_________________________________________________________________

   Title: The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three
   Centuries
   Creator(s): Harnack, Adolf (1851-1930)
   CCEL Subjects: All; History
   LC Call no: BR165.H4 1908
   LC Subjects:

   Christianity

   History

   By period

   Early and medieval
     _________________________________________________________________

                         THE MISSION AND EXPANSION OF

                                 CHRISTIANITY

IN THE FIRST THREE CENTURIES

BY ADOLF HARNACK

   Translated and edited by JAMES MOFFATT,
   B.D., D.D. (St. Andrews)

   GLOUCESTER, MASS.
   PETER SMITH
   1972

   THE MISSION AND EXPANSION
   OF CHRISTIANITY
   IN THE FIRST THREE CENTURIES

   Introduction and Bibliography to the Torchbook edition Copyright ©1961 by
   Jaroslav Pelikan Printed in the United States of America

   This book was originally published by Williams & Norgate, London. This is
   Volume I of the 1908 edition, translated and edited by James Moffatt.

   First HARPER TORCHBOOK edition published 1962

   Reprinted, 1972, by arrangement with

   Harper & Row, Publishers
     _________________________________________________________________
     _________________________________________________________________

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

   Dr Harnack opened the course of lectures which have been translated in this
   library under the title What is Christianity? with a reference to John
   Stuart Mill. The present work might also be introduced by a sentence from
   the same English thinker. In the second chapter of his essay upon
   “Liberty,” he has occasion to speak with admiration and regret of the
   Emperor Marcus Aurelius, confessing that his persecution of the Christians
   seems “one of the most tragical facts in all history.” “It is a bitter
   thought,” he adds, “how different a thing the Christianity of the world
   might have been, if the Christian faith had been adopted as the religion of
   the empire under the auspices of Marcus Aurelius instead of those of
   Constantine.” Aurelius represents the apex of paganism during the first
   three centuries of our era. Chronologically, too, he stands almost
   equidistant between Christ and Constantine. But there were reasons why the
   adjustment of the empire to Christianity could not come earlier than the
   first quarter of the fourth century, and it is Dr Harnack's task in the
   present work to outline these reasons in so far as they are connected with
   the extension and expansion of Christianity itself. How did the new religion
   come to win official recognition from the state in A.D. 325? Why then? Why
   not till then? Such is the problem set to the historian of the Christian
   propaganda by the ante-Nicene period. He has to explain how and why and
   where, within less than three centuries, an Oriental religious movement
   which was originally a mere ripple on a single wave of dissent in the wide
   sea of paganism, rose into a breaker which swept before it the vested
   interests, prejudices, traditions, and authority of the most powerful social
   and political organization that the world hitherto had known. The main
   causes and courses of this transition, with all that it involves of the
   inner life and worship of the religion, form Dr Harnack's topic in these
   pages.

   In editing the book for an English audience I have slightly enlarged the
   index and added a list of New Testament passages referred to. Wherever a
   German or French book cited by the author has appeared in an English dress,
   the corresponding reference has been subjoined. Also, in deference to
   certain suggestions received by the publishers, I have added, wherever it
   has been advisable to do so, English versions of the Greek and Latin
   passages which form so valuable and characteristic a feature of Dr Harnack's
   historical discussions. It is hoped that the work may be thus rendered more
   intelligible and inviting than ever to that wider audience whose interest in
   early Christianity is allied to little or no Greek and Latin.

   The first edition of this translation was issued in 1904-1905, and the first
   volume is now out of print. Meanwhile, Dr Harnack published, in 1906, a new
   edition of the original in two volumes, which has been so thoroughly revised
   and enlarged that, with its additions and omissions, it forms practically a
   new work. His own preface to the second edition gives no adequate idea of
   the care and skill with which nearly every page has been gone over in order
   to fill up any gaps and bring the work up to date. The present version has
   been made directly from this edition. I have taken the opportunity of
   correcting some misprints which crept into the first edition of my
   translation, and it is hoped that English readers will now be able to find
   easy access to this standard history in its final form.
     _________________________________________________________________

PREFACE TO THE FIRST GERMAN EDITION

   No monograph has yet been devoted to the mission and spread of the Christian
   religion during the first three centuries of our era. For the earliest
   period of church history we have sketches of the historical development of
   dogma and of the relation of the church to the state—the latter including
   Neumann's excellent volume. But the missionary history has always been
   neglected, possibly because writers have been discouraged by the difficulty
   of bringing the material to the surface and getting it arranged, or by the
   still more formidable difficulties of collecting and sifting the
   geographical data and statistics. The following pages are a first attempt,
   and for it I bespeak a kindly judgment. My successors, of whom there will be
   no lack, will be able to improve upon it.

   I have one or two preliminary remarks to make, by way of explanation.

   The primitive history of the church's missions lies buried in legend; or
   rather, it has been replaced by a history (which is strongly marked by
   tendency) of what is alleged to have happened in the course of a few decades
   throughout every country on the face of the earth. The composition of this
   history has gone on for more than a thousand years. The formation of legends
   in connection with the apostolic mission, which commenced as early as the
   first century, was still thriving in the Middle Ages; it thrives, in fact,
   down to the present day. But the worthless character of this history is now
   recognised on all sides, and in the present work I have hardly touched upon
   it, since I have steadily presupposed the results gained by the critical
   investigation of the sources. Whatever item from the apocryphal Acts, the
   local and provincial legends of the church, the episcopal lists, and the
   Acts of the martyrs, has not been inserted or noticed in these pages, has
   been deliberately omitted as useless. On the other hand, I have aimed at
   exhaustiveness in the treatment of reliable material. It is only the Acts
   and traditions of the martyrs that present any real difficulty, and from
   such sources this or that city may probably fall to be added to my lists.
   Still, the number of such addenda must be very small. Inscriptions,
   unfortunately, almost entirely fail us. Dated Christian inscriptions from
   the pre-Constantine age are rare, and only in the case of a few groups can
   we be sure that an undated inscription belongs to the third and not to the
   fourth century. Besides, the Christian origin of a very numerous class is
   merely a matter of conjecture, which cannot at present be established.

   As the apostolic age of the church, in its entire sweep, falls within the
   purview of the history of Christian missions, some detailed account of this
   period might be looked for in these pages. No such account, however, will be
   found. For such a discussion one may turn to numerous works upon the
   subject, notably to that of Weizsacker. After his labours, I had no
   intention of once more depicting Paul the missionary; I have simply confined
   myself to the general characteristics of the period. What is set down here
   must serve as its own justification. It appeared to me not unsuitable, under
   the circumstances, to attempt to do some justice to the problems in a series
   of longitudinal sections; thereby I hoped to avoid repetitions, and, above
   all, to bring out the main currents and forces of the Christian religion
   coherently and clearly. The separate chapters have been compiled in such a
   way that each may be read by itself; but this has not impaired the unity of
   the whole work, I hope.

   The basis chosen for this account of the early history of Christian missions
   is no broader than my own general knowledge of history and of religion—which
   is quite slender. My book contains no information upon the history of Greek
   or Roman religion; it has no light to throw on primitive myths and later
   cults, or on matters of law and of administration. On such topics other
   scholars are better informed than I am. For many years it has been my sole
   endeavour to remove the barriers between us, to learn from my colleagues
   whatever is indispensable to a correct appreciation of such phenomena as
   they appear inside the province of church history, and to avoid presenting
   derived material as the product of original research.

   With regard to ancient geography and statistics, I have noticed in detail,
   as the pages of my book will indicate, all relevant investigations.
   Unfortunately, works on the statistics of ancient population present results
   which are so contradictory as to be useless; and at the last I almost
   omitted the whole of these materials in despair. All that I have actually
   retained is a scanty residue of reliable statistics in the opening chapter
   of Book I. and in the concluding paragraphs. In identifying towns and
   localities I have followed the maps in the Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum,
   the small maps in the fifth volume of Mommsen's Roman History, Kiepert's
   Formae orbis antiqui (so far as these have appeared), and some other
   geographical guides; no place which I have failed to find in these
   authorities has been inserted in my pages without some note or comment, the
   only exception being a few suburban villages. I had originally intended to
   furnish the book with maps, but as I went on I had reluctantly to abandon
   this idea. Maps, I was obliged to admit, would give a misleading impression
   of the actual situation. For one thing, the materials at our disposal for
   the various provinces up to 325 A.D. are too unequal, and little would be
   gained by merely marking the towns in which Christians can be shown to have
   existed previous to Constantine; nor could I venture to indicate the density
   of the Christian population by means of colours. Maps cannot be drawn for
   any period earlier than the fourth century, and it is only by aid of these
   fourth-century maps that the previous course of the history can be viewed in
   retrospect.—The demarcation of the provinces, and the alterations which took
   place in their boundaries, formed a subject into which I had hardly any
   occasion to enter. Some account of the history of church-organization could
   not be entirely omitted, but questions of organization have only been
   introduced where they were unavoidable. My aim, as a rule, has been to be as
   brief as possible, to keep strictly within the limits of my subject, and
   never to repeat answers to any settled questions, either for the sake of
   completeness or of convenience to my readers. The history of the expansion
   of Christianity within the separate provinces has merely been sketched in
   outline. Anyone who desires further details must, of course, excavate with
   Ramsay in Phrygia and the French savants in Africa, or plunge with Duchesne
   into the ancient episcopal lists, although for the first three hundred years
   the results all over this field are naturally meagre.

   The literary sources available for the history of primitive Christian
   missions are fragmentary. But how extensive they are, compared to the extant
   sources at our disposal for investigating the history of any other religion
   within the Roman empire! They not only render it feasible for us to attempt
   a sketch of the mission and expansion of Christianity which shall be
   coherent and complete in all its essential features, but also permit us to
   understand the reasons why this religion triumphed in the Roman empire, and
   how the triumph was achieved. At the same time, a whole series of queries
   remains unanswered, including those very questions that immediately occur to
   the mind of anyone who looks attentively into the history of Christian
   missions.

   Several of my earlier studies in the history of Christian missions have been
   incorporated in the present volume, in an expanded and improved form. These
   I have noted as they occur.

   I must cordially thank my honoured friend Professor Imelmann for the keen
   interest he has taken in these pages as they passed through the press.

   A. HARNACK.

   BERLIN, Sept. 4, 1902.
     _________________________________________________________________

PREFACE TO THE SECOND GERMAN EDITION

   The second edition is about ten sheets larger than the first, six of these
   extra sheets falling within Book IV. The number of fresh places where I have
   been able to verify the existence of Christianity prior to Constantine is
   infinitesimally small; my critics have not been able to increase the list.
   But I have tried to put more colour into the description of the spread of
   the religion throughout the various provinces, and also to incorporate
   several out-of-the-way passages. Several new sections have been added; the
   excursus on the “Alleged Council of Antioch,” at the close of the first
   book, has been omitted as superfluous, however, though not as erroneous.
   After my disclaimer in the preface to the first edition, some may be
   surprised to find that maps are now added. What determined me to take this
   step was the number of requests for them, based invariably on the opinion
   that the majority of readers cannot form any idea of the diffusion of
   Christianity unless they have maps, while the ordinary maps of the ancient
   world require detailed study in order to be of any use for this special
   purpose. Consequently, I have overcome my scruples and drawn the eleven maps
   which are appended to the second volume. I attach most importance to the
   attempt which I have made in the second map. It was a venture, but it sums
   up all the results of my work, and without it the following maps would be
   misleading, since they all depend more or less upon incidental information
   about the period.

   The index I have worked over again myself.

   A. H.

   BERLIN, Dec. 1, 1905.
     _________________________________________________________________

TABLE OF CONTENTS

   Translator's Preface ix
   Preface to the First German Edition ix
   Preface to the Second German Edition xv
   BOOK I

   INTRODUCTORY
   Chapter I. Judaism: Its Diffusion and Limits 1-18
   Chapter II. The External Conditions of the World-wide Expansion of the
   Christian Religion 19-23

   Chapter III. The Internal Conditions Determining the World-wide Expansion of
   the Christian Religion—Religious Syncretism
   24-35
   Chapter IV. Jesus Christ and the Universal Mission 36-43
   Chapter V. The Transition from the Jewish to the Gentile Mission 44-72
   Chapter VI. Results of the Mission of Paul and of the First Missionaries
   73-83
   BOOK II

   MISSION-PREACHING IN WORD AND DEED
   Introduction 84-85
   Chapter I. The Religious Characteristics of the Mission-Preaching 86-100
   Chapter II. The Gospel of the Saviour and of Salvation 101-124
   Chapter III. The Conflict with Demons 125-146
   Chapter IV. The Gospel of Love and Charity 147-198

   Chapter V. The Religion of the Spirit and of Power, of Moral Earnestness and
   Holiness
   199-218

   Chapter VI. The Religion of Authority and of Reason, of the Mysteries and of
   Transcendentalism
   219-239

   Chapter VII. The Tidings of the New People and of the Third Race: The
   Historical and Political Consciousness of Christendom
   240-265
   Excursus. Christians as a Third Race, in the Judgment of Their Opponents
   266-278
   Chapter VIII. The Religion of a Book and a Historical Realization 279-289
   Chapter IX. The Conflict with Polytheism and Idolatry 290-311
   Epilogue. Christianity in its Completed Form as Syncretistic Religion
   312-318
   BOOK III

   THE MISSIONARIES: THE METHODS OF THE MISSION
   AND THE COUNTER-MOVEMENTS

   Chapter I. The Christian Missionaries (Apostles, Evangelists, and Prophets
   or Teachers: The Informal Missionaries)
   319-368
   Excursus. Travelling: The Exchange of Letters and Literature. 369-380
   Chapter II. Methods of the Mission: Catechizing and Baptism, the Invasion of
   Domestic Life 381-398
   Chapter III. The Names of Christian Believers 399-418
   Excursus I. Friends (hoi philoi) 419-421
   Excursus II. Christian Names 422-430

   Chapter IV. The Organisation of the Christian Community, as Bearing upon the
   Christian Mission
   431-444

   Excursus I. Ecclesiastical Organisation and the Episcopate (in the
   Provinces, the Cities, and the Villages), from Pius to Constantine
   445-482
   Excursus II. The Catholic Confederation and the Mission 483-484
   Excursus III. The Primacy of Rome in Relation to the Mission 485-486
   Chapter V. Counter-Movements 487-513
   Addenda 514

   Mission Map

   1. Only those towns are marked on the map in which it can be proved that
   Christian communities existed prior to 180 A.D.

   2. Places where Christian communities are demonstrable or certain prior to
   Trajan are underlined.

   3. Places which are not quite certain as towns with a Christian community
   prior to 180 A.D. are put within brackets.

   4. The shading indicates that while Christians certainly existed in the
   district in question, the names of the cities where they stayed have not
   been preserved. Except in the case of Egypt, the shading is omitted whenever
   even one town in the province in question can be shown to have had a
   Christian church.

   5. The principal Roman roads are marked by double lines.
     _________________________________________________________________

                                    BOOK I

INTRODUCTORY
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 1

  JUDAISM: ITS DIFFUSION AND LIMITS

   To nascent Christianity the synagogues in the Diaspora meant more than the
   fontes persecutionum of Tertullian's complaint; they also formed the most
   important presupposition for the rise and growth of Christian communities
   throughout the empire. The network of the synagogues furnished the Christian
   propaganda with centres and courses for its development, and in this way the
   mission of the new religion, which was undertaken in the name of the God of
   Abraham and Moses, found a sphere already prepared for itself.

   Surveys of the spread of Judaism at the opening of our period have been
   often made, most recently and with especial care by Schürer (Geschichte des
   jüdischen Volkes, Bd. III.^(3) pp. 1-38; Eng. trans., II. ii. 220 f.). Here
   we are concerned with the following points:

   (1) There were Jews in most of the Roman provinces, at any rate in all those
   which touched or adjoined the Mediterranean, to say nothing of the Black
   Sea; eastward also, beyond Syria, they were thickly massed in Mesopotamia,
   Babylonia, and Media. [1]

   (2) Their numbers were greatest in Syria, [2] next to that in Egypt (in all
   the nomes as far as Upper Egypt), [3] Rome, and the provinces of Asia Minor
   [4] . The extent to which they had made their way into all the local
   conditions is made particularly clear by the evidence bearing on the sphere
   last named, where, as on the north coast of the Black Sea, Judaism also
   played some part in the blending of religions (e.g., the cult of “The most
   high God,” and of the God called “Sabbatistes”). The same holds true of
   Syria, though the evidence here is not taken so plainly from direct
   testimony, but drawn indirectly from the historical presuppositions of
   Christian gnosticism. [5] In Africa, along the coast-line, from the
   proconsular province to Mauretania, Jews were numerous. [6] At Lyons, in the
   time of Irenæus, [7] they do not seem to have abounded; but in southern
   Gaul, as later sources indicate, their numbers cannot have been small,
   whilst in Spain, as is obvious from the resolutions of the synod of Elvira
   (c. 300 A.D.), they were both populous and powerful. Finally, we may assume
   that in Italy—apart from Rome and Southern Italy, where they were widely
   spread—they were not exactly numerous under the early empire, although even
   in Upper Italy at that period individual synagogues were in existence. This
   feature was due to the history of Italian civilization, and it is
   corroborated by the fact that, beyond Rome and Southern Italy, early Jewish
   inscriptions are scanty and uncertain. “The Jews were the first to exemplify
   that kind of patriotism which the Parsees, the Armenians, and to some extent
   the modern Greeks were to display in later ages, viz. a patriotism of
   extraordinary warmth, but not attached to any one locality, a patriotism of
   traders who wandered up and down the world and everywhere hailed each other
   as brethren, a patriotism which aimed at forming not great, compact states
   but small, autonomous communities under the ægis of other states.” [8]

   (3) The exact number of Jews in the Diaspora can only be calculated roughly.
   Our information with regard to figures is as follows. Speaking of the Jews
   in Babylonia, Josephus declares there were “not a few myriads,” or
   “innumerable myriads'” in that region. [9] At Damascus, during the great
   war, he narrates (Bell. Jud., ii. 20. 2) how ten thousand Jews were
   massacred; elsewhere in the same book (vii. 8. 7) he writes “eighteen
   thousand.'” Of the five civic quarters of Alexandria, two were called “the
   Jewish” (according to Philo, In Flacc. 8), since they were mainly inhabited
   by Jews; in the other quarters Jews were also to be met with, and Philo (In
   Flacc. 6) reckons their total number in Egypt (as far as the borders of
   Ethiopia) to have been at least 100 myriads (= a million). In the time of
   Sulla the Jews of Cyrene, according to Strabo (cited by Josephus, Antiq.,
   xiv. 7. 2), formed one of the four classes into which the population was
   divided, the others being citizens, peasants, and resident aliens. During
   the great rebellion in Trajan's reign they are said to have slaughtered
   220,000 unbelievers in Cyrene (Dio Cassius, lxviii. 32), in revenge for
   which “many myriads” of their own number were put to death by Marcus Turbo
   (Euseb., H.E., iv. 2). The Jewish revolt spread also to Cyprus, where
   240,000 Gentiles are said to have been murdered by them. [10] As for the
   number of Jews in Rome, we have these two statements: first, that in B.C. 4
   a Jewish embassy from Palestine to the metropolis was joined by 8000 local
   Jews (Joseph., Antiq., xvii. 2. 1; Bell., ii. 6. 1); and secondly, that in
   19 A.D., when Tiberius banished the whole Jewish community from Rome, 4000
   able-bodied Jews were deported to Sardinia. The latter statement merits
   especial attention, as it is handed down by Tacitus as well as Josephus.
   [11] After the fall of Sejanus, when Tiberius revoked the edict (Philo,
   Legat. 24), the Jews at once made up their former numbers in Rome (Dio
   Cassius, lx. 6, pleonasantes authis); the movement for their expulsion
   reappeared under Claudius in 49 A.D., but the enforcement of the order
   looked to be so risky that it was presently withdrawn and limited to a
   prohibition of religious gatherings. [12] In Rome the Jews dwelt chiefly in
   Trastevere; but as Jewish churchyards have been discovered in various parts
   of the city, they were also to be met with in other quarters as well.

   A glance at these numerical statements shows [13] that only two possess any
   significance. The first is Philo's, that the Egyptian Jews amounted to quite
   a million. Philo's comparatively precise mode of expression (ouk apodeousi
   muriadōn hekaton hoi tēn Alexandreian kai tēn chōran Ioudaioi katoikountes
   apo tou pros Libuēn katabathmou mechri tōn horiōn Aithiopias: “The Jews
   resident in Alexandria and in the country from the descent to Libya back to
   the bounds of Ethiopia, do not fall short of a million”), taken together
   with the fact that registers for the purpose of taxation were accurately
   kept in Egypt, renders it probable that we have here to do with no fanciful
   number. Nor does the figure itself appear too high, when we consider that it
   includes the whole Jewish population of Alexandria. As the entire population
   of Egypt (under Vespasian) amounted to seven or eight millions, the Jews
   thus turn out to have formed a seventh or an eighth of the whole (somewhere
   about thirteen per cent.). [14] Syria is the only province of the empire
   where we must assume a higher percentage of Jews among the population; [15]
   in all the other provinces their numbers were smaller.

   The second passage of importance is the statement that Tiberius deported
   four thousand able-bodied Jews to Sardinia—Jews, be it noted, not (as
   Tacitus declares) Egyptians and Jews, for the distinct evidence of Josephus
   on this point is corroborated by that of Suetonius (see above), who, after
   speaking at first of Jews and Egyptians, adds, by way of closer definition,
   “Judaeorum juventatem per speciem sacramenti in provincias gravioris caeli
   distribuit.'” Four thousand able-bodied men answers to a total of at least
   ten thousand human beings, [16] and something like this represented the size
   of the contemporary Jewish community at Rome. Now, of course, this reckoning
   agrees but poorly with the other piece of information, viz., that
   twenty-three years earlier a Palestinian deputation had its ranks swelled by
   8000 Roman Jews. Either Josephus has inserted the total number of Jews in
   this passage, or he is guilty of serious exaggeration. The most reliable
   estimate of the Roman population under Augustus (in B.C. 5) gives 320,000
   male plebeians over ten years of age. As women were notoriously in a
   minority at Rome, this number represents about 600,000 inhabitants
   (excluding slaves), [17] so that about 10,000 Jews [18] would be equivalent
   to about one-sixtieth of the population. [19] Tiberius could still risk the
   strong measure of expelling them; but when Claudius tried to repeat the
   experiment thirty years later, he was unable to carry it out.

   We can hardly suppose that the Jewish community at Rome continued to show
   any considerable increase after the great rebellions and wars under
   Vespasian, Titus, Trajan, and Hadrian, since the decimation of the Jews in
   many provinces of the empire must have re-acted upon the Jewish community in
   the capital. Details on this point, however, are wanting.

   If the Jews in Egypt amounted to about a million, those in Syria were still
   more numerous. Allowing about 700,000 Jews to Palestine—and at this moment
   between 600,000 and 650,000 people live there; see Baedeker's Palestine,
   1900, p. lvii.—we are within the mark at all events when we reckon the Jews
   in the remaining districts of the empire (i.e., in Asia Minor, Greece,
   Cyrene, Rome, Italy, Gaul, Spain, etc.) at about one million and a half. In
   this way a grand total of about four or four and a half million Jews is
   reached. Now, it is an extremely surprising thing, a thing that seems at
   first to throw doubt upon any estimate whatsoever of the population, to say
   that while (according to Beloch) the population of the whole Roman empire
   under Augustus is reported to have amounted to nearly fifty-four millions,
   the Jews in the empire at that period must be reckoned at not less than four
   or four and a half millions. Even if one raises Beloch's figure to sixty
   millions, how can the Jews have represented seven per cent. of the total
   population? Either our calculation is wrong—and mistakes are almost
   inevitable in a matter like this—or the propaganda of Judaism was extremely
   successful in the provinces; for it is utterly impossible to explain the
   large total of Jews in the Diaspora by the mere fact of the fertility of
   Jewish families. We must assume, I imagine, that a very large number of
   pagans, and in particular of kindred Semites of the lower class, trooped
   over to the religion of Yahweh [20] —for the Jews of the Diaspora were
   genuine Jews only to a certain extent. Now if Judaism was actually so
   vigorous throughout the empire as to embrace about seven percent. of the
   total population under Augustus, [21] one begins to realize its great
   influence and social importance. And in order to comprehend the propaganda
   and diffusion of Christianity, it is quite essential to understand that the
   religion under whose “shadow” it made its way out into the world, not merely
   contained elements of vital significance but had expanded till it embraced a
   considerable proportion of the world's population.

   Our survey would not be complete if we did not glance, however briefly, at
   the nature of the Jewish propaganda in the empire, [22] for some part, at
   least, of her missionary zeal was inherited by Christianity from Judaism. As
   I shall have to refer to this Jewish mission wherever any means employed in
   the Christian propaganda are taken over from Judaism, I shall confine myself
   in the meantime to some general observations.

   It is surprising that a religion which raised so stout a wall of partition
   between itself and all other religions, and which in practice and prospects
   alike was bound up so closely with its nation, should have possessed a
   missionary impulse [23] of such vigour and attained so large a measure of
   success. This is not ultimately to be explained by any craving for power or
   ambition; it is a proof [24] that Judaism, as a religion, was already
   blossoming out by some inward transformation and becoming across between a
   national religion and a world-religion (confession of faith and a church).
   Proudly the Jew felt that he had something to say and bring to the world,
   which concerned all men, viz., The one and only spiritual God, creator of
   heaven and earth, with his holy moral law. It was owing to the consciousness
   of this (Rom. ii. 19 f.) that he felt missions to be a duty. The Jewish
   propaganda throughout the empire was primarily the proclamation of the one
   and only God, of his moral law, and of his judgment; to this everything else
   became secondary. The object in many cases might be pure proselytism (Matt.
   xxiii. 15), but Judaism was quite in earnest in overthrowing dumb idols and
   inducing pagans to recognize their creator and judge, for in this the honour
   of the God of Israel was concerned.

