The Old Roman World : the Grandeur and Failure of Its Civilization Part 36

If any form of ancient philosophy could have renovated society, it was the Stoical school, which Zeno had founded. It commended itself, in a corrupt age, to many n.o.ble and powerful minds, because it raised them above the corruption around them, and proclaimed an ideal standard of morality. The Romans cared very little for mere speculations on G.o.d or the universe; but they did revere that which proposed a practical aim.

The Stoics despised prevailing baseness, and set examples of a severe morality. Marcus Aurelius, one of the loftiest followers of this school, was a model of every virtue, and he looked upon his philosophy as a means of salvation to a crumbling empire. But the Stoics, with all their morality, were the Pharisees of pagan antiquity. They held themselves superior to all other cla.s.ses of men. They gloried in their proud isolation. And with all the loftiness of Stoicism, it did not teach of a G.o.d who governed the world in mercy and love, but according to the iron decrees of necessity. It attacked error with a stern severity, but had no toleration for human weakness. It confounded the idea of G.o.d with that of the universe, and therefore destroyed his personality, making the Deity himself an influence, or a development. The Stoic despised the age, and despised every influence to elevate it which did not come from himself. He treated the most wholesome truths so partially as to be led into the greatest absurdities of doctrine and inconsistencies with their general principle. Epictetus, indeed, infused a new life into the Stoical philosophy. He taught the doctrine of pa.s.sive endurance so forcibly that the Christians claimed him for their own. But there was nothing which appealed to the people in Stoicism. It was too stern and cold. It had no humanity. Hence they stood aloof, as they did from all the systems of Grecian philosophy. It was not for them, but for the learned and the cultivated. It was a system of thought; it was not a religion--a speculation and not a life. Like Platonism, the Stoical philosophy was esoteric, and only appealed to a few elevated minds, who had affected indifference to the evils of life, and had learned to conquer natural affections. The Stoical doctrines of Epictetus had a more practical end in view than those of Zeno, since they were applied to Roman thought and life. We cannot deny the purity and beauty of his aphorisms, but he was like Noah preaching before the flood. He had his disciples and admirers, but they made a feeble barrier against corruptions. It was the protest of a man before a mob of excited and angry persecutors resolved on his death. It was no more heard than the dying speech of Stephen. It was lost utterly on a people abandoned to inglorious pleasure.

[Sidenote: The Epicurean philosophy.]

The only form of philosophy which was popular with the Romans, and which was appreciated, was the Epicurean. The disciples of this school were, of course, the luxurious, the fas.h.i.+onable, the worldly, and it exercised upon them but a feeble restraining influence. It denied the providence of G.o.d; it maintained that the world was governed by chance; it denied the existence of moral goodness; it affirmed that the soul was mortal, and that pleasure was the only good. If the more contemplative and the least pa.s.sionate rebuked gross vices, they still advocated a tranquil indifference to outward events that showed neither loftiness nor fear of judgment. Their system was openly based upon atheism. Self-love was the foundation of all action, and self-indulgence was the ultimate good. The Epicureans were the patrons of the circus, and the theatre, and the banquet, and, indeed, of all those vanities and follies which disgraced the latter days of Rome. Their influence tended to enervate and corrupt.

Their philosophy, instead of preserving old forms of life, old customs, old inst.i.tutions, old traditions and a.s.sociations, made a mockery of them all, and was as efficient in producing decay as was the philosophy of the eighteenth century in France in paving the way for the revolution. The purest type of Epicureanism may have refined a few of the better sort, but the prevailing influence, doubtless, undermined society. The G.o.d of the reason was allied with the G.o.d of the sense, and the maniac soul of the lying prophet entered the schools. Education, as directed by them, served only to make youth worldly and frivolous.

