WHY CHRISTIANITY DID NOT ARREST THE RUIN OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE.
One of the most interesting inquiries which is suggested by history is,
Why Christianity did not prevent the glory of the old civilization from
being succeeded by shame? This is not only a grand inquiry, but it is
mysterious. We are naturally surprised that literature, art, science,
laws, and the perfect mechanism of government should have proved such
feeble barriers against degeneracy, for these are among the highest
triumphs of the human mind, and such as the world will not willingly let
die. But a still more potent and majestic influence than any thing which
proceeds from man still remained to the haughty masters of the ancient
world. A new religion had been proclaimed with the establishment of the
empire, which gradually broke down the old superstitions, conquered the
hatred and prejudices of both Greeks and Romans, supplanted the old
systems of Paganism, and went on from conquering to conquer, until it
seated itself on the imperial throne, and proved itself to be the wisdom
and the power of God.
But we see that as this wonderful religion gained ground, whether in
changing the lives of individuals, or in allying itself with dominant
institutions, the Roman Empire declined. When Christianity was first
proclaimed, the Roman eagles surmounted the principal cities of
antiquity, and the central despotism on the banks of the Tiber was the
law of the world. When it was a feeble light on the mountains of
Galilee, the glory of Rome was the object of universal panegyric, and
the city of the seven hills rejoiced in a magnificence which promised to
be eternal. But when Paganism yielded to Christianity, and when the
latter had spread to every city and village in the empire, with its
grand hierarchy of bishops and doctors, the proud empire was in ruins.
It would even seem that its decline and fall kept pace with the triumphs
of a religion it had spurned and persecuted.
[Sidenote: Society retrograded as Christianity spread.]
What is the explanation of this grand mystery? Why should society have
declined as Christianity spread, if, as we believe, Christianity is the
great conservative force of the world, and is destined to regenerate all
government, science, and social life? If the stability of the empire
rested on virtues, and was undermined by vices, virtue must have
declined and vice increased. But how can we reconcile such a fact with
the progress of a religion which is the mainspring of all virtue, and
the destruction of all vice? We do know that Christianity did not
prevent the empire from falling, but also we have the testimony of poets
and historians to the exceeding wickedness of society when Christianity
was fairly established.
[Sidenote: A mysterious fact.]
In presenting the strange phenomenon of a falling empire with an all-
conquering religion, it is necessary to grapple with the gloomy problem.
We have unbounded faith in the power of Christianity to save the world,
and yet we see a mighty empire crumbling to pieces from vices which
Christianity did not subdue. What a deduction might be drawn from this
strange fact, that Christianity _can_, _but did not, save_.
How mournful the future of modern Christian nations if the
same fact should be repeated--if civilization should decline as
Christianity achieves its triumphs! Is it possible that civilization,
the triumph of human genius and will, may fade away as Christianity,
which gives vitality to society, advances? Has civilization nothing to
do with Christianity?
[Sidenote: Christianity not however a failure.]
But there can be nothing mournful in the developments of a divine
religion--nothing discouraging in the conquests which seemed incomplete.
Nor did it really, in any important task, prove a failure; but amid the
ashes of the old world, as it disappeared, we see the new creation, and
listen to melodious birth-songs. Indeed, the fall of the empire, when we
profoundly survey it, instead of detracting from Christianity, only
prepared the way for higher triumphs, and for a loftier development of
civilization itself. Future ages have probably lost nothing by the ruin
of Rome, while the world has gained by the establishment of
Christianity, even by the seeds of truth planted by the early church.
Still, it cannot be questioned that, in the Roman empire, vices and
corruptions spread with terrific and mournful rapidity even after
Christianity was revealed--so rapidly, indeed, that Christianity opposed
but a feeble barrier.
The history of Christianity among the Romans suggests these three
inquiries:--
First, why it proved so feeble in arresting degeneracy; secondly, how
far it conserved old institutions; and thirdly, how far it created a new
and higher civilization.
[Sidenote: Christianity fails to check degeneracy.]
The first inquiry, on a superficial view, is discouraging. We see a
sublime realism making quietly its converts by thousands, without
seemingly checking ordinary vices. We are reminded of Socrates creating
Platos, yet failing to reform Athens. We behold witnesses of the truth
in every land, which gradually sinks deeper and deeper in infamy as the
witnesses increase. And, when the land is about to be overrun by
barbarians, when despair seizes the public mind, and desolation
overspreads the earth, and good men hide in rocks, and dens, and caves,
we see the church resplendent with wealth and glory, her bishops
enthroned as dignitaries, princes doing homage to saints, and even the
barbarians themselves bowing down in reverence and awe. How barren these
ecclesiastical victories seem to a superficial or infidel eye! If
Christianity is what its converts claim, why did it accomplish so
little?
[Sidenote: Yet still a conquering religion.]
But, in another aspect, the victories do not seem so barren; and they
even appear more and more majestic the more they are contemplated. There
is something grand in the spread of new ideas which are unpalatable to
the mighty and the wise. Considering the humble characters of the early
Apostles and their disciples, their triumphs were really magnificent. It
is astonishing that the teachings of fishermen should have supplanted
the teachings of Jewish rabbis and Grecian philosophers, amid so great
and general opposition. It is remarkable that their doctrines should
have so completely changed the lives of those who embraced them. It is
wonderful that emperors who persecuted and sages who spurned the
religion of Jesus, should have been won over by a moral force superior
to all the venerated influences of the old religion of which they were
guardians and expounders. It is surprising that such relentless and
bloody persecutions as took place for three hundred years should have
been so futile. When we remember the extension of Christianity into all
the countries known to the ancients, and the marvelous fruits it bore
among its converts, making them brothers, heroes, martyrs, saints,
doctors--a benediction and a blessing wherever they went; and when we
see these little esoteric bands, in upper chambers or in catacombs,
persecuted, tormented, despised, yet gaining daily new adherents,
without the aid of wealth, or learning, or social position, or political
power, until generals, senators, and kings came willingly into their
fraternity, and bound themselves by their rules, and changed the whole
habits of their lives, looking to the future rather than the present--
the infinite rather than the finite; blameless in morals, lofty in
faith, heavenly in love; sheep among wolves, yet not devoured--we feel
that Christianity cannot be too highly exalted as a conquering power.
But the point is, not that Christianity failed to conquer, but that it
failed to save the Roman world. The conquests of the church are
universally admitted and universally admired. They were the most
wonderful moral victories ever achieved. But, while Christianity
conquered Rome, why did she fail to arrest its ruin? Vice gained on
virtue, rather than virtue gained on vice, even when the cross was
planted on the battlements of the imperial palaces.
[Sidenote: Christianity too late to save.]
The victories of Christianity came not too late for the human race, but
for the stability of the Roman empire. Had Christianity completely
triumphed when Julius Caesar overturned the republic, the empire might
have lasted. But when Constantine was converted, the empire was shaken
to its foundations, and the barbarians were advancing. No medicine could
have prevented the diseased old body from dying. The time had come. When
the wretched inebriate embraces a spiritual religion with one foot in
the grave, with a constitution completely undermined, and the seeds of
death planted, then no repentance or lofty aspiration can prevent
physical death. It was so in Rome. Society was completely undermined
long before the emperors became Christians. The fruits of iniquity were
being reaped when Chrysostom and Augustine lifted up their voices. The
body was diseased, so that no spiritual influence could work upon it.
Had every man in the empire been a Christian, yet, when, the army had
lost its discipline and efficiency, when patriotism had fled, when
centuries of vices had enfeebled the physical forces, when puny races
had lost all martial ardor, and could present nothing but weakness and
cowardice--all from physical causes, how could they have successfully
contended with the new and powerful barbaric armies? Christianity saves
the soul; it does not restore exhausted physical functions. The vices
which had undermined were learned before Christianity protested, and
were dominant when Christianity was feeble. The effects of those vices
were universal before a remedy could be applied.