   It is in this light that one must judge a phenomenon which is misunderstood
   so long as we explain it by means of specious analogies—I mean, the
   different degrees and phases of proselytism. In other religions, variations
   of this kind usually proceed from an endeavour to render the moral precepts
   imposed by the religion somewhat easier for the proselyte. In Judaism this
   tendency never prevailed, at least never outright. On the contrary, the
   moral demand remained unlowered. As the recognition of God was considered
   the cardinal point, Judaism was in a position to depreciate the claims of
   the cultus and of ceremonies, and the different kinds of Jewish proselytism
   were almost entirely due to the different degrees in which the ceremonial
   precepts of the Law were observed. The fine generosity of such an attitude
   was, of course, facilitated by the fact that a man who let even his little
   finger be grasped by this religion, thereby became a Jew. [25] Again,
   strictly speaking, even a born Jew was only a proselyte so soon as he left
   the soil of Palestine, since thereby he parted with the sacrificial system;
   besides, he was unable in a foreign country to fulfil, or at least to fulfil
   satisfactorily, many other precepts of the Law. [26] For generations there
   had been a gradual neutralising of the sacrificial system proceeding apace
   within the inner life of Judaism—even among the Pharisees; and this
   coincided with an historical situation which obliged by far the greater
   number of the adherents of the religion to live amid conditions which had
   made them strangers for a long period to the sacrificial system. In this way
   they were also rendered accessible on every side of their spiritual nature
   to foreign cults and philosophies, and thus there originated Persian and
   Græco-Jewish religious alloys, several of whose phenomena threatened even
   the monotheistic belief. The destruction of the temple by the Romans really
   destroyed nothing; it may be viewed as an incident organic to the history of
   Jewish religion. When pious people held God's ways at that crisis were
   incomprehensible, they were but deluding themselves.

   For a long while the popular opinion throughout the empire was that the Jews
   worshipped God without images, and that they had no temple. Now, although
   both of these “atheistic” features might appear to the rude populace even
   more offensive and despicable than circumcision, Sabbath observance, the
   prohibition of swine's flesh, etc., nevertheless they made a deep impression
   upon wide circles of educated people. [27] Thanks to these traits, together
   with its monotheism—for which the age was beginning to be ripe [28] —Judaism
   seemed as if it were elevated to the rank of philosophy, and inasmuch as it
   still continued to be a religion, it exhibited a type of mental and
   spiritual life which was superior to anything of the kind. [29] At bottom,
   there was nothing artificial in a Philo or in a Josephus exhibiting Judaism
   as the philosophic religion, for this kind of apologetic corresponded to the
   actual situation in which they found themselves [30] ; it was as the
   revealed and also the philosophic religion, equipped with “the oldest book
   in the world,”that Judaism developed her great propaganda. [31] The account
   given by Josephus (Bell., vii. 3. 3) of the situation at Antioch, viz., that
   “the Jews continued to attract a large number of the Greeks to their
   services, making them in a sense part of themselves”—this holds true of the
   Jewish mission in general. [32] The adhesion of Greeks and Romans to Judaism
   ranged over the entire gamut of possible degrees, from the superstitious
   adoption of certain rites up to complete identification. “God-fearing”
   pagans constituted the majority; proselytes (i.e., people who were actually
   Jews, obliged to keep the whole Law), there is no doubt, were comparatively
   few in number. [33] Immersion was more indispensable than even circumcision
   as a condition of entrance. [34]

   While all this was of the utmost importance for the Christian mission which
   came afterwards, at least equal moment attaches to one vital omission in the
   Jewish missionary preaching: viz., that no Gentile, in the first generation
   at least, could become a real son of Abraham. His rank before God remained
   inferior. Thus it also remained very doubtful how far any proselyte—to say
   nothing of the “God-fearing”—had a share in the glorious promises of the
   future. The religion which repairs this omission will drive Judaism from the
   field. [35] When it proclaims this message in its fulness, that the last
   will be first, that freedom from the Law is the normal and higher life, and
   that the observance of the Law, even at its best, is a thing to be tolerated
   and no more, it will win thousands where the previous missionary preaching
   won but hundreds. [36] Yet the propaganda of Judaism did not succeed simply
   by its high inward worth; the profession of Judaism also conferred great
   social and political advantages upon its adherents. Compare Schürer's sketch
   (op. cit., III^(3) pp. 56-90; Eng. trans., II ii. 243 f.) of the internal
   organization of Jewish communities in the Diaspora, of their civil position,
   and of their civic “isopolity,” [37] and it will be seen how advantageous it
   was to belong to a Jewish community within the Roman empire. No doubt there
   were circumstances under which a Jew had to endure ridicule and disdain, but
   this injustice was compensated by the ample privileges enjoyed by those who
   adhered to this religio licita. If in addition one possessed the freedom of
   a city (which it was not difficult to procure) or even Roman citizenship,
   one occupied a more secure and favourable position than the majority of
   one's fellow-citizens. No wonder, then, that Christians threatened to
   apostatize to Judaism during a persecution, [38] or that separation from the
   synagogues had also serious economic consequences for Jews who had become
   Christians. [39]

   One thing further. All religions which made their way into the empire along
   the channels of intercourse and trade were primarily religions of the city,
   and remained such for a considerable period. It cannot be said that Judaism
   in the Diaspora was entirely a city-religion; indeed the reverse holds true
   of one or two large provinces. Yet in the main it continued to be a
   city-religion, and we hear little about Jews who were settled on the land.

   So long as the temple stood, and contributions were paid in to it, this
   formed a link between the Jews of the Diaspora and Palestine. [40]
   Afterwards, a rabbinical board took the place of the priestly college at
   Jerusalem, which understood how still to raise and use these contributions.
   The board was presided over by the patriarch, and the contributions were
   gathered by “apostles'” whom he sent out. [41] They appear also to have had
   additional duties to perform (on which see below).

   To the Jewish mission which preceded it, the Christian mission was indebted,
   in the first place, for a field tilled all over the empire; in the second
   place, for religious communities already formed everywhere in the towns;
   thirdly, for what Axenfeld calls “the help of materials'” furnished by the
   preliminary knowledge of the Old Testament, in addition to catechetical and
   liturgical materials which could be employed without much alteration;
   fourthly, for the habit of regular worship and a control of private life;
   fifthly, for an impressive apologetic on behalf of monotheism, historical
   teleology, and ethics; and finally, for the feeling that self-diffusion was
   a duty. The amount of this debt is so large, that one might venture to claim
   the Christian mission as a continuation of the Jewish propaganda.
   “Judaism,'' said Renan, “was robbed of its due reward by a generation of
   fanatics, and it was prevented from gathering in the harvest which it had
   prepared.”

   The extent to which Judaism was prepared for the gospel may also be judged
   by means of the syncretism into which it had developed. The development was
   along no mere side-issues. The transformation of a national into a universal
   religion may take place in two ways: either by the national religion being
   reduced to great central principles, or by its assimilation of a wealth of
   new elements from other religions. Both processes developed simultaneously
   in Judaism. [42] But the former is the more important of the two, as a
   preparation for Christianity. This is to be deduced especially from that
   great scene preserved for us by Mark xii. 28-34—in its simplicity of spirit,
   the greatest memorial we possess of the history of religion at the epoch of
   its vital change. [43] “A scribe asked Jesus, What is the first of all the
   commandments? Jesus replied, The first is: Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God
   is one God, and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and all
   thy soul, and all thy mind, and all thy strength. The second is: Thou shalt
   love thy neighbour as thyself. There is no commandment greater than these.
   And the scribe said to him. True, O teacher; thou hast rightly said that he
   is one, and that beside him there is none else, and that to love him with
   all the heart, and all the understanding and all the strength, and to love
   one's neighbour as oneself, is far above all holocausts and sacrifices. And
   when Jesus saw that he answered intelligently, he said: Thou art not far
   from the kingdom of God.”

   With regard to the attitude of Palestinian Judaism towards the mission-idea
   (i.e., universalism and the duty of systematic propaganda), the state of
   matters during the age of Christ and the apostles is such as to permit
   pleadings upon both sides of the question. [44] Previous to that age, there
   had been two periods which were essentially opposite in tendency. The older,
   resting upon the second Isaiah, gave vivid expression, even within Palestine
   itself, to the universalism of the Jewish religion as well as to a religious
   ethic which rose almost to the pitch of humanitarianism. This is represented
   in a number of the psalms, in the book of Jonah, and in the
   Wisdom-literature. The pious are fully conscious that Yahweh rules over the
   nation and over all mankind, that he is the God of each individual, and that
   he requires nothing but reverence. Hence their hope for the ultimate
   conversion of all the heathen. They will have kings and people alike to bow
   before Yahweh and to praise him. Their desire is that Yahweh's name be known
   everywhere among the heathen, and his glory (in the sense of conversion to
   him) spread far and wide. With the age of the Maccabees, however, an
   opposite tendency set in. Apocalyptic was keener upon the downfall of the
   heathen than upon their conversion, and the exclusive tendencies of Judaism
   again assert themselves, in the struggle to preserve the distinctive
   characteristics of the nation. “One of the most important results which
   flowed from the outrageous policy of Antiochus was that it discredited for
   all time to come the idea of a Judaism free from any limitation whatsoever,
   and that it either made pro-Hellenism, in the sense of Jason and Alcimus,
   impossible for Palestine and the Diaspora alike, or else exposed it to sharp
   correction whenever it should raise its head” (Axenfeld, p. 28). Now, in the
   age of Christ and the apostles, these two waves, the progressive and the
   nationalist, are beating each other back. Pharisaism itself appears to be
   torn in twain. In some psalms and manuals, as well as in the 13th Blessing
   of the Schmone Esre, universalism still breaks out. “Hillel, the most famous
   representative of Jewish Biblical learning, was accustomed, with his pupils,
   to pay special attention to the propaganda of religion. ‘Love men and draw
   them to the Law’ is one of his traditional maxims” (Pirke Aboth, 1. 12).
   Gamaliel, Paul's teacher, is also to be ranked among the propagandists. It
   was not impossible, however, to be both exclusive and in favour of the
   propaganda, for the conditions of the mission were sharpened into the demand
   that the entire Law should be kept. If I mistake not, Jesus was primarily at
   issue with this kind of Pharisaism in Jerusalem. Now the keener became the
   opposition within Palestine to the foreign dominion, and the nearer the
   great catastrophe came, the more strenuous grew the reaction against all
   that was foreign, as well as the idea that whatever was un-Jewish would
   perish in the judgment. Not long before the destruction of Jerusalem, in all
   probability, the controversy between the schools of Hillel and Shammai ended
   in a complete victory for the latter. Shammai was not indeed an opponent of
   the mission in principle, but he subjected it to the most rigorous
   conditions. The eighteen rules which were laid down included, among other
   things, the prohibition against learning Greek, and that against accepting
   presents from pagans for the temple. Intercourse with pagans was confined
   within the strictest of regulations, and had to be given up as a whole. This
   opened the way for the Judaism of the Talmud and the Mishna. The Judaism of
   the Diaspora followed the same course of development, though not till some
   time afterwards. [45]
     _________________________________________________________________

   [1] The conversion of the royal family of Adiabene (on the Tigris, at the
   frontier of the Roman Empire and of Parthia) to Judaism, during the reign of
   Claudius, is a fact of special moment in the history of the spread of
   Judaism, and Josephus gives it due prominence. A striking parallel, a
   century and a half later, is afforded by the conversion of the royal house
   of Edessa to Christianity. Renan (Les Apôtres, ch. xiv.) is not wrong when
   he remarks, in his own way, that “the royal family of Adiabene belongs to
   the history of Christianity.” He does not mean to say, with Orosius (vii. 6)
   and Moses of Chorene (ii. 35), that they actually became Christians, but
   simply that “in embracing Judaism, they obeyed a sentiment which was
   destined to bring over the entire pagan world to Christianity.” A further
   and striking parallel to the efforts of Queen Helena of Adiabene (cp. Jos.,
   Antiq., xx. 2 f.; B.J., v. 2-4, v. 6. 1, vi. 6. 3) is to be found in the
   charitable activity of Constantine's mother, Queen Helena, in Jerusalem.
   Possibly the latter took the Jewish queen as her model, for Helena of
   Adiabene's philanthropy was still remembered in Jerusalem and by Jews in
   general (cp. Eus., H.E., ii. 12, and the Talmudic tradition).—Comprehensive
   evidence for the spread of Judaism throughout the empire lies in Philo
   (Legat. 36 and Flacc. 7), Acts (ii. 9 f.), and Josephus (Bell., ii. 16. 4,
   vii. 3. 3; Apion, ii. 39). The statement of Josephus (ouk estin epi tēs
   oikoumenēs dēmos ho mē moiran hēmeteran echōn: “there is no people in the
   world which does not contain some part of us”) had been anticipated more
   than two centuries earlier by a Jewish Sibylline oracle (Sib. orac., iii.
   271; pasa de gaia sethen plērēs kai pasa thalassa: “every land and sea is
   filled with thee”). By 139-138 B.C. a decree for the protection of Jews had
   been issued by the Roman Senate to the kings of Egypt, Syria, Pergamum,
   Cappadocia and Parthia, as well as to Sampsamê (Amisus?), Sparta, Sicyon (in
   the Peloponnese), Delos, Samos, the town of Gortyna, Caria and Myndus,
   Halicarnassus and Cnidus, Cos and Rhodes, the province of Lycia together
   with Phaselis, Pamphilia with Sidê, the Phœnician town Aradus, Cyrene and
   Cyprus. By the time of Sulla, Strabo had written thus (according to
   Josephus, Antiq., xiv. 7. 2): eis pasan polin ēdē parelēluthei, kai topon
   ouk esti rhadiōs heurein tēs oikoumenēs hos ou paradedektai touto to phulon
   mēd' epikrateitai hup' autou (“They have now got into every city, and it is
   hard to find a spot on earth which has not admitted this tribe and come
   under their control”). For the intensive spread of Judaism Seneca's
   testimony (cited by Augustine, De Civit. Dei, vi. 11) is particularly
   instructive: cum interim usque eo sceleratissimae gentis consuetudo valuit,
   ut per omnes iam terras recepta sit; victi victoribus leges dederunt
   (“Meantime the customs of this most accursed race have prevailed to such an
   extent that they are everywhere received. The conquered have imposed their
   laws on the conquerors”). Justin declares that “there are nations in which
   not one of your race [i.e. of the Jews] can be found” (esti ta ethnē en hois
   oudepō oudeis humōn tou genous ōkēsen, Dial. 117), but the following claim
   that there were Christians in every nation shows that his statement is due
   to tendency.

   [2] The large number of Jews in Antioch is particularly striking.

   [3] For the diffusion of Jews in S. Arabia, cp. Philostorgius's important
   evidence (H.E., iii. 4). The local population, he avers, ouk oligon plēthos
   Ioudaiōn anapephurtai.

   [4] Philo, Legat. 33: Ioudaioi kath' hekastēn polin eisi pamplētheis Asias
   te kai Surias (“The Jews abound in every city of Asia and Syria”). The word
   “every” (hekastēn) is confirmed by a number of special testimonies, e.g. for
   Cilicia by Epiphanius (Hær., xxx. 11), who says of the “apostle” sent by the
   Jewish patriarch to collect the Jewish taxes in Cilicia: hos anelthōn ekeise
   apo hekastēs poleōs tēs Kilikias ta epidekata ktl eisepratten (“On his
   arrival there he proceeded to lift the tithes, etc., from every city in
   Cilicia”). On the spread of Judaism in Phrygia and the adjoining provinces
   (even into the districts of the interior), see Ramsay's two great works, The
   Cities and Bishoprics of Phrygia, and The Historical Geography of Asia
   Minor, along with his essay in the Expositor (January 1902) on “The Jews in
   the Græco-Asiatic Cities.” Wherever any considerable number of inscriptions
   are found in these regions, some of them are always Jewish. The rô1e played
   by the Jewish element in Pisidian Antioch is shown by Acts xiii.; see
   especially verses 44 and 50 oi̔ Ioudaioi parṓtrunan tas sebomenas gunaikas
   tas euschēmonas kai tous prōtous tēs poleōs). And the significance of the
   Jewish element in Smyrna comes out conspicuously in the martyrdom of
   Polycarp and of Pionius; on the day of a Jewish festival the appearance of
   the streets was quite changed. ''The diffusion and importance of the Jews in
   Asia Minor are attested among other things by the attempt made during the
   reign of Augustus, by the Ionian cities, apparently after joint counsel, to
   compel their Jewish fellow-townsmen to abandon their faith or else to assume
   the full burdens of citizenship” (Mommsen, Röm. Gesch., v. pp. 489 f., Eng.
   trans. Provinces, ii. 163).

   [5] Cp. also the remarks of Epiphanius (Hær., lxxx. l) upon the cult of
   Pantokratōr.

   [6] See Monceaux, “les colonies juives dans l’Afrique romaine” (Rev. des
   Études juives, 1902); and Leclerq, L’Afrique chrétienne (1904), I. pp. 36 f.
   We have evidence for Jewish communities at Carthage, Naro, Hadrumetum,
   Utica, Hippo, Simittu, Volubilis, Cirta, Auzia, Sitifis, Cæsarea, Tipasa,
   and Oea, etc.

   [7] To all appearance, therefore, he knew no Jewish Christians at first
   hand.

   [8] Renan, Les Apôtres (ch. xvi.).

   [9] Antiq., xv. 3. 1, xi. 5. 2. According to Antiq., xii. 3. 4, Antiochus
   the Great deported 2000 families of Babylonian Jews to Phrygia and Lydia.

   [10] Dio Cassius (loc. cit.). The same author declares (lxix. 14) that
   580,000 Jews perished in Palestine during the rebellion of Barcochba.

   [11] There is a discrepancy between them. Whilst Josephus (Antiq., xviii. 3.
   5) mentions only Jews, Tacitus (Annal., ii. 85) writes: “Actum et de sacris
   Aegyptiis Judaicisque pellendis factumque patrum consultum, ut quattuor
   milia libertini generis ea superstitione infecta, quis idonea aetas, in
   insulam Sardiniam veherentur, coercendis illic latrociniis et, si ob
   gravitatem caeli interissent, vile damnum; ceteri cederent Italia, nisi
   certam ante diem profanes ritus exuissent” (“Measures were also adopted for
   the extermination of Egyptian and Jewish rites, and the Senate passed a
   decree that four thousand freedmen, able-bodied, who were tainted with that
   superstition, should be deported to the island of Sardinia to put a check
   upon the local brigands. Should the climate kill them ’twould be no great
   loss! As for the rest, they were to leave Italy unless they abjured their
   profane rites by a given day”). The expulsion is also described by Suetonius
   (Tiber. 36); “Externas caeremonias, Aegyptios Judaicosque ritus compescuit,
   coactis qui superstitione ea tenebantur religiosas vestes cum instrumento
   omni comburere. Judaeorum juventutem per speciem sacramenti in provincias
   gravioris caeli distribuit, reliquos gentis eiusdem vel similia sectantes
   urbe summovit, sub poena perpetuae servitutis nisi obtemperassent” (“Foreign
   religions, including the rites of Egyptians and Jews, he suppressed, forcing
   those who practised that superstition to burn their sacred vestments and all
   their utensils. He scattered the Jewish youth in provinces of an unhealthy
   climate, on the pretext of military service, whilst the rest of that race or
   of those who shared their practices were expelled from Rome, the penalty for
   disobedience being penal servitude for life”).

   [12] The sources here are contradictory. Acts (xviii. 2), Suetonius (Claud.
   25), and Orosius (vii. 6. 15)—the last named appealing by mistake to
   Josephus, who says nothing about the incident—all speak of a formal (and
   enforced) edict of expulsion, but Dio Cassius (lx. 6) writes: tous te
   Ioudaious pleonasantas authis, hōste chalepōs an aneu tarachēs hupo tou
   ochlou sphōn tēs poleōs eirchthēnai, ouk exēlase; men, tō de dē patriō biō
   chrōmenous ekeleuse mē sunathroizesthai (“As the Jews had once more
   multiplied, so that it would have been difficult to remove them without a
   popular riot, he did not expel them, but simply prohibited any gatherings of
   those who held to their ancestral customs”). We have no business, in my
   opinion, to use Dio Cassius in order to set aside two such excellent
   witnesses as Luke and Suetonius. Nor is it a satisfactory expedient to
   suppose, with Schürer (III. p. 32; cp. Eng. trans., II. ii. 237), that the
   government simply intended to expel the Jews. The edict must have been
   actually issued, although it was presently replaced by a prohibition of
   meetings, after the Jews had given a guarantee of good behaviour.

   [13] I omit a series of figures given elsewhere by Josephus; they are not of
   the slightest use.

   [14] See Mommsen, Röm. Gesch., v. p. 578 [Eng. trans., “Provinces of the
   Roman Empire,” ii. p. 258], and Pietschmann in Pauly-Wissowa's Encyklop.,
   i., col. 990 f. Beloch (Die Bevölkerung der griechisch-römischen Welt, pp.
   258 f.) questions the reckoning of Josephus (Bell., ii. 16. 4) that the
   population of Egypt under Nero amounted to seven and a half millions. He
   will not allow more than about five, though he adduces no conclusive
   argument against Josephus, Still, as he also holds it an exaggeration to
   say, with Philo, that the Jews in Egypt were a million strong, he is not
   opposed to the hypothesis that Judaism in Egypt amounted to about 13 per
   cent. of the total population. Beloch reckons the population of Alexandria
   (including slaves) at about half a million. Of these, 200,000 would be Jews,
   as the Alexandrian Jews numbered about two-fifths of the whole.

   [15] Josephus, Bell., vii. 3. 3; (To Ioudaiōn genos polu men kata pasan tēn
   oikoumenēn parespartai tois epichōriois, pleiston de tē Suria: “The Jewish
   race is thickly spread over the world among its inhabitants, but specially
   in Syria”). Beloch (pp. 242 f., 507) estimates the population of Syria under
   Augustus at about six millions, under Nero at about seven, whilst the free
   inhabitants of Antioch under Augustus numbered close on 300,000. As the
   percentage of Jews in Syria (and especially in Antioch) was larger than in
   Egypt (about 13 per cent.), certainly over a million Jews must be assumed
   for Syria under Nero.

   [16] Taking for granted, as in the case of any immigrant population, that
   the number of men is very considerably larger than that of women, I allow
   2000 boys and old men to 4000 able-bodied men, and assume about 4000
   females.

   [17] See Beloch, pp. 292 f. His figure, 500,000, seems to me rather low.

   [18] Renan (L’Antéchrist, ch. i.) is inclined to estimate the number of the
   Roman Jews, including women and children, at from twenty to thirty thousand.

   [19] The total number, including foreigners and slaves, would amount to
   something between 800,000 and 900,000 (according to Beloch, 800,000 at the
   outside).

   [20] After the edict of Pius, which forbade in the most stringent terms the
   circumcision of any who had not been born in Judaism (cp. also the previous
   edict of Hadrian), regular secessions must have either ceased altogether or
   occurred extremely seldom; cp. Orig., c. Cels., II. xiii.

   [21] In modern Germany the Jews number a little over one per cent of the
   population; in Austro-Hungary, four and two-thirds per cent.

   [22] Compare, on this point, Schürer's description, op, cit., III.(3) pp.
   102 f. [Eng. trans., II. ii. 126 f.].

   [23] The duty and the hopefulness of missions are brought out in the
   earliest Jewish Sibylline books. Almost the whole of the literature of
   Alexandrian Judaism has an apologetic bent and the instinct of propaganda.

   [24] Cp. Bousset's Die Religion des Judentums im neutest, Zeitalter 1903),
   especially the sections on “The Theologians, the Church and the Laity,
   Women, Confession (Faith and Dogma), the Synagogue as an Institute of
   Salvation” (pp. 139-184), and the large section devoted to “The Faith of the
   Individual and Theology.” If a popular religion passes into a confession of
   faith and a church, individual faith with all its reach and strain also
   comes into view together with the church. For the propaganda of Judaism in
   the pagan world, cp. pp. 77 f.

   [25] If he did not, his son did.

   [26] Circumcision, of course, was always a troublesome wall of partition.
   Born Jews, as a rule, laid the greatest stress upon it, while pagans
   submitted to the operation with extreme reluctance.

   [27] This rigid exclusiveness in a religion naturally repelled the majority
   and excited frank resentment; it was somewhat of a paradox, and cannot fail
   to have been felt as obdurately inhuman as well as insolent. Anti-Semitism
   can be plainly traced within the Roman empire from 100 B.C. onwards; in the
   first century A.D. it steadily increased, discharging itself in outbursts of
   fearful persecution.

   [28] It was ripe also for the idea of an individual recompense in the future
   life, as an outcome of the heightened valuation of individual morality in
   this life, and for the idea of a judgment passed on the individual
   thereafter.

   [29] E.g., especially to the idealistic schools of popular philosophy. Cp.
   Wendland, Philo und die stoisch-kynische Diatribe (1895).

   [30] Cp. Friedlander's Geschichte der jüdischen Apologetik als Vorgeschichte
   des Christentums, 1903. On the heights of its apologetic, the Jewish
   religion represented itself as the idealist philosophy based on revelation
   (the sacred book), i.e., materially as ideological rationalism, and formally
   as supra-rationalism; it was the “most satisfying” form of religion,
   retaining a vitality, a precision, and a certainty in its conception of God
   such as no cognate form of religious philosophy could preserve, while at the
   same time the overwhelming number and the definite character of its
   ''prophecies” quelled every doubt.

   [31] “As a philosophical religion Judaism may have attracted one or two
   cultured individuals, but it was as a religious and social community with a
   life of its own that it won the masses.” So Axenfeld, on p. 15 of his study
   (mentioned below on p. 16). Yet even as a religious fellowship with a life
   of its own, Judaism made a philosophic impression—and that upon the
   uneducated as well as upon the educated. I agree with Axenfeld, however,
   that the Jewish propaganda owed its success not to the literary activity of
   individual Hellenistic Jews, but to the assimilating power of the
   communities with their religious life, their strict maintenance of
   convictions, their recognition of their own interests and their satisfaction
   of a national pride, as evidenced in their demand for proselytes to glorify
   Jehovah.

   [32] The keenness of Jewish propaganda throughout the empire during the
   first century—“the age in which the Christian preaching began its course is
   the age in which the Jewish propaganda reached the acme of its efforts”—is
   also clear from the introduction of the Jewish week and Sabbath throughout
   the empire; cp. Schürer, “Die siebentägige Woche im Gebrauch der
   christlichen Kirche der ersten Jahrhunderte “ (Zeits. f. die neut. Wiss.,
   1905, 40 f.). Many pagans celebrated the Sabbath, just as Jews to-day
   observe Sunday.

   [33] See Eus., H.E., i. 7, for the extent to which proselytes became fused
   among those who were Jews by birth.

   [34] It must not be forgotten that even in the Diaspora there was
   exclusiveness and fanaticism. The first persecution of Christians was set
   afoot by synagogues of the Diaspora in Jerusalem; Saul was a fanatic Jew of
   the Diaspora.

