THE MARTYRS OF CHRIST
In reading the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius we frequently are struck
by the almost Christian spirit which permeates them. Mr. F. H. Myers
has well said: “Whatever winds of the Spirit may sweep over the sea of
souls the life of Marcus will remain for ever the high-water mark of
the unassisted virtue of man.” So sublime and seemingly preternatural
is his spirit that men in all ages have asked and answered in various
ways the questions: “Has Christianity anything better to offer us?
and if so, in what precisely does it consist?” It is as an answer to
these questions that I introduce this brief reference to the story of
the Martyrs, preferably a few of the many that suffered under Marcus
himself.
During his reign the Church endured a persecution severer than any it
had yet known. How far he was personally responsible for this we cannot
tell. He was not wholly guilty nor yet wholly innocent. He certainly
ordered the torture and execution of the Martyrs of Lyons; his most
intimate friend sentenced St. Justin to death at Rome; and his most
trusted lawyer condemned St. Felicitas and her sons; but, on the other
hand, many of the persecutions were due to the anger of the mob, and
withal he knew not what he did. The Christians were to him merely an
uncultured and fanatical sect without a single redeeming virtue. In the
only passage in the Meditations where he mentions them he attributes
their constancy in death to sheer perverseness. After expressing his
admiration for a soul, “which is ready, if at any moment it must be
separated from the body, to be extinguished, or dissolved, or to
continue to exist,” he adds, “but this readiness must come from a man’s
own judgment, not from mere obstinacy as with the Christians, but with
considerateness, with gravity, so as to be persuasive without tragic
show.” With such a view of the Christian character it is not strange
that he felt no qualms in sanctioning, though he did not instigate,
the first persecution that bore the semblance of being universal and
systematic.
Furthermore, Roman tradition was law for him; and Roman tradition
was very clear as to the treatment which Christians deserved. The
superstitious pagans attributed all public calamities to the wrath
of their gods, and this wrath to the contempt which the Christians
showed for the pagan idols. As Tertullian puts it: “The Christians are
the cause of all disasters, of all public calamities. If the Tiber
floods Rome, if the Nile does not flood the plains, if the heavens are
closed, if the earth trembles, if a famine takes place or a war or
a plague, immediately a cry is raised ‘The Christians to the lions!
to death with the Christians!’” Now, the reign of Marcus was one of
singular calamities, all the more aggravating because unforeseen and
irresistible and devastating the city and the Empire at the culminating
point of their prosperity. The reign opened with wars and rumours
of wars on the frontiers; the Tiber overflowed Rome; there had been
a plague and a famine. Here truly was the anger of the gods against
the Roman welfare--the _deorum ira in rem Romanam_ of Tacitus. The
mob howled for Christian blood; and Marcus was too weak or too little
concerned to resist. Antoninus, Hadrian, Trajan had consented to
the torture of the fanatics, though they had not shared the popular
prejudices against them; many of the lawyers and philosophers had
counselled it for the good of the State; why should he say no? His
better nature probably revolted from such brutality, but it is the
misfortune of diffident conventionalists, such as he, that they
sacrifice their better instincts to the received views of ruder natures.
The first victims of the superstition of the Romans and the
conventionality of their Emperor were St. Felicitas and her sons.
Their trial and death forms a celebrated episode in the history of the
martyrs. It well illustrates the spirit of the martyrs[A] and the great
things which the Church was doing for the weak ones of the world; how
that out of the mouths of babes and sucklings she was perfecting praise
through the strong love of Christ which was the inheritance of her
children.
[A] This is admitted even by those scholars who regard, and rightly it
would seem, these Acts as a historical romance, _but founded on facts_.
Since the main facts are true, and my concern is to illustrate the
spirit of the martyrs, this testimony seemed sufficient justification
for quoting the Acts.
