In consequence of this opinion, it was the first but arduous duty

of a Christian to preserve himself pure and undefiled by the

practice of idolatry. The religion of the nations was not merely

a speculative doctrine professed in the schools or preached in

the temples. The innumerable deities and rites of polytheism were

closely interwoven with every circumstance of business or

pleasure, of public or of private life, and it seemed impossible

to escape the observance of them, without, at the same time,

renouncing the commerce of mankind, and all the offices and

amusements of society. The important transactions of peace and

war were prepared or concluded by solemn sacrifices, in which the

magistrate, the senator, and the soldier, were obliged to preside

or to participate. The public spectacles were an essential part

of the cheerful devotion of the Pagans, and the gods were

supposed to accept, as the most grateful offering, the games that

the prince and people celebrated in honor of their peculiar

festivals. The Christians, who with pious horror avoided the

abomination of the circus or the theatre, found himself

encompassed with infernal snares in every convivial

entertainment, as often as his friends, invoking the hospitable

deities, poured out libations to each other’s happiness. When the

bride, struggling with well-affected reluctance, was forced in

hymenæal pomp over the threshold of her new habitation, or when

the sad procession of the dead slowly moved towards the funeral

pile, the Christian, on these interesting occasions, was

compelled to desert the persons who were the dearest to him,

rather than contract the guilt inherent to those impious

ceremonies. Every art and every trade that was in the least

concerned in the framing or adorning of idols was polluted by the

stain of idolatry; a severe sentence, since it devoted to eternal

misery the far greater part of the community, which is employed

in the exercise of liberal or mechanic professions. If we cast

our eyes over the numerous remains of antiquity, we shall

perceive, that besides the immediate representations of the gods,

and the holy instruments of their worship, the elegant forms and

agreeable fictions consecrated by the imagination of the Greeks,

were introduced as the richest ornaments of the houses, the

dress, and the furniture of the Pagans. Even the arts of music

and painting, of eloquence and poetry, flowed from the same

impure origin. In the style of the fathers, Apollo and the Muses

were the organs of the infernal spirit; Homer and Virgil were the

most eminent of his servants; and the beautiful mythology which

pervades and animates the compositions of their genius, is

destined to celebrate the glory of the dæmons. Even the common

language of Greece and Rome abounded with familiar but impious

expressions, which the imprudent Christian might too carelessly

utter, or too patiently hear.

The dangerous temptations which on every side lurked in ambush to

surprise the unguarded believer, assailed him with redoubled

violence on the days of solemn festivals. So artfully were they

framed and disposed throughout the year, that superstition always

wore the appearance of pleasure, and often of virtue. Some of the

most sacred festivals in the Roman ritual were destined to salute

the new calends of January with vows of public and private

felicity; to indulge the pious remembrance of the dead and

living; to ascertain the inviolable bounds of property; to hail,

on the return of spring, the genial powers of fecundity; to

perpetuate the two memorable æras of Rome, the foundation of the

city and that of the republic; and to restore, during the humane

license of the Saturnalia, the primitive equality of mankind.

Some idea may be conceived of the abhorrence of the Christians

for such impious ceremonies, by the scrupulous delicacy which

they displayed on a much less alarming occasion. On days of

general festivity it was the custom of the ancients to adorn

their doors with lamps and with branches of laurel, and to crown

their heads with a garland of flowers. This innocent and elegant

practice might perhaps have been tolerated as a mere civil

institution. But it most unluckily happened that the doors were

under the protection of the household gods, that the laurel was

sacred to the lover of Daphne, and that garlands of flowers,

though frequently worn as a symbol either of joy or mourning, had

been dedicated in their first origin to the service of

superstition. The trembling Christians, who were persuaded in

this instance to comply with the fashion of their country, and

the commands of the magistrate, labored under the most gloomy

apprehensions, from the reproaches of his own conscience, the

censures of the church, and the denunciations of divine

vengeance.

Such was the anxious diligence which was required to guard the

chastity of the gospel from the infectious breath of idolatry.

The superstitious observances of public or private rites were

carelessly practised, from education and habit, by the followers

of the established religion. But as often as they occurred, they

afforded the Christians an opportunity of declaring and

confirming their zealous opposition. By these frequent

protestations their attachment to the faith was continually

fortified; and in proportion to the increase of zeal, they

combated with the more ardor and success in the holy war, which

they had undertaken against the empire of the demons.

II. The writings of Cicero represent in the most lively colors

the ignorance, the errors, and the uncertainty of the ancient

philosophers with regard to the immortality of the soul. When

they are desirous of arming their disciples against the fear of

death, they inculcate, as an obvious though melancholy position,

that the fatal stroke of our dissolution releases us from the

calamities of life; and that those can no longer suffer, who no

longer exist. Yet there were a few sages of Greece and Rome who

had conceived a more exalted, and, in some respects, a juster

idea of human nature, though it must be confessed, that in the

sublime inquiry, their reason had been often guided by their

imagination, and that their imagination had been prompted by

their vanity. When they viewed with complacency the extent of

their own mental powers, when they exercised the various

faculties of memory, of fancy, and of judgment, in the most

profound speculations, or the most important labors, and when

they reflected on the desire of fame, which transported them into

future ages, far beyond the bounds of death and of the grave,

they were unwilling to confound themselves with the beasts of the

field, or to suppose that a being, for whose dignity they

entertained the most sincere admiration, could be limited to a

spot of earth, and to a few years of duration. With this

favorable prepossession they summoned to their aid the science,

or rather the language, of Metaphysics. They soon discovered,

that as none of the properties of matter will apply to the

operations of the mind, the human soul must consequently be a

substance distinct from the body, pure, simple, and spiritual,

incapable of dissolution, and susceptible of a much higher degree

of virtue and happiness after the release from its corporeal

prison. From these specious and noble principles, the

philosophers who trod in the footsteps of Plato deduced a very

unjustifiable conclusion, since they asserted, not only the

future immortality, but the past eternity, of the human soul,

which they were too apt to consider as a portion of the infinite

and self-existing spirit, which pervades and sustains the

universe. A doctrine thus removed beyond the senses and the

experience of mankind might serve to amuse the leisure of a

philosophic mind; or, in the silence of solitude, it might

sometimes impart a ray of comfort to desponding virtue; but the

faint impression which had been received in the schools was soon

obliterated by the commerce and business of active life. We are

sufficiently acquainted with the eminent persons who flourished

in the age of Cicero and of the first Cæsars, with their actions,

their characters, and their motives, to be assured that their

conduct in this life was never regulated by any serious

conviction of the rewards or punishments of a future state. At

the bar and in the senate of Rome the ablest orators were not

apprehensive of giving offence to their hearers by exposing that

doctrine as an idle and extravagant opinion, which was rejected

with contempt by every man of a liberal education and

understanding.

Since therefore the most sublime efforts of philosophy can extend

no further than feebly to point out the desire, the hope, or, at

most, the probability, of a future state, there is nothing,

except a divine revelation, that can ascertain the existence and

describe the condition, of the invisible country which is

destined to receive the souls of men after their separation from

the body. But we may perceive several defects inherent to the

popular religions of Greece and Rome, which rendered them very

unequal to so arduous a task. 1. The general system of their

mythology was unsupported by any solid proofs; and the wisest

among the Pagans had already disclaimed its usurped authority. 2.

The description of the infernal regions had been abandoned to the

fancy of painters and of poets, who peopled them with so many

phantoms and monsters, who dispensed their rewards and

punishments with so little equity, that a solemn truth, the most

congenial to the human heart, was oppressed and disgraced by the

absurd mixture of the wildest fictions. 3. The doctrine of a

future state was scarcely considered among the devout polytheists

of Greece and Rome as a fundamental article of faith. The

providence of the gods, as it related to public communities

rather than to private individuals, was principally displayed on

the visible theatre of the present world. The petitions which

were offered on the altars of Jupiter or Apollo expressed the

anxiety of their worshippers for temporal happiness, and their

ignorance or indifference concerning a future life. The important

truth of the immortality of the soul was inculcated with more

diligence, as well as success, in India, in Assyria, in Egypt,

and in Gaul; and since we cannot attribute such a difference to

the superior knowledge of the barbarians, we must ascribe it to

the influence of an established priesthood, which employed the

motives of virtue as the instrument of ambition.

We might naturally expect that a principle so essential to

religion, would have been revealed in the clearest terms to the

chosen people of Palestine, and that it might safely have been

intrusted to the hereditary priesthood of Aaron. It is incumbent

on us to adore the mysterious dispensations of Providence, when

we discover that the doctrine of the immortality of the soul is

omitted in the law of Moses; it is darkly insinuated by the

prophets; and during the long period which elapsed between the

Egyptian and the Babylonian servitudes, the hopes as well as

fears of the Jews appear to have been confined within the narrow

compass of the present life. After Cyrus had permitted the exiled

nation to return into the promised land, and after Ezra had

restored the ancient records of their religion, two celebrated

sects, the Sadducees and the Pharisees, insensibly arose at

Jerusalem. The former, selected from the more opulent and

distinguished ranks of society, were strictly attached to the

literal sense of the Mosaic law, and they piously rejected the

immortality of the soul, as an opinion that received no

countenance from the divine book, which they revered as the only

rule of their faith. To the authority of Scripture the Pharisees

added that of tradition, and they accepted, under the name of

traditions, several speculative tenets from the philosophy or

religion of the eastern nations. The doctrines of fate or

predestination, of angels and spirits, and of a future state of

rewards and punishments, were in the number of these new articles

of belief; and as the Pharisees, by the austerity of their

manners, had drawn into their party the body of the Jewish

people, the immortality of the soul became the prevailing

sentiment of the synagogue, under the reign of the Asmonæan

princes and pontiffs. The temper of the Jews was incapable of

contenting itself with such a cold and languid assent as might

satisfy the mind of a Polytheist; and as soon as they admitted

the idea of a future state, they embraced it with the zeal which

has always formed the characteristic of the nation. Their zeal,

however, added nothing to its evidence, or even probability: and

it was still necessary that the doctrine of life and immortality,

which had been dictated by nature, approved by reason, and

received by superstition, should obtain the sanction of divine

truth from the authority and example of Christ.

When the promise of eternal happiness was proposed to mankind on

condition of adopting the faith, and of observing the precepts,

of the gospel, it is no wonder that so advantageous an offer

should have been accepted by great numbers of every religion, of

every rank, and of every province in the Roman empire. The

ancient Christians were animated by a contempt for their present

existence, and by a just confidence of immortality, of which the

doubtful and imperfect faith of modern ages cannot give us any

adequate notion. In the primitive church, the influence of truth

was very powerfully strengthened by an opinion, which, however it

may deserve respect for its usefulness and antiquity, has not

been found agreeable to experience. It was universally believed,

that the end of the world, and the kingdom of heaven, were at

hand. * The near approach of this wonderful event had been

predicted by the apostles; the tradition of it was preserved by

their earliest disciples, and those who understood in their

literal senses the discourse of Christ himself, were obliged to

expect the second and glorious coming of the Son of Man in the

clouds, before that generation was totally extinguished, which

had beheld his humble condition upon earth, and which might still

be witness of the calamities of the Jews under Vespasian or

Hadrian. The revolution of seventeen centuries has instructed us

not to press too closely the mysterious language of prophecy and

revelation; but as long as, for wise purposes, this error was

permitted to subsist in the church, it was productive of the most

salutary effects on the faith and practice of Christians, who

lived in the awful expectation of that moment, when the globe

itself, and all the various race of mankind, should tremble at

the appearance of their divine Judge.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion.—Part IV.

The ancient and popular doctrine of the Millennium was intimately

connected with the second coming of Christ. As the works of the

creation had been finished in six days, their duration in their

present state, according to a tradition which was attributed to

the prophet Elijah, was fixed to six thousand years. By the same

analogy it was inferred, that this long period of labor and

contention, which was now almost elapsed, would be succeeded by a

joyful Sabbath of a thousand years; and that Christ, with the

triumphant band of the saints and the elect who had escaped

death, or who had been miraculously revived, would reign upon

earth till the time appointed for the last and general

resurrection. So pleasing was this hope to the mind of believers,

that the _New Jerusalem_, the seat of this blissful kingdom, was

quickly adorned with all the gayest colors of the imagination. A

felicity consisting only of pure and spiritual pleasure would

have appeared too refined for its inhabitants, who were still

supposed to possess their human nature and senses. A garden of

Eden, with the amusements of the pastoral life, was no longer

suited to the advanced state of society which prevailed under the

Roman empire. A city was therefore erected of gold and precious

stones, and a supernatural plenty of corn and wine was bestowed

on the adjacent territory; in the free enjoyment of whose

spontaneous productions the happy and benevolent people was never

to be restrained by any jealous laws of exclusive property. The

assurance of such a Millennium was carefully inculcated by a

succession of fathers from Justin Martyr, and Irenæus, who

conversed with the immediate disciples of the apostles, down to

Lactantius, who was preceptor to the son of Constantine. Though

it might not be universally received, it appears to have been the

reigning sentiment of the orthodox believers; and it seems so

well adapted to the desires and apprehensions of mankind, that it

must have contributed in a very considerable degree to the

progress of the Christian faith. But when the edifice of the

church was almost completed, the temporary support was laid

aside. The doctrine of Christ’s reign upon earth was at first

treated as a profound allegory, was considered by degrees as a

doubtful and useless opinion, and was at length rejected as the

absurd invention of heresy and fanaticism. A mysterious prophecy,

which still forms a part of the sacred canon, but which was

thought to favor the exploded sentiment, has very narrowly

escaped the proscription of the church.

Whilst the happiness and glory of a temporal reign were promised

to the disciples of Christ, the most dreadful calamities were

denounced against an unbelieving world. The edification of a new

Jerusalem was to advance by equal steps with the destruction of

the mystic Babylon; and as long as the emperors who reigned

before Constantine persisted in the profession of idolatry, the

epithet of babylon was applied to the city and to the empire of

Rome. A regular series was prepared of all the moral and physical

evils which can afflict a flourishing nation; intestine discord,

and the invasion of the fiercest barbarians from the unknown

regions of the North; pestilence and famine, comets and eclipses,

earthquakes and inundations. All these were only so many

preparatory and alarming signs of the great catastrophe of Rome,

when the country of the Scipios and Cæsars should be consumed by

a flame from Heaven, and the city of the seven hills, with her

palaces, her temples, and her triumphal arches, should be buried

in a vast lake of fire and brimstone. It might, however, afford

some consolation to Roman vanity, that the period of their empire

would be that of the world itself; which, as it had once perished

by the element of water, was destined to experience a second and

a speedy destruction from the element of fire. In the opinion of

a general conflagration, the faith of the Christian very happily

coincided with the tradition of the East, the philosophy of the

Stoics, and the analogy of Nature; and even the country, which,

from religious motives, had been chosen for the origin and

principal scene of the conflagration, was the best adapted for

that purpose by natural and physical causes; by its deep caverns,

beds of sulphur, and numerous volcanoes, of which those of Ætna,

of Vesuvius, and of Lipari, exhibit a very imperfect

representation. The calmest and most intrepid sceptic could not

refuse to acknowledge that the destruction of the present system

of the world by fire was in itself extremely probable. The

Christian, who founded his belief much less on the fallacious

arguments of reason than on the authority of tradition and the

interpretation of Scripture, expected it with terror and

confidence as a certain and approaching event; and as his mind

was perpetually filled with the solemn idea, he considered every

disaster that happened to the empire as an infallible symptom of

an expiring world.

The condemnation of the wisest and most virtuous of the Pagans,

on account of their ignorance or disbelief of the divine truth,

seems to offend the reason and the humanity of the present age.

But the primitive church, whose faith was of a much firmer

consistence, delivered over, without hesitation, to eternal

torture, the far greater part of the human species. A charitable

hope might perhaps be indulged in favor of Socrates, or some

other sages of antiquity, who had consulted the light of reason

before that of the gospel had arisen. But it was unanimously

affirmed, that those who, since the birth or the death of Christ,

had obstinately persisted in the worship of the dæmons, neither

deserved nor could expect a pardon from the irritated justice of

the Deity. These rigid sentiments, which had been unknown to the

ancient world, appear to have infused a spirit of bitterness into

a system of love and harmony. The ties of blood and friendship

were frequently torn asunder by the difference of religious

faith; and the Christians, who, in this world, found themselves

oppressed by the power of the Pagans, were sometimes seduced by

resentment and spiritual pride to delight in the prospect of

their future triumph. “You are fond of spectacles,” exclaims the

stern Tertullian; “expect the greatest of all spectacles, the

last and eternal judgment of the universe. How shall I admire,

how laugh, how rejoice, how exult, when I behold so many proud

monarchs, so many fancied gods, groaning in the lowest abyss of

darkness; so many magistrates, who persecuted the name of the

Lord, liquefying in fiercer fires than they ever kindled against

the Christians; so many sage philosophers blushing in red-hot

flames with their deluded scholars; so many celebrated poets

trembling before the tribunal, not of Minos, but of Christ; so

many tragedians, more tuneful in the expression of their own

sufferings; so many dancers.” * But the humanity of the reader

will permit me to draw a veil over the rest of this infernal

description, which the zealous African pursues in a long variety

of affected and unfeeling witticisms.

Doubtless there were many among the primitive Christians of a

temper more suitable to the meekness and charity of their

profession. There were many who felt a sincere compassion for the

danger of their friends and countrymen, and who exerted the most

benevolent zeal to save them from the impending destruction. The

careless Polytheist, assailed by new and unexpected terrors,

against which neither his priests nor his philosophers could

afford him any certain protection, was very frequently terrified

and subdued by the menace of eternal tortures. His fears might

assist the progress of his faith and reason; and if he could once

persuade himself to suspect that the Christian religion might

possibly be true, it became an easy task to convince him that it

was the safest and most prudent party that he could possibly

embrace.

III. The supernatural gifts, which even in this life were

ascribed to the Christians above the rest of mankind, must have

conduced to their own comfort, and very frequently to the

conviction of infidels. Besides the occasional prodigies, which

might sometimes be effected by the immediate interposition of the

Deity when he suspended the laws of Nature for the service of

religion, the Christian church, from the time of the apostles and

their first disciples, has claimed an uninterrupted succession of

miraculous powers, the gift of tongues, of vision, and of

prophecy, the power of expelling dæmons, of healing the sick, and

of raising the dead. The knowledge of foreign languages was

frequently communicated to the contemporaries of Irenæus, though

Irenæus himself was left to struggle with the difficulties of a

barbarous dialect, whilst he preached the gospel to the natives

of Gaul. The divine inspiration, whether it was conveyed in the

form of a waking or of a sleeping vision, is described as a favor

very liberally bestowed on all ranks of the faithful, on women as

on elders, on boys as well as upon bishops. When their devout

minds were sufficiently prepared by a course of prayer, of

fasting, and of vigils, to receive the extraordinary impulse,

they were transported out of their senses, and delivered in

ecstasy what was inspired, being mere organs of the Holy Spirit,

just as a pipe or flute is of him who blows into it. We may add,

that the design of these visions was, for the most part, either

to disclose the future history, or to guide the present

administration, of the church. The expulsion of the dæmons from

the bodies of those unhappy persons whom they had been permitted

to torment, was considered as a signal though ordinary triumph of

religion, and is repeatedly alleged by the ancient apologists, as

the most convincing evidence of the truth of Christianity. The

awful ceremony was usually performed in a public manner, and in

the presence of a great number of spectators; the patient was

relieved by the power or skill of the exorcist, and the

vanquished dæmon was heard to confess that he was one of the

fabled gods of antiquity, who had impiously usurped the adoration

of mankind. But the miraculous cure of diseases of the most

inveterate or even preternatural kind can no longer occasion any

surprise, when we recollect, that in the days of Irenæus, about

the end of the second century, the resurrection of the dead was

very far from being esteemed an uncommon event; that the miracle

was frequently performed on necessary occasions, by great fasting

and the joint supplication of the church of the place, and that

the persons thus restored to their prayers had lived afterwards

among them many years. At such a period, when faith could boast

of so many wonderful victories over death, it seems difficult to

account for the scepticism of those philosophers, who still

rejected and derided the doctrine of the resurrection. A noble

Grecian had rested on this important ground the whole

controversy, and promised Theophilus, Bishop of Antioch, that if

he could be gratified with the sight of a single person who had

been actually raised from the dead, he would immediately embrace

the Christian religion. It is somewhat remarkable, that the

prelate of the first eastern church, however anxious for the

conversion of his friend, thought proper to decline this fair and

reasonable challenge.

The miracles of the primitive church, after obtaining the

sanction of ages, have been lately attacked in a very free and

ingenious inquiry, which, though it has met with the most

favorable reception from the public, appears to have excited a

general scandal among the divines of our own as well as of the

other Protestant churches of Europe. Our different sentiments on

this subject will be much less influenced by any particular

arguments, than by our habits of study and reflection; and, above

all, by the degree of evidence which we have accustomed ourselves

to require for the proof of a miraculous event. The duty of an

historian does not call upon him to interpose his private

judgment in this nice and important controversy; but he ought not

to dissemble the difficulty of adopting such a theory as may

reconcile the interest of religion with that of reason, of making

a proper application of that theory, and of defining with

precision the limits of that happy period, exempt from error and

from deceit, to which we might be disposed to extend the gift of

supernatural powers. From the first of the fathers to the last of

the popes, a succession of bishops, of saints, of martyrs, and of

miracles, is continued without interruption; and the progress of

superstition was so gradual, and almost imperceptible, that we

know not in what particular link we should break the chain of

tradition. Every age bears testimony to the wonderful events by

which it was distinguished, and its testimony appears no less

weighty and respectable than that of the preceding generation,

till we are insensibly led on to accuse our own inconsistency, if

in the eighth or in the twelfth century we deny to the venerable

Bede, or to the holy Bernard, the same degree of confidence

which, in the second century, we had so liberally granted to

Justin or to Irenæus. If the truth of any of those miracles is

appreciated by their apparent use and propriety, every age had

unbelievers to convince, heretics to confute, and idolatrous

nations to convert; and sufficient motives might always be

produced to justify the interposition of Heaven. And yet, since

every friend to revelation is persuaded of the reality, and every

reasonable man is convinced of the cessation, of miraculous

powers, it is evident that there must have been _some period_ in

which they were either suddenly or gradually withdrawn from the

Christian church. Whatever æra is chosen for that purpose, the

death of the apostles, the conversion of the Roman empire, or the

extinction of the Arian heresy, the insensibility of the

Christians who lived at that time will equally afford a just

matter of surprise. They still supported their pretensions after

they had lost their power. Credulity performed the office of

faith; fanaticism was permitted to assume the language of

inspiration, and the effects of accident or contrivance were

ascribed to supernatural causes. The recent experience of genuine

miracles should have instructed the Christian world in the ways

of Providence, and habituated their eye (if we may use a very

inadequate expression) to the style of the divine artist. Should

the most skilful painter of modern Italy presume to decorate his

feeble imitations with the name of Raphael or of Correggio, the

insolent fraud would be soon discovered, and indignantly

rejected.

Whatever opinion may be entertained of the miracles of the

primitive church since the time of the apostles, this unresisting

softness of temper, so conspicuous among the believers of the

second and third centuries, proved of some accidental benefit to

the cause of truth and religion. In modern times, a latent and

even involuntary scepticism adheres to the most pious

dispositions. Their admission of supernatural truths is much less

an active consent than a cold and passive acquiescence.

Accustomed long since to observe and to respect the invariable

order of Nature, our reason, or at least our imagination, is not

sufficiently prepared to sustain the visible action of the Deity.

But, in the first ages of Christianity, the situation of mankind

was extremely different. The most curious, or the most credulous,

among the Pagans, were often persuaded to enter into a society

which asserted an actual claim of miraculous powers. The

primitive Christians perpetually trod on mystic ground, and their

minds were exercised by the habits of believing the most

extraordinary events. They felt, or they fancied, that on every

side they were incessantly assaulted by dæmons, comforted by

visions, instructed by prophecy, and surprisingly delivered from

danger, sickness, and from death itself, by the supplications of

the church. The real or imaginary prodigies, of which they so

frequently conceived themselves to be the objects, the

instruments, or the spectators, very happily disposed them to

adopt with the same ease, but with far greater justice, the

authentic wonders of the evangelic history; and thus miracles

that exceeded not the measure of their own experience, inspired

them with the most lively assurance of mysteries which were

acknowledged to surpass the limits of their understanding. It is

this deep impression of supernatural truths which has been so

much celebrated under the name of faith; a state of mind

described as the surest pledge of the divine favor and of future

felicity, and recommended as the first, or perhaps the only merit

of a Christian. According to the more rigid doctors, the moral

virtues, which may be equally practised by infidels, are

destitute of any value or efficacy in the work of our

justification.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion.—Part V.

IV. But the primitive Christian demonstrated his faith by his

virtues; and it was very justly supposed that the divine

persuasion, which enlightened or subdued the understanding, must,

at the same time, purify the heart, and direct the actions, of

the believer. The first apologists of Christianity who justify

the innocence of their brethren, and the writers of a later

period who celebrate the sanctity of their ancestors, display, in

the most lively colors, the reformation of manners which was

introduced into the world by the preaching of the gospel. As it

is my intention to remark only such human causes as were

permitted to second the influence of revelation, I shall slightly

mention two motives which might naturally render the lives of the

primitive Christians much purer and more austere than those of

their Pagan contemporaries, or their degenerate successors;

repentance for their past sins, and the laudable desire of

supporting the reputation of the society in which they were

engaged. *

It is a very ancient reproach, suggested by the ignorance or the

malice of infidelity, that the Christians allured into their

party the most atrocious criminals, who, as soon as they were

touched by a sense of remorse, were easily persuaded to wash

away, in the water of baptism, the guilt of their past conduct,

for which the temples of the gods refused to grant them any

expiation. But this reproach, when it is cleared from

misrepresentation, contributes as much to the honor as it did to

the increase of the church. The friends of Christianity may

acknowledge without a blush that many of the most eminent saints

had been before their baptism the most abandoned sinners. Those

persons, who in the world had followed, though in an imperfect

manner, the dictates of benevolence and propriety, derived such a

calm satisfaction from the opinion of their own rectitude, as

rendered them much less susceptible of the sudden emotions of

shame, of grief, and of terror, which have given birth to so many

wonderful conversions. After the example of their divine Master,

the missionaries of the gospel disdained not the society of men,

and especially of women, oppressed by the consciousness, and very

often by the effects, of their vices. As they emerged from sin

and superstition to the glorious hope of immortality, they

resolved to devote themselves to a life, not only of virtue, but

of penitence. The desire of perfection became the ruling passion

of their soul; and it is well known that, while reason embraces a

cold mediocrity, our passions hurry us, with rapid violence, over

the space which lies between the most opposite extremes.

When the new converts had been enrolled in the number of the

faithful, and were admitted to the sacraments of the church, they

found themselves restrained from relapsing into their past

disorders by another consideration of a less spiritual, but of a

very innocent and respectable nature. Any particular society that

has departed from the great body of the nation, or the religion

to which it belonged, immediately becomes the object of universal

as well as invidious observation. In proportion to the smallness

of its numbers, the character of the society may be affected by

the virtues and vices of the persons who compose it; and every

member is engaged to watch with the most vigilant attention over

his own behavior, and over that of his brethren, since, as he

must expect to incur a part of the common disgrace, he may hope

to enjoy a share of the common reputation. When the Christians of

Bithynia were brought before the tribunal of the younger Pliny,

they assured the proconsul, that, far from being engaged in any

unlawful conspiracy, they were bound by a solemn obligation to

abstain from the commission of those crimes which disturb the

private or public peace of society, from theft, robbery,

adultery, perjury, and fraud. Near a century afterwards,

Tertullian, with an honest pride, could boast, that very few

Christians had suffered by the hand of the executioner, except on

account of their religion. Their serious and sequestered life,

averse to the gay luxury of the age, inured them to chastity,

temperance, economy, and all the sober and domestic virtues. As

the greater number were of some trade or profession, it was

incumbent on them, by the strictest integrity and the fairest

dealing, to remove the suspicions which the profane are too apt

to conceive against the appearances of sanctity. The contempt of

the world exercised them in the habits of humility, meekness, and

patience. The more they were persecuted, the more closely they

adhered to each other. Their mutual charity and unsuspecting

confidence has been remarked by infidels, and was too often

abused by perfidious friends.

It is a very honorable circumstance for the morals of the

primitive Christians, that even their faults, or rather errors,

were derived from an excess of virtue. The bishops and doctors of

the church, whose evidence attests, and whose authority might

influence, the professions, the principles, and even the practice

of their contemporaries, had studied the Scriptures with less

skill than devotion; and they often received, in the most literal

sense, those rigid precepts of Christ and the apostles, to which

the prudence of succeeding commentators has applied a looser and

more figurative mode of interpretation. Ambitious to exalt the

perfection of the gospel above the wisdom of philosophy, the

zealous fathers have carried the duties of self-mortification, of

purity, and of patience, to a height which it is scarcely

possible to attain, and much less to preserve, in our present

state of weakness and corruption. A doctrine so extraordinary and

so sublime must inevitably command the veneration of the people;

but it was ill calculated to obtain the suffrage of those worldly

philosophers who, in the conduct of this transitory life, consult

only the feelings of nature and the interest of society.

There are two very natural propensities which we may distinguish

in the most virtuous and liberal dispositions, the love of

pleasure and the love of action. If the former is refined by art

and learning, improved by the charms of social intercourse, and

corrected by a just regard to economy, to health, and to

reputation, it is productive of the greatest part of the

happiness of private life. The love of action is a principle of a

much stronger and more doubtful nature. It often leads to anger,

to ambition, and to revenge; but when it is guided by the sense

of propriety and benevolence, it becomes the parent of every

virtue, and if those virtues are accompanied with equal

abilities, a family, a state, or an empire may be indebted for

their safety and prosperity to the undaunted courage of a single

man. To the love of pleasure we may therefore ascribe most of the

agreeable, to the love of action we may attribute most of the

useful and respectable, qualifications. The character in which

both the one and the other should be united and harmonized would

seem to constitute the most perfect idea of human nature. The

insensible and inactive disposition, which should be supposed

alike destitute of both, would be rejected, by the common consent

of mankind, as utterly incapable of procuring any happiness to

the individual, or any public benefit to the world. But it was

not in this world that the primitive Christians were desirous of

making themselves either agreeable or useful. *

The acquisition of knowledge, the exercise of our reason or

fancy, and the cheerful flow of unguarded conversation, may

employ the leisure of a liberal mind. Such amusements, however,

were rejected with abhorrence, or admitted with the utmost

caution, by the severity of the fathers, who despised all

knowledge that was not useful to salvation, and who considered

all levity of discours as a criminal abuse of the gift of speech.

In our present state of existence the body is so inseparably

connected with the soul, that it seems to be our interest to

taste, with innocence and moderation, the enjoyments of which

that faithful companion is susceptible. Very different was the

reasoning of our devout predecessors; vainly aspiring to imitate

the perfection of angels, they disdained, or they affected to

disdain, every earthly and corporeal delight. Some of our senses

indeed are necessary for our preservation, others for our

subsistence, and others again for our information; and thus far

it was impossible to reject the use of them. The first sensation

of pleasure was marked as the first moment of their abuse. The

unfeeling candidate for heaven was instructed, not only to resist

the grosser allurements of the taste or smell, but even to shut

his ears against the profane harmony of sounds, and to view with

indifference the most finished productions of human art. Gay

apparel, magnificent houses, and elegant furniture, were supposed

to unite the double guilt of pride and of sensuality; a simple

and mortified appearance was more suitable to the Christian who

was certain of his sins and doubtful of his salvation. In their

censures of luxury the fathers are extremely minute and

circumstantial; and among the various articles which excite their

pious indignation we may enumerate false hair, garments of any

color except white, instruments of music, vases of gold or

silver, downy pillows, (as Jacob reposed his head on a stone,)

white bread, foreign wines, public salutations, the use of warm

baths, and the practice of shaving the beard, which, according to

the expression of Tertullian, is a lie against our own faces, and

an impious attempt to improve the works of the Creator. When

Christianity was introduced among the rich and the polite, the

observation of these singular laws was left, as it would be at

present, to the few who were ambitious of superior sanctity. But

it is always easy, as well as agreeable, for the inferior ranks

of mankind to claim a merit from the contempt of that pomp and

pleasure which fortune has placed beyond their reach. The virtue

of the primitive Christians, like that of the first Romans, was

very frequently guarded by poverty and ignorance.

The chaste severity of the fathers, in whatever related to the

commerce of the two sexes, flowed from the same principle; their

abhorrence of every enjoyment which might gratify the sensual,

and degrade the spiritual nature of man. It was their favorite

opinion, that if Adam had preserved his obedience to the Creator,

he would have lived forever in a state of virgin purity, and that

some harmless mode of vegetation might have peopled paradise with

a race of innocent and immortal beings. The use of marriage was

permitted only to his fallen posterity, as a necessary expedient

to continue the human species, and as a restraint, however

imperfect, on the natural licentiousness of desire. The

hesitation of the orthodox casuists on this interesting subject,

betrays the perplexity of men, unwilling to approve an

institution which they were compelled to tolerate. The

enumeration of the very whimsical laws, which they most

circumstantially imposed on the marriage-bed, would force a smile

from the young and a blush from the fair. It was their unanimous

sentiment that a first marriage was adequate to all the purposes

of nature and of society. The sensual connection was refined into

a resemblance of the mystic union of Christ with his church, and

was pronounced to be indissoluble either by divorce or by death.

The practice of second nuptials was branded with the name of a

legal adultery; and the persons who were guilty of so scandalous

an offence against Christian purity, were soon excluded from the

honors, and even from the alms, of the church. Since desire was

imputed as a crime, and marriage was tolerated as a defect, it

was consistent with the same principles to consider a state of

celibacy as the nearest approach to the divine perfection. It was

with the utmost difficulty that ancient Rome could support the

institution of six vestals; but the primitive church was filled

with a number of persons of either sex, who had devoted

themselves to the profession of perpetual chastity. A few of

these, among whom we may reckon the learned Origen, judged it the

most prudent to disarm the tempter. Some were insensible and some

were invincible against the assaults of the flesh. Disdaining an

ignominious flight, the virgins of the warm climate of Africa

encountered the enemy in the closest engagement; they permitted

priests and deacons to share their bed, and gloried amidst the

flames in their unsullied purity. But insulted Nature sometimes

vindicated her rights, and this new species of martyrdom served

only to introduce a new scandal into the church. Among the

Christian ascetics, however, (a name which they soon acquired

from their painful exercise,) many, as they were less

presumptuous, were probably more successful. The loss of sensual

pleasure was supplied and compensated by spiritual pride. Even

the multitude of Pagans were inclined to estimate the merit of

the sacrifice by its apparent difficulty; and it was in the

praise of these chaste spouses of Christ that the fathers have

poured forth the troubled stream of their eloquence. Such are the

early traces of monastic principles and institutions, which, in a

subsequent age, have counterbalanced all the temporal advantages

of Christianity.

The Christians were not less averse to the business than to the

pleasures of this world. The defence of our persons and property

they knew not how to reconcile with the patient doctrine which

enjoined an unlimited forgiveness of past injuries, and commanded

them to invite the repetition of fresh insults. Their simplicity

was offended by the use of oaths, by the pomp of magistracy, and

by the active contention of public life; nor could their humane

ignorance be convinced that it was lawful on any occasion to shed

the blood of our fellow-creatures, either by the sword of

justice, or by that of war; even though their criminal or hostile

attempts should threaten the peace and safety of the whole

community. It was acknowledged that, under a less perfect law,

the powers of the Jewish constitution had been exercised, with

the approbation of heaven, by inspired prophets and by anointed

kings. The Christians felt and confessed that such institutions

might be necessary for the present system of the world, and they

cheerfully submitted to the authority of their Pagan governors.

But while they inculcated the maxims of passive obedience, they

refused to take any active part in the civil administration or

the military defence of the empire. Some indulgence might,

perhaps, be allowed to those persons who, before their

conversion, were already engaged in such violent and sanguinary

occupations; but it was impossible that the Christians, without

renouncing a more sacred duty, could assume the character of

soldiers, of magistrates, or of princes. This indolent, or even

criminal disregard to the public welfare, exposed them to the

contempt and reproaches of the Pagans, who very frequently asked,

what must be the fate of the empire, attacked on every side by

the barbarians, if all mankind should adopt the pusillanimous

sentiments of the new sect. To this insulting question the

Christian apologists returned obscure and ambiguous answers, as

they were unwilling to reveal the secret cause of their security;

the expectation that, before the conversion of mankind was

accomplished, war, government, the Roman empire, and the world

itself, would be no more. It may be observed, that, in this

instance likewise, the situation of the first Christians

coincided very happily with their religious scruples, and that

their aversion to an active life contributed rather to excuse

them from the service, than to exclude them from the honors, of

the state and army.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion.—Part VI.

V. But the human character, however it may be exalted or

depressed by a temporary enthusiasm, will return by degrees to

its proper and natural level, and will resume those passions that

seem the most adapted to its present condition. The primitive

Christians were dead to the business and pleasures of the world;

but their love of action, which could never be entirely

extinguished, soon revived, and found a new occupation in the

government of the church. A separate society, which attacked the

established religion of the empire, was obliged to adopt some

form of internal policy, and to appoint a sufficient number of

ministers, intrusted not only with the spiritual functions, but

even with the temporal direction of the Christian commonwealth.

The safety of that society, its honor, its aggrandizement, were

productive, even in the most pious minds, of a spirit of

patriotism, such as the first of the Romans had felt for the

republic, and sometimes of a similar indifference, in the use of

whatever means might probably conduce to so desirable an end. The

ambition of raising themselves or their friends to the honors and

offices of the church, was disguised by the laudable intention of

devoting to the public benefit the power and consideration,

which, for that purpose only, it became their duty to solicit. In

the exercise of their functions, they were frequently called upon

to detect the errors of heresy or the arts of faction, to oppose

the designs of perfidious brethren, to stigmatize their

characters with deserved infamy, and to expel them from the bosom

of a society whose peace and happiness they had attempted to

disturb. The ecclesiastical governors of the Christians were

taught to unite the wisdom of the serpent with the innocence of

the dove; but as the former was refined, so the latter was

insensibly corrupted, by the habits of government. In the church

as well as in the world, the persons who were placed in any

public station rendered themselves considerable by their

eloquence and firmness, by their knowledge of mankind, and by

their dexterity in business; and while they concealed from

others, and perhaps from themselves, the secret motives of their

conduct, they too frequently relapsed into all the turbulent

passions of active life, which were tinctured with an additional

degree of bitterness and obstinacy from the infusion of spiritual

zeal.

The government of the church has often been the subject, as well

as the prize, of religious contention. The hostile disputants of

Rome, of Paris, of Oxford, and of Geneva, have alike struggled to

reduce the primitive and apostolic model to the respective

standards of their own policy. The few who have pursued this

inquiry with more candor and impartiality, are of opinion, that

the apostles declined the office of legislation, and rather chose

to endure some partial scandals and divisions, than to exclude

the Christians of a future age from the liberty of varying their

forms of ecclesiastical government according to the changes of

times and circumstances. The scheme of policy, which, under their

approbation, was adopted for the use of the first century, may be

discovered from the practice of Jerusalem, of Ephesus, or of

Corinth. The societies which were instituted in the cities of the

Roman empire were united only by the ties of faith and charity.

Independence and equality formed the basis of their internal

constitution. The want of discipline and human learning was

supplied by the occasional assistance of the _prophets_, who were

called to that function without distinction of age, of sex, * or

of natural abilities, and who, as often as they felt the divine

impulse, poured forth the effusions of the Spirit in the assembly

of the faithful. But these extraordinary gifts were frequently

abused or misapplied by the prophetic teachers. They displayed

them at an improper season, presumptuously disturbed the service

of the assembly, and, by their pride or mistaken zeal, they

introduced, particularly into the apostolic church of Corinth, a

long and melancholy train of disorders. As the institution of

prophets became useless, and even pernicious, their powers were

withdrawn, and their office abolished. The public functions of

religion were solely intrusted to the established ministers of

the church, the _bishops_ and the _presbyters_; two appellations

which, in their first origin, appear to have distinguished the

same office and the same order of persons. The name of Presbyter

was expressive of their age, or rather of their gravity and

wisdom. The title of Bishop denoted their inspection over the

faith and manners of the Christians who were committed to their

pastoral care. In proportion to the respective numbers of the

faithful, a larger or smaller number of these _episcopal_

_presbyters_ guided each infant congregation with equal authority

and with united counsels.

But the most perfect equality of freedom requires the directing

hand of a superior magistrate: and the order of public

deliberations soon introduces the office of a president, invested

at least with the authority of collecting the sentiments, and of

executing the resolutions, of the assembly. A regard for the

public tranquillity, which would so frequently have been

interrupted by annual or by occasional elections, induced the

primitive Christians to constitute an honorable and perpetual

magistracy, and to choose one of the wisest and most holy among

their presbyters to execute, during his life, the duties of their

ecclesiastical governor. It was under these circumstances that

the lofty title of Bishop began to raise itself above the humble

appellation of Presbyter; and while the latter remained the most

natural distinction for the members of every Christian senate,

the former was appropriated to the dignity of its new president.

The advantages of this episcopal form of government, which

appears to have been introduced before the end of the first

century, were so obvious, and so important for the future

greatness, as well as the present peace, of Christianity, that it

was adopted without delay by all the societies which were already

scattered over the empire, had acquired in a very early period

the sanction of antiquity, and is still revered by the most

powerful churches, both of the East and of the West, as a

primitive and even as a divine establishment. It is needless to

observe, that the pious and humble presbyters, who were first

dignified with the episcopal title, could not possess, and would

probably have rejected, the power and pomp which now encircles

the tiara of the Roman pontiff, or the mitre of a German prelate.

But we may define, in a few words, the narrow limits of their

original jurisdiction, which was chiefly of a spiritual, though

in some instances of a temporal nature. It consisted in the

administration of the sacraments and discipline of the church,

the superintendency of religious ceremonies, which imperceptibly

increased in number and variety, the consecration of

ecclesiastical ministers, to whom the bishop assigned their

respective functions, the management of the public fund, and the

determination of all such differences as the faithful were

unwilling to expose before the tribunal of an idolatrous judge.

These powers, during a short period, were exercised according to

the advice of the presbyteral college, and with the consent and

approbation of the assembly of Christians. The primitive bishops

were considered only as the first of their equals, and the

honorable servants of a free people. Whenever the episcopal chair

became vacant by death, a new president was chosen among the

presbyters by the suffrage of the whole congregation, every

member of which supposed himself invested with a sacred and

sacerdotal character.

Such was the mild and equal constitution by which the Christians

were governed more than a hundred years after the death of the

apostles. Every society formed within itself a separate and

independent republic; and although the most distant of these

little states maintained a mutual as well as friendly intercourse

of letters and deputations, the Christian world was not yet

connected by any supreme authority or legislative assembly. As

the numbers of the faithful were gradually multiplied, they

discovered the advantages that might result from a closer union

of their interest and designs. Towards the end of the second

century, the churches of Greece and Asia adopted the useful

institutions of provincial synods, * and they may justly be

supposed to have borrowed the model of a representative council

from the celebrated examples of their own country, the

Amphictyons, the Achæan league, or the assemblies of the Ionian

cities. It was soon established as a custom and as a law, that

the bishops of the independent churches should meet in the

capital of the province at the stated periods of spring and

autumn. Their deliberations were assisted by the advice of a few

distinguished presbyters, and moderated by the presence of a

listening multitude. Their decrees, which were styled Canons,

regulated every important controversy of faith and discipline;

and it was natural to believe that a liberal effusion of the Holy

Spirit would be poured on the united assembly of the delegates of

the Christian people. The institution of synods was so well

suited to private ambition, and to public interest, that in the

space of a few years it was received throughout the whole empire.

A regular correspondence was established between the provincial

councils, which mutually communicated and approved their

respective proceedings; and the catholic church soon assumed the

form, and acquired the strength, of a great fœderative republic.

As the legislative authority of the particular churches was

insensibly superseded by the use of councils, the bishops

obtained by their alliance a much larger share of executive and

arbitrary power; and as soon as they were connected by a sense of

their common interest, they were enabled to attack, with united

vigor, the original rights of their clergy and people. The

prelates of the third century imperceptibly changed the language

of exhortation into that of command, scattered the seeds of

future usurpations, and supplied, by scripture allegories and

declamatory rhetoric, their deficiency of force and of reason.

They exalted the unity and power of the church, as it was

represented in the episcopal office, of which every bishop

enjoyed an equal and undivided portion. Princes and magistrates,

it was often repeated, might boast an earthly claim to a

transitory dominion; it was the episcopal authority alone which

was derived from the Deity, and extended itself over this and

over another world. The bishops were the vicegerents of Christ,

the successors of the apostles, and the mystic substitutes of the

high priest of the Mosaic law. Their exclusive privilege of

conferring the sacerdotal character invaded the freedom both of

clerical and of popular elections; and if, in the administration

of the church, they still consulted the judgment of the

presbyters, or the inclination of the people, they most carefully

inculcated the merit of such a voluntary condescension. The

bishops acknowledged the supreme authority which resided in the

assembly of their brethren; but in the government of his peculiar

diocese, each of them exacted from his flock the same implicit

obedience as if that favorite metaphor had been literally just,

and as if the shepherd had been of a more exalted nature than

that of his sheep. This obedience, however, was not imposed

without some efforts on one side, and some resistance on the

other. The democratical part of the constitution was, in many

places, very warmly supported by the zealous or interested

opposition of the inferior clergy. But their patriotism received

the ignominious epithets of faction and schism; and the episcopal

cause was indebted for its rapid progress to the labors of many

active prelates, who, like Cyprian of Carthage, could reconcile

the arts of the most ambitious statesman with the Christian

virtues which seem adapted to the character of a saint and

martyr.

The same causes which at first had destroyed the equality of the

presbyters introduced among the bishops a preeminence of rank,

and from thence a superiority of jurisdiction. As often as in the

spring and autumn they met in provincial synod, the difference of

personal merit and reputation was very sensibly felt among the

members of the assembly, and the multitude was governed by the

wisdom and eloquence of the few. But the order of public

proceedings required a more regular and less invidious

distinction; the office of perpetual presidents in the councils

of each province was conferred on the bishops of the principal

city; and these aspiring prelates, who soon acquired the lofty

titles of Metropolitans and Primates, secretly prepared

themselves to usurp over their episcopal brethren the same

authority which the bishops had so lately assumed above the

college of presbyters. Nor was it long before an emulation of

preeminence and power prevailed among the Metropolitans

themselves, each of them affecting to display, in the most

pompous terms, the temporal honors and advantages of the city

over which he presided; the numbers and opulence of the

Christians who were subject to their pastoral care; the saints

and martyrs who had arisen among them; and the purity with which

they preserved the tradition of the faith, as it had been

transmitted through a series of orthodox bishops from the apostle

or the apostolic disciple, to whom the foundation of their church

was ascribed. From every cause, either of a civil or of an

ecclesiastical nature, it was easy to foresee that Rome must

enjoy the respect, and would soon claim the obedience, of the

provinces. The society of the faithful bore a just proportion to

the capital of the empire; and the Roman church was the greatest,

the most numerous, and, in regard to the West, the most ancient

of all the Christian establishments, many of which had received

their religion from the pious labors of her missionaries. Instead

of _one_apostolic founder, the utmost boast of Antioch, of

Ephesus, or of Corinth, the banks of the Tyber were supposed to

have been honored with the preaching and martyrdom of the _two_

most eminent among the apostles; and the bishops of Rome very

prudently claimed the inheritance of whatsoever prerogatives were

attributed either to the person or to the office of St. Peter.

The bishops of Italy and of the provinces were disposed to allow

them a primacy of order and association (such was their very

accurate expression) in the Christian aristocracy. But the power

of a monarch was rejected with abhorrence, and the aspiring

genius of Rome experienced from the nations of Asia and Africa a

more vigorous resistance to her spiritual, than she had formerly

done to her temporal, dominion. The patriotic Cyprian, who ruled

with the most absolute sway the church of Carthage and the

provincial synods, opposed with resolution and success the

ambition of the Roman pontiff, artfully connected his own cause

with that of the eastern bishops, and, like Hannibal, sought out

new allies in the heart of Asia. If this Punic war was carried on

without any effusion of blood, it was owing much less to the

moderation than to the weakness of the contending prelates.

Invectives and excommunications were _their_ only weapons; and

these, during the progress of the whole controversy, they hurled

against each other with equal fury and devotion. The hard

necessity of censuring either a pope, or a saint and martyr,

distresses the modern Catholics whenever they are obliged to

relate the particulars of a dispute in which the champions of

religion indulged such passions as seem much more adapted to the

senate or to the camp.

The progress of the ecclesiastical authority gave birth to the

memorable distinction of the laity and of the clergy, which had

been unknown to the Greeks and Romans. The former of these

appellations comprehended the body of the Christian people; the

latter, according to the signification of the word, was

appropriated to the chosen portion that had been set apart for

the service of religion; a celebrated order of men, which has

furnished the most important, though not always the most

edifying, subjects for modern history. Their mutual hostilities

sometimes disturbed the peace of the infant church, but their

zeal and activity were united in the common cause, and the love

of power, which (under the most artful disguises) could insinuate

itself into the breasts of bishops and martyrs, animated them to

increase the number of their subjects, and to enlarge the limits

of the Christian empire. They were destitute of any temporal

force, and they were for a long time discouraged and oppressed,

rather than assisted, by the civil magistrate; but they had

acquired, and they employed within their own society, the two

most efficacious instruments of government, rewards and

punishments; the former derived from the pious liberality, the

latter from the devout apprehensions, of the faithful.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion.—Part VII

I. The community of goods, which had so agreeably amused the

imagination of Plato, and which subsisted in some degree among

the austere sect of the Essenians, was adopted for a short time

in the primitive church. The fervor of the first proselytes

prompted them to sell those worldly possessions, which they

despised, to lay the price of them at the feet of the apostles,

and to content themselves with receiving an equal share out of

the general distribution. The progress of the Christian religion

relaxed, and gradually abolished, this generous institution,

which, in hands less pure than those of the apostles, would too

soon have been corrupted and abused by the returning selfishness

of human nature; and the converts who embraced the new religion

were permitted to retain the possession of their patrimony, to

receive legacies and inheritances, and to increase their separate

property by all the lawful means of trade and industry. Instead

of an absolute sacrifice, a moderate proportion was accepted by

the ministers of the gospel; and in their weekly or monthly

assemblies, every believer, according to the exigency of the

occasion, and the measure of his wealth and piety, presented his

voluntary offering for the use of the common fund. Nothing,

however inconsiderable, was refused; but it was diligently

inculcated that, in the article of Tithes, the Mosaic law was

still of divine obligation; and that since the Jews, under a less

perfect discipline, had been commanded to pay a tenth part of all

that they possessed, it would become the disciples of Christ to

distinguish themselves by a superior degree of liberality, and to

acquire some merit by resigning a superfluous treasure, which

must so soon be annihilated with the world itself. It is almost

unnecessary to observe, that the revenue of each particular

church, which was of so uncertain and fluctuating a nature, must

have varied with the poverty or the opulence of the faithful, as

they were dispersed in obscure villages, or collected in the

great cities of the empire. In the time of the emperor Decius, it

was the opinion of the magistrates, that the Christians of Rome

were possessed of very considerable wealth; that vessels of gold

and silver were used in their religious worship, and that many

among their proselytes had sold their lands and houses to

increase the public riches of the sect, at the expense, indeed,

of their unfortunate children, who found themselves beggars,

because their parents had been saints. We should listen with

distrust to the suspicions of strangers and enemies: on this

occasion, however, they receive a very specious and probable

color from the two following circumstances, the only ones that

have reached our knowledge, which define any precise sums, or

convey any distinct idea. Almost at the same period, the bishop

of Carthage, from a society less opulent than that of Rome,

collected a hundred thousand sesterces, (above eight hundred and

fifty pounds sterling,) on a sudden call of charity to redeem the

brethren of Numidia, who had been carried away captives by the

barbarians of the desert. About a hundred years before the reign

of Decius, the Roman church had received, in a single donation,

the sum of two hundred thousand sesterces from a stranger of

Pontus, who proposed to fix his residence in the capital. These

oblations, for the most part, were made in money; nor was the

society of Christians either desirous or capable of acquiring, to

any considerable degree, the encumbrance of landed property. It

had been provided by several laws, which were enacted with the

same design as our statutes of mortmain, that no real estates

should be given or bequeathed to any corporate body, without

either a special privilege or a particular dispensation from the

emperor or from the senate; who were seldom disposed to grant

them in favor of a sect, at first the object of their contempt,

and at last of their fears and jealousy. A transaction, however,

is related under the reign of Alexander Severus, which discovers

that the restraint was sometimes eluded or suspended, and that

the Christians were permitted to claim and to possess lands

within the limits of Rome itself. The progress of Christianity,

and the civil confusion of the empire, contributed to relax the

severity of the laws; and before the close of the third century

many considerable estates were bestowed on the opulent churches

of Rome, Milan, Carthage, Antioch, Alexandria, and the other

great cities of Italy and the provinces.

The bishop was the natural steward of the church; the public

stock was intrusted to his care without account or control; the

presbyters were confined to their spiritual functions, and the

more dependent order of the deacons was solely employed in the

management and distribution of the ecclesiastical revenue. If we

may give credit to the vehement declamations of Cyprian, there

were too many among his African brethren, who, in the execution

of their charge, violated every precept, not only of evangelical

perfection, but even of moral virtue. By some of these unfaithful

stewards the riches of the church were lavished in sensual

pleasures; by others they were perverted to the purposes of

private gain, of fraudulent purchases, and of rapacious usury.

But as long as the contributions of the Christian people were

free and unconstrained, the abuse of their confidence could not

be very frequent, and the general uses to which their liberality

was applied reflected honor on the religious society. A decent

portion was reserved for the maintenance of the bishop and his

clergy; a sufficient sum was allotted for the expenses of the

public worship, of which the feasts of love, the _agapæ_, as they

were called, constituted a very pleasing part. The whole

remainder was the sacred patrimony of the poor. According to the

discretion of the bishop, it was distributed to support widows

and orphans, the lame, the sick, and the aged of the community;

to comfort strangers and pilgrims, and to alleviate the

misfortunes of prisoners and captives, more especially when their

sufferings had been occasioned by their firm attachment to the

cause of religion. A generous intercourse of charity united the

most distant provinces, and the smaller congregations were

cheerfully assisted by the alms of their more opulent brethren.

Such an institution, which paid less regard to the merit than to

the distress of the object, very materially conduced to the

progress of Christianity. The Pagans, who were actuated by a

sense of humanity, while they derided the doctrines, acknowledged

the benevolence, of the new sect. The prospect of immediate

relief and of future protection allured into its hospitable bosom

many of those unhappy persons whom the neglect of the world would

have abandoned to the miseries of want, of sickness, and of old

age. There is some reason likewise to believe that great numbers

of infants, who, according to the inhuman practice of the times,

had been exposed by their parents, were frequently rescued from

death, baptized, educated, and maintained by the piety of the

Christians, and at the expense of the public treasure.

II. It is the undoubted right of every society to exclude from

its communion and benefits such among its members as reject or

violate those regulations which have been established by general

consent. In the exercise of this power, the censures of the

Christian church were chiefly directed against scandalous

sinners, and particularly those who were guilty of murder, of

fraud, or of incontinence; against the authors or the followers

of any heretical opinions which had been condemned by the

judgment of the episcopal order; and against those unhappy

persons, who, whether from choice or compulsion, had polluted

themselves after their baptism by any act of idolatrous worship.

The consequences of excommunication were of a temporal as well as

a spiritual nature. The Christian against whom it was pronounced

was deprived of any part in the oblations of the faithful. The

ties both of religious and of private friendship were dissolved:

he found himself a profane object of abhorrence to the persons

whom he the most esteemed, or by whom he had been the most

tenderly beloved; and as far as an expulsion from a respectable

society could imprint on his character a mark of disgrace, he was

shunned or suspected by the generality of mankind. The situation

of these unfortunate exiles was in itself very painful and

melancholy; but, as it usually happens, their apprehensions far

exceeded their sufferings. The benefits of the Christian

communion were those of eternal life; nor could they erase from

their minds the awful opinion, that to those ecclesiastical

governors by whom they were condemned, the Deity had committed

the keys of Hell and of Paradise. The heretics, indeed, who might

be supported by the consciousness of their intentions, and by the

flattering hope that they alone had discovered the true path of

salvation, endeavored to regain, in their separate assemblies,

those comforts, temporal as well as spiritual, which they no

longer derived from the great society of Christians. But almost

all those who had reluctantly yielded to the power of vice or

idolatry were sensible of their fallen condition, and anxiously

desirous of being restored to the benefits of the Christian

communion.

With regard to the treatment of these penitents, two opposite

opinions, the one of justice, the other of mercy, divided the

primitive church. The more rigid and inflexible casuists refused

them forever, and without exception, the meanest place in the

holy community, which they had disgraced or deserted; and leaving

them to the remorse of a guilty conscience, indulged them only

with a faint ray of hope that the contrition of their life and

death might possibly be accepted by the Supreme Being. A milder

sentiment was embraced, in practice as well as in theory, by the

purest and most respectable of the Christian churches. The gates

of reconciliation and of heaven were seldom shut against the

returning penitent; but a severe and solemn form of discipline

was instituted, which, while it served to expiate his crime,

might powerfully deter the spectators from the imitation of his

example. Humbled by a public confession, emaciated by fasting and

clothed in sackcloth, the penitent lay prostrate at the door of

the assembly, imploring with tears the pardon of his offences,

and soliciting the prayers of the faithful. If the fault was of a

very heinous nature, whole years of penance were esteemed an

inadequate satisfaction to the divine justice; and it was always

by slow and painful gradations that the sinner, the heretic, or

the apostate, was readmitted into the bosom of the church. A

sentence of perpetual excommunication was, however, reserved for

some crimes of an extraordinary magnitude, and particularly for

the inexcusable relapses of those penitents who had already

experienced and abused the clemency of their ecclesiastical

superiors. According to the circumstances or the number of the

guilty, the exercise of the Christian discipline was varied by

the discretion of the bishops. The councils of Ancyra and

Illiberis were held about the same time, the one in Galatia, the

other in Spain; but their respective canons, which are still

extant, seem to breathe a very different spirit. The Galatian,

who after his baptism had repeatedly sacrificed to idols, might

obtain his pardon by a penance of seven years; and if he had

seduced others to imitate his example, only three years more were

added to the term of his exile. But the unhappy Spaniard, who had

committed the same offence, was deprived of the hope of

reconciliation, even in the article of death; and his idolatry

was placed at the head of a list of seventeen other crimes,

against which a sentence no less terrible was pronounced. Among

these we may distinguish the inexpiable guilt of calumniating a

bishop, a presbyter, or even a deacon.

The well-tempered mixture of liberality and rigor, the judicious

dispensation of rewards and punishments, according to the maxims

of policy as well as justice, constituted the _human_ strength of

the church. The Bishops, whose paternal care extended itself to

the government of both worlds, were sensible of the importance of

these prerogatives; and covering their ambition with the fair

pretence of the love of order, they were jealous of any rival in

the exercise of a discipline so necessary to prevent the

desertion of those troops which had enlisted themselves under the

banner of the cross, and whose numbers every day became more

considerable. From the imperious declamations of Cyprian, we

should naturally conclude that the doctrines of excommunication

and penance formed the most essential part of religion; and that

it was much less dangerous for the disciples of Christ to neglect

the observance of the moral duties, than to despise the censures

and authority of their bishops. Sometimes we might imagine that

we were listening to the voice of Moses, when he commanded the

earth to open, and to swallow up, in consuming flames, the

rebellious race which refused obedience to the priesthood of

Aaron; and we should sometimes suppose that we heard a Roman

consul asserting the majesty of the republic, and declaring his

inflexible resolution to enforce the rigor of the laws. * “If

such irregularities are suffered with impunity,” (it is thus that

the bishop of Carthage chides the lenity of his colleague,) “if

such irregularities are suffered, there is an end of Episcopal

Vigor; an end of the sublime and divine power of governing the

Church, an end of Christianity itself.” Cyprian had renounced

those temporal honors which it is probable he would never have

obtained; * but the acquisition of such absolute command over the

consciences and understanding of a congregation, however obscure

or despised by the world, is more truly grateful to the pride of

the human heart than the possession of the most despotic power,

imposed by arms and conquest on a reluctant people.

In the course of this important, though perhaps tedious inquiry,

I have attempted to display the secondary causes which so

efficaciously assisted the truth of the Christian religion. If

among these causes we have discovered any artificial ornaments,

any accidental circumstances, or any mixture of error and

passion, it cannot appear surprising that mankind should be the

most sensibly affected by such motives as were suited to their

imperfect nature. It was by the aid of these causes, exclusive

zeal, the immediate expectation of another world, the claim of

miracles, the practice of rigid virtue, and the constitution of

the primitive church, that Christianity spread itself with so

much success in the Roman empire. To the first of these the

Christians were indebted for their invincible valor, which

disdained to capitulate with the enemy whom they were resolved to

vanquish. The three succeeding causes supplied their valor with

the most formidable arms. The last of these causes united their

courage, directed their arms, and gave their efforts that

irresistible weight, which even a small band of well-trained and

intrepid volunteers has so often possessed over an undisciplined

multitude, ignorant of the subject and careless of the event of

the war. In the various religions of Polytheism, some wandering

fanatics of Egypt and Syria, who addressed themselves to the

credulous superstition of the populace, were perhaps the only

order of priests that derived their whole support and credit from

their sacerdotal profession, and were very deeply affected by a

personal concern for the safety or prosperity of their tutelar

deities. The ministers of Polytheism, both in Rome and in the

provinces, were, for the most part, men of a noble birth, and of

an affluent fortune, who received, as an honorable distinction,

the care of a celebrated temple, or of a public sacrifice,

exhibited, very frequently at their own expense, the sacred

games, and with cold indifference performed the ancient rites,

according to the laws and fashion of their country. As they were

engaged in the ordinary occupations of life, their zeal and

devotion were seldom animated by a sense of interest, or by the

habits of an ecclesiastical character. Confined to their

respective temples and cities, they remained without any

connection of discipline or government; and whilst they

acknowledged the supreme jurisdiction of the senate, of the

college of pontiffs, and of the emperor, those civil magistrates

contented themselves with the easy task of maintaining in peace

and dignity the general worship of mankind. We have already seen

how various, how loose, and how uncertain were the religious

sentiments of Polytheists. They were abandoned, almost without

control, to the natural workings of a superstitious fancy. The

accidental circumstances of their life and situation determined

the object as well as the degree of their devotion; and as long

as their adoration was successively prostituted to a thousand

deities, it was scarcely possible that their hearts could be

susceptible of a very sincere or lively passion for any of them.

When Christianity appeared in the world, even these faint and

imperfect impressions had lost much of their original power.

Human reason, which by its unassisted strength is incapable of

perceiving the mysteries of faith, had already obtained an easy

triumph over the folly of Paganism; and when Tertullian or

Lactantius employ their labors in exposing its falsehood and

extravagance, they are obliged to transcribe the eloquence of

Cicero or the wit of Lucian. The contagion of these sceptical

writings had been diffused far beyond the number of their

readers. The fashion of incredulity was communicated from the

philosopher to the man of pleasure or business, from the noble to

the plebeian, and from the master to the menial slave who waited

at his table, and who eagerly listened to the freedom of his

conversation. On public occasions the philosophic part of mankind

affected to treat with respect and decency the religious

institutions of their country; but their secret contempt

penetrated through the thin and awkward disguise; and even the

people, when they discovered that their deities were rejected and

derided by those whose rank or understanding they were accustomed

to reverence, were filled with doubts and apprehensions

concerning the truth of those doctrines, to which they had

yielded the most implicit belief. The decline of ancient

prejudice exposed a very numerous portion of human kind to the

danger of a painful and comfortless situation. A state of

scepticism and suspense may amuse a few inquisitive minds. But

the practice of superstition is so congenial to the multitude,

that if they are forcibly awakened, they still regret the loss of

their pleasing vision. Their love of the marvellous and

supernatural, their curiosity with regard to future events, and

their strong propensity to extend their hopes and fears beyond

the limits of the visible world, were the principal causes which

favored the establishment of Polytheism. So urgent on the vulgar

is the necessity of believing, that the fall of any system of

mythology will most probably be succeeded by the introduction of

some other mode of superstition. Some deities of a more recent

and fashionable cast might soon have occupied the deserted

temples of Jupiter and Apollo, if, in the decisive moment, the

wisdom of Providence had not interposed a genuine revelation,

fitted to inspire the most rational esteem and conviction,

whilst, at the same time, it was adorned with all that could

attract the curiosity, the wonder, and the veneration of the

people. In their actual disposition, as many were almost

disengaged from their artificial prejudices, but equally

susceptible and desirous of a devout attachment; an object much

less deserving would have been sufficient to fill the vacant

place in their hearts, and to gratify the uncertain eagerness of

their passions. Those who are inclined to pursue this reflection,

instead of viewing with astonishment the rapid progress of

Christianity, will perhaps be surprised that its success was not

still more rapid and still more universal.

It has been observed, with truth as well as propriety, that the

conquests of Rome prepared and facilitated those of Christianity.