   [35] I know of no reliable inquiries into the decline and fall of Jewish
   missions in the empire after the second destruction of the temple. It seems
   to me unquestionable that Judaism henceforth slackened her tie with
   Hellenism, in order to drop it altogether as time went on, and that the
   literature of Hellenistic Judaism suddenly became very slender, destined ere
   long to disappear entirely. But whether we are to see in all this merely the
   inner stiffening of Judaism, or other causes to boot (e.g., the growing
   rivalry of Christianity), is a question which I do not venture to decide. On
   the repudiation of Hellenism by Palestinian Judaism even prior to the first
   destruction of the temple, see below (p. 16).

   [36] A notable parallel from history to the preaching of Paul in its
   relation to Jewish preaching, is to be found in Luther's declaration, that
   the truly perfect man was not a monk, but a Christian living in his daily
   calling. Luther also explained that the last (those engaged in daily
   business) were the first.—The above sketch has been contradicted by
   Friedländer (in Dr. Bloch's Oesterr. Wochenschrift, Zentralorgan f. d. ges.
   Interessen des Judentums, 1902, Nos. 49 f.), who asserts that proselytes
   ranked entirely the same as full-blooded Jews. But Friedländer himself
   confines this liberal attitude towards proselytes to the Judaism of the
   Greek Diaspora; he refers it to the influence of Hellenism, and supports it
   simply by Philo (and John the Baptist). Note also that Philo usually holds
   Jewish pride of birth to be vain, if a man is wicked; in that case, a Jew is
   far inferior to a man of pagan birth. With this limitation of Friedländer's,
   no objection can be taken to the thesis in question. I myself go still
   further; for there is no doubt that even before the rise of Christianity the
   Jews of the Diaspora allegorised the ceremonial Law, and that this paved the
   way for the Gentile church's freedom from the Law. Only, the question is
   (i.) whether the strict Judaism of Palestine, in its obscure origins, was
   really affected by these softening tendencies, (ii.) whether it did not
   exercise an increasingly strong influence upon Judaism even in the Diaspora,
   and (iii.) whether the Judaism of the Diaspora actually renounced all the
   privileges of its birth. On the two latter points, I should answer in the
   negative (even with regard to Philo); on the first, however, my reply would
   be in the affirmative.

   [37] The Jewish communities in the Diaspora also formed small states inside
   the state or city; one has only to recollect the civil jurisdiction which
   they exercised, even to the extent of criminal procedure. As late as the
   third century we possess, with reference to Palestine, Origen's account (Ep.
   ad Afric., xiv.) of the power of the Ethnarch (or patriarch), which was so
   great “that he differed in no whit from royalty”; “legal proceedings also
   took place privately as enjoined by the Law, and several people were
   condemned to death, not in open court and yet with the cognizance of the
   authorities.” Similar occurrences would take place in the Diaspora. The age
   of Hadrian and Pius did bring about a terrible retrograde movement; but
   afterwards, part of the lost ground was again recovered.

   [38] Proofs of this are not forthcoming, however, in any number.

   [39] Owing to their religious and national characteristics, as well as to
   the fact that they enjoyed legal recognition throughout the empire, the Jews
   stood out conspicuously from amongst all the other nations included in the
   Roman state. This comes out most forcibly in the fact that they were even
   entitled “The Second race.” We shall afterwards show that Christians were
   called the Third race, since Jews already ranked thus as the Second.

   [40] Messengers and letters also passed, which kept the tie between
   Jerusalem and the Jewish church of the Gentiles fresh and close. A good
   example occurs at the close of Acts.

   [41] On the patriarch, see Schürer, III.(3), pp. 77 f. [Eng. trans., II. ii.
   270]. From Vopisc. Saturn. 8 we know that the patriarch himself went also in
   person to the Diaspora, so far as Egypt is concerned. On the “apostles,” see
   Book III. ch. i. (2).

   [42] For “syncretism,” see especially the last chapter in Bousset's volume
   (pp. 448-493). Syncretism melted each of the older elements within the
   religion of Judaism, and introduced a wealth of entirely new elements. But
   nothing decomposed the claim that Judaism was the true religion, or the
   conviction that in “Moses” all truth lay.

   [43] The nearest approach to it is to be found in the missionary speech put
   into Paul's mouth on the hill of Mars.

   [44] Cp. Bertholet, Die Stellung der Israeliten und Juden zu den Fremden
   (1890); Schürer, III.(3), pp. 125 f.); Bousset, op. cit., 82 f.; Axenfeld,
   “Die judische Propaganda als Vorläuferin der urchristlichen Mission,” in the
   Missionswiss. Studien (Festschrift für Warneck), 1904, pp. l-80.

   [45] Axenfeld remarks very truly (pp. 8 f.) that “the history of the Jewish
   propaganda is to be explained by the constant strain between the demand that
   the heathen should be included and the dread which this excited. The Judaism
   which felt the impulse of propaganda resembled an invading host, whose
   offensive movements are continually being hampered by considerations arising
   from the need of keeping in close touch with their basis of operations.” But
   it seems to me an artificial and theological reflection, when the same
   scholar lays supreme weight on the fact that the Jewish propaganda had no
   “consciousness of a vocation,” and that, in contrast to the Christian
   mission, it simply proclaimed its God zealously from the consciousness of an
   innate religious pre-eminence, devoid of humility and obedience. I have
   tried in vain to find an atom of truth in this thesis, with its resultant
   defence of the historicity of Matthew xxviii. 19. It is of course admitted
   on all hands that Christian missionary zeal was bound subsequently to be
   intensified by the belief that Jesus had directly enjoined it.
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 2

  THE EXTERNAL CONDITIONS OF THE WORLD-WIDE EXPANSION OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION

   It is only in a series of headings, as it were, that I would summarize the
   external conditions which either made it possible for Christianity to spread
   rapidly and widely during the imperial age, or actually promoted its
   advance. One of the most important has been mentioned in the previous
   chapter, viz., the spread of Judaism, which anticipated and prepared the way
   for that of Christianity. Besides this, the following considerations [46]
   are especially to be noted:—

   (1) The Hellenizing of the East and (in part also) of the West, which had
   gone on steadily since Alexander the Great: or, the comparative unity of
   language and ideas which this Hellenizing had produced. Not until the close
   of the second century A.D. does this Hellenizing process appear to have
   exhausted itself, [47] while in the fourth century, when the seat of empire
   was shifted to the East, the movement acquired a still further impetus in
   several important directions. As Christianity allied itself very quickly
   though incompletely to the speech and spirit of Hellenism, it was in a
   position to avail itself of a great deal in the success of the latter. In
   return it furthered the advance of Hellenism and put a check to its retreat.

   (2) The world-empire of Rome and the political unity which it secured for
   the nations bordering on the Mediterranean; the comparative unity secured by
   this world-state for the methods and conditions of outward existence, and
   also the comparative stability of social life. Throughout many provinces of
   the East, people felt the emperor really stood for peace, after all the
   dreadful storms and wars; they hailed his law as a shelter and a safeguard.
   [48] Furthermore, the earthly monarchy of the world; was a fact which at
   once favoured the conception of the heavenly monarchy and conditioned the
   origin of a catholic or universal church.

   (3) The exceptional facilities, growth, and security of international
   traffic: [49] the admirable roads; the blending of different nationalities;
   [50] the interchange of wares and of ideas; the personal intercourse; the
   ubiquitous merchant and soldier—one may add, the ubiquitous professor, who
   was to be encountered from Antioch to Cadiz, from Alexandria to Bordeaux.
   The church thus found the way paved for expansion: the means were prepared;
   and the population of the large towns was as heterogeneous and devoid of a
   past as could be desired.

   (4) The practical and theoretical conviction of the essential unity of
   mankind, and of human rights and duties, which was produced, or at any rate
   intensfied, by the fact of the “orbis Romanus” [Roman world] on the one side
   and the development of philosophy upon the other, and confirmed by the truly
   enlightened system of Roman jurisprudence, particularly between Nerva and
   Alexander Severus. On all essential questions the church had no reason to
   oppose, but rather to assent to, Roman law, that grandest and most durable
   product of the empire. [51]

   (5) The decomposition of ancient society into a democracy: the gradual
   equalizing of the “cives Romani” [Roman citizens] and the provincials, of
   the Greeks and the barbarians; the comparative equalizing of classes in
   society; the elevation of the slave-class—in short, a soil prepared for the
   growth of new formations by the decomposition of the old.

   (6) The religious policy of Rome, which furthered the interchange of
   religions by its toleration, hardly presenting any obstacles to their
   natural increase or transformation or decay, although it would not stand any
   practical expression of contempt for the ceremonial of the State-religion.
   The liberty guaranteed by Rome's religious policy on all other points was an
   ample compensation for the rough check imposed on the spread of Christianity
   by her vindication of the State-religion.

   (7) The existence of associations, as well as of municipal and provincial
   organizations. In several respects the former had prepared the soil for the
   reception of Christianity, whilst in some cases they probably served as a
   shelter for it. The latter actually suggested the most important forms of
   organization in the church, and thus saved her the onerous task of first
   devising such forms and then requiring to commend them.

   (8) The irruption of the Syrian and Persian religions into the empire,
   dating especially from the reign of Antoninus Pius. These had certain traits
   in common with Christianity, and although the spread of the church was at
   first handicapped by them, any such loss was amply made up for by the new
   religious cravings which they stirred within the minds of men—cravings which
   could not finally be satisfied apart from Christianity.

   (9) The decline of the exact sciences, a phenomenon due to the democratic
   tendency of society and the simultaneous popularizing of knowledge, as well
   as to other unknown causes: also the rising vogue of a mystical philosophy
   of religion with a craving for some form of revelation and a thirst for
   miracle.

   All these outward conditions (of which the two latter might have been
   previously included among the inward) brought about a great revolution in
   the whole of human existence under the empire, a revolution which must have
   been highly conducive to the spread of the Christian religion. The narrow
   world had become a wide world; the rent world had become a unity; the
   barbarian world had become Greek and Roman: one empire, one universal
   language, one civilization, a common development towards monotheism, and a
   common yearning for saviors! [52]
     _________________________________________________________________

   [46] The number of works at our disposal for such a survey is legion. One of
   the most recent is Gruppe's Kulturgeschichte der römischen Kaiserzeit (2
   vols., 1903, 1904).

   [47] I know no investigations as to the precise period when the advance of
   Hellenism, more particularly of the Greek language, subsided and ceased at
   Rome and throughout the West. From my limited knowledge of the subject, I
   should incline to make the close of the second century the limit. Marcus
   Aurelius still wrote his confessions in Greek, but no indication of a
   similar kind can be discovered later. In the West, Greek was checked by the
   deterioration of culture as well as by the circumstances of the situation;
   the tidal wave grows shallower as it spreads. During the third century Rome
   began to shed off Greek, and in the course of the fourth century she became
   once more a purely Latin city. So too with the Western provinces as far as
   they had assimilated the Greek element; so with Southern Italy and Gaul
   even, though the process took longer in these regions. During the second
   century people could still make themselves understood apparently by means of
   Greek, in any of the larger Western cities; by the third century, a stranger
   who did not know Latin was sometimes in difficulties, though not often; by
   the fourth, no traveller in the West could dispense with Latin any longer,
   and it was only in Southern Gaul and Lower Italy that Greek sufficed.

   [48] After Melito, Origen (c. Celsum II. xxx.) correctly estimated the
   significance of this for the Christian propaganda. “In the days of Jesus,
   righteousness arose and fulness of peace; it began with his birth. God
   prepared the nations for his teaching, by causing the Roman emperor to rule
   over all the world; there was no longer to be a plurality of kingdoms, else
   would the nations have been strangers to one another, and so the apostles
   would have found it harder to carry out the task laid on them by Jesus, when
   he said, ‘Go and teach all nations.’ It is well known that the birth of
   Jesus took place in the reign of Augustus, who fused and federated the
   numerous peoples upon earth into a single empire. A plurality of kingdoms
   would have been an obstacle to the spread of the doctrine of Jesus
   throughout all the world, not merely for the reasons already mentioned, but
   also because the nations would in that event have been obliged to go to war
   in defence of their native lands. . . . . How, then, could this doctrine of
   peace, which does not even permit vengeance upon an enemy, have prevailed
   throughout the world, had not the circumstances of the world passed
   everywhere into a milder phase at the advent of Jesus?”

   [49] Cp. Stephan in Raumer's Histor. Taschenbuch (1868), pp. 1 f., and
   Zahn's Weltverkehr und Kirche während der drei ersten Jahrhunderte (1877).
   That one Phrygian merchant voyaged to Rome (according to the inscription on
   a tomb) no fewer than seventy-two times in the course of his life, is itself
   a fact which must never be lost sight of.

   [50] It is surprising to notice this blending of nationalities, whenever any
   inscription bears a considerable number of names (soldiers, pages, martyrs,
   etc.), and at the same time mentions their origin.

   [51] At this point (in order to illustrate these four paragraphs) Renan's
   well-known summary may be cited (Les Apôtres, ch. xvi.): “The unity of the
   empire was the essential presupposition of any comprehensive proselytizing
   movement which should transcend the limits of nationality. In the fourth
   century the empire realised this: it became Christian; it perceived that
   Christianity was the religion which it had matured involuntarily; it
   recognized in Christianity the religion whose limits were the same as its
   own, the religion which was identified with itself and capable of infusing
   new life into its being. The church, for her part, became thoroughly Roman,
   and to this day has remained a survival of the old Roman empire. Had anyone
   told Paul that Claudius was his main coadjutor, had anyone told Claudius
   that this Jew, starting from Antioch, was preparing the ground for the most
   enduring part of the imperial system, both Paul and Claudius would have been
   mightily astonished. Nevertheless both sayings would have been true.”

   [52] As Uhlhorn remarks very truly (Die christliche Liebesthätigkeit in der
   alten Kirche, 1882, p. 37; Eng. trans. pp. 40-42): “From the time of the
   emperors onwards a new influence made itself felt, and unless we notice this
   influence, we cannot understand the first centuries of the early Christian
   church, we cannot understand its rapid extension and its relatively rapid
   triumph. . . . . Had the stream of new life issuing from Christ encountered
   ancient life when the latter was still unbroken, it would have recoiled
   impotent from the shock. But ancient life had by this time begun to break
   up; its solid foundations had begun to weaken; and, besides, the Christian
   stream fell in with a previous and cognate current of Jewish opinion. In the
   Roman empire there had already appeared a universalism foreign to the
   ancient world. Nationalities had been effaced. The idea of universal
   humanity had disengaged itself from that of nationality. The Stoics had
   passed the word that all men were equal, and had spoken of brotherhood as
   well as of the duties of man towards man. Hitherto despised, the lower
   classes had asserted their position. The treatment of slaves became milder.
   If Cato had compared them to cattle, Pliny sees in them his ‘serving
   friends.’ The position of the artizan improved, and freedmen worked their
   way up, for the guilds provided them not simply with a centre of social
   life, but also with the means of bettering their social position. Women,
   hitherto without any legal rights, received such in increasing numbers.
   Children were looked after. The distribution of grain, originally a
   political institution and nothing more, became a sort of poor-relief system,
   and we meet with a growing number of generous deeds, gifts, and endowments,
   which already exhibit a more humane spirit,” etc.
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER III.

  THE INTERNAL CONDITIONS DETERMINING THE WORLD-WIDE EXPANSION OF THE CHRISTIAN
  RELIGION—RELIGIOUS SYNCRETISM

   In subsequent sections of this book we shall notice a series of the more
   important inner conditions which determined the universal spread of the
   Christian religion. It was by preaching to the poor, the burdened, and the
   outcast, by the preaching and practice of love, that Christianity turned the
   stony, sterile world into a fruitful field for the church. Where no other
   religion could sow and reap, this religion was enabled to scatter its seed
   and to secure a harvest.

   The condition, however, which determined more than anything else the
   propaganda of the religion, lay in the general religious situation during
   the imperial age. It is impossible to attempt here to depict that situation,
   and unluckily we cannot refer to any standard work which does justice to
   such a colossal undertaking, despite the admirable studies and sketches
   (such as those of Tzschirner, Friedländer, Boissier, Réville, and Wissowa)
   [53] which we possess. This being so, we must content ourselves with
   throwing out a few hints along two main lines.

   (1) In spite of the inner evolution of polytheism towards monotheism, the
   relations between Christianity and paganism simply meant the opposition of
   monotheism and polytheism—of polytheism, too, in the first instance, as
   political religion (the imperial cultus). Here Christianity and paganism
   were absolutely opposed. The former burned what the latter adored, and the
   latter burned Christians as guilty of high treason. Christian apologists and
   martyrs were perfectly right in often ignoring every other topic when they
   opened their lips, and in reducing everything to this simple alternative.

   Judaism shared with Christianity this attitude towards polytheism. But then,
   Judaism was a national religion; hence its monotheism was widely tolerated
   simply because it was largely unintelligible. Furthermore, it usually evaded
   any conflict with the State-authorities, and it did not make martyrdom
   obligatory. That a man had to become a Jew in order to be a monotheist, was
   utterly absurd: it degraded the creator of heaven and earth to the level of
   a national god. Besides, if he was a national god, he was not the only one.
   No doubt, up and down the empire there were whispers about the atheism of
   the Jews, thanks to their lack of images; but the charge was never levelled
   in real earnest—or rather, opinion was in such a state of oscillation that
   the usual political result obtained: in dubio pro reo.

   It was otherwise with Christianity. Here the polytheists could have no
   hesitation: deprived of any basis in a nation or a State, destitute alike of
   images and temples, Christianity was simple atheism. The contrast between
   polytheism and monotheism was in this field clear and keen. From the second
   century onwards, the conflict between these two forms of religion was waged
   by Christianity and not by Judaism. The former was aggressive, while as a
   rule the latter had really ceased to fight at all—it devoted itself to
   capturing proselytes.

   From the very outset it was no hopeless struggle. When Christianity came
   upon the scene, the polytheism of the State-religion was not yet eradicated,
   indeed, nor was it eradicated for some time to come; [54] but there were
   ample forces at hand which were already compassing its ruin. It had survived
   the critical epoch during which the republic had changed into a dual control
   and a monarchy; but as for the fresh swarm of religions which were invading
   and displacing it, polytheism could no more exorcise them with the magic
   wand of the imperial cultus than it could dissolve them under the rays of a
   protean cultus of the sun, which sought to bring everything within its
   sweep. Nevertheless polytheism would still have been destined to a long
   career, had it not been attacked secretly or openly by the forces of general
   knowledge, philosophy, and ethics; had it not also been saddled with arrears
   of mythology which excited ridicule and resentment. Statesmen, poets, and
   philosophers might disregard all this, since each of these groups devised
   some method of preserving their continuity with the past. But once the
   common people realized it, or were made to realize it, the conclusion they
   drew in such cases was ruthless. The onset against deities feathered and
   scaly, deities adulterous and infested with vice, and on the other hand
   against idols of wood and stone, formed the most impressive and effective
   factor in Christian preaching for wide circles, circles which in all ranks
   of society down to the lowest classes (where indeed they were most numerous)
   had, owing to experience and circumstances, reached a point at which the
   burning denunciations of the abomination of idolatry could not fail to
   arrest them and bring them over to monotheism. The very position of
   polytheism as the State-religion was in favour of the Christian propaganda.
   Religion faced religion; but whilst the one was new and living, the other
   was old—that is, with the exception of the imperial cultus, in which once
   more it gathered up its forces. No one could tell exactly what had come over
   it. Was it merely equivalent to what was lawful in politics? Or did it
   represent the vast, complicated mass of religiones licitae throughout the
   empire? Who could say?

   (2) This, however, is to touch on merely one side of the matter. The
   religious situation in the imperial age, with the tendencies it cherished
   and the formations it produced—all this was complicated in the extreme.
   Weighty as were the simple antitheses of “monotheism versus polytheism” and
   “strict morality versus laxity and vice'' these cannot be taken as a
   complete summary of the whole position. The posture of affairs throughout
   the empire is no more adequately described by the term “polytheism'' than is
   Christianity, as it was then preached, by the bare term “monotheism.” It was
   not a case of vice and virtue simply facing one another. Here, in fact, we
   must enter into some detail and definition.

   Anyone who considers that the domination of the inner life over external
   empiricism and politics is an illusion and perversion, must date the
   disintegration of the ancient world from Socrates and Plato. Here the two
   tempers stand apart! On the other hand, anyone who regards this domination
   as the supreme advance of man, is not obliged to accompany its development
   down as far as Neo-Platonism. He will not, indeed, be unaware that, even to
   the last, in the time of Augustine, genuine advances were made along this
   line, but he will allow that they were gained at great expense—too great
   expense. This erroneous development began when introspection commenced to
   despise and neglect its correlative in natural science, and to woo
   mysticism, theurgy, astrology, or magic. For more than a century previous to
   the Christian era, this had been going on. At the threshold of the
   transition stands Posidonius, like a second Janus. Looking in one direction,
   he favours a rational idealism; but, in another, he combines this with
   irrational and mystic elements. The sad thing is that these elements had to
   be devised and employed in order to express new emotional values which his
   rational idealism could not manage to guarantee, because it lay spell-bound
   and impotent in intellectualism. Language itself declined to fix the value
   of anything which was not intellectual by nature. Hence the ̔Upernoēton
   emerged, a conception which continued to attract and appropriate what ever
   was mythical and preposterous, allowing it to pass in unchallenged. Myth now
   ceased to be a mere symbol. It became the organic means of expression for
   those higher needs of sentiment and religion whose real nature was a closed
   book to thinkers of the day. On this line of development, Posidonius was
   followed by Philo.

   The inevitable result of all this was a relapse to lower levels; but it was
   a relapse which, as usual, bore all the signs of an innovation. The signs
   pointed to life, but the innovation was ominous. For, while the older
   mythology had been either naïve or political, dwelling in the world of
   ceremony, the new mythology became a confession: it was philosophical, or
   pseudo-philosophical, and to this it owed its sway over the mind, beguiling
   the human spirit until it gradually succeeded in destroying the sense of
   reality and in crippling the proper functions of all the senses within man.
   His eyes grew dim, his ears could hear no longer. At the same time, these
   untoward effects were accompanied by a revival and resuscitation of the
   religious feeling—as a result of the philosophical development. This took
   place about the close of the first century. Ere long it permeated all
   classes in society, and it appears to have increased with every decade
   subsequently to the middle of the second century. This came out in two ways,
   on the principle of that dual development in which a religious upheaval
   always manifests itself. The first was a series of not unsuccessful attempts
   to revivify and inculcate the old religions, by carefully observing
   traditional customs, and by restoring the sites of the oracles and the
   places of worship. Such attempts, however, were partly superficial and
   artificial. They offered no strong or clear expression for the new religious
   cravings of the age. And Christianity held entirely aloof from all this
   restoration of religion. They came into contact merely to collide—this pair
   of alien magnitudes; neither understood the other, and each was driven to
   compass the extermination of its rival (see above).

   The second way in which the resuscitation of religion came about, however,
   was far more potent. Ever since Alexander the Great and his successors, ever
   since Augustus in a later age, the nations upon whose development the
   advance of humanity depended had been living under new auspices. The great
   revolution in the external conditions of their existence has been already
   emphasized; but corresponding to this, and partly in consequence of it, a
   revolution took place in the inner world of religion, which was due in some
   degree to the blending of religions, but pre-eminently to the progress of
   culture and to man's experience inward and outward. No period can be
   specified at which this blending process commenced among the nations lying
   between Egypt and the Euphrates, the Tigris, or Persia; [55] for, so far as
   we are in a position to trace back their history, their religions were, like
   themselves, exposed to constant interchange, whilst their religious theories
   were a matter of give and take. But now the Greek world fell to be added,
   with all the store of knowledge and ideas which it had gained by dint of
   ardent, willing toil, a world lying open to any contribution from the East,
   and in its turn subjecting every element of Eastern origin to the test of
   its own lore and speculation.

   The results already produced by the interchange of Oriental religions,
   including that of Israel, were technically termed, a century ago, “the
   Oriental philosophy of religion,” a term which denoted the broad complex of
   ritual and theory connected with the respective cults, their religious
   ideas, and also scientific speculations such as those of astronomy or of any
   other branch of knowledge which was elevated into the province of religion.
   All this was as indefinite as the title which was meant to comprehend it,
   nor even at present have we made any great progress in this field of
   research. [56] Still, we have a more definite grasp of the complex itself;
   and—although it seems paradoxical to say so—this is a result which we owe
   chiefly to Christian gnosticism. Nowhere else are these vague and various
   conceptions worked out for us so clearly and coherently.

   In what follows I shall attempt to bring out the salient features of this
   “Orientalism.” Naturally it was no rigid entity. At every facet it presented
   elements and ideas of the most varied hue. The general characteristic was
   this that people still retained or renewed their belief in sections of the
   traditional mythology presented in realistic form. To these they did attach
   ideas. It is not possible, as a rule, to ascertain in every case at what
   point and to what extent such ideas overflowed and overpowered the realistic
   element in any given symbol—a fact which makes our knowledge of
   “Orientalism” look extremely defective; for what is the use of fixing down a
   piece of mythology to some definite period and circle, if we cannot be sure
   of its exact value? Was it held literally? Was it transformed into an idea?
   Was it taken metaphorically? Was it the creed of unenlightened piety? Was it
   merely ornamental? And what was its meaning? Theological or cosmological?
   Ethical or historical? Did it embody some event in the remote past, or
   something still in existence, or something only to be realized in the
   future? Or did these various meanings and values flow in and out of one
   another? And was the myth in question felt to be some sacred, undefined
   magnitude, something that could unite with every conceivable coefficient,
   serving as the starting-point for any interpretation whatsoever that one
   chose to put before the world? This last question is to be answered, I
   think, in the affirmative, nor must we forget that in one and the same
   circle the most diverse coefficients were simultaneously attached to any
   piece of mythology.

