CHAPTER VI

THE RELIGION OF THE HELLENISTIC AGE

It has been shown in the last chapter that the religion of Paul was

not derived from the pre-Christian Jewish doctrine of the Messiah.

If, therefore, the derivation of Paulinism from the historical Jesus

is still to be abandoned, recourse must be had to the pagan world.

And as a matter of fact, it is in the pagan world that the genesis

of Paulinism is to-day more and more frequently being sought. The

following chapters will deal with that hypothesis which makes the

religion of Paul essentially a product of the syncretistic pagan

religion of the Hellenistic age.

This hypothesis is not only held in many different forms, but also

enters into combination with the view which has been considered in

the last chapter. For example, M. Brückner, who regards the Pauline

Christology as being simply the Jewish conception of the Messiah,

modified by the episode of the Messiah's humiliation, is by no means

hostile to the hypothesis of pagan influence. On the contrary, he

brings the Jewish conception of the Messiah upon which the Pauline

Christology is thought to be based, itself into connection with the

widespread pagan myth of a dying and rising saviour-god.[132] Thus

Brückner is at one with the modern school of comparative religion

in deriving Paul's religion from paganism; only he derives it

from paganism not directly but through the medium of the Jewish

conception of the Messiah. On the other hand, most of those who

find direct and not merely mediate pagan influence at the heart of

the religion of Paul are also willing to admit that some important

influences came through pre-Christian Judaism--notably, through the

Messianic expectations of the apocalypses. The division between the

subject of the present chapter and that of the preceding chapter is

therefore difficult to carry out. Nevertheless, that division will

be found convenient. It will be well to consider separately the

hypothesis (now in the very forefront of interest) which derives

Paulinism, not from the historical Jesus, and not from pre-Christian

Judaism, but from the pagan religion of the Greco-Roman world.

[132] Brückner, _Der sterbende und auferstehende Gottheiland_, 1908.

Here, as in the last chapter, the discussion may begin with a brief

review of that type of religion from which Paulinism is thought

to have been derived. The review will again have to be of a most

cursory character, and will make free use of recent researches.[133]

Those researches are becoming more and more extensive in recent

years. The Hellenistic age is no longer regarded as a period of

hopeless decadence, but is commanding a larger and larger share of

attention from philologians and from students of the history of

religion. The sources, however, so far as the sphere of popular

religion is concerned, are rather meager. Complete unanimity of

opinion, therefore, even regarding fundamental matters, has by no

means been attained.

[133] For example, Rohde, _Psyche_, 2 Bde, 3te Aufl., 1903; Farnell,

_Cults of the Greek States_, vol. iii, 1907; Wendland, _Die

hellenistisch-römische Kultur_, 2te u. 3te Aufl., 1912; Anrich, _Das

antike Mysterienwesen_, 1894; Cumont, _Les religions orientales dans

le paganisme romain_, 2ième éd., 1909 (English Translation, _The

Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism_, 1911).

At the time of Paul, the civilized world was unified, politically,

under the Roman Empire. The native religion of Rome, however, was

not an important factor in the life of the Empire--certainly not in

the East. That religion had been closely bound up with the life of

the Roman city-state. It had been concerned largely with a system of

auguries and religious ceremonies intended to guide the fortunes of

the city and insure the favor of the gods. But there had been little

attempt to enter into any sort of personal contact with the gods or

even to produce any highly differentiated account of their nature.

The native religion of Rome, on the whole, seems to have been rather

a cold, unsatisfying affair. It aroused the emotions of the people

only because it was an expression of stern and sturdy patriotism.

And it tended to lose its influence when the horizon of the people

was broadened by contact with the outside world.

The most important change was wrought by contact with Greece. When

Rome began to extend her conquests into the East, the eastern

countries, to a very considerable extent, had already been

Hellenized, by the conquests of Alexander and by the Greek kingdoms

into which his short-lived empire had been divided. Thus the Roman

conquerors came into contact with Greek civilization, not only in

the Greek colonies in Sicily and southern Italy, not only in Greece

proper and on the Ægean coast of Asia Minor, but also to some extent

everywhere in the eastern world. No attempt was made to root out

the Greek influences. On the contrary, the conquerors to a very

considerable extent were conquered by those whom they had conquered;

Rome submitted herself, in the spiritual sphere, to the dominance of

Greece.

The Greek influence extended into the sphere of religion. At a very

early time, the ancient Roman gods were identified with the Greek

gods who possessed roughly analogous functions--Jupiter became Zeus,

for example, and Venus became Aphrodite. This identification brought

an important enrichment into Roman religion. The cold and lifeless

figures of the Roman pantheon began to take on the grace and beauty

and the clearly defined personal character which had been given to

their Greek counterparts by Homer and Hesiod and the dramatists

and Phidias and Praxiteles. Thus it is not to the ancient official

religion of Rome but to the rich pantheon of Homer that the student

must turn in order to find the spiritual ancestry of the religion of

the Hellenistic world.

Even before the time of Homer, Greek religion had undergone

development. Modern scholarship, at least, is no longer inclined

to find in Homer the artless simplicity of a primitive age. On the

contrary, the Homeric poems, it is now supposed, were the product

of a highly developed, aristocratic society, which must be thought

of as standing at the apex of a social order. Thus it is not to be

supposed that the religion of Homer was the only Hellenic religion

of Homer's day. On the contrary, even in the Homeric poems, it is

said, there appear here and there remnants of a popular primitive

religion--human sacrifice and the like--and many of the rough,

primitive conceptions which crop out in Greek life in the later

centuries were really present long before the Homeric age, and had

been preserved beneath the surface in the depths of a non-literary

popular religion. However much of truth there may be in these

contentions, it is at any rate clear that the Homeric poems exerted

an enormous influence upon subsequent generations. Even if they

were the product of a limited circle, even if they never succeeded

in eradicating the primitive conceptions, at least they did gain

enormous prestige and did become the most important single factor in

molding the religion of the golden age of Greece.

As determined by the Homeric poems, the religion of Greece was a

highly developed polytheism of a thoroughly anthropomorphic kind.

The Greek gods were simply men and women, with human passions and

human sins--more powerful, indeed, but not more righteous than

those who worshiped them. Such a religion was stimulating to the

highest art. Anthropomorphism gave free course to the imagination

of poets and sculptors. There is nothing lifeless about the gods

of Greece; whether portrayed by the chisel of sculptors or the pen

of poets, they are warm, living, breathing, human figures. But

however stimulating to the sense of beauty, the anthropomorphic

religion of Greece was singularly unsatisfying in the moral sphere.

If the gods were no better than men, the worship of them was not

necessarily ennobling. No doubt there was a certain moral quality

in the very act of worship. For worship was not always conceived

of as mere prudent propitiation of dangerous tyrants. Sometimes it

was conceived of as a duty, like the pious reverence which a child

should exhibit toward his parent. In the case of filial piety, as

in the case of piety toward the gods, the duty of reverence is

independent of the moral quality of the revered object. But in

both cases the very act of reverence may possess a certain moral

value. This admission, however, does not change the essential fact.

It remains true that the anthropomorphic character of the gods of

Greece, just because it stimulated the fancy of poets by attributing

human passions to the gods and so provided the materials of dramatic

art, at the same time prevented religion from lifting society above

the prevailing standards. The moral standards of snowy Olympus,

unfortunately, were not higher than those of the Athenian market

place.

In another way also, the polytheistic religion of Greece was

unsatisfying. It provided little hope of personal communion

between the gods and men. Religion, in Greece scarcely less than

in ancient Rome, was an affair of the state. A man was born into

his religion. An Athenian citizen, as such, was a worshiper of the

Athenian gods. There was little place for individual choice or

for individual devotion. Moreover, there was little place for the

mystical element in religion. The gods of Greece were in some sort,

indeed, companionable figures; they were similar to men; men could

understand the motives of their actions. But there was no way in

which companionship with them could find expression. There was a

time, indeed, when the gods had come down to earth to help the great

heroes who were their favorites or their sons. But such favors were

not given to ordinary mortals. The gods might be revered, but direct

and individual contact with them was for the most part not to be

attained.

These limitations, however, were not universal; and for purposes

of the present investigation the exceptions are far more important

than the rule. It is not true that the religion of Greece, even

previous to the golden age, was entirely devoid of enthusiasm or

individualism or mystic contact with the gods. The polytheism of

Homer, the polytheism of the Olympic pantheon, despite its wide

prevalence was not the only form of Greek religion. Along with the

worship of the Olympic gods there went also religious practices of a

very different kind. There was a place even in Greece for mystical

religion.

This mystical or enthusiastic element in the religion of Greece is

connected especially with the worship of Dionysus. Dionysus was not

originally a Greek god. He came from Thrace and is very closely

related to the Phrygian Sabazius. But, at an early time, his worship

was widely adopted in the Greek world. No doubt it was not adopted

entirely without modification; no doubt it was shorn of some of

those features which were most repulsive to the Greek genius. But

enough remained in order to affect very powerfully the character of

Greek religion.

The worship of Dionysus supplied, to some extent at least, just

those elements which were lacking in the religion of the Greek

city-state. In the first place, there was direct contact with the

god. The worshipers of Dionysus sought to attain contact with the

god partly by a divine frenzy, which was induced by wild music and

dancing, and partly by the crass method of eating the raw flesh

of the sacred animal, the bull. No doubt these savage practices

were often modified when they were introduced into Greece. It has

been thought, for example, that the frenzied dances and nightly

excursions to the wilds of the mountains, which originally had

been carried on in true self-forgetfulness, became in Greece rather

parts of an established cult. But on the whole, the influence of

Dionysus-worship must be regarded as very great. An element of true

mysticism or enthusiasm was introduced into the Greek world.

In the second place, the worship of Dionysus stimulated interest in

a future life. The Homeric poems had represented the existence of

the soul after death--at least the soul of an ordinary mortal--as

being a mere shadow-existence which could not be called life at

all. It is indeed questionable whether at this point Homer truly

represented the original Hellenic belief, or the popular belief

even of the time when the poems were written. Modern scholars have

detected in the Iliad and the Odyssey here and there remnants

of a more positive doctrine of a future life. But at any rate,

the worship of Dionysus brought such positive beliefs--if they

existed in Greece before--more to the surface. Thracian religion,

apparently, had concerned itself to a very considerable extent with

the future condition of the soul; the introduction of the Thracian

Dionysus, therefore, stimulated a similar interest in Greece.

