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Chapter Fifteen.
Jovinian and his Uncle
Jovinian was treated with much kindness, and allowed all the liberty he desired – being permitted to visit Amulius and the few other friends he possessed. He still had doubts of his uncle’s sincerity. He could not forget the scheme proposed by Coecus; and Gaius might desire to take the step he proposed for the sole object of forwarding it.
Still, the temptations to join the religion professed by the emperor were great. It might pave the way to honour and wealth. Although many doubted that the emperor was really a Christian, the edicts he had issued showed that he was influenced by Christian counsellors. Among them were those for the abolition of the punishment by crucifixion, the encouragement of the emancipation of slaves, the prohibition of gladiatorial games, and the discouragement of infanticide.
Another edict ordered the use of prayers for the army; but that to which perhaps even the idolaters least objected was one for the observance of the Sabbath throughout all the cities and towns in the empire. The Christians, however, were greatly puzzled when they found it designated as “Dies solis,” or Sunday; and it was supposed, not without justice, that the emperor selected that title in consequence of his lingering affection towards the worship of the sun, to which he had, in former times, been addicted. The other days in the week were, to please the idolaters, called after the names of the various gods, and especially dedicated to them. The second day was Luna’s day, sacred to the moon; the next was Mercury’s day; while Jupiter and Venus had also their days; so that the populace were still kept in remembrance of their ancient gods and goddesses, although they were professedly Christians.
Jovinian found it no easy task to instruct his uncle in the truths of Christianity. Gaius readily understood and remembered the facts mentioned in the Bible; but he appeared utterly unable to comprehend their spiritual meaning, although he listened to all his nephew said.
“How is it that I see so many sects and divisions among those who call themselves Christians?” he asked: “bishops, presbyters, and people in one place quarrelling and disputing with those in another. I hear of Athanasius and Miletius, Eusebius, Arius, and numberless other heads of your sects, condemning each other, – the one party refusing to hold communion with the other, while both profess to serve the same Lord, whom you call Christ. Now look at the system of religion which has prevailed undisturbed for centuries in Rome. We have had no quarrels or disputes, and all have submitted implicitly to us, their pontiffs, the directors of their rites and ceremonies. Our men and women have been at liberty to worship the gods and goddesses they have preferred. We have added new demigods as occasion required, nor did we refuse to place the divinities of other nations in the Pantheon, whenever they could prove a good title to the honour. We have raised our emperors after death, however little we may have loved them in their lifetime, to the same advanced rank. I do not say that the religion in which you are attempting to instruct me may not prove in the end the best, especially as it has been adopted by the emperor; but you must acknowledge that the worship of the immortal gods has the advantage of antiquity to recommend it, and that under it Rome became great and powerful, and conquered the world.”
Jovinian was puzzled how to answer some of these objections. He could not deny that disputes raged furiously among the Christian churches, especially in the East, and that many of the bishops seemed more intent on increasing their worldly wealth and dignity than on spreading the Gospel. In regard to the immortal gods, he asked his uncle whether he had ever seriously believed in their existence, or had the slightest authority for supposing that they were other than creatures of the imagination?
“Well, well, – as to that, the people believed in them, and we, the directors of their religious rites, have reaped the benefit of their superstition,” answered Gaius.
“But you must acknowledge,” said Jovinian, “that idolatry has debased the people with its numberless obscene and cruel rites, that the consciences of its votaries have become scathed, and have allowed them to indulge in the grossest crimes without shame or remorse. Now, on the contrary, while we acknowledge that we are vile and sinful beings, utterly unfit to enjoy a pure and holy heaven, yet we know that God has provided a way by which we can be made pure and holy, have our sins put away and forgiven, at the same time that we are bound to strive to imitate our Saviour, and to live pure and holy lives, free from the rebuke of a rude and perverse generation.”
“That may be,” answered Gaius; “but I wish to have the cause of these dissensions of which I hear explained to me, that I may decide whether I shall join Athanasius, Miletius, Arius, or any other party.”
Jovinian hastened to consult Amulius how he should reply to Gaius.
