Saturday, October 8, 2022

Christian Ascetism and the Monastic Movement by W. H.C. Frend

Origen 


Anthony


The fourth Century was the age of Christian asceticism. The era of the martyrs had come and gone. There remained, however, martyrdom in intention, the fight against demons on the desert frontiers by other means: by celibacy, poverty, self-abasement and rejection of the outside world. It was Ambrose who gave episcopal guidance to the movement in the West and provided the same moderating influence on the individualist zeal of ascetic as Basil had done in the East.

The origins of the ascetic movement go back beyond Christianity itself. From the Quietist groups of Jews who betook themselves to the caves during the Maccabean  wars, and refused to fight even to save their lives on the Sabbath, to the Covenanters of Qumran and the Essenes and Therapeutae described by Philo there are strong historical connections. Of the latter, Philo tells us that they spend their lives ‘pursuing solitude’ and that their ultimate aim was ‘the vision of the Existent to soar above the run of their senses, earnestly desiring things heavenly.’ No wonder the historian Eusebius saw in these Jewish monks the forerunners of the Christian ascetics of his own day.

In addition, the Eastern tradition of theology had always held ‘philosophy,’ meaning a life devoted to contemplation and asceticism, in high respect. The pagan philosopher accepted solitude, a strictly continent life and often a vegetarian diet. In the fifth century the historian Sozomen could still write of the monks as ‘practicing philosophy’ just as Philo had described the Therapeutae. The asceticism practiced by well-to-do Christian households in the towns in the fourth and fifth centuries would seem to owe much to these ideas.

Before the victory of the Church it was taken for granted that the ascetic life was the mark of a true Christian. It was the ‘whole yoke of the Lord’ in the words of the writer of the Didache*. Later, in the mid-second century it inspired the Encratite** movement which was flourishing among the greater Churches of the Eastern Mediterranean. It was regarded as a principal means of gaining the gifts of the Spirit and formed an essential part of a confessor’s struggle with the Devil in the amphitheater.

* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Didache

** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Encratites

This rigorous interpretation of the Christian message had to face two challenges. First, it was to some extent associated at this time with apocalyptic, and as the Montanist controversy showed, the spiritual claims of the prophet and martyr clashed with those of the bishop and clergy. [
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montanism ]. Secondly, some elements of asceticism also became associated in parts of the East with the exaggerated disdain of the flesh taught by Gnostic heretics such as Carpocrates. Already, about 200, Clement of Alexandria was replying that the ‘true Gnostic’ could advance toward communion with the divine by progressive elevation of the soul without undergoing martyrdom. This argument was reinforced by Origen. All his life Origen desired to die a martyr’s death but his teaching led to a different conclusion. The Christian should lay hold of life, and by using his free will to subdue his bodily passions defeat the Devil and rise toward God. Martyrdom could be the martyrdom of the spirit rather than of the body. Origen’s way of life was that of an ascetic teacher, sleeping on the ground, going about barefoot, contenting himself with one garment only, and drinking no wine. Quite rightly, his ideals have been regarded as an inspiration to the monastic movement, and his works were read eagerly in the monastic settlements Indeed, disputes among Egyptian monks over his view of universal salvation were then occasion of his formal condemnation as a heretic in 399.

In the latter part of the third century other developments combined to replace the martyr by the ascetic as the highest example of the Christian way of life. First, the Church was attaining a recognized place in the Empire, and so the chances of dying a martyr’s death were diminishing. In the Great Persecution it seems clear that except in Egypt and perhaps Numidia, not many died unless they deliberately provoked the authorities. The increase in the numbers of Christians, too, induced a less self-sacrificing spirit. Moreover, as we have already seen, a further impulse to go out in the desert was provided by the crushing weight of taxation which drove many a smallholder to abandon his farm and flee. In Antony’s community ‘there was heard neither the evil-doer, nor him who had been wronged (by the magistrates) nor the reproaches of the tax-gatherer. Finally, the last decade of the century witnessed the missionary activity within the Roman Empire of the new ascetic creed of Manichaeism – a challenge to the orthodox Christian to do better. But, the true aim of the monk still remained the spiritual imitation of martyrdom. This was never better expressed than in the seventh century romance, the Book of Barlaam and Joasaph, ‘Monasticism arose from men’s desire to become martyrs in intention.’ They were the new ‘friends of Christ,’ and ‘athletes’ against the Devil.

Despite his Greek name, Anthony was a Copt, speaking nothing but Coptic. He was the son of a well-to-do farmer from a large village on the upper Nile, south of Memphis. His parents were Christians. The story of his life is told by Athanasius who may have met him as early as 318 and held him in the deepest respect. His parents died in about the year 270. He placed his young sister in a community of virgins, and meditated on how to serve God. In this frame of mind he entered the village church, and then, to continue in the words of Athanasius, ‘It happened that the Gospel was being read, and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man ‘If thou wouldst be perfect, go and sell that thou hast and give it to the poor, and come follow me and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.’ Antony immediately went out and sold his farm for the benefit of the needy, keeping a small sum for the maintenance of his sister. He placed himself under the direction of an old man who was already a hermit and practiced asceticism alone near the edge of the village. His life now consisted of manual work, prayer and memorizing the Bible. Temptations to return to ordinary secular life were severe. He describes how the Devil ‘tried to lead him away from the discipline, whispering to him the remembrance of his wealth, care for his sister and the clams of kindred.’ Then, the Devil took ‘the shape of a woman and imitated all her acts to beguile Anthony’ But Anthony held fast. He migrated to a cemetery on a mountainside, and later, in about 285, crossed the Nile where he found an ancient fort which was to be his abode for twenty years. He was assaulted by temptations again. His cell ‘was filled with the forms of lions, bulls, bears, leopards, serpents and scorpions. He was struck down with bodily pains. Another apparition admitted that he was Satan, and reproached Antony from troubling him, but all fled at the sign of the Cross.

