CHRYSOSTOM EVADES FORCIBLE ORDINATION TO A BISHOPRIC—THE TREATISE “ON
THE PRIESTHOOD.” A.D. 370, 371.
We now come to a curious passage in Chrysostom’s life; one in which
his conduct, from our moral standpoint, seems hardly justifiable. Yet
for one reason it is not to be regretted, since it was the originating
cause of his treatise “De Sacerdotio;” one of the ablest, most
instructive, and most eloquent works which he ever produced.
Bishop Meletius had been banished in A.D. 370 or 371. The Arian Emperor
Valens, who had expelled him, was about to take up his residence in
Antioch. It was desirable therefore, without loss of time, to fill up
some vacant sees in Syria. The attention of the bishops, clergy, and
people was turned to Chrysostom and Basil, as men well qualified for
the episcopal office.
According to a custom prevalent at that time, they might any day be
seized and compelled, however reluctant, to accept the dignity. So St.
Augustine was dragged, weeping, by the people before the bishop, and
his immediate ordination demanded by them, regardless of his tears.[74]
So St. Martin, Bishop of Tours, was torn from his cell, and conveyed
under a guard to his ordination.[75] The two friends were filled with
apprehension and alarm. Basil implored Chrysostom that they might act
in concert at the present crisis, and together accept or together evade
or resist the expected but unwelcome honour.
Chrysostom affected to consent to this proposal, but in reality
determined to act otherwise. He regarded himself as totally unworthy
and incompetent to fill so sacred and responsible an office; but
considering Basil to be far more advanced in learning and piety, he
resolved that the Church should not, through his own weakness, lose
the services of his friend. Accordingly, when popular report proved
correct, and some emissaries from the electing body were sent to carry
off the young men (much, it would seem from Chrysostom’s account,
as policemen might arrest a prisoner), Chrysostom contrived to hide
himself. Basil, less wary, was captured, and imagined that Chrysostom
had already submitted; for the emissaries acted with subtlety when
he tried to resist them. They affected surprise that he should make
so violent a resistance, when his companion, who had the reputation
of a hotter temper, had yielded so mildly to the decision of the
Fathers.[76] Thus Basil was led to suppose that Chrysostom had already
submitted; and when he discovered too late the artifice of his friend
and his captors, he bitterly remonstrated with Chrysostom upon his
treacherous conduct. “The character of them both,” he complained, “was
compromised by this division in their counsels.” “You should have told
us where your friend was hidden,” said some, “and then we should have
contrived some means of capturing him;” to which poor Basil was ashamed
to reply that he had been ignorant of his friend’s concealment, lest
such a confession should cast a suspicion of unreality over the whole
of their supposed intimacy. “Chrysostom, on his side, was accused of
haughtiness and vanity for declining so great a dignity; though others
said that the electors deserved a still greater dishonour and defeat
for appointing over the heads of wiser, holier, and older men, mere
lads,[77] who had been but yesterday immersed in secular pursuits; that
they might now for a little while knit their brows, and go arrayed
in sombre robes and affect a grave countenance.”[78] Basil begged
Chrysostom for an explanation of his motives in this proceeding. “After
all their mutual protestations of indivisible friendship, he had been
suddenly cast off and turned adrift, like a vessel without ballast, to
encounter alone the angry tempests of the world. To whom should he now
turn for sympathy and aid in the trials to which he would surely be
exposed from slander, ribaldry, and insolence? The one who might have
helped him stood coldly aloof, and would be unable even to hear his
cries for assistance.”[79]
We may be strongly disposed to sympathise with the disconsolate Basil.
But the conscience of Chrysostom appears to have been quite at ease
from first to last in this transaction. He regarded it as a “pious
fraud.” “When he beheld the mingled distress and displeasure of his
friend, he could not refrain from laughing for joy, and thanking God
for the successful issue of his plan.”[80] In the ensuing discussion
he boldly asserted the principle that deceit claims our admiration
when practised in a good cause and from a good motive. The greatest
successes in war, he argues, have been achieved through stratagem, as
well as by fair fighting in the open field; and, of the two, the first
are most to be admired, because they are gained without bloodshed,
and are triumphs of mental rather than bodily force.[81] But, retorts
poor Basil, I was not an enemy, and ought not to have been dealt
with as such. “True, my excellent friend,” replies Chrysostom, “but
this kind of fraud may sometimes be exercised towards our dearest
acquaintance.” “Physicians were often obliged to employ some artifice
to make refractory patients submit to their remedies. Once a man in a
raging fever resisted all the febrifugal draughts administered to him,
and loudly called for wine. The physician darkened the room, steeped
a warm oyster shell in wine, then filled it with water, and put it to
the patient’s lips, who eagerly swallowed the draught, believing it,
from the smell, to be wine.”[82] In the same category of justifiable
stratagem he places, not very discriminatingly, the circumcision of
Timothy by St. Paul, in order to conciliate the Jews, and St. Paul’s
observance of the ceremonial law at Jerusalem (Acts xxi. 26), for the
same purpose. Such contrivances he calls instances, not of treachery,
but of “good management” (οἰκονομία). There is something highly
Oriental, and alien to our Western moral sense, in the sophistical tone
of this whole discussion. If Basil really submitted to such arguments,
he was easily vanquished. He says, however, no more about the injustice
of his treatment, but, apparently accepting Chrysostom’s position that
for a useful purpose deceit is justifiable, he begs to be informed
“what advantage Chrysostom thought he had procured for himself or his
friend by this piece of management, or good policy, or whatever he
pleased to call it.”
The remaining books on the Priesthood are occupied with the answer
to this inquiry. The line which Chrysostom takes is to point out the
pre-eminent dignity, difficulty, and danger of the priestly office, and
then to enlarge upon the peculiar fitness of his friend to discharge
its duties.[83] “What advantage could be greater than to be engaged
in that work which Christ had declared with his own lips to be the
special sign of love to Himself? For when He put the question three
times to the leader of the apostles (κορυφαῖος), ‘Lovest thou me?’ and
had been answered by a fervent asseveration of attachment, he added
each time, ‘Feed my sheep,’ or ‘Feed my lambs.’ ‘Lovest thou me _more_
than these?’ had been the question, and the charge which followed it
had been always, ‘Feed my sheep;’ not, If thou lovest Me, practise
fasting, or incessant vigils, and sleep on the bare ground, or protect
the injured and be to the orphans as a father, and to their mother
as a husband; no, he passes by all these things, and says, ‘Feed my
sheep.’ Could his friend, therefore, complain that he had done ill in
compassing, even by fraud, his dedication to so glorious an office?[84]
As for himself, it was obvious that he could not have refused so great
an honour out of haughty contempt or disrespect to the electors. On
the contrary, it was when he considered the exceeding sanctity and
magnitude of the position, and its awful responsibilities—the heavenly
purity, the burning love towards God and man, the sound wisdom and
judgment, and moderation of temper required in those who were dedicated
to it—that his heart failed him. He felt himself utterly incompetent
and unworthy for so arduous a task. If some unskilled person were
suddenly to be called upon to take charge of a ship laden with a costly
freight, he would immediately refuse; and in like manner he himself
dared not risk by his present inexperience the safety of that vessel
which was laden with the precious merchandise of souls.[85] Vain-glory,
indeed, and pride would have induced him not to reject, but to covet,
so transcendent a dignity. The office of priest was discharged indeed
on earth, yet it held a place among heavenly ranks. And rightly;
for neither man, nor angel, nor archangel, nor created power of any
kind, but the Paraclete Himself, ordained this ministry. Therefore,
it became one who entered the priesthood to be as pure as if he had
already taken his stand in heaven itself among the powers above. ‘When
thou seest the Lord lying slain, and the priest standing and praying
over the sacrifice, when thou seest all sprinkled with that precious
blood, dost thou deem thyself still among men, still standing upon
this earth? art thou not rather transported immediately to heaven,
and, every carnal imagination being cast out, dost thou not, with
soul unveiled and pure mind, behold the things which are in heaven?
O miracle! O the goodness of God! He who is sitting with the Father
is yet at that hour held in the hands of all, and gives Himself to be
embraced and grasped by those who desire it. And this all do through
the eye of faith. Do these things seem to you to merit contempt? does
it seem possible to you that any one should be so elated as to slight
them?’[86]
“Human nature possessed in the priesthood a power which had not been
committed by God to angels or archangels; for to none of _them_ had it
been said, ‘Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth or loose on earth shall
be bound or loosed in heaven.’ Was it possible to conceive that any
one should think lightly of such a gift? Away with such madness!—for
stark madness it would be to despise so great an authority, without
which it was not possible for man to obtain salvation, or the good
things promised to him. For if it were impossible for any one to enter
into the kingdom of heaven, except he were born again of water and
the Spirit; and if he who did not eat the flesh of the Lord and drink
his blood was ejected from life eternal, and if these things were
administered by none but the consecrated hands of the priest, how would
any one, apart from them, be able to escape the fire of hell, or obtain
the crown laid up for him?”[87]
There are, perhaps, no passages elsewhere in Chrysostom expressed in
such a lofty sacerdotal tone; but it must be remembered that on any
supposition as to the date of this treatise, he was young when it was
composed, holding therefore, as on the subject of monasticism, more
enthusiastic, highly-wrought opinions than he afterwards entertained;
and moreover, that the whole treatise is written in a somewhat vehement
and excited style, as by one who was maintaining a position against an
antagonist.
Having proved that his evasion of the episcopal office could have
arisen from no spirit of pride, but from a consciousness of his
infirmity and incapacity, he proceeds to point out the manifold and
peculiar dangers which encompassed it. “Vain-glory was a rock more
fatal than the Sirens. Many a priest was shipwrecked there, and torn to
pieces by the fierce monsters which dwelt upon it—wrath, despondency,
envy, strife, slander, falsehood, hypocrisy, love of praise, and a
multitude more. Often he became the slave and flatterer of great
people, even of women who had most improperly mixed themselves up with
ecclesiastical affairs, and especially exercised great influence in the
elections.”[88]
The scenes, indeed, which often took place about this period at the
elections to bishoprics occasioned much scandal to the Church. In
earlier times, when the Christians were less numerous, more simple in
their habits, more unanimous,—when liability to persecution deterred
the indifferent, or pretenders, from their ranks,—the episcopal
office could be no object of worldly ambition. The clergy and the
people elected their bishop; and the fairness and simplicity with
which the election was usually conducted won the admiration of the
Emperor Alexander Severus.[89] But when Christianity was recognised
by the State, a bishopric in towns of importance became a position
of high dignity; and warm debates, often fierce tumults, attended
the election of candidates. Up to the time of Justinian at least, the
whole Christian population of the city or region over which the bishop
was to preside possessed a right to elect. Their choice was subject to
the approval of the bishops, and the confirmation of the metropolitan
of the province; but, on the other hand, neither the bishops nor the
metropolitan could legally obtrude a candidate of their own upon the
people. A charge brought against Hilary of Arles was, that he ordained
several bishops against the will and consent of the people. A just and
legitimate ordination, according to Cyprian, was one which had been
examined by the suffrage and judgment of all, both clergy and people.
Such, he observes, was the election of Cornelius to the see of Rome in
A.D. 251.[90] If the people were unanimous, there were loud cries of
ἄξιος, _dignus_, ἀνάξιος, _indignus_, as the case might be; but if they
were divided, it was usual for the metropolitan to give the preference
to the choice of the majority; or, if they appeared equally divided,
the metropolitan and his synod selected a man indifferent, if possible,
to both parties. Occasionally also, as in the case of Nectarius, the
predecessor of Chrysostom in the see of Constantinople, the Emperor
interposed, and appointed one chosen by himself. Sanguinary often
were the tumults which attended contested elections. The greater the
city, the greater the strife. In the celebrated contest for the see of
Rome in A.D. 366, between Damasus and Ursicinus, there was much hard
fighting and copious bloodshed. Damasus, with a furious and motley mob,
broke into the Julian Basilica, where Ursicinus was being consecrated
by Paul, Bishop of Tibur, and violently stopped the proceedings. Frays
of this kind lasted for some time. On one occasion, one hundred and
thirty dead bodies strewed the pavement of the Basilica of Licinius
till Damasus at last won the day. It is especially mentioned that
the ladies of Rome favoured his side.[91] It seems scarcely possible
to doubt that as these events must have been fresh in Chrysostom’s
recollection, he must be specially referring to them when, insisting on
freedom from ambition as one grand qualification for the priesthood,
he says “that he will pass by, lest they should seem incredible, the
tales of murders perpetrated in churches, and havoc wrought in cities
by contentions for bishoprics;” and when also he alludes indignantly
to the interference of women in the elections. “The elections,” he
says, “were generally made on public festivals, and were disgraceful
scenes of party feeling and intrigue. The clergy and the people were
never unanimous. The really important qualifications for the office
were seldom considered. Ambitious men spared no arts of bribery or
flattery by which to obtain places for themselves in the Church,
and to keep them when obtained. One candidate for a bishopric was
recommended to the electors because he belonged to a distinguished
family; another because he was wealthy, and would not burden the funds
of the Church.”[92] The provocations to ambition and worldly glory were
so great, both in the acquisition and in the exercise of the episcopal
office, that Chrysostom says he had “determined partly for these
reasons to avoid the snare.”[93] He shrank also from many other trials
incident to the office. There were always persons ready to detect and
magnify the slightest mistake or transgression in a priest. One little
error could not be retrieved by a multitude of successes, but darkened
the man’s whole life; for a kind of immaculate purity was exacted by
popular opinion of a priest, as if he were not a being of flesh and
blood, or subject to human passions. Often his brethren, the clergy,
were the most active in spreading mischievous reports about him, hoping
to rise themselves upon his ruin; like avaricious sons waiting for
their father’s death. Too often St. Paul’s description of the sympathy
between the several parts of the Christian body was inverted. ‘If one
member suffered, all the others rejoiced; if one member rejoiced, the
others suffered pain.’ A bishop had need be as impervious to slander
and envy as the three children in the burning fiery furnace.[94] What
a rare and difficult combination of qualities was required for the
efficient discharge of his duties in the face of such difficulties!
‘He must be dignified, yet not haughty; formidable, yet affable;
commanding, yet sociable; strictly impartial, yet courteous; lowly,
but not subservient; strong, yet gentle; promoting the worthy in spite
of all opposition, and with equal authority rejecting the unworthy,
though pushed forward by the favour of all; looking always to one
thing only—the welfare of the Church; doing nothing out of animosity
or partiality.’[95] The behaviour also of a priest in ordinary society
was jealously criticised. The flock were not satisfied unless he was
constantly paying calls. Not the sick only, but the sound desired to be
‘looked after’ (ἐπισκοπεῖσθαι),—not so much from any religious feeling,
as because the reception of such visits gratified their sense of their
own importance. Yet if a bishop often visited the house of a wealthy or
distinguished man to interest him in some design for the advantage of
the Church, he would soon be stigmatised as a parasitical flatterer.
Even the manner of his greetings to acquaintance in the streets was
criticised: ‘He smiled cordially on Mr. Such-an-one, and talked much
with him; but to me he only threw a commonplace remark.’”[96]
It is amusing and instructive to read these observations. They prove
what important personages bishops had become. The interests of the
people were violently excited over their elections. They were subjected
to the mingled reverence, deference, and court, criticism, scandal,
and gossip, which are the inevitable lot of all persons who occupy an
exalted position in the world.
In the fourth book Chrysostom speaks of some of the more mental
qualifications indispensable for a priest. Foremost among these was a
power of speaking: “That was the one grand instrument which enabled
him to heal the diseases of the body intrusted to his care. And, in
addition to this, he must be armed with a prompt and versatile wit, to
encounter the various assaults of heretics. Jews, Greeks, Manichæans,
Sabellians, Arians, all were narrowly watching for the smallest
loophole by which to force a breach in the walls of the Church. And,
unless the defender was very vigilant and skilful, while he was
keeping out the one he would let in the other. While he opposed the
blind deference of the Jews to their Mosaic Law, he must take care
not to encourage the Manichæans, who would eliminate the Law from
the Scriptures. While he asserted the Unity of the Godhead against
the Arians, there was danger of slipping into the Sabellian error of
confounding the Persons; and, while he divided the Persons against the
Sabellians, he must be careful to avoid the Arian error of dividing the
substance also. The line of orthodoxy was a narrow path hemmed in by
steep rocks on either side. Therefore it was of the deepest importance
that the priest should be a learned and effective speaker, that he
might not fall into error himself or lead others astray. For, if he
was seen to be worsted in a controversy with heretics, many became
alienated from the truth, mistaking the weakness of the defender for a
weakness in the cause itself.”[97]
“But there was yet another task fraught with peril—the delivery of
sermons. The performances of a preacher were discussed by a curious and
critical public like those of actors. Congregations attached themselves
to their favourite preachers. Woe to the man who was detected in
plagiarisms! He was instantly reprobated like a common thief.
“To become an effective preacher two things were necessary: first,
indifference to praise; secondly, power of speech; two qualities, the
one moral, the other intellectual, which were rarely found coexisting.
If a man possessed the first only, he became distasteful and despicable
to his congregation; for if he stood up and at first boldly uttered
powerful words which stung the consciences of his hearers, but, as he
proceeded, began to blush and hesitate and stumble, all the advantage
of his previous remarks would be wasted. The persons, who had secretly
felt annoyed by his telling reproofs would revenge themselves by
laughing at his embarrassment in speaking. If, on the other hand,
he was a weighty speaker, but not indifferent to applause, he would
probably trim his sails to catch the popular breeze, and study to be
pleasant rather than profitable, to the great detriment of himself and
of his flock.”[98]
He makes some remarks eminently wise and true on the necessity of
study for the preparation of sermons. “It might seem strange, but in
truth study was even more indispensable for an eloquent than for an
ordinary preacher. Speaking was an acquired art, and when a man had
attained a high standard of excellence he was sure to decline unless
he kept himself up by constant study. The man of reputation was always
expected to say something new, and even in excess of the fame which
he had already acquired. Men sat in judgment on him without mercy, as
if he were not a human being subject to occasional despondency, or
anxiety, or irritation of temper; but as if he were an angel or some
infallible being, who ought always to remain at the same high level
of excellence. The mediocre man, on the other hand, from whom much was
not expected, would obtain a disproportionate amount of praise if he
said a good thing now and then.[99] The number of persons, however, in
any congregation, who were capable of appreciating a really learned
and powerful preacher, was very small; therefore a man ought not to
be much disheartened or annoyed by unfavourable criticisms. He should
be his own critic, aiming in all his work to win the favour of God.
Then, if the admiration of men followed, he would quietly accept it;
or, if withheld, he would not be distressed, but seek his consolation
in honest work and in a conscience void of offence.[100] But if a
priest was not superior to the love of admiration, all his labour
and eloquence would be wasted; either he would sacrifice truth to
popularity, or, failing to obtain so much applause as he desired, he
would relax his efforts. This last was a common defect in men whose
powers of preaching were only second-rate. Perceiving that even the
highly gifted could not sustain their reputation without incessant
study and practice, while they themselves, by the most strenuous
efforts, could gain but a very slender meed of praise, if any, they
abandoned themselves to indolence. The trial was especially great when
a man was surpassed in preaching by one who occupied an inferior rank
in the hierarchy, and who perhaps took every opportunity of parading
his superior powers. A kind of passion for listening to preaching
possessed, he says, both Pagans and Christians at this time; hence it
was very mortifying for a man to see a congregation looking forward to
the termination of his discourse, while to his rival they listened with
the utmost patience and attention, and were vexed only when his sermon
had come to an end.”[101]
In the sixth book, Chrysostom enlarges on the dangers and trials which
beset the priest as compared with the tranquillity and security of the
monk—that life to which he still felt himself powerfully attracted.
“‘Who watch for your souls as they that must give an account.’ The
dread of the responsibility implied in that saying constantly agitated
his mind. For if it were better to be drowned in the sea than to offend
one of the little ones of Christ’s flock, what punishment must they
undergo who destroyed not one or two but a whole multitude?”[102] “Much
worldly wisdom was required in the priest; he must be conversant with
secular affairs, and adapt himself with versatility to all kinds of
circumstances and men; and yet he ought to keep his spirit as free, as
unfettered by worldly interests and ambitions as the hermit dwelling on
the mountains.”[103]
The trials, indeed, which beset the priest so far exceeded those of
the monk, that Chrysostom considered the monastery, on the whole, a
bad school for active clerical life. “The monk lived in a calm; there
was little to oppose or thwart him. The skill of the pilot could not
be known till he had taken the helm in the open sea amidst rough
weather. Too many of those who had passed from the seclusion of the
cloister to the active sphere of the priest or bishop proved utterly
incapable of coping with the difficulties of their new situation.
They lost their head (ἰλιγγιῶσιν), and, often, instead of adding to
their virtue, were deprived of the good qualities which they already
possessed. Monasticism often served as a screen to failings which the
circumstances of active life drew out, just as the qualities of metal
were tested by the action of fire.”[104]
Chrysostom concludes by saying that he was conscious of his own
infirmities; the irritability of his temper, his liability to
violent emotions, his susceptibility to praise and blame. All such
evil passions could, with the help of God’s grace, be tamed by the
severe treatment of the monastic life; like savage beasts who must
be kept on low fare. But in the public life of a priest they would
rage with incontrollable fury, because all would be pampered to the
full—vain-glory by honour and praise, pride by authority, envy by
the reputation of other men, bad temper by perpetual provocations,
covetousness by the liberality of donors to the Church, intemperance
by luxurious living.[105] He bids Basil picture the most implacable
and deadly contest between earthly forces which his imagination could
draw, and declares that this would but faintly express the conflict
between the soul and evil in the spiritual warfare of the world. “Many
accidents might put an end to earthly combat, at least for a time—the
approach of night, the fatigue of the combatants, the necessity of
taking food and sleep. But in the spiritual conflict there were no
breathing spaces. A man must always have his harness on his back, or he
would be surprised by the enemy.”[106]
It is not surprising that Basil, after the fearful responsibilities
and perils of his new dignity had been thus powerfully set before him,
should declare that his trouble now was not so much how to answer the
accusers of Chrysostom as to defend himself before God. He besought his
friend to promise that he would continue to support and advise him in
all emergencies. Chrysostom replied that as far as it was possible he
would do so; but that he doubted not Christ, who had called Basil to
this good work, would enable him to discharge it with boldness. They
wept, embraced, and parted. And so Basil went forth to the unwelcome
honours and trials of his bishopric, while Chrysostom continued to lead
that monastic kind of life which was only a preparatory step to the
monastery itself. His friendship with Basil is curious and romantic.
Their intercourse was brought to a singular conclusion by the stratagem
of Chrysostom. Basil may have, according to his own earnest request,
continued to consult his friend in any difficulty or distress; but he
is never mentioned again. Although so intimately bound up with this
passage in Chrysostom’s life, there is something indistinct and shadowy
about his whole existence. He flits across the scene for a few moments,
and then disappears totally and for ever.
The books on the Priesthood may be regarded as containing partly a real
account of an actual conversation between the two friends. But, as in
the dialogues of Plato, far more was probably added by the writer, so
that in parts the dialogue is only a form into which the opinions of
the author at the time of composition were cast. It is impossible to
decide with certainty the exact time at which the treatise may have
been written. It is not likely to have been later than his diaconate
in 381,[107] but more probably[108] the work may be assigned to the
six years of leisure spent in the seclusion of the monastery and
mountains—that is, to the period between Basil’s election to the
bishopric, and his own ordination as deacon. The treatise reads like
the production of one who had acquired considerable experience of
monastic life; who had deliberately calculated its advantages on the
one hand, and, on the other, had keenly observed and seriously weighed
the temptations and difficulties which attended the more secular career
of priest or bishop. It is a more mature work than the Epistles to
Theodore, and is free from such rapturous and excessive praise of the
ascetic life as they contain.
NOTE TO FOREGOING CHAPTER.
It may excite surprise that men so young as Chrysostom
and Basil, the former at least being not more than
twenty-five or twenty-six, and not as yet ordained
deacon, should have been designated to the highest
office in the Church. The Council of Neocæsarea (about
A.D. 320—_vide_ Hefele, vol. i., Clark’s transl. p. 222)
fixed thirty as the age at which men became eligible for
the priesthood. The same age, then, at least, must have
been required for a bishop.
The Constitutions called Apostolical fix the age at
fifty, but add a clause which really lets in all the
exceptions, “unless he be a man of singular merit and
worth, which may compensate for the want of years.” And,
in fact, there are numerous instances of men, both before
and after the time of Chrysostom, who were consecrated as
bishops under the age of thirty. The Council of Nice was
held not more than twenty years after the persecution of
Maximian, which Athanasius (Epist. ad Solitar., p. 382,
Paris edition) says he had only heard of from his father,
yet in five months after that Council he was ordained
Archbishop of Alexandria. Remigius of Rheims was only
twenty-two when he was made bishop, in A.D. 471. In like
manner, though it was enacted by the Council of Sardica,
A.D. 343-344, that none should rise to the Episcopal
throne _per saltum_, yet there are not a few examples of
this rule being transgressed.
Augustine, when he created a See at Fassula, presented
Antonius, a reader (the very position Chrysostom now
filled) to the Primate, who ordained him without scruple
on Augustine’s recommendation (Aug. Ep. 261, ad Cælest.).
Cyprian, Ambrose, and Nestorius are celebrated instances
of the consecration of laymen to bishoprics.