“Remember that the apostles have told us that from the first these dissensions have existed among those calling themselves Christians,” answered the presbyter. “Instead of becoming ‘as little children,’ and submitting themselves to the teaching of the Holy Spirit through God’s written Word, they bring their crude philosophy, their pride of intellect, their passions, their lust of power and wealth, into the creeds they endeavour to form. Most of them, it is true, profess to be guided by the Holy Spirit; but they act like a person who invites a charioteer to drive his horses, and then seizes the reins and turns them in any direction he may please. I have long watched the fearful struggle going on between the Prince of this world, the real supporter of idolatry, and the true faith as it is in Christ; and the signs I have observed too surely warn me that the former will triumph.
“Although the emperor professes to be a Christian, all his acts show that the mists of heathen darkness have not been dispelled from his mind, and that the encouragement he affords nominally to the Christians is fraught with the greatest danger to the true Church of Christ. Here in Rome, especially, I apprehend the worst. As you well know, the Romans are more wedded to idolatry than the inhabitants of any other city in the Empire. They still cling to it, notwithstanding the favour shown by the emperor to the Christian Church.
“The emperor, who is resolved to have uniformity of faith, and to make all his subjects Christians if he can, will not fail to offer such bribes as are not likely to be refused by the heathen leaders. Still, though he may wish to encourage the Christians in Rome, he has no affection for Rome itself, and would gladly forget that such a city exists, for it was here that some of his darkest crimes were committed.
“Here also he was insulted by the idolatrous Romans in a way he can never forget. I was a witness of the scene. Soon after his arrival a magnificent ceremony was held to celebrate the Battle of Regillus, when, as the idolaters believe, the twin gods Castor and Pollux, having fought for Rome, galloped on their fleet steeds to bring the glad tidings to the city. The aim of the idolaters was to surpass all previous anniversaries. The temples were lighted up, and decorated as usual, victims smoked on every altar, and all the members of the equestrian order, numbering five thousand horsemen, clothed in purple, and crowned with olive-leaves, rode in state to the Forum. It was altogether one of the most splendid pageants ever seen at Rome; and it was supposed that Constantino would take part, as previous emperors had done, in the religious rites usual on the occasion. But this he positively refused to do, and it was reported that he openly indulged in his sarcastic humour, by jeering at the sham knights and the empty pomp he beheld while watching the procession in the distance from his palace.
“I can see him now, – his countenance handsome, his figure tall, although somewhat stout and broad-shouldered, – and his whole appearance betokening sturdy health and vigour. His eye had a peculiar brightness, such as few men’s possess, and I especially noted it when it assumed, as it did several times, a glare which could not fail to remind me of that of a lion; while, as he uttered his remarks, he threw back his head, bringing out the full proportions of his thick neck. Rough and unrefined in appearance, his voice was remarkable for its gentleness and softness. In those days he had not assumed, as is now the case, that splendour of costume which he has copied from the princes of the East. He carried simply a spear in his hand, as an insignia of his office, and to show that by the spear he had won and intended to keep his Empire. Since then, I hear that he never goes abroad without a helmet bound round with an oriental diadem studded with jewels, that his robe is a purple silk richly embroidered with pearls and flowers worked in gold, while he wears wigs of false hair of various colours, a short beard ornamenting his chin. On this occasion he appeared simply as a victorious general. His refusal to join in the religious ceremonies usual on the occasion so displeased the turbulent populace that they threatened vengeance of all sorts. Some of the most evil disposed proposed to attack the Christians at whose instigation it was supposed the emperor had acted; others dared even to throw stones at the head of his statue.
“When a courtier rushed in, bringing news of the outrage, he smiled, and passing his hand over his face, observed, – ‘Truly it is surprising, but I feel not in the least hurt; nothing do I find amiss in my head, nothing in my face.’ Although he had thus received the news so calmly, it created a disgust in his mind, both against the city and religion of Rome, which he has never overcome; and to this day he speaks of Rome – alas! with too much justice – as an ‘idolatrous and abandoned city.’ In spite of the wealth and influence of our bishop, our numbers, compared to that of the population, have continued to be small; and had it not been for the refuge afforded by the subterranean galleries outside the city, the church in Rome during the days of persecution would have been extinguished.”
