The History of Christianity by John S. C. Abbott (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📖

“Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing!

Must we no longer live together?

And dost thou plume thy trembling wing

To take thy flight thou know’st not whither?

Thy humorous vein, thy pleasing folly,

Lie all neglected, all forgot;

And pensive, wavering, melancholy,

Thou dread’st and hop’st thou know’st not what.”

Adrian appointed Antoninus, a man of singular purity and integrity of character, who was about fifty years of age, to succeed him on the throne. He enjoined it upon him to adopt as his heir Marcus Aurelius, a very beautiful boy of seventeen, whose fascination of character and manners had won the love of the Emperor Adrian.

Antoninus was a humane man. Christianity had obtained prominence, and had become an important element in the Roman world. But still the Christians were hated by the idolaters, and suffered innumerable wrongs and outrages from the hands of the populace, even when there was no governmental persecution. Their sufferings enlisted the sympathy of Antoninus. The mere fact that one was a Christian, no matter how pure his character, how exemplary his life, exposed him to every conceivable indignity from the idol-worshipping populace. The local magistrates, yielding to the clamors of the mob, would afford no protection to those who were accused of being the disciples of Jesus. Antoninus issued the following decree:—

“If any one shall for the future molest the Christians, and accuse them merely on account of their religion, let the person who is arraigned be discharged, and the accuser be punished according to the rigor of the law.”

During the reign of Antoninus, there arose a very distinguished man, now known as Justin Martyr, the productions of whose pen are still read with admiration, and whose name will never die. He was born in Samaria, of Greek parentage. In youth he enriched his mind by intense study and extensive travel. All truly great men are thoughtful and pensive. The mystery of life oppresses them, and the thought of what there is beyond this life absorbs the soul.

Justin has given an exceedingly interesting account of his endeavors to find some system of philosophy or some doctrines of religion which could guide and solace him. We give the narrative in his own words:—

“At first I placed myself under the instruction of a Stoic. After some time, I perceived that he could teach me nothing respecting God: indeed, he confessed that he knew nothing of God himself, and that he did not consider a knowledge of him to be at all necessary. I immediately left the Stoic, and addressed myself to a Peripatetic, a disciple of Aristotle. He was, at least in his own opinion, an extremely subtle man. After spending some days with him, I found that he was more interested in the money I should pay him than in any thing else. Being satisfied that such was not the philosophy I needed, I bade him adieu.

“Hearing of a Pythagorean of very great reputation, I applied to him. He also had a very exalted opinion of his own wisdom. When I informed him that I wished to become one of his disciples, ‘Very well,’ said he to me: ‘have you studied music, astronomy, and geometry? or do you think it possible that you can understand any thing of that which leads to bliss without having mastered those sciences which disengage the soul from sensible objects, rendering it a fit habitation for the intelligences, and placing it in a condition to contemplate goodness and beauty?’

“As I confessed that I had not studied those sciences, he dismissed me; for he deemed them necessary.

“One can judge how great were my sufferings in seeing my hopes thus frustrated. My grief was the more keen, since I really did suppose he knew something; but, as it would require a long time for me to perfect myself in those branches, I could not submit to the delay. I then determined to seek the instruction of the Platonists. There was a philosopher of that sect in our city, highly distinguished. I had many conversations with him, and profited much by them. It afforded me great pleasure to become acquainted with incorporeal things. The consideration of ideas elevated my spirit as upon the wings of an eagle. Thus I thought that in a very short time I should become wise. I even conceived the foolish hope that I should soon see God. This frame of mind led me to seek solitude.”

Justin then goes on to narrate, that one day he was walking by the shore of the sea, absorbed in thought, when he saw a venerable man approaching him. The dignified bearing of the stranger, and the remarkable serenity and sweetness of his countenance, arrested his attention. They entered into conversation. The stranger proved to be a Christian, a man of remarkable intelligence, who understood the vain systems of the philosophers as well as the gross absurdities of the popular idolatry. He unfolded to Justin the religion of Jesus. The young man was deeply impressed with the revelation thus made to him. As he contemplated the idea of one God, the Creator of all things; of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, coming to the world to make atonement for sin; of immortality; of the elevation of the soul to eternal happiness in heaven through penitence, the abandonment of sin, and the prayerful and persevering endeavor in thought and word and deed to live a holy life,—the earnest spirit of Justin bowed to the majesty of truth. He became a devoted Christian. The simple preaching of the cross of Christ, which many of the Greek philosophers regarded as foolishness, became to Justin, as it has to many others, “the wisdom of God and the power of God unto salvation.”