By this time he was beginning to attract Disciples, and by the outbreak of the Great Persecution the ‘desert was becoming full of monks.’ He went down to Alexandria, for ‘longed to suffer martyrdom but not being willing to give himself up, he ministered to the confessors in the mines and prisons.” This is an interesting passage, because it shows, first, that martyrdom was reserved at this stage for those who literally demanded it and, secondly, that Anthony himself did not regard the martyr’s lot as the sole means of attaining Paradise.

After the Persecution he retired again, this time to a mountain in the eastern desert near the Red Sea. He now began to make his influence felt against the enemies  of Athanasius with his followers throwing his weight against Arians, Meletians, Manichaeans and pagans. In 337-8 he came down to Alexandria to denounce the Arians with tremendous effect. He had become renowned as a prophet and seer. He could deal on equal terms with officials who were favoring Arianism and at the same time would give homely advice to those in difficulty; he cheered doubters ad inspired many to follow his example. His affection for Athananius never wavered. On his deathbed in January 356 at the ripe old age of 105, he bequeathed to him his most prized possessions- his old sheepskin tunic and the mantle upon which he slept.

His monasticism was primarily individual and was bared purely on his own understanding of the Bible. The asceticism which he taught was rigorous. ‘He kept vigil to such an extent that he often continued the whole night without sleep. He ate once a day, after sunset, sometimes once in two days, and often even four. His food was bread and salt and water only.’ He told his monks ‘The Scriptures are enough for instruction’ and armed with their power they could overthrow the demons. Basically, he was thinking in non-ecclesiastical terms. It has been pointed out that his retirement proved that in his view the organized church had become an impossible dwelling-place for anyone who wished to lead a truly Christian life. The Bible, solitary prayer and fasting took precedence over the common life, public worship and ecclesiastical control. Though salvation in Paradise was his object, for most of his life he could never receive the Eucharist, and his monks were laymen. And yet, his friendship with Athanasius was to make his movement the most formidable weapon in the armory of the Church of Egypt.

Anthony had many imitators, among whom was another Copt, a close friend named Amoun. In about 320 the latter left his wife with whom he had been living for eighteen years in celibate union and went to the mountain of Nitria southwest of the Delta. Soon a vast settlement grew up. There were upwards of 5,000 monks, each living in a separate cell. Amoun and his wife visited each other twice yearly. At Nitria we begin to find evidence of a common way of life. The monks would assemble for services each Saturday and Sunday, and they were served by eight priests under the authority of the Bishop of Hermopolis. Similar developments took place at another center, Scete, west of Niria. Nevertheless, there was no set discipline. Newcomers attached themselves to a ‘master’ and learned asceticism from him. It was in these monasteries that prodigies of healing and fantastic  competitions in spiritual perfection took place. Macarius of Alexandria, for instance, attempted to keep awake for twenty nights on end, to stand upright the whole of Lent, and subsist on a diet of cabbage leaves. Another monk, Pachom, we are told in Palladius’s Lausic History, sought to be devoured by wild beasts but hyenas whose cave he invaded would not touch him.

This was the flight from the Hellenistic world carried to extreme lengths. With Packom (Pachomius) (290-345) we may discern the beginnings of a more ordered community asceticism which was to extend its influence throughout the Greek world, and ultimately provide a model for the monasteries in the West.

Packomius was born of heathen parents and was originally a soldier in the army of Licinius. He experienced, however, the kindness and charity of Christians in the Thebaid when he was incarcerated with other recruits awaiting enrollment, and on his disbandment about 314, became a Christian himself. Almost at once he joined a solitary named Palaemon  who had a hermit’s cabin opposite Denderah on the right bank of the Nile in Upper Egypt. He felt himself, however, drawn strongly toward community life, and in response to a divine command established himself in the nearby village of Tabennese. ‘Stay here and build a monastery and many will come to you in order to be monks.’ He did so, and it was as the voice said. By the time he died in 345 there were nine monasteries and two nunneries with several thousand adherents forming part of his ‘Order.’

The important step which Pachomius took was to transform the loose association of groups of hermits into an organized community subject to definite discipline. As with Anthony, the Bible formed the basis of the monk’s learning. Each novice first learned by heart twenty psalms, and two Pauline Epistles or their equivalent. He then became literate in Coptic.Greek-speakers were few and far between. After this, he was allocated to one of the houses in the monastery, where he would find himself living as a member of a group of about twenty monks probably working at the same trade. He would be clothed in uniform dress, which included hood, mantle of goatskin, girdle and stick, and he would be under the discipline of his seniors. There would be a superior in each house responsible to the father of the monastery, who in turn would take his instructions from Pachomius himself.  These monasteries were large and self-supporting settlements carrying on every sort of trade and occupation, whose inmates numbered thousands. Palladius speaks of 1,400 at Pachomius’s chief monastery. Socially, they represent a transition which was taking place throughout the Mediterranean world from the predominance of the city state to that of a rural native community.