Finally, the worship of Dionysus tended to separate religion from

the state and make it partly at least an affair of the individual

man. Such individualism is connected of course with the enthusiastic

character of the worship; a state religion as such is not likely to

be enthusiastic. The whole body of citizens cannot be possessed of

a divine frenzy, and if not, then those who have the experience are

likely to separate themselves to some extent from their countrymen.

It is not surprising, therefore, that the worshipers of Dionysus,

here and there, were inclined to unite themselves in sects or

brotherhoods.

The most important of these brotherhoods were connected with the

name of Orpheus, the mythical musician and seer. The origin of

the Orphic sects is indeed very obscure. Apparently, however,

they sprang up or became influential in the sixth century before

Christ, and were connected in some way with Dionysus. They seem to

have represented a reform of Dionysiac practice. At any rate, they

continued that interest in the future life which the worship of

Dionysus had already cultivated. Orphism is especially important

because it taught men to expect in the future life not only rewards

but also punishments. The soul after death, according to Orphic

doctrine, was subject to an indefinite succession of reincarnations,

not only in the bodies of men, but also in those of animals.

These reincarnations were regarded as an evil, because the body

was thought of as a prison-house of the soul. At last, however,

the righteous soul attains purification, and, escaping from the

succession of births, enters into a blessed existence.

Related in some way to the Orphic sects were the brotherhoods that

owned Pythagoras as their master. But the relation between the two

movements is not perfectly plain.

At any rate, both Orphism and Pythagoreanism stand apart from

the official cults of the Greek states. Even within those cults,

however, there were not wanting some elements which satisfied more

fully than the ordinary worship of the Olympic gods the longing of

individual men for contact with the higher powers and for a blessed

immortality. Such elements were found in the "mysteries," of which

far the most important were the mysteries of Eleusis.[134] The

Eleusinian Mysteries originated in the worship of Demeter that was

carried on at Eleusis, a town in Attica some fifteen miles from

Athens. When Eleusis was conquered by Athens, the Eleusinian cult of

Demeter, far from suffering eclipse, was adopted by the conquerors

and so attained unparalleled influence. Characteristic of the cult

as so developed was the secrecy of its central rites; the Eleusinian

cult of Demeter became (if it was not one already) a mystery-cult,

whose secrets were divulged only to the initiates. The terms of

admission, however, were very broad. All persons of Greek race, even

slaves--except those persons who were stained with bloodguiltiness

or the like--could be admitted. As so constituted, the Eleusinian

Mysteries were active for some ten centuries; they continued until

the very end of pagan antiquity.

[134] On the Eleusinian Mysteries and the cult of Demeter and

Kore-Persephone, see especially Farnell, _op. cit._, iii, pp.

29-279.

Initiation into the mysteries took place ordinarily in three stages;

the candidate was first initiated into the "lesser mysteries" at

Agræ near Athens in the spring; then into a first stage of the

"great mysteries" at Eleusis in the following autumn; then a year

later his initiation was completed at Eleusis by the reception of

the mystic vision. The mysteries of Eleusis were prepared for by a

succession of acts about which some information has been preserved.

These acts were extended over a period of days. First the sacred

objects were brought from Eleusis to Athens. Then the candidates

for initiation, who had purified themselves by abstinence from

certain kinds of food and from sexual intercourse, were called

upon to assemble. Then, at the cry, "To the sea, O mystæ!" the

candidates went to the sea-coast, where they made sacrifice of a

pig, and purified themselves by washing in the sea water. Then came

the solemn procession from Athens to Eleusis, interrupted by ribald

jests at the passage of the river Cephissus. The initiation itself

took place in the "telesterion." What happened there is obscure;

antiquity has well observed the secrecy which was essential to

the mysteries. Certainly, however, the ceremony was accompanied,

or rather, perhaps, preceded, by the drinking of the "kykeon," a

mixture composed of water and barley-meal and other ingredients.

The significance of this act is not really known. It would be very

rash, for example, to assert that the partaking of the kykeon

was sacramental, or was thought of as imparting a new nature to

the recipients. Apparently the kykeon did not have a part in the

mysteries themselves, for if it had, it could hardly have been

spoken of so openly by pagan writers. The mysteries seem to have

consisted in some sort of sacred drama, representing the search of

Demeter for her daughter Persephone who had been carried off to the

lower world, and in the exhibition of sacred emblems or of images

of the gods. Hippolytus scornfully says that the supreme object of

mystic awe was a cut corn-stalk.[135] His testimony is variously

estimated. But it is quite possible that he has here given us

genuine information. Since Demeter was the goddess of the fertility

of the soil, the corn-stalk was not ill fitted to be her sacred

emblem.

[135] Hippolytus, _Ref. omn. haer._, V. viii. 39 (ed. Wendland,

1916).

It has been supposed that the cult of Demeter at Eleusis was

originally an agrarian cult, intended to celebrate or to induce the

fertility of the soil. But the chief significance of the mysteries

was found in another sphere. In the mysteries, the cult goddesses,

Demeter and Persephone, were thought of chiefly as goddesses of the

nether world, the abode of the dead; and the mysteries were valued

chiefly as providing a guarantee of a blessed immortality. How the

guarantee was given is quite obscure. But the fact is well attested.

Those who had been initiated into the mysteries were able to expect

a better lot in the future life than the lot of the generality of

men.

The mysteries at Eleusis were not the only mysteries which were

practised in the golden age of Greece. There were not only offshoots

of the Eleusinian mysteries in various places, but also independent

mysteries like those of the Kabeiri on the island of Samothrace.

But the mysteries at Eleusis were undoubtedly the most important,

and the others are even less fully known. The moral value of the

mysteries, including those at Eleusis, should not be exaggerated.

Slight allusions in pagan writers seem to point here and there to a

purifying moral effect wrought by initiation. But the indications

are not very clear. Certainly the secrets of Eleusis did not consist

in any body of teaching, either religious or ethical. The effect was

produced, not upon the intellect, but upon the emotions and upon the

imagination.

Thus the religion of the golden age of Greece was an anthropomorphic

polytheism, closely connected with the life of the city-state, but

relieved here and there by practices intended to provide more direct

contact with the divine or bestow special blessing upon individuals.

The religion of Greece was finally undermined by at least three

agencies.

In the first place, philosophy tended to destroy belief in the

gods. The philosophic criticism of the existing religion was partly

theoretical and partly ethical. The theoretical criticism arose

especially through the search for a unifying principle operative

in the universe. If the manifold phenomena of the universe were

all reduced to a single cause, the gods might indeed still be

thought of as existing, but their importance was gone. There was

thus a tendency either toward monotheism or else toward some sort

of materialistic monism. But the objections which philosophy

raised against the existing polytheism were ethical as well as

theoretical. The Homeric myths were rightly felt to be immoral; the

imitation of the Homeric gods would result in moral degradation.

Thus if the myths were still to be retained they could not be

interpreted literally, but had to be given some kind of allegorical

interpretation.

This opposition of philosophy to the existing religion was often

not explicit, and it did not concern religious practice. Even those

philosophers whose theory left no room for the existence or at

least the importance of the gods, continued to engage loyally in

the established cults. But although the superstructure of religion

remained, the foundation, to some extent at least, was undermined.

In the second place, since religion in ancient Greece had been

closely connected with the city-states, the destruction of the

states brought important changes in religion. The Greek states lost

their independence through the conquests of Philip of Macedon and

Alexander the Great. Those conquests meant, indeed, a wide extension

of Greek culture throughout the eastern world. But the religion of

Alexander's empire and of the kingdoms into which it was divided

after his death was widely different from the religion of Athens in

her glory. Cosmopolitanism brought mighty changes in religion, as in

the political sphere.

In the third place, the influence of the eastern religions made

itself more and more strongly felt. That influence was never indeed

dominant in the life of Greece proper so completely as it was in

some other parts of the world. But in general it was very important.

When the Olympic gods lost their place in the minds and hearts of

men, other gods were ready to take their place.

Before any account can be given of the eastern religions taken

separately, and of their progress toward the west, it may be well to

mention certain general characteristics of the period which followed

the conquests of Alexander. That period, which extended several

centuries into the Christian era, is usually called the Hellenistic

age, to distinguish it from the Hellenic period which had gone

before.

The Hellenistic age was characterized, in the first place, by

cosmopolitanism. Natural and racial barriers to an astonishing

extent were broken down; the world, at least the educated world

of the cities, was united by the bonds of a common language, and

finally by a common political control. The common language was the

Koiné, the modified form of the Attic dialect of Greek, which became

the vehicle of a world-civilization. The common political control

was that of the Roman Empire. On account of the union of these two

factors, inter-communication between various nations and races

was safe and easy; the nations were united both in trade and in

intellectual activity.

With the cosmopolitanism thus produced there went naturally a new

individualism, which extended into the religious sphere. Under

the city-state of ancient Greece the individual was subordinated

to the life of the community. But in the world-empire the control

of the state, just because it was broader, was at the same time

looser. Patriotism no longer engrossed the thoughts of men. It was

impossible for a subject of a great empire to identify himself with

the life of the empire so completely as the free Athenian citizen of

the age of Pericles had identified himself with the glories of his

native city. Thus the satisfactions which in that earlier period had

been sought in the life of the state, including the state-religion,

were in the Hellenistic age sought rather in individual religious

practice.

The ancient religions of the city-state did indeed find a successor

which was adapted to the changed condition. That successor was

the worship of the Emperors. The worship of the Emperors was more

than a mere form of flattery. It expressed a general gratitude

for the reign of peace which was introduced by Augustus, and it

had its roots, not only in Greek religion, but also, and far more

fundamentally, in the religions of the East. The worship of the

rulers was firmly established in the kingdoms into which Alexander's

empire was divided, and from there it was transmitted very naturally

to the new and greater empire of Rome. Very naturally it became a

dangerous enemy of the Christian Church; for the refusal of the

Christians to worship the Emperor seemed inexplicable to an age of

polytheism, and gave rise to the charge of political disloyalty.

