“ Die Entfiihrung der Erzwungenen Ehelosigkeit
bei dern Christlichen und ihre Folge,” von J. A. und
Aug. Theiner, Altenburg, 1828, which enters fully
into the origin and consequences of celibacy in the
whole Church.

+ 1 agree with Theiner <p. 24) in considering
these precepts local and temporary, relating to the
especial circumstances of those whom St. Paul ad-
dressed.

% The general tone was that of the vehement Je-
Tome. There must not only be vessels of gold and
silver, but of wood and earthenware. This con-
temptuous admission of the necessity of the marri-
ed life distinguished the orthodox from the Mani-
chean, the Montanist, and the Encratite.—Jerom.
adv. Jovin., p. 146.

The sentiments of the fathers on marriage and
virginity may be thus briefly stated. I am not speak-
ing with reference to the marriage of the clergy,
which will be considered hereafter.

The earlier writers, when they are contending
with the Gnostics, though* they elevate virginity
above marriage, speak very strongly on the folly,
and even impiety, of prohibiting or disparaging law-
ful wedlock. They acknowledge and urge the ad-
mitted fact that several of the apostles were marri-
ed. This is the tone of Ignatius (Cotel., Pat. Apost.,
ii., 77), of Tertullian (licebat et apostolis nubere et

thing remained to counteract, this, poweiful
impulse. In the East this seclusion,from
the world was by no means uncommon.
Even among the busy and restless Greeks,
some of the philosophers had Causes whict!
asserted the privilege oi wis- tended t0 pro-
dom to stand aloof from the mote Mona
rest of mankind; the question chlsm‘
of the superior excellence of the active
or the contemplative life had been agi-
tated on equal terms. But in some re-
gions of the East, the sultry and oppress-
ive heats, the general relaxation of the
physical system, dispose constitutions of
a certain temperament to a dreamy inert-
ness. The indolence and prostration of
the body produce a kind of activity in the
mind, if that may properly be called activ-
ity which is merely giving loose to the
imagination and the emotions, as they fol-
low out a wild train of incoherent thought,
or are agitated by impulses of spontaneous
and ungoverned feeling. Ascetic Christi-
anity ministered new aliment to this com-
mon propensity; it gave an object both
vague and determinate enough to stimu-
late, yet never to satisfy or exhaust. The
regularity of stated hours of prayer, and of
a kind of idle industry, weaving mats or
plaiting baskets, alternated with periods
of morbid reflection on the moral state of
the soul, and of mystic communion with

uxores circumducere.—De Exhort. Castit.), above*
all, of Clement of Alexandrea.

In the time of Cyprian, vows of virginity were
not irrevocable. Si autem perseverare nolunt, vel
non possunt, melius est ut nubant, quam in ignem
delictis suis cadant. — Epist. 62. And his general
language, more particularly his tract de Habitu Vir-
ginum, implies that strong discipline was necessary
to restrain the dedicated virgins from the vanities
of the world.

But in the fourth century the eloquent fathers
vie with^each other in exalting the transcendent,
holy, angelic virtue of virginity. Every one of the
more distinguished writers, Basil, the two Grego-
ries, Ambrose, Augustine, Chrysostom, has a trea-
tise or treatises upon virginity, on which he ex-
pands with all the glowing language which he can
command. . It became a common doctrine that sex-
ual intercourse was the sign and the consequence
of the fall; they forgot that the command to “ in-
crease and multiply” is placed in the book of Gen-
sis (i., 28) before the fall.

We have before (p. 393) quoted passages from
Greg, of Nazianzum. Gregory of Nyssa says: ydo-
V7] 61 arraryg kyyivofievy rfjg eKTrrdaeog yp^aro—
kv avofiiaig early y avhiyipig, ev dfiaprlatg y kvy-
oig,—Greg. Nyss., de Virgin., c. 12, c. 13. But Je-
rome is the most vehement of all: Nuptiae terrain
replent, virginitas Paradisum. The unclean beasts
went by pairs into the ark, the clean by seven.
Though there is another mystery in the pairs, even
the unclean beasts were not to be allowed a second
marriage: Ne in bestiisquidem et immundis avi-
bus digamia comprobata sit.—Adv. Jovin., vol. iv.,
p. 160. Laudo nuptias, laudo conjugium, sed quia
1 mihi virgines generat.—Ad Eustoch., p. 36424

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

the Deity.* It cannot, indeed, be won- j
dered that the new revelation, as it were, I
of the Deity; this profound and rational!
certainty of his existence; this infelt con-
sciousness of his perpetual presence; these
yet unknown impressions of his infinity,
his power, and his love, should give a high-
er character to this eremitical enthusiasm,
and attract men of loftier and more vigor-
ous minds within its sphere. It was not
merely the pusillanimous dread of encoun-
tering the trials of life which urged the
humbler spirits to seek the safe retire-
ment, or the natural love of peace, and
the weariness and satiety of life, which
commended this seclusion to those who
were too gentle to mingle in, or who were
exhausted with, the unprofitable turmoil
of the world. Nor was it always the
anxiety to mortify the rebellious and re-
fractory body with more advantage; the
one absorbing idea of the majesty of the
Godhead almost seemed to swallow up all
other considerations; the transcendent na-
ture of the Triune Deity, the relation of
the different persons in the Godhead to
each other, seemed the only worthy ob-
jects of man’s contemplative faculties. If
the soul never aspired to that Pantheistic
union with the spiritual essence of being
which is the supreme ambition of the
higher Indian mysticism, their theory
seemed to promise a sublime estrange-
ment from all sublunary things, an occu-
pation for the spirit, already, as it were,
disimbodied and immaterialized by its
complete concentration on the Deity.

In Syria and in Egypt, as well as in the
remoter East, the example had already
been set both of solitary retirement and
of religious communities. The Jews had
both their hermitages and their ccenobitic
institutions. Anchorites swarmed in the
desertsmear the Dead Sea;f and the Es-
senes in the same district, and the Egyp-
tian Therapeutse, were strictly analogous
to the Christian monastic establishments.
Ill the neighbourhood of many of the
Eastern cities were, dreary and dismal
wastes, incapable of, or unimproved by,
cultivation, which seemed to allure the en-
thusiast to abandon the haunts of men and
the vices of society. Egypt especially,
where everything excessive and extrava-
gant found its birth or ripened with un-

* Nam pariter exercentes corporis animaeque vir-
tutes, exterioris hominis stipendia cum emolumen-
ts interioris exaequ.ant, lubricis motibus cordis, et
fluctuation! cogitationum instabili, operum pondera,
velut quandam tenacem atque immobilem ancho-
ram praefigentes, cui volubilitas ac pervagatio cordis
innexa intra cellse claustra, velut in portu fidissimo
valeat contineri.—Cassian., Instit., ii., 13.

+ Josephi Vita.

exampled vigour, seemed formed for the
encouragement of the wildest anchoritism.
It is a long narrow valley, closed in on
each side by craggy or by sandy deserts.
The rocks were pierced either with natu-
ral caverns, or hollowed out by the hand
of man into long subterranean cells and
galleries for various uses, either of life, or
of superstition, or of sepulture. The
Christian, sometimes driven out by perse-
cution (for persecution no doubt greatly
contributed to people these solitudes*),
or prompted by religious feelings to fly
from the face of man, found himself, with
no violent effort, in a dead and voiceless
wilderness, under a climate which requi-
red no other shelter than the ceiling of
the rock-hewn cave, and where actual sus-
tenance might be obtained with little dif-
ficulty.

St. Antony is sometimes described as
the founder of the monastic life ; it An
is clear, however, that he only im-
itated and excelled the example of less
famous anchorites. But he may fairly be
considered as its representative.

Antonyf was born of Christian parents,
bred up in the faith, and, before he was
twenty years old, found himself master of
considerable wealth, and charged with the
care of a younger sister. He was ayoutli
of ardent imagination, vehement impulses,
and so imperfectly educated as to be ac-
quainted with no language but his native
Egyptian.! A constant attendant on Chris-
tian worship, he had long looked back with
admiration on those primitive times when
the Christians laid all their wrorldly goods
at the feet of the apostles. One day he
heard the sentence, “ Go, sell all thou hast,
and give to the poor, * * and come and
follow me.” It seemed personally ad-
dressed to himself by the voice of God.
He returned home, distributed his lands
among his neighbours, sold his furniture
and other effects, except a small sum re-
served for his sister, whom he placed un-
der the care of some pious Christian vir-
gins. Another text, “ Take no thought for
the morYow,” transpierced his heart, and
sent him forth forever from the society
of men. He found an aged solitary, who

* Paul, the first Christian hermit, fled from per-
secution.—Hieronym., Vit. Paul., p. 69.

. f The fact that the great Athanasius paused in
his polemic warfare to write the life of Antony, may
show the general admiration towards the monastic
life.

t Jerome claims the honour of being the first her-
mit for Paul, in the time of Decius or Valerian (Vit.
Paul., p. 68); but the whole life of Paul, and the
visit of Antony to him, read like religious romance
and, from the preface of Jerome to the Life of Hi*
larion did not find implicit credit in his own day.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

425

dwelt without the city. He was seized
with pious emulation, and from that time
devoted himself to the severest asceticism.
There was still, however, something gen-
tle and humane about the asceticism of
Antony. His retreat (if we may trust the
romantic life of St. Hilarion, in the works
of St. Jerome) was by no means of the
horrid and savage character affected by
some other recluses : it was at the foot
of a high and rocky mountain, from which
welled forth a stream of limpid water,
bordered by palms, which afforded an
agreeable shade. Antony had planted
this pleasant spot with vines and shrubs ;
there was an enclosure for fruit-trees and
vegetables, and a tank from which the la-
bour of Antony irrigated his garden. His
conduct and character seemed to partake
<>f this less stern and gloomy tendency.*
He visited the most distinguished ancho-
rites, but only to observe, that he might
imitate, the peculiar virtue of each; the
gentle disposition of one, the constancy
of prayer in another, the kindness, the
patience, the industry, the vigils, the ma-
cerations, the love of study, the passion-
ate contemplation of the Deity, the chari-
ty towards mankind. It was his devout
ambition to equal or transcend each in his
particular austerity or distinctive excel-
lence.

But man does not violate nature with
„ , impunity; " the solitary state

Demonology. ^ its%assions, its infirmi-
ties, its perils. The hermit could fly from
his fellow-men, but not from himself. The
vehement and fervid temperament which
drove him into the desert was not subdu-
ed ; it found new ways of giving loose to
its suppressed impulses. The self-cen-
tred imagination began to people the des-
ert with worse enemies than mankind.
Daemonology, in all its multiplied forms,
was now an established part of the Chris-
tian creed, and embraced with the greatest
ardour by men in such a state of religious
excitenint as to turn hermits.* The trials,
the temptations, the agonies, were felt and
described as personal conflicts with hosts
of impure, malignant, furious fiends. In
the desert these beings took visible form
and substance; in the day-dreams of pro-
found religious meditation, in the visions
of the agitated and exhausted spirit, they
were undiscernible from reality.f It is
impossible, in the wild legends which be-
came an essential part of Christian litera-
ture, to decide how much is the disordered
imagination of the saint, the self-decep-

* Vita St. Hilarion, p. 85.

1 Compare Jerome’s Life of St. Hilarion, p. 76.

3 H

tion of the credulous, or the fiction of the
zealous write?;. The very effort to sup-
press certain feelings has a natural ten-
dency to awaken and strengthen them.
The horror of carnal indulgence would not
permit the sensual desires to die away into
apathy. Men are apt to find what they
seek in their own hearts, and by anxiously
searching for the guilt of lurking lust, or
desire of worldly wealth or enjoyment,
the conscience, as it were, struck forcibly
upon the chord which it wished to deaden,
and made it vibrate with a kind of morbid
but more than ordinary energy. Nothing
was so licentious or so terrible as not to
find its way to the cell of the recluse.
Beautiful women danced around him; wild
beasts of every shape, and monsters with
no shape at all, howled, and yelled, and
shrieked about him while he knelt in
prayer or snatched his broken slumber.
“ Oh, how often in the desert,” says Je-
rome, “ in that vast solitude which, parch-
ed by the sultry sun, affords a dwelling to
the monks, did I fancy myself in the midst
of the luxuries of Rome. .1 sat alone, for
I was full of bitterness. My misshapen
limbs were rough with sackcloth, and my
skin was so squalid that I might have been
taken for a negro. Tears and groans were
my occupation every day, and all day ; if
sleep surprised me unaware, my naked
bones, which scarcely held together, clash-
ed on the earth. I will say nothing of my
food or beverage: even the rich have
nothing but cold water ; any warm drink
is a luxury. Yet even I, who for the fear
of hell had condemned myself to this dun-
geon, the companion only of scorpions and
wild beasts, was in the midst of girls dan-
cing. My face was pale with fasting, but
the mind in my cold body burned with de-
sires ; the fires of lust boiled up in the
body, which was already dead. Destitute
of all succour, I cast myself at the feet of
Jesus, washed them with my tears, dried
them with my hair, and subdued the rebel-
lious flesh by a whole week’s fasting.”
After describing the wild scenes into which
he fled, the deep glens and shaggy preci-
pices, “ The Lord is my witness,” he con-
cludes ; “ sometimes I appeared to be
present among the angelic hosts, and sang,
4 We will haste after thee for the sweet
savour of thy ointments.’ ”* For at times,
on the other hand, gentle and more than
human voices were heard consoling the
constant and devout recluse; and some-
times the baffled daemon would humbly
acknowledge himself to be rebuked before
him. But this was in general after a fear-

* Song of Solomom.—Hieronym., Epist. xxii.426

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ful struggle. Desperate diseases require
desperate remedies. The severest pain
could alone subdue or distract
boif-iorture, the refract01y desires or the

preoccupied mind. Human invention was
exhausted in self-inflicted torments. The
Indian faquir was rivalled in the variety of
distorted postures and of agonizing exer-
cises. Some lived in clefts and caves;
some in huts, into which the light of day
could not penetrate; some hung huge-
weights to their arms, necks, or loins;
some confined themselves in cages ; some
on the tops of mountains, exposed to the
sun and weather. The most celebrated
hermit at length for life condemned him-
self to stand in a fiery climate on the nar-
row top of a pillar.* Nor were these al-
ways rude or uneducated fanatics. St.
Arsenius had filled, and with universal re-
spect, the dignified post of tutor to the Em-
peror Arcadius. But Arsenius became a
hermit; and, among other things, it is re-
lated of him, that, employing himself in
the common occupation of the Egyptian
monks, weaving- baskets of palm leaves,
he changed only once a year the water in
which the leaves were moistened. The
smell of the fetid water was a just penalty
for the perfumes which he had inhaled
during his worldly life. Even sleep was
a sin; an hour’s unbroken slumber was
sufficient for a monk. On Saturday even-
ing Arsenius laid down with his back to'
the setting sun, and continued awake, in
fervent prayer, till the rising sun shone on
his eyes ;f so far had Christianity depart-
ed from its humane and benevolent and
social simplicity.

It may be a curious question how far
enthusiasm repays its votaries as far as
the individual is concerned; in what de-
gree these self-inflicted tortures added to
or diminished the real happiness of man;
how far these privations and bodily suffer-
ings, which to the cool and unexcited rea-
son appear intolerable, either themselves
produced a callous insensibility, or were

* The language of Evagrius (H. E., i., 13) about
Simeon vividly expresses the effect which he made
on his own age. “ Rivalling, while yet in the flesh,
the conversation of angels, he withdrew himself
from all earthly things, and doing violence to na-
ture, which always has a downward tendency, he
aspired after that which is on high; and standing
midway between earth and heaven, he had com-
munion with God, and glorified God with the an-
gels ; from the earth offering supplications (TTpsa-
Beiag Tcpouyov) as an ambassador to God; bringing
down from heaven to men the Divine blessing.” The
influence of the most holy martyr in .the air (nava-
ylov ical depiov fiaprvpog) on political affairs, lies
beyond the range of the present history,
f Compare Fleury, 1. xx., 2.

met by apathy arising out of the strong
counter-excitement of the mind ; to what
extent, if still felt in unmitigated anguish,
they were compensated by inward com-
placency from the conscious fulfilment of
religious duty; the stem satisfaction of
the will at its triumph over nature; the
elevation of mind from the consciousness
of the great object in view, or the ecstatic
pre-enjoyment of certain reward. In some
instances they might derive some recom-
pense from the respect, veneration, almost
adoration of men. Emperors visited the
cells of these ignorant, perhaps supersti-
tious fanatics, revered them as oracles,
and conducted the affairs of empire by
their advice. The great Theodosius is
said to have consulted John the Solitary
on the issue of the war with Eugenius.*
His feeble successors followed faithfully
the example of his superstition.

Antony appeared at the juncture most
favourable for the acceptance of influen t*
his monastic tenets.f His fame °r Amony.
and his example tended still farther to dis-
seminate the spreading contagion. In ev-
ery part the desert began to swarm with
anchorites, who found it difficult to remain
alone.. Some sought out the most retired
chambers of the ancient cemeteries ; some
those narrow spots which remained above
water during the inundations, and saw with
pleasure the tide arise which was to ren-
der them unapproachable to their fellow-
creatures. But in all parts the determin-
ed solitary found himself constantly obli-
ged to recede farther and farther; he
could scarcely find a retreat so dismal, a
cavern so profound, a rock so inacces-
sible, but that he would be pressed upon
by some zealous competitor, or invaded
by the humble veneration of some dis-
ciple.

It is extraordinary to observe this in-
fringement on the social system of Chris-
tianity, this disconnecting principle, which,
pushed to excess, might appear fatal to
that organization in which so much of the
strength of Christianity consisted, gradu-
ally self-expanding into a new source of
power and energy, so wonderfully adapt-
ed to the age. The desire of the ancho-
rite to isolate himself in unendangered se-
clusion was constantly balanced and cor-
rected by the holy zeal or involuntary
tendency to prosely tism. The farther the
saint retired from the habitations of men,
the brighter and more attractive became
the light of his sanctity; the more he con-

* Evagr., Yit. St. Paul, c. 1. Theodoret, v. 24.
See Flechier, Yie de Theodose, iv., 43.

f Hujus vitae auctor Paulus illustrator Anto-
nius.—Jerom., p, 46.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

427

coaled himself, the more was he sought
out by a multitude of admiring and emu-
lous followers. Each built or occupied
his cell in the hallowed neighbourhood.
A monastery was thus imperceptibly form-
ed around the hermitage ; and nothing was
requisite to the incorporation of a regular
community but the formation of rules for
common intercourse, stated meetings for
worship, and something of uniformity in
dress, food, and daily occupations. Some
monastic establishments were no doubt
formed at once, in imitation of the Jewish
Therapeutae; but many of the more cele-
brated Egyptian establishments gathered,
as it- were, around the central cell of an
Antony or Pachomius.*

Something like a uniformity of usage
Ccenobitic appears to have prevailed in the
establish- Egyptian monasteries. Thebroth-
tiiems. ers were dressed after the fash-
ion of the country, in long linen tunics,
with a woollen girdle, a cloak, and over it
a sheepskin. They usually went bare-
footed, but at certain very cold or very
parching seasons they wore a kind of san-
dal. They did not wear the haircloth.f
Their food was bread and water ; their
luxuries occasionally a little oil or salt, a
few olives, pease, or a single hg : they ate
in perfect silence, each deeury by itself.
They were bound to strict obedience to
their superiors; they were divided into
decuries and centenaries, over whom the
decurions and centurions presided*: each
had his separate cell.f The furniture of
their cells was a mat of palm-leaves and
a bundle of the papyrus, which served for
a pillow by night and a seat by day. Ev-
ery evening and every night they were
summoned to prayer by the sound of a
horn. At each meeting were sung twelve
psalms, pointed out, it was believed, by an
angel. On certain occasions, lessons were
read from the Old or New Testament.
The assembly preserved total silence;
nothing was heard but the voice of the
chanter or reader. No one dared even
to look at another. The tears of the au-

* Pachomius was, strictly speaking, the founder
of the ccenobitic establishments in Egypt; Eusta-
thius in Armenia; Basil in Asia. Pachomius had
1400 monks in his establishment; 7000 acknowl-.
edged his jurisdiction.

t Jerome speaks of the cilicium as common
among the Syrian monks, with whom he lived.—
Epist. i. Horrent, sacco membra deformi. Even
women assumed it.—Epitaph. Paulae, p. 678. Cas-
sian is inclined to think it often a sign of pride.—
Instit , i., 3.

t The accounts of Jerome (in Eustochium, p.
45) and of Cassian are blended. There is some
difference as to the hours of meeting for prayers,
hut probably the ccenobitic institutes differed as to
that and on some points of diet.

dieuce alone, or, if he spoke of the joys
of eternal beatitude, a gentle murmur of
hope, was the only sound which broke the
stillness of the auditory. At the close of
each psalm the whole assembly prostrated
itself in mute adoration.* In every part
of Egypt, from the Cataracts to the Delta,
the whole land was bordered by these
communities ; there were 5000 coenobites
in the desert of Nitria alone ;f the total
number of male anchorites and monks
was estimated at 76,000 ; the females at
27,700. Parts of Syria were, perhaps,
scarcely less densely peopled with ascet-
ics. Cappadocia and the provinces bor-
dering on Persia boasted of numerous
communities, as well as Asia Minor and
the eastern parts of Europe. Though the
monastic spirit was in its full power, the
establishment of regular communities in
Italy must be reserved for Benedict of
Nursia, and lies beyond the bounds of our
present history. The enthusiasm perva-
ded all orders. Men of rank, of family,
of wealth, of education, suddenly changed
the luxurious palace for the howling wil-
derness, the flatteries of men for the total
silence of the desert. They voluntarily
abandoned their estates, their connexions,
their worldly prospects. The desire of
fame, of power, of influence, which might
now swell the ranks of the ecclesiastics,
had no concern in their sacrifice. Multi-
tudes must have perished without the
least knowledge of their virtues or their
fate transpiring in the world. Few could
obtain or hope to obtain the honour of
canonization, or that celebrity which Je-
rome promises to his friend Blesilla, to live
not merely in heaven, but in the memory
of man; to be consecrated to immortality
by his writings.J

But the ccenobitic establishments had
their dangers no less than the Dangers of
cell of the solitary hermit. Be- ccenobuism.
sides those consequences of seclusion
from the world, the natural results of con-
finement in this close separation from

* Tantum a cunctis praebetur silentium, ut cum
in imum tarn numerosa fratrum multitudo conve-
niat., prater ilium, qui consurgens psalmum decan-
tat in medio, nullus hominum penitus adesse cred-
atur. . No one was heard to spit, to sneeze, to
cough, or to yawn ; there was not even a sigh or a
groan: nisi fort& haec quae per excessum mentis
claustra oris effugerit, qua.que insensibiiiter cordi
obrepserit, immoderato scilicet atque intolerabili
spiritus fervore succenso, dum ea quae ignita mens
in semetipsa non praevalet continere, per ineffabi
lem quendam gemitum pectoris sui conclavibus eva-
porare conatur.—Cassian, Instit., ii., 10.
t Jerom. ad Eustoch., p. 44.
f.Quae cum Christo vivit in cash's, in hominum
quoque ore viclura est. * * Nunqnam in meis
moritura est libris.—Epist. sxiii, p. go.428

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

mankind, and this austere discharge of
stated duties, were too often found to be
the proscription of human knowledge and
the extinction of human sympathies.
Christian wisdom and Christian humanity
could find no place in their unsocial sys-
tem. A morose, and sullen, and contemp-
tuous ignorance could not but grow up
where there was no communication with
the rest of mankind, and the human under-
standing was rigidly confined to certain
topics. The want of objects of natural
affection could not but harden the heart;
and those who, in their stern religious
m austerity, are merciless to them-
'lg0 ry‘ selves, are apt to be merciless to
others :* their callous and insensible hearts
have no sense of the exquisitely delicate
and poignant feelings which arise out of
the domestic affections. Bigotry has al-
ways found its readiest and sternest ex-
ecutioners among those who have never
known the charities of life.

These fatal effects seem inherent con-
sequences of Monasticism; its votaries
could not but degenerate from their lofty
and sanctifying purposes. That which in
one generation was sublime enthusiasm,
in the next became sullen bigotry, or
sometimes wrought the same individual
into a stern forgetfulness, not only of the
vices and follies, but of all the more gen-
erous and sacred feelings of humanity.

In the coenobitic institutes was
fanaticism. aq^e(^ a strong corporate spirit,

and a blind attachment to their own opin-
ions, which were identified with religion
and the glory of God. The monks of
Nitria, from simple and harmless enthusi-
asts, became ferocious bands of partisans;
instead of remaining aloof in jealous se-
clusion from the rest of the world, they
rushed do wn armed into Alexandrea: what

* There is a cruel history of an abbot. Mucins, in
Cassian. Mucius entreated admission into a mon-
astery. He had one little boy with him of eight
years old. They were placed in separate cells, lest
the father’s heart should be softened and indisposed
to total renunciation of all earthly joys, by the
sight of his child. That he might still farther
prove his Christian obedience !! and self-denial, the
child was systematically neglected, dressed in rags,
and so dirty as to be disgusting to the father; he
was frequently beaten, to try whether it would
force tears down the parent’s squalid cheeks. “ Nev-
ertheless, for .the love of Christ ! ! ! and from the vir-
tue of obedience, the heart of the father remained
hard and unmoved,” thinking little of his child’s
tears, only of his own humility and perfection. He
at length was urged to show the last mark of his
submission by throwing the child into the river. As
if this was a commandment of God, he seized the
child, and “ the work of faith and obedience’’ would
have been accomplished if the brethren had not in-
terposed, “ and, as it were, rescued the child from
the waters.” And Cassian relates this as an act of
the highest religious heroism!—-Lib. iv,, 27.

they considered a sacred cause inflamed
and warranted ferocity not surpassed by
the turbulent and bloodthirsty rabble of
that city. In support of a favourite doc-
trine, or in defence of a popular prelate,
they did not consider that they were vio-
lating their own first principles in yielding
to all the savage passions, and mingling
in the bloody strife of that world which
they had abandoned.

Total seclusion from mankind is as dan-
gerous to enlightened religion as to Chris-
tian charity. We might have expected to
find among those who separated them-
selves from the world, to contemplate, un-
disturbed, the nature and perfections of
the Deity, in general, the purest
and most spiritual notions of the Isnorance-
Godhead. Those whose primary principle
was dread of a corruption of matter, would
be the last to materialize their divinity.
But those who could elevate their thoughts,
or could maintain them at this height,
were but a small part of the vast numbers
whom the many mingled motives of zeal,
superstition, piety, pride, emulation, or
distaste for the world led into the desert;
they required something more gross and
palpable than the fine and subtle concep-
tion of a spiritual being. Superstition, not
content with crowding the brain with
imaginary figments, spread its darkening
mists over the Deity himself.

It was among the monks of Egypt that
anthropomorphism assumed its most vul-
gar and obstinate form. They would not
be persuaded that the expressions in the
sacred writings which ascribe human acts,
and faculties, and passions to the Deity
were to be understood as a condescension
to the weakness of our nature ; they seem-
ed disposed to compensate to themselves
for the loss of human society by degrading
the Deity, whom they professed to be
their sole companion, to the likeness of
man. Imagination could not maintain its
flight, and they could not summon reason,
which they surrendered with the rest of
their dangerous freedom, to supply its
place; and generally superstition demand-
ed and received the same implicit and
resolute obedience as religion itself. Once
having humanized the Deity, they could
not be weaned from the object of their
worship. The great cause of quarrel be-
tween Theophilus, the archbishop of Alex-
andrea, and the monks of the adjacent es-
tablishment, was his vain attempt to en-
lighten them on those points to which
they obstinately adhered as the vital and
essential part of their faith.

Pride, moreover, is almost the necessary
result of such distinctions as the monksHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

429

drew between themselves and the rest of
mankind; and prejudice and obstinacy are
the natural fruits of pride. Once having
embraced opinions, however, as in this in-
stance, contrary to their primary princi-
ples, small communities are with the ut-
most difficulty induced to surrender those
tenets in which they support and strength-
en each other by the general concurrence.
The anthropomorphism of the Egyptian
monks resisted alike argument and author-
ity. The bitter and desperate remon-
strance of the aged Serapion, when he
was forced to surrender his anthropomor-
phic, notions of the Deity, “You have
deprived me of my God,”* shows not
merely the degraded intellectual state of
the monks of Egypt., but the incapacity of
the mass of mankind to keep up such high-
wrought and imaginative conceptions. En-
thusiasm of any particular kind wastes it-
self as soon as its votaries become numer-
ous ; it may hand down its lamp from in-
dividual to individual for many genera-
tions ; but when it would include a whole
section of society, it substitutes some new
incentive, strong party or corporate feel-
ing, habit, advantage, or the pride of ex-
clusiveness, for its original disinterested
zeal; and can never for a long period ad-
here to its original principles.

The effect of Monachism on Christiani-
oenerai ef- tyj and on society at large, was
fectsofMon- of very mingled character. Its
Christianity actua^ influence on the popula-
tion of the empire was probably
not considerable, and would scarcely coun-
terbalance the increase arising out of the
superior morality, as regards sexual inter-
course, introduced by the Christian reli-
gion.f Some apprehensions, indeed, were
betrayed on this point; and when the op-
polients of Monachism urged, that if such
principles were universally admitted, the
human race would come to an end, its
resolute advocates replied, that the Al-
mighty, if necessary, would appoint new
means for the propagation of mankind.

* Cassian, Collat., x., 1.

f There is a curious passage of St. Ambrose on
this point. “Si quis igitur putat, conservatione
virginum minui genus humanum, consideret, quia,
ubi paucae virgines, ibi etiam pauciores homines :
ubi virginitatis studia crebriora, ibi numerum quo-
que hominum esse majorem. Dicite,quantas Alex-
andrena, totiusque Orientis, et Africana ecclesia,
quotannis sacrare consueverint. Pauciores hie
homines prodeunt, quam illic virgines consecran-
tur.” We should wish to know whether there was
any statistical ground for this singular assertion, that,
in those regions in which celibacy was most prac-
tised, the population increased ; or whether Egypt,
the East, and Africa were generally more prolific
than Italy. The assertion that the vows of virgini-
ty in those countries exceeded the births in the lat-
ter, is most probably to be set down to antithesis.

The withdrawal of so much ardour, tal-
ent, and virtue into seclusion, on political
which, however elevating to the affairs,
individual, became altogether unprofitable
to society, might be considered a more
serious objection. The barren world could
ill spare any active or inventive mind.
Public affairs, at this disastrous period,
demanded the best energies which could
be combined from the whole Roman world
for their administration. This dereliction
of their social duties by so many could
not but leave the competition more.open
to the base and unworthy, particularly as
the actual abandonment of the world, and
the capability of ardent enthusiasm, in
men of high station or of commanding
intellect, displayed a force and independ-
ence of character which might, it should
seem, have rendered important active ser-
vice to mankind. If barbarians were ad-
mitted by a perilous, yet inevitable policy,
into the chief military commands, was
not this measure at least hastened, not
merely by the general influence of Chris-
tianity, which reluctantly permitted its
votaries to enter into the army, but still
more by Monachism, which withdrew
them altogether into religious inactivity 1
The civil and fiscal departments, and es-
pecially that of public education, conduct-
ed by salaried professors, might also be
deprived of some of the most eligible and
useful candidates for employment. At a
time of such acknowledged deficiency, it
may have appeared little less than a trea-
sonable indifference to the public welfare
to break all connexion with mankind, and
to dwell in unsocial seclusion entirely on
individual interests. Such might have
been the remonstrance of a sober and dis-
passionate pagan,* and in part of those
few more rational Christians who could
not consider the rigid monastic Christi-
anity as the original religion of its Divine
founder.

If, indeed, this peaceful enthusiasm had
counteracted any general outburst of patri-
otism, or left vacant or abandoned to
worthless candidates posts in the public
service which could be commanded by
great talents and honourable integrity.
Monachism might fairly be charged with
weakening the energies and deadening
the resistance of the Roman empire to
its gathering and multiplying adversaries.
But the state of public affairs probably
tended more to the growth of Monachism
than Monachism to the disorder and dis-
organization of public affairs. The par-

* Compare the law of Valens, de Monachis,
quoted above.430

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tial and unjust distribution of the rewards
of public service; the uncertainty of dis-
tinction in any career, which entirely de-
pended on the favouritism and intrigue
within the narrow circle of the court; the
difficulty of emerging to eminence under
a despotism by fair and honourable means;
disgust and disappointment at slighted
pretensions and baffled hopes; the gen-
eral and apparently hopeless oppression
which weighed down all mankind ; the
total extinction of the generous feelings
of freedom ; the conscious decrepitude
of the human mind; the inevitable con-
viction that its productive energies in
knowledge, literature, and arts were ex-
tinct and effete, and that every path was
preoccupied—all these concurrent motives
might naturally, in a large proportion of
the most vigorous and useful minds, gen-
erate a distaste and weariness of the
world. Religion, then almost universally
dominant, would seize on this feeling and
enlist it in her service : it would avail it-
self of, not produce, the despondent de-
termination to abandon an ungrateful
Some of its world ; it would ennoble and
advantages, exalt the preconceived motives
for seclusion ;. give a kind of conscious
grandeur to inactivity, and substitute a
dreamy but elevating love for the Deity for
contemptuous misanthropy, as the justi-
fication for the total desertion of social
duty. Monaehism, in short, instead of
precipitating the fall of the Roman em-
pire, by enfeebling in any great degree
its powers of resistance, enabled some
portion of mankind to escape from the
feeling of shame and misery. Amid the
irremediable evils and the wretchedness
that could not be averted, it was almost a
social benefit to raise some part of man-
kind to a state of serene indifference; to
render some, at least, superior to the gen-
eral calamities. Monaehism, indeed, di-
rectly secured many in their isolation
from all domestic ties, from that worst
suffering inflicted by barbarous warfare,
the sight of beloved females outraged, and
innocent; children butchered. In those
times,; the man was : happiest who had
.least to;lose, and who exposed the few-
est, vulnerable points of feeling or sympa-
thy.: the natural affections, in which, in
ordinary times, consists the best happi-
ness of man, were in those days such
perilous indulgences, that he who was en-
tirely detached from them embraced, per-
haps, considering temporal-'views'alone,
the most prudent course.1 The solitary
could not but suffer in his.own person;
and though by no means secure in his
sanctity from insult, or even death, his

self-inflicted privations hardened him
against the former, his high-wrought en-
thusiasm enabled him to meet the latter
with calm resignation : he had none to
leave whom he had to lament, none to
lament him after his departure. The
spoiler who found his way to his secret
cell was baffled by his poverty; and the
sword which cut short his days but short-
ened his painful pilgrimage on earth, and
removed him at once to an anticipated
heaven. With what different feelings
would he behold, in his poor, and naked,
and solitary cell, the approach of the
bloodthirsty barbarians, from the father
of a family, in his splendid palace, or his
more modest and comfortable private
dwelling, with a wife in his arms, whose
death he would desire to see rather than
that worse than death to which she might
first be doomed in his presence ; with help-
less children clinging around his knees :
the blessings which he had enjoyed, the
wealth or comfort of his house, the beau-
ty of his wife, of his daughters, or even
of his sons, being the strongest attraction
to the spoiler, and irritating more violently
his merciless and unsparing passions, if
to some the monastic state offered a ref-
uge for the sad remainder of their bereav ■
ed life, others may have taken warning in
time, and with deliberate forethought re-
fused to implicate themselves in tender
connexions which were threatened with
such deplorable end. Those who secluded’
themselves from domestic relations from
other motives, at all events were secured
from such miseries, and might be envied
by those who had played the game of life
with a higher stake, and ventured on its
purest pleasures with the danger of incur-
ring all its bitterest reverses.

Monaehism tended powerfully to keep
up the vital enthusiasm of Chris-
tianity. Allusion has been made maintenance
to its close connexion with the ofcimstian-
conversion both of the Roman uy*
and the Barbarian; and to the manner in
which, from its settlement in some retired
pagan district, it gradually disseminated
the faith, and sometimes the industrious,
always the moral, influence of Christian-
ity through the neighbourhood in a gradu-
ally-expanding circle. Its peaceful colo-
nies within the frontier of barbarism slow-
ly but uninterruptedly subdued the fierce
or indolent savages to the religion of
Christ and the manners and habits of civ-
ilization. But its internal influence was
not less visible, immediate, and inexhaust-
ible. The more extensive dissemination
of Christianity naturally weakened its au-
thority. V"hen the small primitive as-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 431

Bembly of the Christians grew into a
universal church; when the village, the
town, the city, the province, the empire,
became in outward form and profession
Christian, the practical heathenism only
retired to work more silently and impel*'
ceptibly into the Christian system. The
wider the circle, the fainter the line of
distinction from the surrounding waters.
Small societies have a kind of self-acting
principle of conservation within. Mutual
inspection generates mutual awe; the gen-
erous rivalry in religious attainment keeps
up regularity in attendance on the sacred
institutions, and at least propriety of de-
meanour. Such small communities may
be disturbed by religious faction, but are
long before they degenerate into unchris-
tian licentiousness, or languish into reli-
gious apathy. But when a large propor-
tion of Christians received the faith as an
inheritance from their fathers rather than
from personal conviction; when hosts of
deserters from paganism passed over into
the opposite camp, not because it was the
best, but because it was the most flourish-
ing cause, it became inexpedient as well
as impossible to maintain the severer dis-
cipline of former times. But Monachism
was constantly reorganizing small socie-
ties, in which the bond of aggregation was
the common religious fervour, in which
emulation continually kept up the excite-
ment, and mutual vigilance exercised un-
resisted authority. The exaggeration of
their religious sentiments was at once the.
tenure of their existence and the guaran-
tee for their perpetuity. Men would nev-
er be wanting to enrol themselves in their
ranks, and their constitution prevented
them from growing to an unmanageable
size; when one establishment, or institu-
tion wore out, another was sure to spring
up. The republics of Monachism were
constantly reverting to their first princi-
ples, and undergoing a vigorous and thor-
ough reformation. Thus, throughout the
whole of Christian history, until, or even
after, the reformation within the Church of
Rome, we find either new monastic orders
rising, or the old remodelled and regula-
ted by the zeal of some ardent enthusiast;
the associatory principle, that great politi-
cal and religious engine which is either
the conservative or the destructive power
in every period of society, was constantly
embracing a certain number of persons
devoted to a common end; and the new
sect, distinguished by some peculiar badge,
of dress, of habit, or of monastic rule, re-
imbodied some of the fervour of primitive
Christianity, and awakened the growing
lethargy by the example of unusual aus-

terities, or rare and exemplary activity in
the dissemination of the faith.

The beneficial tendency of this constant
formation of young and vigorous societies
in the bosom of Christianity was of more
importance in the times of desolation and
confusion which impended over the Ro-
man empire. In this respect, likewise,
their lofty pretensions ensured their utili-
ty. Where reason itself was about to be
in abeyance, rational religion would have
had but little chance : it would have com-
manded no respect. Christianity, in its
primitive simple and unassuming form,
might have imparted its holiness, and
peace, and happiness to retired ‘families,
whether in the city or the province, but
its modest and retiring dignity would have
made no impression on the general tone
and character of society. There was
something in the seclusion of religious
men from mankind, in their standing aloof
from the rest of the world, calculated to
impress barbarous minds with a feeling of
their peculiar' sanctity. The less they
were like to ordinary men, the more, in
the ordinary estimation, they were ap-
proximated to the Divinity. At all events,
this apparently broad and manifest evi-
dence of their religious sincerity would
be mofe impressive to unreasoning minds
than the habits of the clergy, which ap-
proached more nearly to those of the
common laity.*

The influence of this continual rivalry
of another sacred, though not influence on
decidedly sacerdotal class, upon the clergy,
the secular clergy, led to important re-
sults. We may perhaps ascribe to the
constant presence of Monachism the con-
tinuance and the final recognition -of the
celibacy of the clergy, the vital principle
of the ecclesiastical power in the middle
ages. Without the powerful direct sup-
port which they received from the monas-
tic orders; without the indirect authority
over the minds of men which flowed from
their example, and inseparably connected,
in the popular mind, superior sanctity with
the renunciation of marriage, the ambitious
popes would never have been able, par-
ticularly in the north, to part the clergy by
this strong line of demarcation from the

* The monks were originally laymen (Cassian,
v.,26); gradually churches were attached to the.
monasteries, but these were served by regularly or-
dained clergy (Pallad., Hist. Lausiaca): but their
reputation f6r sanctity constantly exposed them to
be seized and consecrated by the ardent admiration
of their followers.: Theiner has collected, with con-
siderable labour, a long list of the more celebrated
prelates of the Church who had been monks, p. 108.
Ita ergo age et vive in monasterio, ut clericus ess*
merearis.—Hieron., Epist. ad Rustic., 05.432

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

profane laity. As it was, it required the
most vigorous and continued effort to es-
in promoting .tablish, by ecclesiastical regula-
ceiibacy. tion and papal power, that which
was no longer in accordance with the reli-
gious sentiments of the clergy themselves.'
The general practice of marriage, or of a
kind of legalized concubinage, among the
northern clergy, showed the tendency, if
it had not been thus counteracted by the
rival order and by the dominant ecclesias-
tical policy of the Church.* But it is im-
possible to calculate the effect of that com-
plete blending up of the clergy with" the
rest of the community which would proba-
bly havfe ensued from the gradual abroga-
tion of this single distinction at this junc-
ture. The interests of their order, in men
connected with the community by the or-
dinary social ties, would have been second-
ary to their own personal advancement
or that of their families. They would have
ceased to be a peculiar and separate caste,
and sunk down into the common penury,
rudeness, and ignorance. .Their influence
would be closely connected with their
wealth and dignity, which, of course, on
the other hand, would tend to augment
their influence; but that corporate am-
bition, which induced them to consider the
cause of their order as their own ; that de-
sire of riches, which wore the honourable
appearance of personal disinterestedness,
and zeal for the splendour of religion,
could not have existed but in a class com-
pletely insulated from the common feel-
ings and interests of the community. In-
dividual members of the clergy might have
become wealthy, and obtained authority
over the ignorant herd; but there would
have been no opulent and powerful Church,
acting with vigorous unity, and arranged
Jn simultaneous hostility against barbarism
and paganism.

Our history must hereafter trace the
connexion of the independence and sep-
arate existence of the clergy with the
maintenance and the authority of Chris-
tianity. But even as conservators of the
lingering remains of science, arts, and
letters, as the sole- order to which some
kind of intellectual education was neces-
sary, when knowledge was a distinction
which alone commanded respect, the
clergy were, not without advantage, se-
cured by their celibacy from the cares
and toils of social life. In this respect
Monachism acted in two ways; as itself
the most efficient guardian of what was
most worth preserving in the older civ-’
ilization, and as preventing, partly by emu-

* The general question of the celibacy of the

clergy will be subsequently examined.

lation, partly by this enforce men of ^>eli-
bacy, the secular clergy from degenera-
ting universally into that state of total ig-
norance which prevailed among them in
some quarters.

It is impossible to survey Monachism
in its general influence, from the earliest
period of its interworking into Christianity,
without being astonished and perplexed
with its diametrically opposite effects.
Here it is the undoubted parent of the
blindest ignorance and the most ferocious
bigotry, sometimes of the most debasing
licentiousness; there the guardian of
learning, the author of civilization, the
propagator of humble and peaceful reli-
gion. To the dominant spirit of Mona-
chism may be ascribed some part at least of
the gross superstition and moral ineffi-
ciency of the Church in the Byzantine em-
pire ; to the same spirit much of the salu-
tary authority of Western Christianity, its
constant aggressions on barbarism, and
its connexion with the Latin literature.
Yet neither will the different genius of the
East and West account for this contradic-
tory operation of -the monastic spirit, in
the two divisions of the Roman empire.
If human nature was degraded by the filth
and fanatic self-torture, the callous apathy,
and the occasional sanguinary violence of
the Egyptian or Syrian monk, yet the
monastic retreat sent forth its Basils and
Chrysostoms, who seemed to have braced
their strong intellects by the air of the
desert. Their intrepid and disinterested
devotion to their great cause, the complete
concentration of their whole faculties on
the advancement of Christianity, seemed
strengthened by this entire detachment
from mankind.

Nothing can be conceived more appa-
rently opposed to the designs of the God
of nature, and to the mild and beneficent
spirit of Christianity; nothing more hos-
tile to the dignity, the interests, the happi-
ness, and the intellectual and moral per-
fection of man, than the monk afflicting
himself with unnecessary pain, and thrill-
ing his soul with causeless fears; con-
fined to a dull routine of religious duties,
jealously watching and proscribing every
emotion of pleasure as a sin against the
benevolent Deity, dreading knowledge as
an impious departure from the becoming
humility of man.

On the other hand, what generous or
lofty mind can refuse to acknowledge the
grandeur of that superiority to all the
cares and passions of mortality ; the feli-
city of that state which is removed far
above the tears or the necessities of life;
that sole passion of admiration and lovetflSTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

of the Deity, which no doubt was attained
by some of the purer and more imagina-
tive enthusiasts of the cell or the cloister.
Who, still more, will dare to depreciate that
heroism of Christian benevolence, which
underwent this self-denial of the lawful
enjoyments and domestic charities of
which it had neither extinguished the de-
sire nor subdued the regret, not from the
slavish fear of displeasing the Deity or
the selfish ambition of personal perfection,
but from the genuine desire of advancing
the temporal and eternal improvement of
mankind; of imparting the moral amelio-
ration and spiritual hopes of Christianity
to the wretched and the barbarous ; of be-
ing the messengers of Christian faith and
the ministers of Christian charity to the
heathen, whether in creed or in character.

We return from this long, but not un-
Life of necessary, digression to the life of
Jerome. Jerome, the great advocate of JYIon-
achism in the West. Jerome began and
closed his career as a monk of Palestine :
he attained, he aspired to, no dignity, in
the Church. Though ordained a presby-
ter against his will, he escaped the epis-
copal dignity which was forced upon his
distinguished contemporaries. He left to
Ambrose, to Chrysostom, and to Augus-
tine the authority of office, and was con-
tent with the lower, but not less extensive,
influence of personal communication, or
the effect of his; writings. After having
passed his youth in literary studies in
Rome, and travelling throughout the West,
he visited Palestine. During his voyage
to the .East he surveyed some great cit-
ies and consulted their libraries ; he was
received in Cyprus by the Bishop Epipha-
nius. In Syria he plunged at once into
the severest austerities of asceticism.
We have already inserted the lively de-
scription of the inward struggles and ag-
onies which tried him during his first re-
treat in the Arabian desert.

But Jerome had other trials peculiar to
Trials Of Je- himself. It was not so much
rome.in his the indulgence of the coarser
retreat. passions, the lusts and ambition
of the world, which distressed his religious
sensibilities ;* it was the nobler and more
intellectual part of his being which was
endangered by the fond reminiscenses of
his former days. He began to question
the lawfulness of those literary studies
which had been the delight of his youth.
He had brought with him, his sole com-

* Jerome, says : “ Prima est virginitas a nativi-
tate; secunda. virginitas a secunda nativitate; he
ingenuously confesses that he could only boast of
the second.—Epist. xxv., iv., p. 242; Oper., iv., p.
459.

3 I

43c

panions, besides the sacred books of his
religion, the great masters of poetry and
philosophy, of Greek and Latin style ; and
the magic of Plato’s and Cicero's language,
to his refined and fastidious ear, made the
sacred writings of Christianity, on which
he was intently fixed, appear rude and
barbarous. In his retreat in His classic^
Bethlehem he had undertaken sludies-
the study of Hebrew,* as a severe occu-
pation to withdraw him from those impure
and worldly thoughts which his austerities
had not entirely subdued ; and in the wea-
ry hours when he was disgusted with his
difficult task, he could not refrain from re-
curring, as a solace, to his lavourite au-
thors. But even this indulgence alarmed
his jealous conscience ; ■ though he fasted
before he opened his Cicero, his mind
dwelt with too intense delight on the lan-
guage of the orator; and the distaste with
which he passed from the musical periods
of Plato to the verses of the prophets, of
which his ear had not yet perceived the
harmony, and his Roman taste had not,
perhaps, imbibed the full sublimity, ap-
peared to him as an impious offence against
his religion.f The inward struggles of
his mind threw him into a fever; he was
thought to be dead, and in the lethargic
drearn of his distempered imagination he
thought that he beheld himself before the
throne of the great Judge, before the bright-
ness of which he dared not.liftup his eyes.
“Who art thou'?” demanded the awfui
voice. “ A Christian,” answered the trem-
bling Jerome.J “ ’Tis false,” sternly re-
plied the voice; “ thou art no Christian,
thou art a Ciceronian. Where the treas
ure is, there is the heart also.” Yet,
however the scrupulous conscience of Je-
rome might tremble at this profane admix-
ture of sacred and heathen studies, he was
probably qualified in a high degree by this

* His description of Hebrew, as compared with
Latin, is curious : “ Ad quam edomapdarn, cuidem
fratri, qui ex Hebrseis crediderat, me in diseiplinam
dedi ut post Quintiliani acumina, gravitatemque
Frontonis, et levitatem Plinii, alphabetum discerem
et stridentia afthelaque verba meditarer— quid ibi la-
boris insurnserim'{—Epist. xcv., ad Rusticum, p.
774.

t Si quando in memetreversus, prophetas legere
ccepissem, sermo horrebat incultus—Epist. xviii ,
ad Eustoch., iv , p. 42.

X Interim parantur exequise, et vitalis animae ca
lor, toto frigescente jam corpore, in solo tantum te
pente pulvisculo, palpitabat; quum subito raptus
in spiritu, ad tribunal judicis pertrahor; ubi tantum
luminis, et tantum eratex circumstantium claritate
fulgoris, ut projectus in terram, sursum aspicere
non auderum. Interrogatus de conditione, Chris
tianum me esse respondi. Et ille qui prsesidebat
mortuies ait, Ciceronianus es, non Christianus; uhi
enim thesaurus tuns, ibi et cor tuvm.—Ad Eustoch.,
Epist. xviii., iv., p. 42.434

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

very discordant collision of opposite tastes
for one of the great services which he was
to render to Christianity. No writer, with-
out that complete mastery over the Latin
language which could only be attained by
constant familiarity with its best models,
could so have harmonized its genius with
the foreign elements which were to be
mingled with it as to produce the vivid
and glowing style of the Vulgate Bible.
That this is far removed from the purity
of Tully, no one will question: we shall
hereafter consider more at length its ge-
nius and its influence; but we may con-
jecture what would have been the harsh,
jarring, and inharmonious discord of the
opposing elements, if the translator had
only been conversant with the African
Latinity of Tertullian, or the elaborate ob-
scurity of writers like Ammianus Marcel-
linus.

Jerome could not, in the depths of his
Return to retreat or in the absorbing oceu-
Rome. pation of his studies, escape being
involved in those controversies which dis-
tracted the Eastern churches and pene-
trated to the cell of the remotest anchorite.
He returned to the West to avoid the rest-
less polemics of his brother monks. On
his return to Rome, the fame of his piety
and talents commended him to the confi-
dence of the Pope Damasus,* by whom he
was employed in the most important af-
fairs of the Roman see. But either the
Morality of influence or the opinions of Je-
the Roman rome excited the jealousy of the
clergy. Roman clergy, whose vices Je-
rome paints in no softened colours. We
almost, in this contest, behold a kind of
prophetic prelude to the perpetual strife
which has existed in almost all ages be-
tween the secular and regular clergy, the
hierarchical and monastic spirit. Though
the monastic opinions and practices were
by no means unprecedented in Italy (they
had been first introduced by Athanasius in
his flight from Egypt); though they were
maintained by Ambrose and practised by
some recluses, yet the pomp, the wealth,
and the authority of the Roman ecclesias-
tics, which is described by the concurrent
testimony of the heathen historianf and
the Christian Jerome, would not humbly
brook, the greater popularity of these se-
verer doctrines, nor patiently submit to the
estrangement of some of their more opu-
lent and distinguished proselytes, particu-
larly among the females. Jerome admits,
indeed, with specious but doubtful humili-
ty, the inferiority of the unordained monk

* Epist. xii, p. 744. Tillemont, Vie de Jerome.
+ Ammianus Marcellinus. See Postea.

to the ordained priest. The clergy were
the successors of the apostles ; their lips
could make the body of Christ; they had
the keys of heaven until the day of judg-
ment ; they were the shepherds, the monks
only part of the flock. Yet the clergy, no
doubt, had the sagacity to foresee the dan-
gerous rival as to influence and authority
which was rising up in Christian society.
The great object of contention now was
the command over the highborn lnfluence
and wealthy females of Rome, over ferrmi. s
Jerome, in his advice to the ofRome
clergy, cautiously warns them 3gainst the
danger of female intimacy.* He, how-
ever, either considered himself secure, or
under some peculiar privilege, or justified
by the prospect of greater utility, to sus-
pend his laws on his own behalf. He be-
came a kind of confessor; he directed the
sacred studies, he overlooked the religious
conduct of more than one of these pious
ladies. The ardour and vehemence with
which his ascetic opinions were embraced,
and the more than usually familiar inter-
course with matrons and virgins of rank,
may perhaps have offended the pride, if
not the propriety, of Roman manners.
The more temperate and rational of the
clergy, in their turn, may have thought the
zeal with which these female converts of
Jerome were prepared to follow their
teacher to the Holy Land by no means a
safe precedent; they may have taken
alarm at the yet unusual fervour of lan-
guage with which female ascetics were
celebrated as united by the nuptial tie to
Christ,! and exhorted, in the glowing im-
agery of the Song of Solomon, to devote
themselves to their spiritual spouse. They
were the brides of Christ; Christ, wor-
shipped by angels in heaven, ought to have
angels to worship him on earth.J With
regard to Jerome and his highborn friends,
their suspicions were doubtless unjust.

It is singular, indeed, to contrast the dif-

* Epist. ad Heliodorum, p. 10.

f See the Epistle ad Eustochium. The whole
of this letter is a singular union of religious earnest-
ness and what, to modern feeling, would seem
strange indelicacy, if not immodesty, with still
stranger liberty with the language of Scripture.
He seems to say that Eustochium was the first no-
ble Roman maiden who embraced virginity: “ Qua?

* * prima Romanae urbis virgo nobilis esse eoepisti.”
He says, however, of Marcella, “Nullaeo tempore
nobilium foeminarum noverat Romae propositum
monacharum, nec audebat propter rei novitatem,
ignominiosum, uttunc putabatur, et vile in populis,
nomen assumere.”—Marcellse Epitaph., p. 780.

! In Jerome’s larger interpretation of Solomon’s
Song (adv. Jovin., p. 171) is a very curious and
whimsical passage, alluding to the Saviour as the
spouse. There is one sentence, however, in the
letter to Eustochium, so blasphemously indecent
that it must not be quoted even in Latin.—P. 3sHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

435

ciiara;ter of ^rent descriptions of the female
Roman fe- aristocracy of Rome, at the va-
maies. rious periods of her history ; the
secluded and dignified matron, employed
in household duties, and educating with
severe discipline, for the military and civil
service of the state, her future consuls and
dictators; the gorgeous luxury, the almost
incredible pro'fligacy, of the later days of
the republic and of the empire, the Julias
and Messalinas, so darkly coloured by the
satirists of the times; the active charity
and the stern austerities of the Paulas and
Eustochiums of the present period. It was
not, in general, the severe and lofty Ro-
man matron of the age of Roman virtue
whom Christianity induced to abandon her
domestic duties, and that highest of all du-
ties to her country, the bringing up of no-
ble and virtuous citizens ; it was the soft,
and, at the same time, the savage female,
who united the incongruous, but too fre-
quently reconciled, vices of sensuality and
cruelty; the female whom the facility of
divorce, if she abstained from less lawful
indulgence, enabled to gratify in a more
decent manner her inconstant passions;
who had been inured from her most tender
age, not merely to theatrical shows of
questionable modesty, but to the bloody
scenes of the arena, giving the signal per-
haps with her own delicate hand for the
mortal blow to the exhausted gladiator.
We behold with wonder, not unmixed with
admira'tion, women of the same race and
city either forswearing from their earliest
youth all intercourse with men, or pre-
serving the state of widowhood with irre-
proachable dignity; devoting their wealth
to the foundation of hospitals, and their
time to religious duties and active benevo-
lence. These monastic sentiments were
carried to that excess which seemed in-
separable from the Roman character. At
twelve years old the young Asella devoted
herself to God; from that time she had
never conversed with man; her knees
were as hard as a camel’s, by constant
genuflexion and prayer.* * Paula, the fer-
Pauia vent disciple Jerome, after devo-
aua' ting the wealth of an ancient and
opulent house to charitable uses.f to the

* Hieronym., Epist. xxi.

f Jerome thus describes the charity of Paula:
Quid ego referam, amplseet nobilis domus, et quon-
dam opulentissimse, omnes psene divitias in paupe-
res erogatas. Quid in cunctos clementissimum ani-
mum, et bonitatem etiam in eos quos nunquam
yiderat, evagantem. Quis inopurn moriens, non
illius vestimentis obvolutus est,? Quis clinicorum
non ejus facultatibus sustentatus est? Quos curi-
osissim& tota urbe perquirens, damnum putabat, si
quis debilis et esuriens cibo sustentaretur alterius.
Spoliabat jilio$,et inter objurgantes propinquos, ma-

impoverishing of her own children, desert-
ed her family. Her infant son and hei
marriageable daughter watched with en-
treating looks her departure; she did not
even turn her head away to hide her ma-
ternal tears, but lifted up her unmoistened
eyes to heaven, and continued her pilgrim-
age to the Holy Land. Jerome celebrates
this sacrifice of the holiest charities of life
as the height of female religious heroism.*
The vehement and haughty temper of
Jerome was not softened by his Controver.
monastic austerities, nor humbled sies of Je*-
by the severe proscription of the rome-
gentler affections. His life, in the capital
and the desert, was one long warfare.
After the death of his friend and protec-
tor, Damasus, the growing hostility of the
clergy, notwithstanding the attachment oi
his disciples, rendered his residence in
Rome disagreeable. Nor was the peace
of the monastic life his reward for his
zealous exertions in its cause. He retired
to Palestine, where he passed the Retreat to
rest of his days in religious studies Palestine,
and in polemic disputes. Wherever any
dissentient from the doctrine or the prac-
tice of the dominant Christianity ventured
to express his opinions, Jerome launched
the thunders of his interdict from his cell
at Bethlehem. No one was more perpet-
ually involved in controversy, or opposed
with greater rancour of personal hostility,
than this earnest advocate of unworldly re-
ligious seclusion. He was engaged in a ve-
hement dispute with St. Augustine on the
difference between St. Peter and St. Paul.
But his repose was most imbittered by the
acrimonious and obstinate contest with Ru-
finus, which was rather a personal than a
polemic strife. In one controversy Chris
tendom acknowledged and hailed him as

jorem se eis haereditatem, Christi misericordiam di-
mittere loquebatur.—Epitaph. Paulse, p. 671. Ai
her death, Jerome relates with great pride that she
did not. leave a penny to her daughter, but a load of
debts (magnum aes alienum).

* It is a passage of considerable beauty: Desceh
dit ad portum, fratre, cognatis, aflinibus, et (quod
his majus est) liberis prosequentibus, et clementis-
simam matrem pietate vincere cupientibus. Jam
carbasa tendebantur, et remorum ductu navis in al-
tum protrahebatur. Parvus Toxotius supplices
manus tendebat in littora. Rufina, jam nubilis, ut
suas expectaret nuptias, tacens fletibus obsecrabat,
et tamen ilia siccos ad ccelum oculos, pietatem in
filios, pietate in Deum superans nesciebat se ma-
trem ut Christi probaret ancillam. * * Hoc contra
jura naturse plena fidespatiebatur, imo gaudens ani-
mus appetebat.—Epitaph. Paulse, 672.

This was her epitaph :

Aspicis angustum precisa rupe sepulcrum ?
Hospitium Paulae est, coelestia regna tenentis.
Fratrem, cognatos, Rornarn, patriamque relinquens,
Divitias, sobolem, Bethlehemite conditur antro.

Hie prsesepe tuum, Christe, atque hie mystica Magi
Munera portantes, hominique, Deoque dedere.436

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Jovinian her champion. Jovinian and Vi-
and vigi- gilantius are involved in the dark
Jantius. Yist of heretics; but their error ap-
pears to have been that of unwisely at-
tempting to stem the current of popular
Christian opinion rather than any depar-
ture from the important doctrines of Chris-
tianity. They were premature Protest-
ants ; they endeavoured, with vain and ill-
timed efforts, to arrest the encroaching
spirit of Monachism, which had now en-
slaved the whole of Christianity;* they
questioned the superior merit of celibacy;
they protested against the growing wor-
ship of relics.f Their effect upon the
dominant sentiment of the times may be
estimated by the language of wrath, bit-
terness, contempt, and abhorrence with
which Jerome assails these bold men who
thus presumed to encounter the spirit of
their age. The four points of Jovinian’s
heresy were, 1st, That virgins had no high-
er merit, unless superior in their good
works, than widows and married women;
2d, That there was no distinction of meats;
3d, That those who had been baptized in
full faith would not be overcome by the
devil; and, 4th, That those who had pre-
served the grace of baptism would meet
with an equal reward in heaven. This
last clausq was perhaps a corollary from
the first, as the panegyrists of virginity
uniformly claimed a higher place in heav-
en for the immaculate than for those who
had been polluted by marriage. To those
doctrines Vigilantius added, if possible,
more hated tenets. He condemned the
respect paid to the martyrs and their rel-
ics ; he questioned the miracles performed
at their tombs; he condemned the light-
ing lamps before them as a pagan super-
stition ; he rejected the intercession of
the saints ; he blamed the custom of send-
ing alms to Jerusalem, and the selling all
property to give it to the poor; he assert-
ed that it was better to keep it and dis-
tribute its revenues in charity; he pro-
tested against the whole monastic life, as
interfering with the duty of a Christian to
his neighbour. These doctrines were not
without their followers ; the resentment

* Hieronym. adv. Vigilantium, p. 281.

t The observation of Fleury shows how mis-
timed was the attempt of Vigilantius to return to
the simpler Christianity of former days: “ On ne
voit pas que l’heresie (de Vigilance), ait eu de
suite ; ni qu’on ait eu besoin d’aucun concile pour
la condamner tant elle etoit contraire a la tradition
de I’Eglise Universelle,” tom. v., p. 278.

I have purposely, lest I should overstrain the
Protestantism of these remarkable men, taken this
view of their tenets from Fleury. perhaps the fair*
est and most dispassionate writer of his church
[liv, xix., c. 19], tom. iv., p. 602 [liv. xxii., c. 5],
lom. v., p. 275.

of Jerome was imbittered by their effect
on some of the noble ladies of Rome, who
began to fall off to marriage. Even some
bishops embraced the doctrines of Vigilan -
tius, and, asserting that the high profes-
sions of continence led the way to de
bauchery, refused to ordain unmarried
deacons.

The tone of Jerome’s indignant writings
against those new heretics is that of a
man suddenly arrested in his triumphant
career by some utterly unexpected oppo-
sition ; his resentment at being thus cross-
ed is mingled with a kind of wonder that
men should exist who could entertain such
strange and daring tenets. The length,
it might be said the prolixity, to which he
draws out his answer to Jovinian, seems
rather the outpouring of his wrath and his
learning than as if he considered it ne-
cessary to refute such obvious errors.
Throughout it is the master condescend-
ing to teach, not the adversary to argue.
He fairly overwhelms him with a mass ol
Scripture and of classical learning: at one
time he pours out a flood of allegorical
interpretations of the Scripture ; he then
confounds him with a clever passage from
Theophrastus on the miseries of mar-
riage. Even the friends of Jerome, the
zealous Pammachius himself, were offend-
ed by the fierceness of his first invective
against Jovinian* and his contemptuous
disparagement of marriage. The injustice
of his personal charges are refuted by the
more temperate statements of Augustine
and by his own admissions.f He was
obliged, in his Apology, to mitigate his
vehemence, and reluctantly to fall into a
milder strain; but even the Apology has
something of the severe and contempt-
uous tone of an orator who is speaking

* Indignamini mihi, quod Jovinianum non doc-
uerim, sed vicerim. Imo indignantur mihi qui il-
ium anathematization dolent.—Apolog., p. 236.

f Jerome admits that Jovinian did not assert the
privilege which he vindicated ; he remained a
monk, though Jerome highly colours his luxurious
habits. After his coarse tunic and bare feet, and
food of bread and water, he has betaken himself to
white garments, sweetened wine, and highly-dress-
ed meats : to the sauces of an Apicius or a Paxa-
mus, to baths, and shampooings (fricticulse : the
Benedictines translate this fritter-shops), and cooks’
shops, it is manifest that he prefers earth to heaven,
vice to virtue, his belly to Christ, and thinks his
rubicund colour (purpuram colons ejus) the king-
dom of heaven. Yet this handsome, this corpulent,
smooth monk always goes in whhe like a bride-
groom : let him marry a wife to prove the equal
value of virginity and marriage; but if he will not
take a wife, though he is against us in his words,
his actions are for us. He afterward says, Ille Ro-
manae ecclesise auctoritate damnatus inter fluviales
aves, et carnes suillas, non tam emisit ai.imam
quam eructavit.— P. 183.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

437

on the popular side, with his audience al-
ready in his favour.

But his language to Jovinian is sober,
. dispassionate, and argumenta-
lg] antius. tjve -n comparjson with that to

Vigilantius, He describes all the mon-
sters ever invented by poetic imagina-
tion, the centaurs, the leviathan, the Ne-
mean lion, Cacus, Geryon. Gaul, by her
one monster Vigilantius,* had surpassed
all the pernicious and portentous horrors
of other regions. “ Why do I fly to the
desert ! That I may not see or hear thee ;
that I may no longer be moved by thy
madness, nor be provoked to wan by thee;
lest the eye of a harlot should captivate
me, and a beautiful form seduce me to un-
lawful love.” But his great and conclu-
sive argument in favour of reverence for
the dust of martyrs (that little dust which,
covered with a precious veil, Vigilantius
presumed to think but dust) is universal
authority. “ Was the Emperor Constan-

* His brief sketch of the enormities of Vigilan-
tius is as follows: Qui immundo spiritu pugnat
contra Christi spiritum, et martyrum negat sepul-
cra esse veneranda; damnandas dicit esse vigil-
sas; nunquam nisi in Pascha Alleluia cantandum :
icontinentiam hagresim, pudicitiam libidinis semi-

tine sacrilegious, who transported the rel-
ics of Andrew, Luke, and Timothy to Con-
stantinople, at whose presence the devils
(such devils as inhabit the wretched Vigi-
lantius) roar and are confounded! or the
Emperor Arcadius, who translated the
bones of the holy Samuel to Thrace *
Are all the bishops sacrilegious who en-
shrined these precious remains in silk, as
a vessel of gold; and all the people who
met them, and received them as it were the
living prophet! Is the Bishop of Rome,
who offers sacrifice on the altar under
which are the venerable bones (the vile
dust would Vigilantius say!) of Peter and
Paul; and not the bishop of one city alone,
but the bishops of all the cities in the
world who reverence these relics, around
which the' souls of the martyrs are con-
stantly hovering to hear the prayers of
the supplicant!”

The great work of Jerome, the authori-
tative Latin version of the Scriptures, will
demand our attention as one of the pri-
mary elements of Christian literature; a
subject which must form one most impor-
tant branch of our inquiry into the extent
and nature of the general revolution in the
history of mankind brought about by the
comolete establishment of Christianity.BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I.

THE ROMAN EMPIRE UNDER CHRISTIANITY.

The period is now arrived when we may
General sur- survey the total change in the
*®y °af tl^ect habits and manners, as well as
e/bjfChris-" in the sentiments and opinions,
tianity. of mankind effected by the
dominance of the new faith. Christianity
is now the mistress of the Roman world;
on every side the struggles of paganism
become more feeble ; it seems resigned to
its fate, or, rather, only hopes, by a feigned
allegiance, and a simulation of the forms
and language of Christianity, to be per-
mitted to drag on a precarious and inglori-
ous existence. The Christians are now
no longer a separate people, founding and
maintaining their small independent re-
publics, fenced in by marked peculiarities
of habits and manners from the rest of
society; they have become, to all outward
appearance, the people; the general man-
ners of the world may be contemplated as
the manners of Christendom. The monks,
and in some respects the clergy, have, as
it were, taken the place of the Christians
as a separate and distinct body of men;
the latter in a great degree, the former
altogether, differing from the prevalent
usages in their modes of life, and abstain-
ing from the common pursuits and avoca-
tions of society. The Christian writers,
Sources of therefore, become our leading,
information, almost our only, authorities for
the general habits and manners of man-
kind (for the notice of such matters in the
heathen writers are few and casual), ex-
Theodosian cept the Theodosian Code. This,
Code. indeed, is of great value as a rec-
ord of manners, as well as a history of
legislation; for that which demands the
prohibition of the law, or is in any way of
sufficient importance to require the notice
of the legislature, may be considered as
a prevalent custom, particularly as the
Theodosian Code is not a system of ab-
stract and general law, but the register of
the successive edicts of the emperors,
who were continually supplying, by their
arbitrary acts, the deficiencies of the ex-
isting statutes, or, as new cases arose,
adapting those statutes to temporary exi-
gences.

But the Christian preachers are me
great painters of Roman manners; Christian
Chrysoslbm of the East, more par- writers,
ticularly of Constantinople ; Jerome, and,
though much less copiously, Ambrose and
Augustine, of Roman Christendom. Con-
siderable allowance must of course be
made in all these statements for oratorical
vehemence; much more for the ascetic
habits of the writers, particularly of Chry-
sostom, who maintained, and would have
exacted, the rigid austerity of the desert
in the midst of a luxurious capital. Nor
must the general morality of the times be
estimated from their writings without con-
siderable discretion. It is the office of the
preacher, though with a different design,
yet with something of the manner of the
satirist, to select the vices of mankind for
his animadversion, and to dwell with far
less force on the silent and unpretending
virtues. There might be, and probably
was, an under-current of quiet Christian
piety and gentleness, and domestic happi-
ness, which would not arrest the notice of
the preacher who was denouncing the
common pride and luxury; or, if kindling
into accents of praise, enlarging on the
austere self-denial of the anchorite or the
more shining virtues of the saint.