[Sidenote: Limited number of the converts.]
[Sidenote: Early Christians unimportant.]
Moreover, when Christianity itself was a vital and conquering force, the
number of its converts formed but a small proportion of the inhabitants
of the empire. Witnesses of the truth were sent into every important
city in the world, but they simply protested in a dark corner. Their
warning voice was unheeded except by a few, and these were unimportant
people in a social or political or intellectual point of view. Even when
Constantine was converted, the number of Christians in the empire,
according to Gibbon, whose statement has not been refuted, was only one
fifth of the whole population. And this accounts for the insignificant
social changes that Christianity wrought. A vast majority was opposed to
them even in the fourth century. There were doubtless large numbers of
Christians at Rome, Antioch, Alexandria, Corinth, Ephesus, and other
populous cities, in the third century, and also there were powerful
churches in the great centres of trade, where people of all nations
congregated; but they were exposed to bitter persecutions, and they
durst not be ostentatious, not even in those edifices where they
congregated for the worship of Jehovah. For two centuries they worshiped
God in secret and lonely places, exposed to persecution and scorn. Not
only were the Christians few in number, when compared with the whole
population, but they were chiefly confined to the humble classes. In the
first century not many wise or noble were called. No great names have
been handed down to us. Now and then a centurion was converted, or some
dependent on a great man's household, or some servant in the imperial
family; but no philosophers, or statesmen, or nobles, or generals, or
governors, or judges, or magistrates. In the first century the
Christians were not of sufficient importance to be generally persecuted
by the government. They had not even arrested public attention. Nobody
wrote against them, not even Greek philosophers. We do not read of
protests or apologies from the Christians themselves. No contemporary
historian or poet alludes to them. They had no great men in their ranks,
either for learning, or talents, or wealth, or social position. In the
cities they were chiefly artisans, slaves, servants, or mechanics, and
in the country they were peasants. They were unlettered, plebeian,
unimportant. If there were distinguished converts, we do not know their
names. Ecclesiastical history is silent as to distinguished persons
except as persecutors, or as great contemporaries. We read of the
calamities of the Jews, of Herod Agrippa, of Philo, of Nero's
persecution, of the emperors, but not of Christians. Eusebius does not
narrate a single interesting or important fact which took place in the
first century through the agency of a great man. We know scarcely more
than what is contained in the New Testament. We read that Clement was
bishop of Rome, but know nothing of his administration. We do not know
whether or not he was a man of any worldly consideration. Nothing in
history is more barren than the annals of the church in the first
century, so far as great names are concerned. Yet in this century
converts were multiplied in every city, and traditions point to the
martyrdoms of those who were prominent, including nearly all of the
Apostles.
[Sidenote: Obscurity of the early Christians.]
[Sidenote: Their intense religious life.]
In the second century there are no greater names than Polycarp,
Irenaeus, Ignatius, Justin Martyr, Clement Melito, and Apollonius--quiet
bishops or intrepid martyrs--bishops who addressed their flocks in upper
chambers, and who held no worldly rank--famous only for their sanctity
or simplicity of character, and only mentioned for their sufferings and
faith. We read of martyrs, some of whom wrote valuable treatises and
apologies; but among them we find no people of rank, not even ladies
like Paula and Marcella and Fabiola, in the time of Jerome, unless
Symphorosa is an exception. It was a disgrace to be a Christian in the
eye of fashion or power. Even the great Marcus Aurelius, so
distinguished as a man and a philosopher, had supreme contempt of the
new apostles of truth, and was one of their most unrelenting
persecutors. The early Christian literature is chiefly apologetic, and
the doctrinal character of the fathers of this century is simple and
practical, showing no great acquaintance with the system of heathen
thought. There were controversies in the church--an intense religious
life--great activities, great virtues, but no outward conflicts, no
secular history, nothing to arrest public notice. But the converts to
Christianity, plebeian as they were, were yet of sufficient consequence
to be persecuted. They had attracted the notice of government. They were
looked upon as fanatics who sought to destroy a reverence for existing
institutions. But they had not as yet assailed the government, or the
great social institutions of the empire. In this century the polity of
the church was quietly organized. There was an organized fellowship
among the members: bishops had become influential, not in society, but
among the Christians; dioceses and parishes were established; there was
a distinction between city and rural bishops; delegates of churches
assembled to discuss points of faith, or suppress nascent heresies; the
diocesan system was developed, and ecclesiastical centralization
commenced; deacons began to be reckoned among the higher clergy; the
weapons of excommunication were forged; missionary efforts were carried
on; the festivals of the church were created; Gnosticism--a kind of
philosophical religion--was embraced by many leading minds; catechetical
schools taught the faith systematically; the formulas of baptism and the
other sacraments became of great importance; marriage with unbelievers
was discouraged; and monachism became popular. The internal history of
the church becomes interesting, but still the Christians had no great
influence outside their own body; it was esoteric, quiet, unobtrusive;
and it was a very small body of pure and blameless men, who did not
aspire to control society.
[Sidenote: The empire in a hopeless state.]
While the church was thus laying the foundation of its future polity and
power, but nothing more, and failed to attract the great, or men of
ambitious views--those who led society--the empire was approaching a
most fearful crisis. Hadrian had built a wall from the Rhine to the
Danube to arrest the incursions of barbarians; the Roman garrisons
beyond the Danube were withdrawn; the Goths had advanced from the
Vistula and the Oder to the shores of the Black Sea; the Jews were
dispersed; a chaos of deities was in the Roman Pantheon; Grecian
philosophy had degenerated; the taste of the people had become utterly
corrupt; games and festivals were the business and the amusement of the
people; the despotism of the emperors had utterly annulled all rights; a
succession of feeble and wicked princes ruled supreme; the empire was
falling into a state of luxury and inglorious peace; the middle classes
had become extinct; and disproportionate fortunes had vastly increased
slavery. The work of disintegration had commenced.
[Sidenote: The church of the third century.]
The third century saw the church more powerful as an institution.
Regular synods had assembled in the great cities of the empire; the
metropolitan system was matured; the canons of the church were
definitely enumerated; great schools of theology attracted inquiring
minds; the doctrines of faith were systematized; Christianity had spread
so extensively that it must needs be persecuted or legalized; great
bishops ruled the growing church; great doctors speculated on the
questions which had agitated the Grecian schools; church edifices were
enlarged, and banquets instituted in honor of the martyrs. The church
was rapidly advancing to a position which extorted the attention of
mankind. But even so late as the close of the third century, there were
but few Christians eminent for riches or rank. There were some great
bishops like Cyprian, Hippolytus, Victor, Demetrius; some great
theologians like Origen, Tertullian, and Clement; some great heretics
like Hermogones, Sabellius, and Novatian--all marked men, immortal men;
but of no great influence outside their ranks.
What could they do in a time of so much public misery and misfortune as
marked the empire when it was ruled by monsters; when the barbarians had
obtained a foothold in the provinces; when the capital was deserted by
the emperors for the camp; and when signs of decay and ruin were
apparent to all thoughtful minds?
[Sidenote: The church of the fourth century.]
It was not till the fourth century--when imperial persecution had
stopped; when Constantine was converted; when the church was allied with
the state; when the early faith was itself corrupted; when superstition
and vain philosophy had entered the ranks of the faithful; when bishops
became courtiers; when churches became both rich and splendid; when
synods were brought under political influence; when monachists had
established a false principle of virtue; when politics and dogmatics
went hand in hand, and emperors enforced the decrees of councils--that
men of rank entered the church, and the church had a visible influence
on the state. It was not till the fourth century that such great names
as Arius, Athanasius, Hosius, Eusebius, Cyril of Alexandria, Hilary of
Poictiers, Martin of Tours, Diodorus of Tarsus, Ambrose of Milan, Basil
of Caesarea, Cyril of Jerusalem, Gregory Nazianzen, Theophilus of
Alexandria, Chrysostom of Constantinople, arose and made their voices
heard in the council chambers of the great.