Teachers sought to amuse and not to instruct, to make royal roads to knowledge, to exalt the omnipotence of money, to set a high value on what pa.s.ses away. They limited man to himself, and acknowledged no other object of human exertion than is to be found within the compa.s.s of the fleeting phenomena of the present life. They had no wish beyond the present hour, and only aimed to console man in the corruption and misery which he saw around him. They had no high aims; nor did they seek to produce profound impressions. They adapted themselves to what was, rather than what ought to be. They were easy and gracious, but utterly without earnestness. The Peripatetic inquired, sneeringly, "What _is_ truth?" The Epicurean languidly said, "What is truth to _me_. There is no truth nor virtue, nor is there a G.o.d, nor a place of rewards and punishments. This world is my theatre. Let me eat and drink, for to-morrow I die. I will abstain from inordinate self- indulgence, for it will shorten my life, or produce satiety, ennui, disgust--not because it is wrong. I will make the most of earth and of my faculties for pleasure. Wealth is the greatest blessing, poverty the greatest calamity. Friends are of no account, unless they amuse me or help me. The sentiment of friends.h.i.+p is impossible, and would be unsatisfactory." The true Epicurean quarreled with no person and with no opinions. Nothing was of consequence but ease, prosperity, self- forgetfulness. The soul of man could aspire to nothing beyond this life; and when death came, it was a release, a thing neither to be regretted nor rejoiced in, but an irresistible fate. What could be expected from such a system? What renovation in such a cold, barren, negative faith, without hope, without G.o.d in the world? The most prevalent of all the systems of philosophy, so far from doing good, did evil. How could it save when its ends were destructive of all those sentiments on which true greatness rests? What could be expected of a philosophy which only served to amuse the great, to throw contempt on the people, to undermine religious aspirations, to vitiate the moral sense, to ignore G.o.d and duty and a life to come?

Thus every influence at Rome, whether proceeding from art, or literature, or philosophy, or government, instead of saving, tended to destroy. All these things came from man, and could not elevate him beyond himself. Even religion was a compound of superst.i.tions, ritual observances, and puerilities. It did not come from G.o.d. It was neither lofty nor pure. What good there was soon became perverted, and the evil was reproduced more rapidly than good. Only error seemed to have vitality. The false lights which sin had kindled shed only a delusive gleam. The soul occasionally a.s.serted the dignity which G.o.d had given it, and great men swept and garnished houses, but devils reentered, and the normal condition of humanity was what the Bible declares it to be since Adam was expelled from Paradise. Genius, energy, ambition, were allowed to win their victories, and they shed a glorious light, and for a time exalted the reason of man, but alas, were soon followed by shame and degradation.

[Sidenote: All forms of civilization fail to be conservative.]

And what is the logical inference--the deduction which we are compelled to draw from this mournful history of the failure of all those grand trophies of the civilization which man has made? Can it be other than this: that man cannot save himself; that nothing which comes from him, whether of genius or will, proves to be a conservative force from generation to generation; that it will be perverted, however true, or beautiful, or glorious, because "men love darkness rather than light."

All that is truly conservative, all that grows brighter and brighter with the progress of ages, all that is indestructible and of permanent beauty, must come from a power higher than that of man, whether supernatural or not--must be a revelation to man from Heaven, a.s.sisted by divine grace. It must be divine truth in conjunction with divine love. It must be a light from Him who made us, and which alone baffles the power of evil.

He did send Christianity, when every thing else had signally failed, as it will forever fail. And this is the seed of the woman which shall bruise the serpent's head.

We have now to show why this great renovating and life-giving influence did not prevent the destruction of the empire; and we may be convinced that if this great end could not be accomplished in accordance with the plans of Providence, and in accordance with the laws by which He rules the world, Christianity was in no sense a failure, as man's devices were; but, through the mouths and writings of great bishops, saints, and doctors, projected its saving truths far into the shadows of barbaric Europe, and laid the foundation for a new and more glorious civilization--a civilization not destined to perish, so far as it is in harmony with divine revelation.

CHAPTER XIII.

WHY CHRISTIANITY DID NOT ARREST THE RUIN OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE.