   Further, we must not lose sight of the varied origin of the myths. The
   earliest spring from the primitive view of nature, in which the clouds were
   in conflict with the light and the night devoured the sun, whilst
   thunderstorms were the most awful revelation of the deity. Or they arose
   from the dream-world of the soul, from that separation of soul and body
   suggested by the dream, and from the cult of the human soul. The next
   stratum may have arisen out of ancient historical reminiscences,
   fantastically exaggerated and elevated into something supernatural. Then
   came the precipitate of primitive attempts at “science” which had gone no
   further, viz., observations of heaven and earth, leading to the knowledge of
   certain regular sequences, which were bound up with religious conceptions.
   All this the soul of man informed with life, endowing it with the powers of
   human consciousness. It was upon this stratum that the great Oriental
   religions rose, as we know them in history, with their special mythologies
   and ritual theories. Then came another stratum, namely, religion in its
   abstract development and alliance with a robust philosophic culture. One
   half of it was apologetic, and the other critical. Yet even there myths
   still took shape. Finally, the last stratum was laid down, viz., the
   glaciation of ancient imaginative fancies and religions produced by a new
   conception of the universe, which the circumstances and experience of
   mankind had set in motion. Under the pressure of this, all existing
   materials were fused together, elements that lay far apart were solidified
   into a unity, and all previous constructions were shattered, while the
   surface of the movement was covered by broken fragments thrown out in a
   broad moraine, in which the débris of all earlier strata were to be found.
   This is the meaning of “syncretism”. Viewed from a distance, it looks like a
   unity, though the unity seems heterogeneous. The forces which have shaped it
   do not meet the eye. What one really sees is the ancient element in its
   composition; the new lies buried under all that catches the eye upon the
   surface.

   This new element consisted in the political and social experience, and in
   speculations of the inner life. It would appear that even before the period
   of its contact with the Greek spirit, “Orientalism” had reached this stage;
   but one of the most unfortunate gaps in our knowledge of the history of
   religion is our inability to determine to what extent “Orientalism” had
   developed on its own lines, independent of this Greek spirit. We must be
   content to ascertain what actually took place, viz., the rise of new ideas
   and emotions which meet us on the soil of Hellenism—that Hellenism which,
   with its philosophy of a matured Platonism and its development of the
   ancient mysteries, coalesced with Orientalism. [57] These new features [58]
   are somewhat as follows:—

   (1) There is the sharp division between the soul (or spirit) and the body:
   the more or less exclusive importance attached to the spirit, and the notion
   that the spirit comes from some other, upper world and is either possessed
   or capable of life eternal: also the individualism involved in all this.

   (2) There is the sharp division between God and the world, with the
   subversion of the naïve idea that they formed a homogeneous unity.

   (3) In consequence of these distinctions we have the sublimation of the
   Godhead, “via negationis et eminentiæ.” The Godhead now becomes for the
   first time incomprehensible and indescribable; yet it is also great and
   good. Furthermore, it is the basis of all things; but the ultimate basis,
   which is simply posited yet cannot be actually grasped.

   (4) As a further result of these distinctions and of the exclusive
   importance attached to the spirit, we have the depreciation of the world,
   the contention that it were better never to have existed, that it was the
   result of a blunder, and that it was a prison or at best a penitentiary for
   the spirit.

   (5) There is the conviction that the connection with the flesh (“that soiled
   robe”) depreciated and stained the spirit; in fact, that the latter would
   inevitably be ruined unless the connection were broken or its influence
   counteracted.

   (6) There is the yearning for redemption, as a redemption from the world,
   the flesh, mortality, and death.

   (7) There is the conviction that all redemption is redemption to life
   eternal, and that it is dependent on knowledge and expiation: that only the
   soul that knows (knows itself, the Godhead, and the nature and value of
   being) and is pure (i.e., purged from sin) can be saved.

   (8) There is the certainty that the redemption of the soul as a return to
   God is effected through a series of stages, just as the soul once upon a
   time departed from God by stages, till it ended in the present vale of
   tears. All instruction upon redemption is therefore instruction upon “the
   return and road'” to God. The consummation of redemption is simply a
   graduated ascent.

   (9) There is the belief (naturally a wavering belief) that the anticipated
   redemption or redeemer was already present, needing only to be sought out:
   present, that is, either in some ancient creed which simply required to be
   placed in a proper light, or in one of the mysteries which had only to be
   made more generally accessible, or in some personality whose power and
   commands had to be followed, or even in the spirit, if only it would turn
   inward on itself.

   (10) There is the conviction that whilst knowledge is indispensable to all
   the media of redemption, it cannot be adequate; on the contrary, they must
   ultimately furnish and transmit an actual power divine. It is the
   “initiation” (the mystery or sacrament) which is combined with the
   impartation of knowledge, by which alone the spirit is subdued, by which it
   is actually redeemed and delivered from the bondage of mortality and sin by
   means of mystic rapture.

   (11) There is the prevalent, indeed the fundamental opinion that knowledge
   of the universe, religion, and the strict management of the individual's
   conduct, must form a compact unity; they must constitute an independent
   unity, which has nothing whatever to do with the State, society, the family,
   or one's daily calling, and must therefore maintain an attitude of negation
   (i.e. in the sense of asceticism) towards all these spheres.

   The soul, God, knowledge, expiation, asceticism, redemption, eternal life,
   with individualism and with humanity substituted for nationality—these were
   the sublime thoughts which were living and operative, partly as the
   precipitate of deep inward and outward movements, partly as the outcome of
   great souls and their toil, partly as one result of the sublimation of all
   cults which took place during the imperial age. Wherever vital religion
   existed, it was in this circle of thought and experience that it drew
   breath. The actual number of those who lived within the circle is a matter
   of no moment. “All men have not faith.” And the history of religion, so far
   as it is really a history of vital religion, runs always in a very narrow
   groove.

   The remarkable thing is the number of different guises in which such
   thoughts were circulating. Like all religious accounts of the universe which
   aim at reconciling monistic and dualistic theories, they required a large
   apparatus for their intrinsic needs; but the tendency was to elaborate this
   still further, partly in order to provide accommodation for whatever might
   be time-honoured or of any service, partly because isolated details had an
   appearance of weakness which made people hope to achieve their end by dint
   of accumulation. Owing to the heterogeneous character of their apparatus,
   these syncretistic formations seem often to be totally incongruous. But this
   is a superficial estimate. A glance at their motives and aims reveals the
   presence of a unity, and indeed of simplicity, which is truly remarkable.
   The final motives, in fact, are simple and powerful, inasmuch as they have
   sprung from simple but powerful experiences of the inner life, and it was
   due to them that the development of religion advanced, so far as any such
   advance took place apart from Christianity.

   Christianity had to settle with this “syncretism'” or final form of
   Hellenism. But we can see at once how inadequate it would be to describe the
   contrast between Christianity and “paganism” simply as the contrast between
   monotheism and polytheism. No doubt, any form of syncretism was perfectly
   capable of blending with polytheism; the one even demanded and could not but
   intensify the other. To explain the origin of the world and also to describe
   the soul's “return,” the “apparatus” of the system required æons,
   intermediate beings, semi-gods, and deliverers; the highest deity was not
   the highest or most perfect, if it stood by itself. Yet all this way of
   thinking was monotheistic at bottom; it elevated the highest God to the
   position of primal God, high above all gods, linking the soul to this primal
   God and to him alone (not to any subordinate deities). [59] Polytheism was
   relegated to a lower level from the supremacy which once it had enjoyed.
   Further, as soon as Christianity itself began to be reflective, it took an
   interest in this “syncretism,” borrowing ideas from it, and using them, in
   fact, to promote its own development. Christianity was not originally
   syncretistic itself, for Jesus Christ did not belong to this circle of
   ideas, and it was his disciples who were responsible for the primitive
   shaping of Christianity. But whenever Christianity came to formulate ideas
   of God, Jesus, sin, redemption, and life, it drew upon the materials
   acquired in the general process of religious evolution, availing itself of
   all the forms which these had taken.

   Christian preaching thus found itself confronted with the old polytheism at
   its height in the imperial cultus, and with this syncretism which
   represented the final stage of Hellenism. These constituted the inner
   conditions under which the young religion carried on its mission. From its
   opposition to polytheism it drew that power of antithesis and exclusiveness
   which is a force at once needed and intensified by any independent religion.
   In syncretism, again, i.e., in all that as a rule deserved the title of
   “religion” in contemporary life, it possessed unconsciously a secret ally.
   All it had to do with syncretism was to cleanse and simplify—and complicate
   —it.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [53] Add the sketch of the history of Greek religion by
   Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (Jahrb. des Freien deutschen Hochstifts, 1904).

   [54] Successful attempts to revive it were not awanting; see under (2) in
   this section.

   [55] It is still a moot point of controversy whether India had any share in
   this, and if so to what extent; some connection with India, however, does
   seem probable.

   [56] The origin of the separate elements, in particular, is frequently
   obscure—whether Indian, Persian, Babylonian, Egyptian, Asiatic, etc.

   [57] The convergence of these lines of development in the various nations of
   antiquity during the age of Hellenism is among the best-established facts of
   history. Contemporary ideas of a cognate or similar nature were not simply
   the result of mutual interaction, but also of an independent development
   along parallel lines. This makes it difficult, and indeed impossible in many
   cases, to decide on which branch any given growth sprang up. The similarity
   of the development on parallel lines embraced not only the ideas, but
   frequently their very method of expression and the form under which they
   were conceived. The bounds of human fancy in this province are narrower than
   is commonly supposed.

   [58] Cp. further the essay of Loofs on “The Crisis of Christianity in the
   Second Century” (Deutsch-evang. Blätter, 1904, Heft 7), which depicts the
   problem occasioned by the meeting of Christianity and syncretism. Also, the
   penetrating remarks of Wernle in his Anfängen unserer Religion (2nd ed.,
   1904; Eng. trans., The Beginnings of Christianity, in this library).

   [59] The difference between the Christian God and the God of syncretistic
   Hellenism is put by the pagan (Porphyry) in Macarius Magnes, iv. 20, with
   admirable lucidity: to mentoi peri tēs monarchias tou monou theou kai tēs
   poluarchias tōn sebomenōn theōn diarrēdēn zētēsōmen, hōn ouk oidas oude tēs
   monarchias ton logon aphēgēsasthai. Monarchēs gar estin ouch ho monos ōn
   all' ho monos archōn; archei d' homophulōn dēladē kai homoiōn, hoion
   Hadrianos ho basileus monarchēs gegonen, ouch hoti monos ēō oud' hoti boōn
   kai probatōn ērchen, hōn archousi poimenes ē boukoloi, all' hoti anthrōpōn
   ebasileuse tōn homogenōn tēn autēn phusin echontōn; hōsautōs theos ouk an
   monarchēs kuriōs eklēthē, ei mē theōn ērche. touto gar eprepe tō theiō
   megethei kai tō ouraniō kai pollō axiōmati (“Let us, however, proceed to
   inquire explicitly about the monarchy of the one God alone and the
   joint-rule of those deities who are worshipped, but of whom, as of divine
   monarchy, you cannot give any account. A monarch is not one who is alone but
   one who rules alone, ruling subjects of kindred nature like himself—such as
   the emperor Hadrian, for example, who was a monarch not because he stood
   alone or because he ruled sheep and cattle, which are commanded by shepherds
   and herdsmen, but because he was king over human beings whose nature was
   like his own. Even so, it would not have been accurate to term God a
   monarch, if he did not rule over gods. For such a position befitted the
   dignity of God and the high honour of heaven”). Here the contrast between
   the Christian and the Greek monarchianism is clearly defined. Only, it
   should be added that many philosophic Christians (even in the second
   century) did not share this severely monotheistic idea of God; in fact, as
   early as the first century we come across modifications of it. Tertullian
   (in adv. Prax. iii.), even in recapitulating the view of God which passed
   for orthodox at that period, comes dangerously near to Porphyry in the
   remark: “Nullam dico dominationem ita unius esse, ita singularem, ita
   monarchiam, ut non etiam per alias proximas personas administretur, quas
   ipsa prospexerit officiales sibi” (“No dominion, I hold, belongs to any one
   person in such a way, or is in such a sense singular, or in such a sense a
   monarchy, as not also to be administered through other persons who are
   closely related to it, and with whom it has provided itself as its
   officials”). The school of Origen went still further in their reception of
   syncretistic monotheism, and the movement was not checked until the Nicene
   creed came with its irrational doctrine of the Trinity, causing the Logos
   and the Spirit to be conceived as persons within the Godhead. But although
   the pagan monarchical idea was routed on this field, it had already
   entrenched itself in the doctrine of angels. The latter, as indeed Porphyry
   (iv. 20) observed, is thoroughly Hellenic, since it let in polytheism
   through a back-door. In iv. 23 Porphyry tries to show Christians that as
   their scriptures taught a plurality of gods, they consequently contained the
   conception of God's monarchy which the Greeks taught. He refers to Exod.
   xxii. 28, Jerem. vii. 6, Deut. xii. 30, Josh. xxiv. 14, 1 Cor. viii. 5.
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER IV.

  JESUS CHRIST AND THE UNIVERSAL MISSION

   It is impossible to answer the question of Jesus' relation to the universal
   mission, without a critical study of the evangelic records. The gospels were
   written in an age when the mission was already in full swing, and they
   consequently refer it to direct injunction of Jesus. But they enable us, for
   all that, to recognise the actual state of matters.

   Jesus addressed his gospel—his message of God's imminent kingdom and of
   judgment, of God's fatherly providence, of repentance, holiness, and love—to
   his fellow-countrymen. He preached only to Jews. Not a syllable shows that
   he detached this message from its national soil, or set aside the
   traditional religion as of no value. Upon the contrary, his preaching could
   be taken as the most powerful corroboration of that religion. He did not
   attach himself to any of the numerous “liberal” or syncretistic Jewish
   conventicles or schools. He did not accept their ideas. Rather he took his
   stand upon the soil of Jewish rights, i.e., of the piety maintained by
   Pharisaism. But he showed that while the Pharisees preserved what was good
   in religion, they were perverting it none the less, and that the perversion
   amounted to the most heinous of sins. Jesus waged war against the selfish,
   self-righteous temper in which many of the Pharisees fulfilled and practised
   their piety—a temper, at bottom, both loveless and godless. This protest
   already involved a break with the national religion, for the Pharisaic
   position passed for that of the nation; indeed, it represented the national
   religion. But Jesus went further. He traversed the claim that the
   descendants of Abraham, in virtue of their descent, were sure of salvation,
   and based the idea of divine sonship exclusively upon repentance, humility,
   faith, and love. In so doing, he disentangled religion from its national
   setting. Men, not Jews, were to be its adherents. Then, as it became plainer
   than ever that the Jewish people as a whole, and through their
   representatives, were spurning his message, he announced with increasing
   emphasis that a judgment was coming upon “the children of the kingdom” and
   prophesied, as his forerunner had done already, that the table of his Father
   would not lack for guests, but that a crowd would pour in, morning, noon,
   and night, from the highways and the hedges. Finally, he predicted the
   rejection of the nation and the overthrow of the temple, but these were not
   to involve the downfall of his work; on the contrary, he saw in them, as in
   his own passion, the condition of his work's completion.

   Such is the “universalism” of the preaching of Jesus. No other kind of
   universalism can be proved for him, and consequently he cannot have given
   any command upon the mission to the wide world. The gospels contain such a
   command, but it is easy to show that it is neither genuine nor a part of the
   primitive tradition. It would introduce an entirely strange feature into the
   preaching of Jesus, and at the same time render many of his genuine sayings
   unintelligible or empty. One might even argue that the universal mission was
   an inevitable issue of the religion and spirit of Jesus, and that its
   origin, not only apart from any direct word of Jesus, but in verbal
   contradiction to several of his sayings, is really a stronger testimony to
   the method, the strength, and the spirit of his preaching than if it were
   the outcome of a deliberate command. By the fruit we know the tree; but we
   must not look for the fruit in the root. With regard to the way in which he
   worked and gathered disciples, the distinctiveness of his person and his
   preaching comes out very clearly. He sought to found no sect or school. He
   laid down no rules for outward adhesion to himself. His aim was to bring men
   to God and to prepare them for God's kingdom. He chose disciples, indeed,
   giving them special instruction and a share in his work; but even here there
   were no regulations. There were an inner circle of three, an outer circle of
   twelve, and beyond that a few dozen men and women who accompanied him. In
   addition to that, he had intimate friends who remained in their homes and at
   their work. Wherever he went, he wakened or found children of God throughout
   the country. No rule or regulation bound them together. They simply sought
   and shared the supreme boon which came home to each and all, viz., the
   kingdom of their Father and of the individual soul. In the practice of this
   kind of mission Jesus has had but one follower, and he did not arise till a
   thousand years afterwards. He was St Francis of Assisi.

   If we leave out of account the words put by our first evangelist into the
   lips of the risen Jesus (Matt. xxviii. 19 f.), with the similar expressions
   which occur in the unauthentic appendix to the second gospel (Mark xvi. 15,
   20), and if we further set aside the story of the wise men from the East, as
   well as one or two Old Testament quotations which our first evangelist has
   woven into his tale (cp. Matt. iv. 13 f., xii. 18), we must admit that Mark
   and Matthew have almost consistently withstood the temptation to introduce
   the Gentile mission into the words and deeds of Jesus. Jesus called sinners
   to himself, ate with tax-gatherers, attacked the Pharisees and their legal
   observance, made everything turn upon mercy and justice, and predicted the
   downfall of the temple—such is the universalism of Mark and Matthew. The
   very choice and commission of the twelve is described without any mention of
   a mission to the world (Mark iii. 13 f., vi. 7 f., and Matt. x. 1 f.). In
   fact, Matthew expressly limits their mission to Palestine. “Go not on the
   road of the Gentiles, and enter no city of the Samaritans; rather go to the
   lost sheep of the house of Israel “ (Matt. x. 5, 6). And so in x. 23: “Ye
   shall not have covered the cities of Israel, before the Son of man comes.”
   [60] The story of the Syro-Phœnician woman is almost of greater
   significance. Neither evangelist leaves it open to question that this
   incident represented an exceptional case for Jesus; [61] and the exception
   proves the rule.

   In Mark this section on the Syro-Phœnician woman is the only passage where
   the missionary efforts of Jesus appear positively restricted to the Jewish
   people in Palestine. Matthew, however, contains not merely the address on
   the disciples' mission, but a further saying (xix. 28), to the effect that
   the twelve are one day to judge the twelve tribes of Israel. No word here of
   the Gentile mission. [62]

   Only twice does Mark make Jesus allude to the gospel being preached in
   future throughout the world: in the eschatological address (xiii. 10, “The
   gospel must first be preached to all the nations,” i.e., before the end
   arrives), and in the story of the anointing at Bethany (xiv. 9), where we
   read: “Wherever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world,
   what this woman hath done shall be also told, in memory of her.” The former
   passage puts into the life of Jesus an historical theologoumenon, which is
   hardly original. The latter excites strong suspicion, not with regard to
   what precedes it, but in connection with the saying of Jesus in verses 8-9.
   It is a hysteron proteron, and moreover the solemn assurance is striking.
   Some obscure controversy must underlie the words—a controversy which turned
   upon the preceding scene not only when it happened, but at a still later
   date. Was it ever suspected? [63]

   These two sayings are also given in Matthew [64] (xxiv. 14, xxvi. 13), who
   preserves a further saying which has the Gentile world in view, yet whose
   prophetic manner arouses no suspicion of its authenticity. In viii. 11 we
   read: “I tell you, many shall come from east and west, and sit down with
   Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, but the sons of the
   kingdom shall be cast out.” Why should not Jesus have said this? Even among
   the words of John the Baptist (iii. 9) do we not read: “Think not to say to
   yourselves, we have Abraham as our father; for I tell you, God is able to
   raise up children for Abraham out of these stones”?

   We conclude, then, that both evangelists refrain from inserting any allusion
   to the Gentile mission into the framework of the public preaching of Jesus,
   apart from the eschatological address and the somewhat venturesome
   expression which occurs in the story of the anointing at Bethany. But while
   Matthew delimits the activity of Jesus positively and precisely, Mark adopts
   what we may term a neutral position, though for all that he does not
   suppress the story of the Syro-Phœnician woman.

   All this throws into more brilliant relief than ever the words of the risen
   Jesus in Matt. xxviii. 19 f. Matthew must have been fully conscious of the
   disparity between these words and the earlier words of Jesus; nay, more, he
   must have deliberately chosen to give expression to that disparity. [65] At
   the time when our gospels were written, a Lord and Saviour who had confined
   his preaching to the Jewish people without even issuing a single command to
   prosecute the universal mission, was an utter impossibility. If no such
   command had been issued before his death, it must have been imparted by him
   as the glorified One.

   The conclusion, therefore, must be that Jesus never issued such a command at
   all, but that this version of his life was due to the historical
   developments of a later age, the words being appropriately put into the
   mouth of the risen Lord. Paul, too, knew nothing of such a general command.
   [66]

   Luke's standpoint, as a reporter of the words of Jesus, does not differ from
   that of the two previous evangelists, a fact which is perhaps most
   significant of all. He has delicately coloured the introductory history with
   universalism, [67] while at the close, like Matthew, he makes the risen
   Jesus issue the command to preach the gospel to all nations. [68] But in his
   treatment of the intervening material he follows Mark; that is, he preserves
   no sayings which expressly confine the activity of Jesus to the Jewish
   nation, [69] but, on the other hand, he gives neither word nor incident
   which describes that activity as universal, [70] and at no point does he
   deliberately correct the existing tradition. [71]

   In this connection the fourth gospel need not be considered at all. After
   the Gentile mission, which had been undertaken with such ample results
   during the first two Christian generations, the fourth gospel expands the
   horizon of Christ's preaching and even of John the Baptist's; corresponding
   to this, it makes the Jews a reprobate people from the very outset, despite
   the historical remark in iv. 22. Even setting aside the prologue, we at once
   come upon (i. 29) the words put into the mouth of the Baptist, “Behold the
   Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world.” And, as a whole, the
   gospel is saturated with statements of a directly universalistic character.
   Jesus is the Saviour of the world, and God so loved the world that he sent
   him. We may add passages like those upon the “other sheep” and the one flock
   (x. l6). But the most significant thing of all is that this gospel makes
   Greeks ask after Jesus (xii. 20 f.), the latter furnishing a formal
   explanation of the reasons why he could not satisfy the Greeks as yet. He
   must first of all die. It is as the exalted One that he will first succeed
   in drawing all men to himself. We can feel here the pressure of a serious
   problem.

   It would be misleading to introduce here any sketch of the preaching of
   Jesus, or even of its essential principles, [72] for it never became the
   missionary preaching of the later period even to the Jews. It was the basis
   of that preaching, for the gospels were written down in order to serve as a
   means of evangelization; but the mission preaching was occupied with the
   messiahship of Jesus, his speedy return, and his establishment of God's
   kingdom (if Jews were to be met), or with the unity of God, creation, the
   Son of God, and judgment (if Gentiles were to be reached). Alongside of this
   the words of Jesus of course exercised a silent and effective mission of
   their own, whilst the historical picture furnished by the gospels, together
   with faith in the exalted Christ, exerted a powerful influence over
   catechumens and believers.

   Rightly and wisely, people no longer noticed the local and temporal traits
   either in this historical sketch or in these sayings. They found there a
   vital love of God and men, which may be described as implicit universalism;
   a discounting of everything external (position, personality, sex, outward
   worship, etc.), which made irresistibly for inwardness of character; and a
   protest against the entire doctrines of “the ancients,” which gradually
   rendered antiquity valueless. [73] One of the greatest revolutions in the
   history of religion was initiated in this way—initiated and effected,
   moreover, without any revolution! All that Jesus Christ promulgated was the
   overthrow of the temple, and the judgment impending upon the nation and its
   leaders. He shattered Judaism, and brought out the kernel of the religion of
   Israel. Thereby—i.e., by his preaching of God as the Father, and by his own
   death—he founded the universal religion, which at the same time was the
   religion of the Son.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [60] This verse precludes the hypothesis that the speech of Jesus referred
   merely to a provisional mission. If the saying is genuine, the Gentile
   mission cannot have lain within the horizon of Jesus.—There is no need to
   take the hēgemones and basileisof Matt. x. 18, Mark xiii. 9 as pagans, and
   Matthew's addition (omitted by Mark) of kai tois ethnesin to the words eis
   marturion autois can hardly be understood except as a supplement in the
   sense of xxviii. 19 f. Though Mark (vi. 7 f.; cp. Luke ix. 1 f.) omits the
   limitation of the mission to Palestine and the Jewish people, he does not
   venture to assign the mission any universal scope. “Mark never says it in so
   many words, nor does he lay any stress upon it; but it is self-evident that
   he regards the mission of Jesus as confined to the Jews” (Wellhausen on Mark
   vii. 29).

   [61] According to Matthew (xv. 24), Jesus distinctly says, “I was sent only
   to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” The prōton of Mark vii. 27 is not
   to be pressed, as it is by many editors.

   [62] Here we may also include the saying; “Pray that your flight occur not
   on the Sabbath” (Matt. xxiv. 20). Note further that the parable of the two
   sons (Matt. xxi. 28 f.) does not refer to Jews and Gentiles. The labourers
   in the vineyard (Matt. xx. 1 f.) are not to be taken as Gentiles—not, at any
   rate, as the evangelist tells the story. Nor are Gentiles to be thought of
   even in xxii. 9.

   [63] I leave out of account the section on the wicked husbandmen, as it says
   nothing about the Gentile mission either in Mark's version (xii. 1 f.), or
   in Matthew's (xxi. 33 f.). The words of Matt. xxi. 43 (“God's kingdom shall
   be given to a nation bringing forth the fruits thereof”) do not refer to the
   Gentiles; it is the “nation” as opposed to the official Israel, Mark on
   purpose speaks merely of “others,” to whom the vineyard is to be given. “On
   purpose,” I say, for we may see from this very allegory, which can hardly
   have been spoken by Jesus himself (see Jülicher's Gleichnissreden ii. pp.
   405 f., though I would not commit myself on the point), how determined Mark
   was to keep the Gentile mission apart from the gospel, and how consistently
   Matthew retains the setting of the latter within the Jewish nation. The
   parable invited the evangelists to represent Jesus making some allusion to
   the Gentile mission, but both of them resisted the invitation (see further,
   Luke xx. 9 f.). Wellhausen (on Matt. xxi. 43) also observes: “By the phrase
   ‘another nation’ we may understand that Jewish, not simply Gentile,
   Christians were so meant; for ethnos is characterised ethically, not
   nationally.”

   [64] We may disregard the sayings in v. 13-14 (“Ye are the salt of the
   earth,” “Ye are the light of the world “), as well as the fact that in Mark
   alone (xi. 17) pasi tois ethnesin (a citation from Isa. lvi. 7) is added to
   the words: “My house shall be a house of prayer.” The addition “emphasizes
   not the universality of the house of prayer, but simply the idea of the
   house of prayer” (Wellhausen).