[Sidenote: The empire dismembered before the political triumphs of
Christianity.]
But when the church had become a mighty and recognized power, when it
had assailed social institutions, when it drew men of rank into its
folds, when it was no longer an obloquy to be a Christian--then the seat
of empire had been removed to the banks of the Bosphorus; then the Goths
and Vandals had become most formidable enemies, and Theodosius, the last
great emperor, was making a brave but futile attempt to revive the
glories of Trajan and the Antonines. The empire was crumbling to pieces--
was dying--and even Christianity could not save it politically.
[Sidenote: The Christians form an imperfect barrier against corruption.]
[Sidenote: The Christians an esoteric band of worshipers.]
[Sidenote: Christians powerless outside their ranks.]
[Sidenote: The church powerless outside its circle.]
[Sidenote: Christianity itself corrupted.]
Thus, when Christianity was pure, and a truly renovating religion, it
had no social influence on the leaders of rank and fashion. How could
people of no political or social position, who were objects of ridicule
and contempt, have effected great social or political changes? Until
their conversion, they had not modified a law, and still less enacted
one. How could they reach the ear of those who disdained, repelled, and
persecuted them? They had no influence on the makers or the executors of
laws. They could not call in the vast power of fashion, for they had no
social prestige. They could not create a public opinion, for they were
obliged to hide to save their lives. They had no learning to attract
philosophers. They were not allowed to preach in public, and could not
reach the people. They had no schools, nor books, nor colleges. They
could not assail public institutions, for despotism was established and
was irresistible. There was no liberty of speech by which they might
have made converts above their rank. They could not subvert slavery
without influencing those who controlled it. They could not destroy
disproportionate fortunes, since the wealthy were protected by
government. They could not interfere with games and demoralizing
spectacles, for these were controlled by the emperor and his ministers,
whose ear they could not reach, and upon whom all lofty arguments would
have been wasted. The court, the army, the aristocracy, rushed with
headlong eagerness into excesses and pleasures, which could not have
been arrested by the wise and good of their own rank; much less by a
class who were obnoxious and forgotten. The Christians could not even
utter indignant protests without personal danger, to which they were not
called. There was no possible way of presenting a barrier against
corruption, outside their own ranks. Obscure men in these times can
write books, but not under the empire; now they can lecture and preach,
but not then. They were obliged to conceal their sentiments when there
was danger of being suspected of being Christians. Those who have
observed the resistless tyranny of fashion in our times--how even
Christians are drawn into its eddies, not merely in such matters as
dress, and houses, and education, but even in pleasures which are
questionable, and in opinions which are false--what are we to think of
the overwhelming influence of fashion at Rome, when society was still
more artificial, when its leaders were kings and tyrants, and when all
the propensities of human nature were in accordance with the customs
handed down for centuries, and endorsed by all who were powerful in
ordinary life. If Christians are so feeble in Paris, London, and New
York, in suppressing acknowledged evils which come from the world, how
could the early Christians prevent the ascendency of evils among those
over whom they had no influence--perhaps those who did not feel them to
be evils at all. If Christians who affect great social position in our
cities cannot break up theatres and other demoralizing pleasures, how
could the early Christians bring the games of the amphitheatre into
disrepute? If social evils increase among us in spite of churches and
schools and a free press and lectures, how could we expect them to
decrease when no power was exerted to bring them into disrepute, and
when the general tone of society was infinitely lower than in the worst
capitals of modern times? What would wealthy senators, with their armies
of clients and slaves, or the frivolous courtiers of godless emperors,
or the sensual equestrians who composed a moneyed class, care for
opposition to their pleasures from those whom they despised, and with
whom they never associated, and who had no influence on public opinion?
The Christians could not, and dared not, make their voices heard, to any
extent, outside their own esoteric circle. They had an influence, or
their circle could not have increased, but it was private and concealed.
Artisans talked with artisans, servants with servants, soldiers with
soldiers. They converted, quietly and unobtrusively, by private talk and
blameless lives, those with whom alone they freely mingled. Thus their
numbers multiplied, but their prestige did not increase, until these
mechanics and laborers and slaves exercised some fortunate influence, by
occasional entreaties, on their haughty masters. A favorite slave could
sometimes gain the ear of the lady whose hair she dressed; or some
veteran and trusted servant might persuade an indulgent master to listen
to the new truths which were such a life to him. Thus the circle of the
Christians gradually embraced some of the more candid and intellectual
and fearless of the great. But it should be borne in mind that as the
circle was enlarged, especially so as to embrace people whose lives had
been egotistical and self-indulgent, the standard of morality was
lowered. Also we should remember, as the circle increased, even of
devout believers, that vice and degeneracy increased also outside the
circle, and also as rapidly. The overwhelming current of corruption
swept every thing away before it. What if the small minority were
virtuous, when the vast majority were vicious. They were only witnesses
of truth; they were not triumphant conquerors of error. If the state
could have lasted a thousand years longer in peace and prosperity, then
the leaven of the Gospel might have leavened the whole lump. But the
barbarians could not wait for society to be renovated. They came when
society was most enervated. When the Christians had gained sufficient
influence to stop the games of the circus and the amphitheatre; when
they had induced emperors to modify slavery; when they uttered protests
against demoralizing amusements, the barbarians had advanced, and were
becoming the new masters of the empire. The prayers of Augustine, the
letters of Jerome, the sermons of Chrysostom, the ascetic example of
Basil, could no more arrest the march of the avengers of centuries of
misrule than the intercession of Abraham could stop the thunderbolts of
God on the guilty inhabitants of Sodom. The Roman world, so long
abandoned to every folly and sin, must reap the bitter fruit. It was no
reproach to Christianity that it did not avert the consequences of sin,
any more than it was a reproach to Jonah that he could not save Nineveh.
If Christianity effects so little with us, when there are no opposing
religions, and all institutions are professedly in harmony with it; when
it controls the press and the schools and the literature of the country;
when its churches are gilded with the emblem of our redemption in every
village; when its ministers go forth unopposed, and have every facility
of delivering their message, even to the wise and mighty; when
philanthropy comes in with its mighty arm and knocks off the fetters of
the slave, and sends the Gospel to every land--how could it affect
society when every influence was against it. If religion wanes before
the dazzling forces of a brilliant material civilization, and scarcely
holds her own, when all profess to be governed by Christian truth, so
that in a moral and spiritual view, society rather retrogrades than
advances, I am amazed that it made so considerable a progress in the
Roman empire, and increased from generation to generation until it shook
the throne of emperors. And the example of the early church would seem
to indicate that religion can only spread in a healthy manner, by
constantly guarding and purifying those who profess it. It would seem
that the true mission of the church is to elevate her own members rather
than to mingle in scenes which have a corrupting influence. It is not
easy to make the theatre a means of moral improvement, for it will be
deserted when it rises above popular tastes, and the more it panders to
these tastes the more it flourishes. The theatre may have been elevated
at Athens, when the citizens who thronged to hear the plays of Sophocles
were themselves cultivated. Racine may have been relished at Versailles,
but only because the court of a great king composed the audience. The
theatre never rises _above_ the taste of those who patronize it.
Christian teachings would have been spurned at Rome even had there been
no persecution. The church flourished because it instructed its own
members, and quietly gained an extension of its influence, not because
it appealed to those who opposed it. The church, in those days, was not
a philanthropical institution, or an educational enterprise, or a
network of agencies and "instrumentalities" to bring to bear on society
at large certain ameliorating influences or benignant reforms. These
were beyond its reach. But it was a secret body of believers, a kind of
freemasonry which aimed to control and reform those who belonged to it.
