The history of Christianity among the Romans suggests these three inquiries:—
First, why it proved so feeble in arresting degeneracy; secondly, how far it conserved old institutions; and thirdly, how far it created a new and higher civilization.
[Sidenote: Christianity fails to check degeneracy.]
The first inquiry, on a superficial view, is discouraging. We see a sublime realism making quietly its converts by thousands, without seemingly checking ordinary vices. We are reminded of Socrates creating Platos, yet failing to reform Athens. We behold witnesses of the truth in every land, which gradually sinks deeper and deeper in infamy as the witnesses increase. And, when the land is about to be overrun by barbarians, when despair seizes the public mind, and desolation overspreads the earth, and good men hide in rocks, and dens, and caves, we see the church resplendent with wealth and glory, her bishops enthroned as dignitaries, princes doing homage to saints, and even the barbarians themselves bowing down in reverence and awe. How barren these ecclesiastical victories seem to a superficial or infidel eye! If Christianity is what its converts claim, why did it accomplish so little?
[Sidenote: Yet still a conquering religion.]
But, in another aspect, the victories do not seem so barren; and they even appear more and more majestic the more they are contemplated. There is something grand in the spread of new ideas which are unpalatable to the mighty and the wise. Considering the humble characters of the early Apostles and their disciples, their triumphs were really magnificent. It is astonishing that the teachings of fishermen should have supplanted the teachings of Jewish rabbis and Grecian philosophers, amid so great and general opposition. It is remarkable that their doctrines should have so completely changed the lives of those who embraced them. It is wonderful that emperors who persecuted and sages who spurned the religion of Jesus, should have been won over by a moral force superior to all the venerated influences of the old religion of which they were guardians and expounders. It is surprising that such relentless and bloody persecutions as took place for three hundred years should have been so futile. When we remember the extension of Christianity into all the countries known to the ancients, and the marvelous fruits it bore among its converts, making them brothers, heroes, martyrs, saints, doctors—a benediction and a blessing wherever they went; and when we see these little esoteric bands, in upper chambers or in catacombs, persecuted, tormented, despised, yet gaining daily new adherents, without the aid of wealth, or learning, or social position, or political power, until generals, senators, and kings came willingly into their fraternity, and bound themselves by their rules, and changed the whole habits of their lives, looking to the future rather than the present— the infinite rather than the finite; blameless in morals, lofty in faith, heavenly in love; sheep among wolves, yet not devoured—we feel that Christianity cannot be too highly exalted as a conquering power.
But the point is, not that Christianity failed to conquer, but that it failed to save the Roman world. The conquests of the church are universally admitted and universally admired. They were the most wonderful moral victories ever achieved. But, while Christianity conquered Rome, why did she fail to arrest its ruin? Vice gained on virtue, rather than virtue gained on vice, even when the cross was planted on the battlements of the imperial palaces.
[Sidenote: Christianity too late to save.]
The victories of Christianity came not too late for the human race, but for the stability of the Roman empire. Had Christianity completely triumphed when Julius Caesar overturned the republic, the empire might have lasted. But when Constantine was converted, the empire was shaken to its foundations, and the barbarians were advancing. No medicine could have prevented the diseased old body from dying. The time had come. When the wretched inebriate embraces a spiritual religion with one foot in the grave, with a constitution completely undermined, and the seeds of death planted, then no repentance or lofty aspiration can prevent physical death. It was so in Rome. Society was completely undermined long before the emperors became Christians. The fruits of iniquity were being reaped when Chrysostom and Augustine lifted up their voices. The body was diseased, so that no spiritual influence could work upon it. Had every man in the empire been a Christian, yet, when, the army had lost its discipline and efficiency, when patriotism had fled, when centuries of vices had enfeebled the physical forces, when puny races had lost all martial ardor, and could present nothing but weakness and cowardice—all from physical causes, how could they have successfully contended with the new and powerful barbaric armies? Christianity saves the soul; it does not restore exhausted physical functions. The vices which had undermined were learned before Christianity protested, and were dominant when Christianity was feeble. The effects of those vices were universal before a remedy could be applied.
[Sidenote: Limited number of the converts.]