At first, however, and so during the period of Paul's missionary

journeys, the Church shared more or less in the special privileges

which were granted to the Jews. Christianity at first seemed to be

a variety of Judaism, and Judaism in Roman practice was a _religio

licita_.

But the worship of the Emperors, important as it was, was not

practised in any exclusive way; it did not at all exclude the

worship of other gods. It remains true, therefore, that in the

Hellenistic age, far more than under the ancient Greek city-state,

there was room for individual choice in religious practice.

It is not surprising that such an age was an age of religious

propaganda. Since religion was no longer an affair of the nation

as such, but addressed itself to men as men, free scope was offered

for the extension to the whole world of religions which originally

had been national in character. The golden age of such religious

propaganda, it is true, did not begin until the second century; and

that fact is of very great importance in dealing with certain modern

theories of dependence so far as Pauline Christianity is concerned.

Nevertheless the cosmopolitanizing of national religions had begun

to some extent in an early period and was rendered natural by the

entire character of the Hellenistic age. Even before the fall of the

Greek city-state, little communities of the worshipers of eastern

gods had established themselves here and there in Greece; and in

other parts of the world the barriers against religious propaganda

were even less effective. In the Hellenistic age such barriers were

almost everywhere broken down. When any religion ceased to be an

affair of the nation, when it could no longer count on the devotion

of the citizens or subjects as such, it was obliged, if it desired

to subsist, to seek its devotees through an appeal to the free

choice of individuals.

This religious propaganda, however, was not carried on in any

exclusive way; the adoption of one god did not mean the abandonment

of another. On the contrary, the Hellenistic age was the age of

syncretism _par excellence_. Gods of different nations, originally

quite distinct, were identified almost as a matter of course. One

example of such identification has already been noted; at an early

time the gods of Rome were identified with those of Greece. But

in the later portion of the Hellenistic age the process went on

in more wholesale fashion. And it was sometimes justified by the

far-reaching theory that the gods of different nations were merely

different names of one great divinity. This theory received classic

expression in the words of the goddess Isis which are contained in

the "Metamorphoses" of Apuleius: "For the Phrygians that are the

first of all men call me the Mother of the gods at Pessinus; the

Athenians, which are sprung from their own soil, Cecropian Minerva;

the Cyprians, which are girt about by the sea, Paphian Venus; the

Cretans which bear arrows, Dictynnian Diana; the Sicilians, which

speak three tongues, infernal Proserpine; the Eleusians their

ancient goddess Ceres; some Juno, other Bellona, other Hecate,

other Rhamnusia, and principally both sort of the Ethiopians which

dwell in the Orient and are enlightened by the morning rays of the

sun, and the Egyptians, which are excellent in all kind of ancient

doctrine, and by their proper ceremonies accustom to worship me, do

call me by my true name, Queen Isis."[136]

[136] Apuleius, _Metam._ xi. 5, Addington's translation revised by

Gaselee, in Apuleius, _The Golden Ass_, in the _The Loeb Classical

Library_, p. 547.

But what is perhaps the most important feature of the religion of

the Hellenistic age has not yet been mentioned. It is found in

the widespread desire for redemption. In the golden age of Greece

men had been satisfied with the world. Who could engage in gloomy

questionings, who could face the underlying problem of evil, when

it was possible to listen with keen appreciation to an ode of

Pindar or to a tragedy of Æschylus? The Greek tragic poets, it is

true, present in terrible fashion the sterner facts of life. But

the glorious beauty of the presentation itself produces a kind of

satisfaction. In the age of Pericles, life was rich and full; for

the Athenian citizen it was a joy to live. The thought of another

world was not needed; this world was large and rich enough. Joyous

development of existing human faculties was, in the golden age of

Greece, the chief end of man.

But the glorious achievements of the Greek genius were followed by

lamentable failure. There was failure in political life. Despite the

political genius of Athenian statesmen, Athens soon lay prostrate,

first before her sister states and then before the Macedonian

conqueror. There was failure in intellectual life. The glorious

achievements of Athenian art were followed by a period of decline.

Poets and sculptors had to find their inspiration in imitation of

the past. Human nature, once so proud, was obliged to confess its

inadequacy; the Hellenistic age was characterized by what Gilbert

Murray, borrowing a phrase of J. B. Bury, calls a "failure of

nerve."[137]

[137] Gilbert Murray, _Four Stages of Greek Religion_, 1912, pp. 8,

103-154. Compare, however, Rohde (_op. cit._, ii, pp. 298-300), who

calls attention to an opposite aspect of the Hellenistic age.

This failure of nerve found expression, in the religious sphere,

in the longing for redemption. The world was found not to be so

happy a place as had been supposed, and human nature was obliged

to seek help from outside. Thus arose the desire for "salvation."

The characteristic gods of the Hellenistic age are in some sort

saviour-gods--gods who could give help in the miseries of life.

Asclepius finally became more important than Zeus. Dissatisfied

with the world of sense, men turned their thoughts to another world;

dissatisfied with the achievements of human nature, they sought

communion with higher powers.

Opinions may differ as to the value of this development. To the

humanist of all ages, it will seem to be a calamity. From the

glories of Pindar to the morbid practices of the Hellenistic

mysteries, how great a fall! But there is another way of regarding

the change. Possibly the achievements of ancient Greece, glorious as

they were, had been built upon an insecure foundation. Scrutiny of

the foundation was no doubt painful, and it dulled the enthusiasm

of the architects. But perhaps it was necessary and certainly it

was inevitable. Perhaps also it might become a step toward some

higher humanism. The Greek joy of living was founded upon a certain

ruthlessness toward human misery, a certain indifference toward

moral problems. Such a joy could not be permanent. But how would

it be if the underlying problem could be faced, instead of being

ignored? How would it be if human nature could be founded upon some

secure rock, in order that then the architect might start to build

once more, and build, this time, with a conscience void of offense?

Such is the Christian ideal, the ideal of a loftier humanism--a

humanism as rich and as joyful as the humanism of Greece, but a

humanism founded upon the grace of God.

But however "the failure of nerve" which appears in the Hellenistic

age be appreciated by the student of the philosophy of history,

the fact at least cannot be ignored. The Hellenistic age was

characterized by a widespread longing for redemption--a widespread

longing for an escape from the present world of sense to some higher

and better country. Such longing was not satisfied by the ancient

religion of Greece. It caused men, therefore, to become seekers

after new gods.

But what was the attitude of philosophy? Philosophy had contributed

to the decline of the ancient gods. Had it been equally successful

on the positive side? Had it been able to fill the void which its

questionings had produced. The answer on the whole must be rendered

in the negative. On the whole, it must be said that Greek philosophy

was unsuccessful in its efforts to solve the riddle of the universe.

The effort which it made was indeed imposing. Plato in particular

endeavored to satisfy the deepest longings of the human soul; he

attempted to provide an escape from the world of sense to the

higher world of ideas. But the way of escape was open at best only

to the few philosophical souls; the generality of men were left

hopeless and helpless in the shadow-existence of the cave. And even

the philosophers were not long satisfied with the Platonic solution.

The philosophy of the Hellenistic age was either openly skeptical or

materialistic, as is the case, for example, with Epicureanism, or

at any rate it abandoned the great theoretical questions and busied

itself chiefly with practical affairs. Epicureans and Stoics and

Cynics were all interested chiefly, not in ontology or epistemology,

but in ethics. At this point the first century was like the

twentieth. The distrust of theory, the depreciation of theology,

the exclusive interest in social and practical questions--these

tendencies appear now as they appeared in the Hellenistic age. And

now as well as then they are marks of intellectual decadence.

But if the philosophy of the Hellenistic age offered no satisfactory

solution of the riddle of the universe and no satisfaction for the

deepest longings of the soul, it presented, on the other hand, no

effective opposition to the religious current of the time. It had

helped bring about that downfall of the Olympic gods, that sad

neglect of Zeus and his altars which is described by Lucian in his

wonderfully modern satires. But it was not able to check the rising

power of the eastern religions. Indeed it entered into a curious

alliance with the invaders. As early as the first century before

Christ, Posidonius seems to have introduced an element of oriental

mysticism into the philosophy of the Stoics, and in the succeeding

centuries the process went on apace. The climax was reached, at the

close of pagan antiquity, in that curious mixture of philosophy and

charlatanism which is found in the neo-Platonic writers.

The philosophy of the Hellenistic age, with its intense interest in

questions of conduct, constitutes, indeed, an important chapter in

the history of the human race, and can point to certain noteworthy

achievements. The Stoics, for example, enunciated the great

principle of human brotherhood; they made use of the cosmopolitanism

and individualism of the Hellenistic age in order to arouse a new

interest in man as man. Even the slaves, who in the theory of an

Aristotle had been treated as chattels, began to be looked upon here

and there as members of a great human family. Men of every race and

of every social grade came to be the object of a true humanitarian

interest.

But the humanitarian efforts of Stoicism, though proceeding from an

exalted theory of the worth of man as man, proved to be powerless.

The dynamic somehow was lacking. Despite the teaching of Seneca

and Marcus Aurelius, despite the beginnings of true humanitarian

effort here and there, the later Empire with its cruel gladiatorial

shows and its heartless social system was sinking into the slough

of savagery. What Stoicism was unable to do, Christianity to some

extent at least accomplished. The ideal of Christianity was not

the mere ideal of a human brotherhood. Pure humanitarianism, the

notion of "the brotherhood of man," as that phrase is usually

understood, is Stoic rather than Christian. Christianity did make

its appeal to all men; it won many of its first adherents from

the depths of slavery. It did inculcate charity toward all men

whether Christians or not. And it enunciated with an unheard-of

seriousness the doctrine that all classes of men, wise and unwise,

bond and free, are of equal worth. But the equality was not found

in the common possession of human nature. It was found, instead,

in a common connection with Jesus Christ. "There can be neither

Jew nor Greek, there can be neither bond nor free, there can be

no male and female"--so far the words of Paul can find analogies

(faint analogies, it is true) in the Stoic writers. But the Pauline

grounding of the unity here enunciated is the very antithesis of

all mere humanitarianism both ancient and modern--"For ye are all

one person," says Paul, "in Christ Jesus." Christianity did not

reveal the fact that all men were brothers. Indeed it revealed the

contrary. But it offered to make all men brothers by bringing them

into saving connection with Christ.

