CONSTANTINE’S DEATH AND CHARACTER
It seems incontestable that Constantine degenerated as he grew older.
Certainly his popularity tended to decrease. This, however, is the usual
penalty of length of reign, and in itself would not count for much. But
one cannot overlook the cumulative evidence which is to be found in the
authorities of the period. Eusebius himself admits[126] that
unscrupulous men often took advantage of the piety and generosity of the
Emperor, and many of the stories which he tells in Constantine’s praise
prepare us for the charges which were brought against him by the pagan
historians. For example, Eusebius declares that whenever the Emperor
heard a civil appeal, he used to make up out of his private purse the
amount in which the losing party was mulcted, on the extraordinary
principle that both the winner and the loser ought to leave their
sovereign’s presence equally satisfied. Such a theory would speedily
beggar the richest treasury. Aurelius Victor preserves a popular saying
which shews the general estimation in which Constantine’s memory was
held. Men used to say that for the first ten years of his reign he was a
model sovereign (_præstantissimus_), for the next twelve he was a
brigand (_latro_), and for the last ten a spendthrift heir, so called
because of his preposterous extravagance (_pupillus ob profusiones
immodicas_). He was nicknamed _Trachala_, the obvious reference of which
would be to his short, thick neck; but Aurelius Victor appears to
associate it in some way with the meaning of “scoffer” (_irrisor_).
-----
Footnote 126:
_De Vita Const._, iv., 54.
-----
[Illustration:
BASILICA OF CONSTANTINE AT ROME.
FROM “ROME OF TO-DAY AND YESTERDAY,” BY JOHN DENNIE.
]
In greater detail Zosimus[127] accuses Constantine of wasting the public
money on useless buildings. As a pagan, he would naturally regard
expenditure upon the construction of sumptuous Christian churches as
money thrown away, but it is perfectly certain that the state of the
Imperial resources did not justify the Emperor in lavishing vast sums
upon churches in all parts of the Empire. If we consider what must have
been the capital cost of his churches in Rome, Constantinople,
Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Mamre, and Antioch,—to mention only a few
places,—and remember that he was constantly urging the bishops to keep
building and constantly sending instructions to his vicars to make
handsome subsidies out of the State funds, we cannot but conclude that
the grumbling of the pagan tax payer was thoroughly well justified.
Constantine, indeed, seems to have been as _entêté_ in the matter of
building churches as was in our day the mad King Ludwig of Bavaria in
the building of royal castles. Nor was this the only form in which the
passion for bricks and mortar—_il mal di pietra_—seized him. He built a
new basilica even in Rome—though he rarely set foot in the city. In
Constantinople he must have sunk millions of unproductive capital, which
were far more urgently required for the development of agriculture and
commerce. In one epigrammatic sentence Zosimus sums up his indictment by
saying that Constantine thought to gain distinction by lavish
outlay.[128] He also wasted the public revenue on unworthy and useless
favourites,[129] whom he taught, in the phrase of Ammianus Marcellinus,
to open their greedy jaws (_fauces aperuit_). Zosimus says bluntly that
in his opinion it was Constantine who sowed the seeds of the ruinous
waste and destruction that prevailed when he wrote his history, and he
roundly declares that the Emperor devoted his life to his own selfish
pleasures.[130]
-----
Footnote 127:
ii., 32, 35.
Footnote 128:
τὴν γὰρ ἀσωτίαν ἡγεῖτο φιλοτιμίαν (ii., 38).
Footnote 129:
εἰς ἀναξίους καὶ ἀνωφελεῖς ἀνθρώπονς τοὺς φορους ἐκδαπανῶν.
Footnote 130:
καὶ τρυφῇ τὸν βίον ἐκδοίς (ii., 32).
-----
There is another character sketch of Constantine which has survived for
us, drawn by an even more bitter enemy than the historian Zosimus. It is
to be found in that amusing and extraordinary _jeu d’esprit_ which bears
the name of _The Cæsars_, from the pen of the Emperor Julian. Julian
detested the very memory of Constantine the Great, whom he regarded as
the arch-apostate from the ancient religion, and, thus, when he
introduced him into the presence of the deities of Olympus, it was
really to pour ridicule and contempt upon his pretensions. Julian
describes him, at the first mention of his name, as a man who has seen
considerable fighting, but has become soft through self-indulgence and
luxury.[131] The deities of heaven are represented as sitting in
conclave, while the deified Emperors approach to join in their councils.
Julian runs over the list of the great Emperors, introducing them one by
one and making each sit by the side of the god whom he most resembles in
character. But when Constantine’s turn comes, it is found that he has no
such archetype. No god will own him as his protégé or pupil, and so,
after some hesitation, Constantine runs up to the Goddess of Luxury
(Τρύφη), who embraces him as her own darling, dresses him up in fine
clothes, and, when she has made him smart, hands him over to her sister,
the Goddess of Extravagance (Ἀσώτια). The irony was bitter, and the
shaft sped home.
