Observe that the title is here abridged into the compendious formula PP., as though it were a title with which Roman Christians were already familiar, just as in pagan epigraphy the same letters stand for præpositus or primopilus, and those words are not written at full length, because everybody interested in the matter would know at once from the name and the context what was to be supplied.[140] So, then, it seems impossible to determine when the title was first used of the bishops of Rome; it is at least certain that it occurs in the Catacombs a century earlier than Mr. Withrow imagined, and that even then it was no novelty. However, we do not care to dispute the facts, to which he attaches so much importance, that the title of pope was in those ancient days neither “peculiar to the Bishop of Rome,” nor, so far as we know, first applied to him. Moreover, we cannot even accept, what Mr. Withrow in his ignorance is ready to concede, that “the name of the Bishop of Rome was used as a note of time in the latter part of the fourth century”—a distinction, however, which he contends “was also conferred on other bishops than those of Rome.”
Again, we must observe that this remark seems to indicate an entire ignorance in its author of all that De Rossi has written on the same subject. Of course Mr. Withrow is referring to the two epitaphs which conclude with the words sub Liberio
Episcopo, sub Damaso Episcopo; but he gives no sign of being acquainted with the history of those pontiffs, and with the reasons which De Rossi has so carefully drawn out,[141] wherefore there might have been special mention of their names on the tombs of persons who died during their pontificates.
We have now noticed, we believe, all Mr. Withrow’s observations upon the testimony of the Catacomb inscriptions with reference to the papal supremacy; it remains that we ourselves should make one or two observations upon it which he has not made. And, first, it seems to have escaped his notice that there is a title given to the popes by one of themselves on three or four of these monuments—a title stronger and of more definite meaning than Papa, and quite as unwelcome to Protestant ears. Pope Damasus calls Marcellus, one of his predecessors, Veridicus Rector, or the truth-speaking ruler or governor, in the epitaph with which he adorned his tomb. Two others of his predecessors, Eusebius and Sixtus II., he simply calls Rector, without any qualifying epithet at all. And next we would ask Mr. Withrow and all who sympathize with his objection what title they would suggest as possible for the tombstones of the earliest bishops of Rome, even supposing their position in the Christian hierarchy to have been at that time as clearly defined and fully developed as it is now. Do they think it would have been either seemly or possible for a Christian bishop in the first three centuries to assume the highest official religious title among pagans, and to be addressed as Pontifex Maximus? It is true, indeed, that this title has been given to them in modern
epigraphy since it was moulded on the classical type—i.e., ever since the Renaissance. But nobody could dream of such a title as compatible with the relative positions of paganism and Christianity during the period that the Catacombs were in use for purposes of burial. Nevertheless, it is well worthy of note that even at a very early period of the third century, when Tertullian wished to jeer at a decree which he disliked, but which had been issued by the pope, he spoke of him in mockery, as though he were Pontifex scilicet maximus et episcopus episcoporum, thereby intimating pretty clearly what position in the Christian hierarchy the bishops of Rome seemed to assume.
And now, taking our leave of all discussions about mere titles and verbal inscriptions, let us inquire whether any other evidence can be produced from the Catacombs bearing upon the question before us—the question, that is, of St. Peter’s position under the New Law. Let us inquire of the paintings and sculpture, and other similar monuments, as explained and illustrated by contemporary writings. And we ask our adversaries to deal fairly with the evidence we shall adduce; not to weigh each portion of it apart from the rest, but to allow it that cumulative weight which really belongs to it, interpreting each separate monument with the same spirit of candor and equity which they claim on behalf of any evidence which the Catacombs afford for doctrines which they themselves accept. Take, for instance, the doctrine of the Resurrection. We saw in our last article that Mr. Withrow’s assertion that this doctrine was everywhere recorded throughout the Catacombs rested virtually upon the existence of certain oft-recurring paintings there—paintings
of the story of Jonas and of the raising of Lazarus; that it was not supported by any contemporary sepulchral inscriptions, but that certain more explicit inscriptions of a later date undoubtedly contain it. In other words, Mr. Withrow (and we might add Mr. Burgon, Mr. Marriott, and the whole race of Protestant controversialists who have entered this arena at all) can recognize, when it suits his purpose, the justice of reading ancient monuments in the light of more modern and explicit statements of Christian doctrine, and of interpreting the monuments of Christian art in one age by their known form and meaning in another. Let them not deny the privilege of this canon of interpretation to others besides themselves. We shall use it as occasion may require in our examination of the monuments which to all Catholic archæologians seem to bear testimony to the exceptional position of St. Peter in the Apostolic College.
A subject represented from very early times, and frequently repeated both in paintings and in sculpture, is that of Moses striking the rock in the wilderness, and the waters gushing forth for the refreshment of the children of Israel in their passage through the wilderness. What does this subject mean? The stories of Jonas and of Lazarus were meant, we are told, as types of the Resurrection, and are to be admitted as proofs of the belief of the early Christians in that great doctrine. What part of their belief is typified in this incident from the life of Moses? Let us first see how it was understood by the Jews themselves.
The Royal Psalmist refers to it more than once in accents of fervent gratitude as for a signal act of God’s mercy towards his people, and also
of lively hope, as having been typical and prophetic of further mercies. Isaias, in that magnificent prophecy wherein he recounts the marvels that shall happen in the world when “God shall come and save it,” recalls the memory of the same event, and makes use of it as a fitting image of the spiritual graces that should then be poured forth on the children of men. “God himself,” he says, “will come and will save you. Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened; and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as a hart, and the tongue of the dumb shall be free: for waters are broken out in the desert, and streams in the wilderness. And that which was dry land shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water.”[142] At length the period so long looked for, so frequently promised, “in the fulness of time” arrived; Jesus was born and manifested among men, and, standing in the Temple on a great feast-day, he offered himself to all men as “a fountain of living waters.” “He stood, and cried, saying: If any man thirst, let him come to me and drink. He that believeth in me, as the Scripture saith, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water.” And St. John, who has preserved to us this history, immediately adds, for the more certain interpretation of his words, that Jesus “said this of the Holy Spirit, whom they should receive who believed in him.” Finally, St. Paul comes to complete the explanation, and, in that chapter of his Epistle to the Corinthians which one may almost call the key to the history of the children of Israel, gives more clearly than any before him the mystical interpretation of the prodigy