   [65] Unless xxviii. 19 f. is a later addition to the gospel. It is
   impossible to be certain on this point. There is a certain subtlety, of
   which one would fain believe the evangelist was incapable, in keeping his
   Gentile Christian readers, as it were, upon the rack with sayings which
   confined the gospel to Israel, just in order to let them off in the closing
   paragraph. Nor are the former sayings presented in such a way as to suggest
   that they were afterwards to be taken back. On the other hand, we must
   observe that the first evangelist opens with the story of the wise men from
   the East (though even this section admits of a strictly Jewish Christian
   interpretation), that he includes viii. 11, that he shows his interest in
   the people who sat in darkness (iv. 13 f.), that he describes Jesus (xii.
   21) as One in whose name the Gentiles trust, that he contemplates the
   preaching of the gospel to all the Gentiles in the eschatological speech and
   in the story of the anointing at Bethany, and that no positive proofs can be
   adduced for regarding xxviii. 19 f. as an interpolation. It is advisable,
   then, to credit the writer with a remarkable historical sense, which made
   him adhere almost invariably to the traditional framework of Christ's
   preaching, in order to break it open at the very close of his work. Mark's
   method of procedure was more simple: he excluded the missionary question
   altogether; at least that is the only explanation of his attitude.

   [66] It is impossible and quite useless to argue with those who see nothing
   but an inadmissible bias in the refusal to accept traditions about Jesus
   eating and drinking and instructing his disciples after death.

   [67] Cp. i. 32 (“Son of the Highest”), ii. 10, 11 (“joy to all people,”
   “Saviour”), ii. 14 (“gloria in excelsis”), ii. 32 (“a light to lighten the
   Gentiles “), and also (iii. 23 f.) the genealogy of Jesus traced back to
   Adam.

   [68] xxiv. 47, also Acts i. 8: “Ye shall be my witnesses both in Jerusalem
   and in all Judæa and in Samaria, and to the uttermost part of the earth.”

   [69] An indirect allusion to the limitation of his mission might be found in
   xxii. 30 = Matt. xix. 28 (cp. p. 41), but this meaning need not be read into
   it.

   [70] All sorts of unconvincing attempts have been made to drag this in;
   e.g., at Peter's take of fish (v. 1 f.), at the Samaritan stories (x. 33 f.,
   xvii. 16), and at the parable of the prodigal son (xv. 11 f.; cp. Jülicher's
   Gleichn., ii. pp. 333 f.). Even the stories of the despatch of the apostles
   (vi. 13 f.) and the remarkable commission of the seventy (x. 1 f.) do not by
   any means represent the Gentile mission. It is by a harmless hysteron
   proteron that the twelve are now and then described by Luke as “the
   apostles.” The programme of the speech at Nazareth (iv. 26-27) is here of
   primary importance, but even in it the universalism of Jesus does not seem
   to rise above that of the prophets. With regard to xxi. 24 = Mark xiii. 10 =
   Matt. xxiv. 14, we may say that Luke was quite the most careful of all those
   who attempted with fine feeling to reproduce the prophet's style. He never
   mentions the necessity of the gospel being preached throughout all the world
   before the end arrives, but writes: achri hou plērōthōsin kairoi ethnōn
   (“till the times of the Gentiles be fulfilled”). As for the Samaritan
   stories, it does not seem as if Luke here had any ulterior tendency of an
   historical and religious character in his mind, such as is evident in John
   iv.

   [71] The story of the Syro-Phœnician woman, which stands between the two
   stories of miraculous feeding in Mark and Matthew, was probably quite
   unknown to Luke. Its omission was not deliberate. If he knew it, his
   omission would have to be regarded as a conscious correction of the earlier
   tradition.

   [72] Cp. my lectures on What is Christianity?

   [73] On “The Attitude of Jesus towards the Old Testament,” see the
   conclusive tractate by E. Klostermann (1904) under this title. No one who
   grasps this attitude upon the part of Jesus will make unhistorical
   assertions upon the “world-mission.”
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER V.

  THE TRANSITION FROM THE JEWISH TO THE GENTILE MISSION

   “Christi mors potentior erat quam vita.” The death of Christ was more
   effective than his life; it failed to shatter faith in him as one sent by
   God, and hence the conviction of his resurrection arose. He was still the
   Messiah, his disciples held—for there was no alternative now between this
   and the rejection of his claims. As Messiah, he could not be held of death.
   He must be alive; he must soon return in glory. The disciples became chosen
   members of his kingdom, witnesses and apostles. They testified not only to
   his preaching and his death, but to his resurrection, for they had seen him
   and received his spirit. They became new men. A current of divine life
   seized them, and a new fire was burning in their hearts. Fear, doubt,
   cowardice—all this was swept away. The duty and the right of preaching this
   Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ pressed upon them with irresistible power.
   How could they keep silence when they knew that the new age of the world was
   come, and that God had already begun the redemption of his people? An old
   tradition (Acts i.-ii.) relates that the preaching of the disciples began in
   Jerusalem on the fifty-first day after the crucifixion. We have no reason to
   doubt so definite a statement. They must have returned from Galilee to
   Jerusalem and gathered together there—a change which suggests that they
   wished to work openly, in the very midst of the Jewish community. They
   remained there for some years [74] —for a period of twelve years indeed,
   according to one early account [75] ignored by the book of Acts (cp.,
   however, xii. 17)—they would undertake mission tours in the vicinity; the
   choice of James, who did not belong to the twelve, as president of the
   church at Jerusalem, [76] tells in favour of this conclusion, whilst the
   evidence for it lies in Acts, and above all in 1 Cor. ix. 5.

   The gospel was at first preached to the Jews exclusively. The church of
   Jerusalem was founded; presently churches in Judæa (1 Thess. ii. 14, hai
   ekklēsiai tou theou hai ousai en tē Ioudaia: Gal. i. 22, ē̓́mēn
   a̓gnooúmenos tō prosṓpō tais e̓kklēsíais tēs Ioudaias tais en Christō),
   Galilee, Samaria (Acts i. 8, viii. 1 f., ix. 31, xv. 3), and on the
   sea-coast (Acts ix. 32 f.) followed. [77] The initial relationship of these
   churches to Judaism is not quite clear. As a matter of fact, so far from
   being clear, it is full of inconsistencies. On the one hand, the narrative
   of Acts (see iii. f.), which describes the Jerusalem church as exposed to
   spasmodic persecutions almost from the start, is corroborated by the
   evidence of Paul (1 Thess. ii. 14, hoti ta auta e̓páthete kai u̔meîs hupo
   tōn idiōn sumphuletōn, kathōs kai autoi [i.e. the churches in Judæa] hupo
   tōn Ioudaiōn), so that it seems untenable to hold with some Jewish scholars
   that originally, and indeed for whole decades, peace reigned between the
   Christians and the Jews. [78] On the other hand, it is certain that peace
   and toleration also prevailed, that the churches remained unmolested for a
   considerable length of time (Acts ix. 31, hē ekklēsia kath' holēs tēs
   Ioudaias kai Galilaias kai Samarias eichen eirēnēn), and that several
   Christians were highly thought of by their Jewish brethren. [79] By their
   strict observance of the law and their devoted attachment to the temple,
   [80] they fulfilled a Jew's principal duty, and since it was in the future
   that they expected Jesus as their Messiah—his first advent having been no
   more than a preliminary step—this feature might be overlooked, as an
   idiosyncrasy, by those who were inclined to think well of them for their
   strict observance of the law. [81] At least this is the only way in which we
   can picture to ourselves the state of matters. The more zealous of their
   Jewish compatriots can have had really nothing but praise for the general
   Christian hope of the Messiah's sure and speedy advent. Doubtless it was in
   their view a grievous error for Christians to believe that they already knew
   the person of the future Messiah. But the crucifixion seemed to have torn up
   this belief by the roots, so that every zealous Jew could anticipate the
   speedy collapse of “the offence,” while the Messianic ardour would survive.
   As for the Jewish authorities, they could afford to watch the progress of
   events, contenting themselves with a general surveillance. Meantime,
   however, the whole movement was confined to the lower classes. [82]

   But no sooner did the Gentile mission, with its lack of restrictions (from
   the Jewish point of view) or laxity of restrictions, become an open fact,
   than this period of toleration, or of spasmodic and not very violent
   reactions on the part of Judaism, had to cease. Severe reprisals followed.
   Yet the Gentile mission at first drove a wedge into the little company of
   Christians themselves; it prompted those who disapproved of it to retire
   closer to their non-Christian brethren. The apostle Paul had to complain of
   and to contend with a double opposition. He was persecuted by Jewish
   Christians who were zealous for the law, no less than by the Jews (so 1
   Thess. ii. 15 f., ekdiōxantes hēmas . . . . kōluontes hēmas tois ethnesin
   lalēsai, hina sōthōsin); the latter had really nothing whatever to do with
   the Gentile mission, but evidently they did not by any means look on with
   folded arms.

   It is not quite clear how the Gentile mission arose. Certainly Paul was not
   the first missionary to the Gentiles. [83] But a priori considerations and
   the details of the evidence alike may justify us in concluding that while
   the transition to the Gentile mission was gradual, it was carried out with
   irresistible energy. Here, too, the whole ground had been prepared already,
   by the inner condition of Judaism, i.e., by the process of decomposition
   within Judaism which made for universalism, as well as by the graduated
   system of the proselytes. To this we have already alluded in the first
   chapter.

   According to Acts vi. 7 f., [84] the primitive Christian community in
   Jerusalem was composed of two elements, one consisting of Palestinian
   Hebrews, and the other of Jews from the dispersion (Hellēnistai). [85] A
   cleavage occurred between both at an early stage, which led to the
   appointment of seven guardians of the poor, belonging to the second of these
   groups and bearing Greek names. Within this group of men, whom we may
   consider on the whole to have been fairly enlightened, i.e., less strict
   than others in literal observance of the law, [86] Stephen rose to special
   prominence. The charge brought against him before the Sanhedrim was to the
   effect that he went on uttering blasphemous language against “the holy
   place” and the law, by affirming that Jesus was to destroy the temple and
   alter the customs enjoined by Moses. This charge Acts describes as false;
   but, as the speech of Stephen proves, it was well founded so far as it went,
   the falsehood consisting merely in the conscious purpose attributed to the
   words in question. Stephen did not attack the temple and the law in order to
   dispute their divine origin, but he did affirm the limited period of these
   institutions. In this way he did set himself in opposition to the popular
   Judaism of his time, but hardly in opposition to all that was Jewish. It is
   beyond doubt that within Judaism itself, especially throughout the Diaspora,
   tendencies were already abroad by which the temple-cultus, [87] and
   primarily its element of bloody sacrifices, was regarded as unessential and
   even of doubtful validity. Besides, it is equally certain that in many a
   Jewish circle, for external and internal reasons, the outward observance of
   the law was not considered of any great value; it was more or less eclipsed
   by the moral law. Consequently it is quite conceivable, historically and
   psychologically, that a Jew of the Diaspora who had been won over to
   Christianity should associate the supreme and exclusive moral considerations
   urged by the new faith [88] with the feelings he had already learned to
   cherish, viz., that the temple and the ceremonial law were relatively
   useless; it is also conceivable that he should draw the natural
   inference—Jesus the Messiah will abolish the temple-cultus and alter the
   ceremonial law. Observe the future tense. Acts seems here to give an
   extremely literal report. Stephen did not urge any changes—these were to be
   effected by Jesus, when he returned as Messiah. All Stephen did was to
   announce them by way of prophecy, thus implying that the existing
   arrangements wore valueless. He did not urge the Gentile mission; but by his
   words and death he helped to set it up.

   When Stephen was stoned, he died, like Huss, for a cause whose issues he
   probably did not foresee. It is not surprising that he was stoned, for
   orthodox Judaism could least afford to tolerate this kind of believer in
   Jesus. His adherents were also persecuted—the grave peril of the little
   company of Christians being thus revealed in a flash. All except the
   apostles (Acts viii. 1) had to leave Jerusalem. Evidently the latter had not
   yet declared themselves as a body on the side of Stephen in the matter of
   his indictment. [89] The scattered Christians went abroad throughout Judæa
   and Samaria; nolens volens they acted as missionaries, i.e., as apostles
   (Acts viii. 4). The most important of them was Philip, the guardian of the
   poor, who preached in Samaria and along the sea-board; there is a long
   account of how he convinced and baptized an Ethiopian officer, a eunuch
   (Acts viii. 26 f.). This is perfectly intelligible. The man was not a Jew.
   He belonged to the “God-fearing class'” (phoboumenos ton theon). Besides,
   even if he had been circumcised, he could not have become a Jew. Thus, when
   this semi-proselyte, this eunuch, was brought into the Christian church, it
   meant that one stout barrier had fallen.

   Still, a single case is not decisive, and even the second case of this kind,
   that of Peter baptizing the “God-fearing” ((fsofSov/Jievos) Cornelius at
   Caesarea, cannot have had at that early period the palmary importance which
   the author of Acts attaches to it. [90] So long as it was a question of
   proselytes, even of proselytes in the widest sense of the term, there was
   always one standpoint from which the strictest Jewish Christian himself
   could reconcile his mind to their admission: he could regard the proselytes
   thus admitted as adherents of the Christian community in the wider sense of
   the term, i.e., as proselytes still.

   The next step, a much more decisive one, was taken at Antioch, again upon
   the initiative of the scattered adherents of Stephen (Acts xi. 19 f.), who
   had reached Phœnicia, Cyprus, and Antioch on their missionary wanderings.
   The majority of them confined themselves strictly to the Jewish mission. But
   some, who were natives of Cyprus and Crete, [91] preached also to the Greeks
   [92] in Antioch with excellent results. They were the first missionaries to
   the heathen; they founded the first Gentile church, that of Antioch. In this
   work they were joined by Barnabas and Paul (Acts xi. 28 f.), who soon became
   the real leading spirits in the movement. [93]

   The converted Greeks in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia (to which Barnabas and
   Paul presently extended their mission), during this initial period were by
   no means drawn wholly from those who had been “God-fearing'' (phoboumenoi)
   already, although this may have been the origin of a large number. [94] At
   any rate a church was founded at Antioch which consisted for the most part
   of uncircumcised persons, and which now undertook the mission to the
   Gentiles (Acts xiii. 1 f.). For this church the designation of Christianoi
   (“Christians,” Acts xi. 26) came into vogue, a name coined by their heathen
   opponents. This title is itself a proof that the new community in Antioch
   stood out in bold relief from Judaism. [95]

   The Gentile Christian churches of Syria and Cilicia did not observe the law,
   yet they were conscious of being the people of God in the fullest sense of
   the term, and were mindful to keep in touch with the mother church of
   Jerusalem, as well as to be recognized by her. [96] The majority of these
   cosmopolitan converts were quite content with the assurance that God had
   already moved the prophets to proclaim the uselessness of sacrifice, [97] so
   that all the ceremonial part of the law was to be allegorically interpreted
   and understood in some moral sense. [98] This was also the view originally
   held by the other Gentile Christian communities which, like that of Rome,
   were founded by unknown missionaries.

   The apostle Paul, however, could not settle his position towards the law
   with such simplicity. For him no part of the law had been depreciated in
   value by any noiseless, disintegrating influence of time or circumstances;
   on the contrary, the law remained valid and operative in all its provisions.
   It could not be abrogated save by him who had ordained it—i.e., by God
   himself. Nor could even God abolish it save by affirming at the same time
   its rights—i.e., he must abolish it just by providing for its fulfilment.
   And this was what actually took place. By the death and resurrection of
   Jesus Christ, God's Son, upon the cross, the law was at once fulfilled and
   abolished. Whether all this reflection and speculation was secondary and
   derivative (resulting from the possession of the Spirit and the new life
   which the apostle felt within himself), or primary (resulting from the
   assurance that his sins were forgiven), or whether these two sources
   coalesced, is a question which need not occupy us here. The point is, that
   Paul was convinced that the death and resurrection of Christ had inaugurated
   the new age. “The future is already present, the Spirit reigns.” Hereby he
   firmly and unhesitatingly recognized the gospel to be the new level of
   religion, just as he also felt himself to be a new creature. The new
   religious level was the level of the Spirit and regeneration, of grace and
   faith, of peace and liberty; below and behind it lay everything old,
   including all the earlier revelations of God, since these were religions
   pertaining to the state of sin. This it was which enabled Paul, Jew and
   Pharisee as he was, to venture upon the great conception with which he laid
   the basis of any sound philosophy of religion and of the whole science of
   comparative religion, viz., the collocation of the “natural” knowledge of
   God possessed by man (i.e., all that had developed in man under the sway of
   conscience) with the law of the chosen people (Rom. 1 f.). Both, Paul held,
   were revelations of God, though in different ways and of different values;
   both represented what had been hitherto the supreme possession of mankind.
   Yet both had proved inadequate; they had aggravated sin, and had ended in
   death.

   Now a new religion was in force. This meant that the Gentile mission was not
   a possibility but a duty, whilst freedom from the law was not a concession
   but the distinctive and blissful form which the gospel assumed for men. Its
   essence consisted in the fact that it was not law in any sense of the term,
   but grace and a free gift. The Christian who had been born a Jew might have
   himself circumcised and keep the law—which would imply that he considered
   the Jewish nation had still some valid part to play [99] in the world-wide
   plan of God. But even so, there was nothing in the law to secure the bliss
   of the Jewish Christian; and as for the Gentile Christian, he was not
   allowed either to practice circumcision or to keep the law. In his case,
   such conduct would have meant that Christ had died in vain.

   Thus it was that Paul preached the crucified Christ to the Gentiles, and not
   only established the principle of the Gentile mission, but made it a
   reality. The work of his predecessors, when measured by his convictions, was
   loose and questionable; it seemed to reach the same end as he did, but it
   was not entirely just to the law or to the gospel. Paul wrecked the religion
   of Israel on the cross of Christ, in the very endeavour to comprehend it
   with a greater reverence and stricter obedience than his predecessors. The
   day of Israel, he declared, had now expired. He honoured the Jewish
   Christian community at Jerusalem, the source of so much antagonism to
   himself, with a respect which is almost inconceivable; but he made it
   perfectly clear that “the times of the Gentiles” had arrived, and that if
   any Jewish Christian churches did not unite with the Gentile Christian
   churches to form the one “church of God,” they forfeited by this
   exclusiveness their very right to existence. Paul's conception of religion
   and of religious history was extremely simple, if one looks at its kernel,
   for it was based upon one fact. It cannot be reduced to a brief formula
   without being distorted into a platitude. It is never vital except in the
   shape of a paradox. In place of the particular forms of expression which
   Paul introduced, and by means of which he made the conception valid and
   secure for himself, it was possible that others might arise, as was the case
   in the very next generation with the author of Hebrews and with the
   anonymous genius who composed the Johannine writings. From that time onwards
   many other teachers came forward to find fresh bases for the Pauline gospel
   (e.g., Marcion and Clement of Alexandria, to name a couple of very different
   writers from the second century). But what they transformed was not the
   fruit and kernel of Paulinism. Essentially they were quite at one with the
   apostle. For it is the great prerogative of the historian in a later age to
   be able to recognize an essential unity where argument and proofs are widely
   different.

   Historically, Paul the Pharisee dethroned the people and the religion of
   Israel; [100] he tore the gospel from its Jewish soil and rooted it in the
   soil of humanity. [101] No wonder that the full reaction of Judaism against
   the gospel now commenced—a reaction on the part of Jews and Jewish
   Christians alike. The hostility of the Jews appears on every page of Acts,
   from chap. xii. onwards, and it can be traced by the aid even of the
   evangelic narratives, [102] whose sources go back to the period preceding
   A.D. 65. The Jews now sought to extirpate the Palestinian churches and to
   silence the Christian missionaries. They hampered every step of Paul's work
   among the Gentiles; they cursed Christians and Christ in their synagogues;
   they stirred up the masses and the authorities in every country against him;
   systematically and officially they scattered broadcast horrible charges
   against the Christians, which played an important part (humeis tēs kata tou
   dikaiou kai hēmōn tōn ap' ekeinou kakēs prolēpseōs aitioi) in the
   persecutions as early as the reign of Trajan; they started calumnies against
   Jesus; [103] they provided heathen opponents of Christianity with literary
   ammunition; unless the evidence is misleading, they instigated the Neronic
   outburst against the Christians; and as a rule, whenever bloody persecutions
   are afoot in later days, the Jews are either in the background or the
   foreground (the synagogues being dubbed by Tertullian “fontes
   persecutionum”). By a sort of instinct they felt that Gentile Christianity,
   though apparently it was no concern of theirs, was their peculiar foe. This
   course of action on the part of the Jews was inevitable. They merely
   accelerated a process which implied the complete liberation of the new
   religion from the old, and which prevented Judaism from solving the problem
   which she had already faced, the problem of her metamorphosis into a
   religion for the world. In this sense there was something satisfactory about
   the Jewish opposition. It helped both religions to make the mutual breach
   complete, whilst it also deepened in the minds of Gentile Christians—at a
   time when this still needed to be deepened—the assurance that their religion
   did represent a new creation, and that they were no mere class of people
   admitted into some lower rank, but were themselves the new People of God,
   who had succeeded to the old. [104]

   But the Jewish Christians also entered the arena. They issued from Jerusalem
   a demand that the church at Antioch should be circumcised, and the result of
   this demand was the so-called apostolic council. We possess two accounts of
   this (Gal. ii. and Acts xv.). Each leaves much to be desired, and it is
   hardly possible to harmonize them both. Paul's account is not so much
   written down as flung down pell-mell; such is the vigour with which it seeks
   to emphasize the final result, that its abrupt sentences render the various
   intermediate stages either invisible or indistinct. The other account,
   unless we are deceived, has thrown the ultimate issue of the council into
   utter confusion by the irrelevant introduction of what transpired at a later
   period. Even for other reasons, this account excites suspicion. Still we can
   see plainly that Peter, John, and James recognized the work of Paul, that
   they gave him no injunctions as to his missionary labours, and that they
   chose still to confine themselves to the Jewish mission. Paul did not at
   once succeed in uniting Jewish and Gentile Christians in a single fellowship
   of life and worship; it was merely the principle of this fellowship that
   gained the day, and even this principle —an agreement which in itself was
   naturally unstable and shortlived—could be ignored by wide circles of Jewish
   Christians. Nevertheless much ground had been won. The stipulation itself
   ensured that, as did even more the developments to which it led. The Jewish
   Christians split up. How they could still continue to hold together (in
   Jerusalem and elsewhere) for years to come, is an insoluble riddle. One
   section persisted in doing everything they could to persecute Paul and his
   work with ardent enmity: to crush him was their aim. In this they certainly
   were actuated by some honest convictions, which Paul was naturally incapable
   of understanding. To the very last, indeed, he made concessions to these
   “zealots for the law” within the boundaries of Palestine; but outside
   Palestine he repudiated them so soon as they tried to win over Gentiles to
   their own form of Christianity. The other section, including Peter and
   probably the rest of the primitive apostles, commenced before long to
   advance beyond the agreement, though in a somewhat hesitating and tentative
   fashion: outside Palestine they began to hold intercourse with the Gentile
   Christians, and to lead the Jewish Christians also in this direction. These
   tentative endeavours culminated in a new agreement, which now made a real
   fellowship possible for both parties. The condition was that the Gentile
   Christians were to abstain from flesh offered to idols, from tasting blood
   and things strangled, and from fornication. Henceforth Peter, probably with
   one or two others of the primitive apostles, took part in the Gentile
   mission. The last barrier had collapsed. [105] If we marvel at the greatness
   of Paul, we should not marvel less at the primitive apostles, who for the
   gospel's sake entered on a career which the Lord and Master, with whom they
   had eaten. and drunk, had never taught them.

   By adopting an intercourse with Gentile Christians, this Jewish Christianity
   did away with itself, and in the second period of his labours Peter ceased
   to be a “Jewish Christian.” [106] He became a Greek. Still, two Jewish
   Christian parties continued to exist. One of these held by the agreement of
   the apostolic council; it gave the Gentile Christians its blessing, but held
   aloof from them in actual life. The other persisted in fighting the Gentile
   Church as a false church. Neither party counts in the subsequent history of
   the church, owing to their numerical weakness. According to Justin (Apol.,
   I. liii.), who must have known the facts, Jesus was rejected by the Jewish
   nation “with few exceptions” (plēn oligōn tinōn). In the Diaspora, apart
   from Syria and Egypt, Jewish Christians were hardly to be met with; [107]
   there the Gentile Christians felt themselves supreme, in fact they were
   almost masters of the field. [108] This did not last, however, beyond 180
   A.D., when the Catholic church put Jewish Christians upon her roll of
   heretics. They were thus paid back in their own coin by Gentile
   Christianity; the heretics turned their former judges into heretics.

   Before long the relations of Jewish Christians to their kinsmen the Jews
   also took a turn for the worse—that is, so far as actual relations existed
   between them at all. It was the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple
   which seems to have provoked the final crisis, and led to a complete breach
   between the two parties. [109] No Christian, even supposing he were a simple
   Jewish Christian, could view the catastrophe which befell the Jewish state,
   with its capital and sanctuary, as anything else than the just punishment of
   the nation for having crucified the Messiah. Strictly speaking, he ceased
   from that moment to be a Jew; for a Jew who accepted the downfall of his
   state and temple as a divine dispensation, thereby committed national
   suicide. Undoubtedly the catastrophe decimated the exclusive Jewish
   Christianity of Palestine and drove a considerable number either back into
   Judaism or forward into the Catholic church. Yet how illogical human
   feelings can be, when they are linked to a powerful tradition! There were
   Jewish Christians still, who remained after the fall of Jerusalem just where
   they had stood before; evidently they bewailed the fall of the temple, and
   yet they saw in its fall a merited punishment. Did they, we ask, or did they
   not, venture to desire the rebuilding of the temple? We can easily
   understand how such people proved a double offence to their
   fellow-countrymen, the genuine Jews. Indeed they were always falling between
   two fires, for the Jews persecuted them with bitter hatred, [110] while the
   Gentile church censured them as heretics—i.e., as non-Christians. They are
   dubbed indifferently by Jerome, who knew them personally, [111]
   “semi-Judaei” and “semi-Christiani.'” And Jerome was right. They were really
   “semis”; they were “half” this or that, although they followed the course of
   life which Jesus had himself observed. Crushed by the letter of Jesus, they
   died a lingering death.