In the second chapter of this work we have attempted to explain

in what manner the most civilized provinces of Europe, Asia, and

Africa were united under the dominion of one sovereign, and

gradually connected by the most intimate ties of laws, of

manners, and of language. The Jews of Palestine, who had fondly

expected a temporal deliverer, gave so cold a reception to the

miracles of the divine prophet, that it was found unnecessary to

publish, or at least to preserve, any Hebrew gospel. The

authentic histories of the actions of Christ were composed in the

Greek language, at a considerable distance from Jerusalem, and

after the Gentile converts were grown extremely numerous. As soon

as those histories were translated into the Latin tongue, they

were perfectly intelligible to all the subjects of Rome,

excepting only to the peasants of Syria and Egypt, for whose

benefit particular versions were afterwards made. The public

highways, which had been constructed for the use of the legions,

opened an easy passage for the Christian missionaries from

Damascus to Corinth, and from Italy to the extremity of Spain or

Britain; nor did those spiritual conquerors encounter any of the

obstacles which usually retard or prevent the introduction of a

foreign religion into a distant country. There is the strongest

reason to believe, that before the reigns of Diocletian and

Constantine, the faith of Christ had been preached in every

province, and in all the great cities of the empire; but the

foundation of the several congregations, the numbers of the

faithful who composed them, and their proportion to the

unbelieving multitude, are now buried in obscurity, or disguised

by fiction and declamation. Such imperfect circumstances,

however, as have reached our knowledge concerning the increase of

the Christian name in Asia and Greece, in Egypt, in Italy, and in

the West, we shall now proceed to relate, without neglecting the

real or imaginary acquisitions which lay beyond the frontiers of

the Roman empire.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion.—Part VIII.

The rich provinces that extend from the Euphrates to the Ionian

Sea were the principal theatre on which the apostle of the

Gentiles displayed his zeal and piety. The seeds of the gospel,

which he had scattered in a fertile soil, were diligently

cultivated by his disciples; and it should seem that, during the

two first centuries, the most considerable body of Christians was

contained within those limits. Among the societies which were

instituted in Syria, none were more ancient or more illustrious

than those of Damascus, of Berea or Aleppo, and of Antioch. The

prophetic introduction of the Apocalypse has described and

immortalized the seven churches of Asia; Ephesus, Smyrna,

Pergamus, Thyatira, Sardes, Laodicea, and Philadelphia; and their

colonies were soon diffused over that populous country. In a very

early period, the islands of Cyprus and Crete, the provinces of

Thrace and Macedonia, gave a favorable reception to the new

religion; and Christian republics were soon founded in the cities

of Corinth, of Sparta, and of Athens. The antiquity of the Greek

and Asiatic churches allowed a sufficient space of time for their

increase and multiplication; and even the swarms of Gnostics and

other heretics serve to display the flourishing condition of the

orthodox church, since the appellation of heretics has always

been applied to the less numerous party. To these domestic

testimonies we may add the confession, the complaints, and the

apprehensions of the Gentiles themselves. From the writings of

Lucian, a philosopher who had studied mankind, and who describes

their manners in the most lively colors, we may learn that, under

the reign of Commodus, his native country of Pontus was filled

with Epicureans and _Christians_. Within fourscore years after

the death of Christ, the humane Pliny laments the magnitude of

the evil which he vainly attempted to eradicate. In his very

curious epistle to the emperor Trajan, he affirms that the

temples were almost deserted, that the sacred victims scarcely

found any purchasers, and that the superstition had not only

infected the cities, but had even spread itself into the villages

and the open country of Pontus and Bithynia.

Without descending into a minute scrutiny of the expressions or

of the motives of those writers who either celebrate or lament

the progress of Christianity in the East, it may in general be

observed that none of them have left us any grounds from whence a

just estimate might be formed of the real numbers of the faithful

in those provinces. One circumstance, however, has been

fortunately preserved, which seems to cast a more distinct light

on this obscure but interesting subject. Under the reign of

Theodosius, after Christianity had enjoyed, during more than

sixty years, the sunshine of Imperial favor, the ancient and

illustrious church of Antioch consisted of one hundred thousand

persons, three thousand of whom were supported out of the public

oblations. The splendor and dignity of the queen of the East, the

acknowledged populousness of Cæsarea, Seleucia, and Alexandria,

and the destruction of two hundred and fifty thousand souls in

the earthquake which afflicted Antioch under the elder Justin,

are so many convincing proofs that the whole number of its

inhabitants was not less than half a million, and that the

Christians, however multiplied by zeal and power, did not exceed

a fifth part of that great city. How different a proportion must

we adopt when we compare the persecuted with the triumphant

church, the West with the East, remote villages with populous

towns, and countries recently converted to the faith with the

place where the believers first received the appellation of

Christians! It must not, however, be dissembled, that, in another

passage, Chrysostom, to whom we are indebted for this useful

information, computes the multitude of the faithful as even

superior to that of the Jews and Pagans. But the solution of this

apparent difficulty is easy and obvious. The eloquent preacher

draws a parallel between the civil and the ecclesiastical

constitution of Antioch; between the list of Christians who had

acquired heaven by baptism, and the list of citizens who had a

right to share the public liberality. Slaves, strangers, and

infants were comprised in the former; they were excluded from the

latter.

The extensive commerce of Alexandria, and its proximity to

Palestine, gave an easy entrance to the new religion. It was at

first embraced by great numbers of the Theraputæ, or Essenians,

of the Lake Mareotis, a Jewish sect which had abated much of its

reverence for the Mosaic ceremonies. The austere life of the

Essenians, their fasts and excommunications, the community of

goods, the love of celibacy, their zeal for martyrdom, and the

warmth though not the purity of their faith, already offered a

very lively image of the primitive discipline. It was in the

school of Alexandria that the Christian theology appears to have

assumed a regular and scientific form; and when Hadrian visited

Egypt, he found a church composed of Jews and of Greeks,

sufficiently important to attract the notice of that inquisitive

prince. But the progress of Christianity was for a long time

confined within the limits of a single city, which was itself a

foreign colony, and till the close of the second century the

predecessors of Demetrius were the only prelates of the Egyptian

church. Three bishops were consecrated by the hands of Demetrius,

and the number was increased to twenty by his successor Heraclas.

The body of the natives, a people distinguished by a sullen

inflexibility of temper, entertained the new doctrine with

coldness and reluctance; and even in the time of Origen, it was

rare to meet with an Egyptian who had surmounted his early

prejudices in favor of the sacred animals of his country. As

soon, indeed, as Christianity ascended the throne, the zeal of

those barbarians obeyed the prevailing impulsion; the cities of

Egypt were filled with bishops, and the deserts of Thebais

swarmed with hermits.

A perpetual stream of strangers and provincials flowed into the

capacious bosom of Rome. Whatever was strange or odious, whoever

was guilty or suspected, might hope, in the obscurity of that

immense capital, to elude the vigilance of the law. In such a

various conflux of nations, every teacher, either of truth or

falsehood, every founder, whether of a virtuous or a criminal

association, might easily multiply his disciples or accomplices.

The Christians of Rome, at the time of the accidental persecution

of Nero, are represented by Tacitus as already amounting to a

very great multitude, and the language of that great historian is

almost similar to the style employed by Livy, when he relates the

introduction and the suppression of the rites of Bacchus. After

the Bacchanals had awakened the severity of the senate, it was

likewise apprehended that a very great multitude, as it were

_another people_, had been initiated into those abhorred

mysteries. A more careful inquiry soon demonstrated that the

offenders did not exceed seven thousand; a number indeed

sufficiently alarming, when considered as the object of public

justice. It is with the same candid allowance that we should

interpret the vague expressions of Tacitus, and in a former

instance of Pliny, when they exaggerate the crowds of deluded

fanatics who had forsaken the established worship of the gods.

The church of Rome was undoubtedly the first and most populous of

the empire; and we are possessed of an authentic record which

attests the state of religion in that city about the middle of

the third century, and after a peace of thirty-eight years. The

clergy, at that time, consisted of a bishop, forty-six

presbyters, seven deacons, as many sub-deacons, forty-two

acolythes, and fifty readers, exorcists, and porters. The number

of widows, of the infirm, and of the poor, who were maintained by

the oblations of the faithful, amounted to fifteen hundred. From

reason, as well as from the analogy of Antioch, we may venture to

estimate the Christians of Rome at about fifty thousand. The

populousness of that great capital cannot perhaps be exactly

ascertained; but the most modest calculation will not surely

reduce it lower than a million of inhabitants, of whom the

Christians might constitute at the most a twentieth part.

The western provincials appeared to have derived the knowledge of

Christianity from the same source which had diffused among them

the language, the sentiments, and the manners of Rome. In this

more important circumstance, Africa, as well as Gaul, was

gradually fashioned to the imitation of the capital. Yet

notwithstanding the many favorable occasions which might invite

the Roman missionaries to visit their Latin provinces, it was

late before they passed either the sea or the Alps; nor can we

discover in those great countries any assured traces either of

faith or of persecution that ascend higher than the reign of the

Antonines. The slow progress of the gospel in the cold climate of

Gaul was extremely different from the eagerness with which it

seems to have been received on the burning sands of Africa. The

African Christians soon formed one of the principal members of

the primitive church. The practice introduced into that province

of appointing bishops to the most inconsiderable towns, and very

frequently to the most obscure villages, contributed to multiply

the splendor and importance of their religious societies, which

during the course of the third century were animated by the zeal

of Tertullian, directed by the abilities of Cyprian, and adorned

by the eloquence of Lactantius. But if, on the contrary, we turn

our eyes towards Gaul, we must content ourselves with

discovering, in the time of Marcus Antoninus, the feeble and

united congregations of Lyons and Vienna; and even as late as the

reign of Decius we are assured, that in a few cities only, Arles,

Narbonne, Thoulouse, Limoges, Clermont, Tours, and Paris, some

scattered churches were supported by the devotion of a small

number of Christians. Silence is indeed very consistent with

devotion; but as it is seldom compatible with zeal, we may

perceive and lament the languid state of Christianity in those

provinces which had exchanged the Celtic for the Latin tongue,

since they did not, during the three first centuries, give birth

to a single ecclesiastical writer. From Gaul, which claimed a

just preeminence of learning and authority over all the countries

on this side of the Alps, the light of the gospel was more

faintly reflected on the remote provinces of Spain and Britain;

and if we may credit the vehement assertions of Tertullian, they

had already received the first rays of the faith, when he

addressed his apology to the magistrates of the emperor Severus.

But the obscure and imperfect origin of the western churches of

Europe has been so negligently recorded, that if we would relate

the time and manner of their foundation, we must supply the

silence of antiquity by those legends which avarice or

superstition long afterwards dictated to the monks in the lazy

gloom of their convents. Of these holy romances, that of the

apostle St. James can alone, by its singular extravagance,

deserve to be mentioned. From a peaceful fisherman of the Lake of

Gennesareth, he was transformed into a valorous knight, who

charged at the head of the Spanish chivalry in their battles

against the Moors. The gravest historians have celebrated his

exploits; the miraculous shrine of Compostella displayed his

power; and the sword of a military order, assisted by the terrors

of the Inquisition, was sufficient to remove every objection of

profane criticism.

