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-worshippingpopulace. 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 tobliss 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.