Its rules were for members, not the outside world. Hence the history of
the early church refers chiefly to its discipline, to its officers, to
the management of dioceses, to councils, holydays, festivals, liturgies,
creeds, bearing only on its own internal organization. The members of
this secret society lived apart from the world, absorbed in their own
spiritual interests, or seeking to save the souls of those with whom
they came in contact. The true triumphs of Christianity were seen in
making good men of those who professed her doctrines, rather than
changing outwardly popular institutions, or government, or laws, or even
elevating the great mass of unbelievers. And it is more comforting to
feel that the church was small and pure than that it was large and
corrupt. And for three centuries there is reason to believe that the
Christians, if feeble in influence and few in numbers when compared with
the whole population, were remarkable for their graces and virtues--for
their noble resistance to those temptations which enthrall so great a
number of our modern believers. Insignificant in every public sense,
they may not have lifted up their voices against the system of slavery
which did so much to undermine the state; they may not have lectured
against the despotic power of the imperator; they may have taken but
little interest in politics, rendering unto Caesar whatever was due,
whether taxes or obedience; they may not have formed schools or colleges
or lyceums; they may not have meddled with any thing outside their
ranks, except to preach temperance, justice, and a judgment to come, and
a Saviour who was crucified, and a heaven to be obtained; but they did
practice among themselves all the duties enjoined by Christ and his
Apostles; they refused to sacrifice to the gods of pagan antiquity; they
visited no shows; they attended no pageants; they gave no sumptuous
banquets; they did not witness the games of the theatre and the circus;
they did not play at dice, or take usury, or dye their hair, or wear
absurd ornaments, or indulge in unseemly festivities: they detested
astrologers and soothsayers, shrines, images, and idolatry; they kept
the Sabbath, educated their children in the faith, settled their
disputes without going to law, were patient under injuries, were
charitable and unobtrusive, were full of faith and love, practicing the
severest virtues, devout and spiritual when all were worldly and
frivolous around them, ready for the martyr's pile, and looking to the
martyr's crown. That Christianity should have rescued so many from the
pollution of paganism in such general degeneracy, is very wonderful.
That it should have extended its circle of sincere believers amid
increasing degeneracy, is still more so, and is a most encouraging fact
to the friends of religious progress. If it could not reach the
fashionable and the worldly wise before society was undermined, and the
provinces had become the prey of barbarians, it still could boast of a
glorious army of martyrs, witnesses of the truth, whom all ages will
hold in veneration, precious seed for future and better times. If
Christianity, when it was a life,--a great transforming and renovating
power, reforming what was bad, conserving what was good,--had but little
influence beyond the circle of believers, still less could it save the
empire when it was itself corrupted, when it was a mere nominal
religion, however extensively it had spread. When it became the religion
of the court and of the fashionable classes, it was used to support the
very evils against which it originally protested, and which it was
designed to remove.
[Sidenote: It adopts oriental errors.]
It first adopted many of the errors of the oriental philosophy.
Gnosticism was embraced by many of the leading intellects of the church.
It was the reaction of that old aristocratic spirit which had ruled the
pagan world. It was an eclecticism of knowledge and culture which had
originally despised the doctrines of the Cross. It united the oriental
theosophy with the Platonic philosophy, both of which were proud,
exclusive, disdainful. "It drew a distinction between the man of
intellect, whose vocation it was to know, and the man who could not rise
above blind and implicit faith." The early Christians were characterized
for the simplicity of their faith. But with the triumphs of faith arose
the cravings for knowledge among the more cultivated part of the
converts.
[Sidenote: Attempts to reconcile reason with faith.]
Paul had seemingly discouraged all vain speculations, and the Grecian
spirit of philosophy, believing that they would not avail to the
explanation of the Christian mysteries, but rather prove a stumbling-
block and a folly, since the realm of faith was essentially different
from the realm of reason--not necessarily antagonistic, but distinct.
This fundamental principle has ever been maintained by the more orthodox
leaders of the church--by Athanasius, Augustine, Bernard, Pascal,
Calvin--even as the fundamental principle of sound philosophy which
Bacon advocated, that the world of experience and observation could not
be explained by metaphysical deductions, has been the cause of all great
modern progress in the sciences. The Gnostics, the men who aimed at
superior knowledge, disdained the humbling doctrine of Paul, which made
faith supreme over all forms of philosophy, and were the first to seek
solutions of difficult points of theology by abstruse inquiries--
honorable to the intellect, but subversive of that docile spirit which
Christianity enjoined. This tendency to speculation was unfortunate, but
natural to those active minds who sought to discover a connection
between the truths taught by revelation, and those which we arrive at by
consciousness. Grecian philosophy, when most lofty, as expressed by
Plato, was based on these mental possessions--these internal
convictions reached by logic and reflection. What more harmless, and
even praiseworthy, to all appearance, than was this earnest attempt to
reconcile reason with faith? The finest minds and characters of the
church entered into the discussion with singular intensity and ardor.
They would explain the Man-God, the Trinity, the Word made flesh, and
all the other points which grew out of grace and free will. A
dialectical spirit arose, which combated or explained what had formerly
been received with unquestioning submission. In the first century there
was scarcely any need of creeds, for the faith of the Christians was
united on a few simple doctrines, such as are expressed in the Apostles'
Creed. In the second and third centuries agitations and speculations
began, and with the Gnostics, that class who invoked the aid of Oriental
and Grecian philosophies in the propagation of the new religion. It was
to be made dependent on human speculation--a most dangerous error, since
it reintroduced the very wisdom which knew not God, and which the
Apostles ignored. It ushered in the reign of rationalism, which still
refuses to abdicate her throne, and which is absolutely rampant and
exulting in the great universities of the most learned and inquiring of
European nations.
[Sidenote: Gnosticism.]
But Gnosticism partook more of the haughty and exclusive spirit of the
eastern sages, than of the patient and inquiring nature of the Grecian
schools. It soared into regions whither even Platonism did not presume
to venture. It sought to subject even the Grecian mind to its wild and
lofty flights. The doctrines which Zoroaster taught pertaining to the
two antagonistic principles of good and evil--the oriental dualism--
Parsism had great fascination, especially to those who were inclined to
monastic seclusion. The spirit of Evil, which seemed to be dominant on
earth, and which was associated with material things, chained the soul
to sense. The soul, longing for truth and holiness--for God and heaven--
panted to be free of the corrupting influences of matter, which
imprisoned the noblest part of man. The oriental Christian, not fully
emancipated from the spirit which Buddhism communicated to all the
countries of the East--that is, the longing of the soul for the release
from matter, its reunion with the primal power from which all life has
flowed, and the estrangement from human passions and worldly interests--
sought repose and retirement where the mind would be free to dwell on
the great questions which pertained to God and immortality. The
dualistic principle, one of the chief elements of Gnosticism, harmonized
with the prevailing temper of that age, even as the pantheistic
principle rules the schools of philosophy in our own. All Christians
were alive to consciousness of the power of evil. Gnosticism recognized
it. Christianity triumphs over it by the power of the Cross which
procures redemption. Gnosticism would work out salvation by
abstractions, by ascetic severities, by a renunciation of the pleasures
of the world. Hence it is the real father of monasticism--that spirit of
seclusion and self-abnegation which became so prevalent in the third and
fourth centuries, and which remained in the church through the mediaeval
period. Gnosticism busied itself with the solution of insoluble
questions respecting the origin of evil, which Christianity justly
relinquished to the domain of useless inquiries--"the wisdom of the
world." Gnosticism would acknowledge no limits to human speculation;
Christianity accepts mysteries hidden from the wise and prudent, and yet
revealed unto babes. Hence all sorts of crudities of belief crept into
the church, such as the idea of the demiurge, and the different ways of
contemplating the person of Christ. Moreover, the Gnostics subjected the
New Testament to the boldest criticism, affirming it to be impossible to
arrive at the true doctrines of Christ; and hence they sought to go
beyond Christ, explaining difficult subjects by rationalistic
interpretations. Cerinthus placed a boundless chasm between God and the
world, and filled it up with different orders of spirits as intermediate
beings. Basilides supposed an angel was set over the entire earthly
course of the world. Valentine announced the distinction between a
psychical and pneumatical Christianity. Ptolemaeus maintained that the
creation of the world did not proceed from the supreme God. Bardesanes
sought to trace the vestiges of truth among people of every nation.