One of the most interesting inquiries which is suggested by history is, Why Christianity did not prevent the glory of the old civilization from being succeeded by shame? This is not only a grand inquiry, but it is mysterious. We are naturally surprised that literature, art, science, laws, and the perfect mechanism of government should have proved such feeble barriers against degeneracy, for these are among the highest triumphs of the human mind, and such as the world will not willingly let die. But a still more potent and majestic influence than any thing which proceeds from man still remained to the haughty masters of the ancient world. A new religion had been proclaimed with the establishment of the empire, which gradually broke down the old superst.i.tions, conquered the hatred and prejudices of both Greeks and Romans, supplanted the old systems of Paganism, and went on from conquering to conquer, until it seated itself on the imperial throne, and proved itself to be the wisdom and the power of G.o.d.

But we see that as this wonderful religion gained ground, whether in changing the lives of individuals, or in allying itself with dominant inst.i.tutions, the Roman Empire declined. When Christianity was first proclaimed, the Roman eagles surmounted the princ.i.p.al cities of antiquity, and the central despotism on the banks of the Tiber was the law of the world. When it was a feeble light on the mountains of Galilee, the glory of Rome was the object of universal panegyric, and the city of the seven hills rejoiced in a magnificence which promised to be eternal. But when Paganism yielded to Christianity, and when the latter had spread to every city and village in the empire, with its grand hierarchy of bishops and doctors, the proud empire was in ruins.

It would even seem that its decline and fall kept pace with the triumphs of a religion it had spurned and persecuted.

[Sidenote: Society retrograded as Christianity spread.]

What is the explanation of this grand mystery? Why should society have declined as Christianity spread, if, as we believe, Christianity is the great conservative force of the world, and is destined to regenerate all government, science, and social life? If the stability of the empire rested on virtues, and was undermined by vices, virtue must have declined and vice increased. But how can we reconcile such a fact with the progress of a religion which is the mainspring of all virtue, and the destruction of all vice? We do know that Christianity did not prevent the empire from falling, but also we have the testimony of poets and historians to the exceeding wickedness of society when Christianity was fairly established.

[Sidenote: A mysterious fact.]

In presenting the strange phenomenon of a falling empire with an all- conquering religion, it is necessary to grapple with the gloomy problem.

We have unbounded faith in the power of Christianity to save the world, and yet we see a mighty empire crumbling to pieces from vices which Christianity did not subdue. What a deduction might be drawn from this strange fact, that Christianity _can_, _but did not, save_.

How mournful the future of modern Christian nations if the same fact should be repeated--if civilization should decline as Christianity achieves its triumphs! Is it possible that civilization, the triumph of human genius and will, may fade away as Christianity, which gives vitality to society, advances? Has civilization nothing to do with Christianity?

[Sidenote: Christianity not however a failure.]

But there can be nothing mournful in the developments of a divine religion--nothing discouraging in the conquests which seemed incomplete.

Nor did it really, in any important task, prove a failure; but amid the ashes of the old world, as it disappeared, we see the new creation, and listen to melodious birth-songs. Indeed, the fall of the empire, when we profoundly survey it, instead of detracting from Christianity, only prepared the way for higher triumphs, and for a loftier development of civilization itself. Future ages have probably lost nothing by the ruin of Rome, while the world has gained by the establishment of Christianity, even by the seeds of truth planted by the early church.

Still, it cannot be questioned that, in the Roman empire, vices and corruptions spread with terrific and mournful rapidity even after Christianity was revealed--so rapidly, indeed, that Christianity opposed but a feeble barrier.

The history of Christianity among the Romans suggests these three inquiries:--

First, why it proved so feeble in arresting degeneracy; secondly, how far it conserved old inst.i.tutions; and thirdly, how far it created a new and higher civilization.

[Sidenote: Christianity fails to check degeneracy.]