The above sketch of the characteristics of the Hellenistic age has

been quite inadequate. And even a fuller presentation could hardly

do justice to the complexity of the life of that time. But perhaps

some common misconceptions have been corrected. The pagan world at

the time when Paul set sail from Seleucia on his first missionary

journey was not altogether without religion. Even the ancient

polytheism was by no means altogether dead. It was rather a day of

religious unrest. The old faiths had been shaken, but they were

making room for the new. The Orontes, to use the figure of Juvenal,

was soon to empty into the Tiber. The flow of eastern superstition

and eastern mystical religion was soon to spread over the whole

world.

But what were the eastern religions which in the second century

after Christ, if not before, entered upon their triumphal march

toward the west?[138] They were of diverse origin and diverse

character. But one feature was common to a number of the most

important of them. Those eastern religions which became most

influential in the later Roman Empire were mystery religions--that

is, they had connected with them secret rites which were thought

to afford special blessing to the initiates. The mysteries did not

indeed constitute the whole of the worship of the eastern gods. Side

by side with the mysteries were to be found public cults to which

every one was admitted. But the mysteries are of special interest,

because it was they which satisfied most fully the longing of the

Hellenistic age for redemption, for "salvation," for the attainment

of a higher nature.

[138] The sketch which follows is indebted especially to Cumont,

_Les religions orientales dans le paganisme romain_, 2ième éd., 1909

(English translation, _The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism_,

1911).

It will be well, therefore, to single out for special mention the

chief of the mystery religions--those eastern religions which

although they were by no means altogether secret did have mysteries

connected with them.

The first of these religions to be introduced into Rome was

the religion of the Phrygian Cybele, the "Great Mother of the

Gods."[139] In 204 B.C., in the dark days of the Carthaginian

invasion, the black meteoric stone of Pessinus was brought, by

command of an oracle, to Rome. With the sacred stone came the cult.

But Rome was not yet ready for the barbaric worship of the Phrygian

goddess. For several hundred years the cult of Cybele was kept

carefully isolated from the life of the Roman people. The foreign

rites were supported by the authority of the state, but they were

conducted altogether by a foreign priesthood; no Roman citizen

was allowed to participate in them. It was not until the reign of

Claudius (41-54 A.D.) that the barrier was finally broken down.

[139] For the religion of Cybele and Attis, see Showerman, _The

Great Mother of the Gods_, 1901; Hepding, _Attis_, 1903.

The myth of Cybele is narrated in various forms. According to the

most characteristic form, the youthful Attis, beloved by Cybele,

is struck with madness by the jealous goddess, deprives himself

of his virility, dies through his own mad act, and is mourned by

the goddess. The myth contains no account of a resurrection; all

that Cybele is able to obtain is that the body of Attis should be

preserved, that his hair should continue to grow, and that his

little finger should move.

The cult was more stable than the myth. No doubt, indeed, even the

cult experienced important changes in the course of the centuries.

At the beginning, according to Hepding and Cumont, Cybele was

a goddess of the mountain wilds, whose worship was similar in

important respects to that of Dionysus. With Cybele Attis was

associated at an early time. The Phrygian worship of Cybele and

Attis was always of a wild, orgiastic character, and the frenzy

of the worshipers culminated even in the act of self-mutilation.

Thus the eunuch-priests of Cybele, the "Galli," became a well-known

feature of the life of the Empire. But the Phrygian cult of Cybele

and Attis cannot be reconstructed by any means in detail; extensive

information has been preserved only about the worship as it was

carried on at Rome. And even with regard to the Roman cult, the

sources of information are to a very considerable extent late. It

is not certain, therefore, that the great spring festival of Attis,

as it was celebrated in the last period of the Roman Empire, was an

unmodified reproduction of the original Phrygian rites.

The Roman festival was conducted as follows:[140] On March 15, there

was a preliminary festival. On March 22, the sacred pine-tree was

felled and carried in solemn procession by the "Dendrophori" into

the temple of Cybele. The pine-tree appears in the myth as the tree

under which Attis committed his act of self-mutilation. In the cult,

the felling of the tree is thought by modern scholars to represent

the death of the god. Hence the mourning of the worshipers was

connected with the tree. March 24 was called the "day of blood";

on this day the mourning for the dead Attis reached its climax.

The Galli chastised themselves with scourges and cut themselves

with knives--all to the wild music of the drums and cymbals which

were connected especially with the worship of the Phrygian Mother.

On this day also, according to Hepding's conjecture, the new

Galli dedicated themselves to the service of the goddess by the

act of self-mutilation. Finally, the resurrection or epiphany of

the god Attis was celebrated. This took place perhaps during the

night between March 24 and March 25. But Hepding admits that the

time is not directly attested. It is also only conjecture when a

famous passage of Firmicus Maternus (fourth century after Christ)

is applied to the worship of Attis and to this part of it.[141] But

the conjecture may well be correct. Firmicus Maternus[142] describes

a festival in which the figure of a god rests upon a bier and is

lamented, and then a light is brought in and the priest exclaims,

"Be of good courage, ye initiates, since the god is saved; for

to us there shall be salvation out of troubles."[143] Apparently

the resurrection of the god is here regarded as the cause of the

salvation of the worshipers; the worshipers share in the fortunes

of the god. At any rate, March 25 in the Roman Attis festival was

the "Hilaria," a day of rejoicing. On this day, the resurrection of

the god was celebrated. March 26 was a day of rest; and finally,

on March 27, there was a solemn washing of the sacred images and

emblems.

[140] See Hepding, _op. cit._, pp. 147-176.

[141] Loisy (_Les mystères païens et le mystère chrétien_, 1910, p.

104) prefers to attach the passage to Osiris rather than to Attis.

[142] See Hepding, _op. cit._, pp. 166, 167.

[143] Firmicus Maternus, _De error, prof. rel._, xxii (ed. Ziegler,

1907):

Θαρρεῖτε μύσται τοῧ Θεοῦ σεσωμένου

ἔσται γὰρ ἡμῖν ἐκ πόνων σωτηρία.

As thus described, the worship of Cybele and Attis was, for the

most part at least, public. But there were also mysteries connected

with the same two gods. These mysteries apparently were practised

in the East before the cult was brought to Rome. But the eastern

form of their celebration is quite obscure, and even about the

Roman form very little is known. Connected with the mysteries was

some sort of sacred meal.[144] Firmicus Maternus has preserved the

formula: "I have eaten from the drum; I have drunk from the cymbal;

I have become an initiate of Attis."[145] And Clement of Alexandria

(about 200 A. D.) also connected a similar formula with the

Phrygian mysteries: "I ate from the drum; I drank from the cymbal;

I carried the 'kernos'; I stole into the bridal chamber."[146]

The significance of this ritual eating and drinking is not clear.

Certainly it would be rash to find in it the notion of new birth or

sacramental union with the divine nature. Hepding suggests that it

meant rather the entrance of the initiate into the circle of the

table-companions of the god.

[144] See Hepding, _op. cit._, pp. 184-190.

[145] Firmicus Maternus, _op. cit._, xviii: ἐκ τυμπὰνου βέβρωκα,

ἐκ κυμβάλον πέπωκα,γέγονα μύατης Ἄττεως.

[146] Clem. Al., _Protrepticus_, ii. 15 (ed. Stählin, 1905): ἐκ

τυμράνου ἕφαγον‧ ἐκ κυμβάλου ἕπιον‧ ἐκερνοφόρεσα ὑπὸ τὸν παστὸν ὑπέδυν.

The actual initiation is even more obscure in the Attis mysteries

than it is in those of Eleusis; Hepding admits that his

reconstruction of the details of the mysteries is based largely on

conjecture. Possibly in the formula quoted above from Clement of

Alexandria, the words, "I stole into the bridal chamber," indicate

that there was some sort of representation of a sacred marriage;

but other interpretations of the Greek words are possible. Hepding

suggests that the candidate entered into the grotto, descended into

a ditch within the grotto, listened to lamentations for the dead

god, received a blood-bath, then saw a wonderful light, and heard

the joyful words quoted above: "Be of good courage, ye initiates,

since the god is saved; for to us shall there be salvation out of

troubles," and finally that the candidate arose out of the ditch as

a new man ("reborn for eternity") or rather as a being identified

with the god.[147]

[147] Hepding, _op. cit._, pp. 196ff.

According to this reconstruction, the initiation represented the

death and the new birth of the candidate. But the reconstruction is

exceedingly doubtful, and some of the most important features of

it are attested in connection with the Attis mysteries if at all

only in very late sources. Hepding is particularly careful to admit

that there is no direct documentary evidence for connecting the

blood-bath with the March festival.

This blood-bath, which is called the taurobolium, requires special

attention. The one who received it descended into a pit over

which a lattice-work was placed. A bull was slaughtered above the

lattice-work, and the blood was allowed to run through into the pit,

where the recipient let it saturate his clothing and even enter

his nose and mouth and ears. The result was that the recipient was

"reborn forever," or else reborn for a period of twenty years,

after which the rite had to be repeated. The taurobolium is thought

to have signified a death to the old life and a new birth into a

higher, divine existence. But it is not perfectly clear that it had

that significance in the East and in the early period. According to

Hepding, the taurobolium was in the early period a mere sacrifice,

and the first man who is said to have received it in the sense just

described was the Emperor Heliogabalus (third century after Christ).

Other scholars refuse to accept Hepding's distinction between an

earlier and a later form of the rite. But the matter is at least

obscure, and it would be exceedingly rash to attribute pre-Christian

origin to the developed taurobolium as it appears in fourth-century

sources. Indeed, there seems to be no mention of any kind of

taurobolium whatever before the second century,[148] and Hepding may

be correct in suggesting that possibly the fourth-century practice

was influenced by the Christian doctrine of the blood of Christ.[149]

[148] Showerman, _op. cit._, p. 280.

[149] Hepding, _op. cit._, p. 200, Anm. 7.