In these great monasteries extremes of asceticism were discouraged. Though Pachomius emphasized the value of work, most of the monks’ time was spent in services and the study of the Bible. Each Easter and on 13 August a general assembly was held at which all attended in a single vast congregation. Pachomius, like Anthony, was entirely loyal o Athanasius ever since the latter visited his monasteries at the beginning of his episcopate. Pachomius’s monks welcomed him on his return from his second exile in 346 and in Julia’s reign Tabennese provided him with a retreat.

In Egypt, the monastic movement flourished as nowhere else. Monasteries and nunneries grew up outside practically every town and village of any size. In Upper Egypt alone there were nearly 490 settlements  with their attendant monasteries. The number of monks must have been enormous. The alliance between the patriarchate of Alexandria and the monks provides a clue to the strength of the position occupied by successive patriarchs of Alexandria from Athanasius to Dioscores (328-455). In the first half of the fifth century there was no formidable a figure in Christendom than Schnoudi (343-452), the abbot of the White Monastery, and head of the Pachomian monks.  His was the leadership that ensured that the Coptic Church was to go its own way after the excommunication of Dioscoros at Chalcedon in 451.

In Palestine and Syria the early years of the fourth century had already witnessed the popularity of ascetic forms of Christianity. Here there was no difference of view between Athanasians and Origenists. Indeed, it is from one of the latter, Eusebius of Emesa (flor. 330-50), that we derive the most interesting picture of asceticism as it was practiced within the walls of the homes of prominent citizens in the first half of the century. The dedicated virgin read the Bible, observed daily hours of prayer, kept to a Lenten diet and distinctive dress.

In Palestine, one of Anthony’s disciple, Hilarion (flor. 320),established the first group of anchorites near Gaza, but in Syria the monastic movement seems to have begun independently. In that province, ascetics, particularly in the form of strict sexual continence, had long had its upholders, and there too the movement was primarily inspired by native, Syriac-speaking Christians. As in Egypt the monks finally established Christianity as the dominant religion in the countryside. Their spirit was individualistic. They preferred great settlements of separate cells to common life in a monastery. When Jerome came from Rome to the desert of Chalcis in northern Syria in 373, he complained that the desert had already become overcrowded. The monk’s doctrines, too, were not easy to fit into ecclesiastical patterns and their temper was often anarchic. Fanatically orthodox on dogmatic subjects, their morality was tinged with dualism. Abhorring the world, they saw no sense in working in it. From the safety of their cells, Jerome commented, they damned the world. The behavior of many of them was far more like that of Indian fakirs than Christians. Not for nothing were the Syrian ascetic sects of Messalians  and sack-wearers equated in 381-3 with the Manichees, as devotees who were carrying asceticism beyond the bounds of Christian teaching.

A different concept of the ascetics vocation was to prevail ultimately in Asia Minor. Significantly, the condemnation of the Messalians and the other Syrian sects was inspired  by the two greatest names in the story on monasticism, St. Basil and his friend Amphilochius of Iconium. We have already discussed Basil’s work in preparing the way for the second Ecumenical Council. Even more important  was his part in organizing monasticism in his native province of Cappadocia. The Rule of St. Basil has remained the model on which monasticism in the Orthodox Church is formed down to the present day.

 

The background of Basil’s upbringing had been the Christian asceticism of his mother and grandmother. From them he had learned the ideal of the contemplative life with which Origen had inspired in his disciples. In 357, after leaving Athens at the age of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, Basil made a journey through Mesopotamia, Palestine, Lower Egypt and Syria to study monasticism there. He returned deeply impressed with what he had seen. ‘I admire,’ he wrote, ‘their (the monks’) continence in living, and their endurance in toil. I was amazed at their persistence in prayer and their triumphing over sleep .  . . they showed in very deed what it is to sojourn for a while in this life and to have one’s citizenship and home in heaven. I prayed that I might imitate them.” At first he did so. He retired to the magnificent country of the Iris valley in eastern Cappadocia, and there, encouraged by Eustathius, Bishop of Sebaste, led the life of an anchorite. But already in 359 he had taken deacon’s orders, and three years later he was a  priest. He was committed to the Church as an organization. Ultimately, the earlier influences in his life were to prevail. The ideal of a hermit gave way to that of a common endeavor towards sanctity within an ecclesiastical framework. Man was a social and not a solitary animal. So, too, the iron discipline and drive for self-sufficiency of the  Pachomian rule was replaced by ideals of brotherliness (adelphotes) and social service. Basil’s Rules were deduced from the requirements of the Christian Platonism which dominated his life. The spirit was that of an ideal society to which the monk gradually made his ascent. It was  Hellenic in outlook, profoundly different from its Coptic and Syrian counterparts.

For the details of Basil’s monastic organization we are indebted to two documents known as the Longer and Shorter Rule of St. Basil, and also to numerous passages in his Letters. His object, described by his brother Gregory of Nyssa, was a mean between the solitary life of a hermit and the household asceticism practiced by some of his contemporaries. The fundamental aim was the common life. The monasteries were small, restricted to some thirty-forty members directed by a Superior. There was common dress and property, but no excesses of asceticism were permitted, and even private fasts were discouraged. We hear little of visions and prophesy. Emphasis was laid equally on prayer and work. Prayers were said in six services during the day and two during the nighttime, the object being to destroy evil desires and prevent sloth by an ever varying cycle of devotions. The Eucharist was celebrated four times a week in a church attached to the monastery. The Rules recognized full episcopal; control over the affairs of the cloister. Monasteries were placed in towns as well as in the countryside. Thus, religious life was no longer to be regarded as a flight from the world, and Basil himself was Bishop as well as a monk. Work was done with the deliberate aim of serving the community. Schools for children and hospitals were established and staffed by monks. There was scope for the learned to study as well as for the craftsman and laborer. The fulfillment of these aims was to bring a lasting benefit to the people of Asia Minor. They elevated the monastic ideal from personal to social service. It is not surprising that last survivals of Christianity in Asia Minor were monastic rather than episcopal.

In the West the monastic movement was still in its infancy as late as 380. In northwestern Europe a rougher climate, the deep-rooted character of Celtic paganism, and the failure of Christianity to penetrate far beyond the walls of city combined to prevent its spread. In Africa popular enthusiasm was concentrated in the  Circumcellion movement which had extended the concept of martyrdom to the struggle against social injustice in an apocalyptic setting. The Donatist extremists, Fasir and Axido, were self-styled ‘leaders of the saints.’ The deep-seated impatience populaire of Mediterranean Christianity was still expressed by authors and poets such as  Commodian and Salvian of Marseille who identified the powers of evil with the Roman government and looked forward to persecution, conflict and the End.

In contrast to the East, Western monasticism was originally aristocratic and middle-class in inspiration.  Athanasius’s stay in Rome in 341 accompanied by two monks had aroused the curiosity and respect of the Christian Roman nobility. Jerome’s early careers among the orthodox Christian provincialism of northeast Italy in the 360s shows how earnest young Christians were tired of this sort of thing, and longed to get away to quasi-solitude and celibate existence on the rigged islands off the Adriatic coast. Even so, monasticism was not always popular. There exists a curious work, the ‘Discussions between Zacchaeus and Apollonius,’ recording a supposed dialogue between a pagan and a Christian ascetic in which the pagan asks, ‘Tell me what is that community or nest of monks and why are they the object of hatred even among Christians?’ To this, the Christian replied that monks like every other calling included unworthy elements. In Jerome’s time in the 380s the pale face of a fasting woman would be stigmatized as that of a ‘miserable Manichaean nun.”

At this period Eastern asceticism was still being admired as something of a sensation. Rich heiresses like the Roman aristocrat Melania went out and visited Anthony’s hermitage at Pisir as tourists. Jerome’s friend, Rufinus, went to Scete and Nitria and others went to Palestine. By 350 there was a regular pilgrim route from Bordeaux to Jerusalem with hospices on the way. The story of Etheria, a noble and observant lady from northwestern Spain who traveled as far as Thebaid and then via the Sinai desert first to Jerusalem and then to Constantinople, reads like a modern travelogue. She was determined to see everything from monastic cells to the rock which Moses struck. The ancient world was gradually being transformed into the Middle Ages with its pilgrimages, its monastic sagas and elaborate cult of saints. In northern Gaul the 370s were to see the first and brilliantly successful piece of monastic missionary enterprise in the West, that of Martin of Tours among the Celts at a time when Christianity had been still an unknown faith to most of them.

Jerome’s career (345-420) fits into the current pattern of intellectual asceticism. His wanderings in the East early in his life, his curiosity and enthusiasm combined with ignorance of Eastern habits of mind and theological problems ,represented a prevalent outlook among the new generation of aristocratic Roman Christians.

His salon, centered on the household of the rich matron Paula and her daughter Eustochion, on the Aventine was a real center of religious life and learning. When in 385, disappointed of succeeding Pope Damasus, the translator of the Vulgate, sailed away to Palestine and his ‘cave'  at Bethlehem he left an example of asceticism  combined with scholarship which the Benedictines of the early Middle Ages were able to take to heart. Even so, the center of his activity as a monk  was the East. Another generation would go by before John Cassian provided the Western provinces with a monastic rule which they could accept, and which was to prepare the way for the Benedictine Order.

 





Tuesday, October 4, 2022

Christianization of the Roman World by W.H.C. Frend


 

Significant of the Church’s slow spread through the Greco-Roman world is the silence of the Classical writers of the first century AD concerning it. Tacitus, Pliny and Suetonius all writing between 110-20  treat Christianity as a new phenomena which has to be explained to their readers. Of the Jews, Philo does not mention the Crucifixion in his critical analysis of the career of Pontius Pilate which he wrote not much later than 41. Josephus mentions briefly John the Baptist and the martyrdom of James in 62 but about Jesus (except in the Slavonic version) he is silent. So, the historian is thrown back on the Christian sources, on the Pauline Epistles  written between 49 and 62, on Mark’s Gospel, on Luke-Acts written up slightly later, and Mathew as representing the tradition of the Church in Palestine and Syria post 70. In the Gospel of Thomas we may also have an early Aramaic tradition, though much distorted by later Gnostic editing, and we would be wise to accept one of the traditions behind John as Judean and dating back to  before the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD. It is not very much. The Christians hoped that the bridegroom would not tarry. Only when the Parousia was delayed and Christians had lived and died in the Church was the oral tradition of Jesus’ life and teaching reduced to writing.

 

There is, however, one other check on the meager information regarding the life of the primitive Church contained in  Acts, namely, the Scrolls. The Dead Sea covenanters were contemporaries of Jesus and his disciples. They too believed themselves to be the elect of Israel, the community of the poor awaiting the arrival of the Messianic Kingdom and from time to time their writings shed quite unexpected light on otherwise obscure passages in the Christian Scriptures.  .  .  .

All this time, the real battle of Christians was with the Jews. If Paul’s teaching succeeded in detaching the outer circle of interested Greeks from the synagogue, they were lost. God’s promises to Abraham regarding the universal character of the Jewish religion could not be fulfilled, and once the local Jews had grasped the implications of Paul’s message their hostility knew no bounds.* The Apostle’s tribulations at Thessalonica, Philippi, Beroea and Corinth stemmed from Jewish hatred. He was the man ‘who was turning the world upside down,’ the ringleader of the heretical sect of Nazarenes,’ and if they could persuade the Roman authorities that his teaching was also seditious, so much the better. The treatment meted out to the master was reserved for the apostle as well.

Down to 64 danger threatened the Christian Church from the Jews and the Jews alone. Even accepting the apologetic bias in Luke’s Gospel and Acts, it is clear that in the generation of the Crucifixion the Roman authorities evinced no hostility to the new sect. Interference in what appeared to be a quarrel between two groups of Jew over the niceties of the law was something which authorities then would be glad to avoid; moreover, Paul was a Roman citizen and, we may suspect, except in moments of exaltation, an interesting and not unsympathetic personality. Hence, the officials with whom he came in contact were ready to help him so far as they could. The impression he produced on Segius Paulus, Proconsul  of Cyprus in 46, was not isolated. Gallio drove his accusers from his presence in Corinth, and in the long-drawn-out crisis in Jerusalem from 58-60, the successive  procurators Felix and Porcius Festus stonewalled his enemies’ imprecations that he was worthy of death. Once arrived in Rome, Paul was more or less left to his own devices to preach the Word, with a good deal of success, ‘no one was preventing him.’ Even though when Paul arrived there in 60 he found Jewish leaders ill-acquainted with Christianity except by hearsay, though in 57 Paul could write of the Roman community as one whose ‘faith is spoken throughout the whole world.’

Such was the position when on 19 July 64 a vast conflagration devastated two entire quarters of the city of Rome, causing considerable loss of life and rendering thousands homeless. Suspicion fell on Nero himself who was believed to want to rid the city of a crowded and unsightly area in order to plan it anew and also extend his own palace. Then, to quote Tacitus’s well-known account of the events:

Consequently, to get rid of the report, Nero fastened the guilt and inflicted the most exquisite tortures on a class hated for their abominations, called the Christians by the populace. Christus, from whom the name had its origin, suffered the extreme penalty during the reign of Tiberius at the hands of one of our procurators, Pontius Pilatus, and a deadly superstition, thus checked for the moment, again broke out not only in Judea, the first source of the evil, but also in the City, where all things hideous and shameful from every part of the world meet and become popular. Accordingly, an arrest was first made of all who confessed, not so much of the crime of arson, as of hatred of the human race. Mockery of all sorts were added to their deaths . Covered with the skins of beasts, they were torn by dogs and perished, or were nailed to crosses, or were doomed to the flames. These served to illuminate the night when daylight failed. Nero had opened his gardens for the spectacle, and was exhibiting a show in the circus, while he mingled with the people in the dress of a charioteer or drove about in a chariot. Hence, even for criminals who deserved extreme and exemplary punishment, there arose a feeling compassion; for it was not, as it seemed, for the public good, but to glut one man’s cruelty, that they were being destroyed.

 

One possible explanation is that Nero was able to transfer suspicion to the Jews; they in turn pushed the blame on to the hated rival synagogue, and this time it stuck. The idea is not an unlikely one. At this period Jews were not popular, and the were suspected through-out the Greco-Roman world of incendiarist leanings. The Jews, however, were partly to blame for these suspicions. The Jewish Sibylline poems of this period foretold thy fiery end of the Greco-Roman world. ‘God shall burn the whole earth and consume the whole race of man. He shall burn everything up and there will remain sooty dust. These threats were read and remembered. The earliest commentator on the persecution, the writer of I Clement in circa 100, also implies that the Jews were to blame. He was writing from Rome to the Church in Corinth reproaching the community for allowing duly elected presbyters to be ousted by malcontent young men. At the beginning of his letter he points out how envy, jealousy and fratricidal conflict has been the bane of old Israel, and then he writes:

But, to finish with these ancient examples, let us come to the athletes of the recent past; let us take the noble examples of our own generation. Through jealousy and envy the greatest and most righteous of pillars (of the Church) were persecuted and contended unto death. Let us set before our eyes the good (i.e. heroic) Apostles: Peter, who through unrighteous jealousy endured not one or two but many labors, and so having borne witness proceeded to his due place in glory. Through jealousy and strife Paul played the prize of endurance; seven times in bonds, driven into exile, stoned, appearing as a herald in both the East and the West he won noble fame for his faith; he taught righteousness to the whole world, and after reaching the limits of the West bore witness before the rulers. Then he passed from the world and went to the holy place, having shown the greatest pattern of endurance.

Clearly he had  the fate of Peter and Paul in mind, and he places this in the context of internecine rivalries among God’s people, ‘envy and jealousy’ not pagan persecution.  In any event, the Neronian persecution had no sequel in the provinces. 50 years after the event, members of the Roman governing class seemed to have regarded the affair as the destruction of a conspiracy fomented by some extremist sect among the Roman Jews, and these were crushed in exactly the same way as the Bacchanals and other purveyors of malevolent rites, such as the Druids had been. The stroke was directed, however, against guilty individuals, not against the God of the Christians. A generation later, the Roman community was once more well-established and influential and the Christians were to enjoy another 130- years free from serious molestation. The Neronian persecution was a single catastrophe, but not the beginning of a consistent policy of repression.

 

Within two years the tactlessness of the Roman procurator in Palestine, Gessius Florus, had provoked a general revolt among the Jews there. To some contemporaries, such as Josephus, it was the greatest war of all time, and whether it deserved this title or not, it was fought out with a savagery rare even in the ancient world. Soon the Christians in Palestine were faced with a dilemma implicit in their position since the ministry of Jesus. Should they throw in their lot with the Jewish nationalists or not? James had already been struck down in 62, the victim of the same combination of conservative nationalism and mob violence that had been fatal to his Brother. Six years later came the supreme crisis,. What the anxious debates in 67-8 were we do not know, but a firm tradition describes the Christians leaving Jerusalem while there was yet time and establishing themselves in Pella, a Greek city across the Jordan. It was another momentous step. In 70 Jerusalem fell, the Essenes fighting both there and at Masada for the Lord Yahweh against the Lord Caesar to the last man. And winning the admiration of their enemies by their hopeless valor. The Christians were neutrals. They played no part in the heroic sacrifice of the Jewish nation. Their position in Palestine was damaged beyond repair. There, orthodox Judaism was to be permanently the victor. The work of James perished with him. The Christian hope now lay in Dispersion. The next fifty years would decide whether the missionary labors of Paul would bear fruit, or whether the Jews and pagans would prove too strong there also.

 

                         ……………………………………………….

 

By the middle of the 4th Century AD Christianity had become a great popular movement throughout the Mediterranean lands of the Roman Empire. In this final chapter we shall be inquiring how this movement was organized and the liturgy they served, and the part played by the laity in the life of the Church.

Constantine’s aim had been a magnificently endowed Church served by a clergy drawn from the necessitous ( but not too necessitous) classes, a nice balance between wealth and poverty as befitting the ‘ministers of the supreme God.’ His object was set out in a directive addressed to Bassus, the Praetorian Prefect of the West in 320 or 326. Clergy should be ‘persons of slender fortunes,’ but also people who were not held bound by compulsory municipal; services which were the mark of the provincial classes. It was an aim impossible to fulfill, for from the period of Diocletian (284-305) onward provincial society had tended to become increasingly stratified into a compulsory caste system in which the peasant, artisan, tradesman, teacher and landowner became fixed into immoveable patterns for the benefit of the imperial administrator and tax collector.  The Church and to some extend the central administration, provided the only practical outlets  [or ‘alternatives for advancement’], and once the Church began to acquire a privileged status, the opportunity to enter its ministry became irresistible. From 320-6 onward successive emperors sought to prevent decurians ( i.e. town councilors who were responsible for collecting the quota of taxes from their area) on the one hand and land workers on the other from finding refuge in Church office. No series of laws in the Theodosian Code show more clearly the dilemma of the authorities when confronted by their duty towards the State on the, one hand, and on the other towards the divine power who safeguarded the State.

In the event, the senior clergy of the fourth and fifth centuries represented an extraordinarily varied collection of human experience. At one end of the scale was Ambrose of Milan, a member of an aristocratic Roman household and protégé of Anicious Probus, the richest man in the Roman Empire. At the other was an African bishop like Samsucius, an illiterate who had risen from the rural population. In between came a very fair cross section of the provincial classes. Augustine’s father had been a decurian, and so Augustine himself would have been liable to recall to the city council of Thagaste. His friend Alypius had also come from a slightly wealthier background, and he had managed to migrate to the civil service before entering on Orders. Jerome’s parents were also members of the middle classes, and so were those of Basil, and his friends in Asia Minor. Petilian of Constantine, the Donatist leader, had been a lawyer, Martin of Tours a soldier, and Epiphanus of Salamis the son of a Jewish farmer in Palestine. Irenaeus of Berytus ‘the twice married, ‘ who was deposed at the second Council of Ephesus, had been a senior imperial official and had, so to speak, retired into Orders and become a bishop. Synesius of Cyrene, a Platonist philosopher, found himself drafted into the same calling late in life, and Nectarius, patriarch of Constantinople, moved from the Senate to the patriarchate in 381. The Church of the classic age of the Father was recruiting its ministry from a varied field which included many of the best minds of the Empire.