The first inquiry, on a superficial view, is discouraging. We see a sublime realism making quietly its converts by thousands, without seemingly checking ordinary vices. We are reminded of Socrates creating Platos, yet failing to reform Athens. We behold witnesses of the truth in every land, which gradually sinks deeper and deeper in infamy as the witnesses increase. And, when the land is about to be overrun by barbarians, when despair seizes the public mind, and desolation overspreads the earth, and good men hide in rocks, and dens, and caves, we see the church resplendent with wealth and glory, her bishops enthroned as dignitaries, princes doing homage to saints, and even the barbarians themselves bowing down in reverence and awe. How barren these ecclesiastical victories seem to a superficial or infidel eye! If Christianity is what its converts claim, why did it accomplish so little?

[Sidenote: Yet still a conquering religion.]

But, in another aspect, the victories do not seem so barren; and they even appear more and more majestic the more they are contemplated. There is something grand in the spread of new ideas which are unpalatable to the mighty and the wise. Considering the humble characters of the early Apostles and their disciples, their triumphs were really magnificent. It is astonis.h.i.+ng that the teachings of fishermen should have supplanted the teachings of Jewish rabbis and Grecian philosophers, amid so great and general opposition. It is remarkable that their doctrines should have so completely changed the lives of those who embraced them. It is wonderful that emperors who persecuted and sages who spurned the religion of Jesus, should have been won over by a moral force superior to all the venerated influences of the old religion of which they were guardians and expounders. It is surprising that such relentless and b.l.o.o.d.y persecutions as took place for three hundred years should have been so futile. When we remember the extension of Christianity into all the countries known to the ancients, and the marvelous fruits it bore among its converts, making them brothers, heroes, martyrs, saints, doctors--a benediction and a blessing wherever they went; and when we see these little esoteric bands, in upper chambers or in catacombs, persecuted, tormented, despised, yet gaining daily new adherents, without the aid of wealth, or learning, or social position, or political power, until generals, senators, and kings came willingly into their fraternity, and bound themselves by their rules, and changed the whole habits of their lives, looking to the future rather than the present-- the infinite rather than the finite; blameless in morals, lofty in faith, heavenly in love; sheep among wolves, yet not devoured--we feel that Christianity cannot be too highly exalted as a conquering power.

But the point is, not that Christianity failed to conquer, but that it failed to save the Roman world. The conquests of the church are universally admitted and universally admired. They were the most wonderful moral victories ever achieved. But, while Christianity conquered Rome, why did she fail to arrest its ruin? Vice gained on virtue, rather than virtue gained on vice, even when the cross was planted on the battlements of the imperial palaces.

[Sidenote: Christianity too late to save.]

The victories of Christianity came not too late for the human race, but for the stability of the Roman empire. Had Christianity completely triumphed when Julius Caesar overturned the republic, the empire might have lasted. But when Constantine was converted, the empire was shaken to its foundations, and the barbarians were advancing. No medicine could have prevented the diseased old body from dying. The time had come. When the wretched inebriate embraces a spiritual religion with one foot in the grave, with a const.i.tution completely undermined, and the seeds of death planted, then no repentance or lofty aspiration can prevent physical death. It was so in Rome. Society was completely undermined long before the emperors became Christians. The fruits of iniquity were being reaped when Chrysostom and Augustine lifted up their voices. The body was diseased, so that no spiritual influence could work upon it.

Had every man in the empire been a Christian, yet, when, the army had lost its discipline and efficiency, when patriotism had fled, when centuries of vices had enfeebled the physical forces, when puny races had lost all martial ardor, and could present nothing but weakness and cowardice--all from physical causes, how could they have successfully contended with the new and powerful barbaric armies? Christianity saves the soul; it does not restore exhausted physical functions. The vices which had undermined were learned before Christianity protested, and were dominant when Christianity was feeble. The effects of those vices were universal before a remedy could be applied.

[Sidenote: Limited number of the converts.]

[Sidenote: Early Christians unimportant.]

