From the very first Christianity relentlessly opposed this horrid practice, as well as all theatrical exhibitions. The mingled cruelty, idolatry, and indecency of the performances were obnoxious alike to the humanity, the piety, and the modesty of the Christians.[782] They were especially included in the pomps of Satan which the believer abjured at his baptism. Hence their abandonment was often regarded as a proof of conversion to Christianity. The theatre was the devil’s house, and he had a right to all found therein.[783] Christianity, soon after it ascended the throne of the Cæsars, suppressed the gladiatorial combats. The Christian city of Constantinople was never polluted by the atrocious exhibition. A Christian poet eloquently denounced the bloody spectacle, and a Christian monk, at the cost of his life, protested, amid the very frenzy of the conflict, against its cruelty. His heroic martyrdom produced a moral revulsion against the practice, and the laws of Honorius, to use the language of Gibbon, “abolished forever the human sacrifices of the amphitheatre.”
It is remarkable that so few references to military life occur in Christian epitaphs, whereas they form a prominent feature in those of heathen origin. In ten thousand
pagan inscriptions analyzed by M. Le Blant, over five hundred, or, more precisely, 5·47 per cent., were of military character; while in four thousand seven hundred of Christian origin, most of which were after the period of Constantine, only ·57 per cent., were military, or one tenth the proportion of those among the pagans. But even if in the army, the Christians, whose higher dignity was that of soldiers of Christ, would be less likely than the heathen to mention it in their epitaphs. Although Tertullian inveighs against the military service,[784] he yet admits that the Christians engaged in that as well as in other pursuits,[785] and asserts that they were found even in the camps.[786] It is probable, however, that the number in the army was insignificant, and these, it is most likely, were converted after their enlistment. There could be little affinity between the bronzed and hardened ruffians who were the instruments of the reigning tyrant’s cruelty, and the meek and gentle Christians. We know that the latter had often to choose between the sword and the gospel; and many resigned their office, and even embraced martyrdom, rather than perjure their consciences.[787] They could not take the military oath, nor deck their weapons with laurel, nor crown the emperor’s effigy, nor celebrate his birthday, nor observe
any other idolatrous festival. Hence they were accused of the dreaded crime of treason, and announced as the enemies of Cæsar and of the Roman people.[788] Tertullian repels the charge, and demonstrates their loyalty to the emperor and to their country.[789]
Feeling that their citizenship was in heaven, the Christians took no part in the troubled politics of earth. “Nothing is more indifferent to us,” says Tertullian, “than public affairs.”[790] If only their religious convictions were unassailed they would gladly live in quiet, unaffected by civic ambition or by worldly strife. “Themselves half naked,” sneered the heathen, “they despise honours and purple robes.”[791] But although accused of being profitless to the state,[792] they were nevertheless diligent in business while fervent in spirit. “We are no Brahmins or Indian devotees,” says their great apologist, “living naked in the woods, and banished from civilized life.”[793] They were no drones in the social hive, but patterns of industry and thrift. Inspired with loftier motives than their heathen neighbours, they faithfully discharged life’s lowly toils, sedulously cultivated the private virtues, and followed blamelessly whatsoever things were lovely and of good report.
In nothing, however, is the superiority of Christianity over paganism so apparent as in the vast difference in the position and treatment of woman in the respective systems. It is difficult to conceive the depths of degradation into which woman had fallen when Christianity
came to rescue her from infamy, to clothe her with the domestic virtues, to enshrine her amid the sanctities of home, and to employ her in the gentle ministrations of charity. The Greek courtesan, says Lecky, was the finest type of Greek life—the one free woman of Athens. But how world-wide was the difference between the Greek hetæra—a Phryne or an Aspasia, though honoured by Socrates and Pericles—and the Christian matrons Monica, Marcella, or Fabiola. So much does woman owe to Christianity! In Rome her condition was still worse. The heathen satirists paint in strongest colours the prevailing corruptions, and the historians of the times reveal abounding wickedness that shames humanity. The vast wealth, the multiplication of slaves, the influx of orientalism with its debasing vices, had thoroughly corrupted society. The relations of the sexes seemed entirely dislocated. The early Roman ideas of marriage were forgotten; it had no moral, only a legal character. Woman, reckless of her “good name,” had lost “the most immediate jewel of her soul.” The Lucretias and Virginias of the old heroic days were beings of tradition. A chaste woman, says Juvenal, was a rara avis in terra. The Julias and Messalinas flaunted their wickedness in the high places of the earth, and to be Cæsar’s wife was not to be above suspicion. Alas, that in a few short centuries Christianity should sink so low that the excesses of a Theodora should rival those of an Agrippina or a Julia! Even the loftiest pagan moralists and philosophers recklessly disregarded the most sacred social obligation at their mere caprice. Cicero, who discoursed so nobly concerning the nature of the gods, divorced his wife Terentia that he might mend his broken fortunes by marrying his wealthy ward. Cato ceded his wife, with the consent of
her father, to his friend Hortensius, taking her back after his death. Woman was not a person, but a thing, says Gibbon. Her rights and interests were lost in those of her husband. She should have no friends nor gods but his, says Plutarch. It was the age of reckless divorce. In the early days of the Commonwealth there had been no divorce in Rome in five hundred and forty years. In the reign of Nero, says Seneca, the women measured their years by their husbands, and not by the consuls. Juvenal speaks of a woman with eight husbands in five years;[794] and Martial, in extravagant hyperbole, of another who married ten husbands in a month.[795] We must also regard as an exaggeration the account given by Jerome of a woman married to her twenty-third husband, being his twenty-first wife.[796]
Nevertheless, God did not leave himself without a witness in the hearts of the people; and we have seen many illustrations of conjugal happiness in previous inscriptions.[797] But Christianity first taught the sanctity of the marriage relation, as a type of the mystical union between Christ and his church; and enforced the reciprocal obligation of conjugal fidelity, which was previously regarded as binding on woman alone. In their recoil from the abominable licentiousness of the heathen, the Christians regarded modesty as the crown of all the virtues, and against its violation the heaviest ecclesiastical penalties were threatened. This regard was at length intensified into a superstitious reverence for celibacy.[798]
The absolute sinfulness of a divorce was maintained by the early councils.[799] The Fathers admit of but one cause, that which Christ himself assigns, as rendering it lawful.[800] They also denounced second marriage, or bigamy, as it was called, which excluded from the clerical order, and from a share in the charities of the church.[801] The marriage relation was regarded as the union of two souls for time and for eternity.[802]