The position which the Church occupied in society was an enviable one. Already in 313 Constantine had freed orthodox clergy from obligations to municipal levies. Though this may have been intended as relief to clerics ‘of slender means,’ it not only put a financial premium on orthodoxy as we have seen, but set a precedent for a long series of grants and privileges in favor of the Church. One of the most important of these was in 321 when the Emperor permitted the Church complete freedom of accepting bequests, and Christian freedom to bequeath to the Church. In addition to this, it became the custom among Christian families to leave a certain portion of their goods to the Church as a sort of guarantee against the worse in the next world. Basil of  Caesarea intimated that the Church should receive the equivalent of a first-born’s portions. these measures enabled the Church to amass very considerable wealth during the fourth and fifth centuries. For Rome this was the reality behind the ‘Donation of Constantine.’ In Africa, Augustine administered an income belonging to the Church of Hippo amounting to twenty times as much as his father’s, that is more than 6000 gold solidi.  The Church of Ravenna had approximately double this income, while Alexandria, benefiting from not only offerings but from an unofficial linen tax by the faithful nominally toward the upkeep of vestments, could disperse up to 1500 lbs. in gold in bribes and still find more in the treasury. Perhaps it is not surprising that in circa 432 Possidias, Augustine’s biographer, commenting on the swift success of the Vandals, lamented that ‘the Church was hated because of its lands’ and that half a century later the Vandal King Huneric (477-84) regarded Afro-Roman nobles and Catholic priests as more or less synonymous. 

Wealth from bequests and grants apart, the Church had gained numerous privileges under Constantine and his sons. The alleviation of an obvious hardship in the form of an obligation to billet soldiers in 343, was followed in 349 by the exemption of clergy and their children from all fiscal burdens in respect of their city. Soon after, the Church was actually granted a share in the general taxes in kind paid by provincials, and equated with state officials for the purpose of using public posting services, which they practically wore out. At Ariminum, though a petition for exemption from all taxation was refused, the Church was to be exempted from all new taxes.

The end of Constantine’s reign marked the climax of the alliance in material terms between Church and State, Under Julian most of the privileges were rescinded, and were not renewed by Valentinian I. But sufficient were restored under Theodosius I and his successors for the connection between the State and State to remain close. In  Africa, Augustine depended on the great landowners like Celer and Pammachius for the success of his anti-Donatist campaign, and indeed the Donatists were the only force in the West who remained rootedly independent of the State. They retained to the last a theory of social justice grounded on a theory of the Holy Spirit which justified forceful measures against wrong and oppression. Elsewhere the Church seldom took action against oppressors of the poor unless heresy was suspected as well as evil. As Salvian of Marseilles pointed out, in the face of appalling misgovernment, the clergy either said nothing or their words were no more effective than silence. In the East, though the connection between the court and Empire was theoretically more binding, the clergy gained a reputation  for being just men, generous to the poor and leaders of their communities Whereas the African Circumcellions [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circumcellions] were beyond the pale of recognition, the monks who were often equally clamorous in the cause of justice were respected and much heeded members of society.

The clergy, too, despite the continuous recruiting of older men from the professions, was tending toward a career and a caste. This was partly due to the ever-increasing complication and proliferation of services, and the need therefore of a clergy long specialized in the minutiae of the liturgy.

To the traditional nocturnal vigil and morning ‘station’ each concluded by the Eucharist liturgy, were now added Matins, and in St Basil’s monasteries, the offices of Terce, Sext, Nones and Vespers, so paced out so that the religious life became a daily round of work, rest and prayer. The pilgrim Etheria has left a fascinating account of the Vigil and Eucharist on a Sunday in Jerusalem circa 390: ‘But on the seventh day,’ she writes, ‘that is on the Lord’s Day, the whole multitude assembles before cockcrow in as great numbers as the place can hold, as at Easter, in the basilica which is near the Anastasis, but outside the doors, where the lights were hanging for the purpose. And for fear they should not be there at cockcrow they come beforehand and sit down there. Hymns as well as antiphons are said, and prayers are made between the several hymns and antiphons .  .  .and as he comes out all approach to his hand.”