   There is hardly any fact which deserves to be turned over and thought over
   so much as this, that the religion of Jesus has never been able to root
   itself in Jewish or even Semitic soil [112] . Certainly there must have
   been, and certainly there must be still, some element in this religion which
   is allied to the greater freedom of the Greek spirit. In one sense
   Christianity has really remained Greek down to the present day. The forms it
   acquired on Greek soil have been modified, but they have never been laid
   aside within the church at large, not even within Protestantism itself. And
   what an ordeal this religion underwent in the tender days of its childhood!
   “Get thee out of thy country and from thy kindred unto a land that I will
   show thee, and I will make of thee a great nation.” Islam rose in Arabia and
   has remained upon the whole an Arabic religion; the strength of its youth
   was also the strength of its manhood. Christianity, almost immediately after
   it arose, was dislodged from the nation to which it belonged; and thus from
   the very outset it was forced to learn how to distinguish between the kernel
   and the husk. [113]

   Paul is only responsible in part for the sharp anti-Judaism which developed
   within the very earliest phases of Gentile Christianity. Though he held that
   the day of the Jews (pasin anthrōpois enantiōn, 1 Thess. ii. 15) was past
   and gone, yet he neither could nor would believe in a final repudiation of
   God's people; on that point his last word is said in Rom. xi. 25, 29:—ou
   thelō humas agnoein to mustērion touto, hoti pōrōsis apo merous tō Israēl
   gegonen achris hou to plērōma tōn ethnōn eiselthē, kai houtōs pas Israēl
   sōthēsetai . . . ametamelēta gar ta charismata kai hē klēsis tou theou. In
   this sense Paul remained a Jewish Christian to the end. The duality of
   mankind (Jews and “nations''') remained, in a way, intact, despite the one
   church of God which embraced them both. This church did not abrogate the
   special promises made to the Jews.

   But this standpoint remained a Pauline idiosyncrasy. When people had
   recourse, as the large majority of Christians had, simply to the allegorical
   method in order to emancipate themselves from the letter, and even from the
   contents, of Old Testament religion, the Pauline view had no attraction for
   them; in fact it was quite inadmissible, since the legitimacy of the
   allegorical conception, and inferentially the legitimacy of the Gentile
   church in general, was called in question, if the Pauline view held good at
   any single point. [114] If the people of Israel retained a single privilege,
   if a single special promise still had any meaning whatsoever, if even one
   letter had still to remain in force—how could the whole of the Old Testament
   be spiritualized? How could it all be transferred to another people? The
   result of this mental attitude was the conviction that the Jewish people was
   now rejected: it was Ishmael, not Isaac; Esau, not Jacob. Yet even this
   verdict did not go far enough. If the spiritual meaning of the Old Testament
   is the correct one, and the literal false, then (it was argued) the former
   was correct from the very first, since what was false yesterday cannot be
   true today. Now the Jewish people from the first persisted in adhering to
   the literal interpretation, practicing circumcision, offering bloody
   sacrifices, and observing the regulations concerning food; consequently they
   were always in error, an error which shows that they never were the chosen
   people. The chosen people throughout was the Christian people, which always
   existed in a sort of latent condition (the younger brother being really the
   elder), though it only came to light at first with Christ. From the outset
   the Jewish people had lost the promise; indeed it was a question whether it
   had ever been meant for them at all. In any case the literal interpretation
   of God's revealed will proved that the people had been forsaken by God and
   had fallen under the sway of the devil. As this was quite clear, the final
   step had now to be taken, the final sentence had now to be pronounced: the
   Old Testament, from cover to cover, has nothing whatever to do with the
   Jews. Illegally and insolently the Jews had seized upon it; they had
   confiscated it, and tried to claim it as their own property. They had
   falsified it by their expositions and even by corrections and omissions.
   Every Christian must therefore deny them the possession of the Old
   Testament. It would be a sin for Christians to say, “This book belongs to us
   and to the Jews.'' No; the book belonged from the outset, as it belongs now
   and evermore, to none but Christians, [115] whilst Jews are the worst, the
   most godless and God-forsaken, of all nations upon earth, [116] the devil's
   own people, Satan's synagogue, a fellowship of hypocrites. [117] They are
   stamped by their crucifixion of the Lord. [118] God has now brought them to
   an open ruin, before the eyes of all the world; their temple is burnt, their
   city destroyed, their commonwealth shattered, their people scattered—never
   again is Jerusalem to be frequented. [119] It may be questioned, therefore,
   whether God still desires this people to be converted at all, and whether he
   who essays to win a single Jew is not thereby interfering unlawfully with
   his punishment. But the fact is, this people will not move; so that by their
   obstinacy and hostility to Christ, they relieve Christians from having to
   answer such a question.

   This was the attitude consistently adopted by the Gentile church towards
   Judaism. Their instinct of self-preservation and their method of justifying
   their own appropriation of the Old Testament, chimed in with the ancient
   antipathy felt by the Greeks and Romans to the Jews. Still, [120] it was not
   everyone who ventured to draw the final conclusions of the epistle of
   Barnabas (iv. 6. f., xiv. 1 f.). Most people admitted vaguely that in
   earlier days a special relation existed between God and his people, though
   at the same time all the Old Testament promises were referred even by them
   to Christian people. While Barnabas held the literal observance of the law
   to prove a seduction of the devil to which the Jewish people had succumbed,
   [121] the majority regarded circumcision as a sign appointed by God; [122]
   they recognized that the literal observance of the law was designed and
   enjoined by God for the time being, although they held that no righteousness
   ever emanated from it. Still even they held that the spiritual sense was the
   one true meaning, which by a fault of their own the Jews had misunderstood;
   they considered that the burden of the ceremonial law was an educational
   necessity, to meet the stubbornness and idolatrous tendencies of the nation
   (being, in fact, a safeguard of monotheism); and, finally, they interpreted
   the sign of circumcision in such a way that it appeared no longer as a
   favour, but rather as a mark of the judgment to be executed on Israel. [123]

   Israel thus became literally a church which had been at all times the
   inferior or the Satanic church. Even in point of time the “older” people
   really did not precede the “younger,” for the latter was more ancient, and
   the “new” law was the original law. Nor had the patriarchs, prophets, and
   men of God, who had been counted worthy to receive God's word, anything in
   common inwardly with the Jewish people; they were God's elect who
   distinguished themselves by a holy conduct corresponding to their election,
   and they must be regarded as the fathers and forerunners of the latent
   Christian people. [124] No satisfactory answer is given by any of these
   early Christian writings to the question, How is it that, if these men must
   not on any account be regarded as Jews, they nevertheless appeared entirely
   or almost entirely within the Jewish nation? Possibly the idea was that God
   in his mercy meant to bring this wickedest of the nations to the knowledge
   of the truth by employing the most effective agencies at his command; but
   even this suggestion comes to nothing.

   Such an injustice as that done by the Gentile church to Judaism is almost
   unprecedented in the annals of history. The Gentile church stripped it of
   everything; she took away its sacred book; herself but a transformation of
   Judaism, she cut off all connection with the parent religion. The daughter
   first robbed her mother, and then repudiated her! But, one may ask, is this
   view really correct? Undoubtedly it is, to some extent, and it is perhaps
   impossible to force anyone to give it up. But viewed from a higher
   standpoint, the facts acquire a different complexion. By their rejection of
   Jesus, the Jewish people disowned their calling and dealt the death-blow to
   their own existence; their place was taken by Christians as the new People,
   who appropriated the whole tradition of Judaism, giving a fresh
   interpretation to any unserviceable materials in it, or else allowing them
   to drop. As a matter of fact, the settlement was not even sudden or
   unexpected; what was unexpected was simply the particular form which the
   settlement assumed. All that Gentile Christianity did was to complete a
   process which had in fact commenced long ago within Judaism itself, viz.,
   the process by which the Jewish religion was being inwardly emancipated and
   transformed into a religion for the world.

   About 140 A.D. the transition of Christianity to the “Gentiles,” with its
   emancipation from Judaism, was complete. [125] It was only learned opponents
   among the Greeks and the Jews themselves, who still reminded Christians
   that, strictly speaking, they must be Jews. After the fall of Jerusalem
   there was no longer any Jewish counter-mission, apart from a few local
   efforts; [126] on the contrary, Christians established themselves in the
   strongholds hitherto held by Jewish propaganda and Jewish proselytes. Japhet
   occupied the tents of Shem, [127] and Shem had to retire.

   One thing, however, remained an enigma. Why had Jesus appeared among the
   Jews, instead of among the “nations”? [128] This was a vexing problem. The
   Fourth Gospel (see above, p. 42), it is important to observe, describes
   certain Greeks as longing to see Jesus (xii. 20 f.), and the words put into
   the mouth of Jesus on that occasion [129] are intended to explain why the
   Saviour did not undertake the Gentile mission. The same evangelist makes
   Jesus say with the utmost explicitness (x. 16), “And other sheep I have
   which are not of this fold; them also I must bring, and they shall hear my
   voice.” He himself is to bring them. The mission which his disciples carry
   out, is thus his mission; it is just as if he drew them himself. [130]
   Indeed his own power is still to work in them, as he is to send them the
   Holy Spirit to lead them into all the truth, communicating to them a wisdom
   which had hitherto lain unrevealed.

   One consequence of this attitude of mind was that the twelve were regarded
   as a sort of personal multiplication of Christ himself, while the Kerugma
   (or outline and essence of Christian preaching) came to include the dispatch
   of the twelve into all the world—i.e., to include the Gentile mission as a
   command of Jesus himself. Compare the Apology of Aristides (ii.); Just.,
   Apol., I. xxxix.; Ascens. Isaiae, iii. 13 f. (where the coming of the twelve
   disciples belongs to the fundamental facts of the gospel); Iren., Fragm. 29;
   [131] Tertull., Apol. xxi., adv. Marc. III. xxii. (habes et apostolorum opus
   praedicatum); Hippol., de Antichr. 61; Orig., c. Cels., III. xxviii.; Acta
   Joh. (ed. Zahn, p. 246: “the God who chose us to be apostles of the heathen,
   who sent us out into the world, who showed himself by the apostles”);
   Serapion in Eus., H.E., vi. 12. [132] Details on this conception of the
   primitive apostles will be found in Book III.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [74] We may perhaps assume that they wished to be on the very spot when the
   Lord returned and the heavenly Jerusalem descended. It is remarkable how
   Galilee falls into the background: we hear nothing about it.

   [75] This early account (in the preaching of Peter, cited by Clem., Strom.,
   vi. 5. 43) is of course untrustworthy; it pretends to know a word spoken by
   the Lord to his disciples, which ran thus: “After twelve years, go out into
   the world, lest any should say, we have not heard” meta ib´ etē exelthete
   eis ton kosmon, mē tis eipē; ouk ēkousamen). But although the basis of the
   statement is apologetic and untrue, it may be right about the twelve years,
   for in the Acta Petri cum Simone, 5, and in Apollonius (in Eus., H.E., v.
   18. 14), the word (here also a word of the Lord) runs that the apostles were
   to remain for twelve years at Jerusalem, without any mention of the exodus
   eis ton kosmon. Here, too, the “word of the Lord” lacks all support, but
   surely the fact of the disciples remaining for twelve years in Jerusalem can
   hardly have been invented. Twelve (or eleven) years after the resurrection
   is a period which is also fixed by other sources (see von Dobschütz in Texte
   u. Unters., XI. i. p. 53 f.); indeed it underlies the later calculation of
   the year when Peter died (30+12+25 = 67 A.D.).The statement of the
   pseudo-Clementine Recognitions (i. 43, ix. 29), that the apostles remained
   seven years in Jerusalem, stands by itself.

   [76] Acts assumes that during the opening years the apostles superintended
   the church in Jerusalem; all of a sudden (xii. 17) James appears as the
   president.

   [77] The parallel mission of Simon Magus in Samaria maybe mentioned here in
   passing. It had important results locally, but it failed in its attempt to
   turn the Christian movement to account. The details are for the most part
   obscure; it is clear, however, that Simon held himself to be a religious
   founder (copying Jesus in this?), and that subsequently a Hellenistic
   theosophy or gnosis was associated with his religion. Christians treated the
   movement from the very outset with unabated abhorrence. There must have
   been, at some early period, a time when the movement proved a real
   temptation for the early church: to what extent, however, we cannot tell.
   Did Simon contemplate any fusion? (Acts viii. and later sources).

   [78] Cp. Joël's Blicke in die Religionsgeschichte (Part II., 1883). The
   course of events in the Palestinian mission may be made out from Matt. x. 17
   f.: paradōsousin humas eis sunedria kai en tais sunagōgais autōn
   mastigōsousin humas . . . . paradōsei de adelphos adelphon eis thanaton kai
   patēr teknon kai epanastēsontai tekna epi goneis kai thanatōsousin autous
   . . . . hotan de diōkōsin humas en tē polei tautē, pheugete eis tēn heteran.

   [79] Hegesippus (in Eus., H.E., ii. 22) relates this of James. No doubt his
   account is far from lucid, but the repute of James among the Jews may be
   safely inferred from it.

   [80] Cp. Acts xxi. 20, where the Christians of Jerusalem address Paul thus:
   theōreis, adelphe, posai muriades eisin en tois Ioudaiois tōn pepisteukotōn,
   kai pantes zēlōtai tou nomou huparchousin. This passage at once elucidates
   and confirms the main point of Hegesippus' account of James. From one very
   ancient tradition (in a prologue to Mark's gospel, c. 200 A.D.), that when
   Mark became a Christian he cut off his thumbs in order to escape serving as
   a priest, we may infer that many a Christian Jew of the priestly class in
   Jerusalem still continued to discharge priestly functions in those primitive
   days.

   [81] As Weizsäcker justly remarks (Apost. Zeitalter(2), p. 38; Eng. trans.,
   i. 46 f.): “The primitive Christians held fast to the faith and polity of
   their nation. They had no desire to be renegades, nor was it possible to
   regard them as such. Even if they did not maintain the whole cultus, this
   did not endanger their allegiance, for Judaism tolerated not merely great
   latitude in doctrinal views, but also a partial observance of the cultus—as
   is sufficiently proved by the contemporary case of the Essenes. The
   Christians did not lay themselves open to the charge of violating the law.
   They assumed no aggressive attitude. That they appeared before the local
   courts as well as before the Sanhedrim, the supreme national council,
   tallies with the fact that, on the whole, they remained Jews. It is in
   itself quite conceivable (cp. Matt. x. 17) that . . . . individual
   Christians should have been prosecuted, but discharged on the score of
   insufficient evidence, or that this discharge was accompanied by some
   punishment. . . . The whole position of Jewish Christians within the Jewish
   commonwealth precludes the idea that they made a practice of establishing a
   special synagogue for themselves on Jewish soil, or avowedly formed
   congregations beside the existing synagogues. As the synagogue was a regular
   institution of the Jewish community, such a course of action would have been
   equivalent to a complete desertion of all national associations and
   obligations whatsoever, and would therefore have resembled a revolt. The
   only question is, whether the existence of synagogues for foreigners in
   Jerusalem gave them a pretext for setting up an independent one there. It is
   our Acts that mentions this in a passage which is beyond suspicion; it
   speaks (vi. 9) about the synagogue of the Libertini, Cyrenians,
   Alexandrians, and those from Cilicia and Asia who disputed with Stephen. It
   is not quite clear whether we are to think here of a single synagogue
   embracing all these people, or of several—and if so, how many. The second
   alternative is favoured by this consideration, that the foreigners who,
   according to this account, assembled in meeting-places of their own
   throughout Jerusalem, proceeded on the basis of their nationality. In that
   case one might conjecture that the Christians, as natives of Galilee (Acts
   i. 11, ii. 7), took up a similar position. Yet it cannot be proved that the
   name was applied to them. From Acts xxiv. 5 we must assume that they were
   known rather by the name of ‘Nazarenes,’ and as this title probably
   described the origin, not of the body, but of its founder, its character was
   different. . . . . But even if the Christians had, like the Libertini,
   formed a synagogue of Galileans in Jerusalem, this would not throw much
   light upon the organization of their society, for we know nothing at all
   about the aims or regulations under which the various nationalities
   organized themselves into separate synagogues. And in regard to the question
   as a whole, we must not overlook the fact that in our sources the term
   synagogue is never applied to Christians.”

   [82] Cp. what is said of Gamaliel, Acts v. 34 f. For the lower classes, see
   John vii. 48, 49: mē tis ek tōn archontōn episteusen eis auton ē ek tōn
   Pharisaiōn; alla ho ochlos houtos ho mē ginōskōn ton nomon eparatoi eisin.
   Yet Acts vi. 7) brings out the fact that priests (a great crowd of
   them—polus ochlos—it is alleged), no less than Pharisees (xv. 5), also
   joined the movement.

   [83] Paul never claims in his letters to have been absolutely the pioneer of
   the Gentile mission. Had it been so, he certainly would not have failed to
   mention it. Gal. i. 16 merely says that the apostle understood already that
   his conversion meant a commission to the Gentiles; it does not say that this
   commission was something entirely new. Nor need it be concluded that Paul
   started on this Gentile mission immediately; the object of the revelation of
   God's Son (hina euangelizōmai auton en tois ethnesin) may have been only
   disclosed to him by degrees. All we are to understand is that after his
   conversion he needed no further conflict of the inner man in order to
   undertake the Gentile mission. Nevertheless, it is certain that Paul remains
   the Gentile missionary. It was he who really established the duty and the
   right of Gentile missions; it was he who raised the movement out of its
   tentative beginnings into a mission that embraced all the world.

   [84] To the author of Acts, the transition from the Jewish to the Gentile
   mission, with the consequent rejection of Judaism, was a fact of the utmost
   importance; indeed one may say that he made the description of this
   transition the main object of his book. This is proved by the framework of
   the first fifteen chapters, and by the conclusion of the work in xxviii.
   23-28 (verses 30-31 being a postscript). After quoting from Isa. vi. 9,
   10—a prophecy which cancels Judaism, and which the author sees to be now
   fulfilled—he proceeds to make Paul address the Jews as follows: gnōston oun
   estō humin hoti tois ethnesin apestalē touto to sōtērion tou theou; autoi
   kai akousontai. This is to affirm, as explicitly as possible, that the
   gospel has been given, not to Jews, but to the nations at large. The above
   account of the work of the Gentile mission rests upon Acts, in so far as I
   consider its statements trustworthy. The author was a Paulinist, but he
   found much simpler grounds for Christian universalism than did Paul; or
   rather, he needed no grounds for it at all—the gospel being in itself
   universal—although he does not ignore the fact that at the outset it was
   preached to none but Jews, and that the Gentile mission was long in
   developing. The internal divisions of Christianity, moreover, are scarcely
   noticed.

   [85] Acts vi. 5 (Nikolaon prosēluton) shows that there were also Christians
   in Jerusalem who had been previously proselytes. The addition of Antiochea
   betrays the author's special interest in this city.

   [86] See Weizsäcker, Apost. Zeitalter(2), pp. 51 f.; Eng. trans., i. 62 f.
   Naturally they were “good” Jews, otherwise they would never have settled at
   Jerusalem; but we may assume that these synagogues of the Libertini
   (Romans), the Cyrenians, the Alexandrians, the Ciliciana and Asiatics (Acts
   vi. 9), embraced Hellenistic Jews as well, who had mitigated the Jewish
   religion with their Hellenistic culture. Upon the other hand, they also
   included exclusive fanatics, who were responsible for the first outburst
   against Christianity. Palestinian Judaism (i.e., the Sanhedrim) sided with
   them. The earliest Christian persecution thus appears as a quarrel and
   cleavage among the Diaspora Jews at Jerusalem.

   [87] Particularly when it had been profaned over and over again by a
   secularized priesthood.

   [88] At this point it may be also recalled that Jesus himself foretold the
   overthrow of the temple. With Weizsäcker (op. cit., p. 53; Eng. trans., i.
   65) I consider that saying of our Lord is genuine. It became the
   starting-point of an inner development in his disciples which finally led up
   to the Gentile mission. Cp. Wellhausen's commentary on the synoptic gospels
   for a discussion of the saying's significance.

   [89] This seems to me an extremely important fact, which at the same time
   corroborates the historical accuracy of Acts at this point. Evidently the
   Christians at this period were persecuted with certain exceptions; none were
   disturbed whose devotion to the temple and the law was unimpeachable, and
   these still included Peter and the rest of the apostles. Acts makes it
   perfectly plain that it was only at a later, though not much later, period
   that Peter took his first step outside strict Judaism. Weizsäcker's reading
   of the incident is different (op. cit., pp. 60 f.; Eng. trans., i. 75). He
   holds that the first step was taken at this period; but otherwise he is
   right in saying that “it is obvious that nothing was so likely to create and
   strengthen this conviction (viz., that the future, the salvation to be
   obtained in the kingdom itself, could no longer rest upon the obligations of
   the law) as Pharisaic attacks prompted by the view that faith in Jesus and
   his kingdom was prejudicial to the inviolable duration of the law, and to
   belief in its power of securing salvation. The persecution, therefore,
   liberated the Christian faith; it was the means by which it came to know
   itself. And in this sense it was not without its fruits in the primitive
   church.”

   [90] At least the importance did not lie in the direction in which the
   author of Acts looked to find it. Still, the case was one of great moment in
   this sense, that it forced Peter to side at last with that theory and
   practice which had hitherto (see the note above) been followed by none save
   the friends of Stephen (excluding the primitive apostles). The conversion of
   the Cæsarean officer led Peter, and with Peter a section of the church at
   Jerusalem, considerably further. It must be admitted, however, that the
   whole passage makes one suspect its historical character. Luke has treated
   it with a circumstantial detail which we miss elsewhere in his work; he was
   persuaded that it marked the great turning-point of the mission.

   [91] No names are given in the second passage, but afterwards (xiii. l)
   Barnabas the Cypriote, Simeon Niger, Lucius of Cyrene, Manaen, and Saul are
   mentioned as prophets and teachers at Antioch. As Barnabas and Saul did not
   reach Antioch until after the founding of the church (cp. xi. 22 f.), we may
   probably recognize in the other three persons the founders of the church,
   and consequently the first missionaries to the heathen. But Barnabas must be
   mentioned first of all among the originators of the Gentile mission. He must
   have reached the broader outlook independently, as indeed is plain from
   Paul's relations with him. A Cypriote Levite, he belonged from the very
   beginning to the church of Jerusalem (perhaps he was a follower of Jesus;
   cp. Clem., Strom., II. 20; Eus., H.E., i. 12; Clem. Rom. Hom., i. 9), in
   which an act of voluntary sacrifice won for him a high position (Acts iv. 36
   f.). He certainly acted as an intermediary between Paul and the primitive
   apostles, so long as such services were necessary (Acts ix. 27), just as he
   went between Jerusalem and Antioch (Acts xi. 22 f.). On what is called the
   “first mission-tour” of Paul, he was almost the leading figure (Acts
   xiii.-xiv.). But his devotion to the Gentile mission seems to have affected
   his early prestige at Jerusalem; he was suspected, and, like Paul, he had to
   justify his conduct (Acts xv., Gal. ii.). In the trying situation which
   ensued at Antioch, he fell under Peter's influence and failed to stand the
   test (so Paul says, at least, in Gal. ii. 13, but what would have been
   “hypocrisy” to Paul need not have been so in the case of Barnabas). His
   co-operation with Paul in mission-work now ceases (Acts also makes them
   separate owing to a misunderstanding; but, on this view, xv. 36 f., they
   disagreed upon the question of Mark as a coadjutor). Barnabas goes with Mark
   to Cyprus. When Paul wrote 1 Corinthians and Galatians, Barnabas was still
   active as a missionary, and his name was familiar to the Corinthians (cp. 1
   Cor. ix. 6). That Paul narrates to the Galatians with such exact chronology
   the “hypocrisy” of Barnabas, shows how the apostle could not forget the
   crisis when the Gentile mission was at stake, but it does not imply that
   Paul still felt himself at variance with Barnabas. The narrative simply
   mentions him in order to bring out sharply the magnitude of the disaster
   occasioned by Peter's pusillanimous conduct. The carefully chosen expression
   (kai Barnabas sunapēchthē) shows that he was carried away half irresolutely.
   1 Cor. i. 9 proves that Paul still recognized him as an apostle of Christ,
   and spoke of him as such in the churches (cp. also Col. iv. 10, which
   indicates clearly that Barnabas was also known to the Asiatic Christians as
   an important figure). But a hearty relationship between the two cannot have
   been ever restored, in spite of the great experiences they had shared for so
   long. Paul's silence in his epistles and the silence of Acts (after ch. xv.)
   are eloquent on this point. In the matter of the Gentile mission, however,
   Barnabas must be ranked next to Paul; in fact we may suspect, as the very
   sources permit us to do, that the services of Barnabas as a peace-maker amid
   the troubles and suspicions of the mother-church at Jerusalem were much more
   important than even the extant narratives disclose. Perhaps we have a
   writing of Barnabas—not the so-called “Epistle of Barnabas,” but the Epistle
   to the Hebrews. The external evidence for his authorship is not weak, but it
   is not adequate, and the internal evidence tells against him. Did he go from
   Cyprus to work at Alexandria, as the pseudo-Clementine Homilies make out
   (i.-ii.)?

   [92] So Acts x. 20, reading “Hellēnes, not Hellēnistai. It is not surprising
   that the Gentile Christian mission began in Antioch. It was only in the
   international, levelling society of a great city that such a movement could
   originate, or rather propagate itself, so far as it was not hampered by any
   new restriction in the sphere of principle. Most probably those early
   missionaries were not so hampered. It is very remarkable that there is no
   word of any opposition between Jewish and Gentile Christians at Antioch. The
   local Jewish Christians, scattered and cosmopolitan as they were, must have
   joined the new community of Christians, who were free from the law, without
   more ado. It was the Jerusalem church which first introduced dissension at
   Antioch (cp. Acts xv. 1, Gal. ii. 11-13).

   [93] All allusions to Antioch, direct or indirect, in the book of Acts are
   specially noticeable, for the tradition that Luke was a physician of Antioch
   deserves credence. In ch. vi., and in what immediately follows, there is a
   distinct line of reference to Antioch.

   [94] Cp. Havet, Le Christianisme, vol. iv. p. 102: “Je ne sais s’il y est
   entré, du vivant de Paul, un seul païen, je veux dire un homme qui ne connût
   pas déjà, avant d’y entrer, le judaïsme et la Bible.” This is no doubt an
   exaggeration, but substantially it is accurate.