Moreover, when Christianity itself was a vital and conquering force, the number of its converts formed but a small proportion of the inhabitants of the empire. Witnesses of the truth were sent into every important city in the world, but they simply protested in a dark corner. Their warning voice was unheeded except by a few, and these were unimportant people in a social or political or intellectual point of view. Even when Constantine was converted, the number of Christians in the empire, according to Gibbon, whose statement has not been refuted, was only one fifth of the whole population. And this accounts for the insignificant social changes that Christianity wrought. A vast majority was opposed to them even in the fourth century. There were doubtless large numbers of Christians at Rome, Antioch, Alexandria, Corinth, Ephesus, and other populous cities, in the third century, and also there were powerful churches in the great centres of trade, where people of all nations congregated; but they were exposed to bitter persecutions, and they durst not be ostentatious, not even in those edifices where they congregated for the wors.h.i.+p of Jehovah. For two centuries they wors.h.i.+ped G.o.d in secret and lonely places, exposed to persecution and scorn. Not only were the Christians few in number, when compared with the whole population, but they were chiefly confined to the humble cla.s.ses. In the first century not many wise or n.o.ble were called. No great names have been handed down to us. Now and then a centurion was converted, or some dependent on a great man's household, or some servant in the imperial family; but no philosophers, or statesmen, or n.o.bles, or generals, or governors, or judges, or magistrates. In the first century the Christians were not of sufficient importance to be generally persecuted by the government. They had not even arrested public attention. n.o.body wrote against them, not even Greek philosophers. We do not read of protests or apologies from the Christians themselves. No contemporary historian or poet alludes to them. They had no great men in their ranks, either for learning, or talents, or wealth, or social position. In the cities they were chiefly artisans, slaves, servants, or mechanics, and in the country they were peasants. They were unlettered, plebeian, unimportant. If there were distinguished converts, we do not know their names. Ecclesiastical history is silent as to distinguished persons except as persecutors, or as great contemporaries. We read of the calamities of the Jews, of Herod Agrippa, of Philo, of Nero's persecution, of the emperors, but not of Christians. Eusebius does not narrate a single interesting or important fact which took place in the first century through the agency of a great man. We know scarcely more than what is contained in the New Testament. We read that Clement was bishop of Rome, but know nothing of his administration. We do not know whether or not he was a man of any worldly consideration. Nothing in history is more barren than the annals of the church in the first century, so far as great names are concerned. Yet in this century converts were multiplied in every city, and traditions point to the martyrdoms of those who were prominent, including nearly all of the Apostles.

[Sidenote: Obscurity of the early Christians.]

[Sidenote: Their intense religious life.]

In the second century there are no greater names than Polycarp, Irenaeus, Ignatius, Justin Martyr, Clement Melito, and Apollonius--quiet bishops or intrepid martyrs--bishops who addressed their flocks in upper chambers, and who held no worldly rank--famous only for their sanct.i.ty or simplicity of character, and only mentioned for their sufferings and faith. We read of martyrs, some of whom wrote valuable treatises and apologies; but among them we find no people of rank, not even ladies like Paula and Marcella and Fabiola, in the time of Jerome, unless Symphorosa is an exception. It was a disgrace to be a Christian in the eye of fas.h.i.+on or power. Even the great Marcus Aurelius, so distinguished as a man and a philosopher, had supreme contempt of the new apostles of truth, and was one of their most unrelenting persecutors. The early Christian literature is chiefly apologetic, and the doctrinal character of the fathers of this century is simple and practical, showing no great acquaintance with the system of heathen thought. There were controversies in the church--an intense religious life--great activities, great virtues, but no outward conflicts, no secular history, nothing to arrest public notice. But the converts to Christianity, plebeian as they were, were yet of sufficient consequence to be persecuted. They had attracted the notice of government. They were looked upon as fanatics who sought to destroy a reverence for existing inst.i.tutions. But they had not as yet a.s.sailed the government, or the great social inst.i.tutions of the empire. In this century the polity of the church was quietly organized. There was an organized fellows.h.i.+p among the members: bishops had become influential, not in society, but among the Christians; dioceses and parishes were established; there was a distinction between city and rural bishops; delegates of churches a.s.sembled to discuss points of faith, or suppress nascent heresies; the diocesan system was developed, and ecclesiastical centralization commenced; deacons began to be reckoned among the higher clergy; the weapons of excommunication were forged; missionary efforts were carried on; the festivals of the church were created; Gnosticism--a kind of philosophical religion--was embraced by many leading minds; catechetical schools taught the faith systematically; the formulas of baptism and the other sacraments became of great importance; marriage with unbelievers was discouraged; and monachism became popular. The internal history of the church becomes interesting, but still the Christians had no great influence outside their own body; it was esoteric, quiet, un.o.btrusive; and it was a very small body of pure and blameless men, who did not aspire to control society.