Justin, by his self-denying devotion, soon became conspicuous in all the churches. He wrote an apology in behalf of the Christians. This treatise, which would do honor to any pen in the nineteenth century, was addressed “To the Emperor Antoninus, his two sons, the Roman senate, and all the Roman people.” Very lucidly he stated the essential doctrines of Christianity, and the nature of the evidence upon which the religion was founded. With resistless force of argument he refuted the calumnies with which the Christians were assailed, showing that their hopes of eternal happiness were all forfeited if they allowed themselves in any known sin. He dwelt upon the injustice of condemning Christians for their name alone. He made it perfectly clear to the humblest intelligence, that, when the Christians spoke of the kingdom of Christ, they had reference, not to an earthly, but to a spiritual kingdom. He stated the nature and design of the sacraments,—of baptism and the Lord’s supper.

Justin closed his apology with the following forcible words:—

“If you find Christianity to be reasonable, respect it: but do not condemn to death, simply because they are Christians, those who have committed no crime; for we declare to you, that you cannot escape the judgment of God if you persist in such wickedness. As for us, we only say, ‘The will of God be done.’ We might demand justice of you in virtue of the decree of your illustrious father Adrian; but we have preferred to rest our cause upon the justice of our demands.”

This admirable treatise, calmly written with great force of language and cogency of argument, must have exerted a very powerful influence. Still popular prejudice is seldom removed by argument. Though here and there many leading minds were led to regard Christianity with more favor, still the malice of the ignorant and brutal masses, who were ever crying, “To the lions with the Christians!” remained unchanged.

Justin was at Rome when he wrote this apology. Soon after, he left Rome, and retired to Ephesus.

Upon the death of Antoninus, whose reign of twenty-two years was an uneventful one, Marcus Aurelius ascended the throne. For some unexplained reason, the new emperor commenced his reign with very unfriendly feelings towards the Christians. Though he issued no decree of persecution, yet he afforded the disciples no protection: they were left to be maltreated by the brutal populace, and often to be condemned to torture and death by the angry and unprincipled governors of distant provinces. In the seventh year of the reign of Marcus Aurelius, a very terrible persecution of the Christians sprang up in Smyrna and its environs. The emperor remained silent in his palace while the Christians were scourged to death, burnt at the stake, or thrown to wild beasts. It is said that these martyrs were so wonderfully sustained by supernatural power, that, in their hours of most dreadful anguish, not a groan escaped their lips.

It will be remembered that the venerable Polycarp was bishop of the church in Smyrna. Through the urgency of his friends he was induced to leave the city, to seek a retreat in the country. The mob clamored for his blood: they pursued him. Two boys were found, who, as they supposed, knew of the place of his concealment. These merciless men placed the boys upon the rack. In their unendurable agony, they told where Polycarp was to be found. A band of soldiers, thoroughly armed, hastened to seize him. It was late on Friday night, and the bishop was calmly sleeping in his chamber. Aroused by the noise of their entrance, he descended to meet them, greeted them kindly, and ordered refreshments to be set before them. He then asked of them the favor to grant him one hour for prayer. The soldiers, impressed by his venerable appearance and kindly spirit, could not refuse his request. At the close of this season of devotion they placed him upon an ass, and conducted him to the city.

The sun of Saturday morning had risen as they entered the streets of Smyrna. Many of the pagans who had long known Polycarp, and who appreciated the nobleness of his character, entreated him simply to say, “Lord Cæsar,” to offer sacrifice to the idols, and thus to be saved. He meekly replied, “I cannot follow your advice.” They were so exasperated by what they considered his irrational stubbornness, that they not only overwhelmed him with reproaches, but treated him with personal abuse.

He was brought before the tribunal of the pro-consul Philip, who seemed to wish to save the venerable old man. He said to Polycarp, “If you will only swear by Cæsar, and reproach Christ, I will immediately release you.”

Polycarp replied, “Eighty and six years have I served Christ, and he hath never wronged me. How can I now blaspheme my King, who hath saved me? I am a Christian. If you desire to learn the Christian doctrine, assign me a day, and I will declare it to you.”

The pro-consul said, “I have the beasts, and will expose you to them if you do not yield.”

Polycarp replied, “Let them come. I cannot change from good to bad; but it is well to pass from these sufferings to the realms of justice.”

“If you have no fear of the beasts,” the pro-consul replied, “I will bind you to the stake, and consume you with fire, unless you yield.”

“You threaten me,” said Polycarp, “with fire, which burns but for a time, and is soon extinguished; but you are ignorant of the future judgment, and of the fire eternal which is reserved for the impious.”

The pro-consul was astonished at his firmness. Still he sent his herald into the amphitheatre to proclaim to the eager throng awaiting the cruel spectacle of the martyrdom that Polycarp had confessed himself a Christian. With loud and angry shouts, the populace declared that he was the father of the Christians; that it was he who had induced so many to abandon the temples of the gods. With one voice they demanded that he should be thrown to the lions.

Philip refused, saying that the spectacles of the wild beasts were finished. They then raised the deafening cry, that he should be burned at the stake. Immediately they ran to the workshops around to gather fuel. It was observed that the Jews were as eager as the pagans at this work. While they were rearing