Christianity disturbed not the actual re-
lations of society, it interfered in no way
with the existing gradations of rank;
though, as we shall see, it introduced a
new order of functionaries—what may be
considered, from the estimation in which
they were held, a new aristocracy—it left
all the old official dignitaries in possession
of their distinctions. With the great vital
distinction between the freeman
and the slave, as yet it made no Savery°
difference.* It broke down none of the
barriers which separated this race of men
from the common rights of human kind,
and in no degree legally brought up this
Pariah caste of antiquity to the common
level of the human race.

* The laws of Justinian, it must be remembered,
are beyond this period. [Yet these laws recognise
slavery as perfectly lawful. See Justiniani, Inst it,,
lib. i., tit. 5-8, and Digest., lib. i., tit. 5, 6.]HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

439

In the new relation established between
mankind and the Supreme Being, the slave
was fully participant; he shared in the re-
demption through Christ; he might receive
all the spiritual blessings, and enjoy all
the immortalizing hopes of the believer;
he might be dismissed from his deathbed
to heaven by the absolving voice of the
priest; and besides this inestimable con-
solation in misery and degradation, this
religious equality, at least with the reli-
gious part of the community, could not fail
to elevate his condition, and to strengthen
that claim to the sympathies of mankind
which were enforced by Christian human-
ity. The axiom of Clement of Alexandrea,
that by the common law of Christian
charity, we were to act to them as we
would be acted by, because they were
men,* * though perhaps it might have been
uttered with equal strength of language
by some of the better philosophers, spoke
with far more general acceptance to the
human heart. The manumission, which
was permitted by Constantine to take
place in the Church, must likewise have
tended indirectly to connect freedom with
Christianity.!

Still, down to the time of Justinian, the
inexorable law, ,which, as to their treat-
ment, had already been wisely tempered
by the heathen emperors as to their rights,
pronounced the same harsh and imperious
sentence. It beheld them as an inferior
class of human beings; their life was
placed but partially under the protection
of the law. If they died under a punish-
ment of extraordinary cruelty, the mas-
ter was guilty of homicide; if under more
moderate application of the scourge, or
any other infliction, the master was not
accountable for their death.J While it re-
fused to protect, the law inflicted on the
slave punishments disproportionate to
those of the freeman. If he accused his
master for any crime except high treason,
he was to be burned if free women
married slaves, they sank to the abject
state of their husbands, and forfeited their
rights as free women ;|| if a free woman
intrigued with a slave, she was capitally
punished, the slave was burned.^

The possession of slaves was in no de-
gree limited by law. It was condemned
as a mark of inordinate luxury, but by no
means as in itself contrary to Christian
justice or equity.**

* Clemens Alex., Psedagog., iii., 12.

t See Blair on Slavery, p 288.

t Cod. Theodos., ix., 12, 1. $ lb., ix., 6, 2.

H lb., iv, 9, 1, 2, 3. 1 lb., ix., 11, 1.

** Clemens Alex., Psedagog., iii., 12. It is curi-
ous to compare this passage of Clement with the |

On the pomp and magnificence of the
court Christianity either did not Manners of
aspire, or despaired of enforcing the court-
moderation or respect for the common
dignity of mankind. The manners of the
East, as the emperor took up his resi-
dence in Constantinople, were too strong
for the religion. With the first Christian
emperor commenced that Oriental cere-
monial, which it might almost seem, that,
rebuked by the old liberties of Rome, the
imperial despot would not assume till he
had founded another capital; or, at least,
if the first groundwork of this Eastern
pomp was laid by Dioclesian, Rome had
already been deserted, and was not insult-
ed by the open degradation of the first
men in the empire to the language, atti-
tudes, and titles of servitude.

The eunuchs, who, however admitted in
solitary instances to the confi- Government
dence or favour of the earlier the eu-
emperors, had never formed a nuchs-
party or handed down to each other the
successive administrations, now ruled in
almost uncontested sovereignty, and, ex-
cept in some rare instances, seemed de-
termined not to incur, without deserving,
the antipathy and contempt of mankind.
The luxury and prodigality of the court
equalled its pomp and its servility. The
parsimonious reformation introduced by
Julian may exaggerate, in its contemptu-
ous expressions, the thousand cooks, the
thousand barbers, and more than a thou-
sand cup-bearers, with the host of eunuchs
and drones of every description who lived
at the charge of the Emperor Constan-
tius.* The character of Theodosius gave
an imposing dignity to his resumption of
that magnificence, of which Julian, not
without affectation, had displayed his dis-
dain. The heathen writers, perhaps with
the design of contrasting Theodosius with
the severer Julian, who are the represent-
atives, oi', at least, each the pride of the
opposing parties, describe the former as
immoderately indulging in the pleasures
of the table, and of re.-enlisting _

• .i • • i • a Ji lie 6ifii)6ror«

in the imperial service a count-
less multitude of cooks and other attend-
ants on the splendour and indulgence of
the court.f That which in Theodosiiu
was the relaxation or the reward for mili-
tary services, and the cares and agitations
of an active administration, degenerated
with his feeble sons into indolent and ef-
feminate luxury. The head of the empire

beautiful essay of Seneca. See likewise Chry-
sostom almost passim. Some had 2000 or 3000, t.
vii., p. 633.

* Libanius, Epitaph. Julian., p. 565.

t Zosimus, iv., 28.440

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

became a secluded Asiatic despot. When,
on rare occasions, Arcadius condescended
to reveal to the public the majesty of the
sovereign, he was preceded by a vast mul-
titude of attendants, dukes, tribunes, civil
and military officers, their horses glitter-
ing with golden ornaments, with shields
of gold set with precious stones, and
golden lances. They proclaimed the
coming of the emperor, and commanded
the ignoble crowd to clear the streets
before him.* * The emperor stood or re-
clined oil a gorgeous chariot, surrounded
by his immediate attendants, distinguished
by shields with golden -bosses set round
with golden eyes, and drawn by white
mules with gilded trappings ; the chariot
was set with precious stones, and golden
fans vibrated with the movement, and
cooled the air. The multitude contem-
plated at a distance the snow-white cush-
ions, the silken carpets, with dragons in-
woven upon them in rich colours. Those
who were fortunate enough to catch a
glimpse of the emperor beheld his ears
loaded with golden rings, his arms with
golden chains, his diadem set with gems
of all hues, his purple robes, which, with
the diadem, were reserved for the emper-
or, in all their sutures embroidered with
precious stones. The wondering people,
on their return to their homes, could talk
of nothing but the splendour of the spec-
tacle : the robes, the mules, the carpets,
the size and splendour of the jewels. On
nis return to the palace the emperor walk-
ed on gold; ships were employed with
the express purpose of bringing gold-dustf
from remote provinces, which was strewn
by the officious care of a host of attend-
ants, so that the emperor rarely set his
foot on the bare pavement.

The official aristocracy, which had suc-
The aris- ceeded to the hereditary patriciate
toeracy. 0f Rome, reflected in more mod-
erate splendour and less unapproachable
seclusion the manners of the court. The
chief civil offices were. filled by men of
ignoble birth, often eunuchs, who, by the
prodigal display of their ill- acquired wealth,
insulted the people, who admired, envied,
and hated their arrogant state. The mili-
tary officers, in the splendour of their
trappings and accoutrements, vied with
the gorgeousness of the court favourites;
and even the barbarians, who began to

* Montfaucon, in an essay in the last volume of
the works of Chrysostom, and in the twelfth vol.
of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions;
and Muller, in his treatise de Genio, Moribus, et
Luxu iEvi Theodosiani, have collected the princi-
pal features of this picture, chiefly from Chrysos-
tom. t XpvcuTiv.—See Muller, p. 10.

force their way by their valour to these
posts in the capital, caught the infection
of luxury and pomp. As in all despot-
isms, especially in the East, there was a
rapid rise and fall of unworthy favourites,
whose vices, exactions, and oppressions
were unsparingly laid open by hostile wri-
ters directly as they had lost the protect-
ing favour of the court. Men then found
out that the enormous wealth, the splen-
dour, the voluptuousness, in which a Eu-
tropius or a Rufinus had indulged, had
been obtained by the sale of appoint-
ments, by vast bribes from provincial
governors, by confiscations, and every
abuse of inordinate power.*

Christianity had not the power to ele-
vate despotism into a wise and beneficent
rule, nor to dignify its inseparable conse-
quence, court favouritism; yet, after all,
feeble and contemptible as are many of the
Christian emperors, pusillanimous even in
their vices; odious as was the tyranny of
their ministers, they may bear no unfa-
vourable comparison, with the heathen
emperors of Rome. Human nature is not
so outraged; our belief in the possible de-
pravity of man is not so severely tried as
by the monstrous vices and cruelties of a
Tiberius, a Caligula, or a Nero. Theo-
dora, even if we credit the malignant sat-
ire of Procopius, maintained some decen-
cy upon the throne. The superstitions of
the emperors debased Christianity; the
Christian bishop was degraded by being
obliged at times to owe his promotion to
a eunuch or a favourite; yet even the
most servile and intriguing of the hie-
rarchy could not be entirely forgetful of
their high mission ; there wras still a kind
of moral repugnance, inseparable from the
character they bore, which kept them
above the general debasement.

The aristocratical life at this period
seems to have been character- Manners o*.
ized by gorgeous magnificence the aristoc-
without grandeur, inordinate lux- racy* •
ury without refinement, the pomp and
prodigality of a high state of civilization
with none of its ennobling or humanizing
effects. The walls of the palaces were
lined with marbles of all colours, crowded

* Hie Asiam villa pactus regit; ille redemit
Conjugis ornatu Syriam ; dolet ille paterna
Bithynos mutasse dorno. Suffixa patenti
Vestibulo pretiis distinguit regula gentes.

Claud, in Eutrop., i., 199
Clientes

Fallit, et ambitos a principe vendit honores,

* * * * *

Congest® cumulantur opes, orbisque rapinas
Accipit una domus. Populi servire coacti
Plenaque privato succumbunt oppida regno.

In Rufln.j i., 179-193-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

441

with statues of inferior workmanship; mo-
saics, of which the merit consisted in the
arrangement of the stones; the cost, rath-
er than the beauty^ or elegance, was the
test of excellence and the object of admi-
ration. They were surrounded with hosts
of parasites or servants. “You reckon
up,” Chrysostom thus addresses a patri-
cian, “ so many acres of land, ten or
twenty palaces, as many baths, a thou-
sand or two thousand slaves, chariots pla-
ted with silver or overlaid with gold.”*
Their banquets were merely sumptuous,
without social grace or elegance,
ema es. ^ress 0f the females, the fond-
ness for false hair, sometimes wrought up
to an enormous height, and especially af-
fectingthe golden dye, and for paint, from
which irresistible propensities they were
not to be estranged even by religion, ex-
cite the stern animadversion of the ascetic
Christian teacher. “ What business have
rouge and paint on a Christian cheek 1
Who can weep for her sins when her tears
wash her face bare and mark furrows on
her skin? With what trust can faces be
lifted up towards heaven which the Ma-
ker cannot recognise as his workman-
ship ?”f T.heir necks, heads, arms, and
fingers were loaded with golden chains
and rings; their persons breathed pre-
cious odours, their dresses were of gold
stuff and silk; and in this attire they ven-
tured to enter the Church. Some of the
wealthier--Christian matrons*gave a reli-
gious air to their vanity, while the more
profane wore their thin silken dresses em-
broidered with hunting-pieces, wild beasts,
or any other fanciful device; the more pi-
ous had the miracles of Christ, the mar-
riage in Cana of Galilee, or the paralytic
carrying his bed. In vain the preachers
urged that it would be better to emulate
these acts of charity and love than to
wear them on their garments.J

It might indeed be supposed that Chris-
tianity, by the extinction of that feeling
for the beauty, grandeur, and harmony of
outward form, which was a part of the re-
ligion of Greece, and was enforced by the
purer and loftier philosophy, may have
contributed to this total depravation of
the taste. Those who had lost the finer
feeling for the pure and noble in art and in
social life, would throw themselves into
the gorgeous, the sumptuous, and the ex-

* T. vii, p. 533.

f Hieronym., Epist. 54. . Compare Epist. 19, vol.
i., p.284.

f Muller, p. 112. There are several statutes pro-
hibiting the use of gold brocade or dresses of silk in
the Theodosian Code, x., tit. 20. Other statutes
regulate the dress in Rome, xiv., 10, 1.

3 K

travagant. But it was rather the Roman
character than the influence of Christian-
ity which was thus fatal to the refine-
ments of life. The degeneracy of taste
was almost complete before the predom-
inance of the new religion. The manners
of ancient Rome had descended from the
earlier empire,* and the manners of Con-
stantinople were in most respects an elab-
orate imitation of those of Rome.

The provincial cities, according to the
national character, imitated the old and
new Rome; and in all, no doubt the no-
bility or the higher order were of the
same character and habits.

On the appointment to the provincial
governments, and the high civil offices of
the empire, Christianity at this time exer-
cised by no means a commanding, cer-
tainly no exclusive, influence. Either su-
perior merit, or court intrigue, or favour
bestowed civil offices with impartial hand
on Christian and pagan. The Rufinus or
the Eutropius cared little whether the
bribe was offered by a worshipper in the
Church or in the temple. The heathen
Themistius was appointed prefect of Con-
stantinople by the intolerant Theodosius ;
Praetextatus and Sy m machus held the high-
est civil functions in Rome. The prefect
who was so obstinate an enemy to Chry-
sostom was Optatus, a pagan. At a later
period, as we have observed, a statue was
raised to the heathen poet Merobaudes.

But, besides the officers of the imperial
government, of the provinces and the mu-
nicipalities, there now appeared a new
order of functionaries, with recognised, if
undefined powers, the religious magis-
trates of the religious community. In
this magisterial character the new hie-
rarchy differed from the ancient priest-
hoods at least of Greece and Rome. In
Greece they were merely the officiating
dignitaries in the religious ceremonial; in
Rome, the pontifical was attached to, and
in effect merged in, the important civil
function. But Christia'nity had its own
distinct and separate aristocracy, which
not merely officiated in the Church, but
ruled the public mind, and mingled itself
with the various affairs of life far beyond
this narrow sphere of religious ministra-
tion.

The Christian hierarchy was complete*
ly organized and established in the minds
of men before the great revolutions which,
under Constantine, legalized Christianity,
and, under Theodosius and his successors,

* Compare the description of the manners and
habits of the Roman nobles in Ammianus Marcel
linus, so well transferred intD English in tho 31st
chapter of Gibbon, vol. ii., p. 245*248.442

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

identified the Church and state. The
strength of the sacerdotal power was con-
solidated before it came into inevitable
collision, or had to dispute its indefinable
limits with the civil authority. Mankind
was now submitted to a double dominion,
the civil supremacy of the emperor and
his subordinate magistrates, and that of
the bishop with his inferior priesthood.

Up to the establishment of Christianity,
Gradual de- the clerical order had been the
veiopmentof sole magistracy of the new

ca? howerChi' C0111™1111^68- But it is HOt
ca power. a}one from scantiness of au-
thentic documents concerning the earliest
Christian history, but from the inevitable
nature of things, that the development of
the hierarchical power, as has already
been partially shown,* was gradual and
untraceable. In the infant Christian com-
munity we have seen that the chief teach-
er and the ruler, almost immediately, if
not immediately, became the same person.
It was not so much that he was formally
invested in authority, as that his advice,
his guidance, his control, were sought on
all occasions with timid diffidence, and
obeyed with unhesitating submission. In
the Christian, if it may be so said, the civil
was merged in the religious being ; he
abandoned willingly his rights as a citizen,
almost as a man, his independence of
thought and action, in order to be taught
conformity to the new doctrines which he
had embraced, and the new rule of life to
which he had submitted himself. Com-
munity of sentiment, rather than any strict
federal compact, was the primary bond of
the Christian republic ; and this general
sentiment, even prior, perhaps, to any for-
mal nomination or ordination, designated
the heads and the subordinate rulers, the
bishops, the presbyters, and the deacons;
and, therefore, where all agreed, there was
no question in whom resided the right of
conferring the title.f

The simple ceremonial of “ laying on of
hands,” which dedicated the individual for
his especial function, ratified and gave its
religious character to this popular election,
which took place by a kind of silent ac-
clamation ; and without this sacred com-
mission by the bishop, no one, from the
earliest times of which we have any rec-
ord, presumed, it should seem, to invest
himself in the sacred office.} The civil

* Book if, ch. 4.

f The growth of the Christian hierarchy, and the
general constitution of the Church, are developed
with learning, candour, and moderation by Planck,
in his Geschichte der Christlich-Kirchlichen Ver-
fassung, Hanover, 1803-1809, 6 vols.
t Gradually the admission to orders became a

and religious power of the hierarchy grew
up side by side, or intertwined with each
other, by the same spontaneous vital en-
ergy. Everything in the primary forma-
tion of the communities tended to increase
the power of their ecclesiastical superiors.
The investiture of the blended teacher and
ruler in a sacred, and at length in a sacer-
dotal character, the rigid separation of this
sacred order from the mass of the believ-
ers, could not but arise out of the unavoid-
able development of the religion. It was
not their pride or ambition that withdrew
them, but the reverence of the people
which enshrined them in a separate sphere:
they did not usurp or even assume their
power and authority ; it was heaped upon
them by the undoubting and prodigal con-
fidence of the community. The hopes and
fears of men would have forced this hon-
our upon them had they been humbly re-,
luctant to accept it. Man, in his state of
religious excitement, imperiously required
some authorized interpreters of those mys-
terious revelations from Heaven which be
could read himself but imperfectly and ob-
scurely ; he felt the pressing necessity of
a spiritual guide. The privileges and dis-
tinctions of the clergy, so far from being
aggressions on his religious independence,
were solemn responsibilities undertaken
for the general benefit. The Christian
commonalty, according to the general sen-
timent, could not have existed without
them, nor cotild such necessary but grave
functions be intrusted to casual or com-
mon hands. No individual felt himself
safe except under their superintendence.
Their sole right of entering the sanctuary
arose as much out of the awe of the peo-
ple as their own self-invested holiness of
character. The trembling veneration for
the mysteries of the sacrament must by
no means be considered as an artifice to
exalt themselves as the sole guardians and
depositaries of these blessings*; it was the
genuine expression of their own profound-
est feelings. If they had not assumed the
keys of heaven and hell; if they had not
appeared legitimately to possess the pow-
er of pronouncing the eternal destiny of

subject not merely of ecclesiastical, but of civil reg-
ulation. It has been observed that the decurion was
prohibited from taking orders in order to obtain ex-
emption from the duties of his station.—Cod.
Theod., xii., 1, 49. No slave, curialis, officer of
the court, public debtor, procurator, or collector of
the purple dye (murilegulus), or one involved in
business, might be ordained, or, if ordained, might
be reclaimed to his former state.—Cod. Theod., ix.,
45, 3. This was a law of the close of the fourth
century, A.D. 398. The Council of Iliiberis had
made a restriction that no freedman, whose patron
was a Gentile, could be ordained; he was still too
much under control.—Can. lxxx.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

man—to suspend or excommunicate from
those Christian privileges which were in-
separably connected in Christian belief
with the eternal sentence, or to absolve
and readmit into the pale of the Church
and of salvation—among the mass of be-
lievers, the uncertainty, the terror, the ag-
ony of minds fully impressed with the
conviction of their immortality, and yearn-
ing by every means to obtain the assu-
rance of pardon and peace, with heaven
and hell constantly before their eyes and
agitating their inmost being, would have
been almost insupportable. However they
might exaggerate their powers, they could
uot extend them beyond the ready acqui-
escence of the people. They could not
possess the power of absolving without
that of condemning; and men were con-
tent to brave the terrors of the gloomier
award for the indescribable consolations
and confidence in their brighter and more
ennobling promises.

The change in the relative position of
Christianity to the rest of the world tend-
ed to the advancement of the hierarchy.
At first there was no necessity to guard
the admission into the society with rigid
or suspicious jealousy, since the profes-
sion of Christianity in the face of a hos-
tile world was in itself almost a sufficient
test of sincerity. Expulsion from the so-
ciety, or a temporary exclusion from its
privileges, which afterward grew into the
awful forms of interdict or excommunica-
tion, must have been extremely rare or
unnecessary,* since he who could not en-
dure the discipline, or who doubted again
the doctrines of Christianity, had nothing
to do but to abandon a despised sect and
revert to the freedom of the world. The
older and more numerous the community,
severer regulations were requisite for the
admission of members, the maintenance
of order, of unity in doctrine, and propri-
ety of conduct, as well as for the ejection
Expulsion or of unworthy disciples. As men
excommuni- began to be Christians, not from
canon. personal conviction, but from
hereditary descent as children of Chris-
tian parents ; as the Church was filled

* The case in St. Paul’s Epistle to the Corinthi-
ans (I Cur., v., 5), which seems to have been the
first of forcible expulsion, was obviously an act of
apostolic authority [or, rather, was an act which
apostolic injunction authorized them to perforrri).
This, it is probable, was a Jewish convert; and
these persons stood in a peculiar position; they
would be ashamed, or would not be permitted, to
return into the bosom of the Jewish community,
which they had abandoned, and, if expelled from
the Christian Church, would be complete outcasts.
Not so the heathen apostate, who might one day
leave, and the next return, to his old religion, with
all its advantages.

41$

with doubtful converts, some from the
love of novelty, others, when they incur-
red less danger and obloquy, from less
sincere faith; some,no doubt,of the base
and profligate, from the desire of parta-
king of the well-known charity of the
Christians to their poorer brethren; many
would become Christians, having just
strength of mind enough to embrace its
tenets, but not to act up to its duties; a
more severe investigation, therefore, be-
came necessary for admission into the
society, a more summary authority for
the expulsion of improper members.*
These powers naturally devolved on the
heads of the community, who had either
originally possessed, and transmitted by
regularly-appointed descent, or held by
general consent, the exclusive adminis-
tration of the religious rites, the sacra-
ments, which were the federal bonds of
the community. Their strictly increase in
civil functions became likewise their civil
more extensive and important. inttuence-
All legal disputes had from the first been
submitted to the religious magistracy, not
as interpreters of the laws of the empire,
but as best acquainted with the higher
principles of natural justice and Christian
equity. The religious heads of the com-
munities were the supreme and univer-
sally recognised arbiters in all the trans-
actions of life. When the magistrate be-
came likewise a Christian, and the two
communities were blended into one, con-
siderable difficulty could not but arise, as
we shall hereafter see, in the limits of
their respective jurisdictions.

But the magisterial or ruling part of the
ecclesiastical function became thus more
and more relatively important; govern-
ment gradually became an affair of as-
serted superiority on one hand, of exact-
ed submission on the other; but still the
general voice would long be in favour of
the constituted authorities. The episcopal
power would be a mild, a constitutional,
an unoppressive, and, therefore, unques-

* It is curious to find that both ecclesiastical and
civil laws against apostacv were constantly neces-
sary. The Council of Elvira readmits an apostate
to communion who has not worshipped idols, after
ten years’ penance. The laws of Gratian and
Theodosius, and even of Arcadius and Valentinian
III., speak a more menacing language : the Chris-
tian who has become a pagan forfeits the right of
bequeathing by will; his will is null and void.—
Cod. Theod., xvi., 7, 1, 22. A law of Valentinian
II. inflicts the same penalty (only with some limita-
tion) on apostates to Judaism or Manicheism.
The laws of Arcadius and Valentinian III. prove,
by the severity of their prohibitions, not only that
cases of apostacy took place, but that sacrifices
were still frequently offered.'-Cod. Theodos., xvi.,
tit. de Apostatis*44

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

tioned and unlimited sovereignty; for, in
truth, in the earlier period, what was the
bishop, and in a subordinate degree, the
presbyter, or even the deacon 1 He was
the religious superior, elected by general
acclamation, or, at least, by general con-
sent, as commanding that station by his
unrivalled religious qualifications ; he was
solemnly invested in his office by a reli-
gious ceremony ; he was the supreme ar-
biter in such civil matters as occurred
among the members of the body, and
thus the conservator of peace ; he was
the censor of morals, the minister in holy
The bishop rites, the instructer in the doc-
iii the early trines of the faith, the adviser
community. jn aq scruples, the consoler in all
sorrows ; he was the champion of the
truth, in the hour of trial the first victim
of persecution, the designated martyr.
Of a being so sanctified, so ennobled to
the thought, what jealous suspicion would
arise, what power would be withholden
from one whose commission would seem
ratified by the Holy Spirit of God I Pow-
er might generate ambition, distinction
might be attended by pride, but the tran-
sition would not be perceived by the daz-
zled sight of respect, of reverence, of ven-
eration, and of love..

Above all, diversities of religious opin-
Pissensions ion would tend to increase the
in the Church influence and the power of those
who held the religious suprem-
sacerdotal acy. It has been said, not with-
power. out some authority, that the es-
tablishment of episcopacy in the apostolic
times arose from the control of the dif-
ferences with the Judaizing converts.*
The multitude of believers would take
refuge under authority from the doubts
and perplexities thus cast among them ;
they would be grateful to men who would
think for them, and in whom their confi-
dence might seem to be justified by their
station; a formulary of faith for such
persons would be the most acceptable
boon to the Christian society. This
would be more particularly the case when,
as in the Asiatic communities, they were
not merely slight and unimportant, but
vital points of difference. The Gnosti-
cism which the bishops of Asia Minor and
of Syria had to combat was not a Chris-
tian sect or heresy, but another religion,
although speaking in some degree Chris-
tian language. The justifiable alarm of
these dangerous encroachments would in-
duce the teachers and governors to as-

■* No doubt this kind of constant and of natural
appeal to the supreme religious functionary must
have materially tended to strengthen and confirm
this power —See page 196, and note.

sume a loftier and more dictatorial tone ,
those untainted by the new opinions would
vindicate and applaud their acknowledg-
ed champions and defenders. Hence we
account for the strong language in the
Epistles of Ignatius, which appears to
claim the extraordinary rank ,of actual
representatives, not merely of the apos-
tles, but of Christ himself, for the bishops,
precisely in this character, as maintainers
of the true Christian doctrine.* In the
pseudo-Apostolic Constitutions, which be-
long probably to the latter end of the third
century, this more than apostolic authori-
ty is sternly and unhesitatingly asserted.f
Thus, the separation between the clergy
and laity continually widened ; the teach-
er or ruler of the community became the

* My own impression is decidedly in favour of
the genuineness of these Epistles — the shorter
ones, I mean—which are vindicated by Pearson;
nor do I suspect that these passages, which are too
frequent, and too much in the style and spirit of
the whole, are later interpolations. Certainly the
fact of the existence of two different copies of these
Epistles throws doubt on the genuineness of both;
but I receive them partly from an historical argu
ment, which I have suggested, p. 222, partly from
internal evidence. Some of their expressions, e. g.,
“ Be ye subject to the bishop as to Jesus Christ”
(ad Trail., c. 2), “Follow your bishop as Jesus
Christ the Father, the presbytery as the apostles ;
reverence the deacons as the ordinance of God”
(ad Smyrn., c. 8); taken as detached sentences,
and without regard to the figurative style and ar-
dent manner of the writer, would seem so extraor-
dinary a transition from the tone of the apostles, as
to throw still farther doubts on the authenticity at
least of these sentences. But it may be observed
that in these strong expressions the object of the
writer does not seem to be to raise the sacerdotal
power, but rather to enforce Christian unity, with
direct reference to these fatal differences of doc-
trine. In another passage he says, “ Be ye subject
to the bishop and to each other (rep eTUGnoiru kcu
aXkrjTiotg), as Jesus Christ to the Father, and the
apostles to Christ, to the Father and to the Spirit.”

I cannot, indeed, understand the inference that
all the language or tenets of Christians who may
have heard the apostles are to be considered of
apostolic authority. Ignatius was a vehement and
strongly figurative writer, very different in his tone,
according to my judgment, to the apostolic wri-
tings. His eager desire for martyrdom, his depre-
cating the interference of the Roman Christians in
his behalf, is remarkably at variance witfi the sober
dignity with which the apostles did not seek, but
submitted to, death. That which may have been
high-wrought metaphor in Ignatius, is repeated by
the author of the Apostolic Constitutions without
reserve or limitation. This, I think, may be fairly
taken as indicative of the language prevalent at the
end of the third or beginning of the fourth century :
vfilv 6 k'KLOKO'Kog elg Qeov ren^Gdo).—The bish-
op is to be honoured as God, ii., 30. The language
of Psalm*lxxxi., “Ye are gods,” is applied to
them ; they are as much greater than the king as
the soul is superior to the body: cTepyeiv btyeiMri
6g irarepa,—fyofelaQai c5g ^aaiT^ea.

t Ovrog vplv emyecog Qeog p,£Ta Beov—Lib
ii., c. 26.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

445

dictator of .doctrine, the successor, not of
the bishop, appointed by apostolic author-
ity* * * § * or according to apostolic usage, but
the apostle; and at length took on himself
a sacerdotal name and dignity. A strong
corporate spirit, which arises out of asso-
ciations formed for'the noblest as well as
for the most unworthy objects, could not
but actuate the hierarchical college which
was formed in each diocese or each city
by the bishop and more or less numerous
presbyters and deacons. The control on
the autocracy of the bishop, which was
exercised by this senate of presbyters,
without whom he rarely acted, tended to
strengthen rather than to invalidate the
authority of the general body, in which all
particular and adverse interests were ab-
sorbed in those of the clerical order.f

The language of the Old Testament,
Language of which was received perhaps
the oid Tes- with greater readiness, from the
tament. contemptuous aversion in which

it was held by the Gnostics, on this as on
other subjects, gradually found its way into
the Church.J But the strong and marked
clergy and line between the ministerial or
laity- magisterial order (the clergy) and

the inferior Christians, the people (the la-
ity), had been drawn before the bishop be-
came a pontiff (for the heathen names were
likewise used), the presbyters, the sacer-
dotal order, and the deacons, a class of
men who shared" in the indelible sanctity
of the new priesthood. The common
priesthood of all Christians, as distinguish-
ing them by their innocent and dedicated
character from the profane heathen, as-
serted in the Epistle of St. Peter, was the
only notion of the sacerdotal character at
first admitted into the popular sentiment.§
The appellation of the sacerdotal order
began to be metaphorically applied to the

* The full apostolic authority was claimed for
the bishops, I think, first distinctly at .a later pe-
riod.—See the letter from Firmilianus in Cyprian’s
works, Epist. Ixxv. Potestas peccatorum remit-
tendorum apostolis data est * * et episcopis qui
eis vicaria ordinatione successerunt.

f Even Cyprian enforces his own authority by
that of his concurrent college of presbyters :
Quando a primordio episcopates.. mei statuerem,
nihil sine consilio vestro, et cum consensu plebis,
mea privatim sententia gerere.—Epist. v. In other
passages he says, Cui rei non potui me solum ju-
dicem dare. He had acted# therefore, cum collegis
meis, et cum plcbe ipsa umversa.—Epist. xxviii.

t It is universally adopted in the Apostolic Con-
stitutions. The crime of Korah is significantly ad-
duced ; tithes are mentioned, I believe, for the first
time, ii, 25, Compare vi., 2.

§ See the well-known passage of Tertullian :
Nonne et. laici sacerdotes surnus? * * Differen-
tiam inter ordinem et plebem constituit ecclesise
auctoritas. Tertullian evidently Montanizes in this
treatise, de Exhort. Castit., c. 7, yet seems to de-
liver these as maxims generally acknowledged.

Christian clergy,# but soon became reai
titles; and by the close of the third cen-
tury they were invested in the names and
claimed the rights of the Levitical priest-
hood in the Jewish theocracy.f The Epis-
tle of Cyprian to Cornelius, bishop of
Rome, shows the height to which the epis-
copal power had aspired before the reli-
gion of Christ had become that of the Ro-
man empire. The passages of the Old
Testament, and even of the New, in which
honour or deference is paid to the He-
brew pontificate, are recited in profuse
detail; implicit obedience is demanded for
the priest of God,‘who is the sole infallible
judge or delegate of-Christ, j

Even if it had been possible that, in'their
state of high-wrought attachment and
reverence for the teachers and guardians
of their religion, any mistrust could have
arisen in the more sagacious and far-sight-
ed minds of the vast system of sacerdotal
domination, of which they were thus lay-
ing the deep foundations in the Roman
world, there was no recollection or tradi-
tion of any priestly tyranny from which
they could take warning or imbibe cau-
tion. These sacerdotal castes were obso-
lete or Oriental; the only one within their
sphere of knowledge was that of the Ma-
gians in the hostile kingdom of Persia.
In Greece, the priesthood had sunk into
the neglected ministers of the deserted
temples ; their highest dignity was to pre-
side over the amusements of the people.
The emperor had now at length disdain-
fully cast off the supreme pontificate of
the heathen world, which had long been a
litle and nothing more. Even among the
Jews, the rabbinical hierarchy, which had
gained considerable strength even during
our Saviour’s time, but after the fall of
the Temple and the publication of the Tal-
muds had assumed a complete despotism
over the Jewish mind, was not a priest-
hood; the rabbins carlie promiscuously

* We find the first appearance of this in the fig-
urative Ignatius. Tertullian uses the term summi
sacerdotes.

f The pass-age in the Epistle of Clemens (ad Ro-r
man., c., 40), in which the analogy of the ministe-
rial offices of the Church with the priestly func
tions of the Jewish temple is distinctly developed,
is rejected as an interpolation by all judicious and,
impartial scholars.

X See his 68th Epistle, in which he draws the
analogy between the legitimate bishop and the sa
cerdos of the law, the irregularly elected and Corah,
Dathan, and Abiram: Neque enim aliunde hsereses
obortoe sunt, aut nata sunt schismata, quam inde
quod sacerdoti Dei non obtempcratur, nec unus in ec-
clesia ad tempus sacerdos, el ad tempus Judex., vice
Christi cogitatus: cui si secundum magisteria divi-
na obtemperaret fraternitas universa, nemo advei
sum sacerdotium tollegium quicqurm moverat.—
Ad Cor eh, Epist. Iv.446

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

from all the tribes ; their claims rested on
learning and on knowledge of the tradi-
tions of the fathers, not on Levitical de-
scent.

Nor, indeed, could any danger be appa-
rent, so long as the free voice of the com-
munity, guided by fervent piety, and rarely
perverted by less worthy motives, sum-
moned the wisest and the holiest to these
important functions. The nomination to
the sacred office experienced the same,
more gradual, perhaps, but not less inevi-
table, change from the popular to the self-
electing form. The acclamation of the
united, and seldom, if ever,'discordant
voices of the presbyters and the people
might be trusted with the appointment to
the headship of a poor and. devout com-
munity, whose utmost desire was to wor-
ship God, and to fulfil their Christian du-
ties in uninterrupted obscurity. But as
Change in ^ie episcopate became an object
the mo ie of of ambition or interest, the dis-
eiection. turbing forces which operate on
ffie justice and wisdom of popular elec-
tions could not but be called forth; and
slowly the clergy, by example, by influ-
ence, by recommendation, by dictation, by
usurpation, identified their acknowledged
right of consecration for a particular office
with that of appointment to it. This was
one of their last triumphs. In the days
of Cyprian, and towards the close of the
third century, the people had the right of
electing, or at least of rejecting, candidates
for the priesthood.* In the latter half of
the fourth century the streets of Rome
ran with blood, in the contest of Damasus
and Ursicinus for the bishopric of Rome
both factions arrayed against each other
the priests and the people who were their
respective partisans.! Thus the clergy
had become a distinct and recognised
class in society, consecrated by a solemn
ceremony, the imposition of hands, which,
however, does not yet seem to have been
indelible.! But each church was still a

* Plebs ipsa maxima habeat potestatem vel eli-
gendi dignos' sacerdotes, vel indignos recusandi.—
Epist. lxvii. Cornelius was testimonio cleri, ac
suffragio populi electus.—Compare Apostol. Con-
stit., viii., 4. The Council of Laodicea (at the be-
ginning of the fourth century) ordains that bishops
are to be appointed by the metropolitans, and that
the multitude, oi are not to designate per-

sons for the priesthood.

| Ammianus Marcell., xxvii., 3. Hieron. in
Chron. Compare Gibbon, vol. ii, 94.

$ A canon of the Council of Chalcedon (can. 7)
prohibits the return of a spiritual person to the lai-
ty, and his assumption of lay offices in the state.
—See also Cone. Turon., i., c. 5. The laws of Jus-
tinian confiscate to the Church the property of any
priest who has forsaken his orders.—Cod. Just., i.,
tit. iii., 53; Nov., v., 4, 125, c. 15. This seems to

separate and independent community; the
bishop as its sovereign, the presbyters, and
sometimes the deacons, as a kind of reli-
gious senate, conducted all its internal con-
cerns. Great deference was paid from the
first to the bishops of the more important
sees; the number and wealth of the con-
gregations would give them weight and
dignity; and, in general, those prelates
would be men of the highest character and
attainments ; yet promotion to a wealthier
or more distinguished see was looked upon
as betraying worldly ambition. The ene-
mies of Eusebius, the Arian or semi-Arian
bishop of Constantinople, bitterly taunted
him with his elevation from the less im-
portant see of Nicomediato the episcopate
of the Eastern metropolis. This transla-
tion was prohibited by some councils.*

The level of ecclesiastical or episcopal
dignity gradually broke up; some Metr01j,,.
bishops emerged into a higher itan bish-
rank; the single community over °ps-
which the bishop originally presided grew
into the aggregation of several communi-
ties, and formed a diocese ; the metropol-
itan rose above the ordinary bishop, the
patriarch assumed a rank above the met-
ropolitan, till at length, in the regularly-
graduated scale, the primacy of Rome was
asserted, and submitted to by the humble
and obsequious West.

The diocese grew up in two ways : 1.
In the larger cities, the rapid in- Formation
crease of the Christians led ne- of the dio-
cessarily to the formation of sep- cese-
arate congregations, which, to a certain
extent, required each its proper organi-
zation, yet invariably remained subordi-
nate to the single bishop. In Rome, to-
wards the beginning of the fourth century,
there were above forty churches render-
ing allegiance to the prelate of the me-
tropolis.

2. Christianity was first established in
the towns and cities, and from each centre
diffused itself with more or less success
into the adjacent country. In some Chorepig.
of these country congregations copi. F
bishops appear to have been established,
yet these chorepiscopi, or rural bishops,
maintained some subordination to the
head of the mother church ;f or, where
the converts were ^ewer, the rural Chris-
tians remained members of the mother
church in the city.J In Africa, from the

imply that the practice was not uncommon even at
that late pefiod.—Compare Planck, vol. i., 399.

* Synod. Nic., can. 15. Cone. Sard., c. 2. Cone.
Arel ,21.

f See in Bingham, Ant., b. ii., c. 14, the contro-
versy about the chorepiscopi or rural bishops.

X Justin Martyr speaks of the country converts •HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 447

immense number of bishops, each com-
munity seems to have had its own supe-
rior ; but this was peculiar to the prov-
ince. In general, the churches adjacent
to the towns or cities either originally
were, or became, the diocese of the city
bishop ; for, as soon as Christianity be-
came the religion of the state, the powers
of the rural bishops were restricted, and
the office at length was either abolished
or fell into disuse.*

The rank of the metropolitan bishop,
who presided over a certain number of
inferior bishops, and the convocation of
ecclesiastical or episcopal synods, grew
up apparently at the same time and from
the same causes. The earliest authentic
synods seem to have arisen out of the dis-
putes about the time of observing Easter ;f
but before the middle of the third century,
these occasional and extraordinary meet-
ings of the clergy in certain districts took
the form of provincial synods. These be-
gan in the Grecian provinces,{ but extend-
ed throughout the Christian world. In
some cases they seem to have been as-
semblies of bishops alone, in others of
the whole clergy. They met once or
twice in the year; they were summoned
by the metropolitan bishop, who presided
in the meeting, and derived from or con-
firmed his metropolitan dignity by this
presidency.§ * ^

As the metropolitans rose above the
Archbishops bishops, so the archbishops or
and patri- patriarchs rose above the met-
archs. ropolitans. These ecclesiastical
dignities seem to have been formed ac-
cording to the civil divisions of the em-
pire. || The patriarchs of Antioch, Jeru-
salem, Alexandrea, Rome, and, by a for-
mal decree of the Council of Chalcedon,
Constantinople, assumed even a higher
dignity. They asserted the right, in some

JJavrcov Kara TrSTietq 7} aypovq fievovruv, em to
avro avveTievacg yiverai.—Apolog., i., 67.

* Concil. Antioch., can. 10. Concil. Ancyr., c. 13.
Cone. Laod., c. 57.

t See the list of earlier synods chiefly on this
subject.—Labbe, Concilia, vol. i., p. 595, 650, edit.
Paris, 1671.

% See the remarkable passage in Tertullian, de
Jejunio, with the ingenious commentary of Mo-
sheim, De Reb. Christ, ante Const. M., p. 264, 268
[and Instit. of E. H., i., 116, n. (2)].

<$> Necessario apud nos fit, ut per singulos annos
semores et prtepositi in unum conveniamus, ad dis-
ponenda ea, quae curae nostrae commissa sunt.—
Firm, ad Cyprian., Ep. 75.

11 Bingham names, thirteen or fourteen patriarchs.
Alexandrea, Antioch, Caesarea, Jerusalem, Ephe-
sus, Constantinople, Thessalonica, Sirmium, Rome,
Carthage, Milan, Lyons, Toledo, York. But their
respective claims do not appear to have been equal-
ly recognised, or at the same period.

cases, of appointing, in others of deposing,
even metropolitan bishops.*

While Antioch, Alexandrea, and Con-
stantinople contested the supremacy of
the East, the two former as more ancient
and apostolic churches, the latter as the
imperial city Rome stood alone, as in
every respect the most eminent church
in the West. While other churches might
boast their foundation by a single apostle
(and those churches were always held in
peculiar respect), Rome asserted that she
had been founded by, and preserved the
ashes of two, and those the most distin-
guished of the apostolic body. Before the
end of the third century, the lineal de-
scent of her bishops from St. Peter was
unhesitatingly claimed, and obsequiously
admitted by the. Christian world.f The
name of Rome was still imposing and P6rnp
majestic, particularly in the West;
the wealth of the Roman bishop probably
far surpassed that of other prelates, for
Rome was still the place of general con-
course and resort; and the pious stran-
gers who visited the capital would not
withhold their oblations to the metropol-
itan church. Within the city he presided
over above forty churches, besides the
suburbicarian districts. The whole cler-
ical establishment at Rome amounted to
forty-six presbyters, seven deacons, seven
sub-deacons, forty-two acolyths, fifty-two
exorcists, readers, and doorkeepers. It
comprehended fifteen hundred widows and
poor brethren, with a countless multitude
of the higher orders and of the people.
No wonder that the name, the importance,
the wealth, the accredited apostolic found-
ation of Rome, arrayed her in pre-eminent
dignity. Still, in his correspondence with
the Bishop of Rome, the general tone of
Cyprian, the great advocate of Christian
unity, is that of an equal; though he
shows great respect to the Church of
Rome, it is to the faithful guardian of an

* Chrysostom deposed Gerontius, metropolitan
of Nicomedia.—Sozomen, viii., 6.

t The passage of Irenaeus (lib. ii., c. 3), as is well
known, is the first distinct assertion of any primacy
in Peter, and derived from him to the see of Rome.
This passage would be better authority if it existed
in the original language, not in an indifferent trails
lation ; if it were the language of an Eastern, not
a Western prelate, who might acknowledge a su
premacy in Rome which would not have been ad
mitted by the older Asiatic sees ; still more if it die
not assert what is manifestly untrue, the founda
tion of the Church of Rome by St. Peter, and St.
Paul (see p. 188) ; and, finally, if Irenaeus could
be conclusive authority on such a subject. Planck
justly observes that the potior principalitas of
the city of Rome was the primary reason why 3
potior principalitas was recognised in the see of
Rome.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

448

uninterrupted tradition, not as invested
with superior authority.* *

As the hierarchical pyramid tended to
a point, its base spread out into greater
width. The greater pomp of the services,
the more intricate administration of affairs,
the greater variety of regulations required
by the increasing and now strictly separ-
ated classes of votaries, imposed the ne-
cessity for new functionaries, besides the
bishops, priests, and deacons. These were
the archdeacon and the five subordinate
officiating ministers, who received a kind of
New sacred ordination. 1. The sub-deacon,
offices. who in the Eastern Church col-
lected the alms of the laity and laid them
upon the altar, and in the Western acted
as a messenger or bearer of despatches.
2. The reader, who had the custody of the
sacred books, and, as the name implies,
read them during the service. 3. The
aeolyth, who was an attendant on the
bishop, carried the lamp before him, or
bore the eucharist to the sick. 4. The
exorcist, who read the solemn forms over
those possessed by daemons, the energou-
rnenoi, and sometimes at baptisms. 5.
The ostiarius or doorkeeper, who assigned
his proper place in the church to each
member, and guarded against the intrusion
of improper persons.

As Christianity assumed a more mani-
fest civil existence, the closer correspond-
ence, the more intimate sympathy between
its remote and scattered members, became
indispensable to its strength and consist-
ency. Its uniformity of development in
all parts of the world arose out. of, and
tended to promote, this unity. It led to
that concentration of the governing power
in a few, which terminated at length in
the West in the unrestricted power of one.

The internal unity of the Church, or
unity of universally disseminated , body
the Church. _ bf ■'Christians,' had been main-
tained by the general similarity of doctrine,
of sentiment, of its first simple usages
and institutions, and the common dangers
vvhich it had endured in all parts of the

* While I deliver my own conclusions without
fear or compromise, I would avoid all controversy
on this as well as on other subjects. It is but
right, therefore, for me to give .the two apparently
conflicting passages in Cyprian on the primacy of
St. Peter: Nam nec Petrus quern primum Domi-
nus elegit, et super quern aedificavit ecclesiam suam
* * vindicavit sibi aliquid insolenter aut arro-

ganter assumpsit, ut diceret se primatum tenere,
et obtemperari a novellis et posteris sibi potius
oportere.”—Epist. lxxi. Hoc erant utique cseteri
apostoli, quod fuit Petrus, pari consortio praediti et
honoris et potestatis; sed exordium ab unitate pro-
ficiscitur, et primatus Petro datur, ut una Christi
ecclesia, et cathedra una monstretur.—De Unit.
Eccles.

world. It possessed its consociating prin
ciples in the occasional correspondence be-
tween its remote members, in those recom-
mendatory letters with which the Chris-
tian who travelled was furnished to his
brethren in other parts of the empire;
above all, in the common literature, which,
including the sacred writings, seem to
have spread with more or less regularity
through the various communities. No-
thing, however, tended so much, although
they might appear to exacerbate and per-
petuate diversities of opinion, to the main-
tenance of this unity, as the assemblage
and recognition of general coun- General
cils as the representatives of uni- couneiis.
versal Christendom.* The bold imper-

* The earliest councils (not cecumenic) were
those of Rome (1st and 2d) and the seven held at
Carthage, concerning the lapsi, the schism of Nova-
tianus, and the rebaptizing of heretics. The sev-
enth in Routh, Reliquiae Sacra (Labbe, Concilia
III.), is the first of which we have anything like a
•report; and from this time, either from the canons
which they issue or the opinions delivered by the
bishops, the councils prove important authorities,
not merely for the decrees of the Church, but for
the dominant tone of sentiment, and even of man-
ners. Abhorrence of heresy is the prevailing feel-
ing in this council, vvhich decided the validity of
heretical baptism. “ Christ,” says one bishop,
“founded the Church, the Devil heresy. How can
the synagogue of Satan administer the baptism of
the Church ?” Another subjoins, “ He who yields
or betrays the baptism of the* Church to heretics,
what is he but a Judas of the spouse of Christ?”
The Synod or Council of Antioch (A.D. 269) con-
demned Paul of Samosata. The Council of Illiberis
(Elvira or Granada), A.D. 303, affords some curi-
ous notices of the state of Christianity in that re-
mote province. Some of the heathen flamines ap-
pear to have attempted to reconcile the perform-
ances of some of their religious duties, at least their
presiding at the games, with Christianity. There
are many moral regulations which do not give a
high idea of Spanish virtue. The bishops and
clergy were not to be itinerant traders ; they might
trade within the province (can. xviii.), but were on
no account to take upon usury. The Jews were
probably settled in great numbers in Spain; the
taking food with them is interdicted, as also to per-
mit them to reap . the harvest. Gambling is forbid-
den. The councils of Rome and of Arles were held

• to settle the Donatist controversy ; but of the lattei
there are twenty-two canons chiefly of ecclesiastical
regulations. : The Council of Ancyra principally re-
lates to the conduct of persons during the time of
persecution. The Council of Laodicea has some
curious general canons. The first cecumenic coun-
cil was that of Nice;—See book iii., c. iv. It was
followed by the long succession of Arian and anti-
Arian councils at Tyre, Antioch, Rome, Milan,
Sardica, Rimini, &c. The Arian Council of An-
tioch is very strict in its regulations for the resi-
dence of the bishops and the clergy, and their re-
striction of their labours to their own dioceses or
cures (A.D. 341) —Apud Labbe, vol. ii., 559. The
first of Constantinople was the second cecumenic
council (A.D. 381). It re-established Trinitarian-
ism as the doctrine of the East; it elevated the
bishopric of Constantinople into a patriarchate, to
rank after Rome. The two other of the cecumenicHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

440

sonation, the Church, seemed now to as-
sume a more imposing visible existence.
Its vital principle was no longer that un-
seen and hidden harmony which had united
the Christians in all parts of the world with
their Saviour and with each other. By
the assistance of the orthodox emperors,
and the commanding abilities of its great
defenders, one dominant form of doctrine
had obtained the ascendancy ; Gnosticism,
Donatism, Arianism, Manicheism,had been
thrown aside ; and the Church stood, as it
were, individualized or idealized, by the
side of the other social impersonation, the
State. The emperor was the sole ruler
of the latter, and at this period the aris-
tocracy of the superior clergy, at a later
the autocracy of the pope, at least as the
representative of the Western Church, be-
came the supreme authority of the former.
The hierarchical power, from exemplary,
persuasive, amiable, had become authori-
tative, commanding, awful. When Chris-
tianity became the most powerful religion,
when it became the religion of the many,
of the emperor, of the state, the convert
or the hereditary Christian had no strong
pagan party to receive him back into its
bosom when outcast from the Church. If
he ceased to believe, he no longer dared
cease to obey. No course remained but
prostrate submission, or the endurance of
any penitential.duty-which might be en-
forced upon him; and on the penitential
system and the power of excommunica-
tion, to which we shall revert, rested the
unshaken hierarchical authority over the
human soul.

With their power increased both those
increase other sources of influence, pomp
in poinp. and wealth. Distinctions in sta-
tion and in authority naturally lead to dis-
tinctions in manners, and those adventi-
tious circumstances of dress, carriage, and
habits which designate different ranks.
Confederating upon equal terms, the su-
perior authorities in the Church and state
began to assume an equal rank. In the
Christian city the bishop became a per-
sonage of the highest importance; and
the clergy, as a kind of subordinate reli-
gious magistracy, claimed, if a different
kind, yet an equal share of reverence with
the civil authority ; where the civil magis-
trate had his insignia of office, the natural
respect of the people and the desire of
maintaining his official dignity would in-
vest the religious functionary likewise
with some peculiar symbol of his charac-
ter. With their increased rank and esti-

councils are beyond the bounds of t: le present his-
tory.

3 L

mation, the clergy could not but assume
a more imposing demeanour; and that
majesty in which they were arrayed du-
ring the public ceremonial could not be
entirely thrown off when they returned to
ordinary life The reverence of man ex-
acts dignity from those who are its ob-
jects. The primitive apostolic meanness
of appearance and habit was altogether
unsuited to their altered position, as equal
in rank, more than equal in real influence
and public veneration, to the civil officers
of the empire or municipality. The con-
sciousness of power will affect the best
disciplined minds, and the unavoidable
knowledge that salutary authority is main-
tained over a large mass of mankind by
imposing manners, dress, and mode of
living, would reconcile many to that which
otherwise might appear incongruous to
their sacred character. There was, in fact,
and always has been among the more pi-
ous clergy, a perpetual conflict between
a conscientious sense of the importance
of external dignity and a desire, as con-
scientious, of retaining something of out-
ward humility. The monkish and ascetic
waged implacable war against that secu-
lar distinction which, if in some cases
eagerly assumed by pride and ambition,
was forced upon others by the deference,
the admiration, the trembling subservience
of mankind. The prelate who looked the
most imperious and spoke most sternly
on his throne, fasted and underwent the
most humiliating privations in his cham-
ber or his cell. Some prelates supposed
that, as ambassadors of the Most High, as
supreme governors in that which was of
greater dignity than the secular empire,
the earthly kingdom of Christ, they ought
to array themselves in something of im-
posing dignity. The bishops of Rome ear-
ly affected state and magnificence; Chry-
sostom, on the otfyer hand, in Constanti-
nople, differing from his predecessors, con-
sidered poverty of dress, humility of de-
meanour, and the most severe austerity
of life as more becoming a Christian prel-
ate who was to set the example of the
virtues which he inculcated, and to show
contempt for those worldly distinctions
which properly belonged to the civil pow-
er. Others, among whom was Ambrose
of Milan, while in their own persons and
in private they were the plainest, simplest,
and most austere of men, nevertheless
threw into the service of the Church all
that was solemn and magnificent; and, as
officiating functionaries, put on for the
time the majesty of manner, the state of
attendance, the splendour of attire, which
I seemed to be authorized by the gorgeous-450

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ness of dress and ceremonial pomp m the
Old Testament.* *

With the greater reverence, indeed, pe-
culiar sanctity was exacted, and no doubt,
in general, observed by the clergy. They
were imperatively required to surpass the
. general body of Christians in purity of
morals, and, perhaps even more, in all
religious performances. As the outward
ceremonial, fasting, public prayer during
almost every part of the day, and the rest
of the ritual service, were more com-
pletely incorporated with Christianity, they
were expected to maintain the public de-
votion by their example, and to encourage
self-denial by their more rigid austerity.

Wealth as well as pomp followed in the
Wealth of train of power. The desire to
the clergy, command wealth (we must not
yet use the ignoble term covetousness)
not merely stole imperceptibly into inti-
mate connexion with religion, but appear-
ed almost a part of religion itself. The
individual was content to be disinterested
in his own person ; the interest which he
felt in the opulence of the Church, or even
of his own order, appeared not merely ex-
cusable, but a sacred duty. In the hands
of the Christian clergy, wealth, which ap-
peared at that period to be lavished on the
basest of mankind, and squandered on the
most criminal and ignominious objects,

’ might seem to be hallowed to the noblest
purposes. It enabled Christianity to vie
with paganism in erecting splendid edifi-
ces for the worship of God, to provide an
imposing ceremonial, lamps for midnight
service, silver or golden vessels for the

* The clergy were long, without any distinction
of dress, except on ceremonial occasions. At the

* end of the fourth century, it was the custom for
them in some churches to wear black.—Socr., H.
E., vi, 22. Jerome, however, recommends that
they should neither be distinguished by too bright
or too sombre colours.—Ad Nepot. The proper
habits were probably introduced at the end of the
fifth century, as they are recognised by councils in
the sixth.—Cone. Matisc., A.D. 581, can. 1, 5.
Trull., c. 27. The tonsure began in the fourth
century. Prima del iv. secolo i semplici preti non
avevano alcun abito distinto dagli altri o pagani o
Cristiani, se non in quanto la professata lore umil-
ta faceva unacerta pompa de abjezione e de poverta.
—Cicognara, Storia de Scultura, t. i., p. 27. Count
Cicognara gives a curious account of the date and
origin of the different parts of the clerical dress.
The mitre is of the eighth century, the tiara of the
tenth.

The fourth Council of Carthage (A.D. 398) has
some restrictions on dress. The clericus was not
to wear long hair or beard (nec comam habeat nec
barbam, can. xliv.); he was to approve his profes-
sion by his dress and walk, and not to study the
beauty of his dress or sandals. He might obtain
his sustenance by working as an artisan or in agri-
culture, provided he did not neglect his duty.—
Can. li> lii.

altar, veils, hangings, and priestly dresses,
it provided for the wants of the
poor, whom misgovernment, war,
and taxation, independent of the was ap
ordinary calamities of human life, phed'
were grinding to the earth. To each
church were attached numbers of widows
and other destitute persons; the redemp-
tion of slaves was an object on which the
riches of the Church were freely lavished:
the sick in the hospitals and prisons, and
destitute strangers, were under their espe-
cial care. “ How many captives has the
wealth of the pagan establishment releas-
ed from bondage l” This is among the
triumphant questions of the advocates of
Christianity.* The maintenance of chil-
dren exposed by their parents, and taken
up and educated by the Christians, was
another source of generous expenditure.
When, then, at first the munificence of
the emperor, and afterward the gratitude
and superstitious fears of the people, heap-
ed up their costly offerings at the feet of
the clergy, it would have appeared not
merely ingratitude and folly, but impiety
and uncharitableness to their brethren to
have rejected them. The clergy, as soon
as they were set apart from the ordinary
business of life, were maintained by the
voluntary offerings of their brethren. The
piety which embraced Christianity never
failed in liberality. The payments seem
chiefly to have been made in kind rather
than in money, though on extraordinary
occasions large sums were raised for some
sacred or charitable object. One of the
earliest acts of Constantine was to make
munificent grants to the despoiled and
destitute Church.f A certain portion of
the public stores of corn and other prod-
uce, which was received in kind by-the
officers of the revenue, was assigned to
the Church and clergy.J This was with-
drawn by Julian, and, when regranted by
the Christian emperors, was diminished
one third.

’The law of Constantine which empow-
ered the clergy of the Church to Law of Con_
receive, testamentary bequests, stantine em-
and to hold land, was a gift Ecr^6the
which would scarcely have been receive be-
exceeded if he had granted them quests,
two provinces of the empire.§ It became
almost a sin to die without some bequest
to pious uses; and before a century had
elapsed, the mass of property which had
passed over to the Church was so enor-
mous, that the most pious of the emperors
were obliged to issue a restrictive law,

* Ambros. contra Symmachum.

f Euseb , H. E., x., 6. % Sozomen, H. E-, v., 5.

§ This is the observation of Planck.

iHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

451

which the most ardent of the fathers
were constrained to approve. Jerome ac-
knowledges, with the bitterness of shame,
the necessity of this check on ecclesiasti-
Rcstrictive cal avarice.* * * * * § “ I complain not
edict of Vai- of the law, but that we have de-
enuman. served such a law.” The as-
cetic father and the pagan historian de-
scribe the pomp and avarice of the Roman
clergy in the fourth century. , Ammianus,
while he describes the sanguinary feud
which took place for the prelacy between
Pope Da- Damasus and Ursicinus,' intimates
cnasus. that the magnificence of the prize
may account for the obstinacy and feroci-
ty with which it was contested. He dwells
on the prodigal offerings of the Roman
matrons to their bishop ; his pomp, when
in elaborate and- elegant attire he was
borne in his chariot through the admiring
streets ; the costly luxury of his almost
imperial banquets. But the just historian
contrasts this pride and luxury of the Ro-
man pontiff with the more temperate life
and dignified humility of the provincial
bishops. Jerome goes on sternly to charge
the whole Roman clergy with the old vice
of the heathen aristocracy, hasredipety or
legacy-hunting, and asserts that they used
the holy and venerable name of the Church
to extort for their own personal emolu-
ment the wealth of timid or expiring dev-
o ees. The law* of Valentinian justly
withheld from the clergy and the monks
alone that privilege of receiving bequests
which was permitted to the ‘‘lowest of
mankind, heathen priests, actors, chariot-
eers, and harlots.”

Large parts of the ecclesiastical reve-
nues, however, arose from more honoura-
ble sources. Some of the estates of the
heathen temples, though in general con-
fiscated to the imperial treasury, were
alienated to the Christian churches. The
Church of Alexandrea obtained the reve-
nue of the temple of Serapis.f

* Valentinian II., de Episc. Solis clericis et
monachis hac lege prohibetur, et prohibetur non a
persecutoribus seda principibus Christianis; nec de
lege conqueror, sed doleo cur meruerimus hanc le-
gem.—Hieronym. ad Nepot. He speaks also of the
provida severaque legis cautio, et tamen non sic re-
frsenatur avaritia. Ambrose (1. ii., adv. Syrnm.) ad-
mits the necessity of the law. Augustine, while he
loftily disclaims all participation in such abuses, ac-
knowledges their frequency. Quicunque vult, ex-
hssredato filio hseredem facere ecclesiam, quaerat
alterum qui suscipiat, non Augustinum, immo, Deo
propitio, inveniat neminem.—Serm., 49.

f Sozomen, v., 7. The Church of Antioch pos-
sessed lands, houses, rents, carriages, mules, and
other kinds of property. It undertook the daily sus-
tenance of 3000 widows and virgins, besides prison-
ers, the sick in the hospitals, the maimed, and the
diseased, who sat down, as it were, before the Chris-
tian altar, and received food and raiment, besides

These various estates and properties
belonged to the Church in. its Application of
corporate capacity, not to the the wealth of
clergy. They were charged the Church<
with the maintenance of the fabric of the
Church, and the various charitable purpo-
ses, including the sustenance of their own
dependant poor. Strong enactments were
made to prevent their alienation from those
hallowed purposes ;* the clergy were even
restrained from bequeathing by will what
they had obtained from the property of the
Church. The estates of the Church were
liable to the ordinary taxes, the land and
capitation tax, but exempt from what were
called sordid and extraordinary charges,
and from the quartering of troops.f
The bishops gradually obtained almost
the exclusive management of this proper-
ty. In some churches a steward (oeco
nomus) presided over this department, but
he would, in general, be virtually under
the control of the bishop. In most church-
es the triple division began to be observ-
ed ; one third of the revenue to the bishop,
one to the clergy, the other to the fabric
and the poor; the Church of Rome added
a fourth, a separate portion for the fabric.^
The clergy had become a separate com-
munity ; they had their own laws of inter-
nal government, their own special regular
tions, or recognised proprieties of life and
conduct. Their social delinquencies were
not as yet withdrawn from the civil juris-
diction ; but, besides this, they were ame-
nable to the severe judgments of ecclesi-
astical censure the lowest were liable
to corporeal chastisement. Flagellation,

many other accidental claims on their benevolence.
—Chrysostom, Oper. Montfaucon, in his disserta
tion, gives the references.

* Cone. Carth., iii., 40. Antioch, 24. Constit.

Apost.,40. Cod. Theodos., de Episc. et Clericis,
t. 33. f Planck, vol. i., p. 293, 294.

t By a law of Theodosius and Valens, A.D. 434,
the property of any bishop, presbyter, deacon, dea-
coness, subdeacon, &c., or of any monk who died
intestate and without legal heirs, fell, not to the
treasury, as in ordinary cases, but to the church or
monastery to which he belonged. The same priv-
ilege was granted to the corporation of decurions.
—Codex Theodos., v. iii., 1.

§ Sozomen states that Constantine gave his cler-
gy the privilege of rejecting the jurisdiction of the
civil tribunal, and bringing their causes to the bish-
op.—II. E., i., 9. But these were probably disputes
between clergyman and clergyman. All others
were cases of arbitration by mutual agreement; but
the civil power was to ratify their decree. In a
Novella of Valentinian, A.D. 452, it is expressly
aid, Quotiiam constat episcopos et presbyteros fo-
rum legibus non habere * * nec de aliiscausis pras-
ter religionem posse cognoscere.—Compare Planck,
i., p. 300. The clericus was bound to appear, if
summoned by a layman, before the ordinary judge.
Justinian made the change, and that only in a liixr
ited manner.452

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

which was administered in the synagogue,
and was so common in Roman society,
was by no means so disgraceful as to ex-
empt the persons at least of the inferior
clergy from its infliction. But the more
serious punishment was degradation into
the vulgar class of worshippers. To them
it was the most fearful condemnation to
be ejected from the inner sanctuary and
thrust down from their elevated station.* * * §

As yet they were not entirely estranged
Celibacy of from society; they had not be-
the clergy, come a caste by the legal enforce-
ment or general practice of celibacy.
Clement of Alexandrea asserts and vindi-
cates the marriage of some of the apos-
tles.f The discreet remonstrance of the
old Egyptian bishop perhaps prevented the
Council of Nice from imposing that heavy
burden on the reluctant clergy. The aged
Paphnutius, himself unmarried, boldly as-
serted that the conjugal union was chas-
tity.} But that which in the third century
is asserted to be free to all mankind, cler-
gy as well as laity, in Egypt,§ in the fourth,
according to Jerome, was prohibited or
limited by vows of continence. It has.
been asserted,|| and without refutation, that
there was no ecclesiastical'law or regula-
tion which compelled the celibacy of the
flergy for the first three centuries. Clem-
ent of Alexandrea, as we see, argues
against enforced celibacy from the exam-
ple of the apostles. Married bishops and
presbyters frequently occur in the history
of Eusebius. The martyrdom of Numidi-
cus was shared and not dishonoured by
the companionship of his wife.^f It was a
sight of joy and consolation to the husband

* The decrees of the fourth council of Carthage
show the strict morals and humble subordination
demanded of the clergy at the close of the fourth
century.

f "H ml rovg ’AnoaroXovg drcodoKifid^ovai;
Uerpog {jlev yap ml QiXnnrog enaidonoiriaavTo.
4>t?U7nrog be ml rag d-vyarspag avdpaciv e^edo-
kev, ml bye TLavXog ova okvsl ev nvi emaToXy
T7)V aVTOV TTpOCayOpEVeLV OV&yOV, 7}V OV 'KEptEKO-
fu^ev bid to rrig vnrjpeaLag EVuraXeg.-—Strom., 1.

111., c. 6. On the question of the marriage of the
apostles and their immediate followers, almost eve-
rything is collected in a note of Cotelerius, Pat.res
Apostolici, ii., 241.

t Gelasii., Histor. Cone. Nic., c. xxxii. Socrat.,

1., XL. Sozomen, i., 23. Baronius insists upon this
being Greek fable.

§ Nai fi7]V ml tov rrjg piag yvvaimg dvdpa navi)
anobexETai nav npeadvrepog nav bidmvog, Kg,v
Xaimg, avsmXrjnTog yducp xpupwog. Sudijas-
rai de did T7]g TEicvoyoviag.—Strom., iii., 12, 9.

|| By Bingham, book iv.

Numidicus presbyter uxorem adhserentem la-
teri suo, concrematam cum caeteris, vel conserva-
tam potius dixerim, lsetusaspexit.—Cyprian, p. 525.
See in Basnage, Dissertatio Septima, a list of mar-
ried prelates.

to see her perishing in the same flames.
The wives of the clergy are recognised,
not merely in the older writings, but also
in the public documents of the Church.*
Council after council, in the East, introdu-
ced regulations which, though intended to
restrict, recognise the legality of these
ties.f Highly as they exalt the angelic
state of celibacy, neither Basil in the East
nor Augustine in the West positively pro-
hibits the marriage of the clergy.}

But in the fourth century, particularly in
the latter half, the concurrent influence of
the higher honours attributed to virginity
by all the great Christian writers ; of the
hierarchical spirit, which, even at that time,
saw how much of its corporate strength
depended on this entire detachment from
worldly ties ; of the monastic system,
which worked into the clerical, partly by
the frequent selection of monks for ordi-
nation and for consecration to ecclesias-
tical dignities, partly by the emulation of
the clergy, who could not safely allow
themselves to be outdone in austerity by
these rivals for popular estimation; all
these various influences introduced vari-
ous restrictions and regulations on the
marriage of the clergy, which darkened at
length into the solemn ecclesiastical inter-
dict. First, the general sentiment repudi-
ated a second marriage as a monstrous act
of incontinence, an infirmity or a sin which
ought to prevent the Christian from ever
aspiring to any ecclesiastical office.§ The
next offence against the general feeling
was marriage with a widow ; then follow-
ed the restriction of marriage after enter-
ing into holy orders; the married priest
retained his wife, but to condescend to
such carnal ties after ordination was re-
volting to the general sentiment, and was

* Cone. Gang., c. 4. Cone. Ancyr., c. 10. This
law allows any deacon to marry.

f In the West, the Council of Elvira commands
the clergy to abstain from connubial intercourse
and the procreation of children.—Can. xxxiii. This
was frequently re-enacted. Among others, Cone.
Carthag., v. 2. Labbe, ii., 1216.

$ Basil speaks of a presbyter who had contuma
ciously contracted an unlawful marriage.—Can. ii.,
c. 27. On Augustine, compare Theiner, p. 154.

§ Athenagoras laid down the general principle,
6 yap devTEpog (ya/jog) evirpEnrig eari [Loixua.—■
De Resurr. Cam. Compare Orig. confr. Cels., vii.,
and Horn, vi., in Num xviii., in Luc., xviii., in
Matt. Tertull. ad Uxor., 1-5. This was almost a
universal moral axiom. Epiphanius said, that since
the coming of Christ no digamous clergyman had
ever been ordained. Barbeyrac has collected the
passages of the fathers expressive of their abhor-
rence of second marriages.—Morale des Peres, p.
1, 29, 34, 37, &c. The Council of Neo CaBsarea
forbade clergymen to be present at a second mar-
riage : TrpecrbvTspov sig ydfiovg diya/tovvTt v fii}
euTidadai.—Can. vii.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

453

considered to imply- a total *w ant of feel-
ing for the dignity .of their high calling.
Then was generally introduced a demand
of abstinence from sexual connexion from
those w»;:o retained their wives : this was
imperatively required from the higher or-
ders of the clergy. It was considered to
render unclean, and to disqualify even from
prayer for the people, as the priest’s life
was to be a perpetual prayer.* Not that
there was as yet any uniform practice.
The bishops assembled at the Council of
Gangraf condemned the followers of Eu-
stathius, who refused to receive the sac-
raments from any but unmarried priests.
The heresy of Jovinian, on the other hand,
probably called forth the severe regula-
tions of Pope Siricius.J This sort of en-
cyclical letter positively prohibited all
clergy of the higher orders from any inter-
course with their wives. A man who liv-
ed to the age of thirty the husband of one
wife, that wife, when married a virgin,
might be an acolyth or subdeacon; after
five years of strict continence, he might
be promoted to a priest; after ten years
more of the same severe ordeal, a bishop.
A clerk, any one in holy orders, even- of
the lowest degree, who married a widow
or a second wife, was instantly deprived :
no woman was to live in the house of a
clerk.