[Sidenote: The empire in a hopeless state.]

While the church was thus laying the foundation of its future polity and power, but nothing more, and failed to attract the great, or men of ambitious views--those who led society--the empire was approaching a most fearful crisis. Hadrian had built a wall from the Rhine to the Danube to arrest the incursions of barbarians; the Roman garrisons beyond the Danube were withdrawn; the Goths had advanced from the Vistula and the Oder to the sh.o.r.es of the Black Sea; the Jews were dispersed; a chaos of deities was in the Roman Pantheon; Grecian philosophy had degenerated; the taste of the people had become utterly corrupt; games and festivals were the business and the amus.e.m.e.nt of the people; the despotism of the emperors had utterly annulled all rights; a succession of feeble and wicked princes ruled supreme; the empire was falling into a state of luxury and inglorious peace; the middle cla.s.ses had become extinct; and disproportionate fortunes had vastly increased slavery. The work of disintegration had commenced.

[Sidenote: The church of the third century.]

The third century saw the church more powerful as an inst.i.tution.

Regular synods had a.s.sembled in the great cities of the empire; the metropolitan system was matured; the canons of the church were definitely enumerated; great schools of theology attracted inquiring minds; the doctrines of faith were systematized; Christianity had spread so extensively that it must needs be persecuted or legalized; great bishops ruled the growing church; great doctors speculated on the questions which had agitated the Grecian schools; church edifices were enlarged, and banquets inst.i.tuted in honor of the martyrs. The church was rapidly advancing to a position which extorted the attention of mankind. But even so late as the close of the third century, there were but few Christians eminent for riches or rank. There were some great bishops like Cyprian, Hippolytus, Victor, Demetrius; some great theologians like Origen, Tertullian, and Clement; some great heretics like Hermogones, Sabellius, and Novatian--all marked men, immortal men; but of no great influence outside their ranks.

What could they do in a time of so much public misery and misfortune as marked the empire when it was ruled by monsters; when the barbarians had obtained a foothold in the provinces; when the capital was deserted by the emperors for the camp; and when signs of decay and ruin were apparent to all thoughtful minds?

[Sidenote: The church of the fourth century.]

It was not till the fourth century--when imperial persecution had stopped; when Constantine was converted; when the church was allied with the state; when the early faith was itself corrupted; when superst.i.tion and vain philosophy had entered the ranks of the faithful; when bishops became courtiers; when churches became both rich and splendid; when synods were brought under political influence; when monachists had established a false principle of virtue; when politics and dogmatics went hand in hand, and emperors enforced the decrees of councils--that men of rank entered the church, and the church had a visible influence on the state. It was not till the fourth century that such great names as Arius, Athanasius, Hosius, Eusebius, Cyril of Alexandria, Hilary of Poictiers, Martin of Tours, Diodorus of Tarsus, Ambrose of Milan, Basil of Caesarea, Cyril of Jerusalem, Gregory n.a.z.ianzen, Theophilus of Alexandria, Chrysostom of Constantinople, arose and made their voices heard in the council chambers of the great.

[Sidenote: The empire dismembered before the political triumphs of Christianity.]

But when the church had become a mighty and recognized power, when it had a.s.sailed social inst.i.tutions, when it drew men of rank into its folds, when it was no longer an obloquy to be a Christian--then the seat of empire had been removed to the banks of the Bosphorus; then the Goths and Vandals had become most formidable enemies, and Theodosius, the last great emperor, was making a brave but futile attempt to revive the glories of Trajan and the Antonines. The empire was crumbling to pieces-- was dying--and even Christianity could not save it politically.