The progress of Christianity was not confined to the Roman

empire; and according to the primitive fathers, who interpret

facts by prophecy, the new religion, within a century after the

death of its divine Author, had already visited every part of the

globe. “There exists not,” says Justin Martyr, “a people, whether

Greek or Barbarian, or any other race of men, by whatsoever

appellation or manners they may be distinguished, however

ignorant of arts or agriculture, whether they dwell under tents,

or wander about in covered wagons, among whom prayers are not

offered up in the name of a crucified Jesus to the Father and

Creator of all things.” But this splendid exaggeration, which

even at present it would be extremely difficult to reconcile with

the real state of mankind, can be considered only as the rash

sally of a devout but careless writer, the measure of whose

belief was regulated by that of his wishes. But neither the

belief nor the wishes of the fathers can alter the truth of

history. It will still remain an undoubted fact, that the

barbarians of Scythia and Germany, who afterwards subverted the

Roman monarchy, were involved in the darkness of paganism; and

that even the conversion of Iberia, of Armenia, or of Æthiopia,

was not attempted with any degree of success till the sceptre was

in the hands of an orthodox emperor. Before that time, the

various accidents of war and commerce might indeed diffuse an

imperfect knowledge of the gospel among the tribes of Caledonia,

and among the borderers of the Rhine, the Danube, and the

Euphrates. Beyond the last-mentioned river, Edessa was

distinguished by a firm and early adherence to the faith. From

Edessa the principles of Christianity were easily introduced into

the Greek and Syrian cities which obeyed the successors of

Artaxerxes; but they do not appear to have made any deep

impression on the minds of the Persians, whose religious system,

by the labors of a well-disciplined order of priests, had been

constructed with much more art and solidity than the uncertain

mythology of Greece and Rome.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion.—Part IX.

From this impartial though imperfect survey of the progress of

Christianity, it may perhaps seem probable, that the number of

its proselytes has been excessively magnified by fear on the one

side, and by devotion on the other. According to the

irreproachable testimony of Origen, the proportion of the

faithful was very inconsiderable, when compared with the

multitude of an unbelieving world; but, as we are left without

any distinct information, it is impossible to determine, and it

is difficult even to conjecture, the real numbers of the

primitive Christians. The most favorable calculation, however,

that can be deduced from the examples of Antioch and of Rome,

will not permit us to imagine that more than a fraction of the

population placed themselves under the banner of the cross before

the important conversion of Constantine. But their habits of

faith, of zeal, and of union, seemed to multiply their numbers;

and the same causes which contributed to their future increase,

served to render their actual strength more apparent and more

formidable.

Such is the constitution of civil society, that, whilst a few

persons are distinguished by riches, by honors, and by knowledge,

the body of the people is condemned to obscurity, ignorance and

poverty. The Christian religion, which addressed itself to the

whole human race, must consequently collect a far greater number

of proselytes from the lower than from the superior ranks of

life. This innocent and natural circumstance has been improved

into a very odious imputation, which seems to be less strenuously

denied by the apologists, than it is urged by the adversaries, of

the faith; that the new sect of Christians was almost entirely

composed of the dregs of the populace, of peasants and mechanics,

of boys and women, of beggars and slaves, the last of whom might

sometimes introduce the missionaries into the rich and noble

families to which they belonged. These obscure teachers (such was

the charge of malice and infidelity) are as mute in public as

they are loquacious and dogmatical in private. Whilst they

cautiously avoid the dangerous encounter of philosophers, they

mingle with the rude and illiterate crowd, and insinuate

themselves into those minds whom their age, their sex, or their

education, has the best disposed to receive the impression of

superstitious terrors.

This unfavorable picture, though not devoid of a faint

resemblance, betrays, by its dark coloring and distorted

features, the pencil of an enemy. As the humble faith of Christ

diffused itself through the world, it was embraced by several

persons who derived some consequence from the advantages of

nature or fortune. Aristides, who presented an eloquent apology

to the emperor Hadrian, was an Athenian philosopher. Justin

Martyr had sought divine knowledge in the schools of Zeno, of

Aristotle, of Pythagoras, and of Plato, before he fortunately was

accosted by the old man, or rather the angel, who turned his

attention to the study of the Jewish prophets. Clemens of

Alexandria had acquired much various reading in the Greek, and

Tertullian in the Latin, language. Julius Africanus and Origen

possessed a very considerable share of the learning of their

times; and although the style of Cyprian is very different from

that of Lactantius, we might almost discover that both those

writers had been public teachers of rhetoric. Even the study of

philosophy was at length introduced among the Christians, but it

was not always productive of the most salutary effects; knowledge

was as often the parent of heresy as of devotion, and the

description which was designed for the followers of Artemon, may,

with equal propriety, be applied to the various sects that

resisted the successors of the apostles. “They presume to alter

the Holy Scriptures, to abandon the ancient rule of faith, and to

form their opinions according to the subtile precepts of logic.

The science of the church is neglected for the study of geometry,

and they lose sight of heaven while they are employed in

measuring the earth. Euclid is perpetually in their hands.

Aristotle and Theophrastus are the objects of their admiration;

and they express an uncommon reverence for the works of Galen.

Their errors are derived from the abuse of the arts and sciences

of the infidels, and they corrupt the simplicity of the gospel by

the refinements of human reason.”

Nor can it be affirmed with truth, that the advantages of birth

and fortune were always separated from the profession of

Christianity. Several Roman citizens were brought before the

tribunal of Pliny, and he soon discovered, that a great number of

persons of _every order_of men in Bithynia had deserted the

religion of their ancestors. His unsuspected testimony may, in

this instance, obtain more credit than the bold challenge of

Tertullian, when he addresses himself to the fears as well as the

humanity of the proconsul of Africa, by assuring him, that if he

persists in his cruel intentions, he must decimate Carthage, and

that he will find among the guilty many persons of his own rank,

senators and matrons of noblest extraction, and the friends or

relations of his most intimate friends. It appears, however, that

about forty years afterwards the emperor Valerian was persuaded

of the truth of this assertion, since in one of his rescripts he

evidently supposes that senators, Roman knights, and ladies of

quality, were engaged in the Christian sect. The church still

continued to increase its outward splendor as it lost its

internal purity; and, in the reign of Diocletian, the palace, the

courts of justice, and even the army, concealed a multitude of

Christians, who endeavored to reconcile the interests of the

present with those of a future life.

And yet these exceptions are either too few in number, or too

recent in time, entirely to remove the imputation of ignorance

and obscurity which has been so arrogantly cast on the first

proselytes of Christianity. * Instead of employing in our defence

the fictions of later ages, it will be more prudent to convert

the occasion of scandal into a subject of edification. Our

serious thoughts will suggest to us, that the apostles themselves

were chosen by Providence among the fishermen of Galilee, and

that the lower we depress the temporal condition of the first

Christians, the more reason we shall find to admire their merit

and success. It is incumbent on us diligently to remember, that

the kingdom of heaven was promised to the poor in spirit, and

that minds afflicted by calamity and the contempt of mankind,

cheerfully listen to the divine promise of future happiness;

while, on the contrary, the fortunate are satisfied with the

possession of this world; and the wise abuse in doubt and dispute

their vain superiority of reason and knowledge.

We stand in need of such reflections to comfort us for the loss

of some illustrious characters, which in our eyes might have

seemed the most worthy of the heavenly present. The names of

Seneca, of the elder and the younger Pliny, of Tacitus, of

Plutarch, of Galen, of the slave Epictetus, and of the emperor

Marcus Antoninus, adorn the age in which they flourished, and

exalt the dignity of human nature. They filled with glory their

respective stations, either in active or contemplative life;

their excellent understandings were improved by study; Philosophy

had purified their minds from the prejudices of the popular

superstitions; and their days were spent in the pursuit of truth

and the practice of virtue. Yet all these sages (it is no less an

object of surprise than of concern) overlooked or rejected the

perfection of the Christian system. Their language or their

silence equally discover their contempt for the growing sect,

which in their time had diffused itself over the Roman empire.

Those among them who condescended to mention the Christians,

consider them only as obstinate and perverse enthusiasts, who

exacted an implicit submission to their mysterious doctrines,

without being able to produce a single argument that could engage

the attention of men of sense and learning.

It is at least doubtful whether any of these philosophers perused

the apologies * which the primitive Christians repeatedly

published in behalf of themselves and of their religion; but it

is much to be lamented that such a cause was not defended by

abler advocates. They expose with superfluous wit and eloquence

the extravagance of Polytheism. They interest our compassion by

displaying the innocence and sufferings of their injured

brethren. But when they would demonstrate the divine origin of

Christianity, they insist much more strongly on the predictions

which announced, than on the miracles which accompanied, the

appearance of the Messiah. Their favorite argument might serve to

edify a Christian or to convert a Jew, since both the one and the

other acknowledge the authority of those prophecies, and both are

obliged, with devout reverence, to search for their sense and

their accomplishment. But this mode of persuasion loses much of

its weight and influence, when it is addressed to those who

neither understand nor respect the Mosaic dispensation and the

prophetic style. In the unskilful hands of Justin and of the

succeeding apologists, the sublime meaning of the Hebrew oracles

evaporates in distant types, affected conceits, and cold

allegories; and even their authenticity was rendered suspicious

to an unenlightened Gentile, by the mixture of pious forgeries,

which, under the names of Orpheus, Hermes, and the Sibyls, were

obtruded on him as of equal value with the genuine inspirations

of Heaven. The adoption of fraud and sophistry in the defence of

revelation too often reminds us of the injudicious conduct of

those poets who load their _invulnerable_ heroes with a useless

weight of cumbersome and brittle armor.

But how shall we excuse the supine inattention of the Pagan and

philosophic world, to those evidences which were represented by

the hand of Omnipotence, not to their reason, but to their

senses? During the age of Christ, of his apostles, and of their

first disciples, the doctrine which they preached was confirmed

by innumerable prodigies. The lame walked, the blind saw, the

sick were healed, the dead were raised, dæmons were expelled, and

the laws of Nature were frequently suspended for the benefit of

the church. But the sages of Greece and Rome turned aside from

the awful spectacle, and, pursuing the ordinary occupations of

life and study, appeared unconscious of any alterations in the

moral or physical government of the world. Under the reign of

Tiberius, the whole earth, or at least a celebrated province of

the Roman empire, was involved in a preternatural darkness of

three hours. Even this miraculous event, which ought to have

excited the wonder, the curiosity, and the devotion of mankind,

passed without notice in an age of science and history. It

happened during the lifetime of Seneca and the elder Pliny, who

must have experienced the immediate effects, or received the

earliest intelligence, of the prodigy. Each of these

philosophers, in a laborious work, has recorded all the great

phenomena of Nature, earthquakes, meteors, comets, and eclipses,

which his indefatigable curiosity could collect. Both the one and

the other have omitted to mention the greatest phenomenon to

which the mortal eye has been witness since the creation of the

globe. A distinct chapter of Pliny is designed for eclipses of an

extraordinary nature and unusual duration; but he contents

himself with describing the singular defect of light which

followed the murder of Cæsar, when, during the greatest part of a

year, the orb of the sun appeared pale and without splendor. The

season of obscurity, which cannot surely be compared with the

preternatural darkness of the Passion, had been already

celebrated by most of the poets and historians of that memorable

age.

END OF VOL. I.