Carpocrates maintained that all existence flowed from one supreme
original being, to whom it strives to return. Prodicus asserted that as
men were sons of the supreme God, a royal race, they were bound by no
law. Saturnine advanced a fanciful system on the creation. Tatian
advocated the mortality of the soul. Marcion attempted to sunder the God
of Nature and the God of the Old Testament from the God of the Gospel.
It is difficult to enumerate all the fanciful theories propounded by the
Gnostics, and which arose from the attempt to engraft Orientalism upon
Christianity.
[Sidenote: Manicheism.]
A still greater attempt to blend Christianity with the religions of
ancient Asia was made by Mani, a Persian, who especially attempted to
fuse Zoroastrian with Christian doctrines. He aimed to produce the
utmost estrangement from all mundane influences, since the evil
principle held in bondage the elements springing out of the kingdom of
light. Deliverance from this bondage he regarded as the great end and
aim of life. His spirit was pantheistic, probably derived from Buddhism,
which he had learned during his extensive journeys into India and China.
He adopted the dualism of Zoroaster, and supposed two principles
antagonistic to each other, on the one side God, the primal light, from
whom all light radiates, on the other side Evil, whose essence is self-
conflicting uproar, matter, darkness. Most nearly connected with the
supreme God were Aeons,--the channels for the diffusion of light,--
innumerable in number and of surpassing greatness. The Aeon-mother of
life generated the primitive man to oppose the powers of darkness. Hence
man's nature is full of dignity, although he was worsted in the conflict
with Evil. But the spirit raises him once more to the kingdom of light,
and purifies his soul which sprung from the primitive man. The pure soul
is Christ, enthroned in the sun, superior to all contact with matter,
and incapable of suffering.
[Sidenote: Mysticism.]
These were some of the features of that mystical philosophy which made
Christ the spirit of the sun, giving light and life to the soul
imprisoned in the kingdom of darkness. Man thus becomes a copy of the
world of light and darkness, struggling against matter, elevated by the
source of life--a soul living in the kingdom of light, and a body
derived from the kingdom of darkness, and enticed by all the pleasures
of sense, and thus drawn down to the world which is matter and evil,
counteracted by the angel of light. This is the dualism which formed the
essential element of the Manichean speculations, so congenial to the
mystic theogonies of the East, and which was embraced by a portion of
the eastern church, especially by those who were fascinated by the
refinements and pretensions of a philosophy which aimed to solve the
highest problems of existence--the nature of God, and the creation of
man. These daring speculations, which led astray so many inquiring
minds, were, however, too mystical and indefinite to reach the popular
mind, and they pertained to questions which did not shock Christian
instincts, like those which attacked the person or the offices of
Christ. Gnosticism was viewed as a sort of Judaism, inasmuch as it did
not rest its exclusiveness on the title of birth, but on especial
knowledge communicated to the enlightened few. It was a philosophy whose
esoteric doctrines soared above the comprehension of the vulgar; but it
affected more than the surface of society; it poisoned the minds of
those who aspired to lead the intelligence of the age. Its spirit was
antagonistic to the simplicity of the faith, and so, as it prevailed,
was an influence much to be dreaded, and called forth the greatest
energies of the Alexandrian school, in order to defeat it and nullify
it. But its dangerous seeds remained to germinate a rationalistic
theology, especially when united with the Neo-Platonic philosophy.
[Sidenote: Adoption of oriental ceremonies and pomps.]
But the church was not only impregnated with the errors of pagan
philosophy, but it adopted many of the ceremonials of oriental worship,
which were both minute and magnificent. If any thing marked the
primitive church it was the simplicity of worship, and the absence of
ceremonies and festivals and gorgeous rites. The churches became, in the
fourth century, as imposing as the old temples of idolatry. The
festivals became authoritative; at first they were few in number, and
purely voluntary. It was supposed that when Christianity superseded
Judaism, the obligations to observe the ceremonies of the Mosaic law
were abrogated. Neither the apostles nor evangelists imposed the yoke of
servitude, but left Easter and every other feast to be honored by the
gratitude of the recipients of grace. The change in opinion, in the
fourth century, called out the severe animadversion of the historian
Socrates, but it was useless to stem the current of the age. Festivals
became frequent and imposing. The people clung to them because they
obtained a cessation from labor, and obtained excitement. The ancient
rubrics mention only those of the Passion, of Easter, of Whitsunday,
Christmas, and the descent of the Holy Spirit. But there followed the
celebration of the death of Stephen, the memorial of John, the
commemoration of the slaughter of the Innocents, the feast of Epiphany,
the feast of Purification, and others, until the Catholic Church had
some celebration for some saint and martyr for every day in the year.
They contributed to create a craving for an outward religion, which
appealed to the senses and the sensibilities rather than the heart. They
led to innumerable quarrels and controversies about unimportant points,
especially in relation to the celebration of Easter. They produced a
delusive persuasion respecting pilgrimages, the sign of the cross, and
the sanctifying effects of the sacraments. Veneration for martyrs
ripened into the introduction of images--a future source of popular
idolatry. Christianity was emblazoned in pompous ceremonies. The
veneration for saints approximated to their deification, and
superstition exalted the mother of our Lord into an object of absolute
worship. Communion-tables became imposing altars typical of Jewish
sacrifices, and the relics of martyrs were preserved as sacred amulets.
[Sidenote: Monastic life.]
Monastic life ripened also into a grand system of penance, and expiatory
rites, such as characterized oriental asceticism. Armies of monks
retired to gloomy and isolated places, and abandoned themselves to
rhapsodies and fastings and self-expiations, in opposition to the grand
doctrine of Christ's expiation. They despaired of society, and abandoned
the world to its fate--a dismal and fanatical set of men, overlooking
the practical aims of life. They lived more like beasts and savages than
enlightened Christians--wild, fierce, solitary, superstitious, ignorant,
fanatical, filthy, clothed in rags, eating the coarsest food, practicing
gloomy austerities, introducing a false standard of virtue, regardless
of the comforts of civilization, and careless of those great interests
which were intrusted them to guard. They were often men of extraordinary
virtue and influence, and their lives were not assailed by great
temptations. They abstained from marriage, and celibacy came to be
regarded as the angelic virtue--a proof of the highest and purest
Christian life. Vast numbers of men left the sanctities and beatitudes
of home for a cheerless life in the desert, and their gloomy and
repulsive austerities were magnified into extraordinary virtues. The
monks and hermits sought to save themselves by climbing to Heaven by the
same ladder that had been sought by the soofis and the fakirs,--which
delusion had an immense influence in undermining the doctrines of grace.
Christianity was fast merging itself into an oriental theosophy.
[Sidenote: Ambition and wealth of the clergy.]
Again the clergy became ambitious and worldly, and sought rank and
distinction. They even thronged the courts or princes, and aspired to
temporal honors. They were no longer supported by the voluntary
contributions of the faithful, but by revenues supplied by government,
or property inherited from the old temples. Great legacies were made to
the church by the rich, and these the clergy controlled. These bequests
became sources of inexhaustible wealth. As wealth increased, and was
intrusted to the clergy, they became indifferent to the wants of the
people, no longer supported by them. They became lazy, arrogant, and
independent. The people were shut out of the government of the church.
The bishop became a grand personage, who controlled and appointed his
clergy. The church was allied with the state, and religious dogmas were
enforced by the sword of the magistrate. An imposing hierarchy was
established, of various grades, which culminated in the bishop of Rome.