The Council of Carthage, reciting the
canon of a former council, commands the
clergy to abstain from all connexion with
their wives. The enactment is perpetually
repeated, and in one extended to subdea-
cons.§ The Council of Toledo prohibited
the promotion of ecclesiastics who had
children. The Council of Arles prohibited
the ordination of a married priest,|j unless
he made a promise of divorce from the
married state. Jerome distinctly asserts

* Such is the distinct language of Jerome. Si
laicus et quicunque fidelis orare non potest nisi ca-
srent officio conjugali, sacerdoti, cui semper pro
populo offerenda sunt sacrificia semper orandum
est. Si semper orandum est, semper carendum
matrimonio.—Adv. Jovin., p. 175.

f The Council of Gangra, in the preamble and
in the first canon, do not appear to refer necessarily
to the wives of the clergy. They anathematize
certain teachers (the Eustathians) who had blamed
marriage, and said that a faithful and pious woman
who slept with her husband could not enter into
t he kingdom of heaven. A sacred virgin is prohib-
ited from vaunting over a married woman, canon
x. Women are forbidden to abandon their hus-
bands and children.

t The letter of Siricius in Mansi, Concil. iii.,
635, A.D. 385.

§ These councils of Carthage are dated A.D.
390, 418, and 419.

|j Assumi aliquem ad sacerdotium non posse in
vinculo conjugii constitutum, nisi primura ffierit
promissa conversio, A.D. 452.

that it was the universal regulation of the
East, of Egypt, and of Rome,* § to ordain
only those who were unmarried, or who
ceased to be husbands. But even in the
fourth and the beginning of the fifth cen-
turies, the practice rebelled against this
severe theory. Married clergy- Married
men, even married bishops, and bishops and
with children, , occur in the ec- clersy-
clesiastical annals. Athanasius, in his
letter to Dracontius, admits and allows the
full right of the bishop to marriage.f Greg-
ory of Nazianzen was born after his father
was bishop, and had a younger brother
named Caesarius.J Gregory of Nyssa
and Hilary of Poictiers were married.
Less distinguished names frequently oc-
cur: those of Spyridon§ and Eustathius.||
Synesius, whose character enabled him
to accept episcopacy on his own terms,
positively repudiated these unnatural re-
strictions on the freedom and holiness of
the conjugal state. “God and the law,
and the holy hand of Theophilus, bestowed
on me my wife. I declare, therefore, sol-
emnly, and call you to witness, that I will
not be plucked from her, nor lie with her
in secret, like an adulterer. But I hope
and pray that we may have many and vir-
tuous children.

The Council of Trulla only demanded
this high test of spirituality, absolute celi-
bacy, from bishops, and left the inferior
clergy to their freedom. But the earlier
Western Council of Toledo only admitted
the deacon, and that under restrictions, to
connubial intercourse ; the presbyter who
had children after his ordination could not
be a bishop.**

This overstrained demand on the virtue,
not of individuals in a high state Moral conse-
of enthusiasm, but of a whole quences.
class of men; this strife with nature, in
that which, in its irregular and lawless in-
dulgence, is the source of so many evils
and of so much misery, in its more moder-
ate and legal form is the parent of the

* Quid facient Orientis Ecclesbe ? quid iEgypti,
et sedis Apostolicse, qu« aut- virgines clericos ac-
cipiunt aut continentes; aut si uxores habuerint,
mariti esse desistunt.—Adv. Vigilantium, p. 281.
Jerome appeals to Jovinian himself: “ Certe con-
fiteris non posse esse episcopum qui in episcopatu
filios faciat, alioqui si deprehensus fuerit, non quasi
vir tenebitur, sed quasi adulter damnabitur.—Adv.
Jovin., 175. Compare Epiphanius, Ha3res., liv. 4.

f Athanasii Epistola ad Dracontium.
t Gregory makes his father thus address him i
Ovtco -roaovrov eKfLe/xerpyicat fitov
"O<70f SirjMe 'd-vaicjv kfiol xpovog.

De Vita Su4, v. 512.

§ Sozom., i., 11. Socrat.,i., 12. J| Sacrat.,if,43.
IT Synesii, Epist. 105.

J ** Cone. Tolet., A.D. 400, can. i.454

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

purest affections and the holiest charities;
this.isolation from those social ties, which,
if at times they might withdraw them from
total dedication to their sacred duties, in
general would, by their tending to soften
and humanize, be the best school for the
gentle and affectionate discharge of those
duties : the enforcement of the celibacy of
the clergy, though not yet by law, by
dominant opinion, was not slow in pro-
ducing its inevitable evils. Simultaneous-
ly uiie res sub- lv with the sterner condemna-
introductffi. Hon of marriage, or, at least,
the exaggerated praises of chastity, we
hear the solemn denunciations of the law,
the deepening remonstrances of the more
influential writers, against those secret
evasions by which the clergy endeavoured
to obtain the fame without the practice of
celibacy, to enjoy some of the pleasures
and advantages without the crime of mar-
riage. From the middle of the third
century, in which the growing aversion
to the marriage of the clergy begins to
appear, we find the “ sub-introduced” fe-
males constantly proscribed.* The inti-
mate union of the priest with a young,
often a beautiful female, who still passed
to the world under the name-of a virgin,
and was called by the priest by the un-
suspected name of sister, seems, from the
strong and reiterated language of Jerome,f

* They are mentioned in the letter of the bishops
of Antioch against Paul of Sarnosata. The Coun-
cil of Illiberis (incautiously) allowed a sister, or a
virgin dedicated to God, to reside with a bishop or
presbyter, not a stranger.

f Unde sine nuptiis aliud nomen uxorum ? Imo
unde novum concubinarum genus ? Plus inferam.
Unde meretrices univirse ? Eadem domo, uno cubi-
culo, saepe uno tenentur et lectulo. Et suspiciosos
nos vocant, si aliquid existimamus. Frater sororem
virginem deserit: cselibem spernit virgo germanum:
fratrerh quserit- extraneum, et cum in eodem pro-
posito esse se simulent quaerunt alienorum spiritale
solatium, ut domi habeant carnale commercium.
—Hieronym., Epist. xxii., ad Eustochium. If the
vehemence of Jerome’s language betrays, his own
ardent character and his monkish hostility to the
clergy, the general charge is amply borne out by
other writers. Many quotations may be found in
Gothofred’s Note on the Law of Honorius. Greg-
ory of Nazianzen says, "Apasva navr' a?JsLvs, <jvv~
ecaanTov re fialiura. The language of Cyprian,
however, even in the third century, is the strongest:
Certe ipse coneubitus, ipse amplexus, ipsa confabu-
latio, et inosculatio, et conjacentium duorum turpis
et foeda dormitio quantum dedecoris et criminis con-
fitetur. Cyprian justly observes, that such intimacy
would induce a jealous husband to take to his
sword.—Epist. lxii., ad Pomponium. '

But the canon of the Council of Nice, which
prohibits the usage, and forbids the priest to have a
subintroducta mulier, unless a mother, sister, or
aunt, the only relationships beyond suspicion; and
the still stronger tone of the law, show the frequency,
as well as the evil, of the practice. Unhappily, they
were blind to its real cause.

Gregory Nazfanzen, Chrysostom, and (tri-
ers, to have been almost general. It was
interdicted by an imperial law.*

Thus, in every city, in almost every
town and every village of the Roman
empire, had established itself a new per-
manent magistracy, in a certain sense in-
dependent of the government, with con-
siderable inalienable endowments, and fill-
ed by men of a peculiar and sacred char-
acter, and recognised by the state. Their
authority extended far beyond their juris-
diction ; their influence far beyond their
authority. The internal organization was
complete. The three great patriarchs in
the East, throughout the West the bishop
of Rome, exercised a supreme and, in some
points, an appellant jurisdiction. Great
ecclesiastical causes could be removed to
their tribunal. Under them the metropol-
itans, and in the next rank the bishops,
governed their dioceses and ruled the
subordinate clergy, who now began to
form parishes, separate districts to which
their labours were to be confined. In the
superior clergy had gradually become
vested, not the ordination only, but the
appointment, of the inferior; they could
not quit the diocese without letters from
the bishop, or be received or exercise their
functions in another without permission.

On the incorporation of the Church with
the state, the co-ordinate civil Union
and religious magistracy main- of church
tained each its separate powers. and state\
On one side, as far as the actual celebra-
tion of the ecclesiastical ceremonial, and
in their own internal affairs in general;
on the other, in the administration of the
military, judicial, and fiscal affairs of the
state, the bounds of their respective au-
thority were clear and distinct. As a citi-
zen and subject, the Christian, the priest,
and the bishop were amenable to the laws
of the empire and to the imperial decrees,
and liable to taxation, unless specially ex-
empted, for the service of the state.f The

* Eum qui probabilem sseculo disciplinam agil
decolorari consortio sororiae appellations non decet.
But this law of Honorius, A.D. 420, allowed the
clergy to retain their wives if they had been mar-
ried before entering into orders. See the third and
fourth canons of the Council of Carthage, A.D. 348.

t The law of Constantius, which appears to with-
draw the bishops entirely from the civil jurisdiction,
and to give the privilege of being tried upon all
charges by a tribunal of bishops, is justly consider-
ed by Gothofred as a local or temporary act, proba-
bly connected with the feuds concerning Arianism,
— Cod. Theod., xvi., 2, 12, with Gothofred’s note.
Valens admitted the ecclesiastical courts to settle
religious difficulties and slight offences, xvi., 2, 23.
The same is the scope of the more explicit law oi
Honorius, xvi., 2,201. The immunity of the cler-
gy from the civil courts was of very much later date.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

Christian statesman, on the other hand, of
the highest rank, was amenable to the ec-
clesiastical censures, and was bound to
submit t.o the canons of the Church in
matters of faith and discipline, and was
entirely dependant on their judgment for
his admission or rejection from the privi-
leges and hopes of the Christian.

{So far the theory was distinct and per-
fect ; each had his separate and exclusive
sphere; yet there could not but appear a
debatable ground on which the two au-
thorities came into collision, and neither
could altogether refrain from invading the
territory of his ally or antagonist.

The treaty between the contracting par-

Union of the ^es was *11 ^act formed with
church and such haste and precipitancy that
the state. the rights of neither party could
be defined or secured; eager for immedi-
ate union and impatient of delay, they
framed no deed of settlement, by which,
when their mutual interests should be
less identified, and jealousy and estrange-
ment should arise, they might assert their
respective rights and enforce their several
duties.

In ecclesiastical affairs, strictly so call-
ed, the supremacy of the Christian magis-
tracy, it has been said, was admitted.
They were the legislators of discipline, or-
der, and doctrine. The festivals, the fasts,
the usages and canons of the Church, the
government of the clergy, were in their
exclusive power; the decrees of particu-
lar synods and councils possessed undis-
puted authority as far as their sphere ex-
tended ; general councils were held bind-
ing on the whole Church. But it was far
more easy to define that which did belong
to the province of the Church than that
which did not. Religion asserts its au-
thority, and endeavours to extend its in-
fluence over the whole sphere of moral
action, which is, in fact, over the whole
of human life, its habits, maimers, con-
duct. Christianity, as the most profound
moral religion, exacted the most com-
plete and universal obedience ; and as the
acknowledged teachers and guardians of
Christianity, the clergy, continued to draw
within their sphere every part of human
life in which man is actuated by moral or
religious motives, the moral authority,
therefore, of the religion, and, consequent-
ly, of the clergy, might appear legitimate-
ly to extend over every transaction in
life, from the legislation of the sovereign,
which ought, in a Christian king, to be
guided by Christian motives, to the domes-
tic duties of the peasant, which ought to
be fulfilled on the principle of Christian
love.

45a

But, on the other hand, the state was
supreme over all its subjects, even over
the clergy, in their character of citizens.
The whole tenure of property, to what use
soever dedicated (except in such cases as
itself might legalize on its first principles,
and guaranty, when bestowed, as by gift
or bequest), was duner its absolute con-
trol; the immunities which it conferred
it might revoke; and it would assert the
equal authority of*the constitutional laws
over every one who enjoyed the protec- •
tion of those laws. Thus, though in ex-
treme cases these separate bounds of ju-
risdiction were clear, the tribunals of ec-
clesiastical and civil law could not but, in
process of time, interfere with and ob-
struct each other.

But there was another prolific source of
difference. The clergy in one sense, from
being the representative body, had begun
to consider themselves the Church ; but
in another and more legitimate sense, the
state, when Christian, as comprehending
all the Christians of the empire, became
the Church. Which was the legislative
body: the whole community of Christians,
or the Christian aristocracy, who were in
one sense the admitted rulers'? And who
was to appoint these rulers'? It is quite
clear that from the first, though the con-
secration to the religious office was in the
bishop and clergy, the laity had a voice in
the ratification, if not in the appointment.
Did not the state fairly succeed to all
the rights of the laity, more particularly
when privileges and endowments, attach-
ed to the ecclesiastical offices, were con-
ferred or guarantied by the state, and
therefore might appear in justice revoca-
ble, or liable to be regulated by the civil
power ?

This vital question at this time was still
farther embarrassed by the rash eagerness
with which the dominant Church called
upon the state to rid it of its internal ad-
versaries. When once the civil power
was recognised as cognizant of ecclesi-
astical offences, where was that power to
end'? The emperor who commanded his
subjects to be of one religion, might com-
mand them, by the same title, to adopt
another. The despotic head of the state
might assert his despotism as head of the
Church. It must be acknowledged that
no theory which has satisfactorily har-
monized the relations of these two at
once, in one sense separate, in another
identical, communities, has satisfied the
reasoning and dispassionate mind ; while,
the separation of the two communities,
the total dissociation, as it were, of the
Christian and the citizen, is an experiment456

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

apparently not likely to advance or perpet-
uate the influence of Christianity.*

At all events, the hasty and unsettled
compact of this period left room for con-
stant' jealousy and strife. As each was
the stronger, it encroached upon and ex-
tended its dominion into the territory of
the other. In general, though with very
various fortunes, in different parts of the
world and at different periods, the Church
was in the ascendant, and for many cen-
turies confronted the state, at least on
equal terms.

The first aggression, as it were, which
Marriage the Church made on the state,

derUecclesin* WaS assumin© ^ie COgllizance
asticai dis- over all questions and causes
cipiine. relating to marriage. In sancti-
fying this solemn contract, it could scarce-
ly be considered as transgressing its prop-
er limits, as guardian of this primary ele-
ment of social virtue and happiness. In
the early Church, the benediction of the
bishop or presbyter seems to have been
previously sought by the Christian at the
time of marriage. The heathen rite of
marriage was so manifestly religious, that
the Christian, while he sought to avoid
that idolatrous ceremony, would wish to
substitute some more simple and conge-
nial form.' In the general sentiment that
this contract should be public and sacred,
he would seek the sanction of his own
community as its witnesses. Marriage
not performed in the face of his Christian
brethren was little better than an illicit
union, f

It was an object likewise of the early
Christian community to restrict the mar-
riage of Christians to Christians; to dis-
countenance, if not prohibit, those with un-

* [Were Mr. Milman to visit these United States,
and witness the complete success of this experi-
ment, the entire satisfaction it gives to all denom-
inations of Christians, and the perfectly healthy
state of all our churches, he might find occasion
greatly to alter his views on this subject.]

t Ideo penes nos occultae conjunctiones, id est,
non prius apud ecclesiam professas, juxta mcechiam
et fornicationem judicari periclitantur.—Tertull.,
de Pudic., c. 4.

Though the rite was solemnized in the presence
of the Christian priest, and the Church attempted
to impose a graver and more serious dignity, it was
not so easy to throw off the gay and festive char-
acter which had prevailed in the heathen times.
Paganism, or rather, perhaps, human nature, was
too strong to submit. The austere preacher of
Constantinople reproved the loose hymns to Venus,
which were heard even at Christian weddings.
The bride, he says, was borne by drunken men to
her husband’s house, among choirs of dancing har-
lots, with pipes and flutes, and songs full, to her
chaste ear, of offensive license. [See Chr. Wm.
Fliigge, Geschichte der Kirchlichen Einsegnung
und Copulation der Ehen, Liineb., 1809, 12mo.]

believers.* This was gradually extended
to marriages with heretics, or members of
another Christian sect. When, therefore,
the Church began to recognise'five legal
impediments to marriage, this was the first;
Difference of religion between.Christians
and infidels, Jews or heretics. The second
was the impediment of crime. Persons
guilty of adultery were not allowed to mar-
ry according to the Roman law ; this was
recognised by the Church. A law of Con-
stantius had made rape, or forcible abduc-
tion of a virgin, a capital offence; and,
even with the consent of the injured fe-
male, marriage could not take place. 3-.
Impediments from relationship. Here also
they were content to.follow the Roman
law, which was as severe and precise as
the Mosaic Institutes.! 4. The civil im-
pediment. Children adopted by the same
father could not marry. A freeman could
not marry a slave ; the connexion was
only concubinage. It does not appear
that the Church yet ventured to correct
this vice of Roman society. 5. Spiritual
relationship between godfathers and their
spiritual children : this was afterward car-
ried much farther. To these regulations
for the repression of improper connexions
were added some other ecclesiastical im-
pediments. There were holy periods in
the year, in which it was forbidden to con-
tract marriage. No one might marry
while under ecclesiastical interdict, nor
one who had made a vow of chastity.

The facility of divorce was the primary
principle of corruption in Roman
social life. Augustus had attempt- Dlvorce*
ed to enforce some restrictions on this un-
limited power of dissolving the matrimo-
nial contract from caprice or the lightest
motive. Probably the severity of Chris-
tian morals had obtained that law of Con-
stantine, which was so much too rigid for
the state of society as to be entirely in-
effective, from the impossibility of carry
ing it into execution.]; It was relaxed by

* A law of Valentinian II , Theodosius and An

cadius (A.D. 388), prohibited the intermarriage oi
Jews and Christians. Codex Theodos, iii., 7, 2.
It was to be considered adultery—Cave, Christi
ane, Gentili aut Judceo filiam tradere ; cave, in-
quam, Gentilern aut Judasam atque alienigenam,
hoc est, hsereticam, et omnem alienam a fide tu$
uxorem accersas tibi.— Arnbros., de Abraham., c. 9.
Cum certissime noveris tradi a nobis Christianam
nisi Christiano non posse.—Augustin., Ep. 234, ad
Rusticum.

The Council of Illiberis had prohibited Christians
from giving their daughters in marriage to Gentiles
(propter copiam puellarum), also to Jews, heretics.,
and especially to heathen priests.—Can. xv., xvi.,
xvii.

f See the various laws in the Cod. Theod , lib
iii., tit. 12, De Ineestis Nuptiis.

t Codex Theodos., iii„ 16,1. See p. 327.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

457

Constantius, and almost abrogated by
Iionorius.* The inveterate evil remained.
A Christian writer, at the beginning of the
fifth century, complains that men changed
their wives as quickly as their clothes,
and that marriage-chambers were set up
as easily as booths in a market.f At a
later period than that to which our history
extends, when Justinian attempted to pro-
hibit all divorces except those on account
of chastity, that is, when the parties em-
braced the monastic life, he was obliged
to relax the law on account of the fearful
crimes, the plots and poisonings, and oth-
er evils which it introduced into domestic
life.

But, though it could not correct or
scarcely mitigate this evil by public law
in the general bod}" of society, Christiani-
ty, in its proper and more peculiar sphere,
had invested marriage in a. religious sanc-
tity, which at least, to a limited extent,
repressed this social evil. By degrees,
separation from bed and board, even in the
case of adultery, the only cause which
could dissolve the tie, was substituted and
enforced by the clergy instead of legal di-
vorce. Over- all the ceremonial forms,
and all expressions which related to mar-
riage, the Church threw the utmost so-
lemnity ; it was said to resemble the mys-
tic union of Christ and the Church ; till at
length marriage grew up into a sacrament
indissoluble until the final separation of
death, except by the highest ecclesiastical

* By the law of Honorius, 1. The woman who
demanded a divorce without sufficient proof forfeit-
ed her dowry, was condemned to banishment, could
not contract a second marriage, was without hope
of restoration to civil rights. 2. If she made out
only a tolerable case (convicted her husband only
of mediocris culpa), she only forfeited her dowry,
and could not contract a second marriage, but was
liable to be prosecuted by her husband for adultery.
3. If she made a strong case (gravis causa), she
retained her dowry and might marry again after
five years. The husband, in the first case, forfeit-
ed the gifts and dowry, and was condemned to per-
petual celibacy, not having liberty to marry again
after a certain number of years In the second, he
forfeited the dowry,'‘but not the donation, and could
marry again after two years. In the third, he was
bound to prosecute his guilty wife. On conviction,
he received the dowry, and might marry again im-
mediately.—Cod. Theodos., iii., xvi., 2.

f Mulieres a maritis tanquam vestes subinde
mutari, et thalamos tarn saepe et facile strui quam
nundinarum tabernas.— Asterius Amasenus apud
Combefis, Auct., t. i.

The story has been often quoted from St. Je-
rome of the man (of the lowest class) in Rome
who had had twenty wives (not divorced, he had
buried them all); his wife had had twenty-two
husbands. There was a great anxiety to know
which would outlive the other. The man carried
the day, and bore his wife to the grave in a kind
of triumphal procession.— Hieronym., Epist. xci.,
p. 745.

3 M

authority.* It is impossible to calculate
the effect of this canonization, as it were,
of marriage, the only remedy which could
be applied, first to the corrupt manners of
Roman society, and afterward to the con-
sequences of the barbarian invasions, in
which, notwithstanding the strong moral
element in the Teutonic character and the
respect for women (which, no doubt, was
one of the original principles of chivalry),
yet the dominance of brute force and the
unlimited rights of conquest could not but
lead to the perpetual, lawless, and violent
dissolution of the marriage tie.f

The cognizance of wills, another de-
partment in which the Church as- wms
sumed a power not strictly ecclesi-
astical, seems to have arisen partly from
an accidental circumstance. It was the
custom among the heathen to depo§ite wills
in the temples as a place of security; the
Christians followed their practice, and
chose their churches as the depositaries
of these important documents. They
thus came under the custody of the cler-
gy, who from guardians became, in their
courts, the judges of their authenticity or
legality, and at length a general tribunal
for all matters relating to testaments.

Thus religion laid its sacred control on
all the material incidents of human life,
and around the ministers of religion gath-
ered all the influence thus acquired over
the sentiments of mankind. The font of
baptism usually received the Christian in-
fant, and the form of baptism was uttered
by the priest or bishop; the marriage was
unhallowed without the priestly benedic-
tion ; and at the close of life, the minister
of religion was at hand to absolve and to
reassure the departing spirit; at the funer-
al he ratified, as it were, the solemn prom-
ises of immortality. But the great, Penitential
permanent, and perpetual source discipline,
of sacerdotal authority was the penitential
discipline of the Church, which was uni-
versally recognised as belonging exclu-
sively to the jurisdiction of the clergy.
Christianity had sufficient power, to a cer-
tain degree, to engross the mind and heart,
but not to keep under perpetual restraint
the unruly passions or the inquisitive mind.

* The Eastern churches had a horror of second
marriage ; a presbyter was forbidden to be present
at the wedding feast of a. digamist.—Can. vii.

f Il ls curious to trace the rapid fall of Roman
pride. Valentinian made the intermarriage of a Ro-
man provincial with a barbarian a capital crime
(A.D. 370).—Codex Theodos., iii., 14, 1. Under
Theodosius, Fravitta, the Goth, married a Roman
woman with the consent of the emperor.—Eunap.,
Excerpt. Legat. In another century, the daugh-
ters of emperors were the willing ot the enforced
brides of barbarian kings458

history of Christianity,

The best were most conscious of human
infirmity, and jealous of their own slight
aberrations from the catholic belief; the
bad had not merely their own conscience,
but public fame and the condemnatory
voice of the community to prostrate them
before the visible arbiters of the All-see-
ing-Power. Sin, from the most heinous
delinquency or the darkest heresy, to the
most trivial fault or the slightest deviation
from the established belief, could only be
reconciled by the advice, the guidance, at
length by the direct authority, of the priest.
He judged of its magnitude, he prescribed
the appointed penance. The hierarchy
were supposed to be invested with the
keys of heaven and of hell; they undoubt-
edly held those which unlock the human
heart—fear and hope. And when once
the mind was profoundly affected by Chris-
tianity, when hope had failed to excite to
more generous obedience, they applied
the baser and more servile instrument
without scruple and without remorse.

The penitential discipline of the Church,
no doubt, grew up, like other usages, by
slow degrees ; its regulations were framed
into a system to meet the exigences of
the times : but we discern, at a very early
period, the awful power of condemning to
the most profound humiliation, to the most
agonizing contrition, to the shame of pub-
lic confession, to the abasing supplication
before the priest, to long seclusion from
the privileges and the society of the Chris-
tian community. Even then public con-
fession was the first process in the fear-
ful yet inevitable ceremonial. “ Confes-
sion of sin,” says Tertullian,* “ is the
proper discipline for the abasement and
humiliation of man; it enforces that mode
of life which can alone find mercy with
God; it prescribes the fitting dress and
food of the penitent to be in sackcloth and
ashes, to darken the body with filth, to
depress the soul with anguish; it allows
only the simplest food, enough and no
more than will maintain life. Constantly
to fast and pray, to groan, to weep, to
howl day and night before the Lord our
God, to grovel at the feet of the presbyter,
to kneel at the altar of God, to implore
from all the brethren their deprecatory
supplications.” Subsequently, the more
complete penitential system rigidly regu-
lated the most minute particulars'; the at-
titude, the garb, the language, or the more
expressive silence. The place in which
the believer stood showed to the whole
Church how far the candidate for salva-
tion through Christ had been thrown back

* De Pcenitenfa. c, 9.

in his spiritual course, what progress ne
was making to pardon and peace. The
penitent was clothed in sackcloth, his
head was strewn with ashes ; men shaved
their heads, women left their dishevelled
hair flung over their bosoms ; they wore a
peculiar veil; the severest attendance on
every religious service was exacted; all
diversions were proscribed; marriage was
not permitted during the time of penance ;
the lawful indulgence of the marriage bed
was forbidden. Although a regular for-
mulary, which gradually grew into use,
imposed canonical penances of a certain
period for certain offences, yet that period
might be rigidly required or shortened by
the authority of the bishop For some
offences the penitent, who, it was believ-
ed, was abandoned to the power of Satan,
was excluded from all enjoyment, all
honour, and all society to the close of
life; and the doors of reconciliation were
hardly opened to the departing spirit: won-
derful proof how profoundly the doctrines
of Christianity had sunk into the human
heart, and of the enormous power (and
what enormous power is not liable to
abuse) in which the willing reverence of
the people had invested the priesthood.

But something more fearful still remain-
ed. Over all the community hung the tre
mendous sentence of excommunication,
tantamount to a sentence of spiritual
death.* This sentence, though not as yet
dependant on the will, was pronounced and
executed by the religious magistrate. The
clergy adhered to certain regular forms of
process, but the ultimate decree rested
with them.

Excommunication was of two kinds :
first, that which excluded from Excommu-
the communion, and threw back nication.
the initiate Christian into the ranks of the
uninitiate. This separation or suspension
allowed the person under ban to enter the
church, to hear the psalms and sermon,
and, in short, all that was permitted to the
catechumen.

But the more terrible excommunication
by anathema altogether banished the de-
linquent from the church and the society
of Christians; it annulled forever his hopes
of immortality through Christ; it drove

*. Interfici Deus jnssit sacerdotibus non obtem-
perantes, judicibus a se ad tempus constitutis non
obedientes; sed tunc quidem gladio occidebantur,
quando adhuc et circumcisio carnis manebat. Nunc
autem quia circumcisio spiritalis esse apud fideles
Dei servos coepit, spiritali gladio superbi et contu-
maces necantur, dum de ecclesia ejiciuntur.—Cyp-
rian., Epist. Ixii.

Nunc agit in ecclesigt excommunicatio, quod age-
bat tunc in interfectis.—Augustin., Q. 39, in Deute-
ron.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY’.

459

him out as an outcast to the'dominion of
the Evil Spirit. The Christian might not
communicate with him in the ordinary in-
tercourse of life ; he was a moral leper,
whom it was the solemn duty of all to
avoid, lest they should partake in his con-
tagion. The sentence of one church was
rapidly promulgated throughout Christen-
dom ; and the excommunicated in Egypt
or Syria found the churches in Gaul or
Spain closed against him: he was an ex-
ile without a resting-place. As long as
heathenism survived, at least in equal tem-
poral power and distinction, and another
society received with welcome, or at least
with undiminished respect, the exile from
Christianity, the excommunicated might
lull his remaining terrors to rest, and for-
get, in the business or dissipation of the
world, his forfeited hopes of immortality.
But when there was but one society, that
of the Christians, throughout the world, or,
at best, but a feeble and despised minor-
ity, he stood a marked and branded man.
Those who were, perhaps, not better Chris-
tians, but who had escaped the fatal cen-
sures of the Church, would perhaps seize
the opportunity of showing their zeal by
avoiding the outcast: if he did not lose
civil privileges, he lost civil estimation;
he was altogether excluded from human
respect and human sympathies ; he was a
legitimate, almost a designated, object of
scorn, distrust, and aversion.

The nature, the extent, and some of the
^ . moral and even political advan-
> nesms. j.ages 0f excommunication, are il-
lustrated in the act of the celebrated Syne-
sius. The power of the Christian bishop,
in his hands, appears under its noblest and
most beneficial form. Synesius became
a Christian bishop without renouncing the
habits, the language, and, in a great de-
gree, the opinions of a philosopher. His
writings, more especially his Odes, blend,
with a very scanty Christianity, the mys-,
tic theology of the later Platonism ; but it
is rather philosophy adopting Christian
language, than Christianity moulding phi-
losophy to its own uses. Yet so high was
the character of Synesius, that even the
worldly prelate of Alexandrea,Theophilus,
approved of his elevation to the episcopate
in the obscure town of Ptolemais, near Cy-
rene. Synesius felt the power with which
he was invested, and employed it with a
wise vigour and daring philanthropy, which
commanded the admiration both of philos-
ophy and of religion. The lowborn An-
dronicus was the prefect, or, rather, the
scourge and tyrant of Libya; his exactions
were unprecedented, and enforced by tor-
tures of unusual cruelty, even in that age

and country. The province groaned and
bled, without hope of relief, under the hate-
ful and sanguinary oppression. Synesius
had tried in vain the milder language of
persuasion upon the intractable tyrant.
At length he put forth the terrors of the
Church to shield the people ; and for his
rapacity, which had amounted to sacrilege,
and for his inhumanity, the president of
the whole province was openly condemn-
ed, by a sentence of excommunication, to
the public abhorrence, excluded from the
society and denied the common rights of
men. He was expelled from the Church,
as the Devil from Paradise ; every Chris-
tian temple, every sanctuary, was closed
against the man of blood; the priest was
not even to permit him the rights of Chris-
tian burial; every private man and every
magistrate was to exclude him from their
houses and from their tables. If the rest
of Christendom refused to ratify and exe-
cute the sentence of the obscure Church
of Ptolemais, they were guilty of the sin
of schism. The Church of Ptolemais
would not communicate or partake of the
Divine mysteries with those who thus vio-
lated ecclesiastical discipline. The ex-
communication included the accomplices
of his guilt, and, by a less justifiable ex-
tension of power, their families. Andron-
icus quailed before the interdict, which
he feared might find countenance in the
court of Constantinople ; bowed before the
protector of the people, and acknowledged
the justice of his sentence.*

The salutary thunder of sacerdotal ex-
communication might here and there strike
some eminent delinquent ;f but ecclesias-
tical discipline, which in the earlier and
more fervent period of the religion had
watched with holy jealousy the whole life
of the individual, was baffled by the in-
crease of votaries, which it could no long-
er submit to this severe and constant su-
perintendence. The clergy could not com-
mand, nor the laity require, the sacred du-
ty of secession and outward penance from
the multitude of sinners, when they were
the larger part of the community. But
heresy of opinion was more easily detect-
ed than heresy of conduct. Gradually,
from a moral as well as a religious power,

* Synesii Epistoloe, lvii., Iviii.

t There is a canon of the Council of Toledo
(A.D. 408), that if any man in power shall have
robbedone in holy orders, or a poor man (quemlibet
pauperiorem), or a monk, and the bishop shall send
to demand a hearing for the cause, should the man
in power treat his message with contempt, letters
shall be sent to all the bishops of the province, de
daring him excommunicated till he has heard thfc
cause or made restitution.—Can. xi. Labbe, ii,
1225.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

? the discipline became almost
SSurSlSf. exclusively religious, or, rath-
ty confined er, confined itself to the specu-
ueresy. ]ative, while it almost aban-

doned in despair the practical, effects of
religion. Heresy became the one great
^rime for which excommunication was
pronounced in its most awful form ; the
heretic was the one being with whom it
was criminal to associate, who forfeited
all the privileges of religion and all the
charities of life.

Nor was this all: in pursuit of the here-
Executed by tic, the Church was not content
the st ite. to rest within her own sphere,
to wield her own arms of moral tempera-
ment, and to exclude from her own terri-
tory. She formed a fatal alliance with the
state, and raised that which was. strictly
an ecclesiastical, an offence against, the
religious community, into a civil crime,
amenable to temporal penalties. The
Church, when she ruled the mind of a re-
ligious or superstitious emperor, could not
forego the immediate advantage of his au-
thority to further her own cause, and hail-
ed his welcome intrusion on her own in-
ternal legislation. In fact, the autocracy
of the emperor over the Church as well
as over the state was asserted in all those
edicts which the Church, in its blind zeal,
hailed with transport as the marks of his
allegiance, but which confounded, in inex-
tricable, and, to the present time, in deplo-
rable confusion, the limits of the religious
and the civil power. The imperial re-
scripts, which made heresy a civil offence,
by affixing penalties which were not pure-
ly religious, trespassed as much upon the
real principles of the original religious re-
public as against the immutable laws of
conscience and Christian charity. The
tremendous laws of Theodosius,* consti-
tuting heresy a capital offence,
Sent for S" punishable by the civil power,
ciesiasticai are said to have been enacted
offences, on}y as a terror to evil believ-
ers ; but they betrayed too clearly the
darkening spirit of the times; the next
generation would execute what the laws
of the last would enact. The most dis-
tinguished bishops of the time raised a
cry of horror at the first executions for
religion; but it was their humanity which
was startled; they did not perceive that
they had sanctioned, by the smallest civil
penalty, a false and fatal principle; that
though, by the legal establishment, the
Church and the state had become in one
sense the same body, yet the associating
principle of each remained entirely dis-

* See ch, ix., p. 388.

tinct, and demanded an entirely different
and independent system of legislation and
administration of the law. The Christian
hierarchy bought the privilege of persecu-
tion at the price of Christian independence.

It is difficult to decide whether the lan-
guage of the book in the Theodosian Code,
entitled “ On Heretics,” contrasts more
strongly with the comprehensive, equita-
ble, and parental tone of the Roman juris-
prudence, or with the gentle and benevo-
lent spirit of the Gospel, or even with the
primary principles of the ecclesiastical
community.* The emperor, of his sole
and supreme authority, without any rec-
ognition of ecclesiastical advice or sanc-
tion; the emperor, who might himself be
an Arian, or Eunomian, or Manichean,
who had so recently been an Arian, de-
fines heresy the very slightest deviation
from Catholic verity, and in a succession
of statutes inflicts civil penalties, and ex-
cludes from the common rights of men
the maintainors of certain opinions. No-
thing treasonable, immoral, dangerous to
the peace of society is alleged; the crime,
the civil crime, as it now becomes, con-
sists solely in opinions. The law of Con-
stantine, which granted special immuni-
ties to certain of his subjects, might per-
haps, with some show of equity, confine
those immunities to a particular class.f
But the gradually darkening statutes pro-
ceed from the withholding of privileges to
the prohibition of their meetings,{ then
through confiscation,§ the refusal of the
common right of bequeathing property,
fine,|| exile,*5f to capital punishment.** The
latter, indeed, was enacted only against
some of the more obscure sects and some
of the Donatists, whose turbulent and se-
ditious conduct might demand the inter-
ference of the civil power ; but still they
are condemned, not as rebels and insur-
gents, but as heretics.ff .

* Haereticorum vocabulo continentur, et latis ad-
versus eos sanctionibus debent succumbere, qui vel
levi argumento a judicio Catholicse religionis et
tramife detecti fuerint deviare. The practice was
more lenient than the law.

f The first law of Constantine restricts the im-
munities which he grants to Catholics.—Cod. The-
odos., xvi.

| The law of Gratian (IV.) confiscates the hous-
es or even fields in which heretical conventicles are
held. See also law of Theodosius, viii.

$ Leges xi., xiii. || Ibid., xxi.

IT Ibid., xviii., liii., lviii.

** The law of Theodosius enacts this, not against
the general body, but some small sections of Man-
icheans, “ Summo supplicio et inexpiabili poena ju-
bemus aifligi,” ix. This law sanctions the ill-omen-
ed name of inquisitors. Compare law xxxv. The
“ interminata, poena” of law lx. is against Eunomi-
ans, Arians, and Macedonians

tf Ad Heraclianum, Ivi. The impehal lawsHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

461

in building up this vast and majestic
objects of fabric of the hierarchy, though
fendersof6" individuals might be actuated by
the hierarch- personal ambition or interest,
icai power. and the narrow corporate spirit
might rival loftier motives in the consoli-
dation of ecclesiastical power, yet the great
object, which was steadily, if dimly seen,
was the advancement of mankind in reli-
gion, and through religion to temporal and
eternal happiness. Dazzled by the glori-
ous spectacle of provinces, of nations,
gradually brought within the pale of Chris-
tianity, the great men of the fourth century
of Christianity were not and could not be
endowed with prophetic sagacity to dis-
cern the abuses of sacerdotal domination,
and the tyranny which, long centuries af-
ter, might be exercised over the human
mind in the name of religion. We may
trace the hierarchical principle of Cyprian
or of Ambrose to what may seem their
natural consequences, religious crusades
and the fires of the Inquisition; we may
observe the tendency of unsocial monas-
ticism to quench the charities of life, to
harden into cruelty, grovel into licentious-
ness;, and brood over its own ignorance;
we may trace the predestinarian doctrines
of Augustine darkening into narrow bigot-
ry or maddening to uncharitable fanati-
cism ; they only contemplated, they only
could contemplate,-a great moral and reli-
gious power opposing civil tyranny, or at
least affording a refuge from it; purifying
domestic morals, elevating and softening
the human heart;* * a wholesome and be-

against second baptisms are still more singular in-
vasions of the civil upon the ecclesiastical authori-
ty, xvi., tit. vi.

* The laws bear some pleasing testimonies to the
activity of Christian benevolence in many of the ob-
scure scenes of human wretchedness. See the hu-
mane law regarding prisoners, that they might have
proper food, and the use of the bath. Nee deerit
antistitum Christiana? religionis cura laudabilis, qua?
ad observationem -constituti judicis hanc ingerat
monitionem. The Christian bishop was to take
care that the judge did his duty.—Cod. Theodos.,
ix., 3, 7,

As early as the reign of Valentinian and Valens,
prisoners were released at Easter (ob diem paschae,
quem intimo corde celebramus), excepting those
committed for the crimes of treason', magic, adulte-
ry, rape, or homicide, ix., 36, 3, 4. These statutes
were constantly renewed, with the addition of some
more excepted crimes, sacrilege, robbery of tombs,
and coining.

There is a very singular law of Arcadius prohib-
iting the clergy and the monks from interfering with
the execution of the laws, and forcibly taking away
condemned criminals from the hands of justice.
They were allowed, at the same time, the amplest
privilege of merciful intercession. This was con-
nected with the privilege of asylum.—Codex Theo-
dos., ix., 40, 16.

There is another singular law.by which corporeal
punishments were not to be administered in Lent,

nevolent force compelling men by legiti-
mate means to seek wisdom, virtue, and
salvation; the better part of mankind with-
drawing, in holy prudence and wise timid-
ity, from the corruptions of a foul and cruel
age, and devoting itself to its own self-ad-
vancement, to the highest spiritual per-
fection; and the general pious assertion
of the universal and unlimited providence
and supremacy of God. None but the
hopeful achieve great revolutions; and
what hopes could equal those which the
loftier Christian minds might justly enter-
tain of the beneficent influences of Chris-
tianity 1

We cannot wonder at the growth ol
the ecclesiastical power, if the Dignity and
Chqrch were merely considered advantage of
as a new sphere in which human gtatJCQ®rical
genius, virtue, and benevolence statlon*
might develop their unimpeded energies,
and rise above the general debasement.
This was almost the only way in which
any man could devote great abilities or
generous activity to a useful purpose with
reasonable hopes of success. The civil
offices were occupied by favour and in-
trigue, often acquired most easily and held
most permanently by the worst men for
the worst purposes ; the utter extinction
of freedom had left no course of honour-
able distinction, as an honest advocate or
an independent jurist; literature was worn
out; rhetoric had degenerated into techni-
cal subtlety; philosophy had lost its hold
upon the mind; even the great military
commands were filled by fierce and active
barbarians, on whose energy Rome relied
for the protection of her frontiers. In the
Church alone was security, influence, in-
dependence, fame, even wealth, and the
opportunity of serving mankind. The pul-
pit was the only rostrum from which the
orator would be heard; feeble as was the
voice of Christian poetry, it found an echo
in the human heart: the episcopate was
the only office of dignity which could be
obtained without meanness-or exercised
without fear. Whether he sought the
peace of a contemplative or the useful-
ness of an active life, this was the only
sphere for the man of conscious mental
strength; and if he felt the inward satis-
faction that he was either securing his
own or advancing the salvation of others,
the lofty mind would not hesitate what
path to choose through the darkening and
degraded world.

The just way to consider the influence
of the Christian hierarchy (without which,

except against the Isaurian robbers, who were tob€
dealt with without delay, ix., 35, 5, 6, 7462

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

General in- in its complete and vigorous or-
fluenceof ganization, it is clear that the re-
tire clergy. |jgjon cou|c[ not have subsisted
throughout these ages of disaster and con-
fusion) is to imagine, if possible, the state
of things without that influence. A tyran-
ny the most oppressive and debasing, with-
out any principles of free or hopeful re-
sistance, or resistance only attainable by
the complete dismemberment of the Ro-
man empire, and its severance into a num-
ber of hostile states ; the general morals
at the lowest state of depravation, with
nothing but a religion totally without in-
fluence, and a philosophy without author-
ity, to correct its growing cruelty and li-
centiousness ; a very large portion of man-
kind in hopeless slavery, with nothing to
mitigate it but the insufficient control of
fear in the master, or occasional gleams
of humanity or political foresight in the
government, with no inward consolation

or feeling of independence whatever, in
the midst of this, the invasion of hostile
barbarians in every quarter, and the com-
plete wreck of civilization, with no com-
manding* influence to assimilate the ad-
verse races.; without the protection or con-
servative tendency of any religious feeling
to soften, at length to reorganize and re-
create, literature, the arts of building,
painting, and music ; the Latin language
itself breaking up into as many countless
dialects as there were settlements of bar-
barous tribes without a guardian or sacred
depositary, it is difficult adequately to
darken the picture of ignorance, violence,
confusion, and wretchedness ; but without
this adequate conception of the probable
state of the world without it, it is impos-
sible to judge with fairness or candour the
obligations of Europe and of civilization to
the Christian hierarchy.*

CHAPTER II.

PUBLIC SPECTACLES.

The Greek and Roman inhabitants of
Public the empire were attached with
spectacles, equal intensity to their favourite
spectacles, whether of more solemn reli-
gious origin, or of lighter and more festive
kind. These amusements are perhaps
more congenial to the southern character,
from the greater excitability of tempera-
ment, the less variable climate, which
rarely interferes with enjoyment in the
open air, and throughout the Roman world
had long been fostered by those repub-
lican institutions which gave to every
citizen a place and an interest in all pub-
lic ceremonials, and which, in this respect,
still survived the institutions themselves.
The population of the great capitals had
preserved only the dangerous and per-
nicious part of freedom, the power of sub-
sisting either without regular industry or
with but moderate exertion. The per-
petual distribution of com, and the various
largesses at other times, emancipated
them in a great degree from the whole-
some control of their own necessities,
and a vast and uneducated multitude was
maintained in idle and dissolute inactivity.
It was absolutely necessary to occupy
much of this vacant time with public diver-
sions ; and the invention, the wealth, and
the personal exertions of the higher orders
were taxed to gratify this insatiable appe-
tite. Policy demanded that which am-

bition and the love of popularity had freely
supplied in the days of the republic, and
which personal vanity continued to offer,
though with less prodigal and willing mu-
nificence. The more retired and domestic
habits of Christianity might in some de-
gree seclude a sect from the public diver-
sions, but it could not change the nature
or the inveterate habits of a people : it
was either swept along by, or contented
itself with giving a new direction to, the
impetuous and irresistible current; it was
obliged to substitute some new excite-
ment for that which it peremptorily pro-
hibited, and reluctantly to acquiesce in
that which it was unable to suppress.

Christianity had cut off that part of the
public spectacles which belonged exclu-
sively to paganism. Even if all the tem-
ples at Rome were not, as Jerome asserts,
covered with dust and cobwebs,! yet, not-
withstanding the desperate efforts of the
old aristocracy, the .tide of popular inter-
est, no doubt, set away from the deserted
and mouldering fanes of the heathen dei-
ties, and towards the churches of the

* [Compare Guizot’s History of Civilization in
Europe, Lecture v., vi, p. 113-166, ed. New-York,
1838.J

f Fuligine et aranearum telis omnia Romaa tem-
pla ocoperta sunt: inundans populus ante delubra
semiruta, currit ad martyrum tumulos.—Epist lvii
p. 590.46.3

HTSTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Christians. And if this was the case in
Rome, at Constantinople and throughout
the empire the pagan ceremonial was
either extinct, or gradually expiring, or
lingering on in unimpressive regularity.
On the other hand, the modest and unim-
posing ritual of Christianity naturally, and
almost necessarily, expanded into pomp
and dignity. To the deep devotion of the
early Christians the place and circum-
stances of worship were indifferent: piety
finds everywhere its own temple. In the
low and unfurnished chamber, in the for-
est, in the desert, in the catacomb, the
Christian adored his Redeemer, prayed,
chanted his hymn, and partook of the sa-
cred elements. Devotion wanted no ac-
cessories ; faith needed no subsidiary ex-
citement ; or if it did, it found them in the
peril, the novelty, the adventurous and
stirring character of the scene, or in the
very meanness and poverty, contrasted
with the gorgeous worship which it had
abandoned ; in the mutual attachment and
in the fervent emulation which spread
throughout a small community.

But among the more numerous and
hereditary Christians of this period, the
temple and the solemn service were in-
dispensable to enforce and maintain the
devotion. Religion was not strong enough
to disdain, and far too earnest to decline,
any legitimate means of advancing her
Religious cause. The whole ceremonial
ceremonial, was framed with the art which
arises out of the intuitive perception of
that which is effective towards its end; that
which was felt to be awful was adopted
to enforce awe; that which drew the peo-
ple to the church, and affected their minds
when there, became sanctified to the use
of the church. The edifice itself arose
more lofty with the triumph of the faith,
and enlarged itself to receive the multiply-
ing votaries. Christianity disdained that
its God and its Redeemer should be less
magnificently honoured than the daemons
of paganism. In the service it delighted
to transfer and to breathe, as it were, a
sublimer sense into the common appella-
tions of the pagan worship, whether from
the ordinary ceremonial or the more secret
mysteries. The church became a temple ;*
the table of the communion an altar; the
celebration of the Eucharist the appalling
or the unbloody sacrifice.! The minister-
ing functionaries multiplied with the vari-
ety of the ceremonial; each was conse-
crated to his office by a lower kind of or-
dination ; but a host of subordinate attend-

* Ambrose and Lactantius, and even Irenoeus,
use this term.—See Bingham, b. viii., 1, 4.

t The (pp'iKTT], or the avainaicros Sva'ia.

ants by degrees swelled the officiating
train. The incense, the garlands, the
lamps, all were adopted by zealous rivalry,
or seized as the lawful spoils of vanquished
paganism, and consecrated to the service
of Christ.

The Church rivalled the old heathen
mysteries in expanding, by slow degrees,
its higher privileges. Christianity was it-
self the great mystery, unfolded gradual-
ly, and, in general, after a long and search-
ing probation. It still reserved the pow-
er of. opening at once its gates to the more
distinguished proselytes, and of jealously
and tardily unclosing them to more doubt-
ful neophytes. It permitted its sanctuary,
as it were, to be stormed at once by em-
inent virtue and unquestioned zeal; but
the common mass of mankind were never
allowed to consider it less than a hard-
won privilege to* be received into the
Church ; and this boon was not to be dis-
pensed with lavish or careless hands.*
Its preparatory ceremonial of abstinence,
personal purity, ablution, secrecy, closely
resembled that of the pagan mysteries
(perhaps each may have contributed to
the other); so the theologic dialect of
Christianity spoke the same language.
Yet Christianity substituted for the fever-
ish enthusiasm of some of these rites,
and the phantasmagoric terrors of-others,
with their vague admonitions to purity, a
searching but gently-administered moral
discipline, and more sober religious ex-
citement. It retained, indeed, much of
the dramatic power, though under another
form.

The divisions between the different or-
ders of worshippers, enforced by Divisions of
the sacerdotal authority, and ob- the Church-
served w7ith humble submission by the
people, could not but impress the mind
with astonishment and awe. The stran-
ger, on entering the spacious open court
which was laid out before the more splen-
did churches, with porticoes or cloisters on
each side, beheld first the fountain or tank
where the worshippers were expected to
wash their hands, and purify themselves,
as it were, for the Divine presence. Lin-
gering in these porticoes, or approaching
timidly the threshold which they dared
not pass, or, at the farthest, entering only
into the first porch or vestibule,! and

* Tt is one of the bitterest charges of Tertullian
against the heretics, that they did not keep up this
distinction between the catechumens and the faith-
ful. “ Imprimis quis catechumenus, quis fidelis,
ircertumest: pariter adeunt, pariterorant.” Even
the heathen were admitted; thus “pearls were
erst before swine.”—De Prsescript. Hseret., c. 41.

t There is much difficulty and confusion re-
specting these divisions of the . Church The factHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

4t>4

pressing around the disciples to solicit
their prayers, he would observe
The Porch. men pa]e? Ejected, clad in sack-
cloth, oppressed with the profound con-
sciousness of their guilt, acquiescing in
the justice of the ecclesiastical censure,
which altogether excluded them from the
Christian community. These were the
The pea- first class of penitents, men of
itents. notorious guilt, whom only a long
period of this humiliating probation could
admit even within the hearing of the sa-
cred service. As he advanced to the
gates, he must pass the scrutiny of the
doorkeepers, who guarded the admission
into the church, and distributed each class
of worshippers into their proper place.
The stranger, whether heathen or Jew,
might enter into the part assigned to the
catechumens or novices and the penitents
of the second order (the hearers), that he
might profit by the religious instruction.* *
He found himself in the first division of
the main body of the church, of
The narthex. the walls were lined by

various marbles, the roof often ceiled with
mosaic, and supported by lofty columns

probably is, that, according to the period or the
local circumstances, the structure and the arrange-
ment were more or less complicated. Tertullian
says distinctly, “ non modo limine verum omni ec-
clesise tecto submovemus.” Where the churches
were of a simpler form, and had no roofed narthex
or vestibule, these penitents stood in the open court
before the church ; even later, the flentes and the
hiemantes formed a particular class.

A canon of St. Gregory Thaumaturgus gives the
clearest view of these arrangements : 'H rcpoa-
kXclvolq tfw rfjg nvlyg rov evuryptov ecn-lv, evda
eartira rov dpaprdvovra xpV eiacovrov SeZa-
6 at ttl&tuv VTrep avrov evx^adar y a/cpoacug
gvdodc rfjg nv’kyg ev rC) vdpdyKt, evda eardvac XPV
rov ypapryicora, £og rCbv Karyxovpevo)v, Kal ev-
revdev e^epxsadar dnovov yap (j>yal ribv ypatytiv
Kal rfjg didacnaXiag, eK&aTieodto, Kal py d^iovadu)
irpoaevxvC' V Je vTTOTrroaig, Iva ecrodev rfjg izvTtyg
rov vaov lardpevog, perd tojv Karyxovpevov e£-
epxrirai' y avaraaig, Iva ovvtatarai rolg ruaroZg
Kal py e%epxyraL perd rtiv Karyxovpevcov’ re/L-
evraZov y pede^tg rtiv dytaapdrcdv.—Ap. Labbe,
Cone, i., p. 842.

* This part of the church was usually called
the narthex. But this term, I believe, of the sixth
century, was not used with great precision, or ra-
ther, perhaps, was applied to different parts of the
church, according to their greater .or less complex-
ity of structure. It is sometimes used for the
porch or vestibule; in this sense there were sev-
eral nartheces (St. Sophia had four). Mamachi
(vol. i., p. 216) insists that it was divided from the
nave by a wall. But this cannot mean the narthex
into which the aKpowyevoi were admitted, as the ob-
ject of their admission was that they might hear
the service.

Episcopus nullum prohibeat intrare ecclesiam,
et audire verbum Dei, sive hsereticum, sive Judae-
um usque ad missam catechumenorum.--Concil.
Oarthag., iv., c. 84.

with gilded capitals; the doors were Mis-
laid with ivory or silver; the distant altar
glittered with precious stones.* In the
midst of the nave stood the pulpit or read-
ing-desk (the ambo), around which were
arranged the singers, who chanted to the
most solemn music poetry, much of it
familiar to the Jew, as belonging to his
own sacred writings, to the heathen full
of the noblest images, expressive of the
Divine power and goodness; adapting it-
self with the most exquisite versatility to
every devout emotion, melting into the
most pathetic tenderness, or swelling out
into the most appalling grandeur. The
pulpit was then ascended by one of the
inferior order, the reader of certain por
tions or extracts from the sacred volumes
in which God himself spoke to the awe-
struck auditory. He . was succeeded b}
an orator of a higher dignity, a presbyte?
or a bishop, who sometimes addressed the
people from the steps which led up to the
chancel, sometimes chose the more con-
venient and elevated position of The
the ambo.f He was a man
usually of the highest attainments and
eloquence, and instead of the frivolous
and subtle questions which the pagan was
accustomed to hear in the schools of rhet-
oric or philosophy, he fearlessly agitated
and peremptorily decided on such eternal-
ly and universally awakening topics as
the responsibility of man before God, the
immortality and future destination of the
soul; topics of which use could not dead-
en the interest to the believer, but which,
to an unaccustomed ear, were as startling
as important. The mute attention of the
whole assembly was broken only by un-
controllable acclamations, which frequent-
ly interrupted the more moving preach-
ers. Around the pulpit was the last or-
der of penitents, who prostrated them-
selves in humble homage during the pray-
ers and the benediction of the bishop.

Here the steps of the profane stranger
must pause ; an insuperable barrier, which
he could not pass without violence, se

* Alii aedificent ecclesias, vestiant parietes mar-
morum crustis, columnarum moles advehant, ea-
rumque deaurent capita, pretiosum ornatum non
sentientia, ebore argentoque valvas, et gemmis dis-
tinguant altaria. Non reprehendo, non abnuo.—
Hieronym., Epi.st. viii., ad Demetriad.

f Chrysostom generally preached from the ambo.
—Socr., vi., 5. Sozomen, viii., 5. Both usages
prevailed in the West.

Seu te conspicuis gradibus venerabilis arse
Concionaturum plebs sedula circumsistat.

Sid. Apollon., can. xvi.
Fronte sub ad versa gradibus sublime tribunal
Tollitur, antistes praedicat unde Deum.

Prudent., Hymn, ad HippolytHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

465

ciuded the initiate from the society of the
less perfect. Yet, till the more secret
ceremonial began, he might behold, at dim
and respectful distance, the striking scene,
first of the baptized worshippers in their
order, the females in general in galleries
above (the virgins separate from the ma-
trons). Beyond, in still farther secluded
sanctity, on an elevated semicircle around
the bishop, sat the clergy, attended by the
subdeacons, acoly ths, and those of inferior
order. Even the gorgeous throne of the
emperor was below this platform. Before,
them was the mystic and awful table, the
altar as it began to be called in the fourth
century, over which was sometimes sus-
pended a richly-wrought canopy (the ci-
borium): it was covered with fine linen.
In the third century, the simpler vessels
of glass or other cheap material had given
place to silver and gold. In the later per-
secutions, the cruelty of the heathen was
stimulated by their avarice; and some of
the sufferers, while they bore their own
agonies with patience, were grieved to the
heart to see the sacred vessels pillaged,
and turned to profane or indecent uses.
In the Eastern churches, richly embroider-
ed curtains overshadowed the approach to
the altar, or light doors secluded altogether
the Holy of Holies from the profane gaze
of the multitude.

Such was the ordinary Christian cere-
monial, as it addressed the mass of mau-
kind. But at a certain time the uninitiate
were dismissed, the veil was dropped
which shrouded the hidden rites, the doors
were closed, profane steps might not cross
the threshold of the baptistery, or linger
in the church when the Liturgy of the
faithful, the office of the Eucharist, began.
The veil of concealment was first spread
over the peculiar rites of Christianity from
caution. The religious assemblies were,
Secrecy of the strictly speaking, unlawful, and
sacraments, they were shrouded in secrecy,
lest they should be disturbed by the in-
trusion of their watchful enemies ;* and it
was this unavoidable secrecy which gave
rise to the frightful fables of the heathen
concerning the nature of these murderous
or incestuous banquets. As they could
not be public, of necessity they took the
form of mysteries, and as mysteries be-
came objects of jealousy and of awe. As
the assemblies became more public, that
seclusion of the more solemn rites was
retained from dread and reverence which
was commenced from fear. Though pro-

* Tot hostesejus, quot extranei * * quotidte
obsidemo.r, quotidife prodimur, in ipsis plurimiim
ccetibus et congregationibus opprimimur.—Tertull.,
Apologet., 7.

3 N

fane curiosity no longer dared to take
hostile character, it was repelled from the
sacred ceremony. Of the mingled multi-
tude, Jews and heathens, the incipient be-
lievers, the hesitating converts, who must
be permitted to hear the Gospel of Christ
or the address of the preacher, none could
be admitted to the sacraments. It was
natural to exclude them, not merely by
regulation, and the artificial division of
the church into separate parts, but by the
majesty which invested the last solemn
rites. That which had concealed itself
from fear became itself fearful: it was no
longer a timid mystery which fled the
light, but an unapproachable communion
with the Deity, which would not brook
profane intrusion. It is an' extraordinary
indication of the power of Christianity,
that rites in themselves so simple, and of
which the nature, after all the concealment,
could not but be known, should assume
such unquestioned majesty; that, however
significant, the simple lustration by water,
and the partaking of bread and wine, should
so affect the awe-struck imagination as to
make men suppose themselves ignorant
of what these sacraments really were, and
even when the high-wrought expectations
were at length gratified, to experience no
dissatisfaction at their plain, and, in them-
selves, unappalling ceremonies. The mys-
teriousness was no doubt fed and height-
ened by the regulations of the clergy and
by the impressiveness of the service,* but
it grew of itself, out of the profound and
general religious sentiment. The baptis-
tery and the altar were closed against the
uninitiate, but if they had been open men
would scarcely have ventured to approach
them. The knowledge of the nature of
the sacraments was reserved for the bap-
tized ; but it was because the minds of the
unbaptized were sealed by trembling rev-
erence, and shuddered to anticipate the
forbidden knowledge. The hearers had a
vague knowledge of these mysteries float-
ing around them, the initiate heard it with-
in»f To add to the impressiveness, night

* This was the avowed object of the clergy.
Catechumenis sacramenta fideliurn non produntur,
non ideo fit, quod ea ferre non possunt, sed ut ab
eis tanto ardentius concupiscantur, quanto honora-
bilius occultantur.—August, in Johan.. 96. Mor-
talium generi natura datum est, ut abstrusa fortius
quserat, ut negata magis ambiat, ut tardius adepta
plus diligat, et eo flagrantius ametur. veritas, quo
vel diutius desideratur, vel laboriosius quaaritur, vel
tardius invenitur.—Claudius Mamert., quoted by
Casaubon in Baron , p. 497.

f The inimitable pregnancy of the Greek lan-
guage expresses this by two verbs differently com
pounded. Cyril of Jerusalem, in his Procatechesis,
states the Catechumens irepirjxtiodai, the Faithful
ivijxetoQai, by the meaning of the mysteries.466

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

was sometimes spread over the Christian
as over the pagan mysteries.* * * § ** *

At Easter and at Pentecost,! and in
Baptism some places at the Epiphany, the
right of baptism was administered
publicly (that is, in the presence of the
faithful) to all the converts of the year,
excepting those few instances in which it
had been expedient to perform the cere-
mony without delay, or where the timid
Christian put it off till the close of life ;J
a practice for a long time condemned in
vain by the clergy. But the fact of the
delay shows how deeply the importance
and efficacy of the rite were rooted in the
Christian mind. It was a complete lus-
tration of the soul. The neophyte emer-
ged from the waters of baptism in a state
of perfect innocence. The Dove (the Ho-
ly Spirit) was constantly hovering over
the font, and sanctifying the waters to the
mysterious ablution of all the sins of the
passed life. If the soul suffered no sub-
sequent taint, it passed at once to the
realms of purity and bliss ; the heart was
purified ; the understanding illuminated ;
the spirit was clothed with immortality.^
Robed in white, emblematic of spotless
purity,|| the candidate approached the bap-
tistery, in the larger churches a separate
building. There he uttered the solemn
vows which pledged him to his religion.
The symbolizing genius of the East added
some significant ceremonies. The cate-
chumen turned to the West, the realm of
Satan, and thrice renounced his power;
he turned to the East to adore the Sun of
Righteousness,** and to proclaim his com-

* Noctu ritus multi in mysteriis pergebantur;
noctu etiam initiatio Christianorum inchoabatur.—
..Casaubon, p. 490, with the quotations subjoined.

t At Constantinople, it appears from Chrysos-
tom, baptism did not take place at Pentecost.—
Montfaucon, Diatribe, p. 179.

t The memorable example of Constantine may
for a time not only have illustrated, hut likewise con-
firmed, the practice — See Gibbon’s note (vol. i., p.
423, 424), and the author’s observations.

§ Gregory of Nazianzen almost exhausts the co-
piousness of the Greek language in speaking of bap-
tism: dtopov icaTiovfiev,xapia^a, [3a7rTi(jfia, ^ptcrgo:,
0(5TLG[j.a, atydapaiac ttvdvpLa, ?>ovrpov -Kakiyy^vz-
mcic;, acppaylda, ttuv art rifuov.—Orat. xl., de Bap-
tism.

Almost all the fathers of this age, Basil, the two
Gregories, Ambrose (de Sacram.), Augustine, have
treatises on baptism, and vie, as it were, with each
other in their praises of its importance and efficacy.

H Unde parens sacro ducit de fonte sacerdos
Infantes niveos corpore, corde, habitu.

Paulin, ad Sever.

5T Chrysostom in two places gives the Eastern
profession of faith, which was extremely simple : “ I
renounce Satan, his pomp and worship, and am
united to Christ. I believe in the resurrection of the
dead.”—See references in Montfaucon, ubi supra.

** Cyril, Cat. My stag. Hieron. in Amos,vi., 14.

pact with the Lord of Life. The mystic
trinal number prevailed throughout; the
vow was threefold, and thrice pronounced.
The baptism was usually by immersion;
the stripping off the clothes was emble-
matic of “ putting off the old manbut.
baptism by sprinkling was allowed, ac-
cording to the exigency of the case. The
water itself became, in the vivid language
of the Church, the blood of Christ: it was
compared, by a fanciful analogy, to the
Red Sea : the daring metaphors of some
of the fathers might seem to assert a trans-
mutation of its colour.*

The sacrament of the Lord’s Supper im-
perceptibly acquired the solemni- Euchar:sf
ty, the appellation of a sacrifice. '

The poetry of devotional language kindled
into the most vivid and realizing expres-
sions of awe and adoration. No imagery
could be too bold, no words too glowing,
to impress the soul more profoundly with
the sufferings, the divinity, the intimate
union of the Redeemer with his disci-
ples. The invisible presence of the Lord,
which the devout felt within the whole
church, but more particularly in its more
holy and secluded part, was gradually con-
centrated, as it were, upon the altar. The
mysterious identification of the Redeemer
with the consecrated elements was first
felt by the mind, till, at a later period, a
material and corporeal transmutation be-
gan to be asserted ; that which the earlier
fathers, in their boldest figure, called a
bloodless sacrifice, became an actual obla-
tion of the body and blood of Christ. But
all these fine and subtile distinctions be-
long to a later theology. In the dim vague-
ness, in the ineffable and inexplicable mys-
tery, consisted much of its impressiveness
on the believer, the awe and dread of the
uninitiate.

These sacraments were the sole real
mysteries ; their nature and effects were
the hidden knowledge which was revealed
to the perfect alone.f In Alexandrea,
where the imitation or rivalry of the am
cient mysteries, in that seat of the Platon-
ic learning, was most likely to prevail, the
catechetical school of Origen attempted to
form the simpler truths of the Gospel into

* Unde rubet baptismus Christi, nisi Christi
sanguine consecratur.—August., Tract, in Johan.
Compare Bingham, xi., 10, 4.

f Quid est quod occultum est et non publicum in
ecclesili, sacramentum baptismi, sacramentum Eu-
charistise. Opera nostra bona vident et pagani,
sacramenta vero occuitantnr illis — Augustine ir
Psalm 103. Ordination appears to have been a se-
cret rite.—Casaubon, p. 495. Compare this treatise
of Casaubon, the xivth of his Exercitationes Anti-
Baronianse, which in general is profound and judi-
ciousHISTORY QF CHRISTIANITY.

467

a regular and progressive system of devel-
opment.* The works of Clement of Al-
exandra were progressive, addressed to
the heathen, the catechumen, the perfect
Christian. But the doctrine which was
there reserved for the initiate had a
strange tinge of Platonic mysticism. In
the Church in general, the only esoteric
doctrine, as we have said, related to the
sacraments. • After the agitation of the
Trinitarian question, there seems to have
been some desire to withdraw that holy
mystery likewise from the gaze of the pro-
fane, which the popular tumults, the con-
flicts between the Arians and Athanasians
of the lowest orders in the streets of Con-
stantinople and Alexandrea, show to have
been by no means successful. The apoc-
alyptic hymn, the Trisagion, makes apart,
indeed, of all the older liturgies, which be-
long to the end of the third or beginning
of the fourth century. Even the simple
prayer of our Lord, which might seem ap-
propriate to universal man, and so intend-
ed by the Saviour himself, was consider-
ed too holy to be uttered by unbaptized
lips. It was said that none but the bap-
tized could properly address the Almighty
as his Father.f

That care which Christianity had as-
Christian sumed over the whole life of man,
iunerais. it did not abandon after death. In
that solemn season it took in charge the
body, which, though mouldering into dust,
was to be revived for the resurrection.
The respect and honour which human
nature pays to the remains of the dead,
and which, among the Greeks especially,
had a strong religious hold upon the feel-
ings, was still more profoundly sanctified
by the doctrines and usages of Christian-
ity. The practice of inhumation which
prevailed in Egypt and Syria, and in other
parts of the East, w^as gradually extended
over the whole Western world by Christi-
anity. J The funeral pyre went out of use,

* Upon this ground rests the famous Disciplina
Arcani, that esoteric doctrine within which lurked
everything which later ages thought proper to dig-
nify by the name of the traditions of the Church.
This theory was first fully developed by Schelstrate,
“ De Disciplina Arcani,” and is very clearly stated
in Pagi, sub Ann., 118. It rests chiefly on a pas-
sage of Origen (contra Cels.,i., 7), who, after as-
serting the publicity of the main doctrines of Chris-
tianity, the incarnation, passion, and resurrection
of Christ, and the general resurrection to judgment,
admits that Christianity, like philosophy,* had some
secret and esoteric doctrines. Pagi argues that, as
the Trinity was not among the public, it must have
been among the esoteric tenets.

t Bingham, i., 4, 7, and x., 5, 9.

f Nec, ut creditis, ullum damnum sepulture time-
mus, sed veterem et meliorem consuetudinern hu-
mandi frequentamus. The speaker goes on, in very
elegant language, to adduce the analogy of the death

and the cemeteries, which from the earli-
est period belonged to the Christians, were
gradually enlarged for the general recep-
tion, not of the ashes only in their urns,
but for the entire remains of the dead.
The Eastern practice of embalming was
so general,* that Tertullian boasts that
the Christians consumed more of the mer-
chandise of Sabaea in their interments
than the heathens in the fumigations be-
fore the altars of their gods.f The gen-
eral tone of the simple inscriptions spoke
of death but as a sleep; “ he sleeps in
peace” was the common epitaph: the
very name of the enclosure, the cemetery,
implied the same trust in its temporary
occupancy; those who were committed
to the earth only awaited the summons
to a new life.J Gradually the cemetery
was, in some places, closely connected
with the church. Where the rigid inter-
dict against burying within the walls of
cities was either inapplicable or not en-
forced, the open court before the church
becafne the place of burial.^

Christian funerals began early in their
period of security and opulence to be cel-
ebrated with great magnificence. Jerome
compares the funeral procession of Fabi-
ola to the triumphs of Camillus, Scipio, or

and revival of nature : Expectandum etiam nobis
corporis ver est.—Minuc. Fel., edit. Ouzel, p. 327.

During the time of the plague in Alexandrea and
Carthage, the Christians not only buried their own
dead, but likewise those of the pagans—Dion. Alex,
apud Euseb., Hist., vii., 22. Pontius, in Vita Cyp-
riani. Compare a curious essay in the Vermischte
Schriften of Bdttiger, iii., 14: Verbrennen oder
Beerdigen.

Titulumque et frigida saxa
Liquido spargemus odore.

Prudent., Hym. de Exeq.
Martyris hi tumulum studeant. perfundere nardo
Et medicata pio referant unguenta sepulcro.

Paul. Nol. in Nat. C. Fel
f Apologet, c. 42. Boldetti affirms that these
odours were plainly perceptible on opening some
of the Christian cemeteries at Rome.—See Mama-
chi, Costumi dei Christiani, iii., p. 83. The judge
in the acts of Tarachus (Ruinart, p. 385) says, “ you
expect that your women will bury your body with
ointments and spices.”

Hinc maxima cura sepulcris
Impenditur, hinc resolutos
Honor ultimus accipit artus
Et funeris ambitus ornat.

Quid nam tibi saxa cavata,

Quid pulchra volunt monumental
Res quod nisi creditur illis
Non mortua, sed data somno.

Prudent, in Exeq Defunct.
§ There is a law of Gratian, Valentinian, and
Theodosius, forbidding burial, or the deposition of
urns (which shows that cremation was still com-
mon), within the walls of Constantinople, even
within the cemeteries of th© apostles or martyrs,'—
Cod. Theod., ix., 17, 6.463

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

Pompey. The character of this female,
who founded the first hospital in Rome,
and lavished a splendid fortune in alms-
giving, may have mainly contributed to
the strong interest excited by her inter-
ment. All Rome was poured forth. The
streets, the windows, the tops of houses,
were crowded with spectators. Proces-
sions of youths and of old men preceded
the bier, chanting the praises of the de-
ceased. As it passed, the churches were
crowded, and psalms were sung, and their
golden roofs rang with the sublime Al-
leluia.

The doctrine of the resurrection of the
Worship Of body deepened the common and
the martyrs, natural feeling of respect for the
remains of the dead :* the worship of the

* In one of the very .curious essays of M. Raoul
Rochette, Memoires de l’Academie, he has illus-
trated the extraordinary care with which the hea-
then buried along with the remains of the dead
every kind of utensil, implement of trade, down to
the dolls of children; even food and knives and
forks. This appears from all the tombs which are
opened, from the most ancient Etruscan to the
most modern heathen sepulchres. “ II y avait la
une notion confuse et grossi&re sans doute de Pim-
mortalite de Tame, mais il s’y trouvait aussi la
preuve sensible et palpable de cet instinct de l’hom-
me, qui repugne a l’idee de la destruction de son
3tre, et qui y resiste de toutes les forces de son in-
telligence et de toutes les erreurs m&me de la rai-
son,” p. 689. But it is a more remarkable fact that
the Christians long adhered to the same usages,
notwithstanding the purer and loftier notions of
another life bestowed by their religion. “ La pre-
miere observation qui s’offre a Boldetti luim4me et
qui devra frapper tous les esprits, c’est qu’en deco-
rant les tombeaux de leurs freres de tant d’objets
de pur ornament, ou d’usage reel, les Chretiens
n’avaient pu £tre diriges que par ce motif d’espe-
rance qui leur faisait considerer le tombeau comme
un lieu de passage, d’ou ils devaient sortir avec
toutes les conditions de Pimmortalite, et la mort,
comme un sommeil pa.isible, au sein duquel il ne
pouvait leuretre indifferent de se trouver environ-
nes des objets qui leur avaient ete chers durant la
vie ou de Pimage de ces objets,” tom. xiii., p. 692.

The heathen practice of burying money, some-
times large sums, with the dead, was the cause of
the very severe laws against the violations of the
tombs. In fact, these treasures were so great as
to be a source of revenue, which the government
was unwilling to share with unlicensed plunderers
Et si aurum, ut dicitur, vel argentum fuerit tua in-
dagatione detectum, compendio publico fideliter
vindicabis, ita tamen ut abstineatis acineribus mor-
tuorum. iEdificia tegant cineres, columnse vel
marmora ornent sepulcra : talenta non teneant, qui
commercia virorum reliquerunt. Aurum enim just^
sepulcro detrahitur, ubi dotninus non habetur; imo
culpse genus est inutiliter abdita relinquere mortu-
orum, unde se vita potest sustentare viventium.
Such are the instructions of the minister of The-
odoric.—Cassiod., Var., iv., 34.

But it is still more strange, that the Christians
continued this practice, particularly of the piece of
money in the mouth, which the heathen intended
for the payment of Charon. It continued to the
time of Thomas Aquinas, who, according to M; R.
Rochette, wrote against it.

relics of saints and martyrs still farthe*
contributed to the same effect. If the
splendid but occasional ceremony of the
apotheosis of the deceased emperor wac
exploded, a ceremony which, lavished as it
frequently had been on the worst and ba-
sest of mankind, however it might amuse
and excite the populace, could not but
provoke the contempt of the virtuous ; in
the Christian world a continual, and in
some respects more rational, certainly
more modest, apotheosis was constantly
celebrated. The more distinguished Chris-
tians were dismissed, if not to absolute
deification, to immortality, to a state, in
which they retained profound interest in,
and some influence over, the condition of
men. During the perilous and gloomy
days of persecution, the reverence for
those who endured martyrdom for the re-
ligion of Christ had grown np out of the
best feelings of man’s improved nature.
Reverence gradually grew into venera-
tion, worship, adoration. Although the
more rigid theology maintained a marked
distinction between the honours shown to
the martyrs and that addressed to the Re-
deemer and the Supreme Being, the line
was too fine and invisible not to. be trans-
gressed by excited popular feeling. The
heathen writers constantly taunt the Chris-
tians with the substitution of the new idol-
atry for the old. The charge of worship-
ping dead men’s bones and the remains ol
malefactors constantly recurs. A pagan
philosopher, as late as the fourth century,
contemptuously selects some barbarous
names of African martyrs, and inquires
whether they are more worthy objects of
worship than Minerva or Jove.*

The festivals in honour of the martyrs
were avowedly instituted, or at Festivals
least conducted on a sumptuous
scale, in rivalry of the banquets which form-
ed so important and attractive a part of the
pagan ceremonial.f Besides the earliest
agapse, which gave place to the more sol-

* Quis enim ferat Jovi fulmina vibranti prseferri
Mygdonem ; Junoni, Minervae, Veneri, Vestaeque
Sanaem, et cunctis (pro nefas) Diis immortalibua
archimartyrem nymphanionem, inter quos Lucitas
haud minore cultu suscipitur atque alii intermina*
to nomero; Diisqne hominibusque odiosa nomina.
—See Augustin., Epist. xvi., p. 20.

f Cum facta pace, turbae Gentilium in Christia-
num nomen venire cupientes, hoc impedirentur,
quod dies festos cum idolis suis solerent in aburi-
dantia epularum et ebrietate consumere, nec facile
ab his perniciosissinfis et tarn vetustissimis voluptat.-
ibus se possent abstinere, visum fuisse majoribus
nostris, ut huic infirmitatis parti interim parc.ere-
t.ur, diesque festos, post eos, quos relinquebant, ali-
os in honorem sanctorum martyrum vel non simib
sacrilegio, quamvis siinili luxu celebrarentur —Au
gustin., Epist. xxix., p. 52.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

469

emn Eucharist, there were other kinds of
banquets, at marriages and funerals, called
likewise agapae;* * * * § but those of the mar-
tyrs were the most costly and magnificent.
The former were of a more private nature ;
the poor were entertained at the cost of
the married couple or the relatives of the
deceased. The relationship of the mar-
tyrs extended to the whole Christian com-
munity, and united all in one bond of pi-
ety. They belonged, by a new tie of spir-
itual kindred, to the whole Church.

By a noble metaphor, the day of the
martyrs’ death was considered that of their
birth to immortality, and their birthdays
became the most sacred and popular fes-
tivals of the Church.f At their sepul-
chres,! or5 more frequently, as the public
worship became more costly, in stately
churches erected either over their sepul-
chres or in some more convenient situa-
tion, but dedicated to their honour, these
holy days commenced with the most im-
pressive religious service. 'Hymns were
sung in their praise (much of the early
Christian poetry was composed for these
occasions); the history of their lives and
martyrdoms was read$ (the legends which
grew up intc> so fertile a subject for Chris-
tian mythic* fable); panegyrical orations
were delivered by the best preachers.||
The day closed with an open banquet, in
which all the worshippers were invited to
partake. The wealthy heathens had been
accustomed to propitiate the manes of their
departed friends by these costty festivals ;
the banquet was almost an integral part of
the heathen religious ceremony. The cus-
tom passed into the Church; and with the
pagan feeling, the festival assumed a pagan

* Gregory Nazianzen mentions the three kinds.
Oi)S’ lepqv km Sacra yevkdhcov, i]k -d-avovrog,
TCvavvfKpcdc'qv crvv rcheoveaac -dsov.—Carm. x.

f TeveSTua, natalitia. This custom was as ear-
ly as the time of Polycarp The day of his martyr-
dom was celebrated by the Church of Antioch.—
Euseb., lib. iv., 15. Campare Suicer, in voce
yevkOTuov. Tertullian instances the offerings for
She dead, and the annual celebration of the birthdays
of the martvrs, as of apostolic tradition. Oblatio-
nes pro defunctis, in natalibus annua die facimus.
—De Coron. Mil., c. 2. Campare Exhortat.. ad
Cast., c. 11. In the treatise de Monogamia. he con-
siders it among the sacred duties of a faithful wid-
ow, offer!; annuls diebus dormitionis ejus.

X At Antioch, the remains of St. Juventinus and
St. Maximinus were placed in a sumptuous tomb,
and honoured with an annuakfestival.—Theodoret,
E. H., iii , 15.

The author of the Acts of Ignatius wrote them,
in part that the day of his martyrdom might be duly
honoured.—Act. Martyr. Ign. apud Cotelerium, vol.
ti., p 161. Compare Acta St. Polycarpi.

|| There is a law of Theodosius the Great against
selling the bodies of martyrs.--Cod.Theod , ix., 17,7.

character of gayety and joyous excitement,
and even of luxury.* In some places, the
confluence of worshippers was so great
that, as in the earlier and indeed the more
modern religions of Asia, the neighbour-
hood of the more celebrated churches of
the martyrs became marts for commerce,
and fairs were established on those holy-
days.f

As the evening drew in, the solemn and
religious thoughts gave way to other emo-
tions ; the wine flowed freely, and the
healths of the martyrs were pledged, not
unfrequently, to complete inebriety. All
the luxuries of the Roman banquet were
imperceptibly introduced. Dances were
admitted, pantomimic spectacles were ex-
hibited,! the festivals were prolonged till
late in the evening or to midnight, so that
other criminal irregularities profaned, if
not the sacred edifice, its immediate neigh-
bourhood.

The bishops had for some time sanc-
tioned these pious hilarities with their
presence ; they had freely partaken of the
banquets, and their attendants were accu-
sed of plundering the remains of the feast,
which ought to have been preserved for
the use of the poor.§

* Lipsius considered these agapas derived from
the siiicernium of the ancients.—Ad Tac., Ann., vi.,

5. Quod ilia parentalia superstitioni Gentiliurn es-
sent similia. Such is the observation of Ambrose
apud Augustin.—Conf., vi., 2. Boldetti, a good.
Roman Catholic and most learned antiquarian, ob-
serves on this and other usages adopted from pagan-
ism, Fu ancb6 sentimento de’prelati di chiesa di
condescendere con cio alia debelozza de’ convertiti
dal Gentilesimo, per istaccarii piii soavemente dell*.
antichi superstizioni, non levando loro affetto ma
bensi convertendo in buoni i lorodivertimenti.—Os-
servazioni, p. 46. Compare Marangoni’s work “dei
Cose Gentilesche.”

t Already had the Montanist asceticism of Ter-
tullian taken alarm at the abuse of the earlier festi-
val, which had likewise degenerated from its pious
use, and with his accustomed vehemence denounces
the abuse of the agapas among the Catholics. Apud *»
te agape in sasculis fervet, tides in culinis calet,
spes in ferculis jacet. Sed major his est agape,
quia per hanc adolescentes tui cum sororibus dor-
miunt, appendices scilicet guise, lascivia atque lux-
uria est.—De Jejun., c. xvii.

There are many paintings in the catacombs rep-
resenting agapae.—Raoul Rachette, Mem. des In-
scrip., p. 141. The author attributes to the agapse
.held in the cemeteries many of the cups, glasses,
&c., found in the catacombs.

t Bottiger, in his prolusion on the four ages of
the drama (Opera Lat., p. 326), supposed, from a
passage of §t. Augustine, that there were scenic
representations of the deaths of martyrs. Muller
justly observes that the passage does not bear out
this inference ; and Augustine would scarcely have
used such expressions unless of dances or mimes of
less decent kind. Sanctum locum invaserat pesti-
lentia et pelulantia saltationis ; per totarn noctem
cantabantur nefaria, et cant antibus saltabatur.—Au-
gust. in Natal. Cyprian., p. 311.

§ See the poem of Greg. Naz , de Div. Yit Gen-470

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

: But the scandals which inevitably arose
out of these paganized solemnities awoke
the slumbering vigilance of the more seri-
ous prelates. The meetings were gradu-
ally suppressed: they are denounced, with
the strongest condemnation of the luxury
and license with which they were celebra-
ted in the Church of Antioch, by Gregory
of Nazianzum* and by Chrysostom. They
were authoritatively condemned by a can-
on of the Council of Laodicea.f In the
West, they were generally held in Rome
and in other Italian cities till a later period.
The authority of Ambrose had discounte-
nanced, if not entirely abolished, them in
his diocese of Milan.J They prevailed to
the latest time in the churches of Africa,
where they were vigorously assailed by
the eloquence of Augustine. The Bishop
of Hippo appeals to the example of Italy
and other parts of the West, in which they
had never prevailed, and in which, wher-
ever they had been known, they had been
suppressed by common consent. But Af-
rica did not surrender them without a strug-
gle. The Manichean Faustus, in the as-
cetic spirit of his sect, taunts the orthodox
with their idolatrous festivals. “ You have
but substituted your agape for the sacri-
fices of the heathen ; in the place of their
idols you have set up your martyrs, whom
you worship with the same ceremonies as
the pagans their gods. You appease the
manes of the dead with wine and with
meat-offerings.” The answer of Augus-
tine indignantly repels the charge of idol-
atry, and fakes refuge in the subtile dis-
tinction in the nature of the worship offer-
ed to the martyrs. “ The reverence paid
to martyrs is the same with that offered to
holy men in this life, only offered more
freely, because they have finally triumph-
ed in their conflict. We adore God alone;
we offer sacrifice to no mart}^?, or to the
soul of any saint or to any angel. * *
Those who intoxicate themselves by the
sepiilchres of the martyrs are condemned
by sound doctrine. It is a different thing
to approve, and to tolerate till we can
amend. The discipline of Christians is
one thing, the sensuality of those who

er. Jerome admits the gross evils which took place
during these feasts, but ascribes them to the irreg-
ularities of a youthful people, which ought not to
raise a prejudice against the religion, or even against
the usage. The bishops were sometimes called
vsKpodopoL, feasters on the dead.

* Oarm. ccxviii., ccxix., and Oratio vi. Chrysos-
tom, Horn. in. S. M. Julian,
t Cone. Harduin, t. i, p. 786.

. i Ambros., de Jejun., c. xvii. Augustin., Confes-
siones, vi., 2. See likewise Augustin., Epist. xxii.,
p. 28.

thus indulge in drunkenness and the infirm*-
ity of weak is another.”*

So completely, however, had they grow*,
into the habits of the Christian community,
that in many places they lingered on in
obstinate resistance to the eloquence of
the great teachers of Christianity. Even
the councils pronounced with hesitating,
and tardy severity the sentence of con-
demnation against these inveterate usages,
to which the people adhered with such
strong attachment. That of Car-
thage prohibited the attendance of A' ‘
the clergy, and exhorted them to persuade
the people, as far as possible, to abstain from
these festivals; that of Orleans
condemns the singing, dancing, or A' ‘533‘
dissolute behaviour in churches; that of
Agde (Sens) condemns secular
music, the singing of women, and ' ’ 5‘ '
banquets, in that place of which ‘k it is
written that it is a house of prayer final-
ly, that of Trulla, held in Constantinople as
late as the beginning of the eighth century,
prohibits the decking of tables in churches
(the prohibition indicates the practice)
and at length it provoked a formal sen-
tence of excommunication.

But, notwithstanding all its efforts to
divert and preoccupy the mind profane
by these graver, or, at least, pri- spectacles,
marily religious spectacles, the passion
for theatrical amusements was too strong
to be repressed by Christianity. It suc-
ceeded in some humane improvements,
but in some parts it was obliged to yield
to the ungovernable torrent. The popu
lace of an empire threatened on all sides
by dangerous enemies, oppressed by a
remorseless tyranny, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of a new and dominant re-
ligion, imperiously demanded, and reck-
lessly enjoyed, their accustomed diver-
sions.! In some places, that which had

* Cont. Faust., lib. xx, c. xxi. One of the po-
ems of St. Paulinus of Nola describes the general
concourse to these festivals, and the riots which
arose out of them.

Et nunc ecce frequentes
Per totam et vigiles extendunt gaudia noctem,
Laetitia somnos, tenebras funalibus arcent.

Verum utinam sanis agerent haec gaudia votis,
Nec sua liminibus miscerent gaudia sanctis.

* * ignoscenda tamen puto talia parcis
Gaudia qua? ducant epulis, quia mentibus error
Irrepit rudibus, nec tantse conscia culpce
Simplicitas pietate cadit, male credula sanctos
Perfusis halante mero gaudere sepulcris.

Carmenix. in St. Felicem Martyrem.
f In the fifth century, Treves, four times deso-
lated by the barbarians, no sooner recovered its free-
dom than it petitioned for the games of the circus.
Ubique facies captseurbis, ubique terror captivitatis,
ubique imago mortis, jacent reliquiae infelic'ssima
plebis super tumulos mortuorum suorum, et tw cir*HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

471

oeen a delight became a madness; and it i
was a Christian city which first displayed j
sedition and insurrection, whose streets
ran with blood, from the rivalry of two
factions in the circus. The older World
was degenerate even in its diversions. It
was not the nobler drama of Greece, or
even that of Rome; neither the stately
tragedy, nor even the fine comedy of man-
ners, for which the mass of the people
endured the stern remonstrances of the
Christian orator, but spectacles of far less
intellectual pretensions, and far more like-
ly to be injurious to Christian morals.
These, indeed, were not, as we shall show
hereafter, entirely obsolete, but compara-
tively rare and unattractive.

The heathen calendar still regulated the
Heathen amusements of the people.* Near-
caiendar. ly ioo days in the year were set
apart as festivals; the commencement of
every month was dedicated to the public
diversions. Besides these, there were ex-
traordinary days of rejoicing, a victory,
the birthday of the reigning emperor or
the dedication of his statue by the prefect
or the provincials of any city or district.
On the accession of a new emperor, pro-
cessions always took place, which ended
in the exhibition of games.f The dedica-
tion of statues to the emperors by differ-
ent cities, great victories, and other im-
portant events, were always celebrated
with games. The Christians obtained a
law from Theodosius, that games should
be prohibited on the Lord’s day. The
African bishops, in the fifth Council of
Carthage, petitioned that this prohibition
might be extended to all Christian holy-
days. 'They urged that many members
of the corporate bodies were obliged offi-
cially to attend on these occasions, and
prevented from fulfilling their religious

censes rogas. Compare the whole passage, Sal-
vian, de Gub. Dei, vi.

* The ordinary calendar of holydays, on which
the courts of law did not sit, at the close of the
fourth century, are given by Godefroy (note on the
Ood. Theodos., lib ii., viii., 11);

Ferias aestivae (harvest) . . XXX.
Ferise autumnales (vintage) . . XXX.
Kalends Januarii . . iii.
Natalitia urbis Romae . i.
“ urbis Constantin. i.
Paschae XV.
Dies Solis/ circiter . xli.
Natalitia Imperatorum . . iv.
exxv.

Christmas-day, Epiphany, and Pentecost were not,
as yet, general holydays.

f The Constantinian Calendar (Graevii, Thesaur.,
viii.) reckons ninety-six days for the games, of which
but few were peculiar to Rome.—Muller, ii., p. 49.

* The other Sundays were comprised in the summer,
autumnal, and Easter holydays.

duties. The law of Theodosius the Eldei
had inhibited the celebration of games on
Sundays,* one of the Younger Theodosius
added at Christmas, the Epiphany, Easter,
and Pentecost, and directed that the then
ires should be closed, not only to the Chris-
tians, but to the impious Jews and super-
stitious pagans.f But, notwithstanding
this law, which must have been imper-
fectly carried into execution, the indignant
preachers still denounce the rivalry of the
games, which withdrew so many of their
audience.} The Theoretica, or TheTiieo-
fund for the expenses of public relica
shows and amusements, which existed
not only in the two capitals, but in all the
larger cities of the empire, was first con-
fiscated to the imperial treasury by Jus-
tinian ; up to that time the imperial policy
had sanctioned and enforced this expendi-
ture ; and it is remarkable that this charge,
which had been so long voluntarily borne
by the ambition or the vanity of the higher
orders, was first imposed as a direct tax
on individuals by a Christian emperor.
By a law of Constantine, the senate of
Rome and of Constantinople were em-
powered to designate any person of a
certain rank and fortune for the costly
function of exhibiting games in these two
great cities.§ These were in addition to
the spectacles exhibited by the' consuls.
In the other cities decemvirs were nomi-
nated to this office.|| The only exemptions
were nonage, military or civil service, or a
special indulgence from the emperor. Men
fled from their native cities to escape this
onerous distinction. But, ’if the charge
was thrown on the treasury, the treasury,
could recover from the praetor or decemvir,
besides assessing heavy fines for the neg-
lect of the duty; and they were liable to
be condemned to serve two years instead
of one. In the Eastern provinces this
office had been joined with a kind of high-
priesthood ; such were the Asiarchs, the
Syriarchs/j[ the Bithyniarchs. The most
distinguished men of the province had

* Cod. Theod., xv., v. 2.

f lb., xv., t. 5, 1. 5, A.D. 425. Muller, p. 50.

f See, for the earlier period, Apostolic Constit.,
ii., 60, 61, 62; Theophyi. ad Autolyc., iii., p. 396;
for the later, Chrysostom, paene passim, Horn, con-
tra Am.; Horn, in princip., Act i., 58; Horn, in
Johann. § Zosim., lib. ii., c. 38.

|| See various laws of Constantius, regulating the
office, the expenses, the fines imposed on the prae-
tors, Cod. Theodos., vi., 3 ; Laws, i., 1-33. This
shows the importance attached to the office. These
munerarii, as well as the actors, were to do penance
all their lives.—Act. Cone. Illib., can. 3. Compare
Bingham, xvi., 4, 8. This same council condemned
all who took the office of decemvir to a year's ex
elusion from the communion.—Bingham,ubi supra.

«fl Malala, .Chronograph., lib. x/i., in art. Codei
Theodos., vi., 3, 1.472

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

been proud of accepting the station of
chief minister of the gods, at the expense
of these sumptuous festivities. The office
remained under the Christian emperors,* * * * §
but had degenerated into a kind of purveyor
for the public pleasures. A law of Theo-
dosius enacted that this office should not
be imposed on any one who refused to
undertake it.f Another law, from which,
however, the Asiarchs were excluded, at-
tempted to regulate the expenditure be-
tween the mean parsimony of some and
the prodigality of others.J Those who
voluntarily undertook the office of exhibit-
ing games were likewise exempted from
this sumptuary law, for there were still
some ambitious of this kind of popularity.
They were proud of purchasing, at this
enormous price, the honour of seeing their
names displayed on tablets to the wonder-
ing multitude,§ and of being drawn in their
chariots through the applauding city on
the morning of the festival.

Throughout the empire, this 'passi°n
prevailed in every city|| and in all classes.
From early morning to late in the evening
the theatres were crowded in every part.®|f
The artisan deserted his work, the mer-
chant his shop; the slaves followed their
masters, and were admitted into the vast
circuit. Sometimes, when the precincts of

* The tribunus voluptatum appears as a title on
a Christian tomb.—Bosio, Roma Sotteranea, p. 106.
Compare the observations of Bosio.

•f Cod. Theodos., xii., 1, 103. Compare the
quotations from Libanius, in Godefroy’s Comment-
ary. There is a sumptuary law of Theodosius II.
limiting the expenses: “ Nee inconsulta plausorum
insania curialium vires, fortunas civium, principali-
um domus, possessorum opes, reipublicae robur ev-
ellant.” The Alytarchs, Syriarchs, Asiarchs, and
some others, are exempted from this law.—C. T.,
xv., 9, 2. In Italy, at a later period, the reign of
Theodoric, the public games were provided by the
liberality of the Gothic sovereign: Beatitudo s.it
temporum lastitia populorum.—Cassiodorus, Epist.
i., 20. The epistles of Theodoric’s minister are
full of provisions and regulations for the celebration
of the various kinds of games.—Lib. i., epist. 20,
27, 30, 31, 32, 33; iii., 51; iv., 37. Theodoric es-
poused the green faction ; he supported the panto-
mime. There were still tribuni voluptatum at
Rome, vi., 6. Stipends were allowed to scenici,
ix., 21.

f Symmachus, lib. x., epist. 28, 42. Compare
Heyne, Opuscula, vi., p. 14.

4 Basil, in Psal. 61. Prudent., Hamartigenia.

H Muller names the following cities, besides the
four great capitals, Rome, Constantinople, Antioch,
and Alexandrea, in which the games are alluded to
by ancient authors : Gortyna, Nicomedia, Laodicea,
Tyre, Berytus, Caesarea, Heliopolis, Gazy, Ascalon,
Jerusalem, Berea, Corinth, Cirta, Carthage, Syra-
cuse, Catania, Milan, Aquileia, Ravenna, Mentz,
Cologne, Treves, Arles.—P. 53.

, Augustine, indeed, asserts, “ per omnes fere
civitates cadunt theatra caveae turpitndinnm, et pub-
licae professiones flagitioryim.— De Cons. Evange-
list., c. 51.

the circus or amphitheatre were insuffi-
cient to contain the thronging multitudes
the adjacent hills were crowded with spec-
tators, anxious to obtain a glimpse of the
distant combatants, or to ascertain the
colour of the victorious charioteer. The
usages of the East and of the West differ-
ed as to the admission of women to these
spectacles. In the East they were ex-
cluded by the general sentiment from the
theatre.* Nature itself, observes St. Chry-
sostom, enforces this prohibition.! It
arose, not out of Christianity, but out of
the manners of the East; it is alluded to,
not as a distinction, but as a general
usage.J Chrysostom laments that wom-
en, though they did not attend the games,
were agitated by the factions of the cir-
cus.§ In the West, the greater freedom
of the Roman women had long asserted
and still maintained this privilege.|| It is
well known that the vestal virgins had
their seats of honour in the Roman spec-
tacles, even those which might have been
supposed most repulsive to feminine gen-
tleness and delicacy ; and the Christian
preachers of the West remonstrate as
strongly against the females as against
the men, on account of their inextinguish-
able attachment to the public spectacles.

The more austere and ascetic Christian
teachers condemned alike all these popu-
lar spectacles. From the avowed con-
nexion with paganism as to the time of
their celebration,®|f their connexion with
the worship of pagan deities, according to
the accredited notion that all these deities

* There are one or two passages of the fathers
opposed to this opinion. Tatian says, rovg onog
del fioixeveiv km rr/g aicrjVTjg uo^iGrevovrag at
'6-vydrepeg ti/iov Kal oi Traldeg -d-eopovGC, c. 22.
Clemens Alex., Strom., lib. iii.

f Chrys., Horn. 12, in Coloss., vol. ii., p. 417.

j Procop., de Bell. Pers., 1., c. 42.

§ It was remarked as an extraordinary occur-
rence, that, on the intelligence of the martyrdom of
Gordius, matrons and virgins, forgetting their bash-
fulness, rushed to the theatre.—Basil, vol. ii., p. 144,
147.

II Quae pudica forsitan ad spectaculum matrona
processerat, de spectaculo revertitur impudica.—Ad
Donat. Compare Augustine, de Civ. Dei, ii., 4.
Quid juvenes aut virgines faciant, cum haec et fieri
sine pudore, et spectari libenter ab omnibus cer-
nunt, admonentur, quid facere possent, inflamman-
tur libidines, ac se quisque pro sexu in illis imagin-
ibus praefigurat, corruptions ad cubicula revertun-
tur.—Lact., Div. Instit, xv., 6, 31.

Dubium enim non est, quod laedunt Deum, ut-
pote idolis consecratae. Colitur namque et honora-
tur Minerva in gymnasiis, Venus in theatris, Nep-
tunus in circis, Mars in arenis, Mercurius in palaes-
tris.—Salvian, lib. vi.

A fair collection of the denunciations of the fa-
thers against theatrical amusements may be found
in Mamachi, de’ Costumi de’ Primitivi Cristiani, ii*
p. 150, et seqq.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

473

were daemons permitted to delude man-
kind, the theatre was considered a kind of
temple of the Evil Spirit.* There were
some, however, who openly vindicated
these public exhibitions, and alleged the
chariot of Elijah, the dancing of David,
and the quotations of St. Paul from dra-
matic writers, as cases in‘point.

These public spectacles were of four
Four kinds of kinds, independent of the com-
spectacies. m0ll and m0re vulgar exhibi-
tions, juggling, rope-dancing, and tum-
bling.!

I. The old gymnastic games. The Olym-
Gymnastic pic games survived in Greece till
games. the invasion of Alaric.J Antioch
likewise celebrated this quinquennial fes-
tivity ; youths of station and rank exhibit-
ed themselves as boxers and wrestlers.
These games were also retained at Rome
and in parts of Africa it is uncertain
whether they were introduced into Con-
stantinople. The various passages -of
Chrysostom which allude to them probably
were delivered in Antioch. Something of
the old honour adhered to the wrestlers
and performers in these games: they ei-
ther were, or were supposed to be, of re-
spectable station and unblemished charac-
ter. The herald advanced into the midst
of the arena and made his proclamation,
“ that any man should come forward who
had any charge against any one of the
men about to appear before them, as a
thief, a slave, or of bad reputation.”|j

II. Theatrical exhibitions, properly so
Tragedy and called. The higher tragedy and
comedy. comedy were still represented
on the inauguration of the consuls at Rome.
Claudian names actors of the sock and
buskin, the performers of genuine comedy
and tragedy, as exhibited on the occasion
of the consulship of Mallius.®[f During
the triumph of the Christian emperors

* See the book de Spect. attributed to St. Cyp-
rian.

f Compare the references to Chrysostom’s works
on the rope-dancers, jugglers, &c., in Montfaucon,
Diatribe, p. 194.

X Liban., de Vocat. ad Festa Olympiae.

Cuncta Palaemoniis manus explorata coronis

Adsit, et Eleo pubes laudata tonanti.

Claudian, de FI. Mai. Cons., 288.
Thisj however, may be poetic reminiscence.
These exhibitions are described as conducted with
greater decency and order (probably because they
awoke less passionate interest) than those of the
circus or theatre.

§ They were restored in Africa by a law of Gra-
tian, A.D. 376.—Cod. Theod., xv., 7, 3.

11 Compare Montfaucon’s Diatribe., p. 194.

Qui pulpita socco

Personat, aut alt& graditur majore cothurno.

In Cons. Mall., 313.

Pompeiana proscenia delectis actoribus personarent.

Symmach., lib. x., ep. 29

3 0

Theodosius and Arcadius, the theatre of
Pompey was filled by chosen actors from
all parts of the world. Two actors in
tragedy and comedy* are named as stand-
ing in the same relation to each other as
the famous TEsopus and the comic Roscius.
Prudentius speaks of the tragic mask as
still in use ; and it appears that females
acted those parts in Terence which were
formerly represented by men.f The
youthful mind of Augustine took delight
in being agitated by the fictitious sorrows
of the stage.J Nor was this higher branch
of the art extinct in the East: tragic and
comic actors are named, with other his-
trionic performers, in the orations of Chry-
sostom,§ and there are allusions in Liba-
nius to mythological tragic fables and to
the comedies of iMenander.|| But as these
representations, after they had ceased to
be integral parts of the pagan worship,
were less eagerly denounced by the Chris-
tian teachers,®[f the comparatively slight
and scanty notices in their writings, al-
most our only records of the manners of
the time, by no means prove the infrequen-
cy of these representations ; though it is
probable, for. other reasons, that the bar-
barous and degraded taste was more grat-
ified by the mimes and pantomimes, the
chariot-races of the circus, and the wild
beasts in the amphitheatre.** But tragedy
and comedy, at this period, were probably
maintained rather to display the magnifi-
cence of the consul or praetor, who prided
himself on the variety of his entertain-
ments, and were applauded, perhaps,ff by
professors of rhetoric, and a few faithful
admirers of antiquity, rather than by the
people at large. Some have supposed
that the tragedies written on religious sub-
jects in the time of Julian were represent-

* Publius Pollio and Ambivius.— Symmach.,
epist. x., 2. f Donatus in Andriam, act iv., sc. 3.

X Confess, iii., .2.

$ Chrysostom, Horn. 10, in Coloss , v. ii., p. 403 ;
Horn. 6, in Terrae mot., i., 780 ; i., p. 38 ; i., 731.

|| Liban., vol. ii., p. 375.

^ Lactantius inveighs with all the energy of the
first ages against tragedy and comedy: Tragicse
historic subjiciunt ocuhspatricidiaetincesta regum
malorum, et cothurnata scelera demonstrant. Com-
icaede stupris virginum et amcitiis meretricum, et
quo magis sunt eloquentes, eo magis persuadent,
facilius inhserent memoriae versus nurnerosi et or-
nati.—Instit., vi., 20.

** Augustine, however, draws a distinction be
tween these two classes of theatric representations
and the lower kind : Scenicorurn tolera'oiliora ludo
rum, comoediae scilicet et tragcediae, hoc est fabulae
poetarum, agendse in spectaculo multa rerum tur-
pitudine, sed nulld saltern, sicut aliae multse, verbo-
rum obscenitate compositae, quas etiam inter studia,
quae liberalia vocantur, pueri legere et discern co*
guntur a senibus.—De Civ. Dei, lib. ii., c. 8.

if Muller, p. 139,474

HISTORY. OF CHRISTIANITY.

eel on the stage; but there is no ground
for this notion; these were intended hs
schoolbooks, to supply the place of Soph-
ocles and Menander.

In its degeneracy, the higher drama had
long been supplanted by, 1st, the
Mimes. mjmes> Even this kind of drama,
perhaps of Roman, or even of earlier Ital-
ian origin, had degenerated into the coar-
sest scurrility, and, it should seem, the
most repulsive indecency. Formerly it
had been the representation of some inci-
dent in common life, extemporaneously
dramatized by the mime, ludicrous in its
general character, mingled at times with
sharp or even grave and sententious sat-
ire. Such were the mimes of Laberius,
to which republican Rome had listened
with delight. It was now the lowest kind
of buffoonery. The mime, or several
mimes, both male and female, appeared
in ridiculous dresses, with shaven crowns,
and pretending still to represent some
kind of story, poured forth their witless
obscenity, and indulged in all kinds of
practical jokes and manual wit, blows on
the face and broken heads. The music
was probably the great charm; but that
had become soft, effeminate, and lascivi-
ous. The female performers were of the
most abandoned character,* and scenes
were sometimes exhibited of the most
abominable indecency, even if we do not
give implicit credit to the malignant tales
of Procopius concerning the exhibitions
of the Empress Theodora, when she per-
formed as a dancing-girl in these disgust-
ing mimes.f

The pantomime was a kind of ballet in
ranto- action.^ It was the mimic repre-
mimes. sentation of all the old tragic and
mythological fables, without words,§ or in-

* Many passages of Chrysostom might be quoted,
in which he speaks of the naked courtesans, mean-
ing probably with the most transparent clothing
(though women were exhibited at Antioch swim-
ming in an actual state of nudity), who perform-
ed in these mimes. The more severe Christian
preacher is confirmed by the language of the hea-
then Zosimus, whose bitter hatred to Christianity
induces him to attribute their most monstrous ex-
cesses to the reign of the Christian emperor.
MX[iol re yap yelotov, ical ol Kaictig airoXov/ievoi
bpxycTal, Kal ttuv o’ tl 7rpog aiaxporrjra nai rr/v
utottov ravrrjv Kal f/c^e/by ovvreXel p,ovGUC7}v,
rjoKrjdri re em rovrov.—Lib. iv., c. 33.

f Muller, 92, 103.

t Libanius is indignant that men should attempt
to confound the orchestse or pantomimes with these
degraded and infamous mimes, vol. iii., p. 350. The
pantomimes wore masks; the mimes had their fa-
ces uncovered, and usually had shaven crowns.

§ The pantomimi or dancers represented their
parts,.

Clausis faucibus et loquente gestu

Nutu, crure, genu, manu, rotatu.—Sid. A'poll.

termingled with chants or songs.* * § These
exhibitions were got up at times with great
splendour of scenery, which was usually
painted on hanging curtains, and with mu-
sical accompaniments of the greatest va-
riety. The whole cycle of mythology,!
both of the gods and heroes, was repre-
sented by the dress and mimic gestures,
of the performer. The deities, both male
and female—Jupiter, Pluto, and Mars; Ju-
no, Proserpine, Venus; Theseus and Her-
cules ; Achilles, with all the heroes of the
Trojan war; Phaedra, Briseis, Atalanla,
the race of CEdipus ; these are but a few
of the dramatic personages which, on the
authority of Libanius,J were personated
by the pantomimes of the East. Sidonius
Apollinaris§ fills twenty-five lines with
those represented in the West by the cel-
ebrated dancers Oaramalus and Phaba-
ton.|| These included the old fables of
Medea and Jason, of the house of Thyes-
tes, of Tereus and Philomela, Jupiter an 1
Europa, and Danae, and Leda, and Gany
mede, Mars and Venus, Perseus and An-
dromeda. In the West, the female parts
here exhibited were likewise represented
by women,Tf of whom there were no less
than 3000 in Rome :** and so important
were these females considered to the pub-
lic amusement, that, on the expulsion of
all‘strangers from the city during a fam-
ine, an exception was made by the prae-
tor, in deference to the popular wishes, in
favour of this class alone. The profes-
sion, however, was considered infamous,
and the indecency of their attire upon the
public stage justified the low estimate of
their moral character. Their attractions
were so dangerous to the Roman youth,
that a special law prohibited the abduction
of these females from their public occupa-
tion, whether the enamoured lover with-
drew one of them from the stage as a
mistress, or, as not unfrequently happen-
ed, with the more honourable title of
wife.ff The East, though it sometimes

* There was sometimes a regular chorus, with
instrumental music—Sid. Apoll., xxiii., 268, and
probably poetry composed for the occasion.—Mul-
ler, p. 122.

t Greg. Nyssen in Galland., Bibliothec. Patrum,
vi.,p. 610. Ambrose in Hexaem., iii., 1, 5. Synes.,
de Prov., ii., p. 128, ed. Petav. Symmach., i., ep. 89.

t Liban. pro Salt., v. iii., 391.

§ Sidon. Apoll., carm. xxiii., v. 267, 299.

|| Claudian mentions a youth who, before the
pit, which thundered with applause,

Aut rigidam Niobem aut flentem Troada frngit.

% Even in Constantinople women acted in the
pantomimes. Chrysostom, Horn. 6, in Thessalon.,
denounces the performance of Phsedra and Hippoly.
tus by women : 'Qcnrep ccdfiarog rvTrti Qaivojierag.

** Ammian. Marcell., xiv., 6.

ft Cod. Thedos., xv., 7, 5.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

475

endured the appearance of women in those
parts, often left them to be performed by
boys, yet with anything but advantage to
general morality. The aversion of Chris-
tianity to the subjects exhibited by the
pantomimes, almost invariably moulded
up, as they were, with paganism, as well
as its high moial sense (united, perhaps,
with something of the disdain of ancient
Rome for the histrionic art, which it pat-
ronised nevertheless with inexhaustible
ardour), branded the performers with the
deepest mark of public contempt. They
were, as it were, public slaves, and could
not abandon their profession.* They were
considered unfit to mingle with respecta-
ble society ; might not appear in the fo-
rum or basilica, or use the public baths ;
they were excluded even from the theatre
as spectators, and might not be attended
by a slave, with a folding-stool for their
use. Even Christianity appeared to ex-
tend its mercies and its hopes to this de-
voted race with some degree of rigour and
jealousy. The actor baptized in the ap-
parent agony of death, if he should re-
cover, could not be forced back upon the
stage; but the guardian of the public
amusements was to take care, lest, by
pretended sickness, the actor should ob-
tain this precious privilege of baptism,
and thus exemption from his servitude.
Even the daughters of actresses partook
of their mothers’ infamy, and could only
escape being doomed to their course of
life by the profession of Christianity, rati-
fied by a certain term of probationary vir-
tue. If the actress relapsed from Christi-
anity, she was invariably condemned to
her impure servitude.f

Such was the general state of the the-
atrical exhibitions in the Roman empire
at that period The higher drama, like
every other intellectual and inventive art,
had to undergo the influence of Christian-
ity before it could revive in its splendid
and prolific energy. In all European coun-
tries, the.Christian mystery, as it was
called, has been the parent of tragedy,
perhaps of comedy. It reappeared as a
purely religious representation, having re-
tained no remembrance whatever of pa-
ganism ; and was at one period, perhaps,
the most effective teacher, in times of
general ignorance and total scarcity of
books, both among priests and people, of
Christian history as well as of Christian
legend.

But at a later period, the old hereditary
hostility of Christianity to the theatre has

* Cod. Theodos., xv., 13.
f Cod. Theod^ , de Scenicis, xv., 7, 2, 4. 8, 9.

constantly revived. The passages of the
fathers have perpetually been repeated by
the more severe preachers, whether fairly
applicable or not to the dramatic enter-
tainments of different periods ; and in gen-
eral it has had the effect of keeping the
actor in a lower caste of society ; a prej-
udice often productive of the evil which it
professed to correct; for men whom the
general sentiment considers of a low moral
order will rarely make the vain attempt
of raising themselves above it: if they
cannot avoid contempt, they will care lit-
tle whether they deserve it.

III. The amphitheatre, with its shows of
gladiators and wild beasts. The Amphitheatre,
suppression of those bloody Gladiatorial
spectacles, in which human be- shows*
ings slaughtered each other by hundreds
for the diversion of their fellow-men, is
one of the most unquestionable and proud-
est triumphs of Christianity. The gladi-
atorial shows, strictly speaking, that is,
the mortal combats of men, were never
introduced into the less warlike Easf,
though the combats of men with w.ld
beasts were exhibited in Syria and other
parts. They were Roman in their origin
and to their termination. It might seem
that the pride of Roman conquest was not
satisfied with the execution of her desola-
ting mandates unless the whole city wit-
nessed the bloodshed of her foreign cap-
tives ; and in her decline she seemed to
console herself with these sanguinary
proofs of her still extensive empire: the
ferocity survived the valour of her martial
spirit. Barbarian life seemed, indeed, to
be of no account but to contribute to the
sports of the Roman. The humane Sym-
maehus, even at this late period,* reproves
the impiety of some Saxon captives, who,
by strangling themselves in prison, esca-
ped the ignominy of this public exhibi-
tion.! It is a humiliating consideration
to find how little Roman civilization had
tended to mitigate the ferocity of manners
and of temperament. Not merely did
women crowd the amphitheatre during
the combats of these fierce and almost na-
ked savages or criminals, but it was the
especial privilege of the vestal virgin, even
at this late period, to give the signal for
the mortal blow, to watch the sword
driven deeper into the palpitating en-

* Quando prohibuisset privata custodia desperatse
gentis impias manus, cum viginti novern fractas sine
laqueo fauces primus ludi gladiatorn dies vident.—
Symmach., lib. ii., epist. 46.

t It is curious that at one time the exposure to
wild beasts was considered a more ignominious
punishment than fighting as a gladiator The slave
was condemned to the former for kidnapping; the
freeman to the latter.—Codex Theod., iv., 18, L176

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

trails.* The state of uncontrolled phrensy
wort ed up even the most sober spectators.
The manner in which this contagious pas-
sion for bloodshed engrossed the whole soul
is described with singular power and truth
by St. Augustine. A Christian student of
the law was compelled by the importunity
of his friends to enter the amphitheatre.
He sat with his eyes closed, and his mind
U tally abstracted from the scene. He
w as suddenly startled from his trance by
a tremendous shout from the whole audi-
ence. He opened his eyes, he could not
but gaze on the spectacle. Directly as
he beheld the blood, his heart imbibed the
common ferocity; he could not turn away;
his "eyes were riveted on the arena; and
the interest, the excitement, the pleasure,
grew into complete intoxication. He look-
ed on, he shouted, he was inflamed; he
carried away from the amphitheatre an
irresistible propensity to return to its cruel
enjoyments.f

Christianity began to assail this deep-
rooted passion of the Roman world with
caution, almost with timidity. Christian
Constantinople was never defiled with the
blood of gladiators. In the same year as
that of the Council of Nice, a local edict
was issued, declaring the emperor’s disap-
probation of these sanguinary exhibitions
in time of peace, and prohibiting the vol-
unteering of men as gladiators.f This
was a considerable step, if we call to mind
the careless apathy with which Constan-
tine. before his conversion, had exhibited
all his barbarian captives in the amphithe-
atre at Treves.§ This edict, however,
addressed to the prefect of Phoenicia, had
no permanent effect, for Libanius, several
years after, boasts that he had not been a
spectator of the gladiatorial shows still
regularly celebrated in Syria. Constan-
tius prohibited soldiers, and those in the
imperial service (Palatini), from hiring
themselves out to the Lanistae, the keep-
ers of gladiators.|| Valentinian decreed
that no Christian or Palatine should be
condemned for any crime whatsoever to
the arena.TT An early edict of Honorius
prohibited any slave who had been a glad-
iator** from being admitted into the ser-
vice of a man of senatorial dignity. But

* Virgo—consurgit ad ictus,

Ft quotiens victor ferrum jugulo inserit, ilia
Delicias ait esse suas, pectusque jacentis
Virgo modesta jtibet, converso pollice, rumpi;
Ni lateat pars ulla ammae vitalibus urns,

Altiiis impresso dum palpitat ense secutor.

Prudent, adv. Symm., ii., 1095.
f August., Conf., vi., 8.

j Codex Theodos., xv., 12, 1. § See p. 288.

|| Codex Theodos., xv., 12, 2.
f Ibid., ix, 40, 8. ** Ibid.

Christianity now began to speak in a more
courageous and commanding tone.* The
Christian poet urges on the Christian em-
peror the direct prohibition of'these inhu-
man and disgraceful exhibitions :f .but a
single act often affects the public mind
much more strongly than even the most
eloquent and reiterated exhortation. An
Eastern monk named Telemachus travel-
led all the way to Rome in order to pro-
test against those disgraceful barbarities.
In his noble enthusiasm, he leaped into
the arena to separate the combatants ;
either with the sanction of the prefect or
that of the infuriated assembly, he was
tom to pieces, the martyr of Christian hu-
manity. J The impression of this awful
scene, of a Christian, a monk, thus mur-
dered in the arena, was so profound, that
Honorius issued a prohibitory edict, put-
ting an end to these bloody shows. This
edict, however, only suppressed the mor-
tal combats of men the less inhuman,
though still brutalizing, conflicts of men
with wild beasts seems scarcely to have
been abolished|| till the diminution of
wealth, and the gradual contraction of the
limits of the empire, cut off both the sup-
ply and the means of purchasing these
costly luxuries. The revolted or conquer-
ed provinces of the South, the East, and
the North no longer rendered up their ac-
customed tribute of lions from Libya, leop-
ards from the East, dogs of remarkable
ferocity from Scotland, of crocodiles and
bears, and every kind of wrild and rare ani-
mal. The Emperor Anthemius prohibited
the lamentable spectacles of wild beajts

* Codex Theodos., xv., 12, 3.
f Arripe dilatarn tua, dux, m terapora famam,

Quodque patri superest, successor laudis habeto.

Ille uibem vetuit taurorum sanguine tmgi,

Tu mortes miserorum hominum prohibete Atari:

Nullus in urbe cadat, cujus sit pcena voluptas,

Nec sua virginitas oblectet csedibus ora.

Jam soils contenta fens infamis arena,

Nulla cruentatis hoinicidia ludat in arrnis.

Prudent, adv. Symm., n , 1121.

X Theodoret, v , 26.

^ The law of Honorius is not extant in the The*
odosian Code, which only retains those of Constan-
tine and Constantius. For this reason doubts have
been thrown on the authority of Theodoret; but
there is no recorded instance of gladiatorial combats
between man and man since this period. The pas-
sage of Salvian, sometimes alleged, refers to com-
bats with wild beasts. TJbi summum deliciarum
genus est mori homines, aut quod est mori gravius
acerbiusque, laceran, expleriferarum alvos humanis
carnibus, comedi homines cum circumstantium lee
tit id, conspicientium voluptate.—De Gu \ Dei, lib
vi., p. 51.

H Quicquid monstriferis nutrit Gsetulia campia,
Alpina quicquid tegitur nive, Gallica quicquid -
Silva timet, jaceat. Largo ditescat arena >
Sanguine, consumant totos spectacula morfles.

Claud, in Cons. Mall. 306.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

477

on the Sunday ; and Salvian. still inveighs
against those bloody exhibitions. And
this amusement gradually degenerated, if
the word may be used, not so much from
the improving humanity as from the pu-
sillanimity of the people. Arts were in-
troduced to irritate the fury of the beast
without endangering' the person of the
combatant, which would have been con-
temptuously exploded in the more war-
like days of the empire. It became a
mere exhibition of skill and agility. The
beasts were sometimes tamed before they
were exhibited. In the West those games
seem to have sunk with the Western em-
pire ;* in the East they lingered on so as
to require a special prohibition by the
Council of Trulla at Constantinople, at the
close of the seventh century.

IV. The chariot-race of the circus. If
The circus. these former exhibitions were
chariot- ' prejudicial to the modesty and
races. humanity of the Roman people,
the chariot-races were no less fatal to
their peace. This phrensy did not, in-
deed, reach its height till the middle of
the fifth century, when the animosities of
political and religious difference were out-
done by factions enlisted in favour of the
rival charioteers in the circus. As com-
plete a separation took place in society;
adverse parties were banded against each

other in as fierce oppositionan insurrec-
tion as destructive and sanguinary took
place; the throne of the emperor was as
fearfully shaken in the collision of the
blue and green- factions, as ever took
place in defence of the sacred rights of
liberty or of faith. Constantinople seem-
ed to concentre on the circus all that ab-
sorbing interest which at Rome was di-
vided by many spectacles. The Christian
city seemed to compensate itself for the
excitement of those games which were
prohibited by the religion, by the fury with
which it embraced those which were al-
lowed, or, rather, against which Christian-
ity remonstrated in vain. Her milder
tone of persuasiveness, and her more au-
thoritative interdiction, were equally dis-
regarded where the sovereign and the
whole people yielded to the common
phrensy. But this consolation remained
to Christianity, that, when it was accused
of distracting the imperial city with reli-
gious dissension, it might allege that this,
at least, was a nobler subject of differ-
ence ; or, rather, that the passions of men
seized upon religious distinctions with no
greater eagerness than they did on these
competitions for the success of a chariot-
driver in a blue or a green jacket, in or-
der to gratify their inextinguishable love
of strife and animosity.

CHAPTER III.

CHRISTIAN LITERATURE.

Christianity was extensively propa-
gated in an age in which Greek and Latin
literature had fallen into hopeless degen-
eracy; nor could even its spirit awaken
the dead. Both these languages had al-
ready attained and passed their full devel-
opment; they had fulfilled their part in
the imaginative and intellectual advance-
ment of mankind; and it seems, in gen-
oral, as much beyond the power of the
genius of a country, as of an individual,
to renew its youth. It was not till it had
created new languages, or, rather, till lan-
guages had been formed in which the re-
ligious notions of Christianity were an el-
ementary and constituent part, that Chris-

* Agincourt, Histoire de l’Art, is of opinion that
Yheodoric substituted military games for theatrical
shows, and that these military games were the ori-
gin of the tournaments. The wild beast shows
were still celebrated at Rome.—Cassiod., Epist.
v 42.

tian literature assumed its free and natu-
ral dignity.

The genius of the new religion never
coalesced in perfect and amicable harmo-
ny with either the Greek or the Latin
tongue. In each case it was a foreign
dialect introduced into a fully-formed
and completely-organized language. The
Greek, notwithstanding its exquisite pli-
ancy, with difficulty accommodated itself
to the new sentiments and opinions. It
had either to endure the naturalization of
new words, or to deflect its own terms to
new significations. In the latter case the
doctrines were endangered, in the former
the purity of the language, more especial-
ly since the Oriental writers were in gen-
eral alien to the Grecian mind. The
Greek language had, indeed, long before
yielded to the contaminating influences of
barbarism. From Homer to Demosthe-
nes it had varied in its style and char-478

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

acter, but had maintained its ad-
cy- mirable perfection as the finest,
Greek litera- the clearest, and most versatile
‘ur®JJnd lan' instrument of poetry, oratory, or
philosophy. But the conquests
of Greece were as fatal to her language
as to her liberties. The Macedonian, the
language of the conquerors, was not the
purest Greek,* and in general, by the ex-
tension over a wider surface, the stream
contracted a taint from every soil over
which it flowed. Alexandrea was prob-
ably the best school of foreign Grecian
style, at least in literature ; in Syria it
had always been infected in some de-
gree by the admixture of Oriental terms.
'The Hellenistic style, as it has been call-
ed, of the New Testament, may be con-
sidered a fair example of the language, as
it was spoken in the provinces among
persons of no high degree of intellectual
culture.

The Latin seemed no less to have ful-
Of Roman ^s mission,-and to have

passed its culminating point, in
the verse of Virgil and the prose of Cice-
ro. Its stern and masculine majesty, its
plain and practical vigour, seemed as if it
could not outlive the republican institu-
tions, in the intellectual conflicts of which
it had been formed. The impulse of the
old freedom carried it through the reign
of Augustus, but no farther; and it had
undergone rapid and progressive deterio-
ration before it was called upon to dis-
charge its second office of disseminating
and preserving the Christianity of the
West; and the Latin, like the Greek, had
suffered by its own triumphs. Among the
more distinguished heathen writers sub-
sequent to Augustus, the largest number
were of provincial origin, and something
of their foreign tone still adhered to their
style. Of the best Latin Christian wri-
ters, it is remarkable that not one was a
Roman; not one, except Ambrose, an Ital-
ian. Tertullian, Cyprian, Arnobius (per-
haps Lactantius), and Augustine, were
Africans; the Roman education and su-
perior understanding of the latter could
not altogether refine away that rude pro-
vincialism which darkened the whole lan-
guage of the former. The writings of
Hilary are obscured by another dialect of
barbarism. Even at so late a period,
whatever exceptions may be made to the
taste of his conceptions and of his ima-
gery, with some limitation, the Roman
style of Claudian, and the structure of his
verse, carries us back to the time of Vir-

* Compare the dissertation of Sturz on the Ma-
cedonian dialect, reprinted in the prolegomena to
Valpy’s edition of Stephens’s Thesaurus.

gil; in Prudentius, it is not' merely the n
feriority of the poet, but something foreign
and uncongenial refuses to harmonize with
the adopted poetic language.*

Yet it was impossible that such an en-
thusiasm could be disseminated Christian
through the empire without in literature,
some degree awakening the torpid lan-
guages. The mind could not be so deep-
ly stirred without expressing itself with
life and vigour, even if with diminished
elegance and dignity. No one can com-
pare the energetic sentences of Chrysos-
tom with the prolix and elaborate, if more
correct, periods of Libanius, without ac-
knowledging that a new principle of vital-
ity has been infused into the language.

But, in fact, the ecclesiastical Greek
and Latin are new dialects of the ancient
tongue. Their literature stands entirely
apart from that of Greece or Rome. The
Greek already possessed the foundation
of this literature in the Septuagint ver-
sion of the Old, and in the original of the
New,Testament. TheVulgateof Jerome,
which almost immediately superseded the
older imperfect or inaccurate versions
from the Greek, supplied the same ground-
work to Latin Christendom. There is
something singularly rich, and, if we mny
so speak, picturesque, in the Latin of the
Vulgate ; the Orientalism of the Scripture
is blended up with such curious felicity
with the idiom of the Latin, that, although
far removed either from the colloquial
language of the comedians or the purity
of Cicero, it both delights the ear and fills
the mind. It is an original and somewhat
foreign, but likewise an expressive and
harmonious dialect.f It has, no doubt,
powerfully influenced the religious style,
not merely of the later Latin writers, but
those of the modern languages, of which
Latin is the parent. Constantly quoted,
either in its express words or in terms
approaching closely to its own, it contrib-
uted to form the dialect of ecclesiastical

* Among the most remarkable productions as to
Latinity are the Ecclesiastical History and Life of
St. Martin of Tours, by Sulpicius Severus ; the
legendary matter of which contrasts singularly with
the perspicuous and almost classical elegance of
the style. See postea on Minucius Felix.

t There appears to me more of the Oriental char-
acter in the Old Testament of the Vulgate than in
the LXX. That translation having been made by
Greeks, or by Jews domiciled in a Greek city,
the Hebrew style seems subdued, as far as possible,
to the Greek. Jerome seems to have endeavoured
to Hebraize or Orientalize his Latin.

The story of Jerome’s nocturnal flagellation for
his attachment to profane literature rests (as we
have seen) on his own authority; but his later
works show that the offending spirit wai not ef-
fectively scourged out of him.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

479

Latin, which became the religious lan-
guage of Europe ; and, as soon as religion
condescended to employ the modern lan-
guages in its service, was transfused as a
necessary and integral part of that which
related to religion. Christian literature
was as yet purely religious in its scope;
though it ranged over the whole field of
ancient poetry, philosophy, and history,
its sole object was the illustration or con-
firmation of Christian opinion.

For many ages, and, indeed, as long as
it spoke the ancient languages, it
Poetry. wag barren 0f poetry in all its lof-
tier departments, at least of that which
was poetry in form as well as in spirit.

The religion itself w~as the poetry of
Christianity. The sacred books were to
ihe Christians what the national epic and
the sacred lyric had been to the o.ther
races of antiquity. They occupied the
place, and proscribed in their superior
sanctity, or defied by their unattainable
excellence, all rivalry. The Church suc-
ceeded to the splendid inheritance of
the Hebrew temple and synagogue. The
Psalms and the Prophets, if they depart-
ed somewhat from their original simple
energy and grandeur in the uncongenial
and too polished languages of the Greeks
and Romans, still, in their imagery, their
bold impersonations, the power and maj-
esty of their manner, as well as in the
sublimity of the notions of Divine power
and wisdom, with which they were in-
stinct, stood alone in the religious poetry
of mankind.

The religious books of Christianity,
sacred though of a gentler cast, and only
writings, in a few short passages (and in the
grand poetic drama of the Revelations)
poetical in their form, had much, especially
m their narratives, of the essence of poe-
try ; the power of awakening kindred
emotions; the pure simplicity of truth,
blended with imagery and with language,
which kindled the fancy. Faith itself was
constantly summoning the imagination to
its aid, to realize, to impersonate those
scenes which were described in the sacred
volume, and which it was thus enabled to
embrace with greater fervour and sincer-
ity. All the other early Christian poetry
was pale and lifeless in comparison with
that of the sacred writers. Some few
hymns, as the noble Te Deum ascribed to
Ambrose, were admitted, with the Psalms,
and the short lyric passages in the New
Testament, the Magnificat, the Nunc Di-
mittis, and the Alleluia, into the services
of the Church. But the sacred volume
commanded exclusive adoration, not mere-
ly by its sanctity, but by its unrivalled

imagery and sweetness. Each sect nad
its hymns ; and those of the Gnostics,
with the rival strains of the orthodox
churches of Syria, attained great popular-
ity. But, in general, these compositions
were only a feebler echo of the strong and
vivid sounds of the Hebrew psalms. The
epic and tragic form into which, in the
time of Julian, the scripture narratives
were cast, in order to provide a Christian
Homer and Euripides for those schools in
which the originals were interdicted, were
probably but cold paraphrases, the Hebrew
poetry expressed in an incongruous cento
of the Homeric or tragic phraseology. The
garrulous feebleness of Gregory’s own
poem does not awaken any regret for the
loss of those writings either of his own
composition or of his age.* Even in the
martyrdoms, the noblest unoccupied sub-
jects for Christian verse, the poetry seems
to have forced its way into the legend
rather than animated the writer of verse.
Prudentius, whose finest lines (and they
are sometimes of a very spirited, senten-
tious, and eloquent, if not poetic cast) occur
in his other poems, on these, which would
appear at first far more promising sub-
jects, is sometimes pretty and fanciful, but
scarcely more.f

* The Greek poetry after Nazianzen was almost
silent; some, perhaps, of the hymns are ancient
(one paTticularly in Routh’s Reliquiae). See like-
wise Smith’s account of the'Greek Church. The
hymns of Synesius are very interesting, as illustra-
tive of the state of religious sentiment, and by no
means without beauty. But may we call these
dreamy Platonic raptures Christian poetry?

f One of the best, or rather, perhaps, 'prettiest pas-
sages, is that which has been selected as a hyirn
for the Innocents’ day:

Salvette flores martyrum
Quos lucis ipso in limine,

Christi insecutor sustulit
Ceu turbo nascentes rosas.

Vox, prima Christi victima,

Grex immolatorum tener,

Aram ante ipsam simplices
Palma et coronis luditis.

But these are only a few stanzas out of a long
hymn on the Epiphany. The best verses in Pru-
dentius are to be found in the books against Syrn-
machus; but their highest praise is that, in their
force and energy, they approach to Claudian. With
regard to Claudian, I cannot refrain from repeating
what I have stated in another place, as it is so
closely connected with the subject of Christian poe-
try. M. Beugnot has pointed out one remarkable
characteristic of Claudian poetry and of the times,
his extraordinary religious indifference. Here i?
a poet writing’at the actual crisis of the complete
triumph of the new religion, and the visible extinc-
tion of the old: if we may so speak, a strictly his-
torical poet, whose works, excepting his mytholo-
gical poem on the rape of Proserpine, are confined
to temporary subjects, and to the politics of his own
eventful times ; yet, excepting in one or two small
and indifferent pieces, manifestly written by a Chris-
tian, and interpolated among his poems, there is no480

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

There is more of the essence of poetry
in the simpler and unadorned Acts of the
Martyrs, more pathos, occasionally more

allusion whatever to the great religious strife. No
one would know the existence of Christianity at
that period of the world by reading the works of
Claudian. His panegyric and his satire preserve
the same religious impartiality; award their most
lavish praise or their bitterest invective on Christian
or pagan : he insults the fall of Eugenius, and glo-
ries in the victories of Theodosius. Under his child
—and Honorius never became more than a child—
Christianity continued to inflict wounds more and
more deadly on expiring paganism. Are the gods
of Olympus agitated with apprehension at the birth
of their new enemy? They are introduced as re-
joicing at his appearance, and promising long years
of glory. The whole prophetic choir of paganism,
all the oracles throughout the world, are summoned
to predict the felicity of his reign. His birth is com-
pared to that of Apollo, but the narrow limits of an
island must not confine the new deity :

Non littora nostro
Sufficerent angusta Deo.

Augury and divination, the shrines of Ammon and
of Delphi, the Persian magi, the Etruscan seers,
the Chaldean astrologers, the Sibyl herself, are de-
scribed as still discharging their poetic functions,
and celebrating the natal day of this Christian
prince. They are noble lines, as well as curious
illustrations of the times:

Quas tunc documenta futuri ?

Quas voces avium ? quanti per inane volatus ?

Quis vaturn discursus erat? Tibi corniger Ammon,
Et dudum taciti rup£re silentia Delphi.

Te Persse cecinere Magi, te sensit Etruscus
Augur, et inspectis Babylonius horruit astris:
Chaldsei stupu^re senes, Cumanaque rursus
Intonu.it rapes, rabidse delubra Sibyllae.

Note on Gibbon, ii., 238.
But Roman poetry expired with Claudian. In the
vast mass of the Christian Latin poetry of this period,
independent of the perpetual faults against metre and
taste, it is impossible not to acknowledge that the
subject matter appears foreign, and irreconcilable
with the style of the verse. Christian images and
sentiments, the frequent biblical phrases and ex-
pressions, are not yet naturalized ; and it is almost
in-possible to select any passage of considerable
length from the whole cycle which can be offered
as poetry. I except a few of the hymns, and even
as to the hymns (setting aside the Te Deum), para-
doxical as it may sound, I cannot but think the
later and more barbarous the best. There is nothing
in my judgment to be compared with the monkish
“ Dies irae, Dies ilia,” or even the “ Stabat Mater.”

lam inclined to select, as a favourable specimen
of Latin poetry, the following almost unknown lines
(they are not in the earlier editions of Dracontius).
I have three reasons for my selection : 1. The real
merit of the verses compared to most of the Chris-
tian poetry; 2. Their opposition to the prevailing
tenet of celibacy, for which cause they are quoted
by Theiner; 3. The interest which early poetry on
this subject (Adam in Paradise) must possess to the
countrymen of Milton.

Tunc oculos per cuncta jacit, miratur amoenum
Sic florere locum, sic puros fontibus amnes,
Quatuor undisonas stringenti gurgite ripas,

Ire per arboreos saltus, camposque virentes
Miratur; sed quid sit homo, quos factus ad usus
Scire cupit simplex, et non habet, unde requirat;
Quo merito sibimet data sit possessio mundi,

Et domus alma nemus per florea regna paratum :

grandeur, more touching incident and ex-
pression, and even, we may venture to
say, happier invention, than in the prolix
and inanimate strains of the Christian
poet. For*the awakened imagination was
not content with feasting in silence on its
lawful nutriment, the poetry of the Bible,
it demanded and received perpetual stim-
ulants, which increased, instead of satis-
fying, the appetite. That peculiar state
of the human mind had now commenced,

Ac procul expectat virides jumenta per agros ;

Et de se taeitus, quae sint ha?c cuncta, requirit,

Et quare secum non sint hsec ipsa, volutat:

Nam consorte carens, cum quo conferret, egebat.
Viderat Omnipotens, hsec ilium corde movcntem,
Et miseratus ait: Demos adjutoria facto;
Participern generis: tanquam si diceret auctor,

Non solum, dccet esse virum, consortia bland a
Noverit, uxor erit, quum sit tamen llle rnaritus,
Conjugium se quisque voc-et, dulcedo recurrat
Cordibus innocuis, et sitsibi pignus uterque
Yelle pares, et nolle pares, st.ans una voluntas,

Par anirrii concors, paribus concurrere votis.

Ambo sibi requies cordis sint, ambo fideles,

Et quicunque-datur casus, sit causa duorum.

Nec mora, jam venit alma quies, oculosque supinat
Somnus, et in dulcem solvuntur membra soporem.
Sed quum jure Deus, nullo prohibente valeret
Demere particulam, de quo plus ipse pararat,

Ne vi oblata darel juveni sua costa dolorem,
Redderet et tristem subito, quern lsedere nollet,

Fur opifex vult esse suus ; nam posset et lllarn
Pulvere de simili princeps formare puellam.

Sed quo plenus amor toto de corde veniret,

Noscere in uxore voluit sua membra maritum,
Dividitur contexts cutis, subducitur una
Sensirri costa viro, sed mox reditura marito.

Nam juvenis de parte brevi formatur adulta
Virgo, decora, rudis, matura tumentibus annis,
Conjugii, sobolisque capax, quibus apta probatur.
Et sine Jacte pio crescit infantia pubes.

Excutitur somno juvenis, videt ipse puellam
Ante oculos astare suos, pater, inde rnaritus.

Non tamen ex costa genitor, sed conjugis auctor.
Somnus erat partus, conceptus scmine nullo,
Materiem sopita quies produxit amoris,

Affectusque novos blandi genuere sopores.

Constitit ante oculos nullo velamine tecta,

Corpora nuda simul niveo, quasi nympha profundi,
Csesaries intonsa comis, gena pulclira rubore,
Omnia pulchra gerens, oculos, os, coila, rnanusque,
Vel qnalem possent- digiti formare Tonantis.

Nescia mens illis, fieri quse causa fuisset;

Tunc Deus et princeps ambos, conjunxit it unum
Et remeat sua costa viro ; sua membra recepit;
Accipit et fosnus, quum non sit debitor ullus.

His datur omnis humus, et quicquid jussa creavit,
Aeris et pelagi foetus, elementa duorum,

Arbitrio comrnissa manent. His, crescite, dixit
Omnipotens, replete solum de semine vestro,
Sanguinis ingeniti natos nutrite nepotes,

Et de prole novos iterum copulate jugales
Et dum terra fretum, dum ccelum sublevat aer,
Dum solis micat axe jubar, dum luna tenebras
Dissipal, et puro lucent mea sidera coelo ;

Sumere, quicquid habent pomaria nostra licebit;
Nam totum quod terra creat, quod pontus et aer
Protulit, addicturn vestro sub jure manebit,
Deliciseque fluent vobis, et honesta voluptas ;
Arboris unius tantum nescite saporem.