Jovinian was allowed to pursue his studies at home under such tutors as Amulius recommended.
Many months thus passed away, faster than he could have supposed possible.
Gaius now treated his nephew with apparently perfect confidence, speaking unreservedly to him on matters of all sorts.
Jovinian thus heard much more of what was going on than he otherwise probably would have done. He found that both Gaius and Coecus – although professedly Christians, as were some of the other pontiffs – visited the college frequently, on which occasions discussions were held with closed doors. So great at length became the confidence which Gaius reposed in his nephew, that he invited him frequently to attend these meetings, – extracting a promise, however, that he would not divulge what he heard. On these occasions the pontiffs discussed the plans that had been proposed for maintaining their rank and position in Rome. Those who professed to have become Christians appeared to be and evidently were, on most friendly terms with the idolaters, all being united by a common interest. Their great object was to maintain their college in its integrity.
“We may thus,” observed Coecus one day, when visiting Gaius, “by keeping up our influence over the mass of the people, secure the election of the candidate of whom we approve to the office of bishop or any other dignities of the Church. We may select some of our own brethren, or any other persons whom we deem suitable.”
The plan was universally approved of. Its fruit was to be observed in after years, when the bishops of Rome found themselves controlled by the college of cardinals, the successors of the pontiffs.
Christianity appeared to be making great progress in Rome. Several new churches and basilicas were in course of erection, and even some of the heathen temples were being converted so as to suit the worship of the Christians.
The idolaters generally, however, objected to allow their temples to be so employed. Jovinian was greatly struck by the appearance of the statues which adorned the new places of worship, and he recognised among them some which had undoubtedly been heathen idols. In several of the churches were statues representing the virgin Mary, which had previously acted the parts of Isis, Juno, Venus, or some other goddess; and he could not help remarking that by far the larger number of worshippers bent before these statues and offered them the same respect which they had been accustomed to pay to the heathen goddesses. Among those who met at the college of pontiffs was a visitor who had come from a college long-established at Mount Carmel, where students in the Babylonian worship were instructed: he was said to be learnt in magical science. He spoke, however, of his admiration of the Christian faith, and came, it appeared, to discuss with Coecus and the other pontiffs the possibility of uniting it to the ancient faith without offending the followers of the latter. The idolaters seemed so completely in favour of this proposal that Coecus expressed his confidence that it would succeed.
Jovinian was sick at heart at all he saw. His uncle Gaius, although he had obtained the rank of a presbyter, was too evidently no nearer the truth than he was before. Idolatry still prevailed in all directions. In few places of Christian worship was the truth faithfully preached. Even Amulius appeared to be going with the stream, or, at all events, to be making but slight efforts to stem it. “I, too, shall be carried away if I remain,” said Jovinian to himself; “it is a sin to expose myself to temptation.”
The bishop, who had long been at the head of the Church, died, and another was elected whose character was but little known, although Jovinian observed that Coecus, Gaius, and other pontiffs were very active in his election. He had not long been seated in the episcopal chair when he, too, died; and soon after news came that the emperor had expired. He had received the rite of baptism on his death-bed; but it was evident that he was not of Christ when it became known that he had expressed his belief that his brothers had poisoned him, and had charged his son, Constantius, to put them and their offspring to death, – a charge too faithfully fulfilled.