The Act tells us that “owing to indignation amongst the Pontiffs,
Felicitas, a woman of high rank, was struck down with her seven most
Christian sons.” Her life had been a source of great edification to her
fellow-Christians, and the Pontiffs “seeing that, thanks to her, the
good repute of the Christian name was growing, spoke of her to Augustus
Antoninus (i.e., Marcus Aurelius), saying: ‘This widow and her sons
are outraging our gods to our great peril. If she does not pay homage
to the gods, your majesty must know that they will be so angry that
they cannot be appeased.’ Then the Emperor ordered the Prefect of the
City to compel her and her sons to appease the wrath of the gods by
sacrifice.”
This Prefect of the City was Publius Salvius Julianus, the most
distinguished and trusted of Roman lawyers; and before him Felicitas
was now brought for trial. He attempted first by blandishments, then by
threats, to persuade her to sacrifice. She replied: “You cannot entice
me by blandishments nor frighten me by threats, for I have within me
the Holy Spirit, Who keeps me from being conquered by the devil: this
is my ground for assurance, that living I shall overcome thee and when
dead I shall triumph still more.” “At least let your children live.”
“My children live if they do not sacrifice to idols; but if they commit
such a crime, they shall go to eternal death.” Thus ended this first
interview between Publius, a Roman of the old school, with a strong
sense of justice as he understood it, but understanding it only as
identified with Roman law, and this Roman matron of noble birth, who
had left the darkness for the light.
Next day she and her sons were again brought before the Prefect. “Have
pity on your sons,” said he, “those fine young fellows yet in the
flower of their youth.” Felicitas replied: “Your pity is impious and
your advice cruel.” Turning to her children she added: “Lift up your
eyes to heaven, my children, look aloft where Christ awaits you with
His saints. Do battle for your souls and show yourselves faithful
in the love of Christ.” At this Publius ordered her to be buffeted.
“Darest thou in my presence counsel contempt for the Emperor’s orders!”
Then he called each of the seven sons in turn. He cajoled; he
threatened; but to no avail. The first, Januarius, replied: “The wisdom
of the Lord sustains me and will enable me to overcome all.” He was
beaten and sent back to prison, but the second was not cowed: “We adore
one only God,” he replied, “to Whom we offer the sacrifice of a pious
devotion. Think not that you can separate me or any of my brothers
from the love of the Lord Jesus Christ. Even under the threat of blows
and your unjust designs our faith cannot be conquered or changed.” To
the third son, Philip, the Prefect said: “Our Lord, the Emperor, has
ordered that you sacrifice to the all-powerful gods.” The boy replied:
“They are neither gods nor all-powerful but worthless, wretched,
insensible images, and those who sacrifice to them will incur eternal
risk.” Silvanus made a similar reply and then Alexander was sent
forward. Him the judge tried to win by kindness: “Have pity on thine
age and on thy life, still in the prime of its youth. Be not obstinate
but do what most will please our Sovereign: sacrifice to the gods that
you may become one of the friends of Cæsar and gain both your life and
the good-will of the Emperors.” The privilege of being “a friend of
Cæsar” was a great one. These _amici Cæsaris_ formed a narrow circle
round the Emperor, and the honour was coveted even by the highest in
Rome. But it was no temptation to the Christian youth; he had a higher
title: “I am the servant of Christ; I confess Him with my lips; I
remain devoted to Him with my heart; I adore Him unceasingly. My years,
so weak, as you see, have yet the prudence of old age and adore one
only God. Thy gods and their adorers shall perish.” The two remaining
children were equally unyielding, equally ardent in their love for
Christ. They were all sent back to prison and Publius drew up a report
of the process and sent it to the Emperor. What were Marcus’ thoughts
on reading it, if he read it at all.