Dracontii Presbyt. Hispani Christ., secul. v., sufr
Theodos. M., Carmina, a F. Arevalo , Romee, 179i,
Carmen de Deo, lib. i., v. 348, 415-HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

481

m which the imagination so far predom-
inates over the other faculties, that truth
cannot help arraying itself in the garb of
fiction; credulity courts fiction, and fic-
tion believes its own fables. That some
^ of the Christian legends were de-
liegenub. forgeries can scarcely be

questioned; the principle of pious fraud
appeared to justify this mode of working
on the popular mind; it was admitted and
avowed. To deceive into Christianity was
so valuable a service as to hallow deceit
itself. But the largest portion was prob-
ably the natural birth of that imaginative
excitement which quickens its day-dreams
and nightly visions into reality. The
Christian lived in a supernatural world;
the notion of the Divine power, the perpet-
ual interference of the Deity, the agency
of the countless invisible beings which
hovered over mankind, was so strongly
impressed upon the belief, that every ex-
traordinary, and almost every ordinary
incident became a miracle, every inward
emotion a suggestion either of a good or
an evil spirit. A mythic period was thus
gradually formed, in which reality melted
into fable, and invention unconsciously
trespassed on the province of history.
This invention had very early let itself
Spurious loose in the spurious gospels, or
gospels, accounts of the lives of the Sa-
viour and his apostles, which were chiefly,
we conceive, composed among, or rather
against, the sects which were less scrupu-
lous in their veneration for the sacred
books. Unless Antidocetic, it is difficult
to imagine any serious object in fictions,
in general so fantastic and puerile.* * This
example had been set by some, probably,
of the foreign Jews, whose apocryphal
books were as numerous and as wild as
those of the Christian sectaries. The
Jews had likewise anticipated them in the
interpolation or fabrication of the Sibyl-
line verses. The fourth book of Esdras,
the Shepherd of Hermas, and other pro-
phetic works, grew out of the Prophets
and the book of Revelations, as the Gos-
pels of Nicodemus, and tlpat of the Infan-
cy, and the various spurious acts of the
different apostles,f out of the Gospels and

* Compare what has been said on the Gospel of
the Infancy, page 68; though I would now ob-
serve that the antiquity of this gospel is very du-
bious.

f Compare the Codex Apocryphus Novi Testa-
menti, by J. A. Fabricius, and Jones on the Canon.
A more elaborate collection of these curious docu-
ments has been commenced (I trust not abandoned)
by Dr. Thilo, Lipsiae, 1832. Of these, by far the
most remarkable in its composition and its influ-
ence was the Gospel of Nicodemus. The author
of this work was a poet, and of no mean invention.

3 P

Acts. The Recognitions and other tracts
which are called the Clementina, partake
more of the nature of religious romance.
Many of the formei were obviously in-
tended to pass for genuine records, and
must be proscribed as unwarrantable fic-
tions ; the latter may rather have been
designed to trace, and so to awaken, reli-
gious feelings, than as altogether real his-
tory. The Lives of St. Anthony Lives of
by Athanasius, and of Hilarion by saints.
Jerome, are the prototypes of the count-
less biographies of saints; and, with a
strong outline of truth, became imperson-
ations of the feelings, the opinions, the
belief of the time. We have no reason to
doubt that the authors implicitly believ-
ed whatever of fiction embellishes their
own unpremeditated fables; the colouring,
though fanciful and inconceivable to our
eyes, was fresh and living to theirs.

History itself could only reflect the pro-
ceedings of the Christian world
as they appeared to that world. lstory‘
We may lament that the annals of Chris-
tianity found in the earliest times no histo-
rian more judicious and trustworthy than
Eusebius ; the heretical sects no less prej-
udiced and more philosophical chronicle-
than Epiphanius; but in them, if not scru-
pulously veracious reporters of the events
and characters of the times, we possess
almost all that we could reasonably hope ;
faithful reporters of the opinions enter-
tained and the feelings excited by both.
Few Christians of that day would not
have considered it the sacred duty of a
Christian to adopt that principle, avowed
and gloried in by Eusebius, but now made
a bitter reproach, that he would relate all
that was to the credit, and pass lightly
over all which was to the dishonour of
the faith.* The historians of Christianity

The latter part, which describes the descent of the
Saviour to hell, to deliver “ the spirits in prison,”
according to the hint in the epistle of St. Peter (1
Peter, iii., 19), is extremely striking and dramatic.
This “ harrowing of hell,” as it is called in the old
mysteries, became a favourite topic of Christian le-
gend, founded on, and tending greatly to establish
the popular belief in, a purgatory, and to open, as it
were, to the fears of man the terrors of the penal
state. With regard to these spurious gospels in
general, it is a curious question in what manner, so
little noticed as they are in the higher Christian
literature, they should have reached down, and so
completely incorporated themselves in the dark
ages with the .superstitions of the vulgar. They
would never have furnished so many subjects tc
painting if they had nor. been objects of populai
belief.

* In addition to these things (the appointment
of rude and unfit persons to episcopal offices and
other delinquencies), the ambition of many; the pre-
cipitate and illegitimate ordinations; the dissen-
sions among the confessors; whatever the young-
er and more seditious so pertinaciously attempted482

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

were credulous, but of that which it would
have been considered impiety to disbe-
lieve, even if they had the inclination.

The larger part of Christian literature
consists in controversial writings, valuable
to posterity as records of the progress of
the human mind and of the gradual devel-
opment of Christian opinions; at times
worthy of admiration for the force, the
copiousness, and the subtlety of argument;
but too often repulsive from their solemn
prolixity on insignificant subjects, and,
above all, the fierce, the unjust, and the
acrimonious spirit with which they treat
their adversaries. The Christian litera-
ture in prose (excluding the history and
hagiography) may be distributed under
five heads : I. Apologies, or defences of
the Faith against Jewish, or, more fre-
quently, heathen adversaries. II. Herme-
neutics, or commentaries on the sacred
writings. III. Expositions of the princi-
ples and doctrines of the Faith. IV. Po-
lemical works against the different sects
and heresies. V. Orations.

I. We have already traced the manner in
which the apology for Christianity, from

against the remains of the Church, introducing in-
novation after innovation, and unsparingly, in the
midst of the calamities of the persecution, adding
new afflictions, and heaping evil upon evil; all
these things I think it right to pass over, as unbe-
fitting my history, which, as I stated in the begin-
ning, declines and avoids the relation of such things.
But whatsoever things, according to the sacred
Scripture, are ‘ honest and of good reportif there
be any virtue, and if there be any praise, these
things I have thought it most befitting the history
of these wonderful martyrs to speak, and to write,
and to address to the ears of the faithful.” Oil this
passage, de Martyr. Palasst., c. xii., and that to
which it alludes, E. H., viii., 2, the honesty and im-
partiality of Eusebius, which was not above suspi-
cion in his own day (Tiilemont, M. E., tom. i., part
i., p. 67), has been severely questioned. [The con-
text in both passages shows that Eusebius pre-
scribed to himself this rule, solely in the account of
the Palestine martyrs, which was intended to edify
and rebuke lukewarm Christians, and not, as Mr.
M. insinuates, throughout his whole ecclesiastical
history.] Gibbon’s observations on the subject
gave rise to many dissertations. Muller, de Fide
Euseb. Cses., Havnise, 1813. Danzius, de Euseb.
Caes.,H. E., Scripture, ejusque Fide Historica recte
aastimanda, Jenae, 1815. Kestner, Comment, de Eu-
seb., H. E., Conditoris Auctoritate et Fide. See also
Reuterdahl, de Fontibus, H. E., Eusebianee, Lond.,
Goth., 1826, and various passages in the Excursus
of Heinichen. In many passages it is clear that
Eusebius did not adhere to his own rule of partial-
ity. His Ecclesiastical History, though probably
highly coloured in many parts, is by no means a
uniform panegyric on the early Christians. Strict
impartiality could not be expected from a Christian
writer of that day; and probably Eusebius erred
more often from credulity than from dishonesty.
Yet the, unbelief produced in later times by the
fictitious character of early Christian history, may
show how dangerous, how fatal, may be the least
ilepaiture from truth.

humbly defensive, became vigor-
ously aggressiv’e. The calm ap- pocgiei
peal to justice and humanity, the ear-
nest deprecation of the odious calumnies
with which they were charged, the plea
for toleration, gradually rise to the vehe-
ment and uncompromising proscription of
the folly and guilt of idolatry. Tertullian
marks, as it were, the period of transition,
though his fiery temper may perhaps have
anticipated the time when Christianity, in
the consciousness of strength, instead of
endeavouring to appease or avert the wrath
of hostile paganism, might defy it to dead-
ly strife. The earliest extant apology, that
of Justin Martyr, is by no means severe in
argument or vigorous in style, and, though
not altogether abstaining from recrimina-
tion, is still rather humble and deprecatory
in its tone. The short apologetic ora-
tions—as the Christians had to encounter
not merely the general hostility of the gov-
ernment or people, but direct and argu-
mentative treatises, written against them
by the philosophic party—gradually swell-
ed into books. The first of these is per-
haps the best, that of Origen against Cel-
sus. The intellect of Origen, notwith-
standing its occasional fantastic aberra-
tions, appears to us more suitable to
grapple with this lofty argument than the
diffuse and excursive Eusebius, whose
evangelic Preparation and Demonstration
heaped together vast masses of curious
but by no means convincing learning, and
the feebler and less candid Cyril, in his
books against Julian. We have already
noticed the great work which, perhaps,
might be best arranged under this head,
the “ City of God” of St. Augustine ; but
there was one short treatise which may
vindicate the Christian Latin literature
from the charge of barbarism : perhaps no
late work, either pagan or Christian, le
minds us of the golden days of Latin prose
so much as the Octavius of Minucius Fe
lix.

II. The Hermeneutics, or the interpre-
tation of the sacred writers, might Hermeneu-
be expected to have more real tics-
value and authority than can be awarded
them by sober and dispassionate judgment.
But it cannot be denied that almost all
these writers, including those of the high-
est name, are fanciful in their inferences,
discover mysteries in the plainest sen-
tences, wander away from the clear his-
torical, moral, or religious meaning into a
long train of corollaries, at which we ar-
rive we know not how. Piety, in fact,
read in the Scripture whatever it chose to
read, and the devotional feeling it excited
was at once the end and the test of the bibiiHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

■485

cal commentary. But the character of the
age, and the school in which the Christian
teachers were trained, must here, as in
other cases, be taken into account. The
most sober Jewish system of interpreta-
tion (setting aside the wild- cabalistic no-
tions of the significance of letters, the fre-
quency of . their recurrence, their colloca-
tion, and all those wild theories which
were engendered by a servile veneration
of the very form and language of the sa-
cred writings) allowed itself at least an
equal latitude of authoritative inference.
The Platonists spun out the thoughts or
axioms of their master into as fine and
subtle a web of mystic speculation. The
general principle of an esoteric or recon-
dite meaning in all works which command-
ed veneration was universally received;
it was this principle upon which the Gnos-
tic sects formed all their vague and mystic
theories ; and if in this respect the Chris-
tian teachers did not bind themselves by
much severer rules of reasoning than pre-
vailed around them on all sides, they may
have been actuated partly by some jeal-
ousy lest their own plainer and simpler
sacred writings should appear dry and bar-
ren in comparison with the rich and im-
aginative freedom of their adversaries.

III. The expositions of faith and prac-
Expositions tice may comprehend all the
of Fait.h. smaller treatises on particular
duties ; prayer, almsgiving, marriage, and
celibacy. They depend, of course, for their
merit and authority on the character of
the writer.

IV. Christianity might appear, if we
Polemical judge by the proportion which the
writings. Controversial writings bear to the
rest of Christian literature, to have intro-
duced an element of violent and impla-
cable discord. Nor does the tone of these
polemical writings, by which alone we can
judge of the ancient heresies, of which
their own accounts have almost entirely
perished, impress us very favourably with
their fairness or candour. But it must be
remembered that, after all, the field of lit-
erature was not the arena in which the
great contest between Christianity and the
world was waged; it was in the private
circle of each separate congregation,
which was constantly but silently enlar-
ging its boundaries ; it was the immediate
contact of mind with mind, the direct in-
fluence of the Christian clergy, and even
the more pious of the laity, which were
tranquilly and noiselessly pursuing their
course of conversion.*

* I might, perhaps, have made another and a very
interesting branch of the prose Christian literature,
the epistolary. The letters of the great writers

These treatises, however, were princi
pally addressed to the clergy, and through
them worked downward into the mass of
the Christian people : even with the more
rapid and frequent communication which
took place in the Christian world, they
were but partially and imperfectly dissem-
inated ; but that which became another
considerable and important part of their
literature, their oratory, had in the first
instance been directly addressed to the
popular mind, and formed the chief part
of the popular instruction. Christian
preaching had opened a new field for elo-
quence.

V. Oratory—that oratory, at least, which
communicates its own impulses Christian
and passions to the heart; which oratory,
not merely persuades the reason, but
sways the whole soul of man—had suffer-
ed a long and total silence. It had every-
where expired with the republican insti-
tutions. The discussions in the senate
had been controlled by the imperial pres-
ence ; and even if the Roman senators
had asserted the fullest freedom of speech,
and allowed themselves the most exciting
fervour of language, this was but one as-
sembly in a single city, formed out of a
confined aristocracy. The municipal as-
semblies were alike rebuked by the awe
of a presiding master, the provincial gov-
ernor, and, of course, afforded a less open
field for stirring and general eloquence.
The perfection of jurisprudence had prob-
ably been equally fatal to judicial oratory,
we hear of great lawyers, but not of dis-
tinguished advocates. The highest flight
of pagan oratory which remains is in the
adulatory panegyrics of the emperors,
pronounced by rival candidates for favour.
Rhetoric was taught, indeed, and practised
as a liberal, but it had sunk into a mere,
art; it was taught by salaried professors
in all the great towns to the higher youth;
but they were mere exercises of fluent
diction, on trite or obsolete subjects, the
characters of the heroes of the Iliad, or
some subtle question of morality.* It is
impossible to conceive a more sudden and

form one of the most valuable parts of their works.
The Latin fathers, however, maintain that superi-
ority over the Greek, which in classical times is as-
serted by Cicero and Pliny. The lette s of Cyprian
and Ambrose are of the highest interest as historical
documents; those of Jerome for mariners; those of
Augustine, perhaps for style. They far surpass
those of Chrysostom, which we must, however, rec-
ollect were written from his dreary and monoto-
nous place of exile. Yet Chrysostom’s are superior
to that dullest of all collections, the huge folio of
the letters of Libanius.

* The declamations of Quintilian are no doubt
favourable specimens both of the subjects and tfoj
style of these orators.484

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

total change than from the school of the
rhetorician to a crowded Christian church.
The orator suddenly emerged from a list-
less audience of brother scholars, before
whom he had discussed some one of those
trivial questions according to formal rules,
and whose ear could require no more than
terseness or elegance of diction, and a just
distribution of the argument: emotion
was neither expected nor could be exci-
ted. He found himself among a breath-
less and anxious multitude, whose eternal
destiny might seem to hang on his lips,
catching up and treasuring his words as
those of Divine inspiration, and interrupt-
ing his more eloquent passages by almost
involuntary acclamations.* The orator
in the best days of Athens, the tribune in
the most turbulent periods of Rome, had
not such complete hold upon the minds of
his hearers ; and, but that the sublime na-
ture of his subject usually lay above the
sphere of immediate action ; but that, the
purer and loftier its tone, if it found instan-
taneous sympathy, yet it also met the con-
stant inert resistance of prejudice, and ig-
norance, and vice do its authority, the
power with which this privilege of orato-
ry would have invested the clergy would
have been far greater than that of any of
the former political or sacerdotal domina-
tions. Wherever the oratory of the pul-
pit coincided with human passion, it was
irresistible; and sometimes, when it reso-
lutely encountered it, it might extort an
unwilling triumph : when it appealed to
faction, to ferocity, to sectarian animosi-
ty, it swept away its audience like a tor-
rent to any violence or madness at which
it aimed; when to virtue, to piety, to
peace, it at times subdued the most re-
fractory, and received the homage of de-
vout obedience.

The bishop in general, at least when
the hierarchical power became more dom-
inant, reserved for himself an office so
productive of influence and so liable to
abuse.f But men like Athanasius or Au-

* These acclamations sometimes rewarded the
more eloquent and successful teachers of rhetoric.
Themistius speaks of the £K6o7jG£ic re nal upb-
Tovg, olcdv ,&afid diTO?,avov<7L nap’ vpiCdv ol dat-
ftovioi aotpLoral. — Basanistes, p. 236, edit. Dein-
dorf. Compare the note. Chrysostom’s works are
full of allusions to these acclamations.

f The laity were long permitted to address the
people in the absence of the clergy. It was object-
ed to the Bishop Demetrius, that he had permitted
an unprecedented innovation in the case of Origen:
he had allowed a layman to teach when the bishop
was present.—Euseb., E. H., vi., 19. rO diddvKov,
ei Kal hainog rj, £fin£ipog 6b rov 16yov} ical rov
rponov u£(Jivbg, SidaoKbrcd.—Constit. A post., viii.,
32. Laicus, praesentibus clericis, nisi illis juben-

gustine were not compelled to wait loi
that qualification of rank. They received
the ready permission of the bishop to ex-
ercise at once this important function. 3n
general, a promising orator would rarely
want opportunity of distinction; and he
who had obtained celebrity would fre-
quently be raised by general acclamation,
or by a just appreciation of his useful-
ness by the higher clergy, to an episcopal
throne.

But it is difficult to conceive the gen-
eral effect produced by this devotion of
oratory to its new office. From this time,
instead or seizing casual opportunities of
working on the mind and heart of man, it
was constantly, regularly, in every part
of the empire, with more or less energy,
with greater or less commanding author-
ity, urging the doctrines of Christianity
on awe-struck and submissive hearers.
It had, of course, as it always has had, its
periods of more than usual excitement, ils
sudden parox3^sms of power, by which it
convulsed some part of society. The
constancy and regularity with which, in
the ordinary course of things, it dischar-
ged its function, may in some degree have
deadened its influence ; and, in the period
of ignorance and barbarism, the instruc-
tion was chiefly through the ceremonial,
the symbolic worship, the painting, and
even the dramatic representation.

Still, this new moral power, though in-
termitted at times, and even suspended,
was almost continually operating, in its
great and sustained energy, throughout
the Christian world; though, of course,
strongly tempered with the dominant spirit
of Christianity, and, excepting in those
periods either ripe for or preparing some
great change in religious sentiment or
opinion, the living and general expression
of the prevalent Christianity, it was always
in greater or less activity, instilling the
broader principles of Christian faith and
morals ; if superstitious, rarely altogether
silent; if appealing to passions which

tibus, docere non audeat.— Cone. Garth., can. 98.
Jerome might be supposed, in his indignant remon-
strance against the right which almost all assumed
of interpreting the Scriptures, to be writing of later
days. Quod medicorum est, promittunt medici,
tractant fabrilia fabri. Sola Scripturorum ars est,
quam sibi omnes passim vindicant. Scribimus, in-
docti doctique poemata passim. Hancgamila anus,
banc delirus senex, hanc sophista verbosus, hanc
universi praesumunt, lacerant, docent antequam dis
cant. Alii addicto supercilio, grandia verba truti
nantes, inter mulierculas de sacris literis philoso-
phantur. Alii discunt, proh pudor ! a feminis, quod
viros doceant: et ne parum hoc sit quadam facili-
tate verborum, imo audacia, edisserunt aliis quod
ipsi non intelligunt.—Epist. 1., ad Paulinum, vol.
iv., p. 571.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

485

ought to have been rebuked before its
voice, and exciting those feelings of hos-
tility between conflicting sects which it
should have allayed; yet even then in
some heartsfts gentler and more Christian
tones made a profound and salutary im-
pression, while its more violent language
fell off without mingling with the uncon-
genial feelings. The great principles of
the religion—the providence of God, the re-
demption by Christ, the immortality of the
soul, future retribution—gleamed through
all the fantastic and legendary lore with
which :t was encumbered and obscured in
the darker ages. Christianity first im-
posed it as a duty on one class of men to
be constantly enforcing moral and reli-
gious truth on all mankind. Though that
duty, of course, was discharged with very
different energy, judgment, and success
at different periods, it was always a strong
counteracting power, an authorized, and,
in general, respected remonstrance against
lhe vices and misery of mankind. Man
was perpetually reminded that lie was an

immortal being, under the protection of a
wise ai$ all-ruling Providence, and des-
tined for a higher state of existence.

Nor was this influence only immediate
and temporary : Christian oratory did not
cease to speak when its echoes had died
away upon the ear, and fits expressions
faded from the hearts of those to whom ii
was addressed. The orations of the Basils
and Chrysostoms, the Ambroses and Au-
gustines, became one of the most important
parts of Christian literature. That elo-
quence which in Rome and Greece had
been confined to civil and judicial affairs,
was now inseparably connected with re-
ligion. The oratory of the pulpit took its
place with that of the bar, the comitia, or
the senate, as the historical record of that
which once had powerfully moved the
minds of multitudes. No part of Christian
literature so vividly reflects the times, the
tone of religious doctrine or sentiment, in
many cases the manners, habits, and char-
acter of the'period, as the sermons of the
leading teachers.

CHAPTER IV.

CHRISTIANITY AND THE FINE ARTS.

As in literature, so in the fine arts, Chris-

Fine arts ^an^y to awa^ that period in:
me ar s* which it should become complete-
ly interwoven with the feelings and moral
being of mankind, before it could put forth
all its creative energies, and kindle into
active productiveness those new principles
of the noble and the beautiful which it in-
fused into the human imagination. The
dawn of a new civilization must be the
first epoch for the development of Chris-
tian art. The total disorganization of so-
ciety which was about to take place, im-
plied the total suspension of the arts which
embellish social life. The objects of ad-
miration were swept away by the destruc-
tive ravages of barbarian warfare; or,
where they were left in contemptuous in-
difference, the mind had neither leisure to
indulge, nor refinement enough to feel,
this admiration, which belongs to a more
secure state of society, and of repose from
the more pressing toils and anxieties of
life.

This suspended animation of the fine
arts was of course different in degree in
the various parts of Europe, in proportion
as they were exposed to the ravages of
war, the comparative barbarism of the
tribes by which they were overrun, the

station held by the clergy, the security
which they could command by the sanctity
of their character, and their disposable
wealth. At every period, from Theodorie,
who dwelt with vain fondness over the last
struggles of decaying art, to Charlemagne,
who seemed to hail, with prophetic taste,
the hope of its revival, there is no period
in which the tradition of art was not pre-
served in some part of Europe, though ob-
scured by ignorance, barbarism, and that
still worse enemy, if possible, false and
meretricious taste. Christianity, in every
branch of the arts, preserved something
from the general wreck, and brooded in
silence over the imperfect rudiments of
each, of which it was the sole conservator.
The mere mechanical skill of working
stone, of delineating the human face, and
of laying on colours so as to produce some-
thing like illusion, was constantly exer-
cised in the works which religion required
to awaken the torpid emotions of an ig*
norant and superstitious people.#

In all the arts, Christianity was at first,
of course, purely imitative, and imitative
of the prevalent degenerate style. It had

* The Iconoclasts had probably more influence
in barbarizing the East tnan the Barbarians them-
selves in the West.486

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY

not yet felt its strength, and dared not de-
velop, or dreamed not of, those latent prin-
ciples which lay beneath its religion, and
which hereafter were to produce works, in
its own style and its own department, ri-
valling all the wonders of antiquity ; when
the extraordinary creations of its proper
architecture were to arise, far surpassing
in the skill of their construction, in their
magnitude more than equalling them, and
in their opposite indeed, but not less ma-
jestic style, vindicating the genius of Chris-
tianity ; when Italy was to transcend an-
cient Greece in painting as much as the
whole modern world is inferior in the rival
art of sculpture.

I. Architecture was the first of these arts

■ u. t which was summoned to the

Arctmecmre. Qf christianity_ The

devotion of the earlier ages .did not need,
and could not command, this subsidiary to
pious emotion ; it imparted sanctity to the
meanest building; now it would not be con-
tent without enshrining its triumphant wor-
ship in a loftier edifice. Religion at once
offered this proof of its sincerity by the sac-
rifice of wealth to this hallowed purpose ;
and the increasing splendour of the reli-
gious edifices reacted upon the general de-
votion, by the feelings of awe and venera-
tion which they inspired. Splendour, how-
ever, did not disdain to be subservient to
use; and the arrangements of the new
buildings, which arose in all quarters, or
were diverted to this new object, accom-
modated themselves to the Christian cere-
monial. In the East, we have already
shown, in the Church of Tyre described by
Eusebius, the ancient temple lending its
model to the Christian church ; and the ba-
silica in the West, adapted with still greater
ease and propriety for Christian worship.*
There were many distinctive points which
materially affected the style of Christian
architecture. The simplicity of the Gre-
cian temple, as it has been shown,f harmo-
nized perfectly only with its own form of
worship ; it was more of a public place,
sometimes indeed hypoethral, or open to
the air. The Christian worship demanded
more complete enclosure ; the church was
more of a chamber, in which the voice of
an individual could be distinctly heard;
and the whole assembly of worshippers,
sheltered from the change or inclemency
of the weather, or the intrusion of unau-
thorized persons, might listen in undis-
turbed devotion to the prayer, the reading
of the Scriptures, or the preacher.

One consequence of this was the neces-
sity of regular apertures for the admission

* See p. 269,270.

f See p. 306, 308.

of light ;* and these imperatively ,
demanded a departure from the mdom>
plan of temple architecture.

Windows had been equally necessary in
the basilic® for the public legal proceed-
ings ; the reading legal documents requi
red a bright and full light; and in the basil
ic® the windows were numerous and large.
The nave, probably from the earliest p< riod,
was lighted by cleristory windows, v hich
were above the roof of the lower aisles.f

Throughout the West, the practice of
converting the basilica into the church con-
tinued to a late period; the very name
seemed appropriate : the royal hall was
changed into a dwelling for the GREAT
K1JNG.J

The more minute subdivision of the in-
ternal arrangement contributed subdivisions
to form the peculiar character of the buiid-
of Christian architecture. The ms*
different orders of Christians were distrib-
uted according to their respective degrees
of proficiency. But, besides this, the
church had inherited from the synagogue*
and from the general feeling of the East,
the principle of secluding the female part
of the worshippers. Enclosed galleries
on a higher level were probably common
in the synagogues ; and this arrangement
appears to have been generally adopted in
the earlier Christian churches. §

* In the fanciful comparison (in H. E., x., 4)

which Eusebius draws between the different parts
of the church and the different gradations of cate-
chumens, he speaks of the most perfect as ‘‘shone
on by the light through the windowsrovg 6s
TTpog to (j>fig avotyfiacL Karavya&i. He seems to
describe the temple as full of light, emblematical of
the heavenly light diffused by Christ; Xaftirpov Kat
forog e/n7r%eG> ra rs svdoOev Kal ra surog: but it
is not easy to discover where his metaphor ends and
his fact begins.—See Ciampini, vol. i., p. 74.

f The size of the windows has been disputed by
Christian antiquaries : some asserted that the early
Christians, accustomed to the obscurity of their
crypts and catacombs, preferred narrow apertures
for light; others, that the services, especially read-
ing the Scriptures, required it to be both bright and
equally diffused. Ciampini, as an Italian, prefers
the latter, and sarcastically alludes to the narrow
windows of Gothic architecture, introduced by the
“ Vandals,” whose first object being to exclude the
cold of their northern climate, they contracted the
windows to the narrowest dimensions possible. In
the monastic churches the light was excluded, quia
monachis meditantibus fortasse officiebat, quomi-
nus possent intento animo soli Deo vacare.—Ciam-
pini, Vetera Monumenta. The author considers
that the parochial or cathedral churches may in
general be distinguished from the monastic by this
test

t Basilic® prius vocabantur regum habitacula,
nunc autem ideo basilic® divina templa nominan-
tur, quia ibi Regi omnium Deo cultus et sacrificia
offeruntur.---Isidor.,.Orig., lib. 5. Basilic® olim ne-
gotiis p®ne, nunc votis pro tua salute susceptis.—
Auson., Grat. Act. pro Consul.

§ Populi confluunt ad ecclesias castacelebrifcats,HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

48T

This greater internal complexity neces-
sarily led to still farther departure from the
simplicity of design in the exterior plan and
elevation. The single or the double row
of columns, reaching from the top to the
bottom of the building, with the long and
unbroken horizontal line of the roof repo-
sing upon it, would give place to rows of
unequal heights, or to the division into
separate stories.

The same process had probably taken
place in the palatial architecture at Rome.
Instead of one order of columns, which
reached from the top to the bottom of the
buildings, rows of columns, one above the
other, marked the different stories into
which the building was divided.

Christianity thus, from the first, either
at once assumed, or betrayed its tendency
to, its peculiar character. Its harmony
was not that of the Greek, arising from
the breadth and simplicity of one design,
which, if at times too vast for the eye to
contemplate at a single glance, was com-
prehended and felt at once by the mind;
of which the lines were all horizontal and
regular, and the general impression a ma-
jestic or graceful uniformity, either awful
from its massiveness or solidity, or pleas-
ing from its lightness and delicate propor-
tion.

The harmony of the Christian building
(if in fact it attained, before its perfection
in the mediaeval Gothic, to that first prin-
ciple of architecture) consisted in the com-
bination of many separate parts duly bal-
anced into one whole; the subordination
of the accessories to the principal object;
the multiplication of distinct objects coa-
lescing into one rich and effective mass,
and pervaded and reduced to a kind of
symmetry by one general character in the
various lines and in the style of ornament.

This predominance of complexity over
simplicity, of variety over symmetry, was
no doubt greatly increased by the build-
ings which, from an early period, arose
around the central church, especially in
all the monastic institutions. The baptis-
tery was often a separate building; and fre-
quently, in the ordinary structures for wor-
ship, dwellings for the officiating priest-
hood were attached to, or adjacent to, the
church. The Grecian temple appears oft-
en to have stood alone, on the brow of a
hill, in a grove, or in some other command-
ing or secluded situation ; in Rome, many
of the pontifical offices were held by pa-
tricians, who occupied their own palaces ;
out the Eastern temples were in general

honesta utriusque sexus discretione.—August., do
Div. Dei, ii., 28. Compare Bingham, viii., 5, 5.

surrounded by spacious courts, and with
buildings for the residence of the sacerdo-
tal colleges. If these were not the mod-
els of the Christian establishments, the
same ecclesiastical arrangements, the in-
stitution of a numerous and wealthy priest-
ly order attached to the churches, de-
manded the same accommodation. Thus
a multitude of subordinate buildings would
crowd around the central or more eminent
house of God ; at first, where mere con-
venience was considered, and where the
mind had not awakened to the solemn im-
pressions excited by vast and various ar-
chitectural works, combined by a conge-
nial style of building, and harmonized by
skilful arrangement and subordination,
they would be piled together irregularly
and capriciously, obscuring that which
was really grand, and displaying irrever-
ent confusion rather than stately order.
Gradually, as the sense of grandeur and
solemnity dawned upon the mind, there
would arise the desire of producing one
general effect and impression ; but this, no
doubt, was the later development of a prin-
ciple which, if at first dimly perceived,
was by no means rigidly or consistently
followed out. We must wait many cen-
turies before we reach the culminating pe-
riod of genuine Christian architecture.

II. Sculpture alone, of the fine arts, has
been faithful to its parent pagan- ^u]l)ture
ism. It has never cordially im-
bibed the spirit of Christianity. Th-e sec-
ond creative epoch (how poor, compara-
tively, in fertility and originality!) was
contemporary and closely connected with
the revival of classical literature in Eu-
rope. It has lent itself to Christian sen-
timent chiefly in two forms ; as necessary
and subordinate to architecture, and as
monumental sculpture.

Christianity was by no means so intol-
erant, at least after its first period, of the
remains of ancient sculpture, or so perse-
veringly hostile to the art, as might have
been expected from its severe aversion to
idolatry. The earlier fathers, indeed, con-
demn the arts of sculpture and of painting
as inseparably connected with paganism.
Every art which frames an image is irre-
claimably idolatrous ;* and the stern Ter-
tullian reproaches Hermogenes with the
two deadly sins of painting and marrying.f

* Ubi artifices statu arum et imaginum et omnis
generis simulachrorum diabolus sseculo intulit;
caput facta est idolatrise ars omnis quse idolum quo-
que modo edit.—Tertull, de Idolat., c. iii. He has
no language to express his horror that makers of
images should be admitted into the clerical order.

t Pingit illicite, nubit assidue, legem Dei in li-
bidinem defendit, in artem contemnit; bis falsarius
et cauterio et stylo.—In Hermog., cap.i. Cautem488

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

The Council of Elvira proscribed paintings
on the walls of churches,* * which never-
theless became a common usage during
the two next centuries.

In all respects this severer sentiment
was mitigated by time. The civil uses of
sculpture were generally recognised. The
Christian emperors erected, or permitted
the adulation of their subjects to erect,
their statues in the different cities. That
of Constantine on the great porphyry col-
umn, with its singular and unchristian con-
fusion of attributes, has been already no-
ticed. Philostorgius indeed asserts that
this statue became an object of worship
even to the Christians; that lights and
frankincense were offered before it, and
that the image was worshipped as that of
a tutelary god.f The sedition in Antioch
arose out of insults to the statues of the
emperors,J and the erection of the statue
of the empress before the great church in
Constantinople gave rise to the last dis-
turbance, which ended in the exile of Chry-
sostom.§ The statue of the emperor was
long the representative of the imperial
presence ; it was reverenced in the capi-
tal and in the provincial cities with hon-
ours approaching to adoration. || The
modest law of Theodosius, by which he
attempted to regulate these ceremonies,
of which the adulations bordered at times
on impiety, expressly reserved the exces-
sive honours, sometimes lavished on these
statues at the public games, for the su-
preme Deity.^f

The statues even of the gods were con-
demned with some reluctance and re-
morse. No doubt iconoclasm, under the
first edicts of the emperors, raged in the
provinces with relentless violence. Yet
Constantine, we have seen, did not scru-

refers to encaustic painting. The Apostolic Con-
stitutions reckon a# maker of idols with persons of
infamous character and profession, viii., 32.

* Placuitpicturasin ecclesia esse non debere, ne
quod colitur et adoratur, in parietibus depingatur.—
Can. xxxvi.

f P. 305. Philostorg., ii., 17.

t P.396. ^ $ P.404.

II E2 yap fiaGiXeog dirovrog eifccbv avarcTir/poi
j3(i(nMo)g, Kal rrpoGKvvovGiv apxovreg teal
lepofiTjviai £7UT8AOvvrac, Kal apxovreg VTravrfiGi,
teal dfjpoc rrpoGKvvovGiv ov 7Tpog rrjv aavitia (3Mrr-
nvreg aXXd rrpbg rov xapaKrripa rov fiaGiXecjg,
ovk kv tt\ (j)VG€i /&eopovpevov litW kv ypaorj reapa-
deiKWfi^vov.—Joann. Damasccn., de Imagin., orat.
9. Jerome, however (on Daniel), compares it to
the worship demanded by Nebuchadnezzar. Ergo
judices et principes ssecuh, qui imperatorum statu-
as adorant et imagines, hoc se facere intelligent
quod tres pueri facere nolentes placudre Deo.

They were to prove their loyalty by the respect
which they felt for the statue in their secret hearts :
excedens cultura hominum dignitatum superno nu-
mini reservetur.—Cod. Theod., xv, 4, 1.

I pie to adorn his capital with images, bou>
i of gods and men, plundered indiscrimi-
1 nately from the temples of Greece. The
1 Christians, indeed, asserted that they wp’ e
set up for scorn and contempt.

Even Theodosius exempts such sta ues
as were admirable as works of art from the
common sentence of destruction.* This
doubtful toleration of profane art gradu-
ally gave place to the admission of art
into the service of Christianity.

Sculpture, and, still more, Painting, were
received as the ministers of Christian pie-
ty, and allowed to lay their offerings at
the feet of the new religion.

But the commencement of Christian art
was slow, timid, and rude. It long pre-
ferred allegory to representation, the true
and legitimate object of art.f It expand-
ed but tardily during the first centuries,
from the significant symbol to the human
form in colour or in marble.

The cross was long the primal, and
even the sole, symbol of Christianity—the
cross in its rudest and its most artless
form—for many centuries elapsed before
the image of the Saviour was wrought
upon it.J It was the copy of the com-
mon instrument of ignominious execution
in all its nakedness ; and nothing, indeed,
so powerfully attests the triumph of Chris-
tianity as the elevation of this, which to
the Jew and to the heathen was the ba-
sest, the most degrading, punishment of
the lowest criminal,! the proverbial ter-

* A particular temple was to remain open, in qua
simulacra feruntur posita, artis pretio quam divin-
itate metienda.—Cod. Theod., xvi., 10, 8.

t Rumohr., Italienische Forschungen, i., p. 158.
We want the German'words andeutung (allusion or
suggestion, but neither conveys the same forcible
sense), and darstellung, actual representation or
placing before the sight. The artists who employ
the first can only address minds already furnished
with the key to the symbolic or allegoric form.
Imitation (the genuine object of art) speaks to all
mankind.

t The author has expressed in .a former work his
impression on this most remarkable fact in the his-
tory of Christianity.

“In one respect it is impossible now to conceive
the extent to which the apostles of the crucified Je-
sus shocked all the feelings of mankind. The pub-
lic establishment of Christianity, the adoration of
ages, the reverence of nations, has thrown around
the cross of Christ an indelible and inalienable
sanctity. No effort of the imagination can dissi-
pate the illusion of dignity which has gathered
round it; it has been so long dissevered from all
its coarse and humiliating associations, that it can-
not be cast back and desecrated into its state of op-
probrium and contempt. . To the most daring unbe-
liever among ourselves it is the symbol—the absurd
and irrational, he may conceive, but still the an-
cient and venerable symbol—of a powerful and in-
fluential religion. What was it to the Jew and the
heathen ? the basest, the most degrading punish-
ment of the lowest criminal, the proverbial: eirorHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

489

ror of the wretched slave, into an object
for the adoration of ages, the reverence of
nations. The glowing language of Chry-
sostom expresses the universal sanctity
of the cross in the fourth century. “ No-
thing so highly adorns the imperial crown
as the cross, which is more precious than
the whole world : its form, at which, of
old, men shuddered with horror, is now
so eagerly and emulously sought for, that
it is found among princes and subjects,
men and women, virgins and matrons,
slaves and freemen ; for all bear it about,
perpetually impressed onHhe most hon-
ourable part of the body, or on the fore-
head, as on a pillar. This appears in the
sacred temple, in the ordination of priests;
it shines again on the body of the Lord,
and in the mystic supper. It is to be
seen everywhere in honour, in the private
house and the public market-place, in the
desert, in the highway, on mountains, in
forests, on hills, on the sea, in ships, on
islands, on our beds and on our clothes,
on our arms, in our chambers, in our ban-
quets, on gold and silver vessels, on gems,
in the paintings of our walls, on the bodies
of diseased beasts, on human bodies pos-
sessed by devils, in war and peace, by day,
by night, in the dances of the feasting, and
the meetings of the fasting and praying.”
In the time of Chrysostom the legend of
the Discovery of the True Cross was gen-
erally received. “ Why do all men vie
with each other to approach that true
cross on which the sacred body was cru-
cified 1 Why do many, women as well as
men, bear fragments of it set in gold as
ornaments round their necks, though it
was the sign of condemnation! Even em-
perors have laid aside the diadem to take
up the cross.”* *

A more various symbolism gradually
grew up, and extended to what
Symbolism. approache(i nearer to works of

art. Its rude designs were executed in

of the wretched slave ! It was to them what the
most despicable and revolting instrument of public
execution is to us. Yet to the cross of Christ men
turned from deities, in which were imbodied every,
attribute of strength, power, and dignity,” &c.—'
Milman’s Bampton Lectures, p. 279.

* Chrysost., Oper., vol. i., p. 57, 569. See in
Miinter’s work (p. 68, et seq), the various forms
which the cross assumed, and the fanciful notions
concerning it.

Ipsa species crucis quid est nisi forma quadrata
mundi? Oriens de vertice fulgens; Arcton dextra
tenet; Auster in laeva consistit; Occidens sub plan-
tis formatur. Unde Apostolus di-cit: ut sciamus,
quse sit altitudo, et latitudo, et longitudo, et profun-
dum. Aves quando volant ad mthera, formam cru-
cis assumunt; homo natans per aquas, vel orans,
forma crucis vehitur. Navis per maria antenna
cruci similata sufflatur. Thau iitera signum salu-
tis et crucis describitur.—Hieronym, in Marc,, xv.

3 Q

engravings on seals, or on lamps, or glass
vessels, and, before long, in relief on mar-
ble, or in paintings on the walls of the
cemeteries. The earliest of these were
the seal rings, of which many now exist,
with Gnostic symbols and inscriptions.
These seals were considered indispensa-
ble in ancient housekeeping. The Chris-
tian was permitted, according to Clem-
ent of Alexandra, to bestow on his wife
one ring of gold, in order that., being
intrusted with the care of his domestic
concerns, she might seal up that which
might be insecure. But these rings must
not have any idolatrous engraving, only
such as might suggest Christian or gentle
thoughts, the dove,the fish* the ship, the
anchor, or the apostolic fisherman fishing
for men, which would remind them of
children drawn out of the waters of- bap-
tism. f Tertullian mentions a communion
cup with the image of the Good Shepherd
embossed upon it.* But Christian symbol-
ism soon disdained these narrow limits,
extended itself into the whole domain of
the Old Testament as well as of the Gos-
pel, and even ventured at times over the
unhallowed borders of paganism. The
persons and incidents of the Old Testa-
ment had all a typical or allegorical refer-
ence to the doctrines of Christianity.!
Adam asleep, while Eve was taken from
his side, represented the death of Christ;
Eve, the mother of all who are bom to
new life ; Adam and Eve with the serpent
had a latent allusion to the new Adam and
the Cross. Cain and Abel, Noah and the
ark, with the dove and the olive branch, the
sacrifice of Isaac, Joseph sold by his breth-
ren as a bondslave, Moses by the burning
bush, breaking the tables of the law, stri-
king water from the rock, with Pharaoh
perishing in the Red Sea, the ark of God,
Samson bearing the gates of Gaza, Job on
the dung-heap, David and Goliath, Elijah
in the car of fire, Tobias with the fish.
Daniel in the lions’ den, Jonah issuing from
the whale’s belly or under the gourd, the
three children in the fiery furnace, Ezekiel
by the valley of dead bones, were favourite
subjects, and had all their mystic signifi-
cance. They reminded the devout wor-
shipper of the sacrifice, resurrection, and
redemption of Christ. The direct illustra-
tions of the New Testament showed the
Lord of the Church on a high mountain,
witk four rivers, the Gospels, flowing from

* The ’IX0YS, according to the rule of the an-
cient. anagram, meant 'Iriaovg XpcaTog Oeov Tiog
Swr^p.

f Clem. Alex., Psedagog., iii., 2.

t See Mamachi, De Costumi di’ primitm Chris
tiani, lib. i., c. iv.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANIT'

490

it; the Good Shepherd bearing the lamb,*
and sometimes the apostles and saints of
a later time, appeared in the'symbols.
Paganism lent some of her spoils to the
conqueror.f The Saviour was represent-
ed under the person and with the lyre of
Orpheus, either as the civilizer of men, or
in allusion to the Orphic poetry, which had
already been interpolated with Christian
images. Hence also the lyre was the em-
blem of truth. Other images, particularly
those of animals, were not uncommon. J
The Church was represented by a ship,
the anchor denoted the pure ground of.
faith; the stag implied the hart which
thirsted after the water-brooks ; the horse
the rapidity with which men ought to. run
and embrace the doctrine of salvation ;
the hare the timid Christian hunted by
persecutors ; the lion prefigured strength,
or appeared as the emblem of the tribe of
Judah; the fish was an anagram of the
Saviour’s name ; the dove indicated the
simplicity, the cock the vigilance, of the
Christian; the peacock and the phoenix
the resurrection.

But these were simple and artless me-
morials, to which devotion gave all their
value and significance ; in themselves they

* There is a heathen prototype (see R. Rochette)

even for this good shepherd, and one of the earliest
images is encircled with the “ Four Reasons,” rep-
resented by genii with pagan attributes.—Compare
Miinter, p. 61. Tombstones, and even inscriptions,
were freely borrowed. One Christian tomb has
been published by P. Lupi, inscribed “ Diis Man-
ibus.” . .

t In three very curious dissertations m the last
volume of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscrip-
tions on works of art in the catacombs of Rome, M.
Raoul Rochette has shown how much, either
through the employment of heathen artists, or their
yet imperfectly unheathenized Christianity, the
Christians borrowed from the monumental decora-
tions, the symbolic figures, and even the inscrip-
tions of heathenism. M. Rochette says, “ La phys-
ionomie presque payenne qu’offre la decoration des
catacombes de Rome,” p. 96. The Protestant trav-
ellers, Burnet and Misson, from the singular mix-
ture of the sacred and profane in these monuments,
inferred that these catacombs were common places
of burial for heathens and Christians. The Roman
antiquarians, however, have clearly proved the con-
trary. M. Raoul Rochette, as well as M. Rostelli
(in an Essay in the Roms Beschreibung), considers
this point conclusively made out in favour ef the
Roman writers M. R. Rochette has adduced mon-
uments in which the symbolic images and the lan-
guage of heathenism and Christianity are strangely
mingled together. Miinter had observed the Jordan
represented as a river god.

% The catacombs at Rome are the chief authori-
ties for this symbolic school of Christian art. They
are represented in the works of Bosio, Roma Sot-
teranea, Aringhi, Bottari, and Boldetti But per-
haps the best view of them, being in fact a very ju-
dicious and well-arranged selection of the most cu-
rious works of early Christian art, may be found in
the Sinnbilder und Kunstvorstellungen der alten
Christen, by Bishop Miinter.

neither had, nor aimed at, grandeur or
beauty. They touched the soul by the
reminiscences, which they awakened or
the thoughts- which they suggested they
had nothing of that inherent power over
the emotions of the soul which belongs to
the higher works of art.*

Art must draw nearer to human nature
and to the truth of life before it can ac-
complish its object. The elements of this
feeling, even the first sense of external
grandeur and beauty, had yet to be infu-
sed into the Christian mind. The pure,
and holy, and majestic inward thoughts
and sentifnents had to work into form, and
associate themselves with appropriate vis-
ible images. 'Phis want and this desire
were long unfelt.

The person of the Saviour was a subject
of grave dispute among the old- person 0f
er fathers. Some took the ex- the Saviour,
pressions of the sacred writings in a literal
sense, and insisted that his outward form
was mean and unseemly. Justin Martyr
speaks of his want of form and comeli-
ness.f Tertullian, who could not but be
in extremes, expresses the same sentiment
with his accustomed vehemence. The
person of Christ wanted not merely Divine
majesty, but even human beauty.f Clem-
ent of Alexandrea maintains the same
opinion.§ But the most curious illustra-
tion of this notion occurs in the work of
Origen against Celsus. In the true spirit
of Grecian art and philosophy, Celsus de-
nies that the Deity could dwell in a mean
form or low stature. Origen is embar-

* All these works in their different forms are ir

general of coarse and inferior, execu tion. The fune
real vases found in the Christian cemeteries, are of
the lowest style of workmanship. The senatoi
Buonarotti, in his work “ De’ Vetri Cemeteriali,’
thus accounts for this : “ Stettero sempre lontane
di quelle arti, colie quali avessero potuto correr pe
ricolo di contaminarsi colla idolatria, e da cio avven
ne, che pochi, o niuno di essi si diede alia pittura C
alia scultura, le quali aveano per oggettoprincipale
di rappresentare le deita, e le favole de’ gentili.
Sicche volendo i fedeli adornar con simboli devoti i
loro vasi, erano forzati per lo piu a valersi di arte-
fici inesperti. e che professavano altri mestieri.”—
See Mamachi, vol. i., p. 275. Compare Rumohr,
who suggests other reasons for the rudeness of the
earliest Christian relief, in my opinion, though by
no means irreconcilable with this, neither so simple
nor satisfactory.—Page 170.

f Tov aeidfj Kal arLfiov (pdvevra.—Dial, cum
Triph., 85 and 88, 100.

X Quodcurnque illud corpusculum sit, quoniam
habitum, et quoniam conspectum sit, si mglorius, si
ignobilis si inhonorabilis ; meus erit Christus * * *
— Sed species ejus inhonorata, deficiens ultra
omnes homines.—Contr. Marc., hi., 17. Ne aspec-
tu quidam honestus.—Adv. Judams, c. 14. Et.iam
despicientium formam ejus hsec erat vox. Adeo nec
human® honestatis corpus fuit, nedum coelestia
claritatis—De Carn. Christi, c. 9.

§ Paedagog,, hi., 1.HISTORY Ot CHRISTIANITY.

491

rassed with the argument; he fears to re-
cede from the literal interpretation of Isai-
ah, but endeavours to soften it off, and
denies that it refers to lowliness of stature,
or means more than the absence of noble
form or pre-eminent beauty. He then tri-
umphantly adduces the verse of the forty-
fourth Psalm, “ Ride on in thy loveliness
and in thy beauty.”*

But as the poetry of Christianity ob-
tained more full possession of the human
mind, these debasing and inglorious con-
ceptions were repudiated by the more
vivid imagination of the great writers in
the fourth century. The great principle
of Christian art began to awaken ; the out-
working, as it were, of the inward purity,
beauty, and harmony, upon the symmetry
of the external form, and the lovely ex-
pression of the countenance. Jerome,
Chrysostom, Ambrose, Augustine, with
one voice assert the majesty and enga-
ging appearance of the Saviour. The lan-
guage of Jerome first, shows the sublime
conception which was brooding, as it were,
in the Christian mind, and was at'length
slowly to develop itself up to the gradual
perfection of Christian art. “ Assuredly
that splendour and majesty of the hidden
divinity, which shone even in his human
countenance, could not but attract at first
sight all beholders.” “ Unless he had
something celestial in his countenance
and in his look, the apostles would not
immediately have followed him.”} “ The
heavenly Father forced upon him in full
streams that corporeal grace, which is dis-
tilled drop by drop upon mortal man.”
Such are the glowing expressions of Chry-
sostom. } Gregory of Nyssa applies all
the vivid imagery of the Song of Solomon
to the person as well as to the doctrine
of Christ; and Augustine declares that
“ He was beautiful on his mother’s bosom,
beautiful in the arms of his parents, beau-
tiful upon the cross, beautiful in the sep-
ulchre.”

There were some, however, who, even

* ’AfiTJxci’Vbv yap oru i9slov n irleov rtbv al-
2,(ov irpoofjv, p,7]6ev aXkov ScatyspeLV' tovto 6s ov-
6sv aXXov Siefspev, 6)g (jtaat, uiKpov, Kal

dvaecdsg, teal aysvsv rjv.—Celsus apud Origen, vi„
75. Origin quotes the text of the LXX., in which
it is the forty-fourth, and thus translated: T?)
(bpUlOTTj TL gov, Kal rep kuaTisi gov Kab SVTSIVOV,
Kal KarevoSov, teal fiauDisve.

t Certe fulgor ipsa et majestas divinitatis occul-
tss, qua3 etiam in humana facie relucebat, ex priino
ad se venientes trahere pot mat aspectu. — Hie-
ronyra. in Matth., c. ix., 9.

Nisi enim habuisset et in vultu quiddam et in
oculis sidereum, nunquam eum statirn secuti fuis-
gent apostoli.—Epist. ad Princip. Virginem.
t In Psalm xliv.

at this and to a much later period, chiefly
among those addicted to monkish auster-
ity, who adhered to the older opinion, as
though human beauty were something
carnal and material. St. Basil interprets
even the forty-fourth Psalm in the more
austere sense. Many of the painters
among the Greeks, even in the eighth cen-
tury, who were monks of the rnle of St.
Basil, are said to have been too faithful
to the judgment of their master, or per-
haps their rude art was better qualified to
represent a mean figure, with harsh out-
line and stiff attitude, and a blackened
countenance, rather than majesty of form
or beautiful expression. Such are the
Byzantine pictures of this school. The
harsh Cyril of Alexandrea repeats the as-
sertion o*f the Saviour’s mean appearance,
even beyond the ordinary race of men,
in the strongest language.* This contro-
versy proves decisively that there was no
traditionary type which was admitted to
represent the human form of the Saviour.
The distinct assertion of Augustine, that
the form and countenance of Christ were
entirely unknown, and painted with every
possible variety of expression, is conclu-
sive as to the West.} In the East we
may dismiss at once as a manifest fable,
probably of local superstition, the statue
of Christ at Caesarea Philippi, represent-
ing him in the act of healing the woman
with the issue of blood.} But there can
be no doubt that paintings, purporting to
be actual resemblances of Jesus, of Peter,
and of Paul, were current in the time of
Eusebius in. the East,§ though we are dis-

* AAAa to eldog avrov anfiov, skTisltzov ivapa
izavrag rovg vlovg rtiv avOpurrcov.—De Nud. Noe.,
lib. ii., t. i., p. 43.

f Qua fuerit ille facie nos penitus ignoramus:
nam et ipsius Dominicoe facies carnis innumerabil-
ism cogitationem diversitate variatur et fingitur,
quse tamen una erat, quascunque erat.—Be Trim,
lib. vii., c. 4, 5.

The Christian apologists uniformly acknowledge
the charge that they have no altars or images.—
Minuc. Fel. Octavius, x., p. 61. Arnob., vi., post
init. Origen contra Celsum, viii., p. 389. Com-
pare Jablonski (Dissertatio de Origine Imaginum
Christi, opuscul., vol. iii., p. 377), who well argues
that, consistently with Jewish manners, there could
not have been any likeness of the Lord. Compare
Pearson on the Creed, vol. ii, p. 101.

X Euseb., H. E., vii., 18, with the Excursus of
Heinichen. These were probably two bronze fig-
ures, one of a kneeling woman in the act of sup-
plication, the other the upright figure of a man,
probably of a Caesar, which the Christian inhabi-
tants of Caesarea Philippi transformed into the Sa-
viour and the woman in the Gospels: Tovrov de
rov avdptavra stKova rov It/gov (bspstv sXsyov.
Eusebius seems desirous of believing the story.
Compare M{inter.

$ "Ore Kal rtiv ’Aitogt6%g)v tC)v av^ov rag eU
Kovag IlavAoi; Kal Tlsrpov Kal avrov 6) rov Xpia-£92

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

inclined to receive the authority of a later
writer, that Constantine adorned his new
city with likenesses of Christ and his
apostles.

The earliest images emanated, no doubt,
Earliest from the Gnostic sects, who not
images merely blended the Christian and
Guosuc. pagan< or Oriental notions on their
gems and seals, engraved with the mys-
terious Abraxas, but likewise, according
to their eclectic system, consecrated small
golden or silver images of all those ancient
sages whose doctrines they had adopted,
or had fused together in their wild and
various theories. The image of Christ
appeared with those of Pythagoras, Pla-
to, Aristotle, and probably some of the
Eastern philosophers.* * * § The Qarpocra-
tians had painted portraits of Christ; and
Marcellina,f a celebrated female* heresi-
arch, exposed to the view of the Gnostic
Church in Rome the portraits of Jesus
and St. Paul, of Homer, and of Pythago-
ras. Of this nature, no doubt, were the
images of Abraham, Orpheus, Pythagoras,
Apollonius, and Christ, set up in his pri-
vate chapel by the Emperor Alexander
Severus. These small images,% which
varied very much, it should seem, in form
and feature, could contribute but little, if

rod dca xpo/xaruv ev ypatyalg (ju&fievag laro-
of/aaftev.—Ibid., loc. cit.

* Irenaeus, de Haer., i., c. 84 (ed. Grabe). Epi-
phan., Hseres., xxvii., 6. Augustin., de Haeresib., c.
vii. These images of Christ were said to have
been derived from the collection of Pontius Pilate.
Compare Jablonskks Dissertation.

t Marcellina lived about the middle of the sec-
ond century, or a little later.

t Of these Gnostic images of Christ there are
only two extant which seem to have some claim
to authenticity and antiquity. Those from the col-
lection of Chifflet are now considered to represent
Serapis. One is mentioned by M. Raoul Rochette
(Types Imitatifs de PArt du Christianisme, p. 21);
it is a stone, a kind of tessera with a head of Christ,
young and beardless, in profile, with the word
XPI2T02 in Greek characters, with the symbolic
fish below. This is in the collection of M. Fortia
d’Urban, and is engraved as a vignette to M. R.
Rochette’s essay. The other is adduced in an
“ Essay on Ancient Coins, Medals, and Gems, as
illustrating the Progress of Christianity in the Ear-
ly Ages, by the Rev. R. Walsh.” This is a kind of
medal or tessera of metal, representing Christ as
he is described in the apocryphal letter of Lentulus
to the Roman senate.—Fabric., Cod. Apoc. Nov.
Test., p. 301, 302. It has a head of Christ, the
hair parted over the forehead, covering the ears,
and falling over the shoulders ; the shape is long,
the beard short and thin. It has the name of Jesus
in Hebrew, and has not the nimbus or glory. On
the reverse is an inscription in a kind of cabalistic
character, of which the sense seems to be, “ The
Messiah reigns in peace ; God is made man.” This
may possibly be a tessera of the Jewish Christians,
or modelled after a Gnostic type of the first age of
Christianity.—See Discours sur les Types Imitatifs
de l’Art du Christianisme, par M, Raoul Rochette.

in the least, to form that type of super-
human beauty, which might mingle the
sentiment of human sympathy with rev-
erence for the divinity of Christ. Chris-
tian art long brooded over such feelings
as those expressed by Jerome and Augus-
tine before it could even attempt to im-
body them in marble or colour.*

The earliest pictures of the Saviour seem
formed on one type or model. Theearliest
They all represent the oval coun- portraits or
tenance, slightly lengthened; the hie saviour,
grave, soft, and melancholy expression;
the short, thin beard; the hair parted on
the forehead into two long masses, which
fall upon the shoulders.f Such are the
features which characterize the earliest
extant painting, that on the vault of the
cemetery of St. Callistus, in which the
Saviour is represented as far as his bust,
like the images on bucklers in use among
the Romans.{ A later painting, in the
chapel of the cemetery of St. Pontianus,
resembles this ;§ and a third was discover-
ed in the catacomb of St. Callistus by Bol-
detti, but unfortunately perished while he
was looking at it, in the attempt to remove
it from the wall. The same countenance
appears on some, but not the earliest, re-
liefs on the sarcophagi, five of which may
be referred, according to M. Rochette, to
the time of Julian. Of one, that of Oly-
brius, the date appears certain—the close
of the fourth century. These, the paint-
ings at least, are no doubt the work of
Greek artists ; and this head may be con-
sidered the archetype, the hieratic model,
of the Christian conception of the Saviour,

* I must .not omit the description of the person
of our Saviour in the spurious Epistle of Lentulus
to the Roman senate (see Fabric., Cod. Apoc. N.
T., i., p. 301), since it is referred to constantly by
writers on early Christian art. But what proof is
there of the existence of this epistle previous to the
great era of Christian painting? “ He was a man
of tall and well-proportioned form ; the counte
nance severe and impressive, so as to move the be-
holders at once to love and awe. His hair was of
the colour of wine (vinei coloris), reaching to hi#
ears, with no radiation (sine radiatione, without
the nimbus),. and standing up from his ears, clus-
tering and bright, and flowing down over his shoul-
ders, parted on the top according to the fashion of
the Nazarines. The brow high and open; the
complexion clear, with a delicate tinge of red; the
aspect frank and pleasing ; the nose and mouth
finely formed ; the beard thick, parted, and the
colour of the hair ; the eyes blue, and exceedingly
bright. * * * His countenance was of wonder-
ful sweetness and gravity; no one ever saw him
laugh, though he was seen to weep ; his stature
was tall; the hands and arms finely formed. * *
He was the most beautiful of the sons of men.”

f Raoul Rochette, p. 26.

X Bottari, Pitture e Sculture Sacre, vol. ii., tav.
lxx., p. 42.

§ This, however, was probably repainted in tlie
time of Hadrian I.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

imagined in the East, and generally adopt-
ed in the West.*

Reverential awe, diffidence in their own
The Father skill>the still dominant sense of
rarely repre- the purely spiritual natuie of the
sented. Parental Deity,! or perhaps the
exclusive habit of dwelling upon the Son
as the direct object of religious worship,
restrained early Christian art from those
attempts to which we are scarcely recon-
ciled by the sublimity and originality of
Michael Angelo and Raffaelle. Even the
symbolic representation of the Father was
rare. Where it does appear, it is under
the symbol of an immense hand issuing
from a cloud, or a ray of light streaming
from heaven, to imply, it may be presumed,
the creative and all-enlightening power of
the Universal Father.J

The Virgin Mother could not but offer
herself to the imagination, an,d
The Virgin. be accepted at once as the sub-
ject of Christian art. As respect for the
mother of Christ deepened into reverence,
reverence bowed down to adoration; as
she became the mother of God, and her-
self a deity in popular worship, this wor-
ship was the parent, and, in some sense,
the offspring of art. Augustine indeed
admits that the real features of the Virgin,
as of the Saviour, were unknown.$ But
the fervent language of Jerome shows
that art had already attempted to shadow
out the conception of mingling virgin pu-

* Rumohr considers a statue of the Good Shep-
herd in the Vatican collection, from its style, to be
a very early work ; the oldest monument of Chris-
tian sculpture, prior to the urn of Junius Bassus,
which is of the middle of the fourth century.—Ital-
ienische Forschungen, vol. i., p. 168. In that usu-
ally thought the earliest, that of Junius Bassus,
Jesus Christ is represented between the apostles,
beardless, seated in a curule chair, with a roll half
unfolded in his hand, and under his feet a singular
representation of the upper part of a man holding
an inflated veil with his two hands, a common sym-
bol or personification of heaven.—See R. Rochette,
p. 43, who considers these sarcophagi anterior to
the formation of the ordinary type.

•f Compare Miinter, ii., p. 49. Nefas habent docti
ejus (ecclesise Catholicae) credere Deum figura hu-
mani corporis terminatum.—August., Conf, vi., 11.

% M. Emeric David (in his Discours sur les An-
ciens Monumens, to which I am indebted for much
information) says that the French artists had first
the heureuse hardiesse of representing the eternal
Father under the human form. The instance to
which he alludes is contained in a Latin Bible (in
the Cabinet Imperial) cited by Montfaucon, but not
fully described. It was presented to Charles the
Bold by the canons of the Church of Tours, in the
year 850. This period is far beyond the bounds of
our present history. See, therefore, E. David, p. 43,
46.

$ Neque enim novimus faciem Virginis Mariae.—
Augustin., de Trin., c. viii. Ut ipsa corporis facies
simulacrum fuerit mentis, figura probitatis.- -Am-
bros., de Virgin., lib. ii., c. 2

493

rity and maternal tenderness, which as ye\
probably was content to dwell within the
verge of human nature, and aspired not to
mingle a divine idealism with these more
mortal feelings. The outward form and
countenance could not but be the image
of the purity and gentleness of the soul
within: and this primary object of Chris-
tian art could not but give rise to one of
its characteristic distinctions from that of
the ancients, the substitution of mental
expression for purely corporeal beauty
As reverential modesty precluded- all ex-
posure of the form, the countenance was
the whole picture. This reverence, in-
deed, in the very earliest specimens of the
art, goes still farther, and confines itself
to the expression of composed and digni-
fied attitude. The artists did not even
venture to expose the face. With one ex-
ception, the Virgin appears veiled on the
reliefs on the sarcophagi and in the earli-
est paintings. The oldest known picture
of the Virgin is in the catacomb of St. Cal-
listus, in which she appears seated in the
calm majesty and in the dress of a Roman
matron. It’is the transition, as it were,
from ancient to modern art, which still
timidly adheres to its conventional type
of dignity.* But in the sarcophagi, art
has already more nearly approximated
to its most exquisite subject; the Virgin
Mother is seated, with the Divine child in
her lap, receiving the homage of the wise
men. She is still veiled,! but with tha
rounded form and grace of youth, and a
kind of sedate chastity of expression in
her form, which seems designed to convey
the feeling of gentleness and holiness.
Two of these sarcophagi, one in the Vati-
can collection and one at Milan, appear to
disprove the common notion that the rep-
resentation of the Virgin was unknown
before the Council of Ephesus.J That
council, in its zeal against the doctrines of
Nestorius, established, as it has been call-
ed, a hieratic type of the Virgin, which is
traced throughout Byzantine art and on
the coins of the Eastern empire. This
type, however, gradually degenerates with
the darkness of the age and the decline
of art. The countenance, sweetly smiling
on the child, becomes sad and severe.
The head is bowed with a gloomy and al-
most sinister expression, and the coun-
tenance gradually darkens, till it assumes

* Bottari, Pitture e Sculture Sacre, t. iii., p. Ill,
tav. 218. See Mdmoire de M. Raoul Rochette,
Academ. Inscript.

t In Bottari there is one picture of the Virgin
with the head naked, t. ii., tav. cxxvi. The only
one known to M. Raoul Rochette.

X A.D. 431. This opinion is maintained by Bas
nage and most Protestant writers.194

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

a black colour, and seems to adapt itself
m this respect to an ancient tradition. At
length even the sentiment of maternal af-
fection is effaced, both the mother and
child become stiff and lifeless, the child is
swathed in tight bands, and has an expres-
sion of pain rather than of gentleness- or
placid infancy.*

The apostles, particularly St. Peter and
The Apostles. Paul, were among the ear-
her objects of Christian art.
Though in one place St. Augustine as-
serts that the persons of the apostles were
equally unknown with that of the Saviour,
in another he acknowledges that their pic-
tures were exhibited on the walls of many
churches for the edification of the faithful.f
In a vision ascribed to Constantine, but of
very doubtful authority, the emperor is
said to have recognised the apostles by
their likeness to their portraits.} A pic-
ture known to St. Ambrose pretended to
have come down by regular tradition from
their time : and Chrysostom, when he
studied the writings, gazed with reverence
on what he supposed an authentic like-
ness of; the apostle.§ Paul and Peter ap-
pear on many of the oldest monuments,
on the glass vessels, fragments of which
have been discovered, and on which Je-
rome informs us that they were frequent-
ly painted. They are found, as we have
seen, on the sarcophagus of Junius Bas-
sus, and on many others. In one.of these,
in which the costume is Roman, St. Paul
is represented bald, and with the high nose,
as he is described in the Philopatris,||
which, whatever its age, has evidently ta-
ken these personal peculiarities of the
apostle from the popular Christian repre-
sentations. St. Peter has usually a single
tuft of hair on his bald forehead.If Each
has a book, the only symbol of his apos-
tleship. St. Peter has neither the sword

* Compare Raoul Rochette, p. 35. M. R. Ro-
chette observes much similarity between the pic-
tures of the Virgin ascribed to St. Luke, the tradition
of whose painting ascends to the sixth century, and
the Egyptian works which represent Isis nursing
Horus. I have not thought it necessary to notice
farther these palpable forgeries, though the object,
in so many places, of popular worship.

f St. Augustine in Genesin, cap. xxii. Quodplu-
ribus locis simul eos (apostolos) cum illo (Christo)
pictos viderint * * 34 in pictis parietibus.—Augus-
tin., de Cons. Evang,, i., 16.

X Hadrian I., Epist. ad Imp. Constantin, et Iren.,
Concil. Nic., ii., art. 2. %

§ These two assertions rest on the authority of
Joannes Damascenus, de Imagin.

II Y.a7u7ialog ava^aTiavriag em^pivog.—Philop.,
c. xii.

if Miinter says the arrest of St. Peter (Acts, xii.,
], 3) is the only subject from the Acts of the Apos-
tles among the monuments in the catacombs, ii., p.
104.

nor the keys. In the same relief, St. John
and St. James are distinguished from the
rest by their youth; already, therefore,
this peculiarity was established which pre-
vails throughout Christian art. The maj-
esty of age, and a kind of dignity of pre-
cedence, are attributed to Peter and Paul,
while all the grace of youth, and the most
exquisite gentleness, are centred in John.
They seem to have assumed this peculiar
character of expression even before their
distinctive symbols.