No less important than the religion of Cybele and Attis was the

Greco-Egyptian religion of Isis and Osiris. Isis and Osiris are both

ancient Egyptian gods, whose worship, in modified form, was carried

over first into the Greek kingdom of the Ptolemies, and thence into

the remotest bounds of the Roman Empire. The myth which concerns

these gods is reported at length in Plutarch's treatise, "Concerning

Isis and Osiris." Briefly it is as follows: Osiris, the brother

and husband of Isis, after ruling in a beneficent manner over the

Egyptians, is plotted against by his brother Typhon. Finally Typhon

makes a chest and promises to give it to any one who exactly fits

it. Osiris enters the chest, which is then closed by Typhon and

thrown into the Nile. After a search, Isis finds the chest at Byblos

on the coast of Phœnicia, and brings it back to Egypt. But Typhon

succeeds in getting possession of the body of Osiris and cuts it up

into fourteen parts, which are scattered through Egypt. Isis goes

about collecting the parts. Osiris becomes king of the nether world,

and helps his son Horus to gain a victory over Typhon.

The worship of Isis and Osiris was prominent in ancient Egyptian

religion long before the entrance of Greek influence. Osiris was

regarded as the ruler over the dead, and as such was naturally very

important in a religion in which supreme attention was given to a

future life. But with the establishment of the Ptolemaic kingdom at

about 300 B. C., there was an important modification of the worship.

A new god, Serapis, was introduced, and was closely identified with

Osiris. The origin of the name Serapis has been the subject of much

discussion and is still obscure. But one motive for the introduction

of the new divinity (or of the new name for an old divinity) is

perfectly plain. Ptolemy I desired to unify the Egyptian and the

Greek elements in his kingdom by providing a cult which would be

acceptable to both and at the same time intensely loyal to the

crown. The result was the Greco-Egyptian cult of Serapis (Osiris)

and Isis. Here is to be found, then, the remarkable phenomenon of

a religion deliberately established for political reasons, which,

despite its artificial origin, became enormously successful. Of

course, the success was obtained only by a skillful use of existing

beliefs, which had been hallowed in Egyptian usage from time

immemorial, and by a skillful clothing of those beliefs in forms

acceptable to the Greek element in the population.

The religion of Isis and Serapis was, as Cumont observes, entirely

devoid of any established system of theology or any very lofty

ethics. It was effective rather on account of its gorgeous ritual,

which was handed down from generation to generation with meticulous

accuracy, and on account of the assurance which it gave of a blessed

immortality, the worshipers being conceived of as sharing in the

resuscitation which Osiris had obtained. The worship was at first

repulsive to Roman ideals of gravity, but effected an official

entrance into the city in the reign of Caligula (37-41 A. D.).

In the second and third centuries it was extended over the whole

Empire. In alliance with the religion of Mithras it became finally

perhaps the most serious rival of Christianity.

The cult was partly public and partly private. Prominent in the

public worship were the solemn opening of the temple of Isis in

the morning and the solemn closing in the afternoon. Elaborate

care was taken of the images of the gods--the gods being regarded

as dependent upon human ministrations. Besides the rites that were

conducted daily, there were special festivals like the spring

festival of the "ship of Isis" which is brilliantly described by

Apuleius.

But it is the mysteries which arouse the greatest interest,

especially because of the precious source of information about

them which is found in the eleventh book of the Metamorphoses of

Apuleius (second century after Christ). In this book, although the

secrets of the mysteries themselves are of course not revealed,

Apuleius has given a more complete and orderly account of the

events connected with an initiation than is to be found anywhere

else in ancient literature. The hero Lucius is represented first

as waiting for a summons from the goddess Isis, which comes with

miraculous coincidence independently to him and to the priest who

is to officiate in his initiation. Then Lucius is taken into the

temple and made acquainted with certain mysterious books, and also

washes his body at the nearest baths. This washing has as little

as possible the appearance of a sacrament; evidently it was not

intended to produce "regeneration" or anything of the sort.[150] The

purpose of it seems to have been cleanliness, which was naturally

regarded as a preparation for the holy rite that was to follow.

There follows a ten days' period of fasting, after which the day of

initiation arrives. Lucius is taken into the most secret place of

the temple. Of what happens there he speaks with the utmost reserve.

He says, however: "I came to the limits of death, and having trod

the threshold of Proserpine and been borne through all the elements

I returned; at midnight I saw the sun shining with a bright light; I

came into the presence of the upper and nether gods and adored them

near at hand."[151] It is often supposed that these words indicate

some sort of mysterious drama or vision, which marked the death

of the initiate, his passage through the elements, and his rising

to a new life. But certainly the matter is very obscure. The next

morning Lucius is clothed with gorgeous robes, and is presented to

the gaze of the multitude. Apparently he is regarded as partaking

of the divine nature. Two other initiations of Lucius are narrated,

one of them being an initiation into the mysteries of Osiris, as

the first had been into the mysteries of Isis. But little is added

by the account of these later experiences, and it has even been

suggested that the multiplication of the initiations was due to the

self-interest of the priests rather than to any real advantage for

the initiate.

[150] But compare Kennedy, _St. Paul and the Mystery-Religions_,

1913, p. 229.

[151] Apuleius, _Metam._, xi. 23 (ed. Van der Vliet, 1897, p. 270):

"Accessi confinium mortis et calcato Proserpinae limine per omnia

vectus elementa remeavi; nocte media vidi solem candido coruscantem

lumine; deos inferos et deos superos accessi coram et adoravi de

proxumo."

Similar in important respects to the Egyptian Osiris was the Adonis

of Phœnicia, who may therefore be mentioned in the present

connection, even though little is known about mysteries connected

with his worship. According to the well-known myth, the youth

Adonis, beloved by Aphrodite, was killed by a wild boar, and then

bemoaned by the goddess. The cult of Adonis was found in various

places, notably at Byblos in Phœnicia, where the death and

resurrection of the god were celebrated. With regard to this double

festival, Lucian says in his treatise "On the Syrian Goddess": "They

[the inhabitants of Byblos] assert that the legend about Adonis

and the wild boar is true, and that the facts occurred in their

country, and in memory of this calamity they beat their breasts

and wail every year, and perform their secret ritual amid signs of

mourning through the whole countryside. When they have finished

their mourning and wailing, they sacrifice in the first place to

Adonis, as to one who has departed this life: after this they allege

that he is alive again, and exhibit his effigy to the sky."[152] The

wailing for Adonis at Byblos is similar to what is narrated about

the worship of the Babylonian god Tammuz. Even the Old Testament

mentions in a noteworthy passage "the women weeping for Tammuz"

(Ezek. viii. 14). But the Tammuz-worship does not seem to have

contained any celebration of a resurrection.

[152] Lucian, _De dea syria_, 6, translation of Garstang (_The

Syrian Goddess_, 1913, pp. 45f.).

Attis, Osiris, and Adonis are alike in that all of them are

apparently represented as dying and coming to life again. They

are regarded by Brückner[153] and many other modern scholars

as representing the widespread notion of a "dying and rising

saviour-god." But it is perhaps worthy of note that the

"resurrection" of these gods is very different from what is meant

by that word in Christian belief. The myth of Attis, for example,

contains no mention of a resurrection; though apparently the cult,

in which mourning is followed by gladness, did presuppose some such

notion. In the myth of Osiris, also, there is nothing that could

be called resurrection; after his passion the god becomes ruler,

not over the living, but over the dead. In Lucian's description

of the worship of Adonis at Byblos, there is perhaps as clear an

account as is to be found anywhere of the celebration of the dying

and resuscitation of a god, but even in this account there is not

strictly speaking a resurrection. A tendency is found in certain

recent writers to exaggerate enormously the prevalence and the

clarity of the pagan ideas about a dying and rising god.

[153] _Der sterbende und auferstehende Gottheiland_, 1908.

According to a common opinion, Attis, Osiris, and Adonis are

vegetation-gods; their dying and resuscitation represent, then,

the annual withering and revival of vegetation. This hypothesis

has attained general, though not universal, acceptance. Certainly

the facts are very complex. At any rate, the celebration of the

principle of fecundity in nature was not of a purely agrarian

character, but found expression also in the gross symbols and

immoral practices which appear in connection with the gods just

mentioned at various points in the ancient world.

The most important of the religions which have just been examined

had their rise in Asia Minor and in Egypt. No less important, at

least in the last period of pagan antiquity, was the religious

influence of Syria. The Syrian gods, called "Baals" ("Lords"), were

not, according to Cumont, distinguished from one another by any

clearly defined characteristics. Every locality had its own Baal

and a female divinity as the Baal's consort, but the attributes of

these local gods were of the vaguest character. The female divinity

Atargatis, whose temple at Hierapolis is described by Lucian, and

the male divinity Hadad, of Heliopolis, are among the best-known of

the Syrian gods. The Syrian worship was characterized by especially

immoral and revolting features, but seems to have become ennobled by

the introduction of the Babylonian worship of the heavenly bodies,

and thus contributed to the formation of the solar monotheism which

was the final form assumed by the pagan religion of the Empire

before the triumph of Christianity.

In point of intrinsic worth, the Persian mystery religion of Mithras

is easily superior to any of the religions which have thus far been

mentioned, but it is of less importance than some of the others

for the purposes of the present investigation, since it became

influential in the Roman Empire only after the time of Paul. Great

stress has indeed been laid upon the fact that Plutarch attests

the practice of Mithraic mysteries by the pirates whom Pompey

conquered in the middle of the first century before Christ, and

says furthermore that the Mithraic rites begun by the pirates were

continued until the writer's own day.[154] The pirates practised

their rites at Olympus, which is on the southern coast of Asia

Minor. But the Olympus which is meant is in Lycia, some three

hundred miles from Tarsus. It is a mistake, therefore, to bring

the Mithraic mysteries of the pirates into any close geographical

connection with the boyhood home of Paul. Against the hypothesis of

any dependence of Paul upon the mysteries of Mithras is to be placed

the authority of Cumont, the chief investigator in this field, who

says: "It is impossible to suppose that at that time [the time of

Paul] there was an imitation of the Mithraic mysteries, which then

had not yet attained any importance."[155] Attempts have often been

made to explain away this judgment of Cumont, but without success.

The progress of Mithraism in the Empire seems to have been due to

definite political causes which were operative only after Paul's day.

[154] Plutarch, _Vita Pompei_, 24.

[155] Cumont, _op. cit._, p. xvi (English Translation, p. xx).