Whatever his thoughts, he ordered the martyrs different tortures under
various officials in different parts of the city. The first child died
under the lash shod with lead, the second and third under the bludgeon;
the fourth was hurled from a precipice, while the remaining three and
Felicitas herself were mercifully beheaded. The reason for the severity
and variety of the sentences may have been, as Allard suggests, the
Emperor’s desire to strike the imagination of the people and cause
them to believe that the gods had had enough of victims. He must have
abhorred such cruelty, but he was too weak to resist the clamour of the
priests and mob of Rome as Pilate had been in presence of other priests
and another mob. Interpret his conduct as we will, mere natural virtue
and the maxims of the philosophers show ill beside the folly of the
Cross. Children and a weak woman put to shame this paragon of virtues;
but, if they did so, the glory was not theirs but Christ’s; it was His
love that nerved them to brave the lash, the bludgeon and the axe; He
Who bade them be His witnesses to the ends of the earth, was in them,
and suffered for them, because they suffered for Him. It is mockery and
sophistry to think that such strength could come from frail humanity.
* * * * *
St. Felicitas and her sons fell victims to the prejudices of the
priests and the mob. The martyrdom of St. Justin and his companions
was due to another force that was strongly to resist the advance of
Christianity--namely, the opposition of the philosophers. The priests
and the mob hated the Christians for the contempt with which they
treated the State religion. The philosophers had an additional motive
for hatred in their jealousy of the influence of the new teachers. “You
see we profit nothing: the whole world is gone after Him.”
St. Justin, like many of the great Christian apologists, had come to
the Church through the Greek schools. He had searched for truth in
all the beaten paths of Greek philosophy and found it not. “Nobody
had such faith in Socrates as to die for his doctrines,” he tells us;
and it was the eloquence of the martyrs’ sufferings which converted
him. The voice of Christ said “Come,” and the heart of the pagan said
“Come, Lord Jesus.” He became a Christian and devoted to the cause of
making Christ known the whole ardour of heart and intellect with which
he had sought and found Him. This Christian Socrates would walk in his
philosopher’s dress, which he still retained, through the public places
of the city--the porches of the temples, the colonnades, and porticoes
and baths, where the _élite_ of Rome used to lounge each day discussing
the latest society scandal, the news from the provinces, the elections
or the games, and in these places he would converse and dispute with
all comers. He had in this way inflicted severe humiliations on many of
the pagan philosophers, who went about denouncing the Christians, and
earned their thorough hatred. One especially was bitter against him.
This was Crescens, a Cynic, whom Justin long expected would denounce
him and who did so at length.
Justin and six of his disciples were arrested and brought before the
Prefect of the City, Junius Rusticus, the Emperor’s most trusted and
intimate friend. The dialogue between these two men, both trained
in the Greek schools of philosophy but now completely alienated, is
typical of the conflict between old and new which marks the age of the
Antonines.
“To begin,” said the Prefect, “obey the gods and do what the Emperors
command.” Justin replied: “We cannot be accused or blamed for obeying
the precepts of Our Saviour Jesus Christ.” “What doctrines do you
profess?” “I have studied all doctrines in turn and have settled in
that of the Christians, although it is disliked by the advocates
of error.” “What dogma is that?” “The doctrine which we Christians
devotedly follow, the only true doctrine, is the belief in one only
God, Creator of all things, visible and invisible, and the confession
of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Whom also the prophets announced,
Who is to judge the race of man, the Herald of Salvation, and the
Teacher of all those who have good-will to be taught by Him. And I
consider myself, being but man, incapable of speaking worthily of His
Infinite Deity. That is the work of the prophets. They for centuries,
inspired from on high, announced the coming amongst men of Him Whom
I have said is the Son of God.” Here was a revelation to the devotee
of Epictetus, one of the best of pagans; but he paid no heed. “Where
do you Christians meet?” he asked. “The God of the Christians is not
confined to any place; He fills Heaven and earth with His invisible
presence; in every place the faithful adore and praise Him.” “You
are then a Christian?” “Yes, I am a Christian.” Turning to Justin’s
companions he asked the same question and got the same reply. To the
slave Euelpistus, he said: “And you, what are you?” “I am a slave of
Cæsar, but also a Christian, and I have got my freedom from Christ; by
His goodness, through His grace, I have one hope with these.”
Here for the first time was realised the equality of man in its truest
sense. Rusticus might well have recalled the words of his master
Epictetus: “The slave, like you, derives his origin from Jupiter
himself; he is his son like you; he is born of the same divine seed.”
But he gave no token of sympathy. The winged word of Euelpistus: “a
slave of Cæsar but a freedman of Christ” passed like an arrow through
his mind and left not a trace of its passage.
Turning again to Justin he said: “Listen to me, you who are called
learned, and think that you have the true doctrine; if I get you
scourged and beheaded, think you that you must needs go up to Heaven?”
“I hope,” answered Justin, “to receive the reward destined for those
who keep the commandments of Christ, if I suffer the tortures you
promise me. For I know that those who have lived thus will keep the
Divine favour to the end of the world.” “You think, then, that you will
mount up to Heaven, there to receive your reward,” said the judge with
a sneer. “I do not think it, I know it, I am certain of it without a
doubt.” This assurance of a future life of happiness fell strangely
on the ears of the Stoic philosopher. His heart craved for it but at
best he could hope for immortality only, “if it were best for the whole
Kosmos that it should be so.” He gave his final command to sacrifice to
the idols and received a final refusal; and all were immediately sent
to execution.
* * * * *
More famous than either the martyrdom of St. Felicitas or of St. Justin
was the martyrdom at Lyons of forty-eight Christians, afterwards known
as the martyrdom of the Maccabees. It is typical of the persecutions in
the provinces as the others were of those in Rome, and fortunately we
still possess the beautiful letter of the churches of Lyons and Vienne
to the churches of Asia which gives a full account of it. It took place
in A.D. 177, when Marcus Aurelius had already reigned for sixteen years
and within three years of his death. He was then grappling with the
barbarians on the Danube frontier and the plague was working havoc in
the provinces as in Rome and Italy. Superstition broke out on all sides
with renewed force and with especial intensity at Lyons, the religious
capital of the Three Gauls. The old calumnies against the Christians
were revived. They were accused of infanticide and incest, of treachery
to the State, of secret conspiracy, and of contempt for the gods and
hatred of mankind. To them was due the anger of the gods; and by their
blood alone could it be satiated.
The persecution began by a social ostracism of the Christians from all
intercourse with their fellow-citizens in the baths, the forum and the
other public places of the city, and even in private houses. If they
violated this order they were beaten and stoned in the streets. So
violent did this persecution become that the magistrates had at last to
arrest all known to be Christians and examine them before the people.
All confessed to the faith and were thrown into prison to await the
arrival of the Imperial legate.
Immediately on his arrival the formal trial began. By a strange
travesty of justice the prisoners were first cruelly tortured. Stirred
by this a young nobleman, Vettius Epagathus, stood out from the crowd
and demanded to be allowed to plead their cause. He was already a
Christian of ascetic life and loved by his brethren as “a gracious
disciple of Christ following the Lamb whithersoever He went.” “Are
you a Christian?” the legate asked him. “I am a Christian,” in his
boldest tones. He was immediately put amongst the accused. “Behold the
Christian’s advocate,” jeered the judge.
In this trial ten of the accused, weaker and worse prepared than the
rest, denied Christ. This was a matter of far keener anguish to the
faithful than their own sufferings. But the ranks thus broken were
soon filled up by others, amongst them their aged Bishop, Pothinus.
Meanwhile the slaves of Christian masters had been arrested, and
tortured and bribed into swearing to all the current charges. Their
evidence lashed the mob to still greater fury. No torture was now to be
spared. A second time the Christians were placed at the gentle mercies
of the torturers; this repetition of the torture in such cases having
been legalised by Marcus. But nothing could break the spirit of these
warriors; they rejoiced to be accounted worthy to suffer something for
Him they loved. How intense was the nerving power of love in the souls
of Sanctus the deacon and the slave-girl Blandina!