It may excite surprise that the acts of
martyrdom did not become the Martyrdom
subjects of Christian art till far not repre-
down in the dark ages. That of sented*

St. Sebastian, a relief in terra-cotta, which
formerly existed in the cemetery of St.
Priscilla, and that of Peter and Paul in the
Basilica Siciniana, assigned by Ciampini
to the fifth century, are rare exceptions,
and both of doubtful date and authenticity.
The martyrdom of St. Felicitas and her
seven children, discovered in 1812 in a
small oratory within the baths of Titus,
cannot be earlier, according to M. R. Ro-
chette, than the seventh century.*

The absence of all gloomy or distress-
ing subjects is the remarkable and charac-
teristic feature in the catacombs of Rome
and in all the earliest Christian art. A
modern writer, who has studied the sub-
ject with profound attention, has express-
ed himself in the following language :f
“ The catacombs destined for the sepulture
of the primitive Christians, for a long time
peopled with martyrs, ornamented during
times of persecution, and under the do-
minion of melancholy thoughts and pain-
ful duties, nevertheless everywhere rep-
resent in all the historic parts of these
paintings only what is noble and exalted,}
and in that which constitutes the purely
decorative part only pleasing and graceful
subjects, the images of the Good Shepherd,
representations of the vintage, of the agape,
with pastoral scenes: the symbols are
fruits, flowers, palms, crowns, lambs,
doves, in a word, nothing but what excites
emotions of joy, innocence, and charity.
Entirely occupied with the celestial rec-
ompense which awaited them after the
trials of their troubled life, and often of so
dreadful a death, the Christians saw in
death, and even in execution, only a way
by which they arrived at this everlasting

* Raoul Rochette, in M6m. de l’Academie, tom.
xiii., p. 165.

t M. D’Agincourt says, “ II n’a rencontre lui
m&me dans ces souterrains aucune trace de nul au
tre tableau (one of barbarian and late design had be
fore been noticed) representant une martyre.—Hist
de l’Art. t Des traits heroiqir 6.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

495

happiness ; and far from associating with
this image that of the tortures or priva-
tions which opened Heaven before them,
they took pleasure in enlivening it with
smiling colours, or presented it under
agreeable symbols, adorning it with flow-
ers and vine leaves ; for it is thus that the
asylum of death appears to us in the
Christian catacombs. There is no sign
of mourning, no token of resentment, no
expression of vengeance ; all breathes soft-
ness, benevolence, charity.”*

It may seem even more singular, that
rhecru- the passion of our Lord himself
remained a subject interdicted, as
it were, by awful reverence. The cross,
it has been said, was the symbol of Chris-
tianity many centuries before the cruci-
fix.f It was rather a cheerful and con-
solatory than a depressing and melan-
choly sign; it was adorned with flowers,
with crowns, and precious stones, a pledge
of the resurrection rather than a memo-
rial of the passion. The catacombs of
Rome, faithful to their general character,
offer no instance of a crucifixion, nor does
any allusion to such a subject of art occur
in any early writer.% Cardinal Bona gives
the following as the progress of the gradu-
al change. I. The simple cross. II. The
cross with the lamb at the foot of it.§ III.
Christ clothed on the cross, with hands up-
lifted in prayer, but not nailed to it. IV.
Christ fastened to the cross with four nails,
still living, and with open eyes. He was
not represented as dead till the tenth or
eleventh century.|| There is some reason
to believe that the bust of the Saviour first
appeared on the cross, and afterward the
whole person; the head was at first erect,
with some expression of divinity; by de-
grees it drooped with the agony of pain,
the face was wan and furrowed, and death,
with all its anguish, was imitated by the
utmost power of coarse art; mere corpo-

* Gregory of Nyssa, however, describes the he-
roic acts of St. Theodorus as painted on the walls
of a church dedicated to that saint. “ The painter
had represented his sufferings, the forms of the ty-
rants like wild beasts. The fiery furnace, the death
of the athlete of Christ; alTthis had the painter ex-
pressed by colours, as in a book, and adorned the
temple like a pleasant and blooming meadow. The
dumb walls speak and edify.”

f See, among other authorities, Miinter, page 77.
Rs ist unmoglich das alter der crucifixe genau zu
bestimmen. Vordem Ende des siebenten Jahrhun-
derts kannte die Kirche sie nicht.

t The decree of the Quinisextan Council in 695,
is the clearest proof that up to that period the Pas-
sion had been usually represented under a symbolic
Dr allegoric form.

$ Sub cruce sanguinea niveo stat Christus in agno,

Agnus ut innocua injusto datur hostia letho.

Paul. Nolan, Epist. 32.

I! De cruce Vatican^.

real suffering without sublimity, all that
was painful in truth, with nothing thai
was tender and affecting. This change
took place among the monkish artists of
the lower empire. Those of the order of
St. Basil introduced it into the West; and
from that time these painful images, with
those of martyrdom, and every scene of
suffering which could be imagined by the
gloomy fancy of anchorites, who could
not be moved by less violent excitement,
spread throughout Christendom. It re-
quired all the wonderful magic of Italian
art to elevate them into sublimity.

But early Christian art, at least that of
painting, was not content with these sim-
pler subjects; it endeavoured to represent
designs of far bolder and more intricate
character. Among the earliest descrip-
tions of Christian painting is that paintings
in the Church of St. Felix, by Pau- at No:a“
linus of Nola.* In the colonnades of that
church were painted scenes from the Old
Testament: among them were the Pas-
sage of the Red Sea, Joshua and the ark
of God, Ruth and her sister-in-law, one
deserting, the other following her parent
in fond fidelity ;f an emblem, the poet
suggests, of mankind, part, deserting, part
adhering to the true faith.. The object, of
this embellishment of the churches was to
beguile the rude minds of the illiterate
peasants, who thronged with no very ex-
alted motives to the altar of St. Felix; to
preoccupy their minds with sacred sub-
jects, so that they might be less eager for
the festival banquets, held witli such mu-
nificence and with such a concourse of
strangers, at the tomb of the martyr.j

* The lines are not without merit:

Quo duce Jordanes suspenso gurgite Axis
Fluctibus, a facie divinae restitit areas.

Vis nova divisit flumen; pars amne recluso
Constitit, et- fluvii pars in mare lapsa cucurrit, .
Destituit.que vadum; etvalidus qui forte ruebat
Impetus, adstrictas alte cumulaverat undas,

Et tremula compage minax pendebat aquse mons
Despectans transire pedes arente profundo ;

Et medio pedibus siccis in flumine ferri
Pulverulenta hominum duro vestigia limo.

If this description is drawn from the picture, not
from the book, the painter must have possessed
some talent for composition and for landscape, ae
well as for the drawing of figures,
i Quum geminse scindunt sese in diversa sorores;
Ruth sequitur sanctam, quam .deserit Orpa, paren*
tem;

Perfidiam nurus una, fidem nurus altera monstrat
Praefert una Deum patriae, patriam altera vitse

t Forte requiratur, qusnam ratione gerendi
Sederit hsec nobis sententia, pingere sanctas
Raro more domos animantibus adsimulatis.

* '* * turba frequentior hie est

Rusticitas non casta fide, neque docta legendi.

Heec adsueta diu sacris servire profanis,

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

These gross and irreligious desires led
them to the church; yet, gazing on these
pictures, they would not merely be awa-
kened by these holy examples to purer
thoughts and holier emotions; they would
feast their eyes instead of their baser ap-
petites ; an involuntary sobriety and for-
getfulness of the wine-flagon would steal
over their souls; at all events, they would
have less time to waste in the indulgence
of their looser festivity.

Christianity has been the parent of mu-
. sic, probably as far surpassing in
USIC' skill and magnificence the composi-
tions of earlier times, as the cathedral or-
gan the simpler instruments of the Jewish
or pagan religious worship. But this per-
fection of the art belongs to a much later
period in Christian history. Like the rest
of its service, the music of the Church no
doubt grew up from a rude and simple to
a more splendid and artificial form. The
practice of singing hymns is coeval with
Christianity; the hearers of the apostles
• sang the praises of God; and the first
sound which reached the pagan ear from
the secluded sanctuaries of Christianity
was the hymn to Christ as God. The
Church succeeded to an inheritance of re-
ligious lyrics as unrivalled in the history
of poetry as of. religion.* * * § The Psalms
were introduced early into the public ser-
vice ; but at first, apparently, though some
psalms may have been sung on appropri-
ate occasions—the 73d, called the morn-
ing, and the 141st, the evening psalm—the
whole Psalter was introduced only as a
part of the Old Testament, and read in
the course of the service.f With the po-
etry did they borrow the music of the
Synagogue! Was this music the same

Dum sanctorum opera in Christo miratur aperta.
Propterea visum nobis opus utile, totis , •

Felicis domibus pictura illudere sancta:

Si forte attonitas haec per speetacula mentes
Agrestum caperet fucata coloribus umbra,

Quse super exprimitur literis; ut littera monstret
Quod manus explicuit: dumque omnes picta vicis-
sim

Ostendunt releguntque sibi, vel tardius escae
Sunt memores, dum grata oculis jejunia pascunt:
Atque ita se melior stupefactis inserat usus,

Dum fal'lit pictura famem ; sanctasque legenti
Historias castorum operum subrepit honestas
Exemplis inducta piis; potatur hianti
Sobrietas, nimii subeunt oblivia vini:

Dumque diem ducunt spatio majore tuentes,

Pocula rarescunt, quia per mirantia tracto
Tempore, jam paucse superant epulantibus horse.

In Natal. Felic., Poema xxiv.
* The Temple Service, in Lightfoot’s works,
gives the psalms which were appropriate to each
day. The author has given a slight outline of this
hymnology of the Temple in the Quarterly Review,
vol xxxviii., page 20.

.f Bingham’s Antiquities, vol xiv., p. 1,5.

which had filled the spacious courts of
the Temple, perhaps answered to those
sad strains which had been heard beside
the-waters of the Euphrates, or even de-
scended from still earlier times of glory,
when Deborah or when Miriam struck
their harps to the praise of God! This
question it must be impossible to answer •,
and no tradition, as far as we are aware, in-
dicates the source from which the Church
borrowed her primitive harmonies, though
the probability is certainly in favour of
their Jewish parentage.

The Christian hymns of the primitive
churches seem to have been confined to
the glorification of their God and Saviour.*
Prayer was considered the language ol
supplication and humiliation; the soul
awoke, as it were, in the hymn to more
ardent expressions .of gratitude and love.
Probably the music was nothing more at
first than a very simple accompaniment,
or no more than the accordance of the
harmonious voices; it was the humble
subsidiary of the hymn of praise, not itself
the soul-engrossing art.j Nothing could
be more simple than the earliest recorded
hymns; they were fragments from tlie
Scripture : the doxology, “ Glory be to the
Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy
Ghost;” the angelic hymn, “ Glory be to
God on high;” the cherubic hymn from
Rev., iv., 12, “Holy, holy, holy;” the hymn
of victory, Rev., xv., 3, “ Great and mar-
vellous are thy works.” It was not im-
probably the cherubic hymn to which
Pliny alludes as forming part of the Chris-
tian worship. The, “ Magnificat” and the
“ Nunc Dimittis’hwere likewise sung from
the earliest ages; ;the ,.H alleluia was the
constant prelude or,burden of the hymn.f
Of the character of the,,.music few and im-
perfect traces are found. In. Egypt the
simplest, form long prevailed. In the mo-
nastic establishments one person arose
and repeated the psalm, the others sat
around in silence on their lowly seats,
and responded, as it were, to the psalm
within their hearts.§ In Alexandrea, by

* Gregory of Nyssa defines a hymn, vftvog horiv
7] £7~l Toig VTcdpxovcuv rjfuv dyadolg dvaTiOefievr}

0e<p ev(f)7](zla.—See Psalm ii.

| Private individuals wrote hymns to Christ,
which were generally sung.—Euseb., H. E., v.; 28 ;
vii., 24.

% Alleluia novis balat ovile choris.

Paulin., Epist. ad Sev , 12.
Curvorum hinc chorus helciariorum,
Responsantibus Alleluia ripis,

Ad Christum levat amnicum celeusma.

Sid. Apoll., lib. ii., ep. 10.

§ Absque eo qui dicturus in medium Psalmos
surrexerit, cuncti sedilibus humillimis insidentes,
ad vocem psallentis omni cordis intentione dependHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

497

tlie order of Athanasius, the psalms were
repeated with the slightest possible inflec-
tion of voice; it could hardly be called
singing.* Yet, though the severe mind of
Athanasius might disdain such subsidia-
ries, the power of music was felt to be a
dangerous antagonist in the great religious
contest. Already the soft and effeminate
singing introduced by Paul of Samosata
had estranged the hearts of many worship-
pers, and his peculiar doctrines had stolen
into the soul, which had been melted by
the artificial melodies introduced by him
into the service. The Gnostic hymns of
Bardesanes and Valentinus,f no doubt, had
their musical accompaniment. Arius him-
self had composed hymns which were
sung to popular airs; and the streets of
Constantinople, even to the time of Chry-
sostom, echoed at night to those seductive
strains which denied or imperfectly ex-
pressed the Trinitarian doctrines. Chry-
sostom arrayed a band of orthodox chor-
isters, who hymned the coequal Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost. The Donatists in
Africa adapted their enthusiastic hymns
to wild and passionate melodies, which
tended to keep up and inflame, as it were,
with the sound of the trumpet, the fanati-
cism of their followers.{

The first change in the manner of sing-
ing was the substitution of singers,§ who
became a separate order in the Church,
for the mingled voices of all ranks, ages,
and sexes, which was compared by the
great reformer of Church music to the glad
sound of many waters.||

The antiphonal singing, in which the
different sides'of the choir answered to
each other in responsive verses, was first
introduced at Antioch by Flavianus and
Diodorus. Though, from the form of some
of the psalms, it is not improbable that this
system of alternate chanting may have

ent.—Cassian., Instit., ii., 12. Compare Euseb., H.
E., ii., 17. -Apostol. Constit., xx., 57.

* Tam modico flexu vocis faciebat sonare lec-
torem Psalmi, ut pronuncianti vicinior esset quam
canenti.—August, Confess., x., 33.
f Tertulh, de Carn. Christi, 17.
f Donatistse nos repreheudunt, quod sobrie psal-
limus in ecclesia divina cantica prophetarum, cum
ipsi ebrietates suas ad canticum psalmorum h'umano
ingenio compositorurn, quasi tubas exhortationis m-
flammant.—Augustin., Confess.

§ Compare Bingham. The leaders were called
VKoSoXelg.

m II Responsoriis psalmorum, cantu mulierum, vir-
ginum, parvularum eonsonanss-undarum fragor re-
sultat.—Ambros.. Hexam., 1. iii., c. 5.

3 R

prevailed in the Temple service, yet the
place and the period of its appearance in
the Christian Church seem to indicate a
different source. The strong resemblance
which it bears to the chorus of the Greek
tragedy might induce a suspicion that, as
it borrowed its simple primitive music
from Judaism, it may, in turn, have de-
spoiled paganism of some of its lofty re-
ligious harmonies.

This antiphonal chanting was introdu-
ced into the West* by Ambrose, and if it
inspired, or even fully accompanied the
Te Deum, usually ascribed to that prelate,
we cannot calculate too highly its effect
upon the Christian mind. So beautiful
was the music in the Ambrosian service,
that the sensitive conscience of the young
Augustine took alarm, lest, when he wept
at the solemn music, he should be yield-
ing to the luxury of sweet sounds rather
than imbibing the devotional spirit of the
hymn.f Though alive to the perilous
pleasure, yet he inclined to the wisdom of
awakening weaker minds to piety by this
enchantment of their hearing. The Am-
brosian chant, with its more simple and
masculine tones, is still preserved in the
Church of Milan; in the rest of Italy it w^as
superseded by the richer Roman chant,
which was introduced by the pope, Grego-
ry the Great.%

* Augustin., Confess., ix., 7, 1. How, indeed
could it be rejected, when it had received the au-
thority of a vision of the blessed Ignatius, who was
said to have heard the angels singing, in the antipho-
nal manner, the praises of the Holy Trinity.—Socr.,
H. E., vi., 8.

f Sum reminiscor lachrymas meas quas fudi ad
cantus ecclesias tuse, in primordiis recuperate lidei
meae, et nunc ipsum cnmmoveor, non cantu sed re-
bus, quae^cantantur, cum liquida voce et conveni-
entissima modulatione cantantur; magnaminstituti
hujus utilitatem rursus agnosco. Ita fluctuo inter
periculum voluptatis et experimentum salubritatis ;
magisque adducor, non quidem irretractabilem sen-
tentiam proferens cantandi consuetudinem appro-
bare in ecclesia : ut per oblectamenta auriura, in-
firmior animus in affectum pietatis assurgat.—Au-
gustin., Confess., x., 33, 3. Compare ix., 7, 2.

t The cathedral chanting of England has proba
bly almost alone preserved the ancient antiphonal
system, which has been discarded for a greater va
riety of instruments, and a more complicated s.ys
tern of music, in the Roman Catholic service. This,
if I may presume to offer a judgment, has lost as
much in solemnity and majesty as it has gained in
richness and variety. Ce chant (le Plain Chant)
tel qu’il subsiste encore aujourd’hui est un reste
bien defigure.^mais bien precieux de Panciennemu-
sique, qui apres avoir passe par la main des barbares
n’a pas perdu encore toutes ses premieres beaut^s.
—Millin, Diet: vnnaire des Beaux Arts.498

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

CHAPTER V.

CONCLUSION.

Thus, then, Christianity had become the
religion of the Roman world : it had not.,
indeed, confined its adventurous spirit of
moral conquest within these limits ; yet it
is in the Roman world that its more ex-
tensive and permanent influence, as well
as its peculiar vicissitudes, can alone be
followed out with distinctness and accu-
racy.

Paganism was slowly expiring; the hos-
tile edicts of emperors, down to the final
legislation of Justinian, did but accelerate
its inevitable destiny. Its temples, where
not destroyed, were perishing by neglect
and peaceful decay, or, where their solid
structures defied these less violent assail-
ants, stood deserted and overgrown with
weeds ; the unpaid priests ceased to offer
not only sacrifice, but prayer, and were
gradually dying out as a separate order of
men. Its philosophy lingered in a few
cities of Greece, till the economy or the
religion of the Eastern emperor finally
closed its schools.

The doom of the Roman empire was
likewise sealed : the horizon on all sides
was dark with overwhelming clouds ; and
the internal energies of the empire, the
military spirit, the wealth, the imperial
power, had crumbled away. The exter-
nal unity was dissolved; the provinces
were gradually severed from the main
body; the Western empire was rapidly
sinking, and the Eastern falling into hope-
less decrepitude. Yet, though her exter-
nal polity was dissolved, though her visible
throne was prostrate upon the earth, Rome
still ruled the mind of man, and her secret
domination maintained its influence until
it assumed a new outward form. Rome
survived in her laws, in her municipal in-
stitutions, and in that which lent a new
sanctity and reverence to her laws, and
gave strength by their alliance with its
own peculiar polity to the municipal insti-
tutions—in her adopted religion. The
empire of Christ succeeded to the empire
of the Caesars.

When it ascended the throne, assumed
a supreme and universal dominion over
mankind, became the legislator, not mere-
ly through public statutes, but in all the
minute details of life, discharged, in fact,
almost all the functions of civil as well
as of religious government, Christianity

could not but appear under a new form,
and wear a far different appearance than
when it was the humble and private faith
of a few scattered individuals, or only spir-
itually connected communities. As it was
about to enter into its next period of con-
flict with barbarism, and undergo the temp-
tation of unlimited power, however it might
depart from its primitive simplicity, and
indeed recede from its genuine spirit, it is
impossible not to observe how wonder-
fully (those who contemplate human af-
fairs with religious minds may assert how
providentially) it adapted itself to its alter-
ed position, and the new part which it was
to fulfil in the history of man. We have
already traced this gradual change in the
formation of the powerful hierarchy, in
the development of monasticism, the es-
tablishment of the splendid and imposing
ritual; we must turn our attention, before
we close, to the new modification of the
religion itself.

Its theology now appears wrought out
into a regular, multifarious, and, as it were,
legally established system.

It was the consummate excellence of
Christianity that it blended in Christian
apparently indissoluble union re- theology of
ligious and moral perfection. Its tius penod
essential doctrine was, in its pure theory
inseparable from humane, virtuous, and
charitable disposition. Piety to God, as
he was impersonated in Christ, worked
out, as it seemed, by spontaneous energy
into Christian beneficence.

But there has always been a strong pro-
pensity to disturb this nice balance : the
dogmatic part of religion, the province of
faith, is constantly endeavouring to set it-
self apart, and to maintain a separate ex-
istence. Faith, in this limited sense, as-
pires to be religion. This, in general,
takes place soon after the first outburst,
the strong impulse of new and absorbing
religious emotions. At a later period mo-
rality attempts to stand alone, without the
sanction or support' of religious faith.
One half of Christianity is thus perpetual-
ly striving to pass for the whole, and to
absorb all the attention, to the neglect, to
the disparagement, at length to a total
separation from its heaven-appointed con-
sort. The multiplication and subtle re-
finement of theologic dogmas, the enHISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

499

grossing interest excited by some dom-
inant tenet, especially if they are associa-
ted with, or imbodied in, a minute and
rigorous ceremonial, tend to satisfy and
lull the mind into complacent acquiescence
in its own religious completeness. But
Separation directly as religion began to
faithllandai1 consider itself something apart,
Christum something exclusively dogmatic
morals or exclusively ceremonial, an ac-
ceptance of certain truths by the belief or
the discharge of certain ritual observances,
the transition from separation to hostility
was. rapid and unimpeded.* *No sooner
had Christianity divorced morality as its
inseparable companion through life, than
it formed an unlawful connexion with any
dominant passion; and the strange and
unnatural union of Christian faith with
ambition, avarice, cruelty, fraud, and even
license, appeared in strong contrast with
its primitive harmony of doctrine and in-
ward disposition. Thus in a great degree,
while the Roman world became Christian
in outward worship and in faith, it remain-
ed heathen, or even at some periods worse
than in the better times of heathenism, as
to beneficence, gentleness, purity, social
virtue, humanity, and peace. This ex-
treme view may appear to be justified by
the general survey of Christian society,
never com- Yet., in 'fact, religion did not, ex-
piete. Cept at the darkest periods, so
completely. insulate itself, or so entirely
recede from its natural alliance with mo-
rality, though it admitted, at each of its
periods, much which was irreconcilable
with its pure and original spirit. Hence
the mingled character of its social and po-
litical, as well as of its personal influences’.
The union of Christianity with monachism,
with sacerdotal domination, with the mil-
itary spirit, with the spiritual autocracy of
the papacy, with the advancement at one
time, at another with the repression, of
the human mind, had each their darker
and brighter side, and were in succession
(however they departed from the primal
and ideal perfection of Christianity) to a
certain extent beneficial, because appa-
rently almost necessary to the social and
intellectual development of mankind at
each particular juncture. So, for instance,
military Christianity, which grew out of
the inevitable incorporation of the force
and energy of the barbarian conquerors
with the sentiments and feelings of that
age, and which finally produced chivalry,
was in fact the substitution of inhuman-
ity for Christian gentleness, of the love
of glory for the love of peace. Yet was

this indispensable to the preservation of
Christianity in its contest with its new
eastern antagonist. Unwarlike Christian-
ity would have been trampled under foot,
and have been in danger of total extermi-
nation by triumphant Mohammedanism.

Yet even when its prevailing character
thus stood in the most direct Christian
contrast with the spirit of the feelings nev-
Gospel, it was not merely that er extmcl*
the creed of Christianity in its primary
articles was universally accepted, and a
profound devotion filled the Christian
mind; there was likewise a constant un-
dergrowth, as it were, of Christian feel-
ings, and even of. Christian virtues. No-
thing could contrast more strangely, for
instance, than St. Louis slaughtering Sar-
acens and heretics with his remorseless
sword, and the Saviour of mankind by the
Lake of Galilee ; yet, when this dominant
spirit of the age did not preoccupy the
whole soul, the self-denial, the purity,
even the gentleness of such a heart bore
still unanswerable testimony to the genu-
ine influence of Christianity. Our illus-
tration has carried us far beyond the bound-
aries of our history ; but already the great
characteristic distinction of later Christian
history had begun to be developed: the
severance of Christian faith from Chris-
tian love, the passionate attachment, the
stern and remorseless maintenance of the
Christian creed, without or with only a
partial practice of Christian virtue, or even
the predominance of a tone of mind in
some respects absolutely inconsistent with
genuine Christianity. While the human
mind in general became more rigid in ex-
acting, and more timid in departing from,
the admitted doctrines of the Church, the
moral sense became more dull and obtuse
to the purer and more evanescent beauty
of Christian holiness. In truth, it was so
much more easy, in a dark and unreason-
ing age, to subscribe, or at least to render
passive submission to, certain defined doc-
trines, than to work out these doctrines in
their proper influences upon the life, that
we deplore, rather than wonder at, this
substitution of one half of the Christian
religion for the whole. Nor are we as-
tonished to find those who were constant-
ly violating the primary principles of
Christianity, fiercely resenting, and, if
they had the power, relentlessly avenging,
any violation of the integrity of Christian
faith. Heresy of opinion, we have seen,
became almost the only crime against
which excommunication pointed its thun-
ders : the darker and more baleful heresy
of unchristian passions, which assumed
the language of Christianity, was either

Compare p. 460.500

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

too general to be detected, or at best en-
countered with feeble and impotent re-
monstrance. Thus Christianity became
at the same time more peremptorily dog-
matic and less influential; it assumed the
supreme dominion over the mind, while it
held but an imperfect and partial control
over the passions and affections. The
theology of the Gospel was the religion of
the world; the spirit of the Gospel very
far from the ruling influence of mankind.

Yet even the theology maintained its
dominion, by in some degree accommo-,
dating itself to the human mind. It be-
came to a certain degree mythic in its char-
acter and polytheistic in its form.

Now had commenced what may be
Mythic age called, neither unreasonably nor
of Christi- unwarrantably, the mythic age
anity. 0f Christianity. As Christianity
worked downward into the lower classes
of society, as it received the rude and ig-
norant barbarians within its pale, the gen-
eral effect could not but be that the age
would drag down the religion to its level,
rather than the religion elevate the age to
its own lofty standard.

The connexion between the world of
man and a higher order of things had been
re-established; the approximation of the
Godhead to the human race, the actual
presence of the Incarnate Deity upon
earth, was universally recognised; trans-
cendental truths, beyond the sphere of
human reason, had become the primary
and elemental principles of human belief.
A strongly imaginative period was the
necessary consequence of this extraordi-

. nary impulse. It was the reign of
ait ' faith; of faith which saw or felt the
divine, or, at least, supernatural agency
in every occurrence of life and in every
impulse of the heart; which offered itself
as the fearless and undoubting interpreter
of every event; which comprehended in
its domain the past, the present, and the
future, and seized upon the whole range
of human thought and knowledge, upon
history, and even natural philosophy, as
its own patrimony.

This was not, it could not be, that more
sublime theology of a rational and intel-
lectual Christianity ; that theology which
expands itself as the system of the uni-
verse expands upon the mind; and from
its wider acquaintance with the wonderful
provisions, the more manifest and all-
rovident forethought of the Deity, ac-
nowledges with more awe-struck and ad-
miring, yet not less fervent and grateful,
homage the beneficence of the Creator;
that Christian theology which reverential-
ly traces the benignant providence of God

over the affairs of men; the all-ruling la-
ther; the Redeemer revealed at the ap-
pointed time, and publishing the code of
reconciliation, holiness, peace, and ever-
lasting life; the Universal Spirit, with its
mysterious and confessed, but untraceable
energy, pervading the kindred spiritual
part of man. The Christian of these days
lived in a supernatural world, or in a
world under the constant, and felt, and dis-
cernible interference of supernatural pow-
er. God was not only present, but as-
serting his presence at every instant; not
merely on signal occasions and for im-
portant purposes, but on the most insig-
nificant acts and persons. The course of
nature was beheld, not as one great uni-
form and majestic miracle, but as a suc-
cession of small, insulated, sometimes
trivial, sometimes contradictory interpo-
sitions, often utterly inconsistent with the
moral and Christian attributes of God.
The Divine power and goodness were not
spreading abroad like a genial and equable
sunlight, enlightening, cheering, vivifying,
but breaking out in partial and visible
flashes of influence ; each incident was a
special miracle ; the ordinary emotion of
the heart was Divine inspiration. Each
individual had not merely his portion in
the common diffusion of religious and
moral knowledge or. feeling, but looked
for his peculiar and especial share in the
Divine blessing. His dreams came direct
from heaven ; a new system of Christian
omens succeeded the old; witchcraft mere-
ly invoked Beelzebub or Satan instead of
Hecate; hallowed places only changed
their tutelary nymph or genius for a saint
or martyr.

It is not less unjust to stigmatize in the
mass as fraud, or to condemn as imagina-
the weakness of superstition, than ^et^ate
it is to enforce as an essential part human
of Christianity, that which was the mind,
necessary development of this state of
the human mind. The case was this :
the mind of man had before it a recent
and wonderful revelation, in which it
could not but acknowledge the Divine in-
terposition. God had been brought down,
or had condescended to mingle himself
with the affairs of men. But where should
that faith, which could, not but receive
these high, and consolatory, and reason-
able truths, set limits to the agency of
this beneficent power 1 How should it
discriminate between that which in its ap-
parent discrepance with the laws of na-
ture (and of those laws how little was
known!) was miraculous, and that which,
to more accurate observation, was only
strange or wonderful, or perhaps the re*HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

501

suit of ordinary but dimly-seen causes?
how still more in. the mysterious world
of the human mind, of which the laws are
still, we will not say in their primitive,
but, in comparison with those of external
nature, in profound obscurity ? If the un-
derstanding of man was too much dazzled
to see clearly even material objects ; if,
just awakening from a deep trance, it be-
held everything floating before it in a mist
of wonder, how much more was the mind
disqualified to judge of its own emotions,
of the origin, suggestion, and powers
of those thoughts and emotions which
still perplex and baffle our deepest met-
aphysics.

The irresistible current of man’s thoughts
and feelings ran all one way. It is diffi-
cult to calculate the effect of that extra-
ordinary power or propensity of the mind
to see what it expects to see, to colour
with the preconceived hue of its own opin-
ions and sentiments whatever presents it-
self before it. The contagion of emotions
or of passions, which in vast assemblies
may be resolved, perhaps, into a physical
effect, acts, it should seem, in a more ex-
tensive manner; opinions and feelings ap-
pear to be propagated with a kind of epi-
demic force and rapidity. There were
some, no doubt, who saw farther, but who
either dared not, or did not care, to stand
across the torrent of general feeling. But
the mass, even of the strongest minded,
were influenced, no doubt, by the profound
religious dread of assuming that for an or-
dinary effect of nature which might be a
Divine interposition. They were far more
inclined to suspect reason of presumption
than faith of credulity. Where faith is the
height of virtue, and infidelity the depth of
sin, tranquil investigation becomes crimi-
nal indifference, doubt guilty skepticism.
Of all charges, men: shrink most sensitive-
ly, especially in a religious age, from that
of irreligion, however made by the most
ignorant or the most presumptuous. The

The cier-y elersy’ the great, agents in the
‘ maintenance and communication
of this imaginative religious bias, the as-
serters of constant miracle in all its vari-
ous forms, were themselves, rio doubt, ir-
resistibly carried away by the same ten-
dency. It was treason against their order
and their sacred duty to arrest or to
deaden. whatever might tend to religious
impression. Pledged by obligation, by
feeling, we may add by interest, to ad-
vance religion, most were blind to, all
closed their eyes against, the remote con-
sequences of folly and superstition. . A
clergyman who, in a credulous or enthusi-
astic age, dares to be rationally pious, is

a phenomenon of moral courage. From
this time, either the charge of irreligion,
or the not less dreadful and fatal suspicion
of heresy or magic, was the penalty tc be
paid for the glorious privilege of superior-
ity to the age in which the man lived, or
of the attainment to a higher and more
reasonable theology.

The desire of producing religious im-
pression was in a great degree Religious
the fertile parent of all the wild impressions,
inventions which already began to be graft-
ed on the simple creed of Christianity.
That which was employed avowedly with
this end in one generation, became the
popular belief of the next. The full growth
of all this religious poetry (for, though not
in form, it was poetical in its essence) be-
longs to, and must be reserved for, a later
period : Christian history would be incom-
plete without that of Christian popular
superstition.

But though religion, and religion in this
peculiar form, had thus swallowed up all
other pursuits and sentiments, it cannot
indeed be said that this new mythic ,or
imaginative period of the world suppressed
the development of any strong intellectual
energy, or arrested the progress of real
knowledge and improvement. This, even
if commenced, must have yielded to the
devastating inroads of barbarism. But in
truth, however high in some respects the
civilization of the Roman empire under
the Antoilines ; however the useful, more
especially the mechanical, arts must have
attained, as their gigantic remains still
prove, a high perfection (though degener-
ate in point of taste, by the colossal solid-
ity of their structure, the vast buildings,
the roads, the aqueducts, the bridges, in
every quarter of the world, bear testimony
to the science as well as to the public
spirit of the age), still there is a remark-
able dearth, at this flourishing period, of
great names in science and philosophy as
well as in literature.*

Principles may have been admitted, and
may have begun to take firm Effeot on
root, through the authoritative natural phi-
writings of the Christian fathers, los°Ph>r-
which, after a long period, would prove
adverse to the free development of natural,
moral, and intellectual philosophy ; and,
having been enshrined for centuries as a
part of religious doctrine, would not easily
surrender their claims to Divine authority,
or be deposed from their established su-
premacy. The Church condemned Galileo'
on the authority of the fathers as much as
of the sacred writings, at least on their ir-

* Galen, as a writer on physic, may be quoted 2jr
an exception.f> 02

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

refragable interpretation of the Scriptures;
and the denial of the antipodes by St. Au-
gustine was alleged against the magnifi-
cent, but, as it appeared to many, no less
impious than frantic, theory of Columbus.*
The wild cosmogonical theories of the
Gnostics and Manicheans, with the no less
unsatisfactory hypotheses of the Greeks,
tended, no doubt, to throw discredit on all
kinds of physical study,f and to establish
the strictly literal exposition of the Mosaic
history of the creation. The orthodox
fathers, when they enlarge on the works
of the six days, though they allow them-
selves largely in allegorical inference, have
in general in view these strange theories,
and refuse to depart from the strict letter
of the history ;f and the popular language,
which was necessarily employed with re-
gard to the earth and the movements of
the heavenly bodies, became established
as literal and immutable truth. The Bible,
and the Bible interpreted by the fathers,
became the code, not of religion only, but
of every branch of knowledge. If religion
demanded the assent to a heaven-revealed
or heaven-sanctioned theory of the phys-
ical creation, the whole history of man,
from its commencement to its close, seem-
ed to be established in still more distinct
and explicit terms. Nothing was allowed
for figurative or Oriental phraseology, no-
thing for that condescension to the domi-
nant sentiments and state of knowledge,
which may have been necessary to render
each part of the sacred writings intelligible
to that age in which it was composed.
And if the origin of man was thus clearly

* It has been said that the best mathematical
science which the age ..could command was em-
ployed in the settlement of the question about East-
er, decided at the Council of Nice.

t Brucker’s observations on the physical knowl-
edge, or, rather, on the professed contempt of phys-
ical knowledge, of the fathers, are characterized
with his usual plain good sense. Their general
language was that of Lactantius : “ Quanto faceret
sapientius ac verius si exceptione facta diceret caus-
sas rationesque duntaxat rerum ccelestium seu nat-
uralium, quia sunt abdite, nesciri. posse, quia nullus
doceat, nec quoeri oportere, quia inveniri quarenda non
possunt. Qua exceptione interposita et physicos
admonuisset ne qusererent ea, quas modum exceder-
ent cogitationis humane, et se ipsum calumnie in-
vidia liberasset, et nobis certe dedisset, aliquid, quod
sequeremur.”—Div. Instit., iii., 2. See other quo-
tations to the same effect: Brucker, Hist. Phil., iii.,
p. 357. The work of Cosmas Indicopleustes, edited
by Montfaucon, is a curious example of the prevail-
ing notions of physical science.

% Compare the Hexaemeron of Ambrose, and
Brucker’s sensible remarks on the pardonable errors
of that great prelate. The evil was, not that the
fathers fell into extraordinary errors on subjects of
which they were ignorant, but that their errors were
canonized by the blind veneration of later ages,
which might have been better informed

revealed, the close, of his history was stL.\
supposed, however each generation passed
away undisturbed, to be still imminent and
immediate. The day of judgment was be-
fore the eyes of the Christian, either in-
stant or at a very brief interval; it was
not unusual, on a general view, to discern
the signs of the old age and decrepitude of
the world; and every great calamity was
either the sign or the commencement of
the awful consummation. Gregory I. be-
held in the horrors of the Lombard invasion
the visible approach of the last day*;* and
it is not impossible that the doctrine of a
purgatorial state was strengthened by this
prevalent notion, which interposed only a
limited space between the death of the in-
dividual and the final judgment.

But the popular belief was not merely a
theology in its higher sense.

Christianity began to approach to a poly-
theistic form, or at least to per- Po]ylheis_
mit, what it is difficult to call by tic form of
any other name than polytheis- Christianity,
tic, habits and feelings of devotion. It
attributed, however vaguely, to subordi-
nate beings some of the inalienable pow-
ers and attributes of divinity. Under the
whole of this form lay the sum of Chris-
tian doctrine; but that which was con-
stantly presented to the minds of men
was the host of subordinate, indeed, but
still active and influential, mediators be-
tween the Deity and the world of man.
Throughout (as has already been, and will
presently be indicated again) existed the vi-
tal and essential difference between Chris-
tianity and paganism. It is possible that
the controversies about the Trinity and
the divine nature of Christ tended indi-
rectly to the promotion of this worship,
of the virgin, of angels, of saints and mar-
tyrs. The great object of the victorious,
to a certain extent, of both parties, was
the closest approximation, in one sense,
the identification, of the Saviour with
the unseen and incomprehensible Deity.
Though the human nature of Christ was
as strenuously asserted in theory, it was
not dwelt upon with the same earnestness
and constancy as his divine. To magni-
fy, to purify this from all earthly leaven
was the object of all eloquence : theologic
disputes on this point withdrew or divert-
ed the attention from the life of Christ as
simply related in the Gospels. Christ be-

* Depopulate urbes, eversa castra, concremate
ecclesie, destructa sunt monasteria virorum et fce-
minarunn, desolata ab hominibus predia, atque ab
omni cultore destituta; in solitudine, vacat terra,
occupaverunt bestie loca, que prius inultitudo horn
inum tenebat. Nam in hac terra, in qua ros vivi-
mus, finem suum rnundus jam non nuntiat sed oa-
tendit.—Greg. Mag., Dial, iii., 38.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

50S

came the object of a remoter, a more aw-
ful adoration. The mind began, therefore,
to seek out, or eagerly to seize, some
other more material beings in closer alli-
ance with human sympathies. The con-
stant propensity of man to humanize his
Deity, checked, as it were, by the rece-
ding majesty of the Saviour, readily clung
with its devotion to humbler objects.*
The weak wing of the common and un-
enlightened mind could not soar to the un-
approachable light in which Christ dwelt
with the Father; it dropped to the earth,
and bowed itself down before some less
mysterious and infinite object of venera-
tion. In theory it was always a differ-
ent and inferior kind of worship; but the
feelings, especially impassioned devotion,
know no logic ; they pause not; it would
chill them to death if they were to pause
for these fine and subtle distinctions. The
gentle ascent by'which admiration, rever-
worship of ence> gratitude, and love swelled
saints and up to awe, to veneration, to wor-
angeis. ship, both as regards the feelings
of the individual and the general senti-
ment, was imperceptible. Men passed
from rational respect for the remains of
the dead,f the communion of holy thought
and emotion, which might connect the de-
parted saint with his brethren in the flesh,
to the superstitious veneration of relics,
and the deification of mortal men, by so
easy a-transition, that they never discov-
ered the precise point at which they trans-
gressed the unmarked and unwatched
boundary.

This new polytheizing Christianity,
therefore, was still subordinate and sub-

* The progress of the worship of saints and an-
gels has been fairly and impartially traced by
Schroeckh, Christliche Kirchengeschichte, viii.,
161, et scq. In the account of the martyrdom of
Polycarp it is said, “ we love the martyrs as dis-
ciples and followers of the Lord.” The fathers
of the next period leave the saints and martyrs in
a kind of intermediate state, the bosom of Abra-
ham or Paradise, as explained by Tertullian contr.
Marc., iv., 34. Apolyct., 47. Compare Irenaeus
adv. Hser., v., c. 31. Justin, Dial, cum Tryph. Ori-
gen, Horn, vii., in Levit.

•f The growth of the worship of relics is best
shown by the prohibitory law of Theodosius (A.D.
386) against the removal and sale of saints’ bodies.
“Nemo martyres distrahat, nerho mercetur.”-—
Cod. Theodos., ix., 17. Augustine denies that
worship was ever offered to apostles or saints.
u Quis autem audivit aliquando fidelium stantem
sacerdotem ad altare etiam super sanctum corpus
rnartyris ad Dei honorem cultumque constructum,
dicere in precibus, offero tibi sacrificium, Petre,
vel Paule, vel Cypriane, cum apud eorum memo-
pas offeratur Deo qui eos et homines et martyres
fecit, et sanctis suis angelis coelesti honore socia-
vit.”—De Civ. Dei, viii., 27. Compare xvii., 10,
where he asserts miracles to be performed at their
tombs.

sidiary in the theologic creed to the true
Christian worship, but it usurped its place
in the heart, and rivalled it in the daily
language and practices of devotion. _ The
worshipper felt and acknowledged his de-
pendency, and looked for protection or
support to these new intermediate beings,
the intercessors with the great Interces-
sor. They were arrayed by the general be-
lief in some of the attributes of the Deity
—ubiquity ;* the perpetual cognizance of
the affairs of earth; they could hear the
prayer jf they could read the heart; thej
could control nature; they had the power,
derivative indeed from a higher source, but
still exercised according to their .volition,
over all the events of the world. Thus
each city, and almost each individual, be-
gan to have his tutelar saint; the presence
of some beatified being hovered over and
hallowed particular spots; and thus the
strong influence of local and particular
worships combined again with that great
universal faith, of which the supreme Fa-
ther was the sole object, and the universe
the temple.j: Still, however, this new pol

* Massuet, in his preface to Irenaeus, p. cxxxvi,
has adduced some texts from the fathers of the
fourth and fifth centuries on the ubiquity of the
saints and the Virgin.

f Perhaps the earliest instances of these are in
the eulogies of the Eastern martyrs, by Basil, Greg.
Naz., and Greg. Nyssen. See especially the former
on the Forty Martyrs.^ 'O $?u66{xevog, sirl rovg
reaaapdnovTa Kara^evyEt, 6 evtypaivopsvog, etv
avrovg a'Korpsxei'i o filv Iva. 7ivaivevpy rtiv 6va-
Xep&v, o de Iva (j>v?iax6ri avru ra xprjaroTepa,'
kvravda yvvT] evae6^g vrrep tekvqv evxoj^evv K-a-
Takap&dvevai, d’KodrjfiovvTi avdpi rov enavodov
alrovfiev7jj appuorovvTi ryv go.)T?]piav.—Oper.,
vol. ii., p. 155. These and similar passages in Greg.
Nazianzen (Orat.. in Basil), and Gregory of Nyssa
(in Theodor. Martyr.) may be rhetorical orna-
ments, but their ignorant and enthusiastic hearers
would not make much allowance for the fervour of
eloquence. , ,

% An illustration of the new form assumed by
Christian worship may be collected from the works
of Paulinus, who, in eighteen poems, celebrates the
nativity of St. Felix, the tutelary saint of Nola. St.
Felix is at least invested in the powers ascribed to
the intermediate deities of antiquity. Pilgrims
crowded from the whole of the south of Italy to the
festival of St. Felix. . Rome herself, though she
possessed the altars of St. Peter and St. Paul, pour-
ed forth her myriads ; the Capenian Gate was cho-
ked, the Appian Way was covered with the devout
worshippers.* Multitudes came from beyond the

* “ Stipatam multis unam juvat urbibus urbem

Cernere, totque uno compulsa examina voto.

Lucani coeunt populi, coit Appula pubes.

Et Calabri, et cuncti.quos adluit aestus uterque,

Qui laeva, et dextra Latium circumsonat unda.

* ’ * * * *

Et qua bis ternas Campania laeta per urbes, &c.
Ipsaque ccelestum sacris procerum monumentis
Roma Petro Pauloque potens, rarescere gaudet
Hujus honore diei, portaequeex ore Capenae
Millia profundens ad amicse maenia Noloe
Dimittet duodena decern per millia denso
Agmine, confertis longe latet Appia turbis.”—Carm. iSI504

HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

ytheism differed in its influence, as well as
in its nature, from that of paganism. It
bore a constant reference to another state
of existence. Though the office of the
tutelary being was to avert and mitigate
temporal suffering, yet it was still more
.so to awaken and keep alive the senti-
ments of the religious being. They were

sea. St. Felix is implored by his servants to re-
move the impediments to their pilgrimages from the
hostility of men or adverse weather; to smooth the
seas, and send propitious winds.* There is con-
stant reference, indeed, to Christf as the source of
this power, yet the power is fully and explicitly as-
signed to the saint. He is the prevailing interces-
sor between the worshipper and Christ. But the
vital distinctions between this paganizing form of
Christianity and paganism itself is no less manifest
in these poems. It is not merely as a tutelary deity
in this life that the saint is invoked ; the future
state of existence and the final judgment are con-
stantly present to the thoughts of the worshipper.
St. Felix is entreated after death to bear the souls
of his worshippers into the bosom of the Redeemer,
and to intercede for them at the last day4
These poems furnish altogether a curious picture
of the times, and show how early Christian Italy
began to become what it is. The pilgrims brought
their votive offerings, curtains and hangings, em-
broidered with figures of animals, silver plates with
inscriptions, candles of painted wax, pendent lamps,
precious ointments, and-dishes of venison and other
meats for the banquet. The following character-
istic circumstance must not be omitted. The mag-
nificent plans of Paulinus for building the Church
of St. Felix were interfered with by two wooden cot-
tages, which stood in a field before the front of the
building. At midnight a fire broke out in these
tenements. The affrighted bishop woke up in trem-
bling apprehension lest the splendid “palace” of the
saint should be enveloped in the flames. He en-
tered the church, armed with a piece of the wood of
the true cross, and advanced towards the fire. The
flames, which had resisted all the water thrown
upon them, retreated before the sacred wood; and
in the morning everything was found uninjured
except these two devoted buildings. The bishop,
without scruple, ascribes the fire to St. Felix:

“ Sed et hoc Felicis gratia nobis
Munere consuluit, quod praeveniendo laborem
. Utilibus Jiammis, operum compendia nobis
; Praestitit.”—Carm. x.

The peasant, who had dared to prefer his hovel,
though the beloved dwelling of his youth, to the
house of God or of his saint, seeing one of the
buildings thus miraculously in flames, set fire to
the other.

“ Et celeri peragit sua damna furore
Dilectasque domo's, et inanes planget amores.”
Some of the other miracles at the shrine of St.
Felix border close on the comic.

* 1 “ Da currere mollibus undis

Et famulis famulos a puppi suggere ventos.”—Carm. i.
f “ Sis bonus o felixque tufs, Dominumque potentem
Exores—

Liceat placati munere Christi
Post pelagi fluctus,” &c.
t “ Positasque tuorum

Ante tuos vultus, animas vectare paterno
Ne renuas grernio Domini fulgentis ad ora. * *
Posce ovium grege nos statui, ut sententia summi
Judicis, hoc quoqie nos iterum tibi munere donet.”

Carm. iii.

not merely the agents of the Divine prov-
idential government on earth, but indisso-
lubly connected with the hopes and fears
of the future state of existence.

The most natural, most beautiful, and
most universal, though perhaps worship oi
the latest developed, of these the virgin,
new forms of Christianity, that which
tended to the poetry of the religion, and
acted as the conservator of art, particu-
larly of painting, till at length it became
the parent of that refined sense of the
beautiful, that which was the inspiration
of modern Italy, was the worship of the
Virgin. As soon as Christian devotion
expanded itself .beyond its legitimate ob-
jects ; as soon as prayers or hymns were
addressed to any of those beings who had
acquired sanctity from their connexion
or co-operation with the introduction of
Christianity into the world ; as soon as
the apostles and martyrs had become hal-
lowed in the general sentiment, as more
especially the objects of the Divine favour
and of human gratitude, the virgin mother
of the Saviour appeared to possess pecu-
liar claims to the veneration of the Chris-
tian world. The worship of the Virgin,
like most of the other tenets which grew
out of Christianity, originated in the lively
fancy and fervent temperament of the
East, but was embraced with equal ardour,
and retained with passionate constancy,
in the West.*

The higher importance assigned to the
female sex by Christianity than by any
other form at least of Oriental religion,
powerfully tended to the general adoption
of the worship of the Virgin, while that
worship reacted on the general estimation
of the female sex. Women willingly dei-

*. Irenasus, in whose works are found the earliest
of those ardent expressions with regard to the, Vir-
gin, which afterward kindled into adoration, may,
in this respoct, be considered as Oriental. I allude
to his parallel between Eve and the Virgin, in
which he seems to assign a mediatorial character
to the latter.—Iren., iii., 33. v. 19.

The earlier fathers use expressions with regard
to the Virgin altogether inconsistent with the rev-
erence of later ages. Tertullian compares her un-
favourably with Martha and Mary, and insinuates
that she partook of the incredulity of . the rest of
her own family. “ Mater aeque non demonstratur
adhaesisse illi, cum Marthas et Marias alise in com-
mercio ejus frequentantur. Hoc denique in loco
(St. Luc., viii., 20) apparet incredulitas eorum cum
is doceret viam vitae,” &c\—De Carne Christi., c.
7. There is a collection of quotations on this sub-
ject in Field on the Church, p 264, et seq.

The Collyridians, who offered cakes to the Vii
gin, were rejected as heretics.—Epiphan, Haeres.,
lxxviii., lxxix.

The perpetual virginity of Mary was an object of
controversy : as might be expected, it was main-
tained with unshaken confidence by Epiphanius,
Ambrose, and Jerome.HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.

505

tied (we cannot use another adequate
expression) this perfect representative of
their own sex, while the sex was eleva-
ted in general sentiment by the influence
ascribed to their all-powerful patroness.
The ideal of this sacred being was the
blending of maternal tenderness with per-
fect purity, the two attributes of the fe-
male character which man, by his nature,
seems to hold in the highest admiration
and love; and this image constantly pre-
sented to the Christian mind, calling forth
the gentler emotions, appealing to, and
giving, as it were, the Divine sanction to,
domestic affections, could not be without
its influence. It operated equally on the
manners, the feelings, and, in some re-
spect, on the inventive powers of Christi-
anity. The gentleness of the Redeemer’s
character, the impersonation of the Di-
vine mercy in his whole beneficent life,
had been in some degree darkened by the
fierceness of polemic animosity. The re-
ligion had assumed a sternness and se-
verity arising from the mutual and re-
criminatory condemnations. The oppo-
site parties denounced eternal punish-
ments against each other with such indis-
criminate energy that hell had become
almost the leading and predominant im-
age in the Christian dispensation. This
advancing gloom was perpetually soften-
ed ; this severity allayed by the impulse
of gentleness and purity, suggested by
this hew form of worship. It kept in
3 S

motion that genial under-current of more
humane feeling; it diverted and estranged
the thought from this harassing strife to
calmer and less exciting objects. The
dismal and the terrible, which so con-
stantly haunted the imagination, found no
place during the contemplation of the
Mother and the Child, which, when once it
became enshrined in the heart, began to
take a visible and external form.* The
image arose out of, and derived its sanc-
tity from, the general feeling, which in its
turn, especially when, at a later period,
real art breathed life into it, strengthened
the general feeling to an incalculable de-
gree.

The wider and more general dissemina-
tion of the worship of the Virgin belongs
to a later period in Christian history.

Thus under her new form was Christi-
anity prepared to enter into the darkening
period of European history; to fulfil her
high office as the great conservative prin-
ciple of religion, knowledge, humanity,
and of the highest degree of civilization
of which the age was capable, during cen-
turies of violence, of ignorance, and ol
barbarism.

* At a later period, indeed, even the Virgin be-
came the goddess of war :

’Ael yap olde tijv <j)v<jiv vucav fxovi],

Tokg) to irptirov, teal fidxy to devTeoov.

Such are the verses of George of Pisidia, relat'dig
a victory over the Avars.INDEX.

A boar or Abgarus, of Edessa, his asserted corre-
spondence, 276.

Ablutions, emblematic, how far consonant to bap-
tism, 174.

AbrahaSn, the Patriarch, 40, 248, 309. Race of,
107, 111, 112, 121,158,169. The Divine promise
to, 151. Allusion to Abraham and Sarah, 404.
Abraxas, the mysterious word, 211.

Abstinence, 210.

Abyssinia, Bruce, Salt, and Pearce’s account of
Christianity in, 37, n.

Academy of Athens, philosophy of the, 32, 33.
Achaia, Christianity received in, 164, 181.

Acts of the African martyrs, 243, n., 255, n.

------, the : see New Testament, and Apostles.

Aderbijan, 43.

Adiabeni, Helena, queen of the, 41. Her tomb near
Jerusalem, ib.

<Edesius, the philosopher, 348.

Aetius, heresy of, 343, and note, 344, n.

^lia, on the site of Jerusalem, Roman regulations
at, 173, 308.

JElius, prsefect at Carthage, 294.
xEon, or Emanation, duoirme of an, 206. Christ,
208, 211.

------and Protogenes, 200, 205.

iEons, the, of the Gnostics, 200,209,212, 215. The
primary, 210.

JEsculapius, Temple of, at ^Egse in Cilicia, 308.
/Ethiopia, conversion of, 328.

Africa, wild mirth of the native tribes of, 24. The
granary of Rome, 295. Advance of religion
through Egypt to parts of, 200, 241, 253-255. Its
desolate condition in the time of Augustine, 420.
African Jews, the, 153.

------Christians, 241, et seq., 252, 290.

------martyrs, 243, et seq., 252, 253-255.

------— controversy of the Donatists and their oppo-
nents, 291, et. seq.

Agabus, famine predicted by, 157. Predicts that
Paul would be cast into prison, 165.

Agapse, 468, and note. Suppressed, 470.
Agatho-daemon, of the Egyptian mythology, 215.
Agenario, called Serapion, 35, n.

Agrippa, Herod, 157.

——, the son of Herod Agrippa, educated at
Rome, 35, 160. Releases Ananias, 166. He
sends Paul prisoner to Rome, 167. Edict of, 181.
Ahriman or Arimanes, of the Persian doctrines,
210, 275.

Alaric captures the city of Rome, 387.

Albinus, procurator of Judaea, 129, 167, 186.

---------, the consul, his satire on Constantine, 300.

Irritation of the emperor thereat, 302.

Alexander, empire of, 21. Policy of, 22. Conquest
of Persia by, 41.

---------, bishop of Constantinople, 321.

---------a jew 0f Ephesus, 183.

---------f the coppersmith, 188. ,

------.--f patriarch of Alexandrea, 313. Pie ex-
pels Arius from the city, 314.

Hlexandrea, Jews of, their religious and philosoph-'
ical notions, 29, 32, n., 40, 41, 48, 96, n., 150,159,
203, 227. Gave birth to two sects of the Gnos-
tics, 210. The Jews of, frequented the theatres,
220. Church of, 240, 312, 313, 332, 337,.et seq.,
151. Dreadful dissension on account of religion

at, 330, 332, 338. Murder of George, the Anar
bishop of, 359, 360. Persecutions by Severus at,
241. [See Athanasius.] Trinitarian controver-
sy, 312. Temple of Serapis st, 377. Worship
of, 378. Statue of, ib. The Temple assailed,
379. Insurrection of the pagans under the phi-
losopher Olympus, 378.

Aliturus the Jew, 220.

Allegories, superstitious, 205, 207, 212, 213. Moral
and religious, 250, et passim.

Allegory, Scripture, by whom considered a moral,
29, 74. Greek mythology also reduced to, 48,
346. Religions when clothed in, 61.

Allegorical Being attributed to Wisdom, Mind, Ag-
riculture, &c., &c., 200. Persons and incidents
of the Old Testament said to be allegorical, 489.

Altar of the ancient Romans erected in camps, 27.
Of incense of the Temple, 76. Of the Unknown
God, 179, and note. Christian, 491, and note.

Amanfius, reasons of his execution, 367.

Ambrose, St., rebukes Theodosius, 324, 382, 383,
384. He flies from Milan on occasion of the
apostacy of Eugenius, 385. Character and fate
of, 406, et seq. He advocates celibacy, 407. Re-
demption of captives by, ib. His belief in the
miracles performed at Milan, 410. His denial of
a church for the use of the heretical Empress
Justina, 408, 409. His embassy to the usurper
Maximus, 410. His quarrel with Theodosius,
411. His dignity displayed, and Theodosius con-
descends to the prelate, ib. He rebukes Theo-
dosius for the massacre at Thessalonica, 412, et
seq. His death, 413. His works, 429, n. Intro
duced chanting into the West, 497. The Am
brosial chant, ib.

America, nations of the double continent of, 25, n.

America, North, savage aborigines of, 24.

Amphitheatres, death of Christians in the, 237.
Constantine condemns his enemies to the beasts,
288, n., 299. The Roman Amphitheatre, 475, et
seq. m *

Amulets and talismans, 181, 182. ......

Ananias and Sapphira-, mysterious and awful death
of, 152.

-------, a leading Christian of Damascus, 155.

-------, high-priest at Jerusalem, 161. On acquit

tal at Rome, he resumes his office, ib. St. Paul
boldly confronts, 166.

Andreas, execution of the eunuch, 263.

Andrew, St., the apostle, 77, 86, 98.

Angel of the Synagogue, or chazan, defined, 195.

Angels and Archangels, 44. The Angel of the Cov-
enant, 49. Missions of Gabriel to Zachariah, 51,

52. To Elizabeth, 52. To the Virgin Mary, 52,

53. To St. Peter in prison, 157. Of the Pool of
Bethesda, 95, n.

Angel, the material world created by an, 207, 209.

Angels and devils, later Jewish doctrine of, 206.

-------, the seven, of Gnostic heresy, 209. Contest

of good and bad, 210.

Anna, prophetical character of, 57.

Annas, high-priest, 117, 133, 152, n. His son An-
nus or Ananus, high-priest, 1G7. His sanguinary
administration of the Jewish law, 168.

Annunciation, the, of our Lord, 5?.

Anomeans, the, 343, 344.

Antagonist powers of creation ana destruction, 2f*508

INDEX.

210. Of light and darkness, 279, et passim. See
Principles.

Anthemius, the emperor, 476.

Anthropomorphism of the Greeks, 26, 178. Of the
Egyptian monks, 428.

Antinous, the quinquennial games in honour of, 223.

Antipater, son of Herod, his intrigues and death,
39, 50.

Antioch, Church of, and name of Christians, 158,
162, 176, 208, 221, 252, 318, 359, 396, et seq., 397,
451, n. Anciently a chief seat of heathenism,
358. Conflagration of the Temple of Apollo, 359..
Council of, 332. Monasteries near, 396.

-------of Pisidia, 162.

Antiochus the Great, 41, n.

Antonia, the, or fortress near the Temple, 136, et
'passim.

Antonines, the, 217, 218.

Antoninus, Marcus, 33, 181. Edict of, 231. Per-
secution by, ib.

----------Pius, 218. His reign, 224. His rescript,

ib., n. His edicts favouring the Christians, 224.

Antoninus, column of, 235.

Antonius, Julius, edict of the proconsul, 181.

Antony, St., a true Christian, 424. Sells his pat-
rimony for purposes of charity, ib. His asceti-
cism, 425. Deemonology, ib. Self-torture. 426.
His influence, ib.

Anulinus, prsefect of Africa, 292, 293.

Apocalypse, the, 226.

Apocrypha] books of the Old Testament, 29, 41, n.,
48, n., 53, 227. 4‘ Gospel of the Infancy,” 68, n.

Apollo, oracle of, at Miletus, 260, 261, 265. Tem-
ples of, 284, n. Worship of, 305, 359, 388. Hymn
to, 368. Divination, ib. Oracle of, ib., n.

Apollonius of Tyana, 62, 205, 213, 248, 250.

Apollos, Christian sectarian, 182, 198.

Apologists, Christian, 223, 226, and note, 233, 482.

“ Apology” of Christianity, 223, 224, 227, 233,
243, 482.

Appendix I., Recent Lives of Christ, 59.

-----—— II., Origin of the Gospels, 63.

-------—- III., Influence of the more imaginative In-
cidents of the early evangelic History on the
Propagation and Maintenance of the Religion, 66.

Appii Forum, 184.

Apostles, twelve, commissioned by Christ, 98.
Sent to preach throughout Galilee, 102. Their
uncertainty, 104, n. Their perplexity, 107. Their
contention who should be greatest, 109, 132.
Collision of, with th# Sadducees, 120. They
are empowered to work miracles, 125. Their
Divine Master inculcates humility to them, 132.
Incredulity of, respecting his Resurrection,' 148.
Election of a twelfth, 149. The Holy Ghost im-
parts to them the gift of divers languages for the
advancement of Christianity, 150. The Acts and
Miracles of the Apostles, 151, 153, n., 159, 161,
176, 178, et seq., 182, 187, 204, n. Peter and
others accused, 152. Defended by Gamaliel, ib.
Their temporary protection, 153, 157. At the
intercession of Barnabas, they receive Paul into
the Christian Church, 156. They preach the Gos-
pel throughout Judaea, 157. Are persecuted by
Agrippa, ib. Labours of Paul and Barnabas, 159,
170. . Who are invested with the apostolic mis-
sion, 161, 164, 175, n. Martyrdom of some of
the, 157, 168. The apostolic history, 171, n.,
172, 177, 178, 195, 444, n. Argument on the pe-
riod of Peter and Paul joining the already estab-
lished Church in Rome, 171, n. Martyrdom of
Peter and Paul, 187-189. Legends of their mis-
sions to divers countries, 193. The primitive
churches collected round an apostolic teacher,
196, et seq. The “ Apostolic Constitutions,” 208,
n. Marriage of, 452, n. Pictures of, 494. Con-
stantine’s recognition of, in a vision, ib. Paul

and Peter depicted on many old monuments,
ib.

Aquila, a friend of St. Paul, 164, and note, 171,182.

Arabia, Magi of, 59. St. Paul’s residence in, 156,
and note. Jews of. converted, 156. f

Aramaic, dialects of the, 88, 98, n. Vernacular in
Palestine, 150.

Arbogastes, the Gaul, commander of the Roman
troops, 385.

Archelaus, his accession on the death of Herod the
Great, 50, 59, 69. His deposition, 69, 70, 135.

----------, bishop of Cascar, his conference with

Mani, 282. Plis “ Acts,” 279, n.

Architecture of Grecian temples, 306, 307. Princi-
ple of the arch and vault, 306. Of Christian
churches, 307. Later Roman, 308. Church,
486. Windows, ib. Subdivisions of the building,
ib. Gothic, 487.

Ardeschir Babhegan, king of Persia, 274.

Areopagus at Athens, 178.

Aretas, king of Arabia, 72, n., 82, 103, n., 156.

Arianism of the Visigoths, 310, n. Disputes on ac
count of, 330-336, 344, 369.

Arians, tenets of this sect, 313. Triumph of the
faction,' 336, 337, 344.

Arius, doctrine of, 313. Driven from Alexandrea,
314. Writes the “ Thalia,” ib , n. Hisdisciples,
ib., n. Is exiled, 317. Recalled by a letter from
Constantine, 318, 321. His sudden death, 321.
The Arian faction, 336.

Aristides, his apology for Christianity, 223, 235, n.

Aristobulus, 227, n.

Armenia, 374. Jews of, 41, n. War of Maximin
with, 268. The first Christian kingdom, 275.

Armenian Church, the, 199, 275.

Arsaces, dynasty of, 273.

Arsenius, Bishop, false rumour of his death, 320,
426.

Artaces, funeral of King, 276.

Artaxerxes, 275, n.

Articles of the Church of England, 47, n.

Ascension, the, 149.

Ascetics, 52,54, 70. Among the Christians, 168, n.

Asceticism, source of, 201-204, 425. Purifying
principle of, 210. Of the Christians of Rome,
367. '

Asia, rapid fall of the monarchies of, 21. Jewish
settlements in, 41, and note. Religions of, 42,
163.

Asiatic hours of the day, 83, n.

—-----Jews, the, 153, 176. Calamities of, 268.

Asia Minor, Jews resident in all the provinces of,
161, 162. Christian churches of, 163,222, n. St.
Paul preaches in the cities of, 181, et seq., 186,
187. Office of Asiarch, 183, n. Progress of
Christianity in, 199, 224. Orientalism of West-
ern, 203, 228. Persecutions in, 233, 267, et pas-
sim.

Asmonean dynasty, the, 135. See the Herods.

Astarte, worship of, 42, 247, 359.

Astral worship of the East, 25, 42.

Astrologers banished by Augustus, 3b.

Astrology, its character, 35. Books of, 215. Pre-
dictions of, 231.

Asylum, right of, 400.

Athanasian Christians, the, 338, et passim.

Athanasius, St., 317, n., 319. Charges against.him,
319. Appears before the Synod of Tyre, 320.
He justifies himself, ib. Meets the offended Con-
stantine, ib. New accusations, ib. Banish 'd to
Treves, 321. Acquittal of, 330. A prominent
character of Christianity, 331. His restoration
to Alexandrea, 332.. He flies to Rome, ib., 334.
Is recalled, 334. New charges against, 336. Or-
ders to remove him, 337. Tumults at Alexan-
drea. in consequence, 338. Retreat of this prelate,
339. His writings described, 341. His returnINDEX.

509

from ’exile, and authority over the Christian
Church of Alexandrea, 360. His fifth exile, 369.
His death, ib. Allusions to, 497, et 'passim.

Athens, Jewish proselytes at, 164. State of Poly-
theism at, 178. St. Paul in the Areopagus, ib.
Philosophy of, 179. The Emperor Hadrian’s visit
to, 222. Julian at, 349. The Parthenon, 29,
381, n.

Attalus, Roman emperor, 387.

--------, a Christian martyr, 237.

Augustan iEra, the, 21.

Augusti and Csesars, forming four contemporary
authorities in the Roman empire, 271.

Augustine, St., his works effected a change in hu-
man opinion, and influenced Christianity, 413.
His use of Latin, ib. The Augustinian theology,
4.14. His style of writing, 416. His civil life,
417. His studies, ib. Impressed with Marn-
chean notions, ib. His celebrity, ib. His bap-
tism, ib. Controversial writings of, 418. The
“ City of God,” ib., 419, 482. Life of Augustine,
419. The siege of Hippo, 420. His death, ib.
Remarks of, 470, 476, et passim. His work “ De
Civitate Dei,” 30, n., 33, n., 176, n. De Consensu
Evangelist., 66, n. Other writings of, 277, n., 278,
n., 281, n., 293, n., 296, 385, n., 410, n., 421, n.
De Moribus Manichaeorum, 282, n.

Augustus, of, 21. Sacrifice by Octavius, 30, n.
His* deification, ib., n. The decree of, 56. Re-
script of, in favour of the Jews, 181.

Aurehan, the Emperor, edict of, 230, n. Persecu-
tion by, 256, et seq.

Aurelius, Marcus, 218. Christianity and the phi-
losopher Aurelius, 225. Persecution by this em-
peror, ib., 233. Three causes of his hostility to
Christianity, 225, et seq., 229. His character,
230. His reign, 231.

--------, Victor, 363, n.

Baal, the sun worshipped as, 42.

Uaalbec, temples of, 306, 308, 377.

Baalpeor, rites of, 246.

Babylas, bishop of Antioch, his martyrdom and rel-
ics, 252, 357, n., 359.

Babylop, Jews at, 41, 42, n. Controversy respect-
ing [on St. Peter, i., v. 13], 42, n.

Babylonia, superstitions of, 22, 34, 44. Captivity
and settlement of Jews in, 41, 273. Caravans
from Jerusalem to, 58, n., 78.

Bacchus, Temple of, at Alexandrea, 378.

Bactria, 43, 274.

Baharam, King, 282.

Balk, city of, 274.

Bampton Lectures: Remarks on Polytheism by the
Rev. H. H. Milman, 175, n., 176, n. By Mr.
Coneybeare, 259, n.

Baptism, rite of, 71, 160. 174, 198, 466.

--------by Menander, disciple of Simon Magus,

206, and note.

Rarabbas, release of, 129,139.

Barbarians, the enemies of the Roman empire term-
ed, 299. Their irruption into the Roman empire,
342, 370.

Bar-cochab, his successes against Hadrian, 72, n.

Bardesanes, mystic hymns of, 208. The Poet of
the Gnostics, 213, 390.

Bar-Jesus struck with blindness by Paul and Bar-
nabas, 161.

Barnabas of Cyrus, his conversion, 156. His con-
joint mission with Paul, 159, 161, 162. In com-
pany of St. Mark, he quits Paul, 163.

Barrow, Dr. Isaac, 188, n.

Bartholomew, St., the apostle, 77, 98.

Basil, St., interview of Valens with, 369, et seq.
Orientalism pervades his writings, 389. Pie was
. ' born at Caesarea, in Cappadocia, 391.

Basilides. the Gnostic sectarian, 210.

Basilius, Bishop, 396.

Bath-Kol, or voice from Heaven, 124, n.

Beausobre, M., on the Simomans, 205. On Mani-
cheism, 277, n., 280, n., 282, n.

Beauty, allegorical impersonation of, 205.

Beelzebub, 101.

Belgium ravaged by the Catti, 232.

Belief, diversities of, 49, et passim.

Bentley, Dr., 163, n.

Berenice, wdfe of Polemo, king of Cilicia, 162, n.,
167.

Beraea, the apostles at, 178.

Bertholdt, Professor, Christologia Judseorum of,
40, n. His extracts from certain Samaritan let-
ters, 83, n.

Bethabara and the ford of the River Jordan, 70.

Bethany, Jesus at, 112, n., 115, 117, 122, 125, n..
132, n , 149.

Beth-esfda, healing of the sick man at the Pool-of,

95. Judicial investigation into the conduct of
Jesus, ib. His defence, ib. His second defence,

96.

Bethlehem, birth of Christ at, 50, 421, n. The
Magi adore the Messiah at, 50, 58, n. The jour-
ney to, 55. The birthplace of David, 56. Mur'
dor of the Innocents at, 59, n. Church at, 3C9
Cell of Jerome at, 435.

------------- Gate, the, 173.

Bethphage, hamlet of, 132, n.

Bethsaida, birthplace of Peter and Andrew, 86, 98,
115. The Desert near, 103.

Beugnot, M., his “ Destruction du Paganisme,” 323.

Bible, the: miracles recorded in the Old Testa-
ment, 28. Earlier Books of, predict the coming
of the Messiah, 40, 56. The Prophets, 40, 46
Targum, comments on Scripture, 41, n. Mythic
interpreters of, 52, n. Astronomical expression
of, 58, n. The Pentateuch, 126. The sublime
doctrines of the, 208. Rejected by the Gnostics,
ib. With whom the Old Testament predomina-
ted over the Gospel, 291, 361. St. Jerome’s Latin
version of, 421, 437. Language of the Old Tes-
tament, 445,478, n. Its persons and incidents an
allegory of the doctrines of the New Testament,
489.