The Persian religion, from which Mithraism was descended, was

superior to the others which have just been considered in its marked

ethical character. It presented the doctrine of a mighty conflict

between light and darkness, between good and evil. And Mithraism

itself regarded religion under the figure of a warfare. It appealed

especially to the soldiers, and only men (not women) were admitted

to its mysteries. There were seven grades of initiation, each with

its special name. The highest grade was that of "father." The

Mithras cult was always celebrated underground, in chambers of very

limited extent. There was a sacred meal, consisting of bread and

water, which Justin Martyr, in the middle of the second century,

regards as having been instituted through demoniac imitation of the

Christian Eucharist.[156] This religion of Mithras finally became,

with the religion of Isis, the most serious rival of Christianity.

But at the time of Paul it was without importance, and could not

have exerted any influence upon the apostle.

[156] Justin Martyr, _Apol._ 66.

But the religion of the Hellenistic age was not limited to the

individual cults which have just been considered, and it is not

chiefly to the individual cults that recourse is had by those modern

scholars who would derive Paulinism from pagan sources. Mention has

already been made of the syncretism of the age; various religions

were mingled in a limitless variety of combinations. And there was

also a mingling of religion with philosophy. It is in the manifold

products of this union between Greek philosophy and oriental

religion that the genesis of Paulinism is now often being sought.

Not oriental religion in its original state, but oriental religion

already to some extent Hellenized, is thought to have produced the

characteristic features of the religion of Paul.

The hypothesis is faced by one obvious difficulty. The difficulty

appears in the late date of most of the sources of information. In

order to reconstruct that Hellenized oriental mysticism from which

the religion of Paul is to be derived, the investigator is obliged

to appeal to sources which are long subsequent to Paul's day. For

example, in reproducing the spiritual atmosphere in which Paul is

supposed to have lived, no testimony is more often evoked than the

words of Firmicus Maternus, "Be of good courage, ye initiates,

since the god is saved; for to us there shall be salvation out of

troubles."[157] Here, it is thought, is to be found that connection

between the resurrection of the god and the salvation of the

believers which appears in the Pauline idea of dying and rising

with Christ. But the trouble is that Firmicus Maternus lived in

the fourth century after Christ, three hundred years later than

Paul. With what right can an utterance of his be used in the

reconstruction of pre-Christian paganism? What would be thought, by

the same scholars who quote Firmicus Maternus so confidently as a

witness to first-century paganism, of a historian who should quote

a fourth-century Christian writer as a witness to first-century

Christianity?

[157] See above, p. 229, with footnote 3.

This objection has been met by the modern school of comparative

religion somewhat as follows. In the first place, it is said,

the post-Christian pagan usage which at any time may be under

investigation is plainly not influenced by Christianity. But, in

the second place, it is too similar to Christian usage for the

similarity to be explained by mere coincidence. Therefore, in

the third place, since it is not dependent upon Christian usage,

Christian usage must be dependent upon it, and therefore despite its

late attestation it must have existed in pre-Christian times.

A little reflection will reveal the precarious character of this

reasoning. Every step is uncertain. In the first place, it is often

by no means clear that the pagan usage has not been influenced by

Christianity. The Church did not long remain obscure; even early

in the second century, according to the testimony of Pliny, it was

causing the heathen temples to be deserted. What is more likely than

that in an age of syncretism the adherents of pagan religion should

borrow weapons from so successful a rival? It must be remembered

that the paganism of the Hellenistic age had elevated syncretism

to a system; it had absolutely no objection of principle against

receiving elements from every source. In the Christian Church, on

the other hand, there was a strong objection to such procedure;

Christianity from the beginning was like Judaism in being exclusive.

It regarded with the utmost abhorrence anything that was tainted

by a pagan origin. This abhorrence, at least in the early period,

more than overbalanced the fact that the Christians for the most

part had formerly been pagans, so that it might be thought natural

for them to retain something of pagan belief. Conversion involved a

passionate renunciation of former beliefs. Such, at any rate, was

clearly the kind of conversion that was required by Paul.

In the second place, the similarity between the pagan and the

Christian usages is often enormously exaggerated; sometimes

a superficial similarity of language masks the most profound

differences of underlying meaning. Illustrations will be given in

the latter part of the present chapter.

Thus the conclusion is, to say the least, precarious. It is by no

means so easy as is sometimes supposed to prove that a pagan usage

attested only long after the time of Paul is really the source

of Pauline teaching. And it will not help to say that although

there is no direct dependence one way or the other yet the pagan

and the Pauline teaching have a common source. For to say that a

usage has a pagan source several centuries earlier than the time

at which the usage is first attested is really to assume the point

that is to be proved. We are not here dealing with a question of

literary dependence, where the unity of the books which are being

compared is assumed. In such a question the independence of the two

writers may be proved by the general comparison of the books; it

may be shown, in other words, that if one author had used the other

author's work at all he would have had to use it a great deal more

than as a matter of fact the similarity would indicate. In such

cases, striking verbal similarity in one place may prove that both

books were dependent upon a common source. But if a pagan usage

of the fourth century is similar to a Christian usage, the fact

that in general the paganism of the fourth century is independent

of Christianity does not disprove dependence of paganism upon

Christianity at this one point.

It is not surprising, therefore, that the reasoning just outlined is

usually supplemented by a further consideration. It is maintained,

namely, that the mystic piety of paganism forms to some extent

a unit; it was not a mere fortuitous collection of beliefs and

practices, but was like an enveloping spiritual atmosphere of which,

despite variations of humidity and temperature, the fundamental

composition was everywhere the same. If, therefore, the presence

of this atmosphere of mystical piety can be established here and

there in sources of actually pre-Christian date, the investigator

has a right to determine the nature of the atmosphere in detail by

drawing upon later sources. In other words, the mystical religion

of the Hellenistic age is reconstructed in detail by the use of

post-Christian sources, and then (the essential unity of the

phenomenon being assumed) the early date of this oriental mystical

religion is established by the scanty references in pre-Christian

times. It is admitted, perhaps, that the elements of oriental

mysticism actually found in pre-Christian sources would not be

sufficient to prove dependence of Paul upon that type of religion;

but the elements found in later sources are thought to be so closely

allied to those which happen to have early attestation that they

too must be supposed to have been present in the early period,

and since they are similar to Paulinism they must have exerted a

formative influence upon Paul's religion. To put the matter briefly,

the nature of Hellenized oriental religion is established by

post-Pauline sources; whereas the early origin of that religion is

established by the scanty pre-Christian references.

This procedure constitutes a curious reversal of the procedure which

is applied by the very same scholars to Christianity. Christianity

is supposed to have undergone kaleidoscopic changes in the course

of a few years or even months, changes involving a transformation

of its inmost nature; yet pagan religion is apparently thought to

have remained from age to age the same. When Paul, only a few years

after the origin of the Church, says that he "received" certain

fundamental elements in his religion, the intimate connection of

those elements with the rest of the Pauline system is not allowed

to establish the early origin of the whole; yet the paganism of

the third and fourth centuries is thought to have constituted

such a unity that the presence of certain elements of it in the

pre-Christian period is regarded as permitting the whole system to

be transplanted bodily to that early time.

Of course, the hypothesis which is now being examined is held

in many forms, and is being advocated with varying degrees of

caution. Some of its advocates might defend themselves against the

charge of transplanting post-Christian paganism bodily into the

pre-Christian period. They might point to special evidence with

regard to many details. Such evidence would have to be examined

in any complete investigation. But the objection just raised,

despite possible answers to it in detail, is not without validity.

It remains true, despite all reservations, that adherents of the

"comparative-religion school" are entirely too impatient with

regard to questions of priority. They are indeed very severe upon

those who raise such questions. They do not like having the flow

of their thought checked by so homely a thing as a date. But

dates sometimes have their importance. For example, the phrase,

"reborn for eternity," occurs in connection with the blood-bath

of the taurobolium. How significant, it might be said, is this

connection of regeneration with the shedding of blood! How useful

as establishing the pagan origin of the Christian idea! From the

confident way in which the phrase "reborn for eternity" is quoted

in discussions of the origin of Christianity, one would think that

its pre-Christian origin were established beyond peradventure. It

may come as a shock, therefore, to readers of recent discussions to

be told that as a matter of fact the phrase does not appear until

the fourth century, when Christianity was taking its place as the

established religion of the Roman world. If there is any dependence,

it is certainly dependence of the taurobolium upon Christianity, and

not of Christianity upon the taurobolium.

The same lordly disregard of dates runs all through the modern

treatment of the history of religion in the New Testament period.

It is particularly unfortunate in popular expositions. When the

lay reader is overwhelmed by an imposing array of citations from

Apuleius and from Lucian, to say nothing of Firmicus Maternus and

fourth-century inscriptions, and when these late citations are

confidently treated by men of undoubted learning as witnesses to

pre-Christian religion, and when the procedure is rendered more

plausible by occasional references to pre-Christian writers which

if looked up would be found to prove nothing at all, and when there

is a careful avoidance of anything like temporal arrangement of the

material, but citations derived from all countries and all ages

are brought together for the reconstruction of the environment

of Paul--under such treatment the lay reader often receives the

impression that something very important is being proved. The

impression would be corrected by the mere introduction of a few

dates, especially in view of the fact that oriental religion

undoubtedly entered upon a remarkable expansion shortly after the

close of the New Testament period, so that conditions prevailing

after that expansion are by no means necessarily to be regarded as

having existed before the expansion took place.

This criticism is here intended to be taken only in a provisional

way. The justice of it can be tested only by a detailed examination

of the hypothesis against which the criticism is directed.

How, then, is the pre-Christian mystical religion of the Hellenistic

world to be reconstructed? What sources are to be used? Some of

the sources have already been touched upon in the review of the

individual oriental cults. And incidentally the unsatisfactory

character of some of these sources has already appeared. But it is

now necessary to examine other sources which are not so definitely

connected with any clearly defined cult.

Increasing attention has been paid in recent years to the complex

of writings which goes under the name of Hermes Trismegistus.