Sanctus when questioned again and again did but answer: “I am a
Christian.” Even when the white-hot plates of brass were applied to his
body and his flesh hissed and seared beneath them, in all his agony,
his one relief was to proclaim again and again: “I am a Christian.”
“Bathed and refreshed,” his brethren tell us, “in the heavenly
well of living water which flows from the breasts of Christ,” every
fresh torture was to him “a refreshment and a remedy rather than a
punishment.”
But his courage was as nothing to that of Blandina. She was the
bravest of the brave in the bravest of all armies--the “witnesses” of
Christ. Her mistress and her fellow-Christians dreaded lest from her
frail, sensitive frame she should give way, as ten stronger had done
before. They misjudged, however, the power of love; the right hand
of the Lord wrought strength in her. She had no words of surrender,
no cry for mercy. From morning till evening she wearied out several
sets of torturers, who retired baffled and amazed that she still
lived. “I am a Christian and we do nothing wrong,” was her cry again
and again amidst her pains; and fresh and fresh with each repetition
came new strength and courage. Renan rightly says of her: “As to the
maid-servant Blandina, she proved that a revolution had been achieved.
The true emancipation of the slave, emancipation by heroism, was in
great measure her work. The pagan slave was supposed to be essentially
wicked and immoral. What better way to rehabilitate and free him than
to show him capable of the same virtues, the same sacrifices, as the
freeman? How were these women to be treated with disdain, who had
been seen acting with even more sublime heroism than their mistresses
in the amphitheatre? The good Lyonese maid-servant had heard it said
that the judgments of God are the overthrow of human appearances, and
that God is often pleased to choose that which is humblest, ugliest,
and most despised to confound that which seems beautiful and strong.
Inspired by her rôle she called for the torture and burned with
eagerness to suffer.” It is the glory of Christianity to have raised
the off-scourings of mankind to such sublimity. Galen acknowledged
that the conduct of the ordinary Christian was as noble as that of
the most enlightened of the philosophers. He wrote as one who had
been a contemporary of Epictetus and physician to Marcus Aurelius and
intimate with the best lives which paganism produced. We who read the
lives of the martyrs whole and appreciate the motives of their heroism
know that it is an irreverence to compare with their virtue the virtue
even of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. Yet it is well to have this
testimony of an enlightened pagan contemporary to the elevating power
of Christianity on the masses.
The final execution was spread over several days. The legate made the
occasion a public holiday; and delegates from all Gaul, then present
at Lyons for administrative and religious purposes, witnessed the
spectacle.
Maturus, Sanctus, Attalus and Blandina were chosen to provide the first
day’s entertainment. Their tortures, we are told, saved the town the
expense of a gladiatorial show. Christians were more novel game and
cheaper than hired soldiers, lions and panthers. Blandina was bound all
but naked to a pole at the end of the amphitheatre. She was to be at
the mercy of the beasts; and the beasts proved more merciful than the
yelling savage mob, who crowded tier over tier all around. That day
none of them would touch the frail, delicate form that, bound as it
was, recalled to the martyrs another form bound too by the Romans on a
hill outside Jerusalem. She was reserved for another day, and meanwhile
her fortitude gave courage to all.
Attalus was a Roman citizen well-known to the people. Hence they called
for his torture as for a favourite actor or gladiator. He was forced to
walk round the amphitheatre amid the jeers of the spectators, preceded
by a placard with the motto “This is Attalus, the Christian.” But the
rights of a Roman citizen were not to be outraged with impunity; and
so the legate sent Attalus back to prison without torture, there to
await the Emperor’s orders.