   [95] Details on the name of “Christian” in Book III. The theological
   vocabulary of Gentile Christianity, so far as it needed one, must also have
   arisen in Antioch.

   [96] Cp. the narrative of Acts xi. 29 f., xii. 25, regarding a collection
   which the recently founded church at Antioch sent to Jerusalem during the
   famine under Claudius. This was the famine in which Queen Helena of Adiabene
   gave much generous aid to the poor Jews of Jerusalem.

   [97] With regard to the sacrificial system, the right of abandoning the
   literal meaning had been clearly made out, as that system had already become
   antiquated and depreciated in the eyes of large sections of people. The rest
   of the law followed as a matter of course.

   [98] The post-apostolic literature shows with particular clearness that this
   was the popular view taken by the Gentile Christians; so that it must have
   maintained its vogue, despite the wide and powerful divergences of Paul's
   own teaching.

   [99] However, as Christians of Jewish birth had, in Paul's view, to live and
   eat side by side with Gentile Christians, the observance of the law was
   broken down at one very vital point. It was only Paul's belief in the
   nearness of the advent that may have prevented him from reflecting further
   on this problem.

   [100] Little wonder that Jews of a later day declared he was a pagan in
   disguise: cp. Epiph. Hær., xxx. 16: kai tou Paulou katēgorountes ouk
   aischunontai epiplastois tisi tēs tōn pseudapostolōn autōn kakourgias kai
   planēs logois pepoiēmenois. Tarsea men auton, hōs autos homologei kai ouk
   arneitai, legontes ex Hellēnōn de auton upotithentai, labontes tēn prophasin
   ek tou popou dia to philalēthes hup' autou rhēthen, hoti, Tarseus eimi, ouk
   asēmou poleōs politēs. eita phaskousin auton einai Hellēna kai Hellēnidos
   mētros kai Hellēnos patros paida, anabebēkenai de eis Hierosoluma kai
   chronon ekei memenēkenai epitethumēkenai de thugatera tou hiereōs pros gamon
   agagesthai kai toutou heneka prosēluton geuesthai kai peritmēthēnai, eita
   mē labonta tēn korēn ōrgisthai kai kata peritomēs gegraphenai kai kata
   sabbatou kai nomothesias (“Nor are they ashamed to accuse Paul with false
   charges concocted by the villainy and fraud of these false apostles. While a
   native of Tarsus (as he himself frankly admits) they avow that he was born
   of Greek parentage, taking as their pretext for this assertion the passage
   in which Paul's love of truth leads him to declare, ‘I am of Tarsus, a
   citizen of no mean city.’ Whereupon they allege that he was the son of a
   Greek father and a Greek mother; that he went up to Jerusalem, where he
   resided for some time; that he resolved to marry the daughter of the high
   priest, and consequently became a proselyte and got circumcised; and that on
   failing to win the girl, he vented his anger in writing against circumcision
   and the sabbath and the Mosaic legislation “).

   [101] No one has stated the issues of this transplanting more sublimely than
   Luke in his narrative of the birth of Jesus (Luke ii.), especially in the
   words which he puts into the mouth of the angel and the angels.

   [102] Cp. the speeches of Jesus when he sent out the disciples on their
   missions, and also the great eschatological discourse in the synoptic
   gospels.

   [103] Justin (Dial. xvii.; cp. cviii., cxvii.), after making out that the
   Jews were responsible for the calumnies against the Christians, observes
   that the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem despatched andras eklektous apo
   Ierousalēm eis pasan tēn gēn, legontas hairesin atheon Christianōn
   pephēnenai, katalegontas tauta, haper kath' hēmōn hoi agnoountes hēmas
   pantes legousin, hōste ou monon heantois adikias aitioi huparchete, alla kai
   tois allois hapasin haplōs anthrōpois (“Chosen men from Jerusalem into every
   land, declaring that a godless sect of Christians had appeared, and uttering
   everything that those who are ignorant of us say unanimously against us. So
   that you are the cause not only of your own unrighteousness, but also of
   that of all other men”). Cp. cxvii.: tou huiou tou theou onoma bebēlōthēnai
   kata pasan tēn gēn kai blasphēmeisthai hoi archiereis tou laou humōn kai
   didaskaloi eirgasanto (“The name of the Son of God have the chief priests of
   your nation and your teachers caused to be profaned throughout all the earth
   and to be blasphemed”). Also cviii.: andras cheirontonēsantes eklektous eis
   pasan tēn oikoumenēn epempsate, kērussontas hoti airesis tis atheos kai
   anomos egēgertai apo Iēsou tinos Galilaiou planou, hon staurōsantōn hēmōn
   hoi mathētai autou apo tou mnēmatos nuktos . . . . planōsi tous anthrōpous
   legontes egēgerthai auton ek nekrōn kai eis ouranon anelēluthenai,
   kateipontes dedidachenai kai tauta haper kata tōn homologountōn Christon kai
   didaskalon kai huion theou einai panti genei anthrōpōn athea kai anoma kai
   anosia legete (“You have sent chosen and appointed men into all the world to
   proclaim that ‘a godless and lawless sect has arisen from a certain Jesus, a
   Galilean impostor, whom we crucified; his disciples, however, stole him by
   night from the tomb . . . . and now deceive people by asserting that he rose
   from the dead and ascended into heaven.’ You accuse him of having taught the
   godless, lawless, and unholy doctrines which you bring forward against those
   who acknowledge him to be Christ, a teacher from God, and the Son of God”).
   For the cursing of Christians in the synagogues, cp. Dial. xvi. (also the
   words ouk exousias echete autocheires genesthai hēmōn dia tous nun
   epikratountas, hosakis de an edunēte, kai touto epraxate = You have no power
   of yourselves to lay hands on us, thanks to your overlords [i.e., the
   Romans], but you have done so whenever you could”), xlvii., xciii.,
   xcv.-xcvi., cviii., cxvii., cxxxvii., where Justin declares that the rulers
   of the synagogue arranged for the cursing of Christians meta tēn proseuchēn
   (after prayers) during the course of public worship (the pagan proselytes of
   Judaism being even more hostile to Christians than the Jews themselves,
   cxxii.); Jerome on Isa. lii. 2; Epiph., Har., xxix. 9; Apol., I. x., xxxi.
   (Jewish Christians fearfully persecuted by Jews during the Barcochba war);
   Tert., ad Nat., I. xiv.: et credidit vulgus Judaeo; quod enim aliud genus
   seminarium est infamiae nostrae? (“The crowd believed the Jew. In what other
   set of people lies the seedplot of calumny against us?”); adv. Marc., iii.
   23; adv. Jud., xiii.: ab illis enim incepit infamia (“They started the
   calumny”); Scorp. x.: synagogae Judaeorum fontes persecutionum; Iren. IV.
   xxi. 3: ecclesia insidias et persecutiones a Judaeis patitur; IV. xxviii. 3:
   Judaei interfectores domini . . . . apostolos interficientes et persequentes
   ecclesiam. Origen repeatedly testifies to the fact that the Jews were the
   originators of the calumnies against Christians; cp. passages like Hom. I.
   on Ps. xxxvi. (t. 12, p. 54, ed. Lomm.): etiam nunc Judaei non moventur
   adversus gentiles, adversus eos, qui idola colunt et deum blasphemant, et
   illos non oderunt nec indignantur adversus eos; adversus Christiano vero
   insatiabili odio feruntur (“The Jews even now are not angry at the heathen
   who worship idols and blaspheme God; they do not hate them, but they attack
   Christians with insatiable hatred”; cp. also p. 155). By far the most
   important notice is that preserved by Eusebius (on Isa. xviii. 1 f.),
   although its source is unfortunately unknown —at any rate it did not come
   from Justin. It runs as follows: heuromen en tois tōn palaiōn sungrammasin,
   hōs hoi tēn Hierousalēm oikountes tou tōn Ioudaiōn ethnous hiereis kai
   presbuteroi grammata diacharaxantes eis panta diepempsanto ta ethnē tois
   hapantachou Ioudaiois diaballontes tēn Christou didaskalian hōs hairesin
   kainēn kai allotrian tou theou, parēngellon te di' epistolōn mē
   paradexasthai autēn . . . . hoi te apostoloi autōn epistolas biblinas
   komizomenoi . . . . apantachou gēs dietrechon, ton peri tou sōtēros hēmōn
   endiaballontes logon. apostolous de eiseti kai nun ethos estin Ioudaiois
   onomazein tous enkuklia grammata para tōn archontōn autōn epikomizomenons
   (“In the writings of the ancients we find that the priests and elders of the
   Jewish people resident at Jerusalem drew up and dispatched written
   instructions for the Jews throughout every country, slandering the doctrine
   of Christ as a newfangled heresy which was alien to God, and charging them
   by means of letters not to accept it. . . . . Their apostles also, conveying
   formal letters . . . . swarmed everywhere on earth, calumniating the gospel
   of our Savior. And even at the present day it is still the custom of the
   Jews to give the name of ‘apostle’ to those who convey encyclical epistles
   from their rulers”). According to this passage Paul would be an “apostle”
   before he became an apostle, and the question might be raised whether the
   former capacity did not contribute in some way to the feeling he had, on
   becoming a Christian, that he was thereby called immediately to be an
   apostle of Christ.

   [104] In this connection one must also note the Christian use of ethnē
   (“gentes,” “Gentiles”). In the Old Testament the ethnē are opposed to the
   people of Israel (which was also reckoned, as was natural under the
   circumstances, among the “peoples”), so that it was quite easy for a Jew to
   describe other religions by simply saying that they were religions of the
   ethnē. Consequently ethnē had acquired among the Jews, long before the
   Christian era, a sense which roughly coincided with that of our word
   “pagans” or “heathen.” Paul was therefore unable to allow any Christian of
   non-Jewish extraction to be still ranked among the ethnē, nor would it seem
   that Paul was alone in this contention. Such a convert once belonged to the
   ethnē, but not now (cp., e.g., 1 Cor. xii. 2: oidate hoti hote ethnē ēte
   pros ta eidōla . . . . ēgesthe, “ye know that when ye were Gentiles, ye were
   led away to idols”); now he belongs to the true Israel, or to the new
   People. It is plain that while this did not originally imply an actual
   change of nationality, it must have stimulated the cosmopolitan feeling
   among Christians, as well as the consciousness that even politically they
   occupied a distinctive position, when they were thus contrasted with all the
   ethnē on the one hand, and on the other were thought of as the new People of
   the world, who repudiated all connection with the Jews. We need hardly add
   that Christians were still described as members of the ethnē, in cases where
   the relationship caused no misunderstanding, and where it was purely a
   question of non-Jewish descent.

   [105] We may conjecture that originally there were also Jewish Christian
   communities in the Diaspora (not simply a Jewish Christian set inside
   Gentile Christian communities), and that they were not confined even to the
   provinces bordering on Palestine. But in Asia Minor, or wherever else such
   Jewish Christian communities existed, they must have been absorbed at a
   relatively early period by the Gentile Christian or Pauline communities. The
   communities of Smyrna and Philadelphia about 93 A.D. (cp. Rev. ii.-iii.)
   seem to have been composed mainly of converted Jews, but they are leagued
   with an association of the other communities, just as if they were Gentile
   Christians.

   [106] Cp. Pseudo-Clem., Hom., XI. xvi.: ean ho allophulos ton nomos praxē,
   Ioudaios estin, mē praxas de Ioudaios Hellēn (“If one of other nation
   observe the law, he is a Jew; the Jew who does not observe it is a Greek”).
   His labours in the mission-field must have brought him to the side of Paul
   (cp. Clem. Rom., v.), else his repute in the Gentile Christian church would
   be inexplicable; but we have no detailed information on this point.
   Incidentally we hear of him being at Antioch (Gal. ii.). It is also likely,
   to judge from First Corinthians, that on his travels he reached Corinth
   shortly after the local church had been founded, but it is by a mere chance
   that we learn this. After Acts xii. Luke loses all interest in Peter's
   missionary efforts; why, we cannot quite make out. But if he laboured among
   Jewish Christians in a broad spirit, and yet did not emancipate them
   outright from the customs of Judaism, we can understand how the Gentile
   Christian tradition took no particular interest in his movements. Still,
   there must have been one epoch in his life when he consented heart and soul
   to the principles of Gentile Christianity; and it may be conjectured that
   this took place as early as the time of his residence at Corinth, not at the
   subsequent period of his sojourn in Rome. (He stayed for some months at
   Rome, before he was crucified. This we learn from an ancient piece of
   evidence which has been strangely overlooked. Porphyry, in Macarius Magnes
   (iii. 22), writes: “Peter is narrated to have been crucified, after
   pasturing the lambs for several months” (historeitai mēd' oligous mēnas
   boskēsas ta probatia ho Petros estaurōsthai). This passage must refer to his
   residence at Rome, and its testimony is all the more weighty, as Porphyry
   himself lived for a long while in Rome and had close dealings with the local
   Christianity. If the pagan cited in Macarius was not Porphyry himself, then
   he has reproduced him.) At the same time it must be understood that we are
   not in a position to explain how Peter came to be ranked first of all
   alongside of Paul (as in Clement and Ignatius) and then above him. The fact
   that our First Peter in the New Testament was attributed to him involves
   difficulties which are scarcely fewer than those occasioned by the
   hypothesis that he actually wrote the epistle.

   [107] Individual efforts of propaganda were not, however, awanting. Such
   include the origins of the pseudo-Clementine literature, Symmachus and his
   literary efforts towards the close of the second century, and also that
   Elkesaite Alcibiades of Apamea in Syria, who went to Rome and is mentioned
   by Hippolytus in the Philosophumena. The syncretism of gnostic Jewish
   Christianity, to which all these phenomena belong, entitled it to expect a
   better hearing in the pagan world than the stricter form of the Christian
   faith. But it would lead us too far afield from our present purpose to go
   into details.

   [108] The turn of affairs is seen in Justin's Dial. xlvii. Gentile
   Christians for a long while ceased to lay down any fresh conditions, but
   they deliberated whether they could recognize Jewish Christians as Christian
   brethren, and if so, to what extent. They acted in this matter with
   considerable rigour.

   [109] We do not know when Jewish Christians broke off, or were forced to
   break off, from all connection with the synagogues; we can only conjecture
   that if such connections lasted till about 70 A.D., they ceased then.

   [110] Epiphanius (xxix. 9): ou monon hoi tōn Ioudaiōn paides pros toutous
   kektēntai misos, alla anistamenoi heōthen kai mesēs hēmeras kai peri tēn
   hesperan, tris tēs hēmeras, hote euchas epitelousin en tais autōn sunagōgais
   eparōntai autois kai anathematizousi phaskontes hoti; Epikatarasai ho theos
   tous Nazōraious. kai gar toutois perissoteron enechousi, dia to apo Ioudaiōn
   autous ontas Iēsoun kērussein einai Christon, hoper estin enantion pros pous
   eti Ioudaious tous Christon mē dexamenous (“Not merely are they visited with
   hatred at the hands of Jewish children, but rising at dawn, at noon, and
   eventide, when they perform their orisons in their synagogues, the Jews
   curse them and anathematize them, crying ‘God curse the Nazarenes!’ For,
   indeed, they are assailed all the more bitterly because, being themselves of
   Jewish origin, they proclaim Jesus to be the Messiah—in opposition to the
   other Jews who reject Christ”).

   [111] Epiphanius (loc. cit.) says of them: Ioudaioi mallon kai ouden
   heteron; panu de houtoi echthroi tois Ioudaiois huparchousin (“They are Jews
   more than anything else, and yet they are detested by the Jews”).

   [112] The Syrians are a certain exception to this rule; yet how markedly was
   the Syrian church Grecized, even although it retained its native language!

   [113] The gospel allied itself, in a specially intimate way, to Hellenism,
   but not exclusively, during the period of which we are speaking; on the
   contrary, the greatest stress was laid still, as by Paul of old, upon the
   fact that all peoples were called, and the gospel accepted by members of all
   nations. Certainly the Greeks ranked as primi inter pares, and the esteem in
   which they were held was bound to increase just as tradition came to be
   emphasized, since it was neither possible nor permissible as yet to trace
   back the latter to the Jews (from the middle of the second century onwards,
   the appeal of tradition to the church of Jerusalem was not to a Jewish, but
   to a Greek church). In this sense, even the Latins felt themselves secondary
   as compared with the Greeks, but it was not long before the Roman church
   understood how to make up for this disadvantage. In the Easter controversy,
   about the year 190 A.D., certain rivalries between the Greeks and Latins
   emerged for the first time; but such differences were provincial, not
   national, for the Roman church at that period was still predominantly Greek.

   [114] As the post-apostolic literature shows, there were wide circles in
   which Paul's doctrine of the law and the old covenant was never understood,
   and consequently was never accepted.

   [115] It was an inconvenient fact that the book had not been taken from the
   Jews, who still kept and used it; but pseudo-Justin (Cohort. xiii.) gets
   over this by explaining that the Jews' retention of the Old Testament was
   providential. They preserved the Old Testament, so that it might afford a
   refutation of the pagan opponents who objected to Christianity on account of
   its forgeries {i.e., the prophecies). In his Dialogue, Justin, however,
   charges the Jews with falsifying the Old Testament in an anti-Christian
   sense. His proofs are quite flimsy.

   [116] Justin, for example, looks on the Jews not more but less favourably
   than on the heathen (cp. Apol., I. xxxvii., xxxix., xliii.-xliv., xlvii.,
   liii., lx.). The more friendly attitude of Aristides (Apol. xiv.) is
   exceptional.

   [117] Cp. Rev. ii. 9, iii. 9, Did. viii., and the treatment of the Jews in
   the Fourth Gospel and the Gospel of Peter. Barnabas (ix. 4) declares that a
   wicked angel had seduced them from the very first. In 2 Clem. ii. 3, the
   Jews are called hoi dokountes echein theon (“they that seem to have God”);
   similarly in the Preaching of Peter (Clem., Strom., vi. 5. 41): ekeinoi
   monoi oiomenoi ton theon gignōskein ouk epistantai (“They suppose they alone
   know God, but they do not understand him”).

   [118] Pilate was more and more exonerated.

   [119] Cp. Tertull., Apol. xxi.: dispersi, palabundi et soli et caeli sui
   extorres vagantur per orbem sine homine, sine deo rege, quibus nec advenarum
   iure terram patriam saltim vestigio salutare conceditur (“Scattered,
   wanderers, exiles from their own land and clime, they roam through the world
   without a human or a divine king, without so much as a stranger's right to
   set foot even in their native land”).

   [120] For what follows see my Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte, I.(3), pp. 168
   f. [Eng. trans., i. 291 f.].

   [121] Cp. Barn. ix. f. The attitude of Barnabas to the Old Testament is
   radically misunderstood if one imagines that his expositions in vi.-x. can
   be passed over as the result of oddity and caprice, or set aside as
   destitute of any moment or method. Not a sentence in this section lacks
   method, and consequently there is no caprice at all. The strictly spiritual
   conception of God in Barnabas, and the conviction that all (Jewish)
   ceremonies are of the devil, made his expositions of Scripture a matter of
   course; so far from being mere ingenious fancies to this author's mind, they
   were essential to him, unless the Old Testament was to be utterly abandoned.
   For example, the whole authority of the Old Testament would have collapsed
   for Barnabas, unless he had succeeded in finding some fresh interpretation
   of the statement that Abraham circumcised his servants. This he manages to
   do by combining it with another passage from Genesis; he then discovers in
   the narrative, not circumcision at all, but a prophecy of the crucified
   Christ (ix.).

   [122] Barn. ix. 6: all' ereis; kai mēn peritetmētai ho laos eis sphragida.
   (“But thou wilt say, this people hath been certainly circumcised for a
   seal”). This remark is put into the mouth of an ordinary Gentile Christian;
   the author himself does not agree with it.

   [123] Cp. Justin's Dial. xvi., xviii., xx., xxx., xl.-xlvi. He lays down
   these three findings side by side: (l) that the ceremonial laws were an
   educational measure on the part of God to counteract the stubbornness of the
   people, who were prone to apostatize; (2) that, as in the case of
   circumcision, they were meant to differentiate the people in view of the
   future judgment which was to be executed according to divine appointment;
   and (3) finally, that the Jewish worship enacted by the ceremonial law
   exhibited the peculiar depravity and iniquity of the people. Justin,
   however, viewed the decalogue as the natural law of reason, and therefore as
   definitely distinct from the ceremonial law.

   [124] This is the prevailing view of all the sub-apostolic writers.
   Christians are the true Israel; hence theirs are all the honourable titles
   of the people of Israel. They are the twelve tribes (cp. Jas. i. l), and
   thus Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are the fathers of Christians (a conception
   on which no doubt whatever existed in the Gentile church, and which is not
   to be traced back simply to Paul); the men of God in the Old Testament were
   Christians (cp. Ignat., ad Magn., viii. 2, hoi prophētai kata Christon
   Iēsoun ezēsan, “the prophets lived according to Christ Jesus”). But it is to
   be noted that a considerable section of Christians, viz., them majority of
   the so-called gnostics and the Marcionites, repudiated the Old Testament
   along with Judaism (a repudiation to which the epistle of Barnabas
   approximates very closely, but which it avoids by means of its resolute
   re-interpretation of the literal sense). These people appear to be the
   consistent party, yet they were really nothing of the kind; to cut off the
   Old Testament meant that another historical basis must be sought afresh for
   Christianity, and such a basis could not be found except in some other
   religion or in another system of worship. Marcion made the significant
   attempt to abandon the Old Testament and work exclusively with the doctrine
   and mythology of Paulinism; but the attempt was isolated, and it proved a
   failure.

   [125] Forty years later Irenæus was therefore in a position to treat the Old
   Testament and its real religion with much greater freedom, for by that time
   Christians had almost ceased to feel that their possession of the Old
   Testament was seriously disturbed by Judaism. Thus Irenæus was able even to
   repeat the admission that the literal observance of the Old Testament in
   earlier days was right and holy. The Fathers of the ancient Catholic church,
   who followed him, went still further: on one side they approximated again to
   Paulinism; but at the same time, on every possible point, they moved still
   further away from the apostle than the earlier generations had done, since
   they understood his anti-legalism even less, and had also to defend the Old
   Testament against the gnostics. Their candid recognition of a literal sense
   in the Old Testament was due to the secure consciousness of their own
   position over against Judaism, but it was the result even more of their
   growing passion for the laws and institutions of the Old Testament cultus.

   [126] Attempts of the Jews to seduce Christians into apostasy are mentioned
   in literature, but not very often; cp. Serapion's account quoted by Eusebius
   (H.E. vi. 12), and Acta Pionii (xiii., with a Jewish criticism of Christ as
   a suicide and a sorcerer).

   [127] The half-finished, hybrid products of Jewish propaganda throughout the
   empire were transmuted into independent and attractive forms of religion,
   far surpassing the synagogues. It was only natural that the former had at
   once to enter into the keenest conflict with the latter.

   [128] That Jesus himself converted many people en tou Ellēnikou is asserted
   only by a comparatively late and unauthentic remark in Josephus.

   [129] “The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified. Verily, verily,
   I say to you, unless the grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it
   abides by itself alone; but if it die it bears much fruit. . . . . A voice
   then came from heaven, ‘I have glorified, and I will glorify it again.’
   . . . . Jesus said, ‘This voice has come, not for my sake but for yours; now
   is the judgment of this world, now shall the prince of this world be cast
   out. Yet when 1 am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all men to
   myself.’”

   [130] Naturally, there was not entire and universal satisfaction with this
   explanation. Even legend did not venture in those early days to change the
   locale of Jesus to the midst of paganism, but already Magi from the East
   were made to come to the child Jesus and worship him, after a star had
   announced his birth to all the world (Matt. ii.); angels at the birth of
   Jesus announced tidings of great joy to “all peoples” (Luke ii.); and when
   that star appeared, says Ignatius (ad Eph., xix.), its appearance certified
   that ''All sorcery was dissolved and every wicked spell vanished, ignorance
   was overthrown and the old kingdom was destroyed, when God appeared in human
   guise unto newness of eternal life. Then that which had been prepared within
   God's counsels began to take effect. Thence were all things perturbed,
   because the abolition of death was being undertaken” (elueto pasa mageia,
   kai pas desmos hēphanizeto kakias, agnoia kathēreito, palaia basileia
   diephtheireto, theou anthrōpinōs phaneroumenou eis kainotēta aidiou zōēs;
   archēn de elambanen to para theō apērtismenon. enthen ta panta sunekineito
   dia to meletasthai thanatou katalusin). The Christians of Edessa were still
   more venturesome. They declared in the third century that Jesus had
   corresponded with their king Abgar, and cured him. Eusebius (H.E., i. ad
   fin.) thought this tale of great importance; it seemed to him a sort of
   substitute for any direct work of Jesus among pagans.

   [131] Harvey II. p. 494: houtos [ho christos] en tē kardia tēs gēs, en
   chōmati krubeis kai triēmerō megiston dendron gennētheis exeteine tous
   heautou kladous eis ta perata tēs gēs. ek toutou prokupsantes hoi ib'
   apostoloi, kladoi hōraioi, kai euthaleis genēthentes skepē engenēthēsan tois
   ethnesin, hōs peteinois ouranou, huph' hōn kladōn skepasthentes hoi pantes,
   hōs ornea hupo kalian sunelthonta metelabon tēs ex autōn proerchomenēs
   edōdimou kai epouranion trophēs = “Within the heart of the earth, hidden in
   the tomb, he became in three days the greatest of all trees [Iren. had
   previously compared Christ to the seed of corn in Luke xiii. 19], and
   stretched out his branches to the ends of the earth. His outstretched
   branches, waxing ripe and fresh, even the twelve apostles, became a shelter
   for the birds of heaven, even for the nations. By these branches all were
   shadowed, like birds gathered in a nest, and partook of the food and
   heavenly nourishment which came forth from them.”

   [132] This idea suggests one of the motives which prompted people to devise
   tales of apostolic missions.
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER VI.

  RESULTS OF THE MISSION OF PAUL AND OF THE FIRST MISSIONARIES

   1. Before his last journey to Jerusalem Paul wrote from Corinth to Rome
   (Rom. xv. 19 f.): “From Jerusalem and round about even unto Illyricum, I
   have fully preached the gospel of Christ; yea, making it my aim so to preach
   the gospel not where Christ was already named, that I might not build upon
   another man's foundation. Wherefore also I was hindered these many times
   from coming to you; but now, having no more any place in these regions, and
   having these many years a longing to come unto you, I will come whenever I
   go to Spain. For I hope to see you on my journey and to be brought on my way
   thitherward by you, if first in some measure I shall have been satisfied
   with your company.”