The emperor decided points of faith, and the clergy were exempted from
the burdens of the state. There was a great flocking to the priestly
offices when the clergy wielded so much power, and became so rich; and
men were elevated to great sees, not because of their piety or talents,
but influence with the great. What a falling off from the teachings of
the original clergy, when bishops were the companions of princes rather
than preachers to the poor, and when the clergy could live without the
offerings of the people, and were appointed from favor and not from
merit. The spiritual mission of the church was lost sight of in a
degrading alliance with the state and the world. "Make me bishop of
Rome," said a pagan general, "and I too would become a Christian."
[Sidenote: The church conforms to the world.]
[Sidenote: Christianity produces witnesses, but is not all conquering.]
When Christianity itself was in such need of reform, when Christians
could scarcely be distinguished from pagans in love of display, and in
egotistical ends, how could it reform the world? When it was a pageant,
a ritualism, an arm of the state, a vain philosophy, a superstition, a
formula, how could it save, if ever so dominant? The corruptions of the
church in the fourth century are as well authenticated as the purity and
moral elevation of Christians in the second century. Isaac Taylor has
presented a most mournful view of the state of Christian society when
the religion of the cross had become the religion of the state. And the
corruptions kept pace with the outward triumphs of the faith, especially
when the pagans had yielded to the supremacy of the cross. The same fact
is noticeable in the history of Mohammedanism. When it was first
declared by the extraordinary man who claimed to be the greatest of the
prophets of God, when it was a sublime theism, immeasurably superior to
the prevailing religions of Arabia, and especially when it was
promulgated by moral means, its converts were few, but these were lofty.
When it was extended by an appeal to the sword, and to the bad passions
of men, when it gave a promise of demoralizing joys, and was embraced by
powerful classes and chieftains, it had rapidly extended over Asia and
Africa, and even invaded Europe. Mohammedanism doubtless prevailed in
consequence of its very errors, by adapting itself to the corrupt
inclinations of mankind. If it prospered by means of its truths, why was
its progress so slow when it was comparatively pure and elevated? The
outward triumphs of a religion are no indications of its purity, since
the more corrupt it is the more popular it will be, and the purer it is
the less likely it is to be embraced, except by a few, whom God designs
to be witnesses of his power and truth. Buddhism and Brahminism have
more adherents than Mohammedanism, and Mohammedanism more than
Christianity, and Roman Catholic Christianity has more than
Protestantism, and Protestantism, when it is a life, is narrowed down to
a very small body of believers. Christianity which is popular and
fashionable, is not necessarily elevated and ennobling, and when it is
fashionable or popular is very apt to assume the forms of an imposing
ritualism, or to be blended with philosophical speculations, or to sink
to the degradation of superstitious rites and ceremonies. When
Christianity falls to the level of prevailing fashions and customs and
opinions, it has not a very powerful renovating influence on human life.
The Jesuits made great conquests in Japan and China, but how barren they
have proved. The Puritans planted the barren hills of New England with
stern and rugged believers in a spiritual and personal God, and they
have extended their principles throughout the country. What renovating
influence has the nominal Christianity of South America, or Spain, or
Italy? The religion embraced by the wise and great is apt to become a
rationalism, and that professed by the degraded populace to become a
superstition. The reception of Christianity in the heart implies
sacrifices and self-denial, and will not be cordially embraced except by
a few thus far, in any age. The Lollards in England, in the time of
Henry VII., were a feeble body, but they did more to infuse a religious
life than the whole machinery and influence of the Roman Catholic
Church. And as soon as the Church of England gained over the state, and
became established, it began to degenerate, and had need of successive
reforms. How feeble every form of dissent as a truly renovating power
when it has become triumphant! What have the fashionable court religions
of Europe done towards the real regeneration of society? Protestantism
in Germany, when it was protesting, had a mighty life. When universities
and courts accepted it, it became a poisonous rationalism, or a dead
formula. Puritanism, established in New England just previous to the
Revolution, was a very different thing from what it was when its
adherents were exiles and wanderers. It spread and was honored, but
retained chiefly its forms, its traditions, its animosities. How rapidly
the Huguenots degenerated after the battle of Ivry! Even Jesuitism could
not stand before its own triumphs. Its real life was in the times of
Xavier and Aquaviva, not of Escobar and La Chaise. Any dominant faith
will find its supporters among those whose practical lives are false to
the original principles. Its powers of renovation depend upon its
exalted doctrines, not upon the numbers who profess it, because, when
dominant, men are drawn to it by ambition or interest. They degrade it
more than it elevates them. Hence it would almost seem that
Christianity, in this dispensation, is designed to call out witnesses
of its truths, in every land, the elect of God, rather than to
be a universally renovative power on human institutions. But if it is
destined to be all-conquering, bringing government and science and
social life in harmony with its spirit, as most people believe, and
perhaps with the greatest evidence on their side, still its _real_
conquests must be slow, without supernatural aid. It will spread, from
its inherent life and power; it will become corrupted, and fail to exert
as great a spiritual influence as was hoped; it will be reformed, after
great debasements, when it is scarcely more than a nominal faith, except
among the few witnesses; and the reforming party or sect will gain
ascendency, and in its turn become degenerate and powerless as a
renovating force. So history seems to indicate, from the times of
Theodosius to our own, specially illustrated by the establishment of the
different monastic orders, the great awakenings under Luther and Calvin
and Knox, the successes of Jesuits and Jansenists, the triumphs of the
Puritans, the Quakers, and the Methodists, the rise of Puseyism, or the
Church of England. That Christianity remains vital in the world, and
makes true advances from generation to generation, can scarcely be
questioned. But these advances are slow and delusive. Spiritual power
will pass away as the conquering party gains adherents from the world of
fashion and of rank. It will not become extinct, but the difference
between its true influence, when it is persecuted and when it is
triumphant, is less than generally supposed. The spiritual cannot be
measured by the material. Who can tell wherein true and permanent
influence abides? Who can estimate the power of spiritual agencies? It
is common to speak of enlarged spheres of usefulness; but a clergyman in
a humble parish may set in motion ideas which will have more effect on
the age in which he lives, and on succeeding times, than by any splendid
position in a large and populous city. God seeth not as man seeth. To
fill the sphere which Providence appoints is the true wisdom; to
discharge trusts faithfully and live exalted ideas, that is the mission
of good men.
[Sidenote: Reasons why Christianity did not save the empire.]
Christianity, then, in the fourth century was not more of a renovating
power in consequence of its rapid extension and vast external influence.
It was never more sublime than when it made martyrs and heroes of the
few who dared to embrace its doctrines. There was more hope of its
regenerating the world when it was a continually expanding circle of
devout believers, uncompromising and aggressive, than when it numbered
the wise and noble and mighty, with their old vices and follies. Its
external triumphs rather diminished its spiritual power.
If Christianity failed as a gorgeous ritualism, armed with the weapons
of the state, and allied with pagan philosophy, attractive as it was
made to different classes, where is the hope of the renovation of this
world from the effects of climate, soil, material wealth, and the other
boasts of physical improvements and culture? What a poor basis for the
hopes of man to rest upon is furnished by such guides as the Comtes, the
Buckles, and the Mills? If a fashionable and popular religion could not
save, how can a cold materialism which chains the thoughts to sense, and
confines aspirations to worldly success.
Christianity, as it would seem, did not avert the ruin of the empire,
because, when pure, it had but little influence outside its circle of
esoteric believers, while society was rotten to the core, and was
rapidly approaching a natural dissolution. When it was dominant it
failed, because it was itself corrupted, and the ruin had begun. The
barbarians were advancing to desolate and destroy, were routing armies
and sacking cities and enslaving citizens, when the great fathers of the
church were laying the foundation of a Christian state. The ruin of the
empire was threatening when Christianity was a proscribed and persecuted
faith; it was inevitable when it was grasping the sceptre of princes.
[Sidenote: True mission of the church.]
[Sidenote: The fall of the empire a necessity.]
[Sidenote: The creation which succeeds destruction.]