He was preparing for an expedition against Persia when sickness overtook him. Feeling that it was mortal, he desired to be baptised – a stop he had hitherto not taken, although he had for years presided at councils and preached to his people, and even been designated as the “Bishop of bishops.” He was received as a catechumen in the church of Heliopolis; he then moved to his palace in the suburbs of Nicomedia, when, calling Eusebius and several other bishops around him, he desired to have the rite administered. Here, having laid aside his purple robes, he was habited in white, and thus, stretched on his death-bed, he received baptism from the hands of Eusebius. One of his last acts was to recall Athanasius, a rival of Eusebius, who had been banished. Thus, with calmness and dignity, he awaited death. His last will he gave into the custody of his chaplain Eustiocius, to be delivered to his eldest son, Constantius, who was now absent; and on the 22nd of May, in the sixty-fourth year of his age, after a reign of thirty years, he expired. His body was conveyed in a coffin of gold to Constantinople, where it lay three months in state, with lights burning around and guards watching. On Eustiocius exhibiting the will to the bishops of Nicomedia, so alarmed were they at the contents that they placed it for security in the hands of the dead man, there to remain until Constantius should appear to receive it. When his eldest son arrived and read the document, he found that the emperor expressed in it his conviction that he had been poisoned by his brothers and their children, and he called – so it was expressed – on Constantius to avenge his death. This fact alone proves, that whatever amount of Christian knowledge the emperor might have possessed, he had not understood its chief principles, at all events. Constantius faithfully fulfilled his father’s dying bequest by the massacre of his uncles and their offspring, amounting to no less than six persons, two alone escaping.
The idolatrous population of Rome, when the tidings reached them, ignoring the fact of his having professed himself a Christian, resolved to regard the deceased emperor as one in the series of Caesars. A picture of his apotheosis was exhibited. Festivals were instituted in his honour. He was enrolled, as had been his predecessors, whatever their character, among the gods of Olympus, and incense was offered before his statues. The true Christians in Rome mourned at what took place, but their influence was weak compared to that of the idolaters, supported as the latter were evidently by many who had professed to embrace the new faith. Jovinian resolved no longer to remain in Rome, but to join, as soon as possible, his friend Severus, who, with his wife and daughter, were anxiously, they wrote word, looking for his arrival. To Jovinian’s surprise, Gaius offered no objection. “Go and dwell with those of like mind with yourself; you are too honest for us Romans, and will never, I see, make a figure either in the Church or State. Men, to succeed here, must regard all creeds alike; supple courtiers, who are hampered by no ideas of honour or integrity, but know the importance of filling their coffers while the sun shines. You, Jovinian, will die a poor and unknown man if you remain in Rome, whereas in some country district, should you enter the Church, you may rise to the dignity of a presbyter,” – and Gaius laughed ironically. “Farewell, my nephew; we have disputed occasionally, but remembering that you are the only child of my poor sister Livia, I have always had the truest regard for you.”
Jovinian, feeling that it was his duty, was about once more to place the simple truths of the Gospel before his uncle, and to entreat him to accept them.
“Cease, cease! my good nephew,” exclaimed Gaius. “I settled that matter in my own mind long ago, when I resolved on the course I am taking. I intend to enjoy the good things of this life while I can obtain them, and leave the affairs of the future to take care of themselves.”
Farewell visits were paid to Amulius and others, who sent brotherly greetings to Severus; and Jovinian, bidding adieu, as he thought it probable, for ever to Rome, set out on his journey northward.
Chapter Sixteen.
The Journey – The First Introduction of Monasteries into Italy
Jovinian had settled to proceed by land instead of going by sea to Genoa, as Severus had done. Amulius and several other persons in Rome wished to make him the bearer of letters to various Christian friends residing in different parts on the northern road. As no public means of conveyance existed in those days, it was customary to send epistles either by the hand of special messengers or by those travellers proceeding in the desired direction. Jovinian would thus enjoy the benefits of finding a house to rest at, and a kind greeting at many of his stages. At some places he would, however, have to stop at a roadside inn, or at the hut of a peasant. His attendant, Largus, rode alongside him, leading a mule which carried their baggage, among which were books for his own use and others to be presented to Severus.
Neither Jovinian nor Largus carried arms. Any attempt to defend themselves against robbers would be useless, for should such make an attack on them, they would do so in overwhelming numbers; while bears and wolves were not likely to be met with in the regions through which they were to pass.