These Hermetic writings embrace not only a corpus of some fourteen

tractates which has been preserved in continuous Greek manuscript

form, but also fragments contained in the works of Stobæus and other

writers, and finally the "Asclepius" attributed to Apuleius. It is

not usually maintained that the Hermetic literature was completed

before about 300 A.D.; no one claims anything like pre-Christian

origin for the whole. The individual elements of the literature--for

example, the individual tractates of the Hermetic corpus--are

usually regarded as having been produced at various times; but no

one of them is generally thought to have been written before the

beginning of the Christian era. With regard to the most important

tractate, the "Poimandres," which stands at the beginning of the

corpus, opinions differ somewhat. J. Kroll, for example, the author

of the leading monograph on the Hermetic writings, regards the

Poimandres as the latest of the tractates in the corpus, and as

having appeared not before the time of Numenius (second half of the

second century);[158] whereas Zielinski regards it as the earliest

writing of the corpus.[159] By an ingenious argument, Reitzenstein

attempts to prove that the Christian "Shepherd of Hermes" (middle

of the second century) is dependent upon an original form of the

"Poimandres."[160] But his argument has not obtained any general

consent. It is impossible to push the material of the Poimandres

back into the first century--certainly impossible by any treatment

of literary relationships.

[158] J. Kroll, _Die Lehren des Hermes Trismegistos_, 1914, in

_Beiträge zur Geschichte der Philosophie des Mittelalters_, xii.

2-4, pp. 388, 389.

[159] Zielinski, "Hermes und die Hermetik," in _Archiv für

Religionswissenschaft_, viii, 1905, p. 323.

[160] Reitzenstein, _Poimandres_, 1904, pp. 10-13.

With regard to the origin of the ideas in the Hermetic writings,

there is considerable difference of opinion. Reitzenstein allows

a large place to Egyptian and Persian elements; other scholars

emphasize rather the influence of Greek philosophy, which of course

is in turn thought to have been modified by its contact with

oriental religion. J. Kroll,[161] W. Kroll,[162] Reitzenstein,[163]

and others deny emphatically the presence of any considerable

Christian influence in Hermes; but at this point Heinrici, after

particularly careful researches, differs from the customary

view.[164] Windisch is enough impressed by Heinrici's arguments

to confess that Christian literature may have influenced the

present form of the Hermetic writings here and there, but insists

that the Christian influence upon Hermes is altogether trifling

compared to the influence upon primitive Christianity of the type

of religion of which Hermes is an example.[165] The true state of

the case, according to Windisch, is probably that Christianity first

received from oriental religion the fundamental ideas, and then

gave back to oriental religion as represented by Hermes certain

forms of expression in which those ideas had been clothed. At the

same time Windisch urges careful attention to Heinrici's argument

for Christian influence upon Hermes for three reasons: (1) all

Hermetic writings are later than the New Testament period, (2) the

Hermetic writings are admittedly influenced by Judaism, (3) at

least the latest stratum in the Hermetic writings has admittedly

passed through the Christian sphere. These admissions, coming

from one who is very friendly to the modern method of comparative

religion, are significant. When even Windisch admits that the form

of expression with regard to the new birth in the Poimandres may

possibly be influenced by the Gospel tradition, and that the author

of the fourth Hermetic tractate, for example, was somewhat familiar

with New Testament writings or Christian ideas and "assimilated

Christian terminology to his gnosis," and that the term "faith" has

possibly come into Hermes (iv and ix) from Christian tradition--in

the light of these admissions it may appear how very precarious is

the employment of Hermes Trismegistus as a witness to pre-Christian

paganism.

[161] _Op. cit._

[162] Article "Hermes Trismegistos," in Pauly-Wissowa,

_Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft_, xv, 1912,

pp. 791-823.

[163] _Op. cit._

[164] Heinrici, _Die Hermes-Mystik und das Neue Testament_, 1918.

[165] Windisch, "Urchristentum und Hermesmystik," in _Theologisch

Tijdschrift_, lii, 1918, pp. 186-240.

Opinions differ, moreover, as to the importance of the Hermetic type

of thought in the life of the ancient world. Reitzenstein exalts its

importance; he believes that back of the Hermetic writings there

lies a living religion, and that this Hermetic type of religion

was characteristic of the Hellenistic age. At this point Cumont

and others are in sharp disagreement; Cumont believes that in the

West Hermetism had nothing more than a literary existence and did

not produce a Hermetic sect, and that in general Reitzenstein has

greatly exaggerated the Hermetic influence.[166] With regard to this

controversy, it can at least be said that Reitzenstein has failed to

prove his point.

[166] Cumont, _op. cit._, pp. 340, 341 (English Translation, pp.

233, 234, note 41).

Detailed exposition of the Hermetic writings will here be

impossible. A number of recent investigators have covered the field

with some thoroughness. Unfortunately a complete modern critical

edition of the Hermetic corpus is still lacking; the student is

obliged to have recourse to the edition of Parthey (1854),[167]

which is not complete and does not quite measure up to modern

standards. Reitzenstein has included in his "Poimandres" (1904) a

critical edition of Tractates I, XIII, XVI, XVII, XVIII. There has

been no collection, in the original languages, of all the Hermetic

writings (including those outside of the corpus), though Ménard has

provided a French translation,[168] and Mead an English translation

with elaborate introduction and notes.[169] The work of Mead, which

is published by the Theosophical Publishing Society, is not usually

regarded as quite satisfactory. But the translation at least will be

found exceedingly useful. The systematic exposition of the thought

of the Hermetic writings by J. Kroll is clear and instructive;[170]

and Heinrici, who differs from Kroll in treating the individual

writings separately, has also made a valuable contribution to the

subject.[171]

[167] Parthey, _Hermetis Trismegisti Poemander_, 1854.

[168] Ménard, _Hermès Trismégiste_, 1910.

[169] Mead, _Thrice-Greatest Hermes_, three volumes, 1906.

[170] _Op. cit._ Cf. the review by Bousset, in _Göttingische

gelehrte Anzeigen_, clxxvi, 1914, pp. 697-755.

[171] _Op. cit._

In the Hermetic tractates I and XIII, upon which Reitzenstein

lays the chief emphasis, there is presented a notion of the

transformation of the one who receives divine revelation. The

transformation, as in the Hermetic writings generally, is for the

most part independent of ceremonies or sacraments. An experience

which in the mysteries is connected with an initiation involving an

appeal to the senses here seems to have been spiritualized under the

influence of philosophy; regeneration comes not through a mystic

drama or the like but through an inner experience. Such at least

is a common modern interpretation of the genesis of the Hermetic

doctrine. At any rate, it seems to be impossible to reduce that

doctrine to anything like a consistent logical scheme. Reitzenstein

has tried to bring order out of chaos by distinguishing in the first

tractate two originally distinct views as to the origin of the world

and of man, but his analysis has not won general acceptance. It

must probably be admitted, however, that the Hermetic literature

has received elements from various sources and has not succeeded in

combining them in any consistent way.

The student who will first read Tractates I and XIII for himself

will probably be surprised when he is told (for example by

Reitzenstein) that here is to be found the spiritual atmosphere from

which Paulinism came. For there could be no sharper contrast than

that between the fantastic speculations of the Poimandres and the

historical gospel of Paul. Both the Poimandres and Paul have some

notion of a transformation that a man experiences through a divine

revelation. But the transformation, according to Paul, comes through

an account of what had happened but a few years before. Nothing

could possibly be more utterly foreign to Hermes. On the other

hand, the result of the transformation in Hermes is deification.

"This," says Hermes (Tractate I, 26), "is the good end to those

who have received knowledge, to be deified."[172] Paul could never

have used such language. For, according to Paul, the relation

between the believer and the Christ who has transformed him is a

personal relation of love. The "Christ-mysticism" of Paul is never

pantheistic. It is indeed supernatural; it is not produced by any

mere influence brought to bear upon the old life. But the result,

far from being apotheosis, is personal communion of a man with his

God.

[172] τοῦτο ἔστι τὸ ἀγαθὸν τέλος τοῖς γνῶσιν ἐσχηκόσι, θεωΘῆναι.

In connection with Hermes Trismegistus may be mentioned the

so-called Oracula Chaldaica, which apparently sprang from the same

general type of thought.[173] These Oracula Chaldaica, according

to W. Kroll, constitute a document of heathen gnosis, which was

produced about 200 A.D. Although Kroll believes that there is here

no Christian influence, and that Jewish influence touches not the

center but only the circumference, yet for the reasons already

noticed it would be precarious to use a document of 200 A.D. in

reconstructing pre-Pauline paganism.

[173] See W. Kroll, _De Oraculis Chaldaicis_, 1894; "Die

chaldäischen Orakel," in _Rheinisches Museum für Philologie_, l,

1895, pp. 636-639.

A very important source of information about the Greco-oriental

religion of the Hellenistic age is found by scholars like Dieterich

and Reitzenstein in the so-called "magical" papyri. Among the many

interesting papyrus documents which have recently been discovered

in Egypt are some that contain formulas intended to be used in

incantations. At first sight these formulas look like hopeless

nonsense; it may perhaps even be said that they are intended to

be nonsense. That is, the effect is sought, not from any logical

understanding of the formulas either on the part of those who use

them or on the part of the higher powers upon whom they are to be

used, but simply and solely from the mechanical effect of certain

combinations of sounds. Thus the magical papyri include not only

divine names in foreign languages (the ancient and original name

of a god being regarded as exerting a coercive effect upon that

god), but also many meaningless rows of letters which do not form

words at all. But according to Dieterich and Reitzenstein and

others, these papyri, nonsensical as they are in their completed

form, often embody materials which belong not to magic but to

religion; in particular, they make use, for a magical purpose,

of what was originally intended to be used in a living religious

cult. Indeed the distinction between magic and religion is often

difficult to draw. In religion there is an element of interest,

on the part of the worshiper, in the higher powers as such, some

idea of propitiating them, of winning their favor; whereas in

magic the higher powers are made use of as though they were mere

machines through the use of incantations and spells. But when this

distinction is applied to the ancient mystery religions, sometimes

these religions seem to be little more than magic, so external

and mechanical is the way in which the initiation is supposed to

work. It is not surprising, therefore, if the composers of magical

formulas turned especially, in seeking their materials, to the

mystery cults; for they were drawn in that direction by a certain

affinity both of purpose and of method. At any rate, whatever may

be the explanation, the existing magical papyri, according to

Dieterich and others, do contain important elements derived from the

oriental religious cults; it is only necessary, Dieterich maintains,

to subtract the obviously later elements--the nonsensical rows

of letters and the like--in order to obtain important sources of

information about the religious life of the Hellenistic age.