[Sidenote: What is truly valuable never perishes.]
[Sidenote: Reconstruction.]
Moreover, we take a low and material view of Christianity when we wonder
why it did not save the empire. It was sent to save the world, not the
institutions of an egotistical people. Why should we grieve that it
failed to perpetuate such an organization or government as that wielded
by the emperors? What was a central and proud despotism, with vast
military machinery, and accompanying aristocracies and inequalities, and
the accumulated treasure of all ages and nations on the banks of the
Tiber, compared with a state more favorable for the development of a new
civilization? What does humanity care for the perpetuation of Roman
pride? Providence attaches but little value to human sorrows and
sacrifices, to the melting away of delusions, pomps, vanities, and
follies, compared with the spread of those indestructible ideas on which
are based the real happiness of man. If the empire had withstood the
shock of barbarians, a state would have existed unfavorable to the
higher and future triumphs of the cross. Where was hope, when imperial
despotism, and disproportionate fortunes, and slavery, and the reign of
conventional forms and traditions, and the tyranny of foolish fashions
were likely to be perpetuated? How could Christianity have subverted
these monstrous evils without producing revolutions more blasting than
even barbaric violence? There seem to be some evils so subtle,
poisonous, and deeply-rooted that nothing but violence can remove them.
How long before slavery would have been destroyed in the United States
by any moral means? How could slavery be destroyed when the most
eloquent of Christian teachers were its defenders, and all its kindred
institutions were upheld by the church? So of slavery in the Roman
Empire. There were sixty millions of slaves, not of the posterity of
Ham, but of Shem and Japhet. Every prosperous person was eager to
possess a slave, nor had Christianity openly and signally rebuked such a
gigantic institution. Where was the hope of the abolition of such an
evil when Christianity adapted itself to prevailing fashions and
opinions, and only thought of alleviating some of its worst forms? Would
slaves decrease when worldly men became the overseers of the church, and
emperors presided at councils? Where were the hopes of its abolition
when the whole world was its theatre, and every rich man its defender;
where, instead of four millions, there were sixty millions, and where
the general level of morality and intelligence was lower than it is at
present? So of disproportionate fortunes. They were a hopeless evil. If
aristocratic institutions keep their ground in the best country of
Europe, what must have been the grasp of nobles in the Roman world?
Abandonment to money-making was another social evil. If we in America
cannot weaken its power, even in the most Christian communities; if we
cannot prevent the tyranny of money in our very churches, where we are
reminded every Sunday that it is the root of all evil, yea, when we have
Bibles in our hands,--what could a corrupted Christianity do with it
when material pleasures were more prized than they are with us, and when
philanthropic institutions were unborn? If the whole power of the
Gallican Church was exerted to prop up the feudal privileges of the
French noblesse, and there was needed a dreadful and bloody revolution
to destroy them, much more was a revolution needed at Rome to destroy
the inherited powers of a still prouder and more powerful aristocracy.
If the rights of women are so slowly recognized among the descendants of
chivalrous nations, with all the moral forces of the Gospel, how
hopeless the elevation of women among peoples where woman for thousands
of years was regarded as a victim, a toy, or a slave? When we remember
the inherited opinions of Orientals, Greeks, and Romans as to the
condition and duties and relations of the female sex, it seems as if no
ordinary instruction could have broken the fetters of woman for an
indefinite period. The institutions of the pagan world were too firmly
rooted to afford hope to Christian teachers, if ever so enlightened. The
great cardinal principle of the common brotherhood of man could only be
applied under more favorable circumstances. The unity of the empire
_did_ facilitate the outward triumphs and spread of Christianity,
and perhaps that was the great mission which the Roman empire was
designed by God to promote. But the social and political institutions of
the Romans were exceedingly adverse to a healthy development of
Christian virtue. The teachers of the new religion originally aimed
entirely at the salvation of the soul. It was to save men from the wrath
to come, and publish tidings of great joy to the miserable populace of
the ancient world, that apostles labored. They did not attack political
or great organized systems of corruption openly and directly. It was
enough to promise Heaven, not to change the structure of society. For
four centuries neither the condition of woman nor of the slave was
radically improved. Christianity could not, without miraculous power,
bear its best fruit on a Roman soil. It could not do its best work on
degenerate and worn-out races. How many centuries would it take for
Christianity, even if embraced by all the people of Japan or China, to
make as noble Christians as in Scotland or New England? There must be a
material to work upon. There was not this material in the Roman empire.
A dreadful revolution was necessary, in which new and uncorrupted races
should obtain ascendency, and on whom Christianity could work with
renewed power. In such a catastrophe, the good must suffer with the
evil, the just with the unjust. A Gothic soldier would not spare a
cloister any sooner than a palace, or a palace sooner than a hut, a
philosopher more readily than a peasant. Christians as well as pagans
must drink the bitter cup, for natural law has no tears to shed and no
indulgence to give. The iniquities of the fathers were visited upon the
children, even to the third and fourth generation. And what if there was
suffering on the earth? Tribulation is generally a blessing in disguise.
Men are not born for undisturbed happiness on earth, but for a
preparation for heaven. Whatever calls the thoughts from a lower to a
higher good is the greatest boon which Providence gives. The monstrous
calamities of the fourth and fifth centuries had a marked influence in
opening the portals of the church, even for the barbarians themselves--
for they were not converted until they became conquerors. A new life, in
spite of calamities, was infused into the empire, tottering and falling.
It was among the new races that the new creation began, and it is among
their descendants that the loftiest triumphs of civilization have been
achieved. So it was ultimately a good thing for the world that the
empire and all its bad institutions were swept away. Creation followed
destruction, and the death-song was succeeded by a melodious birth-song.
All suffering and sorrow were over-ruled. Future ages were the better
for such sad calamities. Temples were destroyed, but the sublime ideas
of beauty and grace by which they were erected still survive. Armies
were annihilated, but military science was not lost. Libraries were
burned, but models of ancient style survived to incite to new creation.
Anarchy prevailed, but new states arose on the ruins of the old
provinces. Men passed away, but not the fruits of the earth, nor the
relics of genius. The new races gave a new impulse, when fairly
established, to agriculture, to commerce, and to art. The fall of the
empire was the destruction of fortunes and of farms, the change of
masters, the dissolution of the central power of emperors, the breaking
up of proconsular authority, the dissipation of conventionalities and
fashions; but these were not the ruin of human hopes or the bondage of
human energies. Genius, poetry, faith, sentiment, and piety, remained.
Nor was the earth depopulated; it was decimated. All the substantial
elements of greatness were moulded into new forms. A fresh and beautiful
life arose among the simple and earnest people who had descended from
the Oder and the Vistula. Entirely new institutions were formed. The old
fabric was shattered to pieces, but of the ruins a new edifice was
constructed more calculated to shelter the distressed and miserable. The
barbarians seized the old traditions of the church and invested them
with poetical beauty. The Teutonic civilization, more Christian than the
Roman, surpassed it in all popular forms, and became more adapted to the
wants of man. Probably nothing really great in civilization has ever
perished, or ever will perish. I don't believe in "lost arts." They are
only buried for a time, like the glorious sculptures of Praxiteles or
Lysippus, amid the debris of useless fabrics, to be dug up when wanted
and valued, as models of new creations. I doubt if any thing really
valuable in even the Egyptian, or Assyrian, or Indian civilization has
hopelessly passed away, which can be made of real service to mankind. It
is, indeed, a puzzle how the capstones of the Pyramids were elevated--
such huge blocks raised five hundred feet into the air; but I believe
the mechanical forces are really known, or will be known, at the proper
time, and will be again employed, if the labor is worth the cost. We
could build a tower of Babel in New York, or a temple of Carnac, or a
Colosseum, and would build it, if such a structure were needed or we
could afford the waste of time, material, and labor. There is nothing in
all antiquity so grand as a modern railroad, or the _Great Eastern_
steamship, or the Erie Canal. Nebuchadnezzar's palace would not compare
with St. Peter's Church or Versailles, nor his hanging gardens with the
Croton reservoirs. Gibraltar or Ehrenbreitstein is more impregnable than
the walls of Babylon, which Cyrus despaired to scale or batter down.