-----
Footnote 131:
ἄνδρα ουκ ἀπόλεμον μὲν, ἡδονῇ δε καὶ ἀπολαύσει χειροηθέστερον (c. 15).
-----
The ascetic Julian does not spare his august relative, whose title to
the epithet of “Great” he would have laughed to scorn. He declares that
Constantine’s victories over the barbarians were victories _pour rire_;
he represents him as a crazy being in love with the moon, like that
half-witted Emperor of the Claudian house, who used to stand at night in
the colonnades of his palace and beg the gracious Queen of the Sky to
come down to him as she had come down to Endymion. Julian puts into his
mouth a grotesque speech in which he makes Constantine claim to have
been a greater general than Alexander because he fought with Romans,
Germans, and Scythians and not with mere Asiatics; greater than Julius
Cæsar or than Augustus because he fought not with bad men but with good;
and greater even than Trajan, because it is a finer thing to win back
what you have lost than merely to acquire something new. The speech was
received with ridicule by the gods, and then Hermes pointedly asked
Constantine in the Socratic manner, “How would you define your ideal?”
(τὶ καλὸν ἐνόμισας;) “To have great riches,” was Constantine’s reply,
“and to be able to give away lavishly, and satisfy all one’s own desires
and those of one’s friends.” The answer is significant. Julian, like
Constantine’s other critics, keeps harping on the same string. It is the
luxury, extravagance, and self-indulgence of the Emperor that he singles
out as the most glaring defect of his character and his squandering of
the Imperial resources upon effeminate and un-Roman pomps, useless
buildings, and greedy and unworthy favourites. Silenus, the bibulous
buffoon of Olympus, a moral rebuke from whose lips would be received
with shouts of laughter, tells Constantine with mock gravity that he has
led a life fit only for a cook or a lady’s-maid (ὀψοποίος καὶ
κομμώτρια), and so the episode ends. We cannot doubt that there was
quite sufficient of truth in these accusations to make the sharp-witted
Greeks of the Empire, for whom Julian principally wrote, thoroughly
enjoy his biting sarcasms.
But we must be careful not to push too far any argument based upon this
lampoon of Julian or upon the obvious bias of Zosimus. They disclose to
us, undoubtedly, the least worthy side of Constantine’s character, viz.,
a tendency to effeminacy and luxury, and it is morally certain that no
one who had given way to his worst passions, as Constantine had done in
Rome in the year 326, could ever be quite the same man again. He had on
his conscience the assassination of his son and wife. These were but two
out of a terribly long list of victims, which included his
father-in-law, Maximian; his brother-in-law, Licinius, and Licinius’s
young son, Licinianus; another brother-in-law, the Cæsar Bassus; and
many more besides. Some fell for reasons of State—“it is only the
winner,” as Marcus Antonius had said three centuries before, “who sees
length of days”—but there was also the memory, even in the case of some
of these, of broken promises and ill-kept faith. Constantine’s
Christianity was not of the kind which permeates a man’s every action
and influences his entire life; or, if that be claimed for him, it must
at least be admitted that there were periods in his career when he
suffered most desperate lapses from grace.
On the whole perhaps the general statement of Eutropius, which we have
already quoted, that Constantine degenerated somewhat (_aliquantum
mutavit_) as he grew older, fairly meets the case. It is worth while,
indeed, to quote the reasoned estimate which this excellent epitomist
gives of the Emperor’s character. He says[132]:
“At the opening of his reign Constantine was a man who challenged
comparison with the best of Princes; at its close he merited
comparison with those of average merit and demerit. Both mentally and
physically his good points were beyond computation and conspicuous to
all. He was passionately set on winning military glory; and in his
campaigns good fortune attended him, though not more than his zealous
industry deserved.... He was devoted to the arts of peace and to the
humanities, and he sought to win from all men their sincere affection
by his generosity and his tractability, never losing an opportunity of
enriching his friends and adding to their dignity.”
-----
Footnote 132:
Eutropius, x., 7.
-----
This estimate agrees in its main particulars with that of Aurelius
Victor, who, after speaking of his wonderful good luck in war (_mira
bellorum felicitate_) and his avidity for praise, eulogises his
exceptional versatility (_commodissimus rebus multis_), his zeal for
literature and the arts, and the patient ear which he was always ready
to lend to any provincial deputation or complaint.
We have spoken of a marked degeneracy observable in Constantine as his
life drew to a close. Perhaps the clearest proof of this is to be found
in a momentous step taken by him in 335, when he divided the sovereignty
of the world among his heirs. Such a partition meant the stultification
of his political career, for he thus destroyed at a blow the political
unity which he had so laboriously restored out of the wreck of the
system of Diocletian.