This method has been applied by Dieterich especially to a Paris

magical papyrus, with the result that the underlying religious

document is found to be nothing less than a liturgy of the

religion of Mithras.[174] Dieterich's conclusions have not escaped

unchallenged; the connection of the document with Mithraism has been

denied, for example, by Cumont.[175] Of course, even if the document

be not really a "Mithras liturgy," it may still be of great value

in the reconstruction of Hellenistic gnosis. With regard to date,

however, it is not any more favorably placed than the documents

which have just been considered. The papyrus manuscript in which the

"liturgy" is contained was written at the beginning of the fourth

century after Christ; and the composition of the "liturgy" itself

cannot be fixed definitely at any very much earlier date.[176]

Dieterich supposes that the beginning was made in the second

century, and that there were successive additions afterward. At any

rate, then, not only the papyrus manuscript, but also the liturgy

which it is thought to contain, was produced long after the time

of Paul. Like the Hermetic writings, moreover, Dieterich's Mithras

liturgy presents a conception of union with divinity which is really

altogether unlike the Pauline gospel.

[174] Dieterich, _Eine Mithrasliturgie_, 2te Aufl., 1910.

[175] _Op. cit._, p. 379 (English Translation, pp. 260f.).

[176] Dieterich, _op. cit._, pp. 43f.

But information about pre-Christian paganism is being sought not

only in ostensibly pagan sources; it is also being sought in the

Gnosticism which appears in connection with the Christian Church.

Gnosticism used to be regarded as a "heresy," a perversion of

Christian belief. Now, on the contrary, it is being regarded as

essentially non-Christian, as a manifestation of Greco-oriental

religion which was brought into only very loose connection with

Christianity; the great Gnostic systems of the second century, it

is said, when they are stripped of a few comparatively unimportant

Christian elements are found to represent not a development from

Christianity but rather the spiritual atmosphere from which

Christianity itself sprang.

If this view of the case be correct, it is at least significant

that pagan teachers of the second century (the Gnostics) should have

been so ready to adopt Christian elements and so anxious to give

their systems a Christian appearance. Why should a similar procedure

be denied in the case, for example, of Hermes Trismegistus? If

second-century paganism, without at all modifying its essential

character, could sometimes actually adopt the name of Christ, why

should it be thought incredible that the compiler of the Hermetic

literature, who did not go quite so far, should yet have permitted

Christian elements to creep into his syncretistic work? Why should

similarity of language between Hermes and Paul, supposing that it

exists, be regarded as proving dependence of Paul upon a type of

paganism like that of Hermes, rather than dependence of Hermes upon

Paul?

But the use of Gnosticism as a witness to pre-Christian paganism

is faced with obvious difficulties. Gnosticism has admittedly

been influenced by Christianity. Who can say, then, exactly how

far the Christian influence extends? Who can say that any element

in Gnosticism, found also in the New Testament, but not clearly

contained in pagan sources, is derived from paganism rather than

from Christianity? Yet it is just exactly such procedure which is

advocated by Reitzenstein and others.

The dangers of the procedure may be exhibited by an example. In

Hermes Trismegistus the spirit is regarded as the garment of the

soul.[177] This doctrine is the exact reverse of Pauline teaching,

since it makes the soul appear higher than the spirit, whereas in

Paul the Spirit, in the believer, is exalted far above the soul.

In Hermes the spirit appears as a material substratum of the soul;

in Paul the Spirit represents the divine power. There could be no

sharper contradiction. And the matter is absolutely central in

Reitzenstein's hypothesis, for it is just the Pauline doctrine of

the Spirit which he is seeking to derive from pagan religion. The

difficulty for Reitzenstein, then, is that in Hermes the spirit

appears as the garment of the soul, whereas in the interests of

his theory the soul ought to appear rather as the garment of the

spirit. But Reitzenstein avoids the difficulty by appealing to

Gnosticism. The Hermetic doctrine, he says, is nothing but the

necessary philosophic reversal of the Gnostic doctrine that the

soul is the garment of the spirit.[178] Thus Gnosticism is here made

to be a witness to pre-Christian pagan belief, in direct defiance

of pagan sources. Is it not more probable that the difference

between Gnosticism on the one hand and pagan gnosis as represented

by Hermes on the other, is due to the influence upon the former

of the Christian doctrine? It is interesting to observe that J.

Kroll, from whom the above illustration is obtained, insists against

Reitzenstein that the Gnostic doctrine, as over against the doctrine

of Hermes, is here clearly secondary.[179] At any rate, then, the

reconstruction of a pre-Christian pagan doctrine of the soul as the

garment of the spirit is a matter of pure conjecture.

[177] _Corp. Herm._ x. 13.

[178] Reitzenstein, _Hellenistische Mysterienreligionen_, 2te Aufl.,

1920, p. 183.

[179] J. Kroll, _op. cit._, pp. 286-289, especially p. 288, Anm. 1.

Similar difficulties appear everywhere. It is certainly very

hazardous to use Gnosticism, a post-Pauline phenomenon appealing

to Paul as one of its chief sources, as a witness to pre-Pauline

paganism. Certainly such use of Gnosticism should be carefully

limited to those matters where there is some confirmatory pagan

testimony. But such confirmatory testimony, in the decisive cases,

is significantly absent.

The use of Gnosticism as a source of information about pre-Christian

paganism might be less precarious if the separation of the pagan

and Christian elements could be carried out by means of literary

criticism. Such a method is employed by Reitzenstein in connection

with an interesting passage in Hippolytus. In attacking the

Gnostic sect of the Naassenes, Hippolytus says that the sect has

been dependent upon the pagan mysteries, and in proof he quotes

a Naassene writing. This quotation, as it now exists in the work

of Hippolytus, is, according to Reitzenstein, "a pagan text with

Gnostic-Christian scholia (or in a Gnostic-Christian revision),

which has been taken over by an opponent who did not understand

this state of the case, and so, in this form, has been used by

Hippolytus."[180] Reitzenstein seeks to reproduce the pagan

document.[181]

[180] Reitzenstein, _Poimandres_, p. 82.

[181] _Op. cit._, pp. 83-98.

Unquestionably the passage is interesting, and unquestionably it

contains important information about the pagan mysteries. But it

does not help to establish influence of the mysteries upon Paul.

It must be observed that what is now being maintained against

Reitzenstein is not that the Gnostics who appear in the polemic

of the anti-heretical, ecclesiastical writers of the close of the

second century and the beginning of the third were not influenced

by pre-Christian paganism, or even that they did not derive the

fundamentals of their type of religion from pre-Christian paganism.

All that is being maintained is that it is very precarious to use

the Gnostic systems in reconstructing pre-Christian paganism in

detail--especially where the Gnostic systems differ from admittedly

pagan sources and agree with Paul. In reconstructing the origin of

Paulinism it is precarious to employ the testimony of those who

lived after Paul and actually quoted Paul.

All the sources of information about Greco-oriental religion which

have thus far been discussed belong to a time subsequent to Paul.

If the type of religion which they attest is to be pushed back

into the pre-Christian period, it can be done only by an appeal

to earlier sources. Such earlier sources are sometimes found in

passages like Livy's description of the Bacchanalian rites of

the second century before Christ in Italy, and in writers such

as Posidonius and Philo. But the presence of Bacchanalian rites

in Italy in the second century before Christ is not particularly

significant, and the details of those rites do not include the

features which in the later sources are thought to invite comparison

with Paul. Posidonius, the Stoic philosopher of the first century

before Christ, seems to have been a man of very great influence;

and no doubt he did introduce oriental elements into the Stoic

philosophy. But his works, for the most part, have been lost,

and so far as they have been reconstructed by the use of writers

who were dependent upon him, they do not seem to contain those

elements which might be regarded as explaining the genesis of

Paulinism. With regard to Philo, who was an older contemporary

of Paul, the investigator finds himself in a much more favorable

position, since voluminous works of the Alexandrian philosopher

have been preserved. There is a tendency in recent investigation

to make Philo an important witness to Greco-oriental religion as

it found expression in the mysteries.[182] But the bearing of

the evidence does not seem to be absolutely unequivocal. At any

rate, the relation between Paul and Philo has been the subject of

investigation for many years, and it cannot be said that the results

have accomplished anything toward explaining the genesis of Paul's

religion. Direct dependence of Paul upon Philo, it is admitted, has

not been proved, and even dependence of both upon the same type of

thought is highly problematical. The state of the evidence is not

essentially altered by designating as the type of thought upon which

both are supposed to have been dependent the Greco-oriental religion

of the mysteries. The real question is whether the testimony of

Philo establishes as of pre-Christian origin that type of mystical

piety from which Paulinism is being derived--the type of religion

which is attested, for example, by Firmicus Maternus or by the

fourth-century inscriptions that deal with the taurobolium, or by

Hermes Trismegistus, or by Dieterich's "Mithras liturgy," or by the

pagan elements which are supposed to lie back of second-century

Gnosticism. And so far as can be judged on the basis of the evidence

which is actually being adduced by the comparative-religion school,

the question must be answered in the negative. Even the living

connection of Philo with the mysteries of his own day does not

seem to be definitely established. And if it were established, the

further question would remain as to whether the mystery religions

of Philo's day contained just those elements which in the mystery

religions of the post-Pauline period are supposed to show similarity

to Paul. If the mystical piety which is attested by Philo is

sufficient to be regarded as the basis of Paulinism, why should the

investigator appeal to Firmicus Maternus? And if he does appeal to

Firmicus Maternus, with what right can he assume that the elements

which he thus finds existed in the days of Philo and of Paul?

[182] Helbig, review of "Philo von Alexandrien: Werke, in deut.

Uebersetzg. hrsg. v. Prof. Dr. Leop. Cohn. 3. Tl.," in _Theologische

Literaturzeitung_, xlv, 1920, column 30: "Here one perceives with

all requisite clearness that Philo did not merely imitate the

language of the mystery religions, but had been himself a μύστης."