Bingham, Eccles. Antiq. quoted, 307, n., 447, n.

Bishop, authority of the, 196.

Bishops, presbyter, of the primitive Church, 194,
and note, 223, n. Ordination or consecration of,
197. Their attention to secular concerns, 198.
Title of pontiff, 199. Growth of the sacerdotal
power, 291, 296, 315, 387, 399, 442, 443, 459.
Mode of election of, 446. Metropolitan, ib. For-
mation of the diocese, ib. Chorepiscopi, ib.
Archbishops, 447. Patriarchs, ib. Management
of the church property intrusted to, 451. The'
ceconomus, ib. Marriage of, 452.

Bithynia, spread of Christianity in, and the neigh-
bouring provinces, 218.

Blandina, torture and martyrdom of, 237.

Blasphemy, accusations of: our Saviour, 139. St
Stephen, 153. St. James, 157, and note.

Blind, the, restored by Jesus, 102, 107, 112, 118.

Boanerges, James and John named, 98.

Bohlen, das Alte Indien, quoted, 25, n., 26, n., 199,
n., 203, n.

Bona Dea, orgies of the, 30.

----, Cardinal, 495.

Bonzes of India, 201.

Bosphorus, the, 303.

Brahma, 45, n., 46, n., 279.

Brahmins, their view of a Deity, 26, n., 32, 45, n.,

200.

Britain, vestiges of heathenism in, 35. St. Paul’s
visit to, fabulous, 186, n. The Roman power at-
tacked in, 232.

Brosses, De, theory of Egyptian religion by, 26, n.510

INDEX.

Bracket*'on the faiths of Zoroaster and Moham-
med, 44, n.

Buddh, allusions to, 53, 278.

Buddhism of the remote East, 53, n., 168, n., 200,
277. . '

Buddhist monks, 201, n.

Burgundians, Christianized, 374.

Burton, Dr., 57, n., 153, n. History of the Church
by, 223, n.

Byzantium, city of, the modern Constantinople, 302,
303, et seq.

Cabala of the Jews, chief origin of the Gnostics,
42. A traditionary comment on Scripture, ib., 67.
The Adam Caedmon, 278.

Cabalistic Sephiroth, the, 200.

Cabalism, 182, 209, 210.

Caecilian, bishop of Carthage, 292, et seq.

Caesar, Caius Julius, 35, 62, 180, n.

Caesarea in Cappadocia, St. Basil the bisfiop of,
370, et seq.

—--------Philippi, Jesus near, supposed to be John

the Baptist or Elias, 107.

---------, proconsuls or Roman governors resided

in, 69, 88, n., 161. Paul’s imprisonment at, 167.
Caesarius, a magistrate of Antioch, 398.

Caesars, the, 189. The imperial history divided into
four periods, ib. The twelve, 227. Prediction
relative to, 228.

------, the two, assisting the emperors in their ad-
ministration, 271.

Caiaphas, high-priest at Jerusalem, 117, 152. His
acerbity in the interrogatory of Jesus, 133, et seq.
The defence, 133.

Calendai, religious, of ancient Rome, 27, 471.
Caligula, his statue commanded to be placed in the
Temple at Jerusalem, 42, 157. Persecution by,
186.

Calvary, Mount, its real description, 141, n. Church
on, 309.

Calvin, doctrine of, 414.

Cana, marriage at, 77. The miracle of turning wa-
ter into wine considered as anti-Essenian, ib.
Canaanite woman, the, prays Jesus to heal her
daughter, 106.

Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, 156.

Canopus turned into a city of monks, 380.
Cappadocia, language of, 177.

Capernaum, description of, 78. The youth healed
by Jesus at, 85, 86. Became the residence of
our Saviour, ib., 98, 100, 109,115. Jesus teaches
in the synagogue at, 86, 104.

Cappadocia, Christians of, 370, 391.

Captivity, the Jewish, 41, 42. The Prince of the
Captivity, 53, n., 273.

Caracalla, the Emperor, 238, 240, 246.

Caravans visiting Jerusalem and some Eastern
cities, 58, n., 78, 118.

Cardwell, Dr., his Essay, 186, n.

Carpocrates and Epiphanes, 215. '

Carpocratians, the, 215.

Carthage, city of, 247. Church of, 252. Cyprian
suffers martyrdom at, 253-255. The plague at,
254. Dissension and excesses on the claims of
rival prelates of, 291, et seq. Council of, 295, n.,
298.

Casius, Mount, 358.

Cassiodorus, 57, n.

Cassius, Avidius, victory of, 232. His rebellion,
235, n.

Catacombs of Rome, 490, n., 194.

Catholic faith, edict of Theodosius for the universal
acceptance of the, 388.

Catholics, Christian party at Carthage, 292. Or
orthodox party of Constantinople, 321, 369. At
Alexandrea, 338, 341.

------—: see Roman Catholics.

Cato of Utica, bequeathed the spirit of liberty to the
Romans under the empire, 191.

Cause, primal, in the creation, 43, 45,200.

Celestial powers, according to Mani, 280, and note.

--------bodies, their offices, according to Mani,

281.

Celibacy, early observance of, 77, 201, 423, 432.
Laws favourable to, 327. Its influence on civili-
zation, 370,407. Of the clergy, 452. Moral con-
sequences, 453.

Celsus, 59, n.

Cenchrea, vow made at, 164, n. A resort of the
persecuted Christians, 171, n.

Centurion’s servant healed by Jesus, 99.

Ceres and Proserpine, allusion to, 25.

Cerinthus, heretic, 193. His tenets, 207.

Chalcedon, Council of the Oak at, 402, 447.

Chaldsea, superstitions of, 34,35,42,231. Doctrine
of Divine energies or intelligences, 200.

Chaldaic tongue, the, 150.

--------paraphrast, the, 76, n.

Chariot-races in the Circus at Rome, 477.

Charity and almsgiving, 127.

--------or Christian love, 197, 257, 331,461, n.

Chiarini, his theory on the chariot of Ezekiel, 43,
n., 44, n. His translation.of the Talmud, 72, n.

Children exposed or sold, 325.

China, religious worship in, 26, n., 45, n., 54, n.

Chivalry, an institution springing from Christianity,
37. The military Christianity of the Middle
Ages, 288, 370.

Chorazin, miracles worked near the town of, 115.

Chosroes I., king of Parthia, 276. His assassina-
tion, ib.

Christ, Jesus, termed the Father a Spirit, 28, 45.
The human nature of, 38. Life of our Saviour
necessary to a history of Christianity, ib. To
write it difficult, ib. General expectation of the
Messiah, 39,72. Jesus, the Light of the world,
44, 54. Birth op Christ, 50, 54, 57. The An-
nunciation, 52, 53. The Incarnation, 53. The
Holy Child, 57, 68, n. The Circumcision, 57.
The flight into Egypt, and return thence, 59.
Recent Lives of, see Appendix I., 59. Parables
of, 64. The Resurrection of, 67, n. His assump-
tion of public character, 68. Accompanies his
parents to the festival at Jerusalem, ib. Visits
John on the River Jordan, 73. Is baptized by
John, 74. Descent of the Dove on Jesus, ib.
The Holy Spirit, ib. His recognition as the Son
of God, ib. The Temptation of Jesus, ib. Opin-
ions of Biblical critics oir the Temptation, ib.
The Messiah, 76, 80, 84. The Lamb of God, 76.
The Son of God, ib., 139. First disciples of, 77.
His zeal as a teacher, 77, 80, 85, 87, 89. Our
Saviour’s miracles, 77, 80, 85, 89, 92, 95, 96, 99,
101, 102, 103, 107, 112, 116, 123. He celebrates
the Passover at Jerusalem. 78. Expels the tra-
ders from the Temple, 79, 125. Expectations
raised thereby,. 79. He foretels his own resur-
rection, as a rebuilding of the Temple, 80, 107,

142. He teaches the doctrine of Regeneration to
Nicodemus, 80,81. He departs from Jerusalem,
82. Baptism by his disciples compared with the
baptism of John, ib. Jesus visits Samaria, ib.
Avows himself the Messiah, 83. Jesus and the
Samaritan woman at the well of Sichern, ib. Is
coldly received at Nazareth, 85. Is not consid-
ered a prophet in the town of Joseph the carpen-
ter, ib. He discourses on Isaiah, ib. His pub-
lic declaration of his mission, 86, et seq., 88, 96,
108. His teaching differs from that of the rab-
bins, 87. Author of a new Revelation, ib. The
Sermon on the Mount, 87, n., 90. Is compared
with authors of other revolutions, 89,121. Styled
“Son of Man,” 89, 102. Manner of his dis-
courses, 89, 90. These were not in unison withINDEX.

511

she age, 90. His conduct with regard to his
countrymen, 92. Forgave sins, 93. Is a general
theme of admiration, and beloved by the people,
ib., 123. Again keeps the Passover in Jerusalem,
94. Change of the national sentiment as to Je-
sus, ib., 129. Commencement of public accusa-
tions against Jesus, 95, et seq. His retirement,
97. Returns to Capernaum, and appoints the
twelve apostles, 98, 99, 102. His power exerted
in recalling the dead to this world, 99,102. Com-
pares himself and John the Baptist, 100. Is en-
tertained by a Pharisee, and is anointed from an
alabaster box by Mary Magdalen, ib. His con-
duct towards his relatives, 101. He rebukes the
storm, 102. He walks upon the waters, 104.
Question of Jesus being the Messiah, ib., n., 110,
116, 119, 126, 158. Public life of Jesus from the
first to the second Passover, 82. Second year
of the public life of Jesus, 94. The third year,
105. The last Passover, 118. Concealment of
Jesus, 106, 107, 114. Peter recognises him as
“ Christ', the Son of the Living God,” 108. The
Transfiguration of, ib. He teaches in the Tem-
ple, 110, 111. Is denounced by the Sanhedrin,
110,113. Pharisees perplexed as to the measures
against Jesus, 110. His defence before the San-
hedrin, 112, 116, 133, and note. The true Shep-
herd, .114. Visits Jerusalem at the Feast of the
Dedication, 115. He asserts his being one with
the Father, 116. Caiaphas and the authorities of
Jerusalem resolve on putting him to death, 117.
Calm demeanour of the Saviour, 122, 131, 132.
He enters Jerusalem on the colt of an ass, fol-
lowed by a rejoicing multitude, 123, 125, n. He
declares his approaching death, 124,127. Causes
that prompted the Jews to require it, 129. His
betrayal by Judas, 130, 132. His final celebra-
tion of the Passover, 131. He institutes the Sac-
rifice of the Lord’s Supper, ib. His prayer to
the Father in the garden of Gethsemane, 132.
His agony, ib. Is led prisoner to the house of
Annas,433, et seq. And is interrogated by Caia-
phas, ib. His arraignment before the Sanhedrin,
ib., et seq. Question of their jurisdiction in cap-
ital charges, 134. His reproof to Peter, ib. No
precedent for the trial of Jesus, 136. Motives of
the rulers in carrying Jesus to the tribunal of Pi-
late, ib. The Roman prefect, and Herod also,
declared they found no guilt in Jesus, 138, 139.
The Saviour declares, in turn, that Pilate is guilt-
less of his blood, 140. Insults of the soldiery,
134. The crown of thorns, and mocking of Je-
sus, 139. The Sanhedrin press the charge of
“ blasphemy,” ib. The condemnation of our Sa-
viour, 140. The Crucifixion, 141, et seq. The
Passion and Agony, 142. Burial of Christ, 143.
His title of King of the Jews, 141. His Resur-
rection, 147, 148. His Ascension, 149. Advent,
and second coming of, 151, 172. The only Mes-
siah, 169. The descendants of the brethren of
Jesus brought before the tribunals, 192. Their
poverty a cause of their release, ib. Mystical
doctrine of the Gnostics, and of Jews, relative to
the Messiah, 206. Doctrine of the human nature
of, 209. Nature of the Christos, ib., 212. Gnos-
tic notions of, 211, 213-215. A temple of Venus
Aphrodite over the Holy Sepulchre, 308. Hele-
na, mother of Constantine, builds the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre, and other edifices, 309.
The true Cross discovered, ib. Person of the
Saviour, 490. Majesty of the hidden divinity,
491. Augustine’s description of his beauty, ib.
Earliest portraits of, 492. The Father rarely
represented, 493.

Christianity, appearance of, 22. Its universality,
23. Coextensive with the Roman empire, ib.
Revolution effected by, 36. Design ol this His-

tory of, 37. Its influence on civilization, ib. Dif-
ferent in form at different periods of civilization,
ib. Gave rise to chivalry, ib. Not self-developed,
ib. The Saviour Jesus, 38. Principles of, ib.
The Gospels, ib., 39, 41, n., 53, 58, n., 85. His-
torical evidence of, 38. Development of, 47.
Spirit of the times at the birth of Christ, 50, 53.
The Christian scheme essentially moral, and dis-
tinguished from the physical notions of India'or
China, 54,73,161. Propagation and maintenance
of, 66-68, 156, 169. The great Day of the Lord,
72. Origin of monks and hermits, 77. Princi-
ples of Christian morality, 90. Its universality,
91, 92, 128, 158. Was particularly opposed to
the doctrine of the Sadducees, 120. Its real de-
sign not understood by the Jews, ib. Who
among the Hebrew nation likely to embrace, 12!.
Christ’s compendious definition of, 127. Ordi-
nance of the Lord’s Supper, 131. The History
of Christianity commenced from the Crucifixion,
' 143, 144. The Resurrection of Christ, and pro-
mulgation of his religion, 145, et seq. Peter in
vested with the pastoral charge, 149. The reli-
gion of Jesus successfully reinstituted by the gift
of tongues to the apostles, 150. Harangues by
Peter and the followers of Christ, ib. Converts
at Jerusalem to the creed of Jesus, 151. Com-
mon fund of the early followers of the apostles,
ib. Doctrine of the Resurrection, 46,47,126,145,
151, 152. Toleration of the apostles and early
Church at Jerusalem, 153. Persecution of Chris-
tians in the Holy City, 154, 157, 168. Progress
of, in th-e first century of the Christian rera, 158,
169, 189. Church of Antioch assumes the appel-
lation of Christians, 158. External conflict of
Judaism with, 159, 163. Internal conflict, 159.
Not likely long to maintain or suffer the rigid
nationality of the Hebrew people, 162. Chris-
tians separate from the Jews, 164, 169, 172, 173.
Their total independence of Judaism, 165. Ef-
fect of the fall of Jerusalem and destruction of
the Temple on, 169. Practice of our Lord and
the apostles, 170. How far Judaism was retain-
ed by the early Church, ib., et seq., 187, 188, 198.
Promulgation of tjie Christian doctrine in Rome,
171, et seq. At Corinth, 180, et passim. In Asia
Minor, 186. Its conflict with Judaism, 174, 181,
et passim, 361, et seq. And -with paganism, 174,
256, 257, 272. St. Paul a later representative of,
179, 187. His martyrdom, 187-189. Great rev-
olutions slow and gradual, 189. In the^second
century, ib. Characters of Trajan, Hadrian, and
the Antonines favourable to, 217. The conflict
of Oriental worship with, 199, 206. Their com-
bination, 203. Religious sects confused with the
ancient religions, 199. Asceticism introduced
into, 201. The Gnostics, 204-217. Christianity
during the prosperous period of the Roman em-
pire, 217, 218-220, 257. The Christians kept
aloof-from theatrical amusements, 220. Crisis in
the position of the Christians at Rome, 2.19, 221,
231,-257. Public cry of “ The Christians to the
lions,” 223,230. Insecurity of the imperial throne
favourable to, 238,258. Peaceful conduct of the
Christians, 240. Change in the relation of, to
society, under Alexander Severus, 248. Under
Maximin, Gordian, Philip, and Decius, 251, et seq.
Persecuted by Decius, ib., et seq. By Valerian,
253-255. By Aurelian, 256. By Dioclesian, 257.
Miserable death of the persecutors of, 255, 265,
269, 285. Temporary peace of the Church, 257.
The Dioclesian persecution, 257-264. Dioclesian

tnd Galerius deliberate concerning Christianity,
61. A civil council summoned, ib. Edicts of
persecution, ib., 263. Its triumph by the con-
version of Constantine, 272, et seq., 283, 296.
Different state of the East for the propagation of,512

INDEX.

284. And of the West, ib. C.vil war of the Do-
natists and Trinitarians, 291, et seq. Doctrine of,
301, 302. Rise of Constantinople favourable to,
303, et seq. Legal establishment of, 324. Ef-
fects on the religion, ib. And on the civil power,
ib. And on society, 325. Its progress towards
the conquest of the whole world, 329. Worldly
reprisals on religion, ib. Elements of Christian-
ity, 331. In the Dark Ages, 342. In the reign
of Julian, 347. Toleration of, by Julian the apos-
tate, 355. How far he limited his favours to, 356.
It predominated in Constantinople and at An-
tioch, 358. Probable results of Julian’s conflict
with, 364. Monastic asceticism of, 367. State
of, in the East, 369, et seq. It mitigated the evils
of invasions by barbarians, 370. Monasteries and
hermitages, ib. The Goths, Gepidas, Vandals,
and Burgundians receive, 373, 374. Its triumph
and concentration under Theodosius, 374, et seq.,
477. General effects of monachism on, 429,430,
432. Survey of the change effected in, 438, el
seq. Christians no longer a separate people, 438.
Christian writers, ib. Assailed the savage glad-
iatorial spectacles of Rome, 476. Christian lit-
erature, 478, 482. The ecclesiastical Greek and
Latin are new dialects, 478. Church poetry,
Latin, 479. Greek, ib., n. Acts of the martyrs,
480. The Fine Arts, as connected with, 485.
Christianity the religion of the Roman world,
498. Christian theology, ib. Mythic age of
Christianity, 500.

Christmas Day, 57, n.

Chronology of the Scriptures alluded to, 56, n.

-----------of the Life of Christ, 85, n., 114, n., 122.

—----------of early Christian history, how far un-

certain, 153.

-----------of the Acts, 157, 167, n.

-----------of the Epistles, 171, n.

Chrysanthius, 348, 354.

Chrysostom, St., writings of, 358, 390, 489. Bishop
of Constantinople, 395, 399. Life of, 395. Po-
litical difficulties of, 399. Is governed by Sera-
pion, his deacon, 401. Is summoned before the
Patriarch of Alexandrea, 402. Condemned by
the Council of Chalcedon, ^ib., 403. He quits
Constantinople, 403. His return, ib. Second
condemnation of, 404. His retreat, 405. His
death, ib. His remains transported to Constan-
tinople, ib. Causes of the persecution of, 402,
404,405.

Ci.urch, the heresies in, 42. Articles of the, 47, n.
The apostles establish the primitive Christian or
early, 151 The common fund not a community
of goods, ib. Toleration of, at Jerusalem, 153, et
seq. Deacons instituted, 153.- Success of St.
Stephen, ib. The first martyr, ib. He proved
Christian faith to be triumphant over death, 154.
Christians of Damascus, 155. The apostles at Je-
rusalem admit Paul of the Christian community,

157,167. Herod Agrippa, grandson of Herod the
Great, persecutes the Church of Judasa, 157. On
the supernatural release of St. Peter the perse-
cution ceases for a time, ib. Church of Syria,
158. Church of Cyprus, 156, 158, 162. Church
of Antioch, 158,162, 170. Ordination of elders,
162. Council of Jerusalem [A.D. 49], 162, 163.
The primitive Christians of, 164. The churches
of Asia Minor, 165, 171, 233. The Christian
Church of Jerusalem, 167,308, et seq. Christians
warned to fly from Jerusalem on the approach of
Titus, 169. Controversy of the primitive, on
election and the preservation of Judaic doctrines,
170. St. Paul establishes the Church of Corinth,
180, 182. Of Ephesus, 181, 194. Church *of
Rome, 164, 171, and note, et seq., 183, 184,229,
259, n. Of Carthage and Africa, 241, et seq., 252--
255, 290, 292, et seq.. 302. The Christians of the

Imperial City quite distinct from the Jews, 185
190. Persecutions of, at Rome, 184, et seq., 190,
225, et seq. In Gaul, 236, et seq Constitution
of Christian churches, 189, 194,259, n., 291. The
presbyter bishops and deacons, 194. The syna-
gogue afforded the model of the Christian church-
es, ib. Essential difference betyveen them, 195.
The Church formed round an individual apostle
or teacher, 196. Oral instruction, ib. . Senate of
elders, 196, 197. The presbyters, expounders of
the Christian law and doctrines, 197. Ordinary
development of a church, ib, Republican gov-
ernment of, 198,199. The Christian.doctrines,
198. Disseminated throughout all . Asia, 199.
[Church of Alexandrea : see Alexandrea.] The
Armenian, 199, 275, 276, 277. Church of Smyr-
na, 233. Of Syria, 158, 163.314. Gnostic notion
of Man and the Church, 212. Of Jesus the Mes-
siah, 209-215. Persecution by Trajan, 219. By
Marcus Aurelius, 225, 230, et seq., 233, et seq., 236,
et seq., 238. Under Severus and Geta, 243-246.
Under Dioclesian, 257-264. Christians of.Gaul
and adjacent territories, 236. Western churches,
242, n. Earliest Christian edifices,248, n. State
of, on the accession of Constantine, 204, 265.
Cessation of the persecution, 266. Numbers or
census of Christians, 283. Constantine’s Milan
edict grants toleration to, 289. Authorized by
lpw to receive bequests of the pious, 297, 450.
Also donations of lands, 299. Mutual accusa
tions by the Athanasians and Arians, 340. Influ-
ence of this controversy on papal power, 342.

. Arianism triumphant, 343. Edict of Honorius in
favour of, 386. Edict of Theodosius for accept
ance of the Catholic faith, 388. First persecu-
tion by the Christian Church; case of Priscillian
accused of heresy, 375,412,413. Union of church
and state, 4-42, 454. Dissensions in, the cause
of increase of sacerdotal power, 444. Primacy
of Rome, 447. New sacred offices, 448. Gen-
eral Councils, ib. Pomp of the prelates increas-
ed, 449. Application of the wealth of, 451. Can-
ons of the, 448, n , 453, and note, 454, n., 459, n.,
464, n. Ecclesiastical courts, 455, 457. Peni-
tential discipline, 457. 'Excommunication, 458,
459. Ecclesiastical censures, 460. Executed, by
the state, ib. Civil punishment for ecclesiastical
offences, ib. Religious ceremonial, 463. Pulpit
eloquence, 484. The service, 496.

Churches, earliest Christian edifices, 248, n. Dem-
olition of, 263. Church of Nicomedia destroyed
by Dioclesian, 262. Restoration of Christian,
269,270. Destroyed in Persia or Parthia, 274.
Restored throughout the empire by Constantine,
289. At Rome, founded by him, 290. Of St.
Peter, 187,. 290. Of St. Sophia, 304, n., 344.
Basilicas, or Halls of Justice, more readily adapt
ed for churches than were the pagan temples,
306,307. At Jerusalem, 309. Of gold, at Antioch,
332. Many at Rome were ancient temples, 383, n.
The Pantheon, ib., n. Divisions of the Church,
463. The porch, ib. The penitents, 464. The
pulpit, ib. Offices and ceremonial, 463, 465. Fes-
tivals, 468. The Cross, 488.

Chuza, steward of Herod, 147.

Cicero, M. T., philosophy his refuge in adversity,
31, n. Moral writings of, 33. “ De Legibus,”
23. “ Hortensius,” 417. Pleasantries of, 33.

His sense of religion, 34, and note. Cicero, Cse-
sar, and the emperors sought and performed the
pontifical office at Rome, 175.

Cilicia, the Gospel preached in, 164.

Circumcellions, the, 295, et seq. They defeat Ur-
sacius, the Roman general, 295. Their desire of
martyrdom, ib.

Circumcision, rite of, 57, 159, 160, 162, 174.

Claudius, the emperor, 35,157, 164, 171, 183, 190-INDEX.

513

Classics, the Latin, 478, et seq.

Clean and unclean meats, 159, 174.

Cleophas and Mary, parents of James, one of the
twelve apostles, 98.

Clement of Alexandrea, 202, n , 215, n.,259,n., 452.

Clemens, his epistle to the Corinthians. 198, n. To
the Romans, 445, n.

-------f Flavius, put to death by the tyrant Domi-

tian, 193.

Clergy and laity, 37, 445. The former an aristoc-
racy, then a monarchy, and despotic, 37. Cleri-
cal order recognised by the Roman law, 297.
Their exemption from civil offices, ib., 299, 356.
Their influence, 371, 462. Their interference in
secular affairs, 399. Morality of the Roman, 434.
Ceremonial of laying on of hands, 442. Not dis-
tinguished by dress, 449. Wealth of, 450. Uses
to which applied, ib. Dignity and advantages of
ihe clerical station, 461, 501.

Coenobites, ascetics and monks, 201--204, 427. Dan-
gers of Ccenobitism, 427. Bigotry of, 428.

Coins, Roman : of Constantine, 296, n.

Colossians, the, 186.

Comedy, 473.

Commandments: the Decalogue, 95, 127. Of Je-
sus, 87.

Commodus, the emperor, 238. His exhibitions and
feats in the amphitheatre, 239. Assumed the at-
tributes of Hercules, 238, 239, n.

Constans, reign of, 296, 330, 302, 335.

Constant, M., “ Sur la Religion,” character of that
work, 24, n., 27, n , 30, n.

Constantia, death of, 318.

Constantine the Great, 189, 263, n„ 264, 267. His
reign, 271. He preserves the unity of the Roman
empire, 272. His religion, 287. His conversion,
272, 299,301. He commences his struggle for
the sole dominion, 285. The Cross appearing in
the sky assures him of conquest, 287, et seq. He
defeats and dethrones Maxentius, 288. Cruel
acts of, ib., 299, 300, 476. His edict from Milan
in favour of the Christians, 289. His earlier laws,
ib. Summons councils of the churchmen on the
dispute at Carthage, 293, 294. Sole emperor,
296, 299. Laws and medals of, 296, 325-328.
His edicts for privileges, &c., to Christians, 299.
Presides at the Council of Nice, ib., 302,316.
Execution of Fausta and Crispus, 300. Remorse
of the emperor on finding that his son was inno-
cent, 301, 315. Founds Constantinople, 303.
His splendour at the dedication of the new capi-
tal, 304, 305. His letter of peace to the Eastern
controvertists, 314. Change in the emperor’s
opinions, 317. His quarrel with Athanasius, 320,
321. His baptism on his deathbed, 321, 322.
Extent to which he showed favour to the Chris-
tians, 322. How far he suppressed paganism, ib ,
et seq. Funeral of the emperor, 328. Accession
of the sons of this Christian emperor, 329.

Constantinople founded. 303, et seq. A Christian
rather than a pagan city, 303. Its public edifices,
304. Church of St. Sophia, ib.,n., 344. Statues
of the old religion set up, 305. Remains of pagan
mythology at, ib. Images'of Constantine on the
porphyry column, as combined with Christ and
with the Sun, ib. The Palladium carried from
Rome to, ib. The amphitheatre, 306. Passion
for chariot-races, ib. The Hippodrome and its
factions known by their colours, ib. The church-
es of, 325. Successors of Constantine, 329, et
seq. The city remained Christian under Julian
the apostate, 358. Gregory, bishop of, 393.
Church of St. Anastasia attacked, 394. St.
Chrysostom, bishop of, 395-403. Earthquake at,
403. Alarming tumults at, 404, et passim.

Constantius, the emperor, 263. His peaceful death,
285.

3 T

Constantius, son of Constantine, his reign, .330
Reconciled to Athanasius, 334. Wars of, 335.
He abets the Arians, 336, et seq. His reception
at Rome, 337. His conduct to the disputant
sects, 345. And to Julian, 349. His supersti
tion, ib. His death, 350.

Consubstantialism, doctrine of, 316, 332, 341.

Controversies, celebrated, 42, n., 46, 63, 170, 291,
310,312,315,333,336,342.

Coponius, administration of, 82.

Corinth, Christian Church of, 164, 171, 180, et seq.,
183, 198,

Cornelius, Roman centurion, baptism of, 159,160
n. Date of his conversion, 160.

Cornelius, bishop of Rome, letter of, 259, n.

Council, civil and military, by Dioclesian, 261.

Councils of the Christian Church in various eras
448, et seq. Of Jerusalem, 162, 163. Of Rome
293. Of Arles, 294, 336, 453. Of Nice, 299,302
315, 454, n. Of Antioch, 332. . Of Tyre, ib. O
Sardica, 334. Of Philippolis, ib. Of Milan, ib
336. Of Seleucia, 339, 344. Of Rimini, 339
344. Of the Oak at Chalcedon, 402. Of Elvira
443, n. Of Chalcedon, 447. Of Carthage, 450
n., 453, 470, 471. Of Gangra, 453, n. Of Tole
do, 453, 459, n. Of Trulla, 453, 470. Of Or
leans, 470.

Crassus, 35.

Creation, theories regarding the, 25, 207, 209, 210,
214. Persian system of the, 43, 200.

Creator, the Almighty, 123. Gnostic notion of a
malignant nature, 311.

Creed, the Christian, 331. Necessity of a, 342
The Apostolic, 415.

------, the Nicene, 316. The Arian, 343.

Crescens, cynic philosopher, 233.

Crete, Christianity established in, 186, 187, 194

Creuzer’s Symbolik, translated by M.de Guigniaut,
24, n.

Crishna, the Indian, 54, n.

Crispus, a ruler of the synagogue, converted, 164.

------, son of Constantine, 297. Naval victory

gained by, 299. Is put to death, 300.

Cross of Christ, the, 141, 495. Legend of its dis
covery at Jerusalem, 309, 489.

------, the, seen in the heavens by Constantine

disquisition as to, 287, n.

Crucifix, the, 495.

Crucifixion, the, circumstances of, narrated, 141, et
seq. Guilt of the, 173.

Cumanus, a Roman prsefect over Judaea, 160

Cyaxares I., 43, n.

Cybele, 305. Priests of, 242, 386.

Cynic philosophy, the, 180, n.

Cyprian, bishop of Carthage, zeal of, 242, 252,
445, n. His martyrdom, 253-255.

Cyprus, 'Island of, Barnabas a native, 156, 161
Christian Church of, 158, 163, 176.

Cyrenaic Jews, the, 150.

Cyrenius, governor of Syria, 56, n.

Cyril of Jerusalem, 362.

Cyropsedia, the high moral character of, 38.

Dumont or Demiurge, doctrine of a, 200, 208.

Dsemoniacal or diabolical possession, 51, 97. Je*
sus relieves those afflicted, 101, 102,106. Opin-
ions thereupon, 101, n.

Daemonology, 425.

Daemons, 45, 101, n., 102, 260. The Agatho-da*
mon, 215.

Damascus, Saul’s journey to, 155. Christians of,
ib. Temple of, 377.

Damasus, pope, 383, 451.

Daniel, the prophet, 43, 46, 122. Visions of, 45.

Daphne of Antioch, voluptuous rites of, 163, n.
Grove of, 358, 359.

Darkness, preternatural, during the crucifixion 342.514

INDEX.

Darkness, the realm of, 279, n.

David, the son of, 40, and note, 47, 52, 55, 76, n.,
120. Royal lineage of, 52, 55, n., 57. Proscribed
by Domitian, 192. The Messiah predicted as the
son of, 127. Who yet confessed him to be his
Lord, ib. Prophecies of the Royal Psalmist, ib.

Deacons, institution of, 153, 194.

Dead Sea, the, 70, 121.

■ Deaf and dumb cured, 107.

Decapolis, district beyond the Jordan, 89, 107.

Decius, reign of the Emperor, 246. Persecution of
the Christians by, 251, et seq. Slain by the Goths,
255.

Decurions of Roman municipalities, 297.

Dedication, Feast of the, 114, and note, 115, and
note.

Deity, attributes of the, 28, 32, 67, 291, 424. Unity
of, 28, 36, 185, 304. Opinions of the ancients on,
34 , 35, 200,205, 249. Is removed from connexion
with the material world, 45. Pure and immate-
rial, 390. Heretical assertions relative to the,
205,207,208,311.

Delphic tripod at Constantinople, 305.

Demas, disciple of St. Paul, 187.

Demetrius, exciter of tumult at Ephesus, 183.

Demiurge or Creator, 200, 208, 211, et seq., 214, 216,
223, n.

Demophilus, an Arian bishop of Constantinople, 394.

Derbe, town of, Paul and Barnabas preach at, 162.

Dervishes, 201.

Desert, the Temptation supposed to be that of
Quarantania, 75. Jesus feeds the multitude in
the, 104. Ascetics and Essenes of the, 203.

Deuteronomy, passages of, expounded, 126.

Diagoras of Melos, 180.

Diana of the Ephesians, 183, 206, n.

Dicsearchus, Macedonian naval commander, 23, n.

Dio Chrysostom, oration of, 180, n.

Dioclesian, the emperor, 251. Persecution under,
257, et seq. His character, 258. His religion,
259. His malady, 260, 264. His abdication, 260,
n., 264, 285. His constituting two Augusti and
two Caesars discussed, 271.

Diogenes and the cynic philosophy, 180, n.

Dion Ca-ssius, historical details from, 187, 188, 224,
n. Fragments of, recovered by M. Mai, 239, n.

Dionysiac mysteries, the, 23.

Dionysius, his view of religion, 34.

Dioscuri, the, 305.

Disciples, the, of Jesus, 77,78,82, 86. The twelve,
appointed by Jesus as apostles, 98. The seventy,
115. The two, at Emmaus, 148.

Divination, rites of, 289,290 Suppressed by Con-
stantine, 290. In Italy, 388.

Divorce among the Jews, 56, n. Roman law con-
cerning, 327, 457, n.

Docetse, the, 209, 311.

Domitian, the emperor, 52, n., 191. Persecution
under, 188, n. He annuls the edict against the
Christians, 192. His suspicion again excited, ib.,
193.

Domitilla, niece of Domitian, banished to Pandata-
ria, 193.

Donatus, a Numidian bishop, 292, et seq.

--------, a second, anti-bishop of Carthage, 294.

Donatism, controversy of, with the Trinitarians,
291. A fatal schism, 296, 310.

Donatists, the, 291, et seq.

Dorotheus put to death, 263.

Dove, the, descending on Jesus, 74.

Druids, the, 186, n. Their inhuman rites pro-
scribed, 284.

Drusilla, espoused by Aziz, king of Emesa, 162, n.
Felix and, 205.

Oryden’s.line on the savage man, 24, n.

Du Perron, question of the Zendavesta, &c.,43, n.,
44. n.

Earth and Sun, 25. Fabulous marriage of the, ih

Earthquakes, 231, 403.

East, on religions of the, 22, 25, 26, 28, 34, 42, 43,
44, 46, 48, 53, 81, 121, 159, 190, 200, et seq., 211,
246, 247,273-276. Persecution of the Christians
in the, 231, 240. Marts of the, near to mosques,
&c., 79. Sepulchres in the, 147. Gnostics of
the, 206, 208. Traditions of the, 248. Propaga-
tion of the Christian faith in the, 181-194, 199,
275-277, 284, et passim. The East still pagan,
296.

Eastern churches, 299, 369

Easter, Festival of, 315. Time of observing, 447.

Ebal, Mount, the Law read on, 83.

Eden, Garden of, 209.

Edessa, the King of, fable relating to, 208, 276,
Temple at, 376.

Education at Rome, 356.

Egeria, 203.

Egypt, worship of Osiris, Isis, &c , 25, 34, 190
Theories regarding the political religion of, 26, n.
Deity, the worship of the higher class in ancient,
28. Egypto-Jewishtheology,48, 200,203. Flight
of the Holy Family into, 59. Monks of, 203.
State of, in the reigns of Trajan and Hadrian,
221,222, 223, and note. Rebellion of shepherds
in, 232. Deserts surrounding, 339. The hermit
Antony, ib. Monks and hermits of, 370,424,427.
The temples of Egyptian worship and idols de-
stroyed, 377-380.

Eichhorn, Biblical remarks by, 154, n.

Elagabalus, the emperor, 246. Worshipped, ib.
Religious innovations meditated by, 247.

Elders of the Church, 196. Of the Synagogue, 195.

Election, doctrine of, 415.

Eleusinian Mysteries, the, 180, 349.

Eleusis, Temple of, 381.

Elias, tradition and expectation of his reappearance,
71, n., 76, 108, 142.

Elijah, the still small voice addressed to, 36. His
personal reappearance expected, 52,71, 76, 142.
Reverence for, 71.

Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist , 52, 55.

Elsley’s Annotations on the Gospel, 56, n

Elvira, Council of, 443, n , 452, n.

Elyinas, the sorcerer, 161, 176, and note.

Elysium, aristocratic, 36.

Emanation, doctrine of, 200, 205, 206, 208, 209, 278.

Emmaus, the disciples at, 148.

Emblems, Christian, 490.

Emesa, the conical black stone of, 246.

Emile of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 38, n

Ennius, 35.

Ennoia, 212.

Ephraim, tribe of, in Samaria, 83, 84.

Ephesus, Temple of, 175, n.

--------, Church of, 164, 171, n., 182,186, 191,194.

The city described, 181. The celebrated Tem-
ple of Diana at, ib., et seq. Collision between
Orientalism and Christianity at, 206.

Ephrem, St., the Syrian, 390.

Epictetus, 33.

Epicurus, doctrine of, accordant to Greek charac-
ter, 32. Commended by Lucretius, 35, 179, n.
The Athenian followers of, 180. The Roman
devotees of, 250.

Epiphanius, 279, n„ 481.

Epirus, 187.

Equinox, vernal or autumnal, 25.

Erdiviraph, vision of, 274.

Erictho evoking the dead, 35.

Erskine, Mr., on the Zendavesta, 44, n.

Esau, race of, 169.

Esdras, Second Book of, 48, n., 49, n., 227.

Essenes, the ascetic sect of, 49, 52, 70, 71, 77, 121
151, 195, n., 201,203, 210.

Etruscans, the, 27, Hariispices of. 363INDEX.

Eucharist, (he, 131, et seq., 198, 281, 466.

Eudoxia, the empress, her ■character, 402, 403, 404,
et seq. Her statue, 404.

Eudoxos of Antioch, 344. Bishop of Constantino-
ple, ib., 369.

Euhemerus, his system irreligious, 35.

Eugeni us, emperor, 385. His apostacy, ib.

Eumenius, Panegyric of Constantine by, 284, n.

Eunomius, 344, n.

Eunuch, the, converted to Christianity, 155.

Eunuchs, government of the, 439.

Eusebius, bishop of Nicomedia, 314, 318. And
Bishop of Constantinople, 318, 333, 446.

---------, bishop of Caesarea, and historian of the

Church, 269, 287, and note, 299, 305, n., 314, 318.
His authority referred to, 52, n., 162, n., 168, n.,
169, 213, n., 224, n., 252, n., 263, n., 286, n., 482,
n. Latin version of, by Rufinus, 284, n. His
“ Life of Constantine,” 322.

Eustathius, bishop of Antioch, accused of Sabellian-
ism, 318. His mission to the Iberians, 329.

Eutropius, proconsul of Asia, accusation against,
368.

---------, the eunuch, 400. His life saved by St.

4 Chrysostom, 401. Afterward beheaded at Chal-
cedon, ib'

Evangelists, the, 38, n., 39, 41, 53, 56, n., 58, n., 71,
74, 115, n., 149, n. Style of the, 146. See Ap-
pendices to chapter ii., book i., p. 59-68. See
New Testament.

Evil, principle of, 45, 75, 200. Spirits of, 209,

210.

Excommunication, sentences of, 256, 458, 459.

Exodus, passages from the Book of, 126, 131.

Exorcism, 101, and note. By the name of Jesus,
165, 182. The name of God, 182, n.

Exorcists, Jewish, 182.

Ezekiel, chariot of, 43, n. On a future state, 46,

---------, Tragosdus, 227, n.

Ezra, 41.

Fabianus, bishop of Rome, put to death, 252.

Fabiola, her funeral at Rome, 467.

Fable succeeded to Nature-worship,25. Theogony
of the Greek poets, 26. Obscenity of mythologi-
cal, 27, n. Why imbodied in ancient history, 33.
Of heathenism, 34.

Fabricius, F. Albert, 287, n.

Fadus Cuspius, procurator of Judaea, 160.

Faith, 500.

-----, expositions of the doctrines of, 482, 483.

Faquirs, 201.

Faustus quoted by Augustine, 281, n., 470.

Fatalism, doctrine of, 179.

Fathers, traditions of the, 446.

Fausta, the empress, put to death by order of Con-
stantine, 300, 301. Domus Faustse, 290, h.

Felix, his character, 160. His administration of
the Roman province of Judsea, ib., 165, 167, n.
St. Paul before, 167. Affair of Drusilla, 205.

-----, bishop of Apthunga, 293.

Festivals of ancient Rome, 27, 388. Of the Jews,
105, 107, 108,109,114, n., 115, n. Of the Church,
468.

Festus, Porcius, Roman governor in Judsea, 129.
St. Paul accused before, 167.

Fetichism, description of, 24, 26.

Fig-tree, barren, cursed, 124, 125. A type of the
Jewish nation, 124.

Figs, species of, 124, n.

Fine arts, the, 485.

Fire, worship and sanctity of, 201, 275.

Fishermen, disciples of Jesus, 86, 98.

Fishes, miraculous draught of, 86.

Flavianus, bishop of Antioch, 397, 398.

Florus, Roman procurator of Judaea, 129, 160, 186.

Fohi, traditions of, 54, n.

515

Fortune of Rome, Temple of the, 286. Foituhe,
the, of Byzantium, 305.

Franks, the, orthodoxy of, 310, n. Invasion by,
375.

Free-will, doctrine of, 414, 415.

Frumentius, bishop of Aeum, his successful mission
to the ^Ethiopians, 329.

Fundanus Minutius, 223.

Future state, a, 29, 34, 46, 91. False notions re-
specting the nature of, 126, et seq.

Funerals, Christian, 467.

Gabriel, name of, 44, n. Messenger of God, 52.

Gad, the prophet, 42.

Galatia, Church of, 165, 171, 188.

Galerius Maximus, proconsul, 254,272, n. He con-
demns Cyprian, 255.

Galerius, Emperor: his reverses in the East, 261.
Persecutions by, 261-263. Becomes first emper-
or, 264. His malady and death, 265, 266. Edict
of, 265, et seq.

Galileans, the, 82, 88, n. Massacre of certain, at
the Passover, 105, 119. Their blood shed by Pi-
late amia the sacrifices in the Temple, 130.
They murmur against Jesus, 110. They refuse
tribute to Rome, 126. The apostles were Gali-
leans, and made numberless converts, 149, 150.

Galilee, 53, 55, 78, 86. Its population, 88. The
tetrarchate of, 59, 88. Jesus made a progress
through, 88. Is unmolested, 89. The apostles
return to, 148.

Gallienus restores peace to the Church, and rescinds
the edict of Valerian, 255.

Gallio, proconsul of Achaia, 164, 181, et seq.

Gallus, brother of Julian, 347, 349.

Gamaliel, of the Pharisaic sect, defends the apos-
tles before the Sanhedrin, 152.

Games, public, 220,473. Quinquennial, established
at Mantinea, 223. The Secular, 251.

Ganges, the, 71, 200.

Gaudentius, bishop of Rimini, his death, 344.

Gaul, ancient superstitions of, 35. Persecution in
Southern, 236, et seq. Idolatry extirpated in, 381.

Gautama, Somana Codom, and Buddh, 53.

Generation, theories of, as to the mundane system,
25. '

Gennesareth, Lake or Sea of, 78, 86, 98, 104, 149.

Genos and Genea, 200.

Gentiles, the, 72, 107, 160, 170, 185. Difference
between Jew and Gentile partially abrogated by
St. Peter, 159. Various of the nations embrace
Christianity, 162. Their admission into the fold
of Christ by the apostles, 165. Paul, the apostle
of the, 187.

George of Cappadocia, bishop of Alexandrea, 338,

et seq.

Gepkte, the, 374.

Gerizim, Mount, in Samaria, 83, 84. The Law
read on, 83. Worship of the God of Abraham
on, 128,

German writers on Christianity, 145, n.

Germany, confederacy of its nations against the
Roman empire, 232, 235, 299, 375.

Gervaise, St., and Protadeus, the martyrs, 410.

Gesenius, critic and commentator on Isaiah, 40, n.,
42, n. Samaritan poems, 84, n.

Geta, accession of, 243.

Getse, the, superstitious practices of, 276.

Gethsemane, Garden of, 132.

Gibbon, the historian, quoted, 34, n., 35* n., 43, 72,
n., 142, n., 186, n., 275, n., 296, 362, n., 385,
393, n.

Gladiatorial shows, 475, et seq.

Glaucias, a disciple of St. Peter, 210.

Gnostic doctrines, 42, 44, n., 77, n., 200, 277, 311.
Christianity of the East, 159, 208. Rejection of
Scripture by the Gnostics, 208. Gnosticism. \«sINDEX.

516

influence on Christianity, 202, 204, 206. Primal
deity of, 208, 209,249. Saturninus a distinguish-
ed head of the later, 209. Various sects of, 210.
Allegory of Valentinus, 211-213. Bardesanes,
the mystical poet of the, 213. Gnosticism had
many converts, but was not a popular belief, 216.
It was conciliatory towards paganism, ib. Ima-
ges, 492.

Godj ideas of the Divinity and Creator, 25, 26, 28,
32, 36, 38, 96, n., 126, 174, 178, et seq., 200, 208,
212, 215, 250, 279. The one God of the Mosaic
religion, 21. Is Power under the old religion, ib.,
81. Love under the new, 21. - A spirit, ib. Is
invisible, 29. The Divine attributes, 29, 36, 45,
n., 205, 210, 415. The Father’s recognition of
Jesus at. baptism, 74. The Universal Father, 92,
128, 170, 179. Jerusalem, or Zion, his chosen
dwelling, 168,170. The name of, having power
over spirits, .182. The nature of the Deity, 291,
304. The sec,t .of Patripassians declared that
God the Father suffered on the cross, 312.

Gods, pagan, 22, 27, 33, 34, 163, n., 183, 190, 206,
218, 220, 222,228, 236,2.47,248,267,305,346,350.
The idols, shrines, and temples of, destroyed,
375, et seq., 382, 385, 388, et passim.

Golgotha, the Place of a Scull, 141, n.

Good, principle of, 46.

------ and evil, 200.

Goodness of Divine power, 36, 38, 81, 92, 96, 101.

Gorgonius suffers death at Nicomedia, 263.

Gospel, the, preached to the poor by Jesus, 85. By
Paul and Barnabas, 161. By St. John, 206.
Harmonies of the, 115, n., et passim. The origi-
nals or copies in Hebrew or Aramaic, 173. Pure
religion of, 288, 291. See Evangelists, and New
Testament.

Gospels, the, imbody ideal perfection, 38. Harmo-
ny, of doctrine and facts in, 39, 414. The first
tfc- ^9. St. John’s argumentative, ib. Texts
+o the Messiah, 41, 53, 58, and note. On
s Gospel, 56, n. History of the Saviour
Origin of the, 63-66. Their influence
a the propagation of Christianity, 66-68. Time
of their general reception, 197, 414. Spurious
gospels, 481.

Gothic language, the, 373.

Goths,' their invasions of the empire, 255, 373, 387.
Early Christianity of the, 373. Arianism of the,
374.

Gradivus or Mars, 22, 27.

Grace, doctrine of, 415.

Granianus, Serenus, proconsul, 223.

Gratian, the emperor, 381, 382. Is murdered, 383.

Grecian mythology and worship, 22, 26, 28, 205.
The priesthood less connected with the state
than at Rome, 175. Temples, dimensions of cel-
ebrated, 307, n.

Greece, names of divinities in, 22. Anthropomor-
phism of, 26. Its religion that of the arts and
games, &c., ib. Notions of one Deity secretly
entertained by the philosophers of, 28, 172, 179.
The Judaeo-Grecian system, 48, 121. The Jews
esteemed most other people to be Greeks, 106, n.,
124. Jews resident in, and Christian Church es-
tablished in, 164,176, 224. Ascetics unknown to
ancient, 202. Pythagoras, Plato, and the philos-
ophers of, ib. Fictions of, domiciliated in Syria,
358. Temples of, 381.

Greek language, by whom spoken at Jerusalem,
150, 157. The Attic dialect, 178. Its degenera-
cy, 478. Classic authors, 356, 357. Proselytes
at Jerusalem following Jesus, 124.

Greek Church, the Christian, 59, n., et passim.

Gregory the Illuminator, the apostle of Armenia,
276; -Is persecuted, ib., 277. Converts Tiridates
and his people, 277. Persecution by the Chris-
tians in Dara, ib.

Gregory, bishop of Alexandrea, 312.

--------of Nazianzum*, 389, 391. His poems, 392^

453, n., 479, n.

--------of Nyssa, 389, 391, 423, n453, 495, n.

Greswell, Mr., 56, n., 57, n., 114, n., 153, n., 166, n

Grotius, works and Biblical opinions of this eminent
philologist, 51, n., 92, n., Ill, n., 153, n.

Guizot, M., note on Gibbon, 362.

Gushtasp of Persian mythology, 43, n.

Gymnastic games, 473.

PIadrian, his edict against human sacrifices, 30, n.
Jewish insurrection against, 42, 72, n., 161, n.,
221. The emperor attends to the general con-
cerns of the whole population, 217. His state
policy, 218. His reign, 222, et seq. His charac-
ter, 222. His travels and philosophical inquiries,
ib., n. At Athens, 222, et seq. His conduct to-
wards Christianity, 223. Incapable of understand-
ing it, ib. His letter to Servianus, ib., n.

Hadrianople, battle of, 299.

Hannah, her thanksgiving, 55.

Harrnonius, hymns of, enchanted the Syrian Chris-
tians, 213. „

Heathenism, sibyls of, 227,228. Influence of Chris
tianity on, 249. Change in,ib., 259. Julian’s at-
tempt to restore the old religion, 249, 346, et seq.

Heathens, superstitions of the, 22, 33, 35, 175.
Abolished by Theodosius, 375, et seq. Babylo-
nian worship, &c., 22, 42. Chaldeean, 34. Chi
nese, 26, n., 45, n., 54, n. Egyptian religion, 22,
26, 28, 34, 48, 190, 210. Grecian mythology, and
religious rites and mysteries, 22, 26, 28, 35, 175,
178-180, 305, 358. Indian and Oriental, 26, 34,
42, 45, n., 48* 53, 71, 200, 201. Ancient Roman.
22, 27, 33, 35, 175, 248, 267, 288. High tone of
morality of the later Roman, 181. Persian and
Magian, 26, 28, 34, 42, 43, 199, 200, 201, 209.
Phrygian, 34, 200. Syrian, 42, 358. Moham-
medanism, 44, n.

Hebrew language, the, 150. The Psalms, 479.

Hebron, city in the south of Judaea, 52, 70. The
terebinth-tree of Mambre, 309.

Hecate, Temple of, mysteries of, 348.

Heeren on Egyptian religion, 26, n.

Hegesippus, criticism on his narrative as to St.
James, 168, n. His authority not to be confided
in, 192.

Hegewisch, his work translated by M. Solvet, 189,
n., 217, n.

Heinechin, editor of Eusebius, 168, 287, n., 316, n.

Helen, the Spartan, 205.

Helena, queen of the Adiabeni. 41.

-------, mother of Constantine the Great, 301. Her

residence at Jerusalem, 309.

-------, Simon Magus’s beautiful companion, 205.

Helius-, minister of Nero, 187.

Hellabichus, 398. ■

Heresies, various, in the Church, 42, 62, 205, 207,
213, 215, 242, 252, 256, 260, n., 277, 291,292, 310.
313-315, 333-341,343, 388, et seq., 389, 448, n.,
460. First blood shed on the accusation of here
sy, 375, 412.

Hermeneutics, or interpretation of Sacred Writers,
482.

Hermits, 203, 339. Compelled by Yalens to join
his armies, 370, n.

Hermogenes, heresiarch, 260, n., 487.

Herod the Great, reign of, over Judaea, 39, 52, ocr,
57, 58, 63, 126, 140,' 220. Fate of his sons, 39.
His disease, 50. His death, ib., 265. His kin
dred, 56, 162, n. His subtle character, 59, 116.

------Antipas, 59, 72. n. Tetrarch of Galilee and

Peraea, 82, 88. Imprisons John the Baptist for
denouncing his marriage with Iierodias as inces-
tuous, 82. He dreads an insurrection, ib., n.
He puts the Baptist to death.. 103. He sendsINDEX.

51?

*resu$ with insult to Pilate for judgment, 138.
His death (A.D. 44), 153, n.

Herod Agrippa professes the strictest Judaism, 157.
He puts St. James to death, and imprisons Peter,
ib. His sudden death in the fourth year of the
Emperor Claudius, ib.

•------ the Irenarch, 233.

Herodians, the, 49, 56,125, 126, n.

Herodias, wife of Herod Philip, incestuous with
Herod Antipas, 82, 103. The daughter of, 103.

Hieroglyphics, the name of Thoth, 46, n.

Hilarianus, 246.

Hilary of Poictiers, 339, 341, n., 343.

------of Phrygia, 368.

Hippocrates, opinion of, 101, n.

Hippodrome of Constantinople, 305, 306.

Historians, ancient, 33.

History, 481.

------and fable, old connexion of, 33.

Holydays, 471, n.

Holy Ghost, the, typified by a dove, 74. The Com-
forter, 131. Descent of the, on the day of Pen-
tecost, 150. The gift of, poured out on Gentiles,
160, 182.

------Land, the, 102, 106,158. The pilgrimage to,

421, et 'passim.

Homer, fable immortalized by, 26. Not allegorical,
ib., n. His heroes in Elysium, 36, n.

Homoousion, the, 317, 332, 341, 344.

Homophorus, mythos of Atlas or, 278, and note.
And Splenditenens, ib., and note, 280, n., 281.

Honey, wild, 71.

Honorius, the emperor of the West or of Rome,

. 386. Laws of, ib., 387, 476.

Horace, 35.

Horus, 212.

Hosius, bishop of Cordova, 315, 334. His fall, 337,
343.

Hug, German critic, error of, 140, n.

Human nature of Jesus, doctrine of the, 209.

Humanism, doctrine of, 206.

Humanity, laws relating to, 325.

Hume, David, 24, n.

Hymns, 469, 496. The Latin, 479. Of the primi-
tive churches, 496. Gnostic, 497.

Hymettius accused of malversation, 367.

Hyrcanus, high-priest at Jerusalem, 52, n.

Iamblichus on the Life of Pythagoras and on the
Mysteries, 250. His wisdom, 355. Suspected
of incantations, &c., 368.

iberians, conversion of the, 329, 374.

Icopium, the people of, expel Paul and Barnabas,
162.

Ideler, Handbuch der Chronologie, 58, n.

Iddo, Prophet, 42.

Idolatry, denunciations of Moses- against, 357.
Abolished, and the idols destroyed, 377-380, 384.

Ignatius, bishop of Antioch, his epistles, 197, n.,
221, 444. Trial of, before Trajan, 222.

Images, the earliest belonging to the Church were
Gnostic, 492. •

Immolation, human, 276. Of animals abolished,
375.

Immorality of ancient superstitions, 30, 163, 190.
Of the Carpocratians, 215.

Immortality of the soul, 32, 33, 54, 145,231,414.
Sentiments of the ancients on the, 34. Universal
in the sentiment of mankind, 36. Effects of this
doctrine, 145.

India, worship of one God by Brahmins in, 26, n.,
28. Allegory and poetry combined in the religion
of, 26, 278. The Ganges and Hindu ablution,
71, 200, 203. The emanation doctrine of, 200.
Castes of, 203. Religious system of Zoroaster,
274. [See Zoioaster.] The nearer India, 328.

Innocents, massacre of the, 59, n j 63,

Intelligence, the Divine, 210.

Invocation of daemons, 101, n.

Irenaeus, writings of, 186, 447, n. On Simon Ma-
gus, 205, n. On Basilides, 210, n.

Isaiah, the Prophet, 40, 48, 52, 71, n., 85.

Isaias, Ascensio,an apocryphal book published from
the HDthiopic, 53, n.

Isis, Temples of, 218, 228.

—~ and Serapis, immoral rites of, 23, n., 34,176, il
Osiris and, 25.

Israel, Messiah the hope and expectation of, 103, n.*
123,158.

Israelites, the, 71, 72, 107, 150, 170, 227, n. The
twelve tribes, 98.

Italy, rural gods of ancient, 27. Legends and fes-
tivals of, ib. Pestilence in, 232. Vestiges of
heathenism long prevailing in parts of, 388.

Jablonski, the Opuscula of, 57, n., 248, n.

Jaffna or Jamnia, near Jerusalem, 169.

Jairus’s daughter, raising of, by Jesus, 102.

James, St., disciple of Jesus, and apostle, 86, 98,

157. Called the Just, 168. His martyrdom, 157,

------, Christ’s disciple of this name, uncertainly

recognised, 162, n. '

------, son of Cleophas or Alpheus, an apostle, 98.

His fate uncertain, but often styled brother of
Jesus, ib., 162, n.

Jansenius and the Jansenists, 414.

Jehovah, attributes of, 28, 42, 209.

Jeremiah, the Prophet, 76, 108.

Jericho, the blind man by the wayside near, 118.

Jerome, St., 54, n.. 98, n., 153, n , 367, 370, 382,389,
478, n. Life of, 420,433. Introduces monachism
in the West, 420. Version of Scripture into
Latin, ib., 421. He visits Palestine, 421. Trials
in his retreat, 433. His return to Rome, 434.
His influence over females of Rome, ib. Paula,
a disciple of, 435. His controversies, ib. > His
retreat to Palestine, ib. With Jovinian and Vi-
gilantius, 436.

Jerusalem, City of (see Jews, Temple, and Christ),
Jesus celebrates the Passover at, 78. The Holy
City was the stronghold of Jewish enthusiasm/
89. Multitudes repairing to, at the Passover,
118. Jesus enters it in triumph, 123. Itsdestruc-
tion of importance to the progress of the Chris-
tian dispensation, 128. Sadness of Jesus on the
approaching destruction of the Holy City, 127,
128. His distinct and minute prophecy thereof,
130. Tyranny of the Roman procurators, 129.
Persecution of the primitive Christian Church at,
154, et seq., 165. Council of the apostles at, 162,
163. The Roman guard, 165. Destruction of
the city by Titus, son of Vespasian, 169. Influ-
ence of this great calamity on the Jewish nation,
169, 191, 192. Advantageous to the progress of
Christianity, 169. Destruction ofthe Jewish pol
ity, 172. The new or [Roman] city interdicted
to the Jews, 173. But Christians permitted in
-(Elia, ib. Persecution in, 186. Became a Chris-
tian city under Constantine, 308. Form of Chris-
tianity at, ib. Julian attempts to rebuild the
Temple, 361. Supernatural fires destroy the new
buildings, 362.

Jesuit missionaries to China, 54, n.

Jesus: see Christ.

Jews, the, and Jerusalem: Religion of Moses and
Judaism, 28, 34, 55, rt., 58, 72, and note, 81, 120,
121, 158, 159. Symbolic presence of the Deity,
how long preserved under Judaism, 29. The in-
visible Deity, ib., 42. Expansion of Judaism, 29,

158. The Alexandrean doctrine, 29, 32,40,41,
48. Not participators in heathen mysteries, 32.
Religious parties and enthusiasm of, 39, 125-127.
They look to the death of Herod as the time for518

INDEX.

national independence, 30. Their expectation of
a deliverer, 40, 46-50, 75, 104. Foreign connex-
ions of the, 41. Their captivity in Babylonia, ib ,
58. Return . of, from Babylonia, 41. Tide of
emigration to Egypt, ib. To Armenia and Asia,

• ib:, n. Their Monotheism widely disseminated,
41. Schism of Pharisees, and Sadducees, 46.
Calamities of, 47. The Judseo-Grecian system,
48, 61. The Law, 40, 48, 68, 119, 170. [See
Law.] The Hellenist Jews, 48. State of polit-
ical confusion at Jerusalem, 50, 52. The royal
race of David, 52, 127. Their civil institutions,
&C., 54, n., 56, n. Decree of Augustus for en-
rolment or taxation of, 56. Oath of allegiance to
Caesar or the reigning emperor, ib., 70. The
magi in Jerusalem, 50, 58, 59. Jewish fiction
relative to the birth of Jesus, 59, n. The festival
at Jerusalem, 68. Political revolutions from the
Nativity to A.D. 30, 69. The Sanhedrin, ib., 79,
80, 116, &c. [See Sanhedrin.] The Roman
procurators of Judaea, 129, 135. Jews of Arabia,
156. The various races of, 150, et passim. The
publicans and farmers of taxes, 70, 119. Insur-
rections of the Jews, 42,69,72, 121,129, 152,160,
161, n., 165, 168, et seq., 221. Against Trajan
and Hadrian, 192. Celebration of the Passover,
78. Reverence for the Temple, 80,123,170. Ex-
pectations of the Jews in the Messiah disappoint-
ed, 79, 80. The Jewish leaders hostile to Jesus,
104. The Sanhedrin and the Pharisaic party re-
solve on active measures against him, 110, et seq.,
116, 130. The Roman commander of the band
of soldiers, 110, 116, 134, 139, 140, 151. The
centurion’s testimony of Christ, 143. All sects
of Jerusalem bitter enemies of Christ, 119, 125,

167. The restrictions of the Mosaic law not of-
fensive to the nation, 119. The Jewish Theoc-
racy, 120, 122, 163, et passim. Intolerance, tyr-
anny, and strict observances of the old religion,
127, et passim. ^Fesus condemns the bigotry of
Jerusalem, 127. The rulers, 121, 123, 125, 129,
130. Christ, the King of the Jews, 123. Ruin
of the nation a result of their obstinate fanaticism,
129,173. Causes of their rejection of Christ, 129.
Their persecution and crucifixion of Christ, 133-
141. Of the apostles, 147,168. Many of the peo-
ple converted to Christianity by the apostles, 151,
156. Their separation from the Gentile converts,
17.0. Caligula persecutes the Jews, 157. Herod
Agrippa governssJudsea, ib. Judaism in the first
century of the Christian sera, 158, 162, 169. The
Roman guard protects St. Paul, 161. Persecu-
tions of the Jewish nation, 164, n. Proselytes to
Judaism at Athens, 164. Arts and manufactures
of, ib., n. The Jewish war commenced by Rome,

168. Fall of Jerusalem, 169. The elect people
of God, ib. Characteristic distinctions of the
Hebrew nation, 170. The Judsso-Christian com-
munity sank'Snto obscurity by the preaching of
St. Paul, 173. That of Rome led by St. Peter,
187, 188, n. The foreign Jews not averse to
Christianity, 174. Proseucha of, near the banks
of rivers, 177. Jewish population in Rome, 185,
190, 191. In the Eastern dominions of Rome,
221. Change in the condition and estimation of
the Jewish people after the war against Rome,
192. They everywhere formed a civil as,well as
a religious community, 195. Their elders and

r pastors, ib. Julian a patron of this nation and of
Jerusalem, 361, et seq. Various allusions to the
Mosaic history, 215. The Jews not averse to
theatrical amusements, 220, el passim.

Joanna, wife of Chuza, 147.

John the Baptist, 45. Conception and birth of, 51,
52, 55. His preaching at Bethabara, the ford
of the Jordan, 70. Baptism of, 71, 125. Multi-
tude attending, 71. His denunciations against

sins, 72. Duration of his mission, 73. An as-
cetic or Essene, 70, 77. His language and style
of preaching, 72, 73. His avowed inferiority to
Jesus, 73, 82. He baptizes Jesus, 74. Deputa-
tion from Jerusalem to., 73,76. He declares him-
self the harbinger of Jesus, 76, 82, 120. Re
moves his station to waters near Salim, 82. Closa
of his career, ib. Imprisoned by Herod Antipas.
82, 99. John’s testimony of Jesus the Messiah,
76, 82, 96. His message to Jesus, 99. He is
beheaded in prison, 103. His disciples, 181,182.

John, St., his Gospel argumentative in comparison
of the first three, 39, 78, n., 81, n., 83, n,, 94, n.?
135, n., 206. The constant companion of Jesus,
78, n., 86, 98, n., 142. Teaches the-Christian
doctrine to the Ephesians, 191, 206. His death,
193, et seq.

------the Solitary, 426.

Jonah, the prophet, 344.

Jonathan, high-priest, assassinated, 161.

Jones, Sir William, on the Zendavesta, 43, n. The
Menu of, 201, n;

Jordan, the River : Its valley' or AvXuv, 70, n. Its
ford, 70. Baptism of Jesus in, by John the Bap-
tist, 74. Jesus visits the banks of, 115.

Jortin, Dr., on the sermons of Jesus, 89, 90. His
remarks on ecclesiastical history, 234, n.

Joseph, of the royal race of David, 53. Betrothed
to Mary, ib. His journey to Bethlehem, 55.
His flight into Egypt, 59. His return to Galilee,
ib.

------of Arimathea, 143.

Josephus, “History of the Jews,” &cM the more
important references and citations, 29, 41, and
note, 49, 56, and note, 62, 73, n., 82, and note0
122, 126, n., 156, 161, n., 168, n.

Jovian, the emperor, 365.

Jovinian, controversy of St. Jerome with, 436.

Judaizing and Hellenizing Christians, 61.

Judaism, 28, 34, 55, n., 58, 72, and note, 160, 163,
170, 171, et seq., 172, 174, 200, 248, 291, 361.

Judaea, its political state adverse to the new reli-
gion, 38. Reign of Herod the Great, ib. Roman
jealousy excited by the Jewish expectation of a
deliverer, 40. Levitical cities of, 52. The Mes-
siah expected as a great king over, 59, 69, 75.
Reduced to a Roman province, 69. The Roman
tribute, ib., n. Its topography, 75, 76. The
apostles in, 149. Famine in the time of Clau-
dius, 157, 161. Roman praefects govern, 69, 70,
110, 129, 130, 154, n. Succinct account of va-
rious of the procurators or praefects of, 160. Au-
thority of the Younger Agrippa in, 167.

Judas, brother of James, also an apostle, 98.

—— the Gaulonite or Galilean, 70, 91, 106, 121,
126, 152, 186, n. Insurrections by his sons, 160.

------Iscariot, 99, 104, 122, 123. Disquisition on

his betrayal of his Master, 130, et seq. His re-
morse and suicide, 136.

Jude, St., brother of our Lord, 192. Trial and re
lease of the grandsons of, ib.

Judgment, day of final, 164, n , 185.

Julian, the emperor, 249, 259, 345. He rules over
the whole empire, 345. His character, ib., 346.
What called the new religion of, 346. His edu-
cation, 347. Constantius jealous of this young
prince, 348. His acquaintance with the philoso-
phers, ib. At Athens, 349. At Eleusis, ib.,350.
Is declared Caesar, 350. Assumes the title of
emperor, ib. His apostacy, ib. Embraces the
eclectic paganism of the new Platonic philoso-
phy, 351. Restores the pagan worship, ib. He
misapprehended the influence of Christianity, 352.
His new priesthood, ib. Charitable institutions,
353. His ritual, ib. Respect for temples, ib.
Institutes new sacrifices of animals, ib. His :ol-
eration, 355. Sarcastic tpne of, ib. He auntsINDEX. 519

me Christian profession of poverty, ib. Confis-
cations by, 35’5. Withdraws the Christian privi-
leges, exemptions, and grants made to them, 356.
Education under, 353, 356. Edict of, 356. His
endeavour to undermine Christianity, 357. Per-
secution, ib. The emperor contends on ill-cho-
sen ground, 358. He visits Antioch, ib. He
courts the Jews, 361. His attempt to rebuild the
temple at Jerusalem, baffled by mysterious flames,
ib., et seq. His writings, 362, 363. The emperor
marches against Persia, 363. Is slain, ib. His
celebrated apostrophe to Jesus of Galilee, ib. The
emperor’s character, ib.

Jupiter Capitclinus, 22, 191.

-------Olympius, 222.

-------Optimus Maximus, 260.

-------Stator, 27.

-------Philius, 267, 359.

-------, Temples of, 218, 222.

-------Tonans, his statue on the Julian Alps, 385.

Justin Martyr, his “ Apology for Christianity,” 233.
His avowal of Christianity and death, ib.

Justina, the empress, inimical to Ambrose, bishop
of Milan, 408, et seq.

Justinian, laws of, 457.

Juvenal on astrology, 35. On the Christians of
Rome, 186, n.

Karaites, the, a Jewish sect, 119.

Kedron, Brook of, 132.

Kingdom of Heaven, declarations of the, 48, n., 72,

91, 119.

-------of the Messiah, 120, 124, 127, 131, 158.

Khosrov I., reign of, 276. Is murdered by Anah, ib.

Klaproth, M., writings of, 54, n.

Knowledge, progress of, its influence on religion,
29. When beneficial, ib. Prejudicial, 30.

Labarum, the, inquiry as to, 287, et seq., 288, 299.

Laberius, mimes of, 474.

Lactantius appointed preceptor of Crispus, 297.

Laetus, the praefect, 241.

Laity, the, 37, 198, 445.

Language, effects of Christianity on, 372. Of the
Old Testament, 445.

Languages, various, in use at Jerusalem, 150, 165.
The Oriental, and even the Latin, in disuse, 342.
The Gothic, 373. Greek, 478. Latin, ib.

Laodicea, Church of, 228.

Lapsi, certain fallen Christians denominated the,
252.

Lardner, Dr., 56, n., 101, n., 168, n., 236, n., 278, n.,
279, n., 281, n.

Lateran palace and basilica, 290. The first patri-
mony of the popes, ib.

Latin became the language of Christian divines, 413.

Law, the Jewish or Mosaic, 40, 48, 56, n., 71, 77,
79, 83, 85, 87, 153, 163, n., 165, 174, 195. Relax-
ation of, 135. “ Sons of the Law,” 68. The
lawyers, scribes, and rabbis, 87, 119,170. Causes
of their hostility to Jesus, 87. Two witnesses
required by the Law, 133. Jews remain strong-
ly attached to the Mosaic, 16.2,170. Disquisition
on, 170. The lawyers subsequently denominated
the wise men, 195.