   The preaching of the gospel within the Greek world is now complete (for this
   is what the words “even unto Illyria” imply); the Latin world now begins.
   [133] Paul thus identifies his own missionary preaching along a narrow line
   from Jerusalem to Illyria with the preaching of the gospel to the entire
   Eastern hemisphere—a conception which is only intelligible upon the
   supposition that the certainty of the world's near end made no other kind of
   mission possible than one which thus hastily covered the world's area. The
   fundamental idea is that the gospel has to be preached everywhere during the
   short remaining space of the present world-age, [134] while at the same time
   this is only feasible by means of mission-tours across the world. The fire
   it is assumed, will spread right and left spontaneously from the line of
   flame. [135]

   This idea, that the world must be traversed, was apparently conceived by the
   apostle on his so-called “second'” missionary tour. [136] Naturally he
   viewed it as a divine injunction, for it is in this sense that we must
   interpret the difficult passage in Acts xvi. 6-8. If Paul had undertaken
   this second tour with the aim of reaching the Hellenistic districts on the
   coast of Asia Minor, and if he had become conscious in the course of his
   work that he was also called to be an apostle to the Greeks, then on the
   western border of Phrygia this consciousness passed into the sense of a
   still higher duty. He is not merely the apostle of the barbarians (Syrians,
   Cilicians, Lycaonians), not merely the apostle even of barbarians and
   Greeks, but the apostle of the world. He is commissioned to bear the gospel
   right to the western limits of the Roman empire; that is, he must fill up
   the gaps left by the missionaries in their efforts to cover the whole
   ground. Hence he turns aside on the frontier of Phrygia, neither westwards
   (to Asia) nor northward (to Bithynia), as one might expect and as he
   originally planned to do, but northwest. Even Mysia he only hurries through.
   The decision to pass by Asia and Bithynia meant that he was undertaking a
   mission to Macedonia, Achaia, and beyond that to the West.

   Philippi, Thessalonica, Berœa, Athens, Corinth—or, to put it more
   accurately, from Paul's standpoint, Macedonia and Achaia—heard the gospel.
   But why did he remain for eighteen months in Corinth? Why did he not travel
   on at once to Rome, and thence to the far West? Why did he interpolate a
   fresh tour, at this point, to Asia Minor, residing no less than three years
   at Ephesus? The answer is obvious. While he had Rome and the West in his
   mind, the first time he reached Corinth (Rom. i. 13), circumstances
   fortunately proved too strong for any attempt to realize this ambitious
   scheme. If I understand the situation aright, there were three
   considerations which had to be borne in mind. First of all, Paul neither
   would nor could lose touch with the two mother-churches in Jerusalem and
   Antioch. This made him return upon his tracks on two occasions. In the
   second place, he felt irresistibly bound to build up the churches which he
   had founded, instead of leaving them in the lurch after a few weeks. The
   duty of organizing and of working on a small scale prevailed over the
   visionary and alleged duty of hurrying over the world with the gospel; the
   latter duty might well have lurking in it a grain of personal ambition.
   Finally, it was plain that no one had raised the standard of the gospel in
   the great province which he had been obliged to pass by, i.e., in Western
   Asia Minor, the kernel of the Hellenic world. Paul had certainly assumed
   that other agents would preach the word of God here. But his hope was
   disappointed. On his first return journey (from Corinth to Jerusalem) he was
   content to leave behind him at Ephesus the distinguished missionary Prisca
   with her husband Aquila; but when he came back on his so-called “third'”
   journey, he found not only the small beginnings of a Christian community,
   but disciples of John, whose mission he could not afford to ignore. The
   local sphere proved so rich and fertile that he felt obliged to take up
   residence at Ephesus. Here it was that he pursued the task of that spiritual
   settlement between Hellenism and Christianity which he had begun at Corinth.
   The first epistle to the Corinthians is evidence of this relationship. At
   Antioch no such adjustment was possible, for Antioch was simply a large
   Greek colony; it was Greek only in the sense in which Calcutta is English.

   Paul, however, had not abandoned his scheme for covering the world with the
   gospel. The realization of it was only deferred in the sense in which the
   return of Christ was deferred. Probably he would have remained still longer
   at Ephesus (in the neighborhood of which, as well as throughout the
   district, new churches had sprung up) and come into closer touch with
   Hellenism, had he not been disturbed by news from Corinth and finally driven
   out of the city by a small riot.

   Paul's labours made Ephesus the third capital of Christianity, its
   distinctively Greek capital. For a while it looked as if Ephesus was
   actually destined to be the final headquarters of the faith. But already a
   rival was emerging in the far West, which was to eclipse the Asiatic
   metropolis. This was Rome, the fourth city of Christianity, destined ere
   long to be the first.

   When he left Ephesus to journey through Macedonia and Achaia, he again
   became the itinerant apostle, and once more the unforgotten idea of
   traversing the wide world got possession of his mind. From Corinth he wrote
   to Rome the words with which this chapter opened—words which lose something
   of their hyperbolic air when we think of the extraordinary success already
   won by the apostle in Macedonia and Achaia, in Asia and Phrygia. He had the
   feeling that, despite the poor results in Athens, he had conquered the
   Hellenic world. Conscious of this religious and intellectual triumph, he
   deemed his task within that sphere already done.

   Nor did God need him now in Rome or throughout Italy. There the gospel had
   been already preached, and a great church had been organized by unknown
   missionaries. The faith of this church was “heard of through the whole
   world.” Spain alone remained, for the adjacent Gaul and Africa could be
   reached along this line of work. Spain is selected, instead of Gaul or
   Africa, because the apostle's idea was to run a transversal line right
   across the empire. So Clement of Rome rightly understood him (i. 5), in
   words which almost sound like those of the apostle himself: “Seven times
   imprisoned, exiled, stoned, having preached in the east and in the west, a
   teacher of righteousness to the whole world even to the furthest limit of
   the west.”

   Did he manage this? Not in the first instance, at any rate. He had again to
   return to the far East, and the gloomy forebodings with which he travelled
   to Jerusalem were realized. When he did reach Rome, a year or two later, it
   was as a prisoner. But if he could no longer work as he desired to do, his
   activities were undiminished, in the shape of preaching at Rome, writing
   letters to churches far away, and holding intercourse with friends from the
   East.

   When he was beheaded in the summer of 64 A.D., he had fully discharged his
   obligations to the peoples of the world. He was the apostle kat' exochēn. To
   barbarians, Greeks, and Latins he had brought the gospel. But his greatness
   does not lie in the mere fact that he penetrated as a missionary to Illyria,
   Rome, and probably Spain as well; it “lies in the manner in which he trained
   his fellow-workers and organized, as well as created, his churches. Though
   all that was profoundly Hellenic remained obscure to him, yet he rooted
   Christianity permanently in Hellenic soil. He was not the only one to do so,
   but it was his ideas alone which proved anew ferment within Hellenism, as
   the gnostics, Irenæus, Origen, and Augustine especially show. So far as
   there ever was an original Christian Hellenism, it was under Pauline
   influences. Paul lived on in his epistles. They are not merely records of
   his personality and work—though even in this light few writings in the world
   are to be compared to them—but, as the profound outcome of a vital personal
   religion and an unheard-of inner conflict, they are also perennial springs
   of religious power. Every age has understood them in its own way. None has
   yet exhausted them. Even in their periods of depreciation they have been
   singularly influential.

   Of the four centres of Christianity during the first century—Jerusalem,
   Antioch, Ephesus, and Rome—one alone was the work of Paul, and even Ephesus
   did not remain as loyal to its founder as might have been expected. As the
   “father'” of his churches he fell into the background everywhere; in fact he
   was displaced, and displaced by the development of mediocrity, of that
   “natural” piety which gets on quite well by itself. Neither his strength nor
   his weakness was transmitted to his churches. In this sense Paul remained an
   isolated personality, but he always was the teacher of Christendom, and this
   he became more than ever as the years went by.

   2. His legacy, apart from his epistles, was his churches. He designated them
   indeed as his “epistles.” Neither his vocation (as a restless, pioneering
   missionary), nor his temperament, nor his religious genius (as an ecstatic
   enthusiast and a somewhat exclusive theologian) seemed to fit him for the
   work of organization; nevertheless he knew better than anyone else how to
   found and build up churches (cp. Weinel, Paulus als kirchlicher Organisator,
   1899). Recognizing the supreme fruits of the Spirit in faith, love, hope,
   and all the allied virtues, bringing the outbursts of enthusiasm into the
   service of edification, subordinating the individual to the larger organism,
   claiming the natural conditions of social life, for all their defects and
   worldliness, as divine arrangements, he overcame the dangers of fanaticism
   and created churches which could live in the world without being of the
   world. But organization never became for Paul an end in itself or a means to
   worldly aggrandizement. Such was by no means his intention. “The aims of his
   ecclesiastical labours were unity in brotherly love and the reign of God in
   the heart of man, not the rule of savants or priests over the laity.” In his
   theology and in his controversy with the Judaists he seems often to be like
   an inquisitor or a fanatical scribe, and he has been accused of inoculating
   the church with the virus of theological narrowness and heresy-mongering.
   But in reality the only confession he recognised, besides that of the living
   God, was the confession of “Christ the Lord,” and towards the close of his
   life he testified that he would tolerate any doctrine which occupied that
   ground. The spirit of Christ, liberty, love—to these supreme levels, in
   spite of his temperament and education, he won his own way, and it was on
   these high levels that he sought to place his churches.

   3. There was a great disparity between him and his coadjutors. Among the
   more independent, Barnabas, Silas (Silvanus), Prisca and Aquila, and Apollos
   deserve mention. Of Barnabas we have already spoken (pp. 52 f.). Silas, the
   prophet of the Jerusalemite church, took his place beside Paul, and held a
   position during the so-called “second” missionary tour like that of Barnabas
   during the “first.” Perhaps the fact that Paul took him as a companion was a
   fresh assurance for the church of Jerusalem. But, so far as we can see (cp.
   2 Cor. i. 19), no discord marred their intercourse. Silas shared with him
   the work of founding the churches in Macedonia and Achaia. There after he
   disappears entirely from the life of Paul and the Acts of the Apostles, to
   reappear, we are surprised to find, as an author at the conclusion of the
   epistle to Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, which was
   inspired by Peter (for such is in all probability the meaning of v. 12: dia
   Silouanou umin tou pistou adelphou, hōs logizomai, di' oligōn egrapsa. This
   abrupt reference to him, which stands quite by itself, must remain an
   enigma. Prisca and Aquila, the wife and husband (or rather, Prisca the
   missionary, with her husband Aquila), who were exiled from Rome to Corinth
   during the reign of Claudius, had the closest relation to Paul of all the
   independent workers in the mission. They co-operated with him at Corinth;
   they prepared the way for him at Ephesus, where Prisca showed her Christian
   intelligence by winning over Apollos, the Alexandrian disciple of John, to
   Christ; they once saved the apostle's life; and, on returning to Rome, they
   carried on the work upon Paul's lines (cp. my study in the Sitzungsberichte
   der Berliner Akademie, Jan. 11, 1900). There is much to be said for the
   hypothesis that Hebrews was their composition, whether from the pen of
   Prisca or of Aquila (cp. my essay in the Zeitschrift für die neutest.
   Wissenschaft, vol. i. pp. 1 f., 1900). Apollos, the Alexandrian, worked
   independently in the field which Paul had planted at Corinth. Paul only
   refers to him in First Corinthians, but invariably with respect and
   affection; he was well aware that the Corinthians attributed a certain
   rivalry and coolness to himself and Apollos. At the same time it may be
   questioned whether the work of this able colleague, whom he had not
   personally chosen, was thoroughly congenial to him. The abrupt reference in
   Tit. iii. 18 unfortunately does not tell us anything beyond the fact that
   their subsequent intercourse was unimpaired.

   Among the missionaries whom Paul himself secured or trained, Timothy
   occupies the foremost place. We learn a good deal about him, and his
   personality was so important even to the author of Acts that his origin and
   selection for this office are described (xvi. 1). Still, we cannot form any
   clear idea of this, the most loyal of Paul's younger coadjutors, probably
   because he leant so heavily on the apostle. After Paul's death at Rome he
   carried on his work there, having been with him in the capital, and thus
   came into touch with the local church. He was for a time in prison, and
   survived to the reign of Domitian (Heb. xiii. 23).—Mark, who belonged to the
   primitive church of Jerusalem, Titus, and Luke the physician, are to be
   singled out among the other missionaries of the second class. With regard to
   Mark, whom Paul did not take with him on his so-called “second'” tour, but
   who later on is found in his company (Philemon 24, Col. iv. 10, 2 Tim. iv.
   11), it is just possible (though, in my judgment, it is not likely) that
   tradition has made one figure out of two. He it is who, according to the
   presbyter John, made notes of the gospel story. Titus, of whom little is
   known, was a full-blooded pagan (Gal. ii. 1 f.), and laboured for some time
   in Crete. Luke, who came across Paul at Troas on the latter's second tour,
   belonged to the church of Antioch. Like Titus, he was a Gentile Christian.
   He furnished primitive Christianity with its most intelligent, though not
   its greatest, author. Paul does not appear, however, to have fully
   recognised the importance of this “beloved physician” (Col. iv. 15), his
   “fellow-worker” (Philemon 24). The last reference to his fellow-workers
   indeed is not enthusiastic. The epistle to the Philippians breathes an air
   of isolation, and in 2 Tim. iv. 9 f. we read: “Do thy diligence to come
   shortly unto me; for Demas has forsaken me, having loved this present world,
   and is gone to Thessalonica, Crescens to Galatia, Titus to Dalmatia. Luke
   alone is with me [rather a mediocre consolation, it would seem!]. Take Mark
   and bring him with thee; for he is useful to me for ministering. Tychicus I
   sent to Ephesus. Alexander the coppersmith did me much evil. At my first
   defence no one took my part, but all forsook me.” It would be unfair,
   however, to judge Paul's coadjutors by these expressions of dissatisfaction.
   Evidently they had not done as Paul wished, but we are quite in the dark
   upon the reasons for their action.

   4. The first epistle of Peter is a very dubious piece of evidence for the
   idea that Peter, either with or after Paul, took part in the mission to Asia
   Minor; but there is no doubt that some prominent Palestinian Christians came
   to Asia and Phrygia, perhaps after the destruction of Jerusalem, and that
   they displayed remarkable activity in the district. At their head was a man
   who came to Ephesus and died there, at a ripe age, during the first year of
   the reign of Trajan. This was John “the Presbyter,” as he called himself,
   and as he was called by his own circle. He worked in the Pauline churches of
   Asia, both in person and by means of letters; he added to their number,
   organized them internally, and maintained an extraordinarily sharp
   opposition to heretics. He retained the oversight of the churches, and
   exercised it by means of itinerant emissaries. His influence was apostolic
   or equivalent to that of an apostolic authority, but towards the end of his
   life several churches, conscious of their independence, endeavoured, in
   conjunction with their bishops, to throw off his supervision. When he died,
   there was an end of the mission organisation, which had latterly survived in
   his own person: the independent, local authority came to the front on all
   hands. When Ignatius reached Asia, twelve or fifteen years afterwards, the
   former had entirely disappeared, and even the memory of this John had given
   place to that of Paul. The Johannine circle must therefore have been rather
   limited during its latter phase. Even John must have been pretty isolated.
   [137] The second and third epistles of John certainly belong to him, and we
   may therefore ascribe to him, with much probability, the Fourth gospel and
   the first epistle of John also—in fact, we may go a step further and claim
   for him the Apocalypse with its seven letters and its Christian revision of
   one or more Jewish apocalypses. This hypothesis is the simplest which can be
   framed: it meets the data of tradition better than any other, and it
   encounters no fatal objections. All that can be said of the personality of
   this John within the limits of reasonable probability, is that he was not
   the son of Zebedee, but a Jerusalemite of priestly origin, otherwise unknown
   to us, and a disciple of the Lord; [138] furthermore, as the gospel
   indicates, he must at one time have been specially connected with John the
   son of Zebedee. [139] If his authority collapsed towards the end of his
   life, or was confined to a small circle, that circle (“of presbyters”)
   certainly succeeded in restoring and extending his authority by editing his
   writings and disseminating them throughout the churches. In all likelihood,
   too, they purposely identified the “apostle,'” presbyter, and disciple of
   the Lord with the son of Zebedee; or, at least, they did not oppose this
   erroneous tendency.

   Apart from this John we can name the evangelist Philip and his four
   prophetic daughters, Aristion the disciple of the Lord, and probably the
   apostle Andrew as among those who came to Asia Minor. As for Philip (already
   confused in the second century with his namesake the apostle) and his
   daughters, we have clear evidence for his activity in Phrygian Hierapolis.
   Papias mentions Aristion together with John as primitive witnesses, and an
   Armenian manuscript ascribes the unauthentic ending of Mark's gospel to
   him—an ending which is connected with Luke and the Fourth gospel, and
   perhaps originated in Asia Minor. We may conjecture, from the old legends
   preserved in the Muratorian fragment, that Andrew came to Asia Minor, and
   this is confirmed by the tradition (late, but not entirely worthless) that
   he died in Greece. [140]

   At the close of the first century Asia and Phrygia were the only two
   provinces in which Palestinian traditions survived in the person of
   individual representatives. At the same time, probably, in no other part of
   the empire were there so many closely allied churches as here and in Pontus
   and Bithynia. This must have lent them, and especially the church at
   Ephesus, a high repute. When Clement of Alexandria was in search of early
   traditions, he turned to Asia; and even in Rome people were well aware of
   the significance with which the Asiatic churches were invested owing to
   their traditions, though Rome was never willing to take the second place.
   About 50 A.D. Christianity was an ellipse whose foci were Jerusalem and
   Antioch; fifty years later these foci were Ephesus and Rome. The change
   implied in this proves the greatness of Paul's work and of the work done by
   the first Christian missionaries.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [133] Egypt could not be passed over, for the Greek world without Egypt
   would have been incomplete. But Paul never alludes to Egypt either here or
   elsewhere. He must have known that other missionaries were labouring there;
   or, did he regard Egypt, like John (Apoc. xi. 8), as a land which was so
   hateful to God that nothing could be hoped from it?

   [134] The idea recurs in the gospels (Mark xiii. 10). Was Paul the first to
   conceive it and to give it currency?

   [135] Cp. 1 Thess. i. 8; Rom. i. 8; Col. i. 6.

   [136] Not earlier. The whole of the so-called “first” mission-tour is
   inexplicable if Paul already had this idea in his mind. Wendt is quite right
   in saying (on Acts xiii. 13) that Paul at this period was merely conscious
   of being an apostle to the barbarians; not to the Greeks. Otherwise, the
   choice of a mission-field in S.W. Asia Minor is unintelligible.

   [137] The same fate apparently overtook him which he had prepared for Paul.
   Of course we are all in a mist here, but the entire silence of the seven
   letters in the Apocalypse with regard to Paul is a problem which is not to
   be waved aside as insignificant. Even the same silence in the gospel of
   John, where so many other indications of recent history are to be heard, is
   extremely surprising. Those who wanted to refer the mission of the Paraclete
   to Paul (Origen mentions them; cp. addenda) were certainly wrong, but they
   were right in looking out for some allusion to Paul in the gospel, and they
   could not find any other.

   [138] This title suggests, but does not prove, that he was a personal
   disciple of Jesus, since it occurs not in Jerusalem but in Asia.

   [139] The most likely conjecture is that the beloved disciple was the son of
   Zebedee. Everything follows naturally from this view. The Presbyter need not
   have gained his special relationship to John in Asia Minor: it may go back
   quite well to Jerusalem. The formal difficulty of the two Johns has to be
   faced, but after all “John” was a common name. If it would at all simplify
   the critical problem to assume that the son of Zebedee was also in Asia
   Minor, one might credit this tradition, which is vouched for as early as
   Justin Martyr. But this would not affect the problem of the authorship of
   the Johannine writings, though it might explain how the author of those
   writings came to be identified, at a comparatively early time, with the
   apostle John.

   [140] We may refer here to Ignat., ad Ephes., xi.: hina eni klērō Ephesiōn
   heurethō tōn Christianōn, ohi kai tois apostolois pantote sunēnesan (v. 1,
   sunēsan) en dunamei Iēsou christou (“That I may be found in the company of
   those Ephesian Christians who moreover were ever of one mind with the
   apostles in the power of Jesus Christ”). The reading sunēnesan does not
   necessarily prove the personal residence of the apostle in Ephesus, however.
     _________________________________________________________________
     _________________________________________________________________

                                    BOOK II

THE MISSION—PREACHING IN WORD AND DEED

   The unity and the variety which characterized the preaching of Christianity
   from the very first constituted the secret of its fascination and a vital
   condition of its success. On the one hand, it was so “simple that it could
   be summed up in a few brief sentences and understood in a single crisis of
   the inner life; on the other hand, it was so versatile and rich, that it
   vivified all thought and stimulated every emotion. It was capable, almost
   from the outset, of vying with every noble and worthy enterprise, with any
   speculation, or with any cult of the mysteries. It was both new and old; it
   was alike present and future. Clear and transparent, it was also profound
   and full of mystery. It had statutes, and yet rose superior to any law. It
   was a doctrine and yet no doctrine, a philosophy and yet something different
   from philosophy. Western Catholicism, when surveyed as a whole, has been
   described as a complexio oppositorum, but this was also true of the
   Christian propaganda in its earliest stages. Consequently, to exhibit the
   preaching and labors of the Christian mission with the object of explaining
   the amazing success of Christianity, we must try to get a uniform grasp of
   all its component factors.

   We shall proceed then to describe:—

   1. The religious characteristics of the mission-preaching.

   2. The gospel of salvation and of the Saviour.

   3. The gospel of love and charity.

   4. The religion of the Spirit and power, of moral earnestness and holiness.

   5. The religion of authority and of reason, of mysteries and
   transcendentalism.

   6. The message of a new People and of a Third race (or the historical and
   political consciousness of Christendom).

   7. The religion of a Book, and of a historical realization.

   8. The conflict with polytheism and idolatry.

   In the course of these chapters we hope to do justice to the wealth of the
   religion, without impairing or obscuring the power of its simplicity. [141]
   One point must be left out, of course: that is, the task of following the
   development of Christian doctrine into the dogmas of the church’s catechism,
   as well as into the Christian philosophy of religion propounded by Origen
   and his school. Doctrine, in both of these forms, was unquestionably of
   great moment to the mission of Christianity, particularly after the date of
   its earliest definition (relatively speaking) about the middle of the third
   century. But such a subject would require a book to itself. I have
   endeavored, in the first volume of my History of Dogma (third edition) to
   deal with it, and to that work I must refer any who may desire to see how
   the unavoidable gaps of the present volume are to be filled up. [142]
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 1

  RELIGIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF THE MISSION-PREACHING

   “Missionary Preaching” is a term which may be taken in a double sense. Its
   broader meaning covers all the forces of influence, attraction, and
   persuasion which the gospel had at its command, all the materials that it
   collected and endowed with life and power as it developed into a
   syncretistic religion during the first three centuries. The narrower sense
   of the term embraces simply the crucial message of faith and the ethical
   requirements of the gospel. Taking it in the latter sense, we shall devote
   the present chapter to a description of the fundamental principles of the
   missionary preaching. The broader conception has a wide range. The Old
   Testament and the new literature of Christianity, healing and redemption,
   gnosis and apologetic, myth and sacrament, the conquest of demons, forms of
   social organization and charity—all these played their part in the
   mission-preaching and helped to render it impressive and convincing. Even in
   the narrower sense of the term, our description of the mission-preaching
   must be kept within bounds, for the conception of the crucial message of
   faith and its ethical requirements is bound up naturally with the
   development of dogma, and the latter (as I have already remarked) cannot be
   exhibited without over-stepping the precincts of the present volume. At the
   same time, these limitations are not very serious, since, to the best of our
   knowledge, mission-preaching (in the narrower sense of the term) was fairly
   extinct after the close of the second century. Its place was taken by the
   instruction of catechumens, by the training of the household in and for the
   Christian faith, and by the worship of the church. Finally, we must eschew
   the error of imagining that everyone who came over to Christianity was won
   by a missionary propaganda of dogmatic completeness. So far as our sources
   throw light on this point, they reveal a very different state of things, and
   this applies even to the entire period preceding Constantine. In countless
   instances, it was but one ray of light that wrought the change. One person
   would be brought over by means of the Old Testament, another by the
   exorcising of demons, a third by the purity of Christian life; others,
   again, by the monotheism of Christianity, above all by the prospect of
   complete expiation, or by the prospect which it held out of immortality, or
   by the profundity of its speculations, or by the social standing which it
   conferred. In the great majority of cases, so long as Christianity did not
   yet propagate itself naturally, one believer may well have produced another,
   just as one prophet anointed his successor; example (not confined to the
   case of the martyrs) and the personal manifestation of the Christian life
   led to imitation. A complete knowledge of Christian doctrine, which was
   still a plant of very tender growth in the second century, was certainly the
   attainment of a small minority. “Idiotae, quorum semper maior pars est,”
   says Tertullian (“The uneducated are always in a majority with us”).
   Hippolytus bewails the ignorance even of a Roman bishop. Even the knowledge
   of the Scriptures, though they were read in private, remained of necessity
   the privilege of an individual here and there, owing to their extensiveness
   and the difficulty of understanding them. [143]

   The earliest mission-preaching to Jews ran thus: “The kingdom of God is at
   hand; repent.” [144] The Jews thought they knew what was the meaning of the
   kingdom of heaven and of its advent; but they had to be told the meaning of
   the repentance that secured the higher righteousness, so that “God’s
   kingdom” also acquired a new meaning.

   The second stage in the mission-preaching to Jews was determined by this
   tenet: “The risen [145] Jesus is the Messiah [cp. Matt. x. 32], and will
   return from heaven to establish his kingdom.”

   The third stage was marked by the interpretation of the Old Testament as a
   whole (i.e., the law and the prophets) from the standpoint of its
   fulfillment in Jesus Christ, along with the accompanying need of securing
   and formulating that inwardness of disposition and moral principle which
   members of the Messianic church, who were called and kept by the Holy
   Spirit, knew to be their duty. [146] This must have made them realize that
   the observance of the law, which had hitherto prevailed, was inadequate
   either to cancel sin or to gain righteousness; also that Jesus the Messiah
   had died that sins might be forgiven (gnōston estō humin, hoti dia toutou
   humin aphesis hