“What wonder that the whole world was prey to disturbance and confusion?” – Fulcher of Chartres on the relationship between dysfunction in the Holy See and disasters in the world

Scene from the Apocalypse from an illuminated manuscript, ca. AD 1430.

If the world is a complete disastrous mess, blame the Catholic Church. 

Throughout history, this aphorism has popped up with some frequency and in various forms. And while this condemnation has frequently been issued by those of an anti-Papist stripe, it has just as often been uttered by devout Catholics themselves, even saints and popes. How is this possible, you ask? Well, let’s check in with Fulcher of Chartres who in AD 1105 penned the quote that may be seen in the image at the beginning of this post:

“What wonder that the whole world was a prey to disturbance and confusion? For when the Roman Church, which is the source of correction for all Christianity, is troubled by any disorder, the sorrow is communicated from the nerves of the head to the members subject to it, and these suffer sympathetically."

Fulcher was a French priest who took up the cross of the First Crusade in the late 11th century AD. He would later become the chaplain of Baldwin of Boulogne, who would later become the first King of Jerusalem. Fulcher is best known to history for his work, The Deeds of the Franks and the Expedition to Jerusalem, a first-hand chronicle of the great events of his age. Having apparently witnessed everything from the Council of Clermont where the Frankish knights first cried, “Deus vult!” to the re-conquest of Jerusalem and events beyond, Fulcher’s work is among the most valuable accounts of the early crusading era. 

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Let's dip into that work and look at the context of the above quote. All of the quotes from Fulcher in this post are taken from August Krey's excellent compilation, The First Crusade: The Accounts of Eye-Witnesses and Participants. 

Near the beginning of his work, Fulcher records the situation in Europe prior to the Crusade, and in particular notes the chaotic situation of the Holy See which was beset by an anti-pope who was the darling of great political powers, particularly Henry IV, Emperor of Germany. Fulcher writes: 

But the devil, who always desires man’s destruction and goes about like a raging lion seeking whom he may devour, stirred up to the confusion of the people a certain rival to [Pope] Urban [II], Wibert, by name. Incited by the stimulus of pride and supported by the shamelessness of the aforesaid Emperor of the Bavarians, Wibert attempted to usurp the papal office while Urban’s predecessor, Gregory, that is Hildebrand, was the legitimate Pope; and he thus caused Gregory himself to be cast out of St. Peter’s. So the better people refused to recognize him because he acted thus perversely. 

Wibert would be known to history as anti-pope Clement III. Fulcher continues: 

After the death of Hildebrand, Urban, lawfully elected, was consecrated by the cardinal bishops, and the greater and holier part of the people submitted in obedience to him. Wibert, however, urged on by the support of the aforesaid Emperor and by the instigation of the Roman citizens, for some time kept Urban a stranger to the Church of St. Peter; but Urban, although he was banished from the Church, went about through the country, reconciling to God the people who had gone somewhat astray. Wibert, however, puffed up by the primacy of the Church, showed himself indulgent to sinners, and exercising the office of pope, although unjustly, amongst his adherents, he denounced as ridiculous the acts of Urban. 

But in the year in which the Franks first passed through Rome on their way to Jerusalem, Urban obtained the complete papal power everywhere, with the help of a certain most noble matron, Matilda, by name, who then had great influence in the Roman state. Wibert was then in Germany. So there were two Popes; and many did not know which to obey, or from which counsel should be taken, or who should remedy the ills of Christianity. Some favored the one; some the other. But it was clear to the intelligence of men that Urban was the better, for he is rightly considered better who controls his passions, just as if they were enemies. Wibert was Archbishop of the city of Ravenna. He was very rich and reveled in honor and wealth. It was a wonder that such riches did not satisfy him. Ought he to be considered by all an exemplar of right living who, himself a lover of pomp, boldly assumes to usurp the scepter of Almighty God? Truly, this office must not be seized by force, but accepted with fear and humility.

Fulcher is by no means the first to condemn the intrusion of worldly politics into the nomination and election of popes. Recall that Hermias Sozomen, writing in the mid-5th century AD, offers a similar viewpoint when discussing the deposition of Pope Liberius by the Emperor Constantius II, the subsequent election of Pope Felix II, the return of Liberius creating a situation where there were two Popes in Rome. Sozomen denounced this occasion and mentions that having two men occupy the seat of St. Peter is a sign of discord and is foreign to ecclesiastical law.

Similarly, when Vigillius participated in the unlawful political deposition of Pope St. Silverius in AD 536 and was later elected Pope while Silverius still lived in exile, his reign quickly descended into discord. War, natural disasters, famine, and death on an unimaginable scale due to plague followed all throughout his miserable reign. When he was later seized by agents of the Empress Theodora and put on a ship to Constantinople, the Liber Pontificalis claims that the Roman people threw rocks at the ship in which he was imprisoned, shouting: “Your hunger go with you! Your pestilence go with you! You have done evil to the Romans; may you find evil where you go!” And it did. Vigilius would spend over a decade in Constantinople as a veritable prisoner under intense pressure from the imperial court to alter Church doctrine. Finally, he would acknowledge: “I am receiving the reward for my deeds.”

Getting back to Fulcher, we next see how he connects disorder in the Church at Rome to catastrophic disorders within Christendom and indeed, the world at large, beginning with our quote from above:

What wonder that the whole world was a prey to disturbance and confusion? For when the Roman Church, which is the source of correction for all Christianity, is troubled by any disorder, the sorrow is communicated from the nerves of the head to the members subject to it, and these suffer sympathetically. This Church, indeed, our mother, as it were, at whose bosom we were nourished, by whose doctrine we were instructed and strengthened, by whose counsel we were admonished, was by this proud Wibert greatly afflicted. For when the head is thus struck, the members at once are sick. If the head be sick, the other members suffer. Since the head was thus sick, pain was engendered in the enfeebled members; for in all parts of Europe peace, goodness, faith, were boldly trampled under foot, within the church and without, by the high, as well as by the low. It was necessary both that an end be put to these evils, and that, in accordance with the plan suggested by Pope Urban, they turn against the pagans the strength formerly used in prosecuting battles among themselves....

Fulcher then commences his account of Urban II’s address at the Council of Clermont and the vast Crusading movement he inspired. This effort lasted nearly four centuries, and was still inspiring men of action even into the late 15th century.

By the time the Crusading effort completely petered out in the 16th century, the Church was rent by the rebellion of Protestantism and threatened by the scourge of resurgent Islam which, by this time, had annihilated the Eastern Empire forever and positioned armed forces at the very doorstep of divided Christendom. In frustration, a saintly pope of this time reportedly echoed Fulcher, saying: “All the evils of the world are due to lukewarm Catholics.” He was fortunate enough to find enough men whose faith still burned hot, and inspire the Holy League which beat back the Islamic menace decisively at Lepanto in AD 1571,

It is perhaps apt to consider such things when reflecting upon the wretched state of the Church and the world in our own times. 

"That the nation, seeing that their temples are not destroyed, may remove error from their hearts." ~ St. Gregory the Great's letter to St. Mellitus on reconsecrating pagan temples as Christian churches, AD 601

Saint Mellitus refuses communion to the sons of Sabert, king of the East Saxons.
Etching by Hubert François Bourguignon Gravelot, 1743.

There are two facile and credulously accepted claims that make the rounds of Late Roman-interest online fora and social media with some frequency. They are roughly as follows:

“Christianity sought to destroy the art, architecture and culture of classical civilization.”

and 

“Modern Christian holidays are nothing more than ancient pagan holidays with a Christian overlay.”

Both of these declarations are treated uncritically as fact by those who use the outmoded Gibbon as their sole guide to Late Antiquity. The second is also used by those of a Protestant persuasion who wish to prove that Catholicism (and Orthodoxy to a lesser extent) are little better than warmed-over paganism.

Context has been added to the first statement on numerous occasions on this blog, including here, here, and here. The second has been dealt with as well, here and here.

Interestingly, there is a 1,400 year-old letter from Pope Saint Gregory the Great that addresses both of these claims rather directly. Recalling this letter to the attention of our readers is also especially fitting for this season of Thanksgiving in the United States as St. Gregory specifically calls out in his letter one of the reasons for the institution of feasts as to “return thanks to the Giver of all things”.

The letter was recorded by Saint Bede the Venerable as part of his great work, the Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation, which was written shortly before Bede’s death ca. AD 735. By that time, Gregory's letter was over a century old. It was addressed to the abbot Mellitus (later, Saint Mellitus), a missionary who would go on to become the bishop of London and archbishop of Canterbury. In the letter, Gregory offers advice to Mellitus, then still in France, about how to conduct himself as a missionary among the heathen barbarians who ruled over formerly Christian Britain. 

Here is the letter in full, with some comments interspersed:

Chapter XXX: A Copy of the Letter Which Pope Gregory Sent to the Abbot Mellitus, then going into Britain

The aforesaid messengers being departed, the holy father, Gregory, sent after them letters worthy to be preserved in memory, wherein he plainly shows what care he took of the salvation of our nation. The letter was as follows:

To his most beloved son, the Abbot Mellitus; Gregory the servant of the servants of God. 

We have been much concerned since the departure of our congregation that is with you, because we have received no account of the success of your journey. When, therefore, Almighty God shall bring you to the most reverend man our brother bishop, St Augustine, tell him what I have, upon mature deliberation on the affair of the English, determined upon, viz. that the temples of the idols in that nation ought not to be destroyed. Let holy water be made, and sprinkled in the said temples; let altars be erected, and let relics be deposited in them. For if those temples are well built, it is requisite that they be converted from the worship of the devils to the service of the true God; that the nation, seeing that their temples are not destroyed, may remove error from their hearts, and knowing and adoring the true God, may the more familiarly resort to the same places to which they have been accustomed. 

Here we see Gregory advising Mellitus to preserve and reconsecrate pagan temples as Christian churches. To anyone familiar with late Roman history, this advice should come as no great surprise. While certainly a few celebrated examples exist of Christian populations actively tearing down their local pagan temples, examples of pagan temples converted into Christian churches abound, including the Pantheon in Rome which, under Gregory’s successor Pope Boniface IV, became the Church of Saint Mary and the Martyrs. Another famous example was the Parthenon at Athens, which became the Church of Maria Parthenos in the late 6th century AD. A scholarly article written in 2017 by Dutch classicist Feyo Schuddeboom goes into considerable detail about the pagan temples in the city of Rome that were reconsecrated as churches, counting eleven examples. The list may be found in this excellent article by Sarah Bond that appeared in Forbes: Were Pagan Temples All Smashed Or Just Converted Into Christian Ones?

The trend among contemporary scholars seems to view the shift from paganism to Christianity in Late Antiquity as less an abrupt and violent clash of cultures and more a gradual transition that involved, as the Apostle Paul would famously recommend,  “the proving of all things, holding fast that which is good, but refraining from all appearances of evil.” [1 Thessalonians 5:21]. Gregory’s letter, though written regarding the pagan temples in Britain rather than Rome, supports that thesis.

The second section of Gregory’s letter deals with the replacement of pagan feasts with those particular to Christianity: 

And because they have been used to slaughter many oxen to devils, some solemnity must be exchanged for them on this account, as that on the day of the dedication, or the nativities of the holy martyrs, whose relics are deposited, they may build themselves huts of the boughs of trees, about those churches which have been turned to that use from temples, and celebrate the solemnity with religious feasting, and no more offer feasts to the Devil, but kill cattle to the praise of God in their eating, and return thanks to the Giver of all things for their sustenance, to the end that, whilst some gratifications are outwardly permitted them, they may the more easily consent to the inward consolations of God. For there is no doubt that it is impossible to efface every thing at once from their obdurate minds; because he who endeavors to ascend to the highest place, rises by degrees or steps, and not by leaps.

Thus the Lord made himself known to the people of Israel in Egypt; and yet he allowed them the use of the sacrifices which they were wont to offer to the Devil, in his own worship; so as to command them in his sacrifice to kill beasts, to the end that, changing their hearts, they might lay aside one part of the sacrifice, whilst they retained another; that whilst they offered the same beasts which they were wont to offer, they should offer them to God, and not to idols; and thus they would no longer be the same sacrifices. 

This it behooves your affection to communicate to our aforesaid brother, that he being there present, may consider how he is to order all things. God preserve you in safety, most beloved son.

Given the 17th of June, in the nineteenth year of the reign of our lord, the most pious emperor, Mauritius Tiberius, the eighteenth year after the consulship of our said lord. The fourth indiction. (AD 601).

Taken from Giles: The Complete Works of Venerable Bede, Vol. II, The Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation, Book I, Chapter XXX, page 141

Note that Gregory is not calling for Mellitus to take pagan festivals and simply rename them as Christian feasts. Rather, he is suggesting that new feasts be instituted on the date of a particular martyr’s birth or death, or the date upon which a church is consecrated. Numerous such feast days may be found in ancient Catholic martyrologies and missals, including dates for remembering revered local saints as well as those celebrated by the universal Church. Again, Gregory is following the advice of St. Paul – pagan festal practices which are neutral and universal, such as holding banquets, decorating, and celebration may be incorporated into Christian holy days. Those practices, however, which are specific to pagan superstitions such as idol-worship, astrology, gluttony, sinful revels, and the like, must be done away with.

It is interesting to note that the same approach was used by the Jesuits of the 17th century when evangelizing the native tribes of America in New France. I outlined some of the pagan practices which the Jesuit missionaries considered incompatible with Christianity in a previous post—When the Jesuits were Catholic. That post also includes an insightful quote drawn from St. Jean Brebeuf’s speech to the elders of the Huron nation which distinguishes those neutral customs and practices of all nations from those which concern superstitious beliefs:

“As for our ways of doing things, [Fr. Brebeuf] said that it was quite true they were altogether different from theirs—that we had this in common with all nations; that, in fact, there were as many different customs as there were different peoples upon the earth; that the manner of living, of dressing, and of building houses was entirely different in France from what it was here, and in other countries of the world, and that this was not what we found wrong. But, as to what concerned God, all nations ought to have the same sentiments; that the reality of a God was one, and so clear that it was only necessary to open the eyes to see it written in large characters upon the faces of all creatures.” 

Echoes of St. Gregory’s advice may be discerned in this statement, and in the Jesuits' mode of evangelizing the tribes of New France.

It’s worth mentioning as a final word that things fell out poorly for St. Mellitus and the pagans of London. Bede records in his History that King Sabert of the East Saxons was baptized by Mellitus and permitted a bishopric to be set up in London. Upon Sabert’s death in AD 616, however, his three sons looked with scorn upon Mellitus and returned to paganism. The dramatic confrontation between Mellitus and the sons of Sabert, as depicted in the etching at the top of this post, is described by Bede as follows:

This confusion was increased by the death of Sabert, king of the East-Saxons, who departing to the heavenly kingdom, left three sons, still pagans, to inherit his temporal crown. They immediately began to profess idolatry, which, during their father's reign, they had seemed a little to abandon, and they granted free liberty to the people under their government to serve idols. And when they saw the bishop, whilst celebrating mass in the church, give the eucharist to the people, they, puffed up with barbarous folly, were wont, as it is reported, to say to him, "Why do you not give us also that white bread, which you used to give to our father Saba (for so they used to call him), and which you still continue to give to the people in the church?" 

To whom he answered, "If you will be washed in that laver of salvation, in which your father was washed, you may also partake of the holy bread of which he partook; but if you despise the laver of life, you may not receive the bread of life."  

They replied, "We will not enter into that laver, because we do not know that we stand in need of it, and yet we will eat of that bread."

And being often earnestly admonished by him, that the same could not be done, nor any one admitted to partake of the sacred oblation without the holy cleansing, at last, they said in anger, "If you will not comply with us in so small a matter as that is which we require, you shall not stay in our province." And accordingly they obliged him and his followers to depart from their kingdom.

Taken from Giles: The Complete Works of Venerable Bede, Vol. II, The Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation, Book I, Chapter XXX, page 191

Mellitus then removed from London first to Kent and later back to France to await events. He would not return to London, but would eventually succeed St. Laurentius as archbishop of Canterbury in AD 619. 

Meanwhile, the sons of Sabert would come to a bad end, defeated and slain by the Gewissae (or West Saxons) in AD 620.

Interview with Michael T. Cibenko, the author of Masaru — a new novel for young Catholics

Getting young readers interested in the grand sweep of history is one of my callings in life. So when an outstanding new Catholic historical novel emerges that focuses on some obscure but momentous event that few people know about, I'm all over it. 

Fitting that bill perfectly is Masaru, the tale of a young Catholic samurai in mid-17th century Japan.

Written by New Jersey author Michael T. Cibenko, Masaru tells the story of Shiro Nakagawa, a 17 year-old convert to Catholicism fighting a desperate battle to maintain the faith during the aggressively anti-Catholic Tokugawa Shogunate. Prior to reading this book, I knew very little about the history of Catholicism in Japan, let alone the Shimabara Rebellion in Kyushu which pitted an armed band of Catholic ronin and villagers against the Shogun's army of samurai. Masaru does exactly what a good historical novel is meant to do—it immerses the reader into the historical events, creating realistic, sympathetic and complex characters acting within an enjoyable, fast-moving plot. At the same time, the story kindles a strong desire to know more about the events described. What was the Shimabara Rebellion? Why did it happen? Which episodes in the novel are based on actual historical events? 

Mr. Cibenko has an intriguing story of his own. Upon graduating from college, he worked as an English teacher in Japan, tramping the very ground where the events described in Masaru take place. It was there that he came to know the small but devout community of Japanese Catholics and to study their storied history. It was there also that Michael met his wife.

I had the opportunity to ask Michael a few questions about Masaru and his motivations for writing this exceptional novel, perfect for Catholics young and old. I hope you enjoy the following interview, and will be inspired to pick up a copy of his book!

Masaru places the reader into a fascinating historical period that is very different from life as we experience it today. What aspects of the novel do you hope will speak to young Catholics today most strongly?

MTC: All historical periods are fascinating in their own particular ways. Even though this story takes place long ago in a faraway land, I believe readers will be able to connect with its characters. Regardless of the era into which we’re born, we all experience those universal aspects of the human condition: joy and fear, hope and doubt, love and loneliness. I hope that young Catholics might come away with a deeper appreciation for the faith, and understand there have always been those throughout history who have been persecuted for professing and practicing what we so often take for granted.

Click here for more info.

I loved the quotes and proverbs at the beginning of each chapter. What was your motive for incorporating those particular quotes in the text?

MTC: I have a faint childhood memory of reading a book that utilized interesting quotes (I believe they’re called “epigraphs”) at the beginning of each chapter, and I just thought that was a really neat device for setting a tone. Even when I kept a journal, I always liked to include lines from movies, or lyrics from songs, that reflected what I was experiencing at any given time. For this book, which on some level is about the marriage of Christian and Japanese culture, I wanted to include one quote from “the West” (primarily from Scripture), and one quote from “the East” (primarily Japanese proverbs).  The idea was to have the two quotes in some way reflect or complement one another.  For several of the chapters, it was a fair bit of work finding the right ones!

A manuscript like Masaru can take considerable time, effort, and inspiration to create. Did any surprising or unexpected things happen during the writing of the book? 

MTC: I was certainly surprised by how much research was required. On average, for every page of writing, I probably had to do about ten pages of reading! At first I thought I could mainly rely on my own experiences living in Japan. But when writing about life in the 17th century, I had to consider so many small details. Beyond that, I was continually struck by how so many of the faithful were willing to risk torture and death, rather than renounce the faith. I often found myself asking, "Would I have been able to do that?"

Shiro’s story in Masaru is inspiring. I know he is based on a real person in history—Shiro Amakusa. How does the fictional Shiro compare to the historical figure?

MTC: The decision about what to name the book’s main character was one I considered for quite a while. Though the events of the Shimabara Rebellion are fairly well documented, the real Shiro Amakusa is a person about whom not as much is known. Giving the book’s character the last name of Nakagawa, the family name of my Japanese grandmother, allowed me some freedom to take more creative license. “Masaru” was actually a nickname my grandmother had given me, which reflects the connection of the book’s title to its main character. Though there are surely differences, the real Shiro provided all the inspiration for the one in Masaru.

The events in Masaru are reminiscent of the recent film, Silence by Martin Scorsese—though while the film follows a protagonist who eventually denies his Catholic faith to survive, the characters in Masaru heroically risk all in defense of the faith. Was this film on your mind at all when you wrote Masaru?

MTC: Though I had seen Silence, I was more influenced by a 1962 Japanese movie called The Revolutionary, which tells the tale of the Christian uprising from the perspective of the peasants who were being persecuted. Certain details in Masaru, such as “the raincoat dance,” were depicted in that film. Though it was well made, the actor who played Shiro was, I felt, a bit too old for the role. I'd love to see a film version of the story starring a young unknown actor. 

Michael T. Cibenko
author of Masaru.

How close to the history of the Shimabara Uprising is Masaru? Is there a particular source that you would recommend for readers who want to know more about this time period?

MTC: As much as possible, I tried to stay true to the timeline of historical events. The main liberty I took was in shifting the location of those events from the Shimabara Peninsula to Kumamoto Prefecture, about fifty miles to the southeast.  I had lived in a rural village situated between the towns of Yatsushiro and Hitoyoshi, and I wanted to use that more intimately familiar setting. Much of what I learned about the events of the uprising was during my visit to the Amakusa Christian Museum and many of the historical sites in the region. I realize a trip to Japan is not an easy thing, especially nowadays, but I’d still encourage readers to check out those things online. I’d also recommend Christ’s Samurai by Jonathan Clements, a solid historical account of The Shimabara Rebellion.

~^~^~^~

Thanks, Michael, for relaying your thoughts. Here's hoping that many young Catholics will read and appreciate the outstanding novel you have written! 

“Constantine can not be overcome!” ~ Constantine enters Rome in triumph after the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, October 28, AD 312

Ruben's fanciful rendering of Maxentius plunging to his death at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge. 

 When Constantine entered Rome on October 28, AD 312 after crushing the superior forces of Maxentius at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, it marked the end of one era and the beginning of another. There are several accounts of the battle and its aftermath recorded in ancient times, and two in particular stand out as being written by immediate contemporaries who certainly spoke with the participants. One of those who recorded the battle was Lactantius, a scholar who had served at the court of Diocletian and later became the tutor of Constantine’s son, Crispus.

Here is his account as drawn from his invaluable work, On the Deaths of the Persecutors (Chapter XLIV):

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And now a civil war broke out between Constantine and Maxentius. Although Maxentius kept himself within Rome, because the soothsayers had foretold that if he went out of it he should perish, yet he conducted the military operations by able generals. In forces he exceeded his adversary, for he had not only his father’s army which deserted from Severus, but also his own which he had lately drawn together out of Mauritania and Italy.

They fought and the troops of Maxentius prevailed.

Other ancient accounts give additional details. Zosimus, a pagan historian hostile to Constantine writing in the early 6th century, indicates in his New History that the forces of Maxentius at the start of the campaign numbered some 170,000, while those of Constantine were about 98,000. Eusebius, writing in Life of the Blessed Emperor Constantine, says that Maxentius positioned his forces throughout Italy to ambush the army of Constantine as it made its way south. An anonymous panegyricist who wrote soon after Constantine’s victory says that Constantine was able to successfully fight through these ambushes, winning battles at the towns of Susa, Turin and Verona before approaching Rome. 

However, when he reached Rome, Constantine was faced with the task of besieging the huge city with an army still likely inferior in numbers to his opponent – a losing proposition when facing an entrenched enemy. Thus, he stood outside the city stymied. It is in this sense that we should understand Lactantius’s claim above that the forces of Maxentius prevailed, at least at first. Considering the situation from a military perspective, the prospects of Constantine were indeed grim upon reaching Rome. It should be recalled that Maxentius had easily defeated the previous attempts by Severus and Galerius to remove him from Rome. In both cases, Maxentius was able to bribe the soldiers of his opponents and his efforts were so successful that both emperors were to forced to flee in successive campaigns. In the case of Severus, his whole army defected to Maxentius and he was ignominiously captured and put to death. No doubt, Maxentius hoped to thwart Constantine’s attack using similar tactics while remaining safely ensconced in the Eternal City.

It was then that something wholly unexpected and incredible happened. Lactantius continues:

At length, Constantine with steady courage and a mind prepared for every event, led his whole forces to the neighborhood of Rome and encamped them opposite to the Milvian bridge. The anniversary of the reign of Maxentius approached—that is, the sixth of the kalends of November—and the fifth year of his reign was drawing to an end. 

Constantine was directed in a dream to cause the heavenly sign to be delineated on the shields of his soldiers and so to proceed to battle. He did as he had been commanded, and he marked on their shields the letter X, with a perpendicular line drawn through it and turned round thus at the top, being the cipher of Christ. Having this sign, his troops stood to arms. 

A bronze follis of Constantine showing the labarum or Christian standard
topped by the chi-rho on the reverse side.

This is, of course, the chi-rho symbol indicating the first two letters of the word "Christ" in Greek. Here Lactantius is describing the theophany experienced by Constantine and this account is certainly the earliest to record the event. It should be noted that this telling of the story is less detailed than the account of Eusebius of Constantine's vision of a cross in the heavens. However, the accounts do not conflict. Eusebius also records the dream, saying that Constantine experienced the dream on the night following the vision and that the dream served to explain what he had seen in the heavens—a cross with the words, “By this sign, thou wilt conquer.” 

Lactantius describes what happened next:

The enemies advanced but without their emperor [Maxentius], and they crossed the bridge. The armies met and fought with the utmost exertions of valor, “neither this side or that marked by flight.”

In the meantime a sedition arose at Rome and Maxentius was reviled as one who had abandoned all concern for the safety of the commonweal. And suddenly, while he exhibited the Circensian games on the anniversary of his reign, the people cried with one voice, “ Constantine cannot be overcome!” Dismayed at this, Maxentius burst from the assembly, and having called some senators together, ordered the Sibylline books to be searched. In them it was found that:

“On the same day the enemy of the Romans should perish.”

Led by this response to the hopes of victory, he went to the field. The bridge in his rear was broken down. At sight of that the battle grew hotter. The hand of the Lord prevailed, and the forces of Maxentius were routed. He fled towards the broken bridge, but the multitude pressing on him, he was driven headlong into the Tiber.

Drawing from earlier sources, Zosimus provides some additional details, claiming that Maxentius had erected a pontoon bridge over the Tiber which was divided into two parts held together by pins. This structure was purposely built as part of a stratagem to lure the Constantinian army over the bridge, as the pins were meant to be withdrawn once the enemy was on the bridge, precipitating the whole into the river. Both Aurelius Victor and Eusebius confirm that this stratagem had been put into place in the hopes of destroying all or part of Constantine’s army. However, the “engine of destruction” ended up being turned on Maxentius when Constantine refused to cross the pontoon bridge and offered battle on the far side of the Tiber.

Zosimus also mentions a most peculiar prodigy that took place before the battle, saying that Constantine’s decision to hold his ground was made because a great flock of owls had suddenly descended upon the walls of Rome. Seeing that Constantine refused to cross the river, Maxentius advanced and set his army in ranks to give battle. But his formations had hardly been arranged when Constantine’s cavalry attacked and a furious fight ensued. At this moment, Zosimus says that the morale of Maxentius’s troops failed because few among them were willing to risk their lives for a man they considered a tyrant. (See Zosimus, New History, Book II, Chapter 16.)

Lactantius concludes his account as follows:

This destructive war being ended, Constantine was acknowledged as emperor with great rejoicings by the senate and people of Rome. And now he came to know the perfidy of [Maximin] Daia, for he found the letters written to Maxentius and saw the statues and portraits of the two associates which had been set up together. The senate, in reward of the valor of Constantine, decreed to him the title of Maximus (the Greatest), a title which Daia had always arrogated to himself.

We can reconstruct some of what happened in Rome after the defeat of Maxentius from other sources. The anonymous panegyricist mentioned above says that the body of Maxentius was retrieved from the Tiber and hacked to pieces, his head placed on a spear and paraded around the city. Constantine then made a triumphal procession through Rome, concluding with a visit to the imperial palace and a speech in which he restored to the Senate their former privileges. Eusebius tells us that Constantine embellished Rome with monuments and inscriptions celebrating his victory, including a statue of himself with the cross beneath his hand which bore an inscription in Latin, saying: 

“By virtue of this salutary sign, which is the true symbol of valor, I have preserved and liberated your city from the yoke of tyranny. I have also set at liberty the Roman senate and people, and restored them to their ancient greatness and splendor.” [see Eusebius: Life of the Blessed Emperor Constantine, Book I, Chapter 40]

One can imagine that for the people of Rome, jaded by centuries of imperial superlatives making similar claims of liberation, change, glorious restoration and perpetual felicity, these words may have rung somewhat hollow. But for Rome and the Romans, the events of October 28, AD 312 were truly revolutionary. Nothing would ever be the same again.

For more posts on the reign of Constantine, see:

• Constantine — Military Hero and Christian Emperor
• Constantine's Vision of the Cross ~ Early Accounts and Backstory
• September 18, AD 324 -- Constantine defeats Licinius at the Battle of Chrysopolis
• Maxentius and His Ill-Fated Reign ~ The last pagan emperor to rule from Rome or a usurper and "inhuman beast"?

The Sudden Collapse of Greco-Roman Paganism and Rise of Christianity during the 4th century AD ~ Some Stark Clues Courtesy of Julian the Apostate

Fresco of Jesus approaching the tomb of Lazarus, from the Catacombs
of the Via Latina in Rome, 4th century AD.

In the years following the victory of Constantine the Great over Maxentius at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge outside Rome in AD 312, something unprecedented in human history happened. A religion embraced by a small, despised, unwarlike minority cult became the dominant faith of the mighty Roman Empire. How this happened has been the subject of endless scholarly debate ever after. Did the ascendant Christians impose their faith on the multitude of pagans by brute force? Did examples of miraculous events or prophecies play a role? Or did the Christian emperors simply make it so advantageous to become a Christian, as a matter of law, that the vast majority of pagans knuckled under? 

None of these solutions by itself is satisfying. Nor does the combination of all of the above provide a complete answer for why the bulk of the Empire’s population began embracing a religious creed which had been suspected, oppressed, and brutally persecuted for three centuries before. Indeed, the pagan emperors had attempted to make it advantageous to abjure Christianity. They also claimed that the pagan divinities had granted oracles saying that the gods would smile upon the Empire if those who rejected them were extirpated. And finally, pagan emperors used brute force to compel Christians to abjure. But none of these strategies proved effective in crushing Christianity.

So why, then, did Roman paganism collapse in the 4th century AD, and why did so many Roman pagans eventually flock to Christianity? 

Some evidence may be gleaned from the surviving writings of Christian apologists who had been pagan intellectuals such as Aristides of Athens, Justin Martyr, Clement of Alexandria, and others. The common rationale offered by these converts is that the pagan world had become so morally corrupt that they could no longer abide a hypocritical philosophy that praised virtue and glory but practiced the most debased vices and brutally killed poor souls in horrible ways for the most trifling of crimes.

More evidence may be found, ironically, in the works of Julian the Apostate. The reader will recall that Julian was a sign of contradiction in his day – a Christian apostate and revert to Classical paganism who became Roman emperor and attempted to undo forty years of Christian ascendancy within the Empire. Julian himself was an enigma, as we have seen in previous posts. He specifically spared the Christians the harshest forms of persecution, not out of compassion but because he had learned from history that such tactics didn’t work to suppress Christianity. In his own words, he says: 

A gold solidus of Julian as Caesar under
Constantius II (ca. AD 355-360), lacking at
this time his trademark philosopher's beard.

I affirm by the gods that I do not wish the Galilaeans [that is, Christians] to be either put to death or unjustly beaten, or to suffer any other injury; but nevertheless I do assert absolutely that the god-fearing must be preferred to them. For through the folly of the Galilaeans almost everything has been overturned, whereas through the grace of the gods are we all preserved. Wherefore we ought to honor the gods and the god-fearing, both men and cities. [Julian's letter to Atarbius, AD 362]

Considering he was a Christian himself (indeed, he was the nephew of Constantine the Great) who reverted to paganism, Julian is able to offer some unique insights into what the average Roman found so attractive in Christianity, and why paganism seemed so moribund by comparison. In his letter to Arascius, pagan high-priest of Galatia, written in AD 362, Julian offers advice on how to revive pagan practices, while inadvertently revealing some of the weaknesses inherent in paganism and the contrasting strengths of Christianity:

The Hellenic religion [that is, paganism] does not yet prosper as I desire, and it is the fault of those who profess it; for the worship of the gods is on a splendid and magnificent scale, surpassing every prayer and every hope. May Adrasteia [a pagan goddess] pardon my words, for indeed no one, a little while ago, would have ventured even to pray for a change of such a sort or so complete within so short a time. Why, then, do we think that this is enough, why do we not observe that it is their benevolence to strangers, their care for the graves of the dead and the pretended holiness of their lives that have done most to increase atheism?”

By “atheism”, Julian here is referring to Christianity, whose adherents he collectively scorns as "Galilaeans." Interestingly, he faults paganism for lacking the virtues that were taught to him as being a key facet of Christian life. He goes on to chide the high-priest, suggesting that his brother pagans should adopt Christian-like piety, honor the gods with the same type of zeal, engage in ascetical practices, and refrain from dishonorable trades: 

I believe that we ought really and truly to practice every one of these virtues. And it is not enough for you alone to practice them, but so must all the priests in Galatia, without exception. Either shame or persuade them into righteousness or else remove them from their priestly office, if they do not, together with their wives, children and servants, attend the worship of the gods but allow their servants or sons or wives to show impiety towards the gods and honor atheism more than piety. In the second place, admonish them that no priest may enter a theater or drink in a tavern or control any craft or trade that is base and not respectable. Honor those who obey you, but those who disobey, expel from office. 

Finally, we see Julian revealing one of the aspects of Christianity that average Romans must have found very compelling—charity to the poor. The Christian zeal for the care of widows, orphans and the impoverished must have contrasted very favorably with standard pagan practices. Here we see Julian enjoining the high-priest to adopt more Christian attitudes, even providing a subsidy from the Imperial fisc: 

In every city establish frequent hostels in order that strangers may profit by our benevolence; I do not mean for our own people only, but for others also who are in need of money. I have but now made a plan by which you may be well provided for this; for I have given directions that 30,000 modii of corn shall be assigned every year for the whole of Galatia, and 60,000 pints 3 of wine. I order that one-fifth of this be used for the poor who serve the priests, and the remainder be distributed by us to strangers and beggars. For it is disgraceful that, when no Jew ever has to beg, and the impious Galilaeans support not only their own poor but ours as well, all men see that our people lack aid from us. Teach those of the Hellenic faith to contribute to public service of this sort, and the Hellenic villages to offer their first fruits to the gods; and accustom those who love the Hellenic religion to these good works by teaching them that this was our practice of old….Let us not, by allowing others to outdo us in good works, disgrace by such remissness, or rather, utterly abandon, the reverence due to the gods.” [The above three quotes are all taken from Julian's Letter to Arascius, High-Priest of Galatia].

In another work, the satirical essay entitled Misopogon or “Beard-hater”, Julian strikes a similar note. In chastising the pagan citizens of Antioch for their neglect of the sacrifices, Julian compares the public parsimony of the leading pagan men when it comes to the rites of the gods, to the liberality of their wives who shower their goods on the Christian churches for the care of the poor:

Yet every one of you delights to spend money privately on dinners and feasts; and I know very well that many of you squandered very large sums of money on dinners during the May festival. Nevertheless, on your own behalf and on behalf of the city's welfare not one of the citizens offers a private sacrifice, nor does the city offer a public sacrifice, but only this priest! Yet I think that it would have been more just for him to go home carrying portions from the multitude of beasts offered by you to the god. For the duty assigned by the gods to priests is to do them honor by their nobility of character and by the practice of virtue, and also to perform to them the service that is due;  but it befits the city, I think, to offer both private and public sacrifice. But as it is, every one of you allows his wife to carry everything out of his house to the Galilaeans, and when your wives feed the poor at your expense they inspire a great admiration for godlessness in those who are in need of such bounty - and of such sort are, I think, the great majority of mankind, - while as for yourselves you think that you are doing nothing out of the way when in the first place you are careless of the honors due to the gods, and not one of those in need goes near the temples - for there is nothing there, I think, to feed them with - and yet when any one of you gives a birthday feast he provides a dinner and a breakfast without stint and welcomes his friends to a costly table; when, however, the annual festival arrived no one furnished olive oil for a lamp for the god, or a libation, or a beast for sacrifice, or incense.” [Julian's Misopogon]

In another fragmentary letter to a pagan priest, Julian again hammers home his point, urging his correspondent very strongly not only to adopt charity as a regular practice, but also offering advice on the appointment of priests. Julian exhorts that only men of the highest character who possess a genuine sympathy for their fellow man be appointed as priests of the gods. This indicates, perhaps, that this was often not the case and that the character of the pagan priests likely compared very unfavorably to the priests of the “miserable Galilaeans.” Note also that Julian shows himself to be something of a pagan moralist, calling out the damage that filthy pantomime performances had done to Roman society — to the point that he would have them banned if he could:

No priest must anywhere be present at the licentious theatrical shows of the present day, nor introduce one into his own house; for that is altogether unfitting. Indeed if it were possible to banish such shows absolutely from the theaters so as to restore to Dionysus those theatres pure as of old, I should certainly have endeavored with all my heart to bring this about; but as it is, since I thought that this is impossible, and that even if it should prove to be possible it would not on other accounts be expedient, I forebore entirely from this ambition. But I do demand that priests should withdraw themselves from the licentiousness of the theaters and leave them to the crowd. Therefore let no priest enter a theater or have an actor or a chariot-driver for his friend; and let no dancer or mime even approach his door. And as for the sacred games, I permit anyone who will to attend those only in which women are forbidden not only to compete but even to be spectators. With regard to the hunting shows with dogs which are performed in the cities inside the theaters, need I say that not only priests but even the sons of priests must keep away from them?

… I say that the most upright men in every city, by preference those who show most love for the gods, and next those who show most love for their fellow men, must be appointed, whether they be poor or rich. And in this matter let there be no distinction whatever whether they are unknown or well known. For the man who by reason of his gentleness has not won notice ought not to be barred by reason of his want of fame. Even though he be poor and a man of the people, if he possess within himself these two things, love for God and love for his fellow men, let him be appointed priest. And a proof of his love for God is his inducing his own people to show reverence to the gods; a proof of his love for his fellows is his sharing cheerfully, even from a small store, with those in need, and his giving willingly thereof, and trying to do good to as many men as he is able.

We must pay especial attention to this point, and by this means effect a cure. For when it came about that the poor were neglected and overlooked by the priests, then I think the impious Galilaeans observed this fact and devoted themselves to philanthropy. And they have gained ascendancy in the worst of their deeds through the credit they win for such practices. [Fragment of Julian's letter to a priest]

In sum, we see in these passages Julian’s attempt to transplant living Christian practices into the expiring corpse of paganism in a futile effort at revivification. We should be thankful that Julian’s unique contributions to our understanding of the movement of the mid-4th century Zeitgeist have been preserved in such a remarkable way, largely through the offices of a few Church Fathers who included his writings within their own. Hermias Sozomen, for example, recorded Julian's Letter to Arascius above in his 5th century Ecclesiastical History, saying further: 

Click for more info.

On reflecting that one main support of the Christian religion was the life and behavior of its professors, he [Julian] determined to introduce into the pagan temples the order and discipline of Christianity, to institute various orders and degrees of ministry, to appoint teachers and readers to give instruction in pagan doctrines and exhortations, and to command that prayers should be offered on certain days at stated hours. He moreover resolved to found monasteries for the accommodation of men and women who desired to live in philosophical retirement, as likewise hospitals for the relief of strangers and of the poor and for other philanthropical purposes. He wished to introduce among the pagans the Christian system of penance for voluntary and involuntary transgressions; but the point of ecclesiastical discipline which he chiefly admired, and desired to establish among the pagans, was the custom among the bishops to give letters of recommendation to those who traveled to foreign lands, wherein they commended them to the hospitality and kindness of other bishops, in all places, and under all contingencies. In this way did Julian strive to ingraft the customs of Christianity upon paganism. [Sozomen, Ecclesiastical History, Book V, Chapter 16].

Much more could be written on this topic, but this post has already become more verbose than I had intended.

"It was a sport and pastime to humble those exalted heads." ~ The Damnatio Memoriae and the relatively commonplace destruction of monuments during the Roman Empire.

The Darkening Age tells only a small part of the story.

If you follow Roman history interest groups on various social media platforms, you are guaranteed to encounter posts bemoaning the supposed destruction of Classical Greco-Roman civilization by Christians. These posts are normally as sensationalistic as they are lacking in any kind of historical context. They nearly always feature shout-outs to journalist Catherine Nixey’s 2017 polemic entitled The Darkening Age: The Christian Destruction of the Classical World. 

The comments following such posts are predictable—semi-literate laments about the vast unknown knowledge lost when Christians [sic] burned the Library at Alexandria; bitter tears for all the wonderful art that was destroyed by barbaric Christian mobs rampaging through the cities of the empire; and of course, angry denunciations of the murder of Hypatia of Alexandria – who has been raised to the secular altars as a proto-martyr of feminist scientism thanks to the propaganda film, Agora. This act is presented as the ultimate evidence of Christianity’s brutal, gritty embrace of wholesale ignorance.

Anyone who reads this blog regularly already knows that the above narrative is false and is fairly easily contradicted by the actual primary sources from antiquity. All that is needed to dispel the above slanders is context. Alexandria was historically a very violent city, and mob violence was perpetrated by every faction of her citizens at one time or another, whether they be pagans, Christians or Jews. Numerous Christians of various stripes were victims of pagan mobs, including George, the Arian bishop of Alexandria, who was beaten to death by a pagan mob in the city. The difference was that the Christian recorders of history deplored such violence and often condemned their co-religionists when they were responsible for it. Julian the Apostate, on the other hand, tended to excuse such excesses when committed by his favored factions, while at the same time coveting George's extensive library. 

If there are instances when Christians burned pagan literature, they did no worse than the pagan emperors who sponsored the wholesale destruction of Christian literature throughout the Empire. And indeed, it appears that the great persecutor of Christians, Diocletian himself, was responsible not only for the burning of Christian books, but for the utter annihilation of works on chemistry (alchemy) in Alexandria. 

Though presenting itself as history, Nixey's book is in reality a litany of carefully curated and manicured factoids. Taken as a whole, it is a naked, partisan attack on Christianity, which cherry-picks evidence in favor of its thesis while ignoring evidence to the contrary. The Acton Institute review by Josh Herring slammed the book, calling it “a love letter for paganism." As Herring further opines: "Nixey condemns Late Antique Christianity for not practicing twenty-first century cultural relativism….Her book does not increase understanding, but instead reveals the difficulty with which a twenty-first century secularist examines a faith-filled past.” The review concludes with the caveat that although The Darkening Age “is sold under the guise of popular history, treat it as an insight into how a secular journalist views Christianity in the year of our Lord 2017.”

An even more damning critique of The Darkening Age may be found on the blog of Roger Pearse, that tireless curator of the hugely useful website, Tertullian.org. In this post, Mr. Pearse provides a helpful translation of a review originally written in German by Prof. Dr. Roland Kany of Ludwig-Maximilians Universität, München that appeared in Frankfurt Allgemeine Zeitung. Prof. Kany concluded his critical review by saying that Nixey’s book lacks “factual competence, a sense of proportion, an effort for appropriate representation and contextualization. Nixey…ignores what does not fit into the junk, putting together true, half-true, and false claims into a construct that is not just one-sided, but an excessive falsehood.”

But rather than simply compile a list of the negative scholarly reviews of this work—and there are many—let's investigate the commonly-heard claim that Christians were somehow unique or excessive in destroying or vandalizing works of art from the Classical period. The cover of The Darkening Age features a statue of the pagan goddess Aphrodite sporting a cross on her forehead (see image at the top of this post). This is one of many statues, we are told, which have been defaced in this way by iconoclastic Christians intent on blotting out the Classical pagan past. In fact, the number of statues defaced in this way is vanishingly small – a tiny percentage of the total number of statues which have survived antiquity. According to Prof. Steven Fine of Yeshiva University, the carving of a cross into the statue may have served to Christianize it, indicating that the subject had been “neutralized” or baptized into Christianity, thus helping to preserve a work that might otherwise have been destroyed. [See Fine: The Menorah and the Cross: Historiographical reflections on a recent discovery from Laodicea on the Lycus, page 36, note 14]

Beyond this, let’s add a some context. Christians in Late Antiquity existed within a culture that had a long history of destroying images of individuals who had fallen into disrepute. Much like modern activists who have taken upon themselves the destruction of all images depicting Christopher Columbus, politicized Romans often had a visceral reaction to the fall of defeated generals, politicians, emperors and members of the imperial family that frequently involved the destruction of statues, the defacing of coins, and the erasure of inscriptions. Furthermore, it sometimes became a matter of imperial policy for newly-elevated emperors to call for the annihilation of all images of their opponents, the melting of imperial coinage bearing the likeness of the disgraced, and even making the utterance of the disgraced person's name a crime worthy of severe punishment. This is known by the more modern term damnatio memoriae, and it was a reasonably common feature of Roman political life. Though the phrase itself was not used in antiquity, damnatio memoriae has come to encompass the variety of censures that a disgraced individual might posthumously suffer.

In an article entitled “Portraits, Plots and Politics: Damnatio Memoriae and the Images of Imperial Women,” Eric R. Varner notes that images of those figures who had been formally condemned usually show the same characteristics. “Intentional defacement…is almost always concentrated on the sensory organs, destroying the eyes, nose, mouth, and sometimes the ears, but leaving the rest of the image intact and still legible.”

Here are just a few examples from the ancient historical sources of how damnatio memoriae was put into practice, both informally and formally, after the fall of a particularly hated person. This list was compiled quickly and is in no way comprehensive. Note well that none of these events described below were religious in nature. All were political:

• After the Battle of Actium, Octavian chased Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra (30 BC) back to Alexandria where they both perished by suicide. Plutarch records that when Antonius died, his monuments and Cleopatra's suffered differing fates: "Antony was fifty-six years of age, according to some, according to others, fifty-three. Now, the statues of Antony were torn down, but those of Cleopatra were left standing, because Archibius, one of her friends, gave Caesar two thousand talents, in order that they might not suffer the same fate as Antony's." [Plutarch, Parallel Lives: Antony, Chapter 86] In his Life of Cicero, Plutarch also records that Antonius received the following censures voted by the Senate at Rome: "It was in his [Cicero's son] consulship that the senate took down the statues of Antony, made void the other honors that had been paid him, and decreed besides that no Antony should have the name of Marcus." [Plutarch, Parallel Lives: Cicero, Chapter 49]. Interestingly, Antony would eventually be rehabilitated by future emperors including his grandson, Claudius, who became emperor in AD 41.

• 

  Bust of Caligula recut to
  resemble his successor,
  Claudius.

  Following the assassination of Gaius Caligula (AD 41) Cassius Dio relates: “Now he was spat upon by those who had been accustomed to do him reverence even when he was absent; and he became a sacrificial victim at the hands of those who were wont to speak and write of him as “Jupiter” and “god.” His statues and his images were dragged from their pedestals, for the people in particular remembered the distress they had endured.” [Cassius Dio, Roman History, Book LIX, Chapter 30]

• 

  Defaced bronze as of Nero. 

  From the Octavia, a play by pseudo-Seneca written shortly after the death of Nero in AD 68, there is the following scene of the Roman populace attacking the statues of Poppaea, the wife of Nero: “This excessive uncontrollable fury springs out of the indignation, to which these nuptials have given rise, and it is that, which is urging them on with headlong rashness, into this display of madness. Whatever statue of Poppaea, sculptured out of the purest marble stood in their way, or whatever brazen monument was shining forth and revealed the likeness of Poppaea, was ruthlessly dashed to the ground by the infuriated hands of the populace, and lies there broken up, by means of hammers wielded by savage arms; they then dragged the pieces of the statues, which had been pulled down from their standing place, trailed them along the streets, with cords, and after kicking them about for some time in an angry fashion, they would plaster them all over with filthy mud! And the swearing, and cursing, that went on, and their obscene language was quite in keeping with their acts, and which was so bad that I should be afraid to repeat it; they are, now preparing to surround, the Palace with flames, unless Nero surrenders this new wife of his…” [Octavia, Act IV]

• 

  Damaged bust of Domitian.

  Pliny the Younger in his Panegyricus to Trajan, describes the destruction of the images of Domitian who was assassinated in AD 96: “Of your [Trajan's] statues therefore we see but one or two, and those of mean brass, placed outside the Capitol, whereas but a little while since, every passage, every ascent, every corner of the Temple was decked, or rather defiled, with cast gold and silver, when the shrines of the gods were debauched with the intermixed statues of an incestuous prince [Domitian]. However, your few brazen ones stand inviolate, and will so remain as long as the Temple itself endures, while theirs of gold and such like precious metals are, all the legions of them, rudely battered down, and made a sacrifice to public joy. It was a sport and pastime to humble those exalted heads, to make them prostrate and kiss the ground, to maul them with hammers, to hew them with hatchets, as if at every stroke blood and pain might follow. None was so moderate in the venting of his raptures, none so sober in his overflowing joys, but that he thought it a luscious piece of revenge to see their mangled limbs, their severed joints, and finally their grim and ghastly images devested of all their borrowed majesty and thrown into the flames to be melted down into better use and service.” [Pliny’s Panegyricus as translated by White Kennett]

• 

  Defaced medallion of Commodus.

  The Roman people vented their rage on the images of Commodus following his assassination and the elevation of Pertinax (AD 193), as per the account of Cassius Dio: “In this way Pertinax was declared emperor and Commodus a public enemy, after both the senate and the populace had joined in shouting many bitter words against the latter. They wanted to drag off his body and tear it from limb to limb, as they did do, in fact, with his statues; but when Pertinax informed them that the corpse had already been interred, they spared his remains, but glutted their rage against him in other ways, calling him all sorts of names. [Cassius Dio, Roman History, Book LXXIV, Chapter 2]

• 

  Roundel showing the family of Septimius
  Severus. Caracalla is at bottom right.
  Geta's face has been erased at bottom left. 

  Cassius Dio further describes Antoninus Caracalla’s vengeance upon his brother Geta’s memory (AD 211), whom he had slain with is own hands: “He exhibited his hatred for his dead brother by abolishing the observance of his birthday, and he vented his anger upon the stones that had supported his statues, and melted down the coinage that displayed his features. And not content with even this, he now more than ever practiced unholy rites, and would force others to share his pollution, by making a kind of annual offering to his brother's Manes.” [Cassius Dio, Roman History, Book LXXVIII, Chapter 12]

• Rome riots when a rumor is spread that the hated emperor Maximinus Thrax (AD 238) had been assassinated on the frontier, according to the historian Herodian: “When these reports became known, the people milled about as if possessed. The fact is that all peoples are eager for a change of government, but the Roman mob, because of its tremendous size and diverse elements, is unusually prone to instability and vacillation. Therefore the statues, paintings, and all of Maximinus' emblems of honor were destroyed, and the hatred which fear had hitherto suppressed now poured forth without hindrance, freely and fearlessly. The senators met before they received accurate information concerning Maximinus and, placing their trust for the future in the present situation, proclaimed Gordian Augustus, together with his son, and destroyed Maximinus' emblems of honor.” [Herodian, History of the Roman Empire, Book VII, Chapter 7]

• 

  Damaged bust of Maximian.

  Lactantius, in his work On the Deaths of the Persecutors, describes how Diocletian (AD 311) lived to see his own statues destroyed: “At this time, by the command of Constantine, the statues of Maximian Herculius were thrown down and the portraits removed. And, as the two old emperors were generally delineated in one piece, the portraits of both were removed at the same time. Thus Diocletian lived to see a disgrace which no former emperor had ever seen and under the double load of vexation of spirit and bodily maladies, he resolved to die.” [Lactantius, On the Deaths of the Persecutors, Chapter XLII]

Put into this context, the vandalism so breathlessly portrayed in The Darkening Age as somehow an unavoidable and unique aspect of ignorant and barbarous Christianity, looks instead like a simple extension of a traditional political behavior of Classical pagan Romans emulated by later Christian Romans who were, by and large, recent converts from paganism themselves.

So much for the facile thesis offered in The Darkening Age, which should not be confused with a serious work of history by anyone.

Catholic Homeschool Grad Authors New Book in the Vision Series by Ignatius Press ~ "Louis and Zélie: The Holy Parents of Saint Thérèse"

Several years ago, I attended one of the wonderful IHM Catholic Homeschooling conferences in northern New Jersey. At that event, I was privileged to hear a presentation about the newly canonized saints, Louis and Zélie Martin, the parents of St. Thérèse of Lisieux—the Little Flower. This was my first introduction to this amazing married couple who not only raised one canonized saint, but sent all four of their other daughters into the religious life. It's not far-fetched to imagine that all of these women will also be canonized in the years to come. That conference talk has always stuck with me.

At other IHM conferences—which are at present on hiatus which I pray is not permanent—I met numerous highly intelligent, motivated and inspired young people at our vendor table. One of these creative prodigies is GinaMarie Tennant. Far from being the poorly-socialized homeschooler of popular cliche, GinaMarie always made it a point to come over to our table not just to peruse the books (she did that too, thank God!), but also to chat about her various artistic endeavors. I was not shocked, therefore, when GinaMarie let me know that she had inked a contract with Ignatius Press for a book on Saints Louis and Zélie Martin as part of the Vision Series. That means that she now joins such noteworthy Catholic authors as Milton Lomask, Mary Fabyan Windeatt, and Louis de Wohl, all of whom have contributed books to this venerable series of historical novels for young Catholics over its long history.

Click for more info or to order a copy
from The Young Catholic's Bookshelf.

I am pleased to report that Ms. Tennant's book, Louis and Zélie: The Holy Parents of Saint Thérèse has now published. Of course, I ordered several copies and placed one in the common area of the house for easy access. Since then, there have been a few minor debates about who gets to read it first. My mother got first dibs by virtue of age and she finished it quickly. My wife is in the middle of the book now. Even though it's meant for them, the kids will have to wait their turn.

As for me, I read it on the beach during our family vacation and it was exactly what I expected. Though slightly longer than most books in the Vision Series, it is so engagingly written that the short chapters fly by. The author did a superb job drawing out the personalities of the main characters without getting bogged down in the details of day-to-day life. I particularly enjoyed the chapters on the early lives of Louis and Zélie—the desire of each to enter the religious life and the chance meeting which led to their marriage. The chapters covering the Franco-Prussian War were also beautifully drawn and poignant, bringing the harsh reality of that forgotten conflict sharply into focus in very personal ways. Knowing the author as I do, I was not at all surprised that the book contained a wealth of historical detail that made the story particularly authentic.

Have I piqued your curiosity about this book? If so, here's a brief interview I did with the author which offers a behind-the-scenes look into how GinaMarie Tennant parlayed her home education, writing talent and strong Catholic faith into a literary work which will be read by young people for generations to come.

What inspired you to write about Saints Louis and Zélie Martin? How did you become interested in their story?

GinaMarie: Saint Thérèse has been one of my favorite saints for as long as I can remember. I was interested in her parents and purchased a few books on them. Although I had plans to write about saints, Louis and Zélie were not on my long list. My first project was a short, illustrated biography about another one of my favorite saints, Saint Notburga of Tyrol, Austria. When an editor at Ignatius Press saw it, she suggested that I write a biography on Saints Louis and Zélie Martin for the Vision Series. I was delighted with the idea, and three years later Louis and Zélie:  the Holy Parents of Saint Thérèse was published.

     As I reflect on the journey behind the book, I recall one day apologizing to Saint Thérèse that I was spending time writing about Saint Notburga instead of writing about her. I explained, “There is nothing you need; so many people have written books on you already.” Little did I realize then that there was a book Saint Thérèse wanted me to write for her—a book about her parents.

Can you think of a particular anecdote from the lives of the Martins that appeared in the book that speaks particularly well to young Catholics today?

GinaMarie: There are many examples in Saints Louis’s and Zélie’s lives to which young (and not so young) Catholics can relate. In one brief episode, I mention how Louis was frequently having to tell his customers that his shop would not be open on Sundays. What I did not explain was that in his town, Sundays had become “market day” for the farmers. Friends, and even Louis’s confessor, had said it was acceptable to be open on Sundays for at least a few hours, since that was the best time for the farmers to shop. Louis refused to budge, even dismissing the suggestion that customers come in a side entrance so that his store would not be “really open.” Instead, the Martins reserved Sundays for prayer, family, and relaxation. They also avoided traveling on Sundays so as not to make others work. Of course, if they encountered someone in need it did not matter what day it was: they were there to help. What a lesson this is for us who live in a similar world where Sundays are just another day for shopping and work.

     The most important lesson their lives teach us is that we can live for God through our daily lives. Louis’ and Zélie’s sanctity was not separated from their everyday lives; in fact it was precisely through their daily lives that they encountered and glorified God. It is the same for us.  We do not have to leave the world to find God. He wants to meet us where we are. Zélie, in a letter to her sister-in-law, wrote that if she only did everything for God, she would be a canonized saint. Little did she realize that someday she would be a canonized saint. 

Writing a book is no small task. How did homeschooling prepare you for it? Or, what aspects of your home education helped you not only create the book, but see the task through to the end?

GinaMarie: Being homeschooled prepared me in many ways for writing this book, as well as for my profession as an organist and music teacher. My parents always encouraged my siblings and me to pursue our passions, and they tailored our curriculums accordingly. I spent a lot more time on creative writing and art than most students do since I always knew that I wanted to be an author and illustrator. I saw how much my parents gave of themselves in raising us and learned that some things worth doing in life are not easy. Writing a book for publication and then illustrating it is not easy or quick. A lot of effort, time, and faith is required in the process. I was blessed to work with a great team, but without my family’s patience and encouragement, I would not have succeeded.

Did any surprising or unexpected things happen during the writing of the book?

GinaMarie: Life is full of surprises, and when we try to do God’s will, God is able to write the story of our lives in incomprehensible and stunning ways. I marvel at how I used to read the Vision Series, clueless that someday I would write for the series. As a child, I had wanted to write biographies of saints and historical fiction. Little did I realize then how I would combine those two dreams. Since the book’s publication, I have been very surprised by how many adults are inspired by Louis and Zélie. I am sure God has many more surprises in store for the future. 

While writing the book, how did you incorporate the task into your prayer life? In other words, did you change how you pray while writing this book?

GinaMarie: I reflected on everything I read about the Martins. I had already been influenced by Saint Thérèse and her writings. By reading about her family, I gained new insights on her “Little Way.” I also found that I thought about life differently. I would pray to the Martins and ask them to help me write what they wanted in the book. I told them they could delete anything they did not want in it via the editors and my sample readers. That certainly happened. Through the process the Martin family became my good friends. I hope the readers of Louis and Zélie will be inspired by them, just as I have been.