The Latin Hymn-writers and Their Hymns

by Samuel Willoughby Duffield

It was thus that Ambrose finally assumed the episcopate, and it was soon evident that this catechumen—for he had not even been previously baptized—respected its dignities and meant that others should be of the same mind as himself. He gave up his private fortune, selling his large estates and personal property, and reserving from them only a proper allowance to his sister Marcellina, who had early taken the vow of virginity. He associated with this proceeding the most strict method of living. “He accepted no invitations to banquets; took dinner only on Sunday, Saturday, and the festivals of celebrated martyrs; devoted the greater part of the night to prayer, to the hitherto necessarily neglected study of the Scriptures and the Greek fathers and to theological writing; preached every Sunday and often in the week; was accessible to all, most accessible to the poor and needy; and administered his spiritual oversight, particularly his instruction of catechumens, with the greatest fidelity.”

This is the character, admirably condensed, of a model bishop. To its fulfilment it requires the fervent piety of a true Christian and the constant zeal of an acute student together with the large prudence of a man of affairs. All these are abundantly found in Ambrose. And if it happened that in other and worse times his assertion of the spiritual independence of a bishop gave a foundation for what became the authority of the pope, it may be properly retorted that for him not to have done so then would have prevented many another better thing in later ages.

He was a more polished scholar than Hilary, and a more devout Christian than Damasus. Hence it was that his energy and skill contributed largely to the success of the Nicene orthodoxy in the West. Those times were troublous, and a cheerful and sunshiny temper like that of Ambrose was a vast auxiliary to the cause. He had been consecrated in 374, eight days after his election; and in 382 he presided at the synod in Aquileia which deposed Palladius and Secundianus, the Arian bishops. By so doing, and by his general attitude, he incurred the anger of Justina, whose son, the younger Valentinian, he always upheld and shielded. The Empress, however, determined to deal with him a good deal as Ahab’s wife dealt with Elijah. This comparison takes additional point from the use which Ambrose himself made of the story of Naboth in his defence of the Portian Church.

He had already encountered the smouldering idolatry of old Rome, headed by the rhetorician, Symmachus; but the eloquence of Ambrose had borne down all opposition and that conflict was now at an end. A vindictive woman was, however, a greater danger than a clever orator, and he found this true when Justina, the Empress-mother, allied herself with the heretical Arians. His pious zeal was kindled in a moment. Give up churches to such a schismatic set as these? Never!

It was at Easter in the year 386 that the Portian Church and its holy vessels were demanded for the use of the other party. Then stood up both the old Roman and the new Christian in the single person of the Bishop of Milan. He compared the demand to that of Ahab for Naboth’s vineyard; and it may well be supposed that with the rush of such a torrent of speech a current of inference was also borne along which involved Justina herself. The sermon, which has survived to us, was preached on Palm Sunday, and in it he said that he would hold every religious edifice against heresy to the very death. Let them take his property; let them depose or destroy himself; let them do their worst—but for his part he would stand there unshaken for the truth. He would not incite riot and confusion, but he would not yield. It was the anticipation of Luther’s “Hier stehe ich, ich kann nicht anders! Gott helfe mir!” For Ambrose proclaimed, almost in these actual words, “Here I stand, I cannot do otherwise. God help me!”

He made one magnificent point in this discourse—the focal centre it was of the entire outburst of eloquent declamation. It was when he quoted what our Lord Himself had said. “Yes,” cries Ambrose, “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, but give to God what is God’s. Is the Church the property of Caesar? Never! It belongs unalterably to God. For God, then, it shall be kept. It shall never be surrendered to Caesar.”

The fight was really a siege. The sacred character of the churches protected their defenders. Ambrose invigorated the multitude who flocked to help him, and who organized relief parties to keep possession by day and by night. To relieve the monotony of their watches, he frequently addressed them words of encouragement. His fine equanimity triumphed over the impending disaster. He taught the people there and then the hymns of the early Church. He composed tunes and instructed them in singing. And when at last he was able to discover the bodies of Gervasius and Protasius, the ancient martyrs, he kindled in the spirits of his hearers such a fire that the popular voice was heeded even by the throne itself, and Justina was defeated and gave up the struggle. The court actually retreated before the authority of the Church. And from that moment, and that other memorable moment when he arraigned Theodosius, Ambrose delivered the power of the bishop’s crozier from any interference coming from the Emperor’s sceptre. Those were the days when the pastoral staff might be of wood, but the man who wielded it was of pure gold.

This account needs the story of Theodosius to be immediately attached to it in order to make it stand out in its true relation to the character of Ambrose. The bishop met three great enemies during his career. First appeared Idolatry, championed by Symmachus; then followed Heresy, championed by Justina; and now came Despotism, behind which stood the beloved Theodosius, the Emperor-pupil, with his hands red from the massacre of Thessalonica. The facts were these: a tumult had arisen in the circus at that place; Botheric, an imperial officer, had been killed; and the Emperor had in revenge put very many people to death. Some have even run the figures up to the incredible altitude of thirty thousand, and the massacre has been always regarded as involving seven thousand victims at the lowest estimate. It was a brutal and a horrible act, and Ambrose came out as Nathan did before David and denounced it with the most withering reproaches. The Emperor cowered and bent before this sirocco of the truth. The speaker was poised so high above him in the assured calm of a steady rectitude that Theodosius could do nothing except yield. And yield he did; and for eight months he paid penance before he was restored. It was the penance of the German Henry which hastened the Reformation; it was the humiliation of Theodosius which preserved both rights and dignities to the Church.

There is another side of Ambrose, and one on which Protestants will love to dwell. While his great disciple Augustine lent the weight of his authority to the doctrine that civil constraint might be used to bring men to orthodox beliefs, Ambrose always denounced that. When Valentinian II. sent him to Trier to negotiate with the rebel Maximus, in the winter of 383-84, Ambrose—like his contemporary, Martin of Tours—refused to have any communion with the bishops who recognized Maximus as Emperor, not on political grounds, but because they had obtained the execution of certain Spanish Priscillianists for heresy. This was the first blood-stain on the white garments of the Church—the first in the long line of such sins against the Word and Spirit of Christ. Yet Adrian VI. appealed to it as a precedent against Luther, and described the usurper as one of “the ancient and pious emperors.” In this he followed the example of his infallible predecessor, Leo I., who, in 447, declared there would be an end of all law, human and divine, if such heretics were allowed to live!

As an orator and writer, Ambrose’s strength lay in the simple direct plunge of his sentences, wide and grand and forceful as the launching of a great bowlder down a mountain path. And Mr. Simcox has noticed that the words which are used to describe his rhetorical power are almost all derived from eloqui. The other assemblage of expressions, drawn from disertus and the like, refer to the logical or learned weight of an argument. But what struck every one in the case of Ambrose was that he let the truth come mightily, just as he felt and believed it, with a swing and a vigor which was the outburst of his own majestic soul. It was this which won his victories. It was this power of sincerity which made him the counsellor of Theodosius and the instructor of Gratian as well as the guardian of Valentinian II. It was this unshrinking forwardness of movement which led him to oppose the rebuilding of the Jews’ synagogue; they had denied the Lord Jesus—let their house burn! But a victory more Christian was gained when thirty days of respite were fixed by his intercession between the sentence and execution of criminals. And although the defence of “Virginity,” as Ambrose conducted it, was the mainspring of the conventual idea, and was afterward vigorously used for that purpose, it is again plain that he advocated what he believed and what he himself devoutly practised. He shines upon us, from every angle of vision, as a character most pure, serene, and brave.