During the period between the reign of Diocletian and the fall of the Western Roman Empire, were laid the foundations of the history of the Middle Ages; and of these the most important was the recognition of the Christian church by the state and the privileged position thus accorded to it. This union of state and church involved an amalgamation of their intellectual forces, their rights and powers, and also to a certain extent of their system of government. There arose a type of culture and literature which was profane and Christian at one and the same time, a Roman-Christian system of law, and an established church. An alliance was made which would have passed for impossible down to the middle of the third century. Had Tertullian been told that a time was coming when the emperors would be Christians he would have stigmatised the prophecy as impious; had any man proclaimed to Decius that in his persecuting edict he was fighting against the future pillars of the state, he would have flouted the suggestion as absurd. Even as late as the third century the state and church seemed to be irreconcilable antagonists.
And yet Constantine’s resolution to recognise the church and grant her privileges has a long and well-marked preliminary history—and that in the case of both parties, state and church alike. If we study this preliminary history, Constantine’s act appears in the light of the close of a historic process of development which could not have ended otherwise than it did. Constantine’s greatness is not impaired by this fact; he realised and accomplished the one thing needful, and no statesman can do more.
In the following pages we shall attempt to sketch this preliminary history of the alliance between state and church. More than a mere sketch, in which headings take the place of detailed statements, is out of the question, since detailed statements would involve voluminous treatment of the subject; but anyone familiar with the historical facts will be able easily to fill in the brief outline. Our principal task will be to show how the line of development in the Christian church during the first three centuries tended towards conformity with the state; and in conclusion we shall point out in a few brief touches how the state on its part, as it developed, drew towards the church.
I
The Christians of the first century felt themselves aliens in the world, and consequently in the state likewise. They had put faith in a supernatural message which told them that they were citizens of a heavenly kingdom, that this world would shortly come to an end, and the new kingdom, the visible reign of God upon earth, begin. What further interest could they take in things temporal or in the state? Yet the state was not a mere matter of indifference to them. Since it protected idolaters and enforced the worship of idols, it was obviously under the influence of demons; and, being the strongest prop of polytheism, was manifestly the chief seat of the devil. The whole world “lieth in wickedness,” and the state no less. Between church and state, between Christ and Belial, there could be no fellowship. Such, for example, is the spirit in which John wrote his Revelation.
But from the very beginning this simple and confident view was traversed in the minds of many Christians by other views which seemed no less certain: such as (1) this same state, with the emperor at its head, punishes evil-doers and checks injustice in countless instances; (2) this same state not unfrequently protects Christians, the friends of God, against outbreaks of savage hatred on the part of the godless people of the Jews: (3) by the destruction of Jerusalem and of the temple this same state has accomplished the judgment pronounced upon the Jewish nation by the prophets and Christ, and wreaked vengeance upon it for Christ’s death; (4) Jesus and his Apostles did not permit men to revolt against the state, but rather commanded them to obey it and to submit willingly to the punishment it imposed: nay, the Apostles actually commanded that men should pray for the emperor and the magistrates by him appointed.
The early Christians thus occupied an anomalous position towards the state: they judged it to be the chief seat of demons on the one hand, and on the other “the minister of God”; they abhorred it and prayed for it; they besought God that “this world might pass away” and prayed for the continuance of the emperor’s sovereignty. It was as though they had been commanded to adopt different views alternately. They must also have watched with varying feelings the extension of the empire over the “whole world.” When they saw, after the time of Augustus, how one ruler was reverenced upon earth and glorified as king and saviour, nay, as Lord and God, when they were led away to death because they would not worship his image, how could they fail to conclude that here the mystery of sin was revealed and Satan sat upon the throne of God? And yet, on the other hand, was not this rule of a single monarch on earth a type of the rule of God in heaven, the blessed conjunction of all men in one body, the victory over the divisions and animosities of the nations?
And how about the culture of this same state, with its precepts, institutions, and usages? At first sight it all seemed reprehensible, since it was everywhere permeated with idolatry, and not least in philosophy and literature. “Be ye not seduced by philosophy” was the Christian watchword; nay, men went a step further, saying that the Christian had no need of inquiry and learning; in his religion he possessed all things and held the key to the riddles of the world. He was to shut up his reason in prison and despise the lore of the heathen; he was to read the Holy Scriptures, but no worldly books. And yet, does not this same lore teach much that religion teaches? Was nothing but lies to be met with in Socrates, Plato, and the poets? Nay, more, is there not a natural knowledge of God, a natural grasp of truth, and has not every soul obtained a spark of the eternal light? Has it not received knowledge, freedom, and immortality from God? Or are these false doctrines? Yet if they be false, how is it possible to lead men to God? But if they are not lies, a man must read and learn what poets and philosophers have written, and study the inner life that he may learn to know the soul and see what God the creator has bestowed upon it.
Thus here again we have a hesitating “yes,” side by side with an uncompromising “no.” That which but now seemed to be the darkness that opposed itself against the light appears in another aspect as itself a dim degree of light—nay, as the early twilight before the rising sun. Nevertheless, during the first two or three generations the spirit of repudiation was in the ascendant. We can only see that hidden at the heart of things were the germs destined to bring about a change of opinion. A religion which claims to be not national but universal cannot permanently take up a wholly negative attitude towards the history of the human race, nor can it persist in recognising its own preliminary history only along the narrow line of the history of a few prophets or a single small nation. Paul, the great Apostle of the Gentiles, had taught that God had everywhere manifested his being and his will, and in moments of lofty inspiration and joy had proclaimed to the little flock of his brother converts, “All things are yours.”