Every succeeding generation inherits the riches and learning of the
past, even if Rome and Carthage are sacked, and the library of
Alexandria is burned. The barbarians destroyed the monuments of former
greatness--temples, palaces, statues, pictures, libraries, schools,
languages, and laws. These _they_ did not restore, but they were
restored by their descendants, as there was need, and new creations
added. The Parthenon reappears in the Madeleine; the Golden House of
Nero in the Tuileries and the Louvre; Jupiter of Phidias in the Moses of
Michael Angelo; the Helen of Zeuxis in the Venus of Titian; the library
of Alexandria in the Bibliotheque Imperiale; the Academy of Plato in the
University of Oxford; the orations of Cicero in the eloquence of Burke;
the Institutes of Justinian in the Code Napoleon. In addition, we have
cathedrals whose architectural effect Vitruvius could not have
conceived; pictures that Polygnotus could not have painted; books which
Aristotle could not have imagined; universities before which Zeno would
have stood awestruck; courts of law that would have called out the
admiration of Paul and Papinian; houses which Scaurus would have envied;
carriages that Nero would have given the lives of ten thousand
Christians to possess; carpets that Babylon could not have woven; dyes
surpassing the Tyrian purple; silks, velvets, glass mirrors, sideboards,
fabrics of linen and cotton and wool, ships, railroads, watches,
telescopes, compasses, charts, printing-presses, gunpowder, fire-arms,
photographs, engravings, bank-notes, telegraphic wires, chemical
compounds, domestic utensils, mills, steam-engines, balloons, and a
thousand other wonders of a civilization which no ancient race attained.
_We_ have lost nothing of the old trophies of genius, and have
gained new ones for future civilization. The Romans, if left in
possession of the provinces they had conquered for two thousand years
longer, would never, probably, have made our modern discoveries and
inventions. They would have been more like the modern inhabitants of
China. A new race was required to try new experiments and achieve new
triumphs. The Greeks and Romans did their share, fulfilled a great
mission for humanity, but they could not monopolize forever the human
race itself.
[Sidenote: Every age has a peculiar mission.]
Every great nation and age has its work to do in the field of
undeveloped energies; but the field is inexhaustible in resources, for
the intellect of man is boundless in its reserved powers. No limit can
be assigned to the future triumphs of genius and strength. We are as
ignorant of some future wonders as the last century was of steam and
telegraphic wires. Nor can we tell what will next arise. The wonders of
the Greeks and Romans would have astonished Egyptians and Assyrians. The
Oriental civilization gave place to the Hellenic and the Roman; and the
Hellenic and Roman gave place to the Teutonic. So the races and the ages
move on. They have their missions, become corrupt, and pass away. But
the breaking up of their institutions, even by violence, when no longer
a blessing to the world, and the surrender of their lands and riches to
another race, not worn out, but new, fresh, enthusiastic, and strong,
have resulted in permanent good to mankind, even if we feel that the
human mind never soared to loftier flights, or put forth greater and
more astonishing individual energies than in that old and ruined world.
[Sidenote: How far Christianity conserved.]
How far Christianity conserved the treasures of the past we cannot tell.
No one can doubt the influence of Christianity in reviving letters, in
giving a stimulus to thought, in creating a noble ambition for the good
of society, and producing that moral tone which fits the soul to
appreciate what is truly great. It was the church which preserved the
manuscripts of classical ages; which perpetuated the Latin language in
chants and litanies and theological essays; which gave a new impulse to
agriculture and many useful arts; which preserved the traditions of the
Roman empire; which made use of the old canons of law; which gave a new
glory to architecture in the Gothic vaults of mediaeval cathedrals; which
encouraged the rising universities; which gave wisdom to rulers and laws
to social life. The monasteries and convents, in their best ages, were
receptacles of arts, beehives of industry, schools of learning, asylums
for the miserable, retreats for sages, hospitals for the poor, and
bulwarks of civilization which rude warriors dared not assail. What did
not the Christian clergy guard and perpetuate?
[Sidenote: The real triumphs of Christianity.]
That the Teutonic nations would have arisen to as lofty a platform as
the ancient Greeks or Romans, without Christianity, is probable enough.
There is no limit to the intellect of a noble race until corrupted.
Without Christianity, society might still have possessed our modern
discoveries, since the Gothic races have shown a distinguishing genius
in mechanical inventions. I apprehend that Christianity has not much to
do with many of the wonders of our present day; and I find some classes
of men who have made great attainments in certain channels in antagonism
to Christianity. I question whether a spiritual religion has given an
impulse to steam navigation, or rifled cannons, or electrical machines,
or astronomical calculations, or geological deductions. It has not
created scientific schools, or painters' studios, or Lowell mills, or
Birmingham wares, or London docks. Material glories we share with the
ancients; we have simply improved upon them. In some things they are our
superiors. We do not see the superiority of modern over ancient
civilization in material wonders, so much as in immaterial ideas. What
is really greatest and noblest in our civilization comes from Christian
truths. Certainly, what is most characteristic is the fruit of spiritual
ideas, such as paganism never taught,--never could have conceived; such,
for instance, as pertains to social changes, to popular education, to
philanthropic enterprise, to enlightened legislation, to the elevation
of the poor and miserable, to the breaking off the fetters of the slave,
and to the true appreciation of the mission of woman. Nor was the Roman
empire swept away until the seeds of all these great modern
improvements, which raise society, were planted by the sainted fathers
and doctors of the church. They worked for us, for all future ages, for
all possible civilizations, as well as for their own times. They are,
therefore, immortal benefactors of the human race, since they were the
first to declare great renovating ideas. The early church is the real
architect of European civilization. She laid the foundation of the noble
edifice under which the nations still shelter themselves against the
storms of life. Christianity not only rescued a part of the population
of the Roman empire from degradation and ruin; it not only had glorious
witnesses or its transcendent power and beauty in every land, thus
triumphing over human infirmity and misery as no other religion ever
did; but it has also proved itself to be a progressively conquering
power by the great and beneficent ideas which were planted in the minds
of barbarians, as well as oriental Christians, and which from time to
time are bearing fruit in every land, so as to make it evident to any
but a perverted intellect, that Christianity is the source of what we
most prize in civilization itself, and that without it the nations can
only reach a certain level, and will then, from the law of depravity,
decline and fall like Greece, Asia Minor, and Rome. If we had no
Christianity, we should be compelled, so far as history teaches us
lessons, to adopt the theory of Buckle and his school, of the necessary
progress and decline of nations--the moving round, like systems of
philosophy, in perpetual circles. But, with the indestructible ideas
which the fathers planted, there must be a perpetual renovation and an
unending progress, until the world becomes an Eden.
* * * * *
REFERENCES.--The reader is directed only to the ordinary histories of
the church. The great facts are stated by all the historians, and few
new ones have been brought to light. Historians differ merely in the
mode of presenting their subject. The ecclesiastical histories are
generally deficient in art, and hence are uninteresting. The ablest and
the most learned of modern historians is doubtless Neander. He is also
the fullest and most satisfactory; but even he is unattractive. Mosheim
is dry and dull, but learned in facts. Dr. Schaff has most ably
presented primitive Christianity, and his recent work is both popular
and valuable. Milman is the best English writer on the church, and he is
the most readable of modern historians. Tillemont and Dupin are very
full and very learned. But a truly immortal history of the church,
exhaustive yet artistic, brilliant as well as learned, is yet to be
written. The ancient historians, like Eusebius and Socrates and Zosimus,
are very meagre. The genius and spirit of the early church can only be
drawn from the lives and writings of the fathers.