The road for the first part of the way was tolerably level, so that good progress was made. Etruria, with its ancient temples and shrines of the gods, to the worship of whom the people still tenaciously clung, was traversed. Then, after crossing the Amis – near the town of Pise, where a day was spent with Christian friends – a more mountainous region was entered near Luca. Now the road led along the sides of the lofty Apennines, towards Liguria. Jovinian had relieved his mind by delivering most of his letters, and as from a height he had ascended he beheld the Cottian Alps, their lofty peaks capped with snow, he anticipated a happy termination to his journey. But he had still many rugged mountain passes to traverse. The day was drawing to a close, and neither he nor Largus were certain where they would find shelter for the night. Rugged and precipitous rocks rose up on the right hand, while on the left yawned deep chasms, unfathomable to the eye. The stones, as they slipped beneath the horses’ feet, went bounding down until the sound died away in the depths below. To proceed faster than they were going was impossible without the risk of falling over the precipices, but the path was descending; and at last a gorge was reached, the sides so lofty that it appeared as if the sun could never penetrate to the bottom.
“Surely no human beings can fix their habitations in such a spot as this, and we shall have to pass the night under the blue vault of heaven,” observed Jovinian.
“We must push on, and find our way out of it before darkness sets in,” answered Largus.
Just as he spoke some figures were seen descending from the heights above, leaping from rock to rock. They made their way towards the travellers.
“Who can they be?” asked Jovinian.
“I do not like their looks; if they are honest I shall be very much surprised,” said Largus.
The two travellers did not attempt to alter their pace, seeing that they could not escape by flight. No shafts were aimed at them, and in a short time they found themselves surrounded by a party of armed men, with unkempt hair, long beards, and soil-stained garments, which showed the wild life they were accustomed to lead.
“Who are you, and where are you going?” asked the leader of the robbers – for such it was very evident they were. He drew a dagger as he spoke, and held it ready to strike Jovinian.
“We are simple travellers, carrying but few articles which you would deem of value – our necessary garments and some books,” answered Jovinian.
“And what about your money?” asked the robber, laughing; “that is of more consequence to us than the articles you mention; however, we will not stop here. You must spend a night with us. You cannot reach any human abode before dark, and we will take the opportunity of looking into these matters.”
Jovinian and Largus could only comply, and, attended by the robbers, they proceeded in the direction in which they were before going. They were soon out of the gorge, and entered a region even more wild and barren than the one they had left.
Black rocks lay scattered about, amid which a rapid stream hissed and roared along through a narrow bed. Further off, on the other side of a broad valley, rose precipitous cliffs, rent by the convulsions of Nature, which had formed dark gorges between them. In some places the mouths of gloomy caverns could be distinguished in the sides of the cliffs – fit abodes for wild beasts, or lawless men such as those into whose power the travellers had fallen. Towards one of these caves the robbers were conducting their captives, when suddenly from behind a rock a person started forth, whom Jovinian, from his strange appearance, took to be a madman or some being possessed of an evil spirit, driven from the haunts of men. If is dress, of coarse texture, stained with dirt, hung in rags and tatters about him, exposing a hair garment, worn next his skin. His person was emaciated in the extreme, his hair cut close, his head and neck sprinkled with ashes. He waved about him a staff, which he carried in his hand.
“What are ye about, ye men of violence?” he exclaimed, pointing his staff at the robbers. “Begone! fly! or be prepared for the vengeance of one who knows how to protect the innocent!”
The robbers drew back, trembling with fear; and as the recluse – for such he was – continued waving his staff, they took fairly to flight, and left Jovinian and Largus to pursue their way with their mules and baggage.
Jovinian, as he now observed the strange being to whom he was so much indebted, was reminded of those heathen eremites of whom he had read as long existing in the far East, who, by self-imposed tortures, abstinence from the society of their kind, and long prayers, hoped to merit a blissful immortality among the shadows of the blessed. Wishing to thank the recluse for the services just rendered, he rode towards him.
“You are, I judge by your appearance and bearing, Christians, and as such are welcome to rest during the coming night in my abode, for you can reach no other shelter before nightfall,” said the recluse, without listening to Jovinian’s thanks. “Or, should you be moved by the holy life led by me and my companions, you shall be at liberty to take up your residence with us.”
Jovinian thought it wise to make no reply to the last part of his invitation, but gladly accepted the shelter offered him.
“Follow me, then,” said the recluse; and, making use of his staff to support his steps, he strode on over the rough ground before the travellers towards one of the gorges which opened out at some distance before them, mounting the steep sides of the hill at a pace with which the horses could hardly keep up. He stopped before a wooden porch built of logs, at the entrance of a cavern.
“Your steeds will find grass at the bottom of the gorge, and water at a rill which trickles out of the mountain-side; here no one will molest them – even those bold outlaws dare not approach my abode,” said the recluse, as he signed to Jovinian and Largus to dismount. Fortunately the travellers had brought provisions, or they would have fared but ill on the lentils and water which constituted the food of the recluse. Bringing water from a neighbouring rill in a large bowl, their host insisted on washing the travellers’ feet – although not until they saw it would cause offence longer to refuse did they permit him to perform this act of humiliation.
As the shades of evening drew on, a voice was suddenly heard chanting a hymn from the opposite side of the gulf. It was echoed by another further up, until nearly a dozen voices had joined in the solemn strains.
“They are my brethren who have come here to dwell, and devote themselves to calm contemplation, fasting, prayers, and penance,” said the recluse. “You shall be made known to them to-morrow, and hear the words of heavenly wisdom taught from their lips.”
Jovinian and Largus made their beds by the aid of their saddles and horse-cloths in the outer porch, and were glad that they were not invited to enter the interior of the cavern. It appeared dirty in the extreme.
Mephitic odours pervaded the air. At the further end was a rough cross formed of wood, in front of which two palms were burning. They saw their host prostrate himself before it, and lie at full length with his arms stretched out for a long period; but he did not invite them to join in his devotions. He then rose and closed the intermediate door, so as to shut himself out from their view. Occasionally, during the night, they heard the sound of a lash, while groans and cries issued from the cell. Suddenly, as they were just dropping off to sleep, they were aroused by a voice from within: “Begone, Mercury – I know thee well, and thy ever-changing form; licentious messenger of uncleanness, thou canst not deceive me; and thou, mighty Jove, ended is thy reign, thy thunderbolts fall harmlessly, thy lightnings cannot strike me.” Thus, one after the other, the heathen gods were addressed as if they were present endeavouring to win back the anchorite to their worship.
At daybreak next morning their host roused up his guests, and invited them to join him in prayer. So extravagant were the expressions he uttered that Jovinian could with difficulty retain a due composure.
While they were breaking their fast, the recluse, who refused to eat, recounted to them numbers of miracles which he affirmed that he had performed, but which Jovinian was convinced – were he not purposely imposing upon them – were the hallucinations of a disordered brain. Jovinian could not fail to observe in his unhappy host a vain-glorious exaltation of self, and a spirit of pride combined with a false humility, which the system of asceticism was so calculated to foster. He saw, too, that this vain attempt to merit the favour of God arose from utter ignorance of God’s loving and merciful character, that it set at nought Christ’s finished work – His blood which cleanseth from all sin, – and was directly opposed to all the teaching of the Gospel.
His host afterwards entreated Jovinian to remain a few days, that he might learn more of the mode of life; and practices of himself and his associates.
“Before I can join you I must consult the holy volume which is my rule of faith, and ascertain whether your practices are in accordance with its precepts,” answered Jovinian. “I have not so learnt Christ, and I cannot believe that He who spent His ministry on earth in going about doing good among human beings would have His followers spend their lives where they can be of no use to any one.”
The pale brow of the anchorite flushed as he heard the young man speak. “Come, you may think better of my proposal; but I will now take you to visit my associates.”
The tour which Jovinian made among the other huts rather strengthened than altered his first impression. The inmates, he observed, were profoundly ignorant of Christian truth; a self-righteous ignoring of the righteousness of Christ prevailed universally among them. Some had probably been mad when they resorted to their present mode of life, and others had produced madness by their self-inflicted tortures or abstinence from proper nourishment. When he spoke to them he found that they were far from living in brotherly love: jealousy and ill-will prevailed, while several, asserting their superior sanctity, accused the others of being guilty of all sorts of horrible crimes.