Eusebius gives us the truth in a single sentence when he says that
Constantine treated the Empire for the purposes of this division as
though he were apportioning his private patrimony among members of his
own family.[133] He was much more concerned to make handsome provision
for his sons and nephews than to secure the peace and well-being of his
subjects. Crispus had now been dead nine years, and the three sons of
Constantine and Fausta were still young, the eldest being only just
twenty-one. Eusebius tells us how carefully they had been trained. They
had been instructed in all martial exercises, and special professors had
been engaged to make them proficient in political affairs and a
knowledge of the laws. Their religious education had been personally
supervised by their father, who zealously sowed “the seeds of godly
reverence” and impressed upon them that “a knowledge of God, who is the
king of all things, and true piety were more deserving of honour than
riches or even than sovereignty itself.” Admirable precepts and Eusebius
declares again and again that this “Trinity of Princes”—so he calls them
in one place—were models of deportment, modesty, and piety.
Unfortunately, we know how emphatically their future careers belied
their early promise and the eulogies of the Bishop of Cæsarea. We do not
doubt his statement that Constantine spared no effort to educate them
aright, but it was most unfortunate that the remarkable success of their
father’s political career bore testimony rather to the efficacy of
ambition without scruple than of “godly reverence and true piety.”
-----
Footnote 133:
οἷα τινα πατρώαν οὐσίαν τοὶς αὐτõυ κληροδοτῶν φιλτάτοις.
-----
In this new partition of the Empire the Cæsarship of the West, including
Gaul, Britain, and Spain, fell to Constantine, the eldest of the three
princes. To the second, Constantius, were assigned the rich provinces of
the East, including the seaboard provinces of Asia Minor, together with
Syria and Egypt. Constans, the youngest, received as his share Italy,
Illyria, and Africa. But there was still a goodly heritage left over,
sufficient to make a handsome dowry for a favourite daughter. This was
Constantina, eldest of the three daughters of Constantine and Fausta,
and she had been married to her half-cousin, Annibalianus, whose father
had been the second son of Constantius Chlorus and Theodora. To support
worthily the dignity of his new position as son-in-law of Constantine,
the new title of _Nobilissimus_ was created in his honour, and a kingdom
was made for him out of the provinces of Pontus, Cappadocia, and Lesser
Armenia. Gibbon expresses surprise that Annibalianus, “of the whole
series of Roman Princes in any age of the Empire,” should have been the
only one to bear the name of _Rex_, and says that he can scarcely admit
its accuracy even on the joint authority of Imperial medals and
contemporary writers. The explanation is surely to be found in the fact
that Pontus, Cappadocia, and Lesser Armenia had for centuries been
accustomed to be ruled by a king and that, in creating a new kingdom,
Constantine simply retained the title which would be most familiar to
the subjects over whom Annibalianus was to rule. Annibalianus was
himself a second son: his elder brother, Dalmatius, was raised to the
full title of Cæsar and given command over the important provinces of
Thrace and Macedonia, with Greece thrown in as a make-weight. The
position was a very important one, for it fell to the Cæsar of Thrace to
guard the frontier chiefly threatened by the Goths, and we may suppose,
therefore, with some probability that Dalmatius—who had been consul in
333—had given proof of military talent.
But to what extent, we may ask, was this a real partition? In what
sense were the Cæsars independent of Constantine himself? Eusebius
expressly tells us[134] that each was provided with a complete
establishment—βασιλικὴ παρασκευὴ,—with a court, that is to say, which
was in every respect a miniature copy of the court at Constantinople.
Each had his own legions, bodyguards, and auxiliaries, with their due
complement of officers chosen, we are told, by the Emperor for their
knowledge of war and for their loyalty to their chiefs. It is hardly
to be supposed that Constantine contemplated retirement: had he done
so, he would have retired at the Tricennalia which he celebrated in
the following year. In all probability, he did not intend that his
supreme power should be one whit abated, though he was content to
delegate his administrative authority to others acting under his
strict supervision. His Cæsars, in short, were really viceroys, though
it is difficult to understand how such an arrangement can have worked
harmoniously without some modification of the powers of the four
Prætorian præfects. But the division, as we have said, was not made in
the interests of the Empire but in the interests of the Princes of the
Blood, and it was one which could not possibly endure. As soon as
Constantine died chaos and civil war were bound to ensue, and, as a
matter of fact, did ensue. For there is no evidence that the Emperor
made any arrangement as to who should succeed him on the throne.
Constantinople itself lay in the territory assigned to Dalmatius; yet
it was entirely unreasonable to suppose that the three sons of
Constantine would acquiesce in leaving the capital to the quiet
possession of their cousin. The division of the Empire, therefore, in
335 carried with it the early ripening seeds of civil war, bloodshed,
and anarchy. If the system of Diocletian had proved unworkable,
because it took no account of the natural desire of a son to succeed
his father, the system of Constantine was even worse. It was
absolutely certain that of the five heirs the three sons would combine
against the two cousins, whom they would regard as interlopers, and
that then the three brothers would quarrel among themselves, until
only one was left.
-----
Footnote 134:
_De Vita Const._, iv., 51.