No such rights protected Maturus and Sanctus; their bodies were already
each a mass of wounds from their former tortures; and they would be
well spent in making a people’s holiday. A file of roughs lashed their
naked, lacerated bodies as they passed into the arena. Their eyes fell
on the instruments of torture--a gruesome array--along the centre; and
then the awful moment came. A sullen growl and a roar from the farther
end, and already the beasts were upon them. A thrill of mad excitement
ran through the throng above. The beasts sank their teeth in the
Christians’ flesh and lapped the Christians’ blood, and many a pagan
envied them the feast. But, sure of their prey, they did not devour
them at once; they tossed them to and fro in cruel sport and left them
for the time. The mob were impatient; they wanted death; and called for
the red-hot iron chair. Into this the martyrs were placed and the foul
smell of the burnt flesh was incense to the nostrils of the holiday
makers. But the Christians would not recant; the beasts would have no
more of them; and it was slow sport watching this roasting process;
so at a signal from the mob they received the _coup de grace_, the
_finale_ of all the people’s pleasures.
Here as ever persecution did but beget fresh victims. The whole
Christian population was aflame with desire to confess Christ; and even
transgressed the wise rule of the Church, which forbade them to seek
imprisonment. But in this moment of spiritual intensity discretion
were out of place; who can blame them for not standing meekly by when
their brethren were writhing in torture and the name of Christ was
being blasphemed? They can well afford to concede superiority in this
always somewhat suspicious virtue of discretion to their arm-chair
critics; they will have enough left to secure for themselves Heaven and
the homage of mankind. The number of the accused increased day by day,
especially the number of Roman citizens. This alarmed the legate, and
he sent for instructions to the Emperor. After some weeks the reply
came: those who recanted were to be released, the obstinate were to be
put to death with torture. After all allowance has been made for the
circumstances of the time and his own inevitable ignorance, this act
remains a dark stain on the Stoic saint.
The last act of this long-drawn tragedy at last began. A final inquiry
was held by the legate, this time chiefly in order to discriminate the
Roman citizens from the non-citizens. The latter were to receive the
full measure of torture; the former were to be beheaded outright--all
except Attalus, who was reserved for the arena as a favour to the mob.
In this last trial despite promises and threats not one, even of those
who had before fallen, wavered. The executions continued for several
days, owing to the great numbers of the martyrs. Each day from early
morning the pagans thronged the amphitheatre. Attalus and Alexander
were the next victims. They went through the whole gamut of pain
without a word or a groan, their souls wrapped in prayer the while.
Finally they were finished off by the sword when the mob tired of them.
Blandina and Ponticus were subjected again to yet fiercer torments,
ending in death--torments so cruel that the Gauls said one to another:
“Never in our country has woman endured so much.”
The whole proceedings are a terrible commentary on the rule of the
philosopher-king and Gibbon’s picture of the Golden Age, “the happiest
period of the world’s history, when the good of the subject was the
one object of government.” Much may be admitted to palliate Marcus’
connivance, but assuredly he cannot be wholly excused. We can acquit
him of monstrous brutality; but only at the cost of attributing to him
narrow prejudice or pusillanimity. We can save his heart, but only at
the expense of his intellect and will.
I have dwelt on a few of the many martyrdoms of his reign to show the
conduct and the ideals of Christianity side by side with the conduct
of the pagan philosophers. What reasonable being can read aright the
story of this struggle and yet prefer the cold, negative, ineffectual
ideals of Marcus and his friends to the warm throbbing life of love and
the heroic death of Ponticus and Blandina, of Justin and Felicitas?
Yet, if we are to believe Renan and Arnold, the Meditations of Marcus
are the force which will transform the world when, to quote Renan,
the Gospel and the _Imitation of Christ_ have passed away, and on the
hillside of Lyons where the martyrs died “a temple shall rise to the
Supreme Amnesty and contain a chapel for all causes, all virtues, all
martyrs.” Surely this is dilettanteism and paradox run wild, as untrue
to psychology as it is to history and all sane and effective religion!