Laws : of the Twelve Tables, 290. Of Justinian,
457. Of Constantine, 289, 471. Of Valentinian,
365, 456, n., 476. Of Theodosius, 388, 472. Of
Constantins, 456. Of Honorius, 457, n., 476.
Edicts of Milan, &c., 289, et passim. Of Hono-
rius, 386,387. Roman jurisprudence, 372. Laws
against heretics, 388. The Theodosian Code,
438.

Lazarus, 122. Raising of, from the grave, 117,
123.

Leake, Col. William Martin, illustration of the
edict of Dioclesian by, 258, n.

Lebbeus, or Thaddeus, or JuGas the brotner
James, an apostle, 98

Le Beau, M., remarks by, 300, n.

Le Clerc, philologist, referred to, 55, n.

Legends, Christian, 481. Grecian and Italian myth-
ological, 28, 34, 62. Of the missions of the apos
ties, 193. Of Abgarus of Edessa, 276. Of Arte-
mius, 287, n.

Legion, the Thundering, miracle of, 230, n., 235.

Lemuria, in honour of Remus, 28, n.

Leper, Christ healing the, 92. The ten lepers, 120

Leprosy, outcasts through, 92, and note, 101, n.

Levitical families, the, 51. Cities, 52. The high-
priests, ib.

Libanius, 352, 355, 364, n, 375, 377, 379, n., 395,
476.

Libellatici, who called the, 252.

Liberius, bishop of Rome, 336. An exile in Thrace,
337. Returns to his see, 343.

Libertines, the, or Roman freedmen and their de-
scendants at Jerusalem, 150.

Liberty, principle of, advanced by the establishment
of Christianity, 324.

Licinius, the emperor, 266, 269, 289. His wars
with Constantine, 298. Persecution by, ib. His
death, 299, 300. His son’s death, 300.

Life, doctrine of a future, 29, 34, 81. Knowledge
of a future state, 46, 91. Blessings and miseries
of, 90.

Light, Great Principle of, 46, 58. Kingdom of, 275.

-----and darkness, 200, 278.

-----of Light, 280. The fountain of, 281.

Lightfoot quoted, 47, n., 57, n., 132, n., 143, n.f
188, n.

Literature immediately preceding the introduction
of Christianity, 33. The persecutions for magic
&c., affected the literature of Greece, 369. In-
fluence of Christianity on, 371. And on language,
372. Christian literature, 477, 482.

Loaves and fishes, miracle of the, 103. Repetition
of the miracle, 107.

Lobeck, the Aglaophamus of, an erudite work, 24,
n., 25, n., 26, n.

Locusts, a food, 70.

Logos, the, 46, 48, 207, 212, 311.

Lollianus executed for copying a book ofmagtv
367.

Love, a designation of God, 28.

-----of God and love of man, 127.

Lucan, 35, n., 42, n.

Lucian, 62, 163, n. A satirist of Polytheism, 250.
The Philopatris not written by, 313, n.

Lucianus, St., bishop of Antioch, martyrdom of,
267, and note, 283.

Lucifer of Cagliari, 336, 339, 340, 343.

Lucius, bishop of Alexandrea, 369.

Lucretius, an admirer of Epicurus, 35, 179, n.

Luke, St., author of the Acts of the Apostles, 187,
205.

-----, St, Gospel of, 56, and notes, 58,105, m, 161,

n. His Gospel, how altered by Marcion, 215.

Lunacy, doemoniacs supposed to be affected by, 51,
97, 101, n., 102, n.

Lupercalia, Festival of the, suppressed, 388.

Lycaonia, province of, barbarous, 162.

Lydia, conversion of, at Thyatira, 177.

Lydus de Ostentis and the ancient Roman ritua.,
22, n.

Lyons and Vienne, Christians persecuted at, 236.
Church of, 242, n.

Lysias, Roman commander at Jerusalem, 165.

Lystra, City of, St. Paul nearly murdered by the
people of, 162. Paul and Timothy at, 163, 176.
177.

Maccabees, Book of, 47, 52, 55, n.

Maccabeus, Judas, 115, n.52b

INDEX.

Macedonia, the Gospel preached by Paul in, 164,
165, 183.

Macedonius, bishop of Constantinople, 343.

Macedonians, the, 389.

Macknight, Dr., his remarks, 112, n.

Machserus, fortress of, 99, 103, n.

Macrianus, 253.

Masso-Gothic alphabet, the, 373.

Magdala and Dalmanutha, Jesus visits, 107. •

Magi, the, 26, 34, 42, 43, 45, n., 58, 273. Their
tenets, how far coincident with Scripture, 43.
They repair to Bethlehem, 50, 58, n. Summary
of the re-establishment of the Magian worship
and hierarchy, 273-276. Mani disputes with the
Magians, and is flayed alive, 282.

Magic, Oriental, 248, 253, 290, 323. Magicians.
159, 161, 176, n., 181, 182, 204, et seq., 222, 248,
253, 348. Prosecutions for magic, 365, 366.

Magna Graecia, colonies and republics in Sicily, It-
aly, &c., 202.

Magnentius defeated at Mursa, 335, and note. The
usurper, 336.

Mai, Angelo, 33, n., 239, n.

Maia, the Goddess, 54, n.

Majorinus elected bishop of Carthage, 293, et seq.

Malachi, Book of, 52, 71.

Malch'us, his ear cut off by Peter, and restored and
healed by the Saviour, 133, n.

Malefactors, the two, crucified with Jesus, 141.
The penitent, 142.

Mamertinus quoted, 358, n. ,

Mammsea, the mother of Alexander Severus, 248.

Man a religious being, 23. His primaeval state, ib.,
n. Distinct races of, 25, n. Human sacrifices,
29, 30, n. Doctrine of the two races of, 47. Re-
generated man, 81. The human nature, 38, 145.
Christianity the moral history of man, 171. Fall
of, 209. False notions of the origin of, 210.
Gnostic manifestations of Anthropos and Eccle-
sia, 212. Ideas respecting the first, 278, 279.
Man requires authorized interpreters of the mys-
terious revelations from heaven, 442.

Mani, religion of, 275, 277-282. He is flayed, 282.

Manicheism, details of, 277, et seq., 375.

Manes, heresiarch, 42, 199.

------,.the, and Lemures, 28. and note.

Manichsean doctrines, 44, n., 375, 415, 417.

Manna, the, 103, and note. •

Manners and general habits influenced by Christi-
anity, 372. Of the Roman court, 439. Of the
aristocracy, 440. Dress of females, 441. Char-
acter of Roman women, 435. Manners of ancient
Rome, 441.

Manso on the August! and Caesars, 258, n.

Marcellinus, his narrative respecting the Temple of
Jerusalem, 362, 363, n.

Marcellus, fame of the Christian soldier, 282.

---------, Pope, in the reign of Maxentius, 286.

---------of Apamea, martyrdom of, 377.

Marcion, Gospel of, by Hahn, 77, n., 215, n. The
system of, 213. His severe doctrine, 214. His
contrast of the Old and New Testaments, ib.

Marcomanni, war of the, against Rome, 230.

Marcus, bishop of Jerusalem, 173.

Marcus Aurelius, the emperor, 218,225,230, et seq.,
233.

Mardonius, preceptor of Julian the apostate, 347.

Mark, St., the Gospel of, 39, 63, 149, n. He is ac-
companied by Barnabas, 163.

------, bishop of Arethusa, 347, 361. Violent death

of, ib.

Mariamne, Asmonean princess, wife of Herod the
Great, 39, 52, 82.

Marriage, rite of, 54, n., 126. and note, 278,423,452,
454. Laws relative to, 326, 327, 456. Brought
under ecclesiastical discipline, 456.

---*— Feast, parable of the, 125.

Mars, or the Roman Gradivus. 22, 27.

Marsh, Bishop, “ Michaelis of,’- 63. Some opinions
of, 115, n.

Martin, St-, of Tours, 38i, 413. Ecclesiastical his-
tory and life of, by Sulpicius Severus, 478: n.

Martha, sister of Lazarus, 114, n., 117, 122.

Martyrs, enumeration of, 236. Worship of the, 468.
Festivals in honour of, 468, 469. Acts of the,
480. Martyrdom not usually represented in paint-
ings,494. ‘The Christian : St. Stephen, 153. St.
James, 157, 168. St. Peter and St. Paul, 187, et
seq. In the reign of Marcus Aurelius, 232, 233.
Justin Martyr, 233. St. Polycarp, ib., et seq.
Blandina,237. Perpetua and Felicitas, 243, et seq,
Fabianus,252. Babylas,ib. St. Cyprian,253-255.
St. Lucianus, 267, n. Marcellus of Apamea, 377.
Numidicus, 452. St. Sebastian, 494.

Mary, the Virgin: the Annunciation to, 52. The
angel’s address to, 53. The Incarnation, ib. Her
visit to Elizabeth, 55. The Magnificat., ib. The
journey to Bethlehem, ib. Her subsequent resi-
dence with Jesus, and parental attention to him,
78, 101. Is recommended by the Saviour to the
care of St. John, 142. Allusions to, 304. Per-
sonal description of, 493. Oldest known painting
of, ib. Hieratic type of, explained, ib.

-----, mother of James and Joses, 147.

-----and her sister Martha, 114, n. Jesus fre-
quently visited their house, 115.

-----Magdalene anoints the feet of Jesus, 100,122.

Appearance of Jesus on his resurrection to, 147.

Maternus recommended the spoliation of heathen
temples, 357.

Matter, doctrine of the malignant influence of, 200,

205, 208, 214.

--------1 M., opinions of this French writer, 210, n.,

211, n.

Matthew, St, Gospel of, 39, 58, n., 63, 75, 90, n ,
2i5.

--------, St., or Levi, a publican, collector of trib-
ute, 93, 98. The original Hebrew Gospel of, 173.

Matures, death of, 237.

Maundrell’s journey, 78, n.

Maxentius, vices of, 264. The emperor maintains
Polytheism, ib., 285, 286. His contest with Con-
stantine, 285, 286.

Maximian, the emperor, 263, 264, 285.

Maximin, Daias, reign of, 251, et seq., 264, 266, 267,
277. His persecution and tyranny, 267, et seq.,
269. His death, 269. Rescript of, 283.

--------, the representative of Valentinian at Rome,

366.

Maximinians, the sect, of Donatists called, 296.

Maximus, the usurper, 410, 413.

--------s the philosopher, 348. The most eminent

in the reign of Julian, 354. His wife sets him
an example of taking poison, and dies, 368. He
chooses to live, ib. But is executed at Ephesus,
369.

--------, the cynic, a rival of Bishop Gregory at

Constantinople, 394.

--------, Tyrius, 27, n., 31, n.

Mead, Dr., 101, n.

Mecca, pilgrimage to, 79, 118. The Caaba, 92.

Mede, Joseph, opinion of, 101, n.

Medes, the, 43.

Mediator, doctrine of a, 45, 49, 52, 92, 311.

Mediterranean, navigation of, by St. Paul, 184.

Meekness and humility approved of God, 91.

Meletius, bishop of Lycopolis, 313, n.

--------, bishop of Antioch, 395.

Melita, St. Paul admired as a god in the island of
184.

Memra, the, or Divine Word, 46, 49, n.

Menander, the poet, 33, 179, 473.

--------, disciple and successor of Simon Magus.-

206. His disciples, 209, 210.INDEX.

Mensurius, bishop of Carthage, 292.

Merobaudes, poem of, 387.

Mesopotamia, Jews in, 41, 42. St. Peter’s preach-
ing in, 42. State of, 221, 225.

Messiah, the, general expectation of, 39. Nature
of the belief in the, 40, 46, 47, 83, 84. The ex-
pectation national in Palestine, 47, 56, 72, 75, 81.
Reign of the, according to the Alexandrean Jews,
48, 206. A reformer and king, 49. The Prince
of Peace, ib. Popular belief of a, ib. Birth of
Christ, 50, 54, 57. Jesus designated by John as,

76, 81, 96, 99. The twofold : the son of Joseph,
suffering, and the son of David, triumphant, 76,
n., 150, 172. Question, at that time, of Jesus
being the Messiah, 104, n., 108,110,116,120,150,
152, 158. Signs of the corning of, 119, 172. Je-
sus declares himself to be the, 134. The days of
the Messiah begun, 150. Notions of, as promul-
gated by Marcion, 214.

Michael, the Archangel, 44, n., 45.

Michaelis, observations of, 72, n., 143, n., 154, n.,
207, n.

Milan, decree of Constantine, 289, and note. Coun-
cil of, 334, 336. Hilary, bishop of, 339, 341, n.,
343. Christians put to death at, 366, n. St. Am-
brose, bishop of, 406-412. See Ambrose.

Miletus, St. Paul at, 183, 186, 187.

Mill, Mr., History of India by, 26, n.

Millennium, the, 47, n., 172, 208, 227. Fertility of
the earth in the, 172, n.

Milton, his poems quoted, 48. His Hymn on the
Nativit3q 57, n.

Milvian Bridge, battle of the, 288.

Mimes and pantomimes, 474.

Mind impersonated, Asiatic notions of, 200. Doc-
trine of purity of, ib. Gnostic idea of a presiding
Mind, or self-developed Nous, 210, 212. Moral
aberrations of, 331. Imaginative state of the hu-
man, 500.

Minerva, 247.

Minucius Felix, 249, 462.

Miracles recorded in the Old Testament, consider-
ations on the, 28, 103, n., 182. Of our Saviour,

77, 78, 80, 85, 89, 92, 95, 96,99, 101,102,103,107,
112, 117. Supposed modern miracles, 230, n.,
235, 287, et seq , 362, 410.

Mischna, the, a Jewish code, 195.

Misopogon” by the Emperor Julian, 363.

Mithra, worship of, 220.

Mithraic rites, the, 30, n., 35, 177, 218, 386.

Mohammed, religion of, 44, n., 199. Tomb of, at
Mecca, -79. Paradise of, 126. Koran of, 248.
Monachism, 422.

Moloch, worship of, 42.

Monachism introduced by St. Jerome in the West,
420, 422. Its origin, 422. Causes which tended
to promote, 423. Its effects on Christianity, 429.
On political affairs, ib. Its advantages, 430. On
the maintenance of Christianity, ib. On the
clergy, 431. In promoting celibacy, 432.

Monad, the, of the Carpocratians, 215.

Monasteries, 370, 396.

Monastic institutions, early, 77, 201. System, 420.
Dangers, 427. Bigotry, 428. Fanaticism, ib.
Ignorance, ib.

Monica., mother of St. Augustine, 417.

Monks, origin of, 201-204. Compelled to mili-
tary service by the Emperor Valens, 370, n. Most
active in destroying temples, idols, and vestiges
of paganism, 376. Of Alexandrea, 380. Of Ca-
nopus, ib. Of Antioch, 398.

Montanists, the, 242.

Montanus, heresy of, 242, et seq.

Moon worshipped as Astarte, &c., 42.

Moral element of the ancient Roman religion,
27.

------government by the De'ly, 28. •

3 U

521

Moral meaning attributed to the Mosaic record by
the Alexandrean school, 29.

-----science of Rome, 33.

-----” history of man, 171.

-----and temporal character of the Messiah, 172.

-----perfection, 200.

—-— more slow than religious revolution, 330.

Morality, the rise of Christianity effected a revolu-
tion in the ancient state of, 23. Its ideal perfec-
tion found in Christianity, 33. Principles of
Christian morality, 90, 99. Its universality, 91.
Its original principles, 92. Of heathenism, in the
doctrine of Seneca and Marcus Antoninus, 181.
Relaxation of Christian morals, 257.

Moriah, Mount, Jewish temple on, 47, 83, 128.
Heathen temple built on, 173.

Moses, miracles of, 103, n. Tradition of his reap

. pearing in the time of the Messiah, 108. His
Council of Seventy, 115. Books of, 126,

Mosaic religion, doctrine of Unity, 28. The one
great God, ib., 120, 158, 159. Certain analogies
of, with the doctrines of Zoroaster, 43, n., 44, n.
The Lawq 40, 48, 56, n.,71, 87, 91, 119, 153, 155,
170. Commandments, 95. The Law abrogated
by the Christian dispensation, and the result of
the Gospel doctrine, 159, 162, 174. Its claim to
a perpetual authority refuted by St. Paul, 171.
Allusions to the Mosaic History, 214, 215.

Mosheim, opinions of, or quotations from, 44, n.,
48, n., 90, n., 151, n., 188, n., 194, n., 210, n., 215,
n., 223, n.. 288, n., 322, n.

Moyle’s works, 230, n.

Mummius, the Consul, destroys Corinth, 164, n.,
180, n.

Municipal institutions promoted by Christianity.
372.

Mursa, battle of, 335.

Music, Church, 496.

Mylitta, heathen divinity, 42.

Mysteries the last support of paganism, 31. The
Eleusinian, 32, 180. Philo asks, if such are use-
ful, why not public ? 32, n. Iamblichus wrote on
the, 250. Osirian or Bacchic, 378.

Mysticism of the Essenian observances, 77. Asi-
atic, 181, 203. Of the later times of Rome, 250.

Mythology brought on the scene, 474.

Nain, town of, the widow’s son raised, 99.

Natural religion, 24, 25.

Nature, the goddess Diana an impersonation of,
T206,n.

Nature-worship, on, 25. Vivifying power of, ib.
Ancient symbolic forms of, 31. Taught the im-
mortality'of the soul, 32. Doctrine of the Di-
vine essence, 36. Astral worship, a branch of,
42. A pontiff of this superstition visits Rome,
246.

Nathanael, convinced by Jesus, becomes his disci-
ple, 77. His blameless character, 98.

Nazarenes, the, condemned Jesus of Nazareth, 85.
He evades their offered violence, 86. The Naza-
ritish practice of abstinence, 168, n. Christians,
by some, called, 173.

Nazareth, town of, 53,55, 70, 85, 86. Jesus teaches
in the synagogue at, 85.

Nazarites, the, and the ascetics, 52.

Neander, the Life of Christ by, 32, n., 55, n., 56, n.
57, n., 62, 74, n., 101, n., 149, n.

Nebuchadnezzar, conquests of, 43, n., 76.

Necessity, doctrine of, 179.

Nehemiah, 41.

Nergal-sharezer, the Arc-himagus, 43, n.

Nero, the emperor, 167, n. The burning of Rome,
184, 229, n. Persecution by, 186, et seq., 188, n.,
190, 220. Styled Antichrist in the Sibylline
verses, 229, n.

Nerva, the emperor, 193.522

INDEX.

Nestorian tenets, 54, n , 199, 275, 389.

Neuman, Professor, his translation of Vartan, 44,n.

Nice, Council of, 299, 302, 310, 315.

Nieene Creed, the, comparison of M'ani’s theory
with, 278, 280. The Creed, 316. The Hotnoou-
sion, 317, 332, 341, 344, 394. Opinions, 333, 343.

Nicodeir.us, his discourse with Jesus, 80, 81, 94.

Nicolaitans, their opposition to St John the Evan-
gelist, 207.

Nicomedia, the residence of Dioclesian, 258, 271.
His edict of persecution executed at, 262. Torn
down by a Christian, lb. The palace on fire, ib.
Consequences severe on the Christians, 263. Ju-
lian at, 348.

Nicopolis, 187.

Niger, Pescennius, 240.

Nile, River, 378. The Nilometer kept in the tem-
ple of Serapis at Alexandrea, 378, 380.

Nino converts the Georgians or Iberians, 329.

Noetus and the Patripassians, 3J2.

Nous or Mind, the self-rnanifesteu, ^i2.

Novatian heresy, the, 252, n.

Nubia, converts made by Frumentius in, 329.

Numa Pompilius, 34.

Numerian, the emperor, murder of, 260.

Numidicus, martyrdom of, 452.

Odin, Valhalla of, 36, n.

Olives, the Mount of, 123, 132.

Olivet, Jesus on Mount, 127. Whence he views
Jerusalem and the Temple, 128. The Ascension
from, 149. Church on the spot, 309.

Olympus of Alexandrea, 378, et seq.

---------, gods of, 304.

Onager, termed the wild ass, 335.

Onesiphorus of Ephesus, 187.

Ophites, the, or worshippers of the serpent, 215, et
seq.

Optatus, works of, and important documents ap-
pended, 292, n., 294, n.

Oracles, 30, n., 34, 227, 228, 260, 261, 265, 286,
368, n.

Orations of the Fathers, 485.

Oratory, Christian, and orations, 482, 483.

Orgiasm described, 242.

Oriental literature, 24, n., 43, n., 44, n., 46, n., 273,
m Allegory, 74, 200. Asceticism, 77, 201-204,
281. Religions, 22, 24, 25, 26, 28, 34, 42, 43, 46,
48, 54, 81, 121, 158, 200, 273-275, 277-283, 390.

Orientalism, conflict of Christianity with, 199, 277,
305. Of Western Asia, 203. Tenet of the Great
Supreme, 212, 279. Symbolism, 278.

Origen, writings and opinions of, 59, n., 74, n., 173,
205, n., 249, 390. Against Celsus, 482. He was
subjected to torture, 252.

Ormuzd, Oromazd, or Aramazt, worship of, 274,
275 276 280.

Orthodoxy’, 331, 341, 343, n., 360, 369, 375, 395, et
•passim.

Osiris and Isis, mythologic dualism of, 25. Temple
of, at Alexandrea, 378.

Osius, bisop of Cordova, 294.

Ostrogoths, the, 374.

Ovid, his •* Fasti,” imbody the religious legends of
ancient Rome, 27, n., 28, n., 71, n.

Paganism, the older religions than Christianity, 22.
The Roman Pantheon, ib. Dionysiac, Isiac, and
Serapic mysteries pernicious to morality, 23.
Dissociating principles of old religions, ib. Creu-
zer’s comprehensive work on, 24, n. Preparation
for a new religion in the heathen world, 29, 158.
The mysteries of, 31. Collision with the Gospel
doctrines, 162, 163, 164, 174. Universality of,
175. Athens the true seat of, 180. Later condi-
tion of, 247, 249. It became serious, 250, 260.
Reorganization of, by Maximin, 267. Fall of,

288. Temples suppressed, 308 .323. The pagar
religion not totally forbidden by Constantine, 323.
Re-established by Julian, 249, 259, 345, et seq,
350, 351. Its last hope disappointed by the apos-
tate’s death in battle, 363. Lamentation of pa-
gans at his fall, 364. Connexion of the arts of
magic with, 367. Abolition of, 374. History of
Western or Roman, 386. Its extinction, 387, el
seq.

Pagi, chronology of, 218, n. Observations of, ib.,
n., 221, n.

Painting connected with Christianity and the
Church, 487, 488, et seq., 491.

Paintings of the Virgin Mary, 504.

---------of Mani, 278.

---------of Paulinus of Nola, 495.

Palestine : religion of the Jews, 25. The locality
of the Jews, 41, 75, 121, 170. Coin of, 78. Ju-
dseo-Christianity of, 158, 173. Situation of, fa-
vourable to a new religion, 199, 200. Sfate or,
under Trajan, Hadrian, and later emperors, 221,
et seq. Churches built in, 309.

Paley, Dr., his “ Evidences of Christianity,” &c.f
referred to, 56, n., 101, n.

Palilia, and rural rites of Italy, 27, n.

Palladius, prsefect of Egypt, 369.

Palmyra, 256. Temples of, 376.

Pantheism of India defined, 43, 200.

Pantheon of Rome, 22.

Paphos, city of the island of Cyprus, 161, 163, n.

Parables of our Saviour, 64, 125.

Paraclete, the, 205, 278.

Parnasim or pastors, 195.

Parthenon, the, 29, 381, n.

Parthia, St. Peter’s sojourn in, 273. Power of the
kings of, 221, 273.

Parthian war, the, 232, n., 255.

Pasiphilus, torturing of, 368.

Passion, the, 142.

Passover, the, 69, 78, 94, 105. The last, 109, 118.
Particulars of the feast of the, 131, 132. Cus-
tom of releasing one prisoner at, 139. Sacrifice
of the great Passover, 165, n.

Patriarchs, beatitude of the, 127.

Patrician and plebeian struggles, 31.

Patricius of Lydia, 368.

Patrimony of St. Peter, or possessions of the Ro
man pontiffs, 290.

Paul, a Pharisee and disciple of Gamaliel, 152.
Bom at Tarsus, 155. Persecutes the Church of
Christ, ib. His journey to Damascus, ib., 156.
His conversion, 153, n., 155, 157 His first visit
to Jerusalem, 153, n. His privilege of Roman
citizenship, 155. Sojourns in Arabia, ib. His
high character and eloquence render him the
most important auxiliary of the humble Galilean
apostles, 159, 161. In company of Barnabas, he
preaches the Gospel in Cyprus,,161. At Perga,
162. At Antioch of Pisidia, ib. At Iconium, ib.
At Lystra, ib. At Derbe, ib. Second journey of
the apostle brought him into immediate opposi
lion to paganism, 163, 177, et seq. Admonished
by a vision, he visits Macedonia, 164. Parting
from Barnabas, he associates Silas in his mis-
sionary labours, 163. Gains livelihood as a tent-
maker, 164. Third journey of, ib., 181. ■ His
miracles, 165, et passim. His deportment in the
Temple at Jerusalem, ib. Charge against him
of violating the sanctity of the Temple; ih. Is
scourged by Lysias, 166. He claims to be a Ro-
man citizen, ib. Before the Sanhedrin, ib. Be
fore Felix, 167. He preaches the Resurrection,
166. His declaration to Feslus that he appealed
to Caasar, 167. He perseveres in this appeal
when before the younger Agrippa, ib. And is
sent prisoner to Rome, ib. In what doctrines
opposed to St. Peter, 170. Who the adversariesINDEX.

at Paul, 171, 173. To the Corinthians, on meats
used in sacrifices, &c., 174. The apostle, in
prison at Philippi, converts the jailer, 178. Is
driven out of Thessalonica and Bersea, ib. At
Athens he declares the Unknown God of the
Greeks to be the God of Abraham, ib., 179. He
preaches the Resurrection to the Athenians, 180.
At Corinth, ib., 196, n. At Ephesus, 181-183,
196, n. The parting of the Christians of Asia
Minor with the apostle, 183. His long and peril-
ous voyage to Rome, 184. Reception of Paul
by the Christian Church of Rome, ib. Notices
of the apostle’s personal history, ib., 186, 202, n.
Author of the Epistle to the Hebrews, 186, n.
His authority not generally recognised by the
Church, 198. Martyrdom of, 187-189. Maxim
of, 345, n.

Paul, an insurgent chief so named, 165.

----, a claimant of the see of Constantinople, 333.

Conflicts in the capital, ib. Paul expelled, ib. Is
deposed, 335. His death, ib.

----and Macurius defeat the Circumcellions at

Bagnia, 296.

----of Samosata, bishop of Antioch, 256. His

magnificence, ib. His quarrel with the synod,
&c., ib., 497.

Paula, the fervent disciple of St. Jerome, 435.

Paulinus, bishop of Antioch, 343.

—--------of Nola, poems of, 470, n.

Faulus, Professor, 59.

Pausanias, his respect for religion, 34.

Peace on earth, 57, 71, n.

Pearson, Bishop, on the Creed, 76, n. His “ Opera
Posthuma,” 188, n., 444, n.

Pelagian heresy, the, 389, 414.

Pelagius, doctrines of, 415, n., 416, n.

Pella, town of the Trans-Jordanic province, 169.
The Judseo-Christian community seeking refuge
at, ib.

Penates or household gods of Rome, 175, 304.

Pentecost, Feast of, 105, 107, 149, 165.

-------=—, day of, gift of tongues, 150.

Peraea, territory of, 82, 88.

Perdition, 415.

Perga in Pamphylia, 162.

Perpetua and Felicitas, martyrdom of, 243-246.

Persecutions of the early Christian Church, 186,
187. The Neronian, 190. By Trajan, 219, 221.
By Marcus Aurelius,225, 233, et seq. At Vienne,
236, etseq. By late emperors, 240, 243-246. By
Decius, 251. By Valerian, 252, et seq. By Au-
relian, 256. The tenth, by Dioclesian, 257, et
seq. By Galerius, 262-265. By Maxirnin, 267,
292. In Persia and Armenia, 275. In Africa.
253-255, 292.

Persia, traditions of, 22, n , 43. The Magi, 26, 34,
42. Immaterial fire worshipped in, 28. . The
Medo-Persian dynasty, 43, n. A Messiah ex-
pected by the Persians, 47, n. The Dualism of,
200. The later Persian kingdom raised on the
ruins of the Parthian, 199. Ancient religion of,
26, 28, 42, 44, 58, 209, 273, 274, 278. Reign of
Ardeschir Babhegan, 274. His edict, 275. De-
struction of Christianity in, ib. His acquisition
of Armenia, 276. The Persian war, 335, 374.
Defeat of Julian, 363.

Pestilence in the reigns of Marcus Aurelius and L.
Verus, 232, et seq. At Carthage, 254. In the
Eastern empire, 268.

Peter, St., local date of the First Epistle of, 42, n.
The Second Epistle of, ib., n. Simon follows
Jesus, 77, 86. Is named by him Peter, 98. He
, professes faith in Christ, 104, 108. He proposes
three tents to Christ, Moses, and Elias, 108. He
smites the ear of Malchus, who is healed by Je-
sus,132, 133. He thrice denies his captive Mas-
ter, 134. Peter and John at the Holy Sepulchre,

£23

147. His pastoral charge over the Church of
Christ, 149. His speech proclaiming the days ol
the Messiah, 150. Second speech of the chie?
of the apostles, 151. He is seized and carried
before the Sanhedrin, ib , 152. He boldly pro-
claims the crucified Jesus as tne Saviour, 152.
Is imprisoned, 157. His prison-doors thrown
open by an angel, ib. His collision with Simon
the magician, 159, 204. His vision of the meats,
&c., 159. His doctrine latterly exclusive, 170.
But resisted by the liberal, system of Barnabas
and Paul, ib. The Petrine or Ultra-Judaic party,
198. Martyidom of, 187, 290. “ Secret Tradi-

tions” of, what termed, 210. The successors of,
or popes, 343, n. Church of St. Peter at Rome,
187, 290.

Petra, City of, 156.

Petronius, preefect of Judaea, 42, 157.

Pharisees, the, 46, 56, 57, 70, 76, 89, 91, 101. Their
inveterate hostility against Jesus, 96, 97, 100,
116, 119. His conversation with, 104, n. They
demand a sign or miracle, 107. This sect con-
stantly baffled by the just replies of Christ, 127,
et passim. Gamaliel, president of the Sanhedrin,
defends St. Peter, 152. The sect take vengeance
on St. Stephen, 154. Believed in the Resurrec-
tion, 166. Pharisaic distinctions and symbols,
174.

“ Pharsalia,” the, character of the poem, 35, 42, n.

Pheroras, brother of Herod, 55.

Phidias, his Jove, 29. His beautiful sculptures,
174, 304.

Philadelphia or Philomelium, Church of, 233.

Philip, brother of Herod the tetrarch, 82, 86.

------II. of Macedonia, 23, n.

------II. of Spain, 265.

------, St., disciple and apostle, 77, 98.

------, the Deacon, converts the eunuch, 155.

------, prsefect of the East, 335.

Philippi, city of Macedonia, 164. St. Paul in prise n
at, 177, 178. The Philippians, 194.

Philo, doctrines of, and the Alexandrean school, 29,
n., 32, n., 41, n., 48, 62, 96, n., 211. Historical
records by, 41, n., 42, n., 203.

Philosophers of the time of Julian, 348, et seq., 353,
354.

Philosophical paganism not popular, 250,259. Sen-
timents of the philosophical party, 260, 263.

Philosophy, natural, 501.

-----------, on ancient, 31. A defective substitute

for religion, 32. Its exclusive and aristocratic
spirit, ib. Varieties of philosophic systems, ib.
The Epicurean, ib. The Stoics, ib. The Aca-
demics, 33. Fatal to popular religion, ib., 121.
Itinerant philosophers and teachers, 176, n. Civ-
il, and not monastic, institutions fostered by the
ancient philosophers, 202. Philosophy during
the Roman republic, ib. During the Roman em-
pire, 225, 230, 231.

Philostorgius, Fragments of, preserved by Photius,
344, n., 368, n.

Phlegon, celebrated passage of, 142, n.

Phoenician cosmogony, the, 200.

Phrygia, Oriental rites of, 34 The Gospel preach-
ed in Galatia, Mysia, and, 164, 165, 177.

Phrygian Christianity carried into the West, 242.

Pilate, Pontius, Roman governor of Judsea, 69, 70,
105, 130. The Praetoriurn of. 136, 139. His
tribunal, 119. His decision of character, 121,136.
Jesus brought before, 136. Detail of his exami-
nation by, 136-138. This prsefect proposed to the*
Jews the release of Jesus, 139. The wife of Pi-
late intercedes for mercy towards Jesus, 140.
Pilate reluctantly delivers Jesus to death, ib.
Character of his administration, 154, n. False
acts of, 266.

Pilgrimage'to the Holy Land, 421, et seq.524

INDEX.

Plato on the Deity, 32, 311. On immortality, 34,
351. His philosophic system, 48, 179, 202. On
the Logos, 311.

Platonism early blended with Judaism, by Aristob-
ulus and Philo, 29, n. Brahmin doctrine simi-
lar to, 32, Platonic Judaism, 45, 48. Platonic
Christianity of Alexandrea, 159, 311. Platonic
paganism, 199, 206, 241, 260. The new system
of, 250, 351.

Pleroma, the, or fulness of the Godhead, 208, 211.

The inviolable-circle of the, 212.

Plinius Secundus, his letters to Trajan on the Chris-
tians, 218, and note, 219, and note. The emper-
or’s reply to his minister, 219. Christians put to
death by Pliny, ib. Probable connexion of this
persecution with the state of the East, 221..
Plutarch, remarkable passage in, 33.

Poets, ancient, priests of the mythologic system,
25. The heathen religion converted into mere
poetry, 29. Poetry ceases to be religious, 35.
Poetic age of Greece, 48. Poetry, how far dis-
cernible m the Gospel, 67. The Greek philo-
sophical poets, 179,355. Poetry of the Gnostics,
213. Poetical predictions at Rome, 227-229.
Characteristic difference of Greek and of Chris-
tian poetry, 392. In Latin, 479, et seq.

Polemical writings, 482, 483.

Pollio, Virgil’s, founded on Hebrew prophecy,227, n.
Polybius, on his use of mythological legends, 33.

On religion, ib.

Polycarp, martyrdom of, 233.

Polytheism relaxed its influence preparatory to the
Christian dispensation, 29. Effects of the prog-
ress of knowledge on, ib. Decline of, 36. Cer-
emonies, processions, and spectacles of, 174,259.
It resists the encroachment of the new faith
more by popular and political support than by
moral and religious influence, 175. Observations
on, by the author of this History, quoted from the
Bampton Lectures, 175, n., 176, n. Contrast of,
at Athens, Philippi, and Lystra, 178. At Rome,
218, 220, 250, 259. Restoration of, 351, et seq.
Pompey astonished in the Temple at Jerusalem,
29. Consults the Chaldsean astrologers, 35.
Pontiff, title of Christian, 199.

Pontiffs, the patricians of Rome aspired to be, 175,
289, 291.

Pontius, Life of St. Cyprian by, 254, n.

Popes, the, grant of the Lateran palace to, by Con-
stantine, 290. Successors of St. Peter, 343, n.
See Rome, and Patrimony of St. Peter.
Porphyrius, his treatise on the Cave of the Nymphs,.

in the Odyssey, 250.

Porson, Professor, 284, n.

Pothinus, bishop of Lyons, death of, 237.

Praxiteles, 304.

Preternatural interpositions, belief in, 50.

------------signs in the heavens, 288.

Praetextatus, proconsul of Achaia, 365.

——----------, Vettius Agorius, 381, 383. His title

of supreme pontiff, 381. His wife also.the priest-
ess, 382. His death, ib. Funeral and apotheosis
of, ib.

Predestination, doctrine of, 415.

Presbyters of the Church, 194, 197. College of,

445, n.

Prescience of God, 415.

Prideaux, Dr., 43.

Priesthood, Jewish, deputation of, concerning the
pretensions of John the Baptist, 73. See High-
priests.

—-----------of heathen and pagan worship, 175, and

note, 176, n., 263, 289, 291.

Priests, the High, of the Temple, 52,70,76* n., 117,
160,-184, 186. Jesus led before Caiaphas, 133.
Annas and Caiaphas, 152, n. Ananias, 161, 166.
Jonathan assassinated, 161, 166. Ismael, 166.

The secod Annas, 167. The' new rabbinical,
195.

Principle, doctrine of a universal primary, 200.
Principles, antagonist, of Creation and Destruction,
25, 200. Of Light and Darkness, 200, 277, 279.
Of Good and Evil, 200, 280. Of Spirit and Mat-
ter, 279.

Prisca and Valeria, 257, 263.

Priscilla and Aquila, 164, 171, and note, 182.
Priscillian and his followers put to death for heresy,
375, 413.

Prise us, 368.

Pritchard, Dr., on Egyptian mythology, &c., 25, n.
Proconsul, Roman dignity of, 161, n. How distin
guished from the propraetor, ib.

Proeopius, rebellion of, 367, et seq.

Propertius, 34, 36.

Prophecy of the fall of the twelve Caesars, 228, et
seq. Of the flight of Nero, 229, and note. Of
desolation in Italy on his return, 229.
Prophetesses, &c., 177, 227, et seq.

Prophets, the, 40, 52, 71, 76, 79, n. Their blood
shed in Jerusalem, 127. The false, and enthu-
siasts, 56.

Proselyte of the gate, Cornelius, 160, n.

Proselytes, Jewish, in Greece, &c., 164, 176. The
Gentile, 171, 194.

--------- of the gate, 159,163. Gentile, 163,171.

Providence: see God. The designs of, 171. Hand
of, 255.

Prudentius, 363, n.. Poems of, 386, 387, n., 467, n.f
476, n. Hymn, 464, n. His style, 478.

Psalms, the, 496. How repeated, 497.

Psalter, the, 496.

Plolemais, Church of, 314. n., 459.

Publicans, the, of the New Testament history, 93,
119.

Purification, rite of, 57. Doctrine of, 211.
Pythagoras, doctrines of, derived from the EasL
48,202,250.

Python, the mythic, 305.

Quadratus, Apology of, 222, n., 223.

Quarantania, Desert of, 75.

Rabbis, the, propounders of the Law, 87.
Rabbinical writings, 71, 84, 111. Notions of a fu
ture state, 126. Tradition, 134, 170.

Rabbins, the, 84, n., 87, 110, 172, n., 174, 445.

Raoul Rochette, M., Essays of, 468, n., 469, n.
Rask, Professor, 44, n.

Redeemer, the, 52, 64, n., 119, 173. Psalms of
David prophetic of, '27. Doctrine of a, 415.
Gnostic notion of a, 214.

Regeneration, doctrine of, 81.

Religion, the rites of genuine, not a matter of state
policy, 33. It required to be clothed with author-
ity, or could not have subsisted, 371. Religious
impressions, 501.

---------, Christian: see Christ, Christianity,

Church.

Religions: of Egypt, 22, 26, 28, 34, 48, 190, 210.
Of Babylon, 22, n., 42. Of China, 26, n., 45, n.
Of Greece, 22, 26, 28, 35,. 174, 178-180. Of an-
cient Rome, 22-28, 30, 175, 267, 381, 382. Of
Persia, 26, 28, 42, 44, 58, 209, 273. Of India, 26,
28, 43, 46, n., 53, 71. Of the Jews, 28,. 34, 42,55,
and note, 58, 72, and note, 81, 120, 121, 158,159.
[See Law and Mosaic Religion.] Pagan, 2°, 23,
29; 31, 164, et passim, 174. Its fall, 28-8. Abol-
ished, 374, et seq. Of Mohammed, 44, n. Of
Syria, 42, 163. See Christianity.

Repentance essential to religion, 179,2^2.
Resurrection, doctrine of the, 46, 47, 126, 151, 180.
Of Jesus, foretold by himself, 80. The Resurrec-
tion of Christ, 145, et seq., 158. Is the basis nf
religion, 145. The Sadducees denied it, 152INDEX.

525

Retribution, future, 29, ISO, 414.

Revelation, Jesus promulgates a new, 87. Rheto-
ric, 483.

Rimini, Council of, 339, 344.

Rjtps of superstition, the immoral, chiefly Oriental,
30, n., 163, 190, 215.

Roman Catholics charged with the gunpowder plot
and the fire of London, 188, n.

Rome : reign of Augustus Caesar, 21. Civilization
of, ib. Worship of Jupiter Capitolinus, 22. Re-
ligious mystery, ib. Book of Laws, 23. The
Romans rejected the obscene fables of the Greek
superstition, 27, n. Priests, augurs, and aruspices
of, 27. Deities of, allegorical, ib. Moral element
of the religion of, ib. Sanguinary spectacles of,
29, 30, n. Roman pride supported heathen wor-
ship, 30. Its philosophy similar to that of the
Stoics, 32. The haruspices, 33. Reception of
foreign religions in, 34. Christianity gradually
subverts the imperial government, 37. Contro-
versy on the question as to Rome or Babylon
(First Epistle of St. Peter, v. 13), 42, n., 185.
Fable of Lupa (Romulus and Remus), 54. Laws
of, 71. Dominion over the Jewish nation, 121,
126, 129, 135,160,165. The Jews incur the ven-
geance of, 129, et seq., 157,160. Spread of Chris-
tianity throughout the empire, 158. Proconsuls
and propraetors, 161, n. The Christian Church
at, whether founded by the apostles, 164, 171, n.
St. Paul at, 167. Rights of citizenship of, ib.
Details of the Jewish war, and destruction of Je-
rusalem, 168,169. Roman converts to Christian-
ity, 171, etseq. Both Jews and Christians driven
from the Imperial City, 171, 183. Paganism an
integral part of state politics at, 175. The hea-
then pontiffs, ib., 289. Innovations hostile to the
state religion considered as treason against the
majesty of Rome, 175. Roman population of
Corinth, 180, 183. St. Paul’s voyage and arrival
in, 184, et scq. Burning of, in the reign of Nero,
184, 188, n., 190. Jewish population of, 185.
Persecutions of Christians at, 187, 219. Fame of
St Peter in the Western Church, 187 Imperial
history of, divided into four periods, 189. To the
death of Nero, 189, 190. To the 'accession of
Trajan, 191. The third period, 218-237. The
fourth period, 238, et seq. Reign of Trajan, 189,
192, 217, 218, 219. Tyranny and vices of Domi-
tian, 191. Spirit of ancient liberty more suspect-
ed by Vespasian than the new creed, ib. No as-
cetic or cenobitic institutions appertaining to an-
cient Rome, 202. The emperors at the com-
mencement of the second century,' 217. Extent
of the empire, ib. Christians persecuted by Tra-
jan, 219. By. Marcus Aurelius, 225. State of
the Eastern dominions of Rome, 221, 267-269.
Connexion of Christianity with the fall of the Ro-
man empire, 226. Prediction of the fall of, 228.
Change in the circumstances of the times respect-
ing Christianity, 229. State of peace, ib. Terror
of the Roman world, 230. The Christians reck-
oned the cause of approaching calamities, ib
Earthquakes and calamities, 231, et seq. Pesti-
lence, 232. 268. Rapid succession of emperors
of, 238, et seq., 251. The Palladium, 247, 305.
Decius persecutes the Christians, 251, et seq.
Reign of Dioclesian, 257, et seq. Change in the
state of the empire, 258, 271, 272. Citizenship,
258, n., 271. Taxation, 258, n. Neglect of Rome
by the later emperors, 258. General misery, 264.
Persecution by Maxirnin, 267. Pagans boast of
the flourishing state of the East, lb., 268. Ca-
lamities and famine of. the Eastern empire, 268.
Pestilence, ib. Reign of Constantine, 271. Deg-
radation of the ancient capital, „ib. Unity of the
empire preserved, ib., 272. A new capital estab-
lished at Byzantium, 272. A new nobility suc-

ceeds the patricians, ib. Finance and jurispru-
dence, ib. Tumult of the Christians against the
tyranny of Maxentius, 286. The pope Marcellus
degraded by him, ib. Victory of Constantine
over Maxentius, 288. Fall of paganism, ib.

Rome, revolution effected by Constantine the Great
at, 289, 290, et seq., 296. Patrimony of the popes,
290. Council of Rome, 293. Seat of empire
transferred to Byzantium or Constantinople, 302.
Senate of Rome, 303, 383. Constantinople a
counterpart of, 304. Julius, bishop of, 334, 343,
n. Synod at, 334. Liberius,"bishop of, 336, 343.
Is banished, 337. Felix, bishop of, ib., 343. Ir-
ruption of barbarians into the empire, 342. In-
fluence of the Athanasian controversy on the
growth of papal power, ib. Trials in, before
Maxirnin, 367. The empire invaded or menaced
by Persians, Huns, Goths, and Franks, on its
frontiers of the Euphrates, Danube, and Rhine,
374,375. Paganism at, 381, et seq. The Capitol,
ib. Damasus, bishop of, 383. The heathen sa-
cerdotal property confiscated, ib. Personification
of Rome by Symmachus, 384. Taken by Alaric,
387. The Roman empire under Christianity,
438. The Christian emperors, 439. The aris-
tocracy of, 440. Their manners, ib. Gradual
development of the hierarchical power, 442, 443.
Primacy of Rome asserted, 446, 447, n. The
capital of Christendom, 447. The Roman law,
456. Classical and also ecclesiastical poetry,
479, et seq. Catacombs of, 490, n., 494. Ap-
proaching ruin of the empire, 498.

Rosenmiiller on Isaiah, &c., 40, n., 54, n., 76, n.,
179, n.

Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 24, n., 38, n.

Routh, Dr., 284, n.

Rustan, fabulous hero of Persia, 275.

Rusticus, the prefect, 233.

Sabbath, the, reading of the Law on, 85, n. Jesus
taught on the, 86. Alleged breach of, by our Sa-
viour, 94. New charges on this point, 97, 113.
Jewish observance of, 95. Manichean observ-
ance of, 281.

Sabellianism, its nature, 312, et seq.

Sabintis, Flavius, put to death by Domitian, 193.

Sacraments, secrecy of the, 465. Baptism, 466.
The Lord’s Supper, ib.

Sacrifice, the Christians put. to the test of offering
heathen, 245, 254, 263 Constantine said, by
Theodoret, to have prohibited pagan sacrifices,
322, 323. Theodosius abolishes all heathen sac-
rifices, 375.

Sacrifices, human, 29,30, n., 335, n., 375. Of sheep,
doves, &c., in the Temple, 78.

Sacy, M., Silvestre de, 47, n.

Sadder, the, translated by Hyde, 44, n.

Sadducees, tenets of the, 46, 70, 91, n., 119, 125,
126, 166. The Sadducaic party become predom
inant-imthe Sanhedrin, 152.

Saints and images, worship of, 502, 503.

—Lives of the, 481.

Salamis, in Cyprus, St. Paul at, 161.

Salim, town of Persea, 82.

Sallust, the Prsefect, 360, 361.

Salt, Mr., 328, n.

Samaria, Jesus visits, 82, 114. Christian religion
received in, 159, 204. Samaritan, the good, 115,
n., 120. Samaritan belief in a Messiah, 83, 84,
and note. Samaritan woman, the, 83, mad note.
Samaritan Sanhedrin, 84.. Samaritan lei ters, the
celebrated, 83, n. Samaritan poems, curious, 84,
n. Samaritan Chronicle, the Liber Josuse, 84, n.
Samaritans and Jews hostile, 82, 84, 160. The
former defile the Temple at Jerusalem, 82. Gov-
erned under the Roman supremacy by a Sanhe
drin, 84, 223, n.INDEX.

526 4

Sanchoniathon, 200.

Sanctus suffers martyrdom at Vienne, 237.

Sanhedrin, the, 69, 75, 76, n., 79, n., 80, 96. 110, et
seq., 1L9. Their persecution of Jesus, 113, 123,
133. Question of this tribunal being competent
to condemn Jesus to death, 134, and note. Its
relation to the executive government, 135. The
rulers charge Jesus with blasphemy, 139. Arid
press Pilate to prove himself a friend to Tiberius
Csssar by condemning the King of the Jews, 140.
Conduct and affairs of this religious council sub-
sequent to the Resurrection of Christ, 118, 149,
151,153, 166. Revolution in the, 152. They re-
assert their power over life and death, 168.
Flight of, and establishment at Tiberias, 169. 01
the Samaritans, 84.

Sapores, reign of, 279.

Sardica, Council of, 334, 343, n.

Sasirna, Gregory, bishop of, 393.

Satan, exorcisms addressed to, 101, n., 210.

Satuminus of Antioch, 208. A Gnostic disciple of
Simon Magus and Menander, 209.

Saul [St. Paul], a disciple of Gamaliel the Pharisee,
152. His miraculous conversion on the road to
Damascus, 155. See St. Paul.

Savigny, M. de, opinions of or citations from, 57, n.

Scaliger, Biblical criticisms of, 168, n.

Sceva, sons of the High-priest, 165, 182.

Schlegel, A. W., observations of, 25, n.

Scipio, maxim of, 224.

Scribes, the, 87, 127, 168, n.

Scripture, authority of, appealed to by Jesus, 79.
Jesus familiar with, and constantly alluding to,
87. In Gothic, the version of Ulphilas, 373. Ver-
sion of, by Jerome, 421, 437.

Sculpture, art of, subservient to heathen supersti-
tion, 29, 174, 206, n., 223, 304. As connected
with the Church, 487.

Scythians, rude worship and deities of the, 273,276.

Seasons, the, ceremonies dependant on, 25.

Seleucia, City of, 42, n., 232.

Seneca, 30, n„ 33, 176, n., 186, 203. The corre-
spondence of, with St. Paul, a forgery, 181, n.

Septuagint, Greek text interpolated, 32, n., 45, n.

Sepulchre, the Holy, 143, et seq. The women at
the, 146. Temple of Aphrodite over, 308. Chris-
tian Church of the, 309.

Serapis, worship of, 23, and note, 34, 176, n., 228,
241, 369. The Serapeum, or Temple of, destroy-
ed by Theodosius, 228, 377, et seq.

Sergius Paulus, his admiration of the doctrine of
Paul and Barnabas, 161, 176.

Sermon on the Mount, Christ’s, 87, n., 90, 99.

Sermons of the Fathers, 485. Of the Christian di-
vines, 482, 483.

Serpent, the Old, 209. The Ophites, or worshippers
of the, 215. Ophis considered as Satan, 216
Ard by some as Christ, ib.

Seientyj the, disciples commissioned by Jesus, 115.

Severus, reign of, 240. His visit to, and persecu-
tions in Egypt, ib., 241.

-------, Alexander, the emperor, 238, 248, et seq.

Shah-poor or Sapores, reign of, 279.

Shechinah, notion of a visible, 28, and note.

Shibboleth, the, 84.

Shiloh, coming of the, 40.

Shrines, silver, of Ephesus, 181, 183.

Sibylline Books, the, 227, and note, 223, 229, n.,
256, 286.

Sichem, well of, Samaritan woman at the, 83, and
note. This city named Sichar by the Jews, 83.

Sicily, temples in, to the Mother ol the Gods, 388.

Sidon, City of, 106.

Siloah,, fountain and brook of, 110.

Silas accompanies Paul into Syria, &c., 163, 164,
n, 177.

Simeon, Song of, 55, n., 58, 426, n. His benedic-
tion of Jesus, 58.

Simeon, father of Gamaliel, 58.

------1 bishop of Jerusalem, 221.

Simon the Cyrenian, 211.

—-----the Canaanite, an apostle, 98.

------Magus, legend of, 62,159. Doctrines of, "r

plete with Orientalism, 84, 199, 204. His real
character and tenets, 205. The “ Helena” beau-
tiful, ib. Probability of the history of, ib.

------, known by the name of Cephas, named Pe-
ter, or the Rock, by Jesus, 73, 98. See St. Peter.
Simonides, the philosopher, 368.

Sin, doctrines relative to, 207, 282, 301.

—, original, 415.

Singing, Church, 497. Antiphonal chanting, ib.

Introduced into the West by Ambrose, ib.

Sins, forgiveness of, 93, 142.

Sion, the Ploly City, 47, 168.

----, Mount, the fortress on, 128.

Sirmium, Temple of the Sun at, 256. Formulary
of, on Consubstantialism, 343. Synod at, 344.
Slavery, effects of Christianity on this great ques-
tion, 438.

Slaves, sale of infants for, 325,326. Laws relating
to, 326. Death of a slave by torture punishable,
ib. Christian captives converted the Goths, 373.
Smith, Dr. Pye, on the Messiah, 49, n.

Smyrna, Church of, 233. Earthquake at, 235.
Socrates, philosophy of, 179. His declaration of
one Supreme Being, 180.

----------, eccles. historian, 285, n., 316, n., 343, n.

Solomon, Temple of, 29. Book of Wisdom, 48.
Porch of Solomon in the later Temple, 116.
Song of, 434, n.

Soothsayers, 25, 290, 387.

Sopater, the philosopher, 321. Constantine friend-
ly to, ib. Is beheaded, ib.

Sophists, philosophy of the, 180, n.

Sophronia, suicide of the virtuous, 286.

Sosthenes, the Jew, 181.

Soul, immortality of the, 32, 33, 34, 36, 54, 145, et
seq., 231,414, 464. Freedom of the human, 415.

----, imprisoned in matter, 205. Transmigration

of, ib., 211. Doctrine of its union with Deity, 207.
South Sea Islanders, by whom converted, 37, n.
Sozomen, historian, 300, n., 301, n., 314, n.

Spain, 375. Roman dominion in, 232. Spanish
bishops pursue Priscillian for heresy, 375,413.
Spectacles, public, 462.

----------, profane, 470, et pass. Four kinds of, 473,

Spirit, the Universal, the Creator, 128.

------, the Holy, 74,131, 150, 160, 311, 415.

Spirits, Mani’s doctrine relative to, 280, et passim.

------, evil, exorcised, 51,97,101, 102. See Angels

St. Croix, M. de, History by, 41, n., 222, n.

Star in the East, the, 58, and note.

Stephen, St., proto-martyr, 153. Important influ-
ence of his constancy, 154. 155.

-------—, bishop of Antioch, 335.

Stilpo, exile of, 180.

Stoic philosophy, the, 32,179. The Stoic philoso
phers of Rome, 191, 231.

Stolberg, Count, arguments of, 171, n.

Stoning to death, a Jewish punishment, 153, 168.
Stowell, William Lord, 24, n.

Strabo, his apology respecting mythological allu-
sions, 33. Quotations from, 88, n., 155, n.
Strauss, Dr., opinions, &c., of, 52, n., 55, n., 56, n.,
59-63, 104, n., 105, n.

Suetonius, the historian, 40, 164, 193.

Sun and earth, 25.

----, Festivals of the, 25, n. Worship of, 42, 246,

305, 351, n., 352. Worship of, at Rome, 247,260.
At Sirmium, 256. Christ’s dwelling in the sun,
according to Mani, 278, 281.

Sunday, sanctity of the, 289. Laws relating to,
325, 471.

Supper, the Last, partaking of the body and blood
of the Redeemer, 131, et seq., 198, 281, 466INDEX.

527

Swine, Legion dismissed into the herd of, 102.

Symbolism belonging to the Church, 489.

Symmachus, his oration to Theodosius, 30, n. His
Apology, 383, 384. Replied to by Ambrose, 384.
His fresh instances for the restoration of the statue
of Victory, 386. His contest with Ambrose far-
ther alluded to, 409. On the Amphitheatre, 475.

Symphorian, St., Acts of, 230, n.

Synagogue, the, 49, 162, 163, n., 164, 170, 174, 181,

194, 195. At Corinth, 180.

Synesius, Acts of, 459.

Syria, a Roman province, 69, 156. Christian con-
verts throughout, 158, 163. Jewish population
of, 161. Religion of, antecedent to Christianity,
42, 163. Syrian Greeks, 88. Syrian Christians,
248. Syrian goddess worshipped, 163, n., 247.
Hymns of the Syrian Christians, 213. Church
of, 314, 319. Persecutions in, 240,357. Tem-
ples destroyed, 377. Monks, 424.

Syrianus, the Duke, his conduct at Alexandrea in
Egypt, 337.

Syro-Phoenician woman’s daughter, 106.

Tabernacle, the, 76.

Tabernacles, Feast of the, 108, 109.

Tabor, Mount, the Transfiguration on, 108, n.

Tacitus speaks of the astrologers, 35. Of Judaea,
40, 73, n. Of the Jews and Christians, 185, n.,
186, n., 190, and note.

Talismans, amulets, and spells, 181, 182.

Talmud, the Babylonian, 42. Jewish traditions in
the, 62. The Jewish Talmud, 72, n., 83, n., 131, n ,

195, 445. Compendium of the, by Pinner, 88, n.

Targum, the, or Comments on Scripture, 41, n.

Tarsus, the City of, 155, and note.'

Tartars, the, 273, 275.

Telemachus, the monk, his death in the Amphithe-
atre, 476.

’I emple, the, of Solomon, 29, 76. The later Tem-
ple, 41,75, 82, 105, 121, 150, 153,157. The Holy
of Holies, 51, 170, 173. The Temple become a
mart, 78. Jesus drives out the traders, 79,125.
The'treasury of the, 79, n., Ill, 127, 136. Je-
sus’s declaration of raising the Temple again in
three days figurative, 80. He teaches in the,
110, 125. Its porticoes described, 116. Christ
heals the sick in, 123. The Court of the Gen-
tiles, 124, 165. The Court of Israel, 124. La-
ment of Christ over this magnificent edifice, 127,
128. Necessity of its destruction, 128. The
Inner Court, 140, n. Primitive Christians still
resorted to the, 162, 163, n., 168, n. The Gazith,
chamber of assembly of the Sanhedrin, 166. Its
destruction by Vespasian’s army, 169. The Tem-
ple service, 174, 195. The ancient Temple tax,
levied by Vespasian for the restoration of the
Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, 191. The Em-
peror Julian attempts to rebuild it, 361, et seq.

Temples, heathen, destroyed by Xerxes, 22, n.
Destroyed by Marcellus in Sicily, ib. Of ancient
Rome, 22, 27. On Mount Moriah, 173. Consid-
ered as desecrated by the Christian office, 174.
Converted into Christian churches, ib. The cel-
ebrated fane of Ephesus, 175, n., 181, 183,206.
Of the Sun at Sirmium,256. Those built by the
successors of Alexander, 273. Of Apollo, 284, n.
Of Byzantium, 303, n. Of Constantinople, 306.
Not suited for the Christian office, ib. Spolia-
tion of, recommended, 357. Restoration of, by
Julian, ib. Destruction of, by Theodosius, 375,
376, et seq., 377, et seq. Alienation of the reve-
nues of, 376. Some temples converted to the
Christian worship, 377.

Tempter, the, 75.

Temptation, the, of our Lord, 74, et seq. Various
theories respecting, 74, 75.

Terminus, the god, 27.

Tertullian, cita' ions from, 164, n., 173, 188, n., 194,

n , 215, n., 226, and notes,.240, n., 445, n., 463, n.,
469, n., 487, n. His Apology for Christianity, 223,
224, 227, 243, 259, n. Character of his writings,
242.

Testament, New : The Gospels, 38, 39, 41, n., 53,
74, 372, 414, 489. Hellenistic style of, 478. See
Appendices to book i., chap, ii., p., 59-68. (Many
of the important references to the Testament):
St. Matthew, 39, 58, n., 63, 75, 90, n., 173. St.
Mark, 39, 63, 149, n. St. Luke, 39, 56, n., 75,
90, n„ 105,.n., 115, n., 161, n. St. John, 39, 78,
n., 79, n., 115, n , 206. Acts, the, 151, n., 152,
n., 153, n., 157, n.‘, 160, n., 161, n., 164, n., 167, n.,
168, n., 171, n , 176, and note, 184, n., 187, 205.
St. Peter, 42, n. St. Paul’s Epistle to the Gala-
tians, 156, n., 171. To the Thessalonians, 164,
n. To the Romans, 171, 183, 373, n. To the
Corinthians, 174, 196, n., 443, n. To the He-
brews, 186, n. To Timothy, 184, n., 187, n.

Teutonic nations, the, 373.

--------usages, 372.

Thaddeus, the apostle*, named Judas also, 98.

Theatres of the ancients exhibited religious spec-
tacles, 175, n. The Amphitheatre, and contests
of gladiators and wild beasts, ib., 186.

Theatrical exhibitions and amusements, 220.

Theism, ancient doctrines of, 28, 34, 43,163, et pass.

Themistius sneaks of the toleration of Jovian, 365,
n., 375, 387, n.

Theodore of Mopsuestia, 74, n.

Theodoret quoted, 364, n., et passim.

Theodorus, St., heroic acts of, depicted, 495, n.

Theodosius, the emperor, 228, 374. Of Spanish
origin, 375. A Christian, ib. Hostile to pagan-
ism, ib. Rescript of, to the Alexandreans, 379.
Edict of, 385. His victory over Eugenius, 3S6.
His death, ib. His orthodoxy, and laws against
heretics, 388. Edict of Constantinople against
the Arians, 394. His anger excited against An-
tioch, 397. He degrades the episcopal see to a
dependancy on Laodicea, 398. He finally for-
gives the Antiochians for having insulted his
statue, 399. Affair of St. Ambrose, 411. The
emperor orders a massacre at Thessolonica, 412.
His absolution by St. Ambrose, after severe re-
proof, ib. His death, 413. The Thedosian Code,
438, 471.

Theognis, bishop of Nice, 318.

Theogonism of the East, 206.

Theology, 414, et seq., 498.

Theophilosophic systems prevalent in the Roman
empire, 248.

Theophilus, archbishpp of Alexandrea, 378, et seq.,
389, et seq., 402, 403.

Theoretica, the, 471.

Theotecnus of Antioch, 269.

Therapeutse, the, or Contemplatists, 77, 176.

Thessalonica, Jews and synagogue- of, 164. St.
Paul expelled by Jason from, 178. Massacre at,
by order of Theodosius, 4i2.

Theudas, insurrection of, 152, 160.

Theurgy, magic included in. 248, 250, 323, 358.

Thibet, Schaka of, 54, n. The Lama of, 201.

Thirlwall, Mr., 64, n.

Tholuck, M., opinions of, 56, n., 57, n.

Thomas, St., or Didymus, character of, 98.

Thrasea, Roman patriot in the reign of Vespasian, .
191, 203.

Thyatira, Christians of, 177.

Tiberias, Sea of, 58, n. City of, 78, 88, n. The
Sanhedrin flies to, 169. Jewish patriarch of, 173.

Tiberius, edict of, 30, n. He banishes astrologers,
35. Christ crucified by his prefect Pontius Pt>
late, 140. Gladiatorial shows, 186.

--------Alexander, procurator of Juda3a, 1 GO

Tillemont, M., observations of, 248, n.

Time without bounds, 43.

Timothy, circumcision of, 163. Attends St. Pau.528

INDEX.

in his Evangelical labours, 164, n., 176, n., 177.
The Epistle to, 184, n., 187, and note.

Tiridates, king of Armenia, 276. His conversion by
the apostle Gregory, 277. War with Maximin, ib.

Titus, bold resistance of the Jews against, 72, n.
Destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple by, 169.

------, deacon of the Cretan Church, 187.

Tobit, apocryphal book of, 44, n.

Tongues, the gift of, for preaching the Gospel, 150.

Townson, Dr., argument of, 83, n.

Trachonitis, the, 58, n.

Tradition, Jewish, 40, 42, 62, 83, n., 87,94,108,134.

--------of the Christians having been forewarned

of the fall of Jerusalem, 169.

Traditionists and antitraditionists, sects of, 125.

Traditions, the rabbinical. 169.

Traditors, the, 292.

Tragedy, 473.

Trajan, the emperor, 189,191,192,217, 218. His re-
ply to Pliny on the subject of the Christians, 219,
and note. His Eastern wars, 221.

Transmigration of souls, 205, 211.

Tribute of Palestine and Syria to Csesar, 69, 70,
128. The Roman coin shown to Jesus, when he
declares it should be rendered unto Csesar, 126,
and note.

Trinitarians, the Manicheans were, 280. Their*
controversy with the Donatists, 291-294,310. Ef-
fects of the Trinitarian controversy in the West,
333, 374.

Trinity, various notions of the, 278. Distinction of
the Persons of the, 312. Doctrine of the, ib., 343,
n. Triumph of, 388. The more powerful eccle-
siastical writers maintain it, 389.

Troas, St. Paul in, 187.

Trophimus, the Ephesian, 165. I

Tsabaism, or star worship, 24, 213, 273.

Turcomans, the, 273, 275.

Turks, the, 164, n.

Twelve Tables, Laws of the, 290.

Tyre, City of, 106, 183, 267. Its church rebuilt,
269. Synod of, 320.

Ulphilas, his version of the Scriptures into Gothic,
373.

Unknown God, the, 179, and note.

Unity, Divine, 28, 36,121,159, 160, n., 185,200, 414.

Ursacius, bishop of Singidunum, 334, 335.

Vacckenaer, oe Anstobulo Judaeo, 227, n.

V alens, the emperor, reign of, 364, et seq. Men of
learning or philosophical pursuits prosecuted for
inquiring the probable name of his successor, 368,
et seq. is baptized, 369. Crimes alleged against
t his emperor, ib. Interview of, with St. Basil, 370.
His progress through Asia, ib. His death, 374.

------, bishop of Mursa, 334, 335.

Valentinian, reign of, 364, et seq. His toleration, 365.
His laws, ib., 451. His cruelty, 366.

-----------11., the emperor, 374,381,383. Is mur-
dered, 385. Conjoint edict, 388, 408. Pie yields
to St. Ambrose, who had refused the use of a
church to Justina, 409. Anecdote of the emperor,
ib , n. His death, 413.

Valentinus, the Gnostic sectarian, 211.

Valeria, wife of Galerius, 257, 263, 268.

Valerian, the emperor, persecution by, 253. His
cruel death, 255.

Vandals, the, embrace Christianity, 374.

Varro, 33, n.

Venus Aphrodite, 308, 309.

— --Urania, 247.

— -Verticordia, 27.

Verona, battle of, 286

Verus, Lucius, the emperor, 213, 231 His victor-
ies in Mesopotamia, &c , 232.

Vespasian, the emperor, his vigour of character, 35.
41, n., 49, 191. The Flavian dynasty, 190, 191.

Vestal Virgins of Rome abolished, 383 384 386.

Vettius Epagathus, 236.

Victory, statue of, at Rome, dragged from its ped-
estal and altar by Gratian, 382. The altar re-
stored by Eugenius, 385, 38G.

Vienne, martyrs of, 236, et seq. Church of, 242, n.

Vigilantius, 436. Jerome’s language to, 437,

Vineyard, parable of the Lord of the, 125.

Virgil an Epicurean, 35. His eclogue “ Polho,’
227, n.

Virgin Mary, the, 52-55, 78, 101, 142. Mystical or
Gnostic notion of the, 213. Her shrines, 388.
Worship of, 504. Paintings of, ib., 505.

Visigoths, the, 374, n.

Vitellius, prsefect of Syria, 156.

Vitringa, opinions of, 195, n.

Warburton, Bishop, on the Mysteries, ox.

Weisse, Dr., die Evangelische Geschichte, &c.,63,
64, n., 145, n.

West, uninterrupted and gradual progress of the
Christian faith in the, 199, et seq., 240,284. The
great prelates of the, 406. Ambrose, 407. Au-
gustine, 413. Jerome, 420. Antony, 424. .Ori-
entalism disseminated in the, 212. The Western
Churches, 242, n., 299, 333.

Wetstein’s character of King Herod,* 116, n.

Whateley, Archbishop, argument of. 24, n. On
“ Rhetoric,” 175, n.

Whitby, opinions of, 55, n.

Widow’s mite, the, 127.

--------son raised from dea<... by Jesus, 99.

Wild beasts, conflicts of men with, in the Amphi
theatre, 476.

Wilderness, ascetics mnabiting a, 203.

Wills, law of, 457.

Windischman, “ Philosophic,” &c , of, 200, n.

Wine, miraculous, of Cana and Galilee, 77. Ab-
stinence from, 168, n

Wisdom and moral perfection, 200, 205, 210.

--------of Solomon, Book of the, 48.

--------, or Sophia, 212,213, 214. Encounters Ho*

rus, 212. The title of Sophia Achamoth, 214.

Witchcraft, a vulgar superstition, 35, 181,358, 388.

Word, the, b Aoyo$, 46, 48, 205, 207, 212.

Wordsworth, Mr., poems of, quoted, 55.

World, ancient physical theories of the, 25. The
belief in the approaching end of the, 172. Idea
of its destruction by fire, 180,185, 281. The ma-
terial, 207, 209.

Xenophon, Cyropsedia of, 38.

Xerxes destroys the temples of Babylon and of
Greece, 22, n.

Zaccheus, desirous to see Jesus pass, 118. Jesus
visits his house, ib.

Zachariah, vision of, 51, 52, 73. Prophecy of, 123.

Zakinim, or Jewish elders, 195.

Zealots, doctrines of the, 70, 98, 168, n.

Zendavesta, the, 43, and note, 44, n., 210, 274. Its
Liturgies and Institutes, 43. The Amaschas-
pands, or angels of, 44, et passim, 209.

Zeno, 179.

Zenobia, queen of Palmyra, 256.

Zodiac, signs of the, 213, 281.

Zoroaster, doctrine of, 43, and note, 44, n., 47, and
note, 203, 209, 210, 215. Revival of the religion
of, 199, 273, 274.

Zosimus, the historian,300, n., 301, and note, 3C4,n

THE END.