Such scenes were being reenacted all over the Mediterranean world. It marks a point of transition between the ancient world and the Middle Ages. Other tendencies recognizable in the third century continued to lead in the same direction. As the Church expanded in wealth and numbers, offices and auxiliary duties multiplied. Clerics in a variety of minor Orders were needed. The Bishop of a large See was now a great officer of State, paid 720 solidi a year like a provincial governor, and expected, as Gregory of Nazianze complained during his short tenure of the See of Constantinople (380-1) ‘to rival the consuls, the generals, the governors, the most illustrious commanders,’ to eat well and to dress splendidly. But the work was incessant. He baptized, absolved, preached and excommunicated. He had a host of pastoral duties. He was an administrator, judge, debater, defender of the Faith against rebels and heretics, and sometimes an ambassador and imperial counselor. Ideally the holder of such a position must be one who had already served a long apprenticeship in the Church. In circa 390 Pope Siricius had tried to lay down a sort of curriculum vitae for clergy. One started as a lector, one then proceeded to sub-deacon, and after not less than three years as a deacon , advanced to the presbyterate.   At the age of about forty one could expect to be bishop. Though exceptions were many, the clerical career had become designed  to rank pari passu with the grades of the imperial civil service, just as the bishoprics were becoming coterminous with civil boundaries. There were two swords and it was not made easy for the layman of mature years to change to clerical status and scale the heights of a clerical career. 

Indeed, the tendency through the fourth and fifth centuries was to diminish the number of offices which laymen could hold.  The African seniores remained, in both Catholic and Donatist churches, the outstanding example of the continued employment of laymen as assessors, treasurers and judicial counselors of churches. In some  churches in Africa and Italy there were defensores ecclesiae, lawyers who were prepared to defend their particular church’s interests in the courts. But this was an unusual development, and soon even bailiffs on the  estates formed by the papacy and other great Sees would have to be in deacon’s orders. So far as the liturgy was concerned, until Ambrose introduced antiphonal singing by the congregation, Church music had been in the hands of professional chanters. The congregation was barred from the alter precincts, and left in no doubt that the days when the Church was where ‘two or three had gathered together’ in the name of Christ had gone forever.                                                                           

Yet, the  period between Constantine (306) and Leo (461) can be reasonably be called the ‘age of the laity.’ It was not merely the enormous interest in theological affairs taken by laymen in this period- an interest which marked a corresponding lack of interest in technological and scientific matters – but the considerable contribution laymen made to the life and thought of the Church. This was the long Indian summer of the ancient world, when standards of education among the wealthy and middle classes were still high, and pessimism had not yet driven the intelligent and sensitive into the refuge of the monastery.

 

The Emperor, of course, was a layman, and two at least in this period, Constantine in his later years and Theodosius II were skilled theologians. Their existence was a guarantee against the complete clericalization of the Church. Theodosius II ensured that some order was kept in the bear garden of ecclesiastical politics that was a feature of the period of Nestorius, Cyril and Dioscorus. Ibas was spared from being cut in two for dividing the nature of Christ and Nestorius remitted to oasis-exile instead of the mercies of Cyril’s monks. The great officials of the court were also active theologians. The role of Count Candidian at First Ephesus or the Grand Chamberlain Chrysaphius at the ‘Robber synod’ of Second Ephesus will be remembered, while Augustine’s friend, Count Marcelinus, apart from steering Catholics through the Conference of Carthage in 411, was the first to draw Augustine’s attention to the teaching of Pelagius. He himself addressed a number of pertinent questions to him on the subject of grace and free will.

Further down the social scale the role of the laity was equally varied and important. Two of the most important historians of the Church in the late fourth and early fifth century, Socrates and Sozomen, were civil servants in Constantinople. The father of Biblical exegesis in the West, Tyconius, was a layman in the Dontaist Church, and the reliance which the Church place on instructed lay theologians may be judged from the career of the grammarian Cresconius (circa 400-10) against whose arguments Augustine had deployed four lengthy tomes. In the Pelagian controversy, the keenest mind on the Pelagian side was that of the lawyer Celestius. The importance, too, of the Christian households in the lives of such men as Augustine and Basil should not be underestimated. A revealing passage from Libanius shows the influence of lay-women in maintaining the hold of Christianity on those whose hearts would have preferred too return to traditional paganism. ‘When men are out of doors they listen to your plea,’ he wrote to Julian, ‘for the only right course and they come to the alters. But when a man gets home, his wife and her tears and the night plead otherwise and they draw him away from the alters.'

Finally, the laymen contributed enormously to the missionary effort of the Church. Christianization, both of the kingdoms of Axum (northern Ethiopia) in the mid-fourth century and Ireland in the first half of the fifth century, was due to the work of individuals who had originally been made captive by the barbarians and then, having gained their master’s trust, converted them. The Christian merchant in this period was the propagator of his Faith as the Moslem merchant has been in more recent centuries.

 

The Church of the laity, however, was not destined to survive into the Middle Ages. Already by the first quarter of the fifth century the comparative optimism of the era of Theodosius had faded. ‘The fifth century  is a melancholy century,’ wrote Duchesne**. Increasing fear of the approaching End killed independent lay theological thought. The future lay with the cleric and the monk. In every field, military, administrative and religious, the ancient world was shading into the Middle Ages. Within a few years of Leo’s death Church and people in the West faced an exclusively barbarian world.


*Paul's controversial message:

https://johnshaplin.blogspot.com/2016/12/answering-mail-by-daniel-boyarin.html

12/21/2016

** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_Duchesne

By his rigid application of scientific methods of research and judgment, by his caustic tongue and pen, Mgr. Duchesne was regarded by some as a scoffer and a vandal among pious traditions. But by those who knew him, he was regarded as a master of the sciences which are auxiliary to ecclesiastical history.

He died in 1922, in Rome, and is buried in the cemetery of Saint Servan.