-----
Constantine’s reign was now hastening to its end. In 336 he celebrated
his Tricennalia, and his courtiers would not fail to remind him that he
alone, of all the successors of the great Augustus, had borne such
length of days in his left hand and such glory in his right. The
principal event of the festival seems to have been the dedication at
Jerusalem of the sumptuous Church of the Anastasis on the site of the
Holy Sepulchre. As we have seen in another chapter, the year was one of
acute religious contention, rendered specially memorable by the
awe-inspiring death of Arius, and the Emperor’s last months of life must
have been embittered by the thought that, despite all his efforts,
religious unity within the Church seemed as far as ever from
realisation.
Eusebius tells us[135] that Constantine sought to find a remedy in the
hot baths of Constantinople for the disorder from which he was
suffering, and then, obtaining no relief, crossed the straits to
Drepanum, or Helenopolis, as it was now called in honour of the
Emperor’s mother. There his malady grew worse and special prayers were
offered for his recovery in the Church of Lucian the Martyr.
-----
Footnote 135:
_De Vita Const._, iv., 61.
-----
But Constantine had a presentiment that the end was near, and he
determined, therefore, that the time had come for him formally to become
a member of the Christian Church and so obtain purification for the sins
which he had committed in life. Falling upon his knees on the church
floor, he confessed his sins, received the laying-on of hands, and so
became a catechumen. Then, travelling down to the palace which stood on
the outskirts of Nicomedia, the now dying Emperor summoned to his side a
number of bishops and made confession of his faith. He told them that
the moment for which he had thirsted and prayed had come at last, the
moment when he might receive “the seal which confers immortality.” He
had hoped, he said, to be baptised in Jordan: God had willed otherwise
and he bowed to His will. But he assured them that his resolve was not
due to any passing whim. He had fully made up his mind, that even if
recovery were vouchsafed him, he would set before himself such rules and
conduct of life[136] as would be becoming to God.
-----
Footnote 136:
θεσμὸυς ἤδη βίου θεῷ πρέποντας ἐμαυτῷ διατετάξομαι.
-----
Eusebius of Nicomedia then performed the rite of baptism. Constantine,
clad in garments of shining white, lay upon a white bed, and, down to
the hour of his death, refused to touch the purple robes he had worn in
life. “Now,” he exclaimed, with all the fervour of a neophyte, “now I
know in very truth that I am blessed; now I have confidence that I am a
partaker of divine light.” When his captains came to take leave of him
and wept at the thought of losing their chief, he told them that he had
the assurance of having been found worthy of eternal life, and that his
only anxiety was to hasten his journey to God. He wished to die, and the
wish was soon granted. Constantine drew his last breath on May 22d, 337.
They bore the body, enclosed in a golden coffin covered by a purple
pall, from Nicomedia to Constantinople and placed it with great pomp in
the throne room of the palace. There the dead Emperor lay in state,
guarded night and day by the chief officers of the army and the highest
officials of the court. Even in death, says Eusebius, he still was king,
and all the elaborate bowings and genuflexions with which men had
entered his presence in his lifetime were still observed. Constantine’s
illness had declared itself very suddenly, and had run its course so
quickly that not one of his sons was at hand to take up the reins of
administration. It looks too as though the Emperor had made no
preparations with a view to his demise, but had left his three sons and
his two nephews to determine among themselves who should be supreme. His
second son, Constantius, was the first to arrive at Constantinople, and
it was he who arranged the obsequies of his father. We are told that the
Roman Senate earnestly desired the body of the Emperor to be laid to
rest in the old capital and sent deputations begging that this last
honour should not be denied them. But it had been Constantine’s express
wish to be buried in the Church of the Apostles, at Constantinople,
where he had prepared a splendid sarcophagus, and there can have been no
hesitation as to the choice of a resting-place. The body was borne with
an imposing military pageant to the Church. Constantius was the chief
mourner, but he and his soldiers quitted the sanctuary before a word of
the burial-service was spoken or a note of music sounded. He was not a
baptised Christian and, therefore, could not be present as the last
rites were performed. The great Emperor was buried by the bishops,
priests, and Christian populace, whose zealous champion he had been and
to whose undying gratitude he had established an overwhelming title.
Coins were struck bearing on one side the figure of the Emperor with his
head closely veiled, and, on the other, representing Constantine seated
in a four-horse chariot, and being drawn up to heaven by a celestial
hand stretched out to him from the clouds. It was a device which could
offend neither Christian nor pagan. To the former it would recall the
triumphant ascent of Elijah; the latter would regard it as the token of
a natural apotheosis. The hand might equally well be the hand of God or
of Jupiter.
[Illustration:
THE SUPPOSED SARCOPHAGI OF CONSTANTINE THE GREAT AND THEODOSIUS
THE GREAT.
FROM GROSVENOR’S “CONSTANTINOPLE.”]
]
Such is the story of the Emperor’s baptism, death, and burial as
recounted by Eusebius. There is, however, one important detail to be
added and one important question to be asked. Constantine was baptised
by an Arian bishop. To the Athanasian party and to the ecclesiastical
historians of succeeding ages this was a lamentable circumstance which
greatly exercised and troubled their minds. It sorely grieved them to
think that their patron Constantine should have been admitted into the
communion of the faithful by the dangerous heretic who had been the
bitterest enemy of their idol, Athanasius. But with a forbearance to
which they were usually strangers, they agreed to pass over the episode
in comparative silence and remember not the shortcomings but the virtues
of the first Christian Emperor.
It still remains to be asked why Constantine did not formally enter the
Church until he was on his death-bed. There had been no lukewarmness
about his Christianity. He was not one to be afflicted with doubts.
There had never been any danger of his reverting to paganism. In the
last few years, indeed, he had been distracted by the clamour of Arians
and Athanasians, and his was a mind upon which a clever and acute
ecclesiastic, who enjoyed his confidence, could play at will. When
Hosius of Cordova stood by his side he was the champion of the Catholic
party; when Hosius fell from favour and Eusebius of Nicomedia took his
place Constantine strongly inclined to the Arian side. But in neither
case was there any doubt of his Christianity. Why then did he not become
a member of the Church? Was it because the rite of baptism conferred
immediate forgiveness of sin and therefore a death-bed baptism
infallibly opened the gate of Heaven? By putting off entrance into the
Church until the hour had come after which it was hardly possible to
commit sin, did Constantine count upon making sure of eternal happiness?
Such is the motive assigned by some historians. It certainly is not a
lofty one. Yet the idea may very well have presented itself to
Constantine’s mind and the impression left by Eusebius’s narrative is
that Constantine only determined to receive the rite because he felt his
end to be near and dared not put it off any longer. On the other hand,
Constantine’s statement that his ambition had been to be baptised in
Jordan is rather against this theory. Possibly, too, he was to some
degree influenced by the wish not to alienate entirely the support of
his pagan subjects, especially the more fanatical of them, who would
bitterly resent their Chief Pontiff becoming a baptised member of the
Christian Church. No one can say, but we shall be the better able to
form an opinion if we look a little more closely at the religious life
and policy of Constantine.
Eusebius represents the daily life of the Emperor on its religious side
to have been almost that of a monk or of a saint. Every day, we are
told, he used to retire for private meditation and prayer. He delighted
in delivering sermons and addresses to his courtiers, Bible in hand. He
would begin by exposing the errors of polytheism and by proving the
superstition of the Gentiles to be a mere fraud and cloak for impiety,
and would then expound his theory of the sole sovereignty of God, the
workings of Providence, and the sureness of the Judgment, invariably
concluding with his favourite moral that God had given to him the
sovereignty of the whole world. Such a discourse could not possibly be
short, but Constantine liked his religious exercises long. He once
insisted on standing throughout the reading of an elaborate disquisition
by Eusebius himself, who evidently tired of the exertion and begged that
the Emperor would not fatigue himself further. But Constantine was
resolved to hear it out, and the courtier Bishop, while profoundly
flattered at the compliment, ruefully admitted that the thesis was very
long. Probably the courtiers found it interminable. But it was their
duty to listen, applaud, and appear duly impressed when, for example,
Constantine traced on the ground the dimensions of a coffin, and
solemnly warned them against covetousness by the reminder that six feet
of earth was the utmost they could hope to enjoy after death, and they
might not even get so much as that if burial were refused them or they
were burnt or lost at sea. No one ever accused Constantine of
covetousness; his failing was reckless extravagance, and we fear he is
to be numbered among those who
“Compound for sins they are inclined to
By damning those they have no mind to.”
Constantine ordered all the bishops throughout the Empire to offer up
daily prayers for him; he had coins struck at the Imperial mints which
depicted him with eyes uplifted to heaven, and he had pictures of
himself—probably in mosaic—set over the gates of his palaces, in which
he was seen standing erect with hands in the attitude of prayer. For our
part we like better the chapters in which Eusebius describes the
Emperor’s open-handed generosity to the poor and needy and to the orphan
and the widow, extols the kind-heartedness which was carried to such a
length as to raise the question whether such clemency was not excessive,
and claims that his most distinctive and characteristic virtue was the
love of his fellow-men, his φιλανθρώπια, a virtue which the typical
Roman rarely developed to his full capacity.
Constantine’s whole career testified to the zeal with which he had
embraced Christianity. We have seen the enthusiasm with which he set to
work to build churches throughout the Empire. In Rome there are ascribed
to him the Church of Saint Agnes, the Church of St. John Lateran, and
another which stood on part of the site of the present St. Peter’s. In
Constantinople he built the Churches of the Apostles, St. Eirene, and
St. Sophia. In Jerusalem he built the Church of the Anastasis as the
crowning memorial of his thirty years of reign, and in Antioch,
Nicomedia, and a score of other cities his purse was constantly at the
service of the Faith. The building of churches was a passion with him,
and he also took care that they were provided with the Scriptures.
Eusebius[137] gives the text of a letter written to him by the Emperor
ordering fifty copies of the Scriptures to be executed without delay.
Constantine published an edict commanding that the Lord’s day should be
scrupulously observed and honoured, and that every facility should be
given to Christian soldiers to enable them to attend the services. Even
his pagan soldiers were to keep that day holy by offering up a prayer to
the “King of Heaven,” in which they addressed him as the “Giver of
Victory, their Preserver, Guardian, and Helper.”
“Thee alone we know to be God; Thee alone we recognise as King; Thee
we invoke as Helper; from Thee we have gained our victories; through
Thee we are superior to our enemies. To Thee we give thanks for the
benefits we now enjoy; from Thee we look for our benefits to come. All
of us are Thy suppliants: and we pray that Thou wilt guard our King
Constantine and his pious sons long, long to reign over us in safety
and victory.”
-----
Footnote 137:
_De Vita Const._, iv., 36.
-----
No pagan soldier could be offended at being required to offer this
prayer to the King of Heaven. If he were sincere in his faith he would
hope that it might reach the throne of Jupiter; Constantine evidently
expected that, as it was addressed to the King of Heaven, it would be
intercepted in midcourse and wafted to the throne of God. He was at any
rate determined that no soldier of his, whether pagan or Christian,
should wear on his shield any other sign than that of the Cross—“the
salutary trophy.”
But what was Constantine’s policy towards the old religion? Let us look
first at the explicit statements of Eusebius. He says in one place[138]
that “the doors of idolatry were shut throughout the whole Roman Empire
for both laity and military alike, and every form of sacrifice was
forbidden.” In another passage[139] he says that edicts were issued
“forbidding sacrifice to idols, the mischievous practice of divination,
the putting up of wooden images, the observance of secret rites, and the
pollution of cities by the sanguinary combats of gladiators.” In a third
passage[140] he speaks of Constantine’s having “utterly destroyed
polytheism in all its variety of foolishness.” Eusebius also tells us
that Constantine was careful to choose, whenever possible, Christian
governors for the provinces, while he forbade those with Hellenistic,
_i. e._, pagan, sympathies to offer sacrifice. He also ordered that the
synodal decrees of bishops should not be interfered with by the
provincial authorities, for, adds Eusebius, he considered a priest of
God to be more entitled to honour than a judge. The same authority
expressly states[141] that Constantinople was kept perfectly free from
idolatry in every shape and form, and was never polluted with the blood
or smoke of sacrifice, and the general impression which he leaves upon
the reader’s mind is that paganism was proscribed and the practice of
the old religion declared to be a crime.
-----
Footnote 138:
_De Vita Const._, iv., 23.
Footnote 139:
_Ibid._, c. 25.
Footnote 140:
μόνου τε πᾶδαν πολίθεον πλάνην καθελόντος (_ibid._, c. 75).
Footnote 141:
_Ibid._, c. 27.
-----
It is evident, however, that this was not the case. Eusebius, as usual,
supplies the corrective to his own exaggerations. He quotes, for
example, in full the text of an edict which Constantine addressed to the
governors of the East, wherein it is unequivocally laid down that
complete religious freedom is to be the standing rule throughout the
Empire. He beseeches all his subjects to become Christians, but he will
not compel them. “Let no one interfere with his neighbour. Let each man
do what his soul desires.”[142] This edict was issued after the
overthrow of Licinius and is remarkable chiefly for the fervent
profession of Christianity which the Emperor makes in it. “I am most
firmly convinced,” he says, “that I owe to the most High God my whole
soul, my every breath, my most secret and inmost thoughts.” And then he
continues: “Therefore, I have dedicated my soul to Thee, in pure blend
of love and fear.[143] For I truly adore Thy name, while I reverence Thy
power which Thou hast manifested by many proofs and made my faith the
surer.”
-----
Footnote 142:
μηδεὶς τὸν ἕτερον παρενοχλεὶτω: ἕκαστος ὅπερ ἠ ψυχὴ βούλεται τοῦτο καὶ
πραττέτω (_De Vita Const._, ii., 56).
Footnote 143:
διὰ ταῦτά τοι ἀνέθηκα σοί τὴν ἐμαυτοῦ ψύχην ἔρωτι καὶ φόβῳ καθαρῶς
ἀνακραθεῖσαν (_ibid._, c. 55).
-----
But did Constantine maintain this attitude of strict neutrality, only
tempered by ardent prayer that his pagan subjects might be brought to a
knowledge of the truth? In its entirety he certainly did not, and it was
impossible that so zealous a convert should. When the smiles of Imperial
favour were withdrawn from the old religion it was inevitable that the
Imperial arm which protected it should grow slack in its defence. Yet,
throughout his reign Constantine never forgot that the majority of his
subjects were still pagan, despite the hosts of conversions which
followed his own, and he took care not to press too hardly upon them and
not to goad the more fanatical upholders of the old régime to the
recklessness of despair. We have seen how the Emperor refused to witness
the procession of the Knights in Rome at the time of his Vicennalia. He
also forbade his statue or image to be placed in a pagan temple. But he,
nevertheless, retained through life the office of _Pontifex Maximus_,
and as such continued to be supreme head of the pagan religion. Nor was
it until the time of Gratian fifty years afterwards that this title—no
doubt in deference to the repeated representations of the bishops—was
dropped by the Christian Emperors. Some historians have expressed
surprise that so enthusiastic a convert to Christianity should have been
willing to remain Chief Pontiff; a few have even been genuinely
concerned to explain and excuse his conduct. But Constantine was
statesman as well as convert. If he had resigned the Chief Pontificate
that office might conceivably have passed into dangerous hands. By
holding it as an absolute sinecure, by never performing its ceremonial
duties or wearing its distinctive robes, Constantine did far more to
destroy its influence than if he had resigned it. Imperial titles,
moreover, sometimes signify very little. Every one knows the gibe of
Voltaire at the Holy Roman Empire which was neither holy, nor Roman, nor
an Empire. For centuries after the loss of Calais the lilies of France
were quartered on the Royal arms of Great Britain, and the coins of our
Protestant monarch still bear the F. D. bestowed by the Pope upon the
eighth Henry. The King of Portugal is still Lord of All the Indies. It
is not titles that count but actions. Whether or not Constantine’s
ecclesiastical friends were troubled by his retaining the title, we may
be sure the question never troubled the Emperor himself, as the title of
“Supreme Head of the English Church” is said to have troubled the
scrupulous conscience of James II. after he became a convert to Rome.
But in the latter case the practical advantages of retention outweighed
the shock to consistency in the eyes of those whom James consulted.
Constantine helped forward the conversion of the Empire with true
statesmanlike caution, desirous above all things to avoid political
disturbance. He abolished outright, we are told, certain of the more
offensive and degraded pagan rites, to which it was possible to take
grave exception on the score of decency and morality. For example, some
Phœnician temples at Heliopolis and Aphaca, where the worship of Venus
was attended with shameless prostitution, were ordered to be pulled
down. The same fate befell a temple of Æsculapius at Ægææ, and a college
of effeminate priests in Egypt, associated with the worship of the Nile,
was disbanded and its members, according to Eusebius, were all put to
death. But these are the only specific examples of repression instanced
by Eusebius,[144] and they assuredly do not suggest any general
proscription of paganism. Eusebius is notoriously untrustworthy. He
distinctly says that Constantine determined to purify his new capital of
all idolatry, so that there should not be found within its walls either
statue or altar of any false god. Yet we know that the philosopher
Sopater was present at the ceremony of dedication and that he enjoyed
for a time the high favour of the Emperor, though he was subsequently
put to death on the accusation of the præfect Ablavius, who charged him
with delaying the arrival of the Egyptian corn ships by his magical
arts. We know too that there were temples of Cybele and Fortuna in the
city, and Zosimus expressly declares that the Emperor constructed a
temple and precincts for the Dioscuri, Castor and Pollux. At Rome the
temple of Concord was rebuilt towards the close of his reign, and
inscriptions shew that the consuls of the year still dedicated without
hindrance altars to their favourite deities. The famous altar of
Victory, around which a furious controversy was to rage in the reign of
Valentinian, at the close of the fourth century, still stood in the
Roman Curia, and in the two great centres of Eastern Christianity,
Antioch and Alexandria, the worship of Apollo and Serapis continued
without intermission in their world-renowned temples.
-----
Footnote 144:
_De Vita Const._, iii., 48, iv., 25.
-----
[Illustration:
COPPER DENARIUS OF CONSTANTINE THE GREAT.
SHOWING THE LABARUM.
]
[Illustration:
DOUBLE SOLIDUS OF CONSTANTIUS II.
WITH THE LABARUM.
]
[Illustration: DOUBLE SOLIDUS OF DIOCLETIAN.]
[Illustration: SOLIDUS OF MAXIMIAN.]
No doubt in districts where the Christians were in a marked majority and
paganism found only lukewarm adherents, there was occasional violence
shewn to the old temples and statues, especially if the governor
happened to be a Christian. Ornaments might be stolen, treasures
ransacked, and probably few questions were asked. Christianity had been
persecuted so long and so savagely that when the day of revenge came,
the temptation was too strong for human frailty to resist, and as long
as there was no serious civil disturbance the authorities probably made
light of the occurrence. Paganism was a dying creed; where it had to
struggle hard to keep its head above water, the end was not long
delayed. The case would be different where the temples were possessed of
great wealth and where there were powerful priestly corporations to
defend their vested interests. There can be no greater mistake than to
suppose that Constantine declared war on the old religion. He did
nothing of the kind. When he showered favours on the Christian clergy,
what he did in effect was merely to raise them to the same status as
that already enjoyed by the pagan priesthood. He did not take away the
privileges of the colleges: and inscriptions have been found which tend
to shew that, he allowed new colleges to be founded which bore his name.
In short, to the old State-established and State-endowed religion he
added another, that of Christianity, reserving his special favour for
the new but not actively repressing the ancient. He had hoped to convert
the world by his own example; but, though he failed in this, he never
contemplated a resort to violence. His religious policy, throughout his
reign, may fairly be described as one of toleration. That is what
Symmachus meant when he said, half a century later, that Constantine had
belonged to both religions.
There was one exception to this rule. Constantine came down with a heavy
hand on secret divination and the practice of magic and the black arts.
But other Emperors before him had done the same, Emperors whose loyalty
to the Roman religion had never been questioned—for these mysterious
rites formed no part of the established worship. They might be employed
to the harm of the State; they might portend danger to the Emperor’s
life and throne. It was not for private individuals to experiment with
and let loose the powers of darkness, for, as a rule, beneficent deities
had no part or lot in these dark mysteries. As a Christian, Constantine
would have a double satisfaction in issuing edicts against the
wonder-working charlatans who abounded in the great cities; but the
point is that in attacking them he was not technically attacking the old
State religion. The public and official haruspices were not interfered
with; if any devout pagan still desired to consult an oracle, no
obstacle was placed in his way; and, as a tribute to the universal
superstition of the age from which he himself was not free, even private
divination was permitted when the object was a good one, such as the
restoration of a sick person to health or the protection of crops
against hail. But it is evident that Constantine and his bishops were
far more apprehensive of evil from the unchaining of the Devil than
expectant of good from the favour of the ministers of grace. They were
terrified of the one: they indulged but a pious hope of the other. Nor
was the Emperor successful in stamping out the private thaumaturgist.
Human nature was too strong for him. _Sileat perpetuo divinandi
curiositas_, ordered one of his successors in 358. But the curiosity to
divine the future continued to defy both civil and ecclesiastical law.
A much bolder act, however, than the closing of a few temples on the
score of public decency or the forbidding of private divination was the
edict of 325, in which Constantine ordered the abolition of the
gladiatorial shows. “Such blood-stained spectacles,” he said, “in the
midst of civil peace and domestic quiet are repugnant to our taste.” He
ordained, therefore, that in future all criminals who were usually
condemned to be gladiators should be sent to work in the mines, that
they might expiate their offences without shedding of blood. But it was
one thing to issue an edict and another to enforce it. Whether
Constantine insisted on the observance of this particular edict, we
cannot say, but his successors certainly did not, for the gladiatorial
spectacles at Rome were in full swing in the days of Symmachus, who
ransacked the world for good swordsmen and strange animals. The
“_cruenta spectacula_” as Constantine called them, were not finally
abolished until the reign of Honorius.
To sum up. The only reasonable view to take of the religious character
of Constantine is that he was a sincere and convinced Christian. This is
borne out alike by his passionate professions of faith and by the clear
testimony of his actions. There are, it is true, many historians who
hold that he was really indifferent to religion, and others who credit
him with an easy capacity for finding truth in all religions alike.
Professor Bury, for example, says that “the evidence seems to shew that
his religion was a syncretistic monotheism; that he was content to see
the deity in the Sun, in Mithras, or in the God of the Hebrews.” Such a
description would suit the character of Constantius Chlorus perfectly,
and it may very well have suited Constantine himself before the
overthrow of Maxentius. There is a passage in the Ninth Panegyric which
seems to have been uttered by one holding these views, and it is worth
quotation, for it is an invocation to the supreme deity to bless the
Emperor Constantine. It runs as follows:
Wherefore we pray and beseech thee to keep our Prince safe for all
eternity, thee, the supreme creator of all things, whose names are as
manifold as it has been thy will that nations should have tongues. We
cannot tell by what title it is thy pleasure that we should address
thee, whether thou art a divine force and mind permeating the whole
world and mingled with all the elements, and moving of thine own
motive power without impulse from without, or whether thou art some
Power above all Heaven who lookest down upon this thy handiwork from
some loftier arch of Nature.
Such a deity may have satisfied the philosophers, but it certainly was
not the deity whom Constantine worshipped throughout his reign. Had he
been indifferent to religion, or indifferent to Christianity, had he
even been anxious only to hold the balance between the rival creeds, he
would never have surrounded himself by episcopal advisers; never have
set his hand to such edicts as those we have quoted; never have
abolished the use of the cross for the execution of criminals or have
forbidden Jews to own Christian slaves; never have called the whole
world time and again to witness his zeal for Christ; never have lavished
the resources of the Empire upon the building of sumptuous churches;
never have listened with such extraordinary forbearance to the
wranglings of the Donatists and the subtleties of Arians and
Athanasians; never have summoned or presided at the Council of Nicæa;
and certainly never have made the welfare of non-Roman Christians the
subject of entreaty with the King of Persia. Constantine was prone to
superstition. He was grossly material in his religious views, and his
own worldly success remained still in his eyes the crowning proof of the
Christian verities. But the sincerity of his convictions is none the
less apparent, and even the atrocious crimes with which he sullied his
fair fame cannot rob him of the name of Christian. It was a name, says
St. Augustine,[145] in which he manifestly delighted to boast, mindful
of the hope which he reposed in Christ (_Plane Christiano nomine
gloriosus, memor spei quam gerebat in Christo_).
-----
Footnote 145:
_Contra Lit. Petil._, ii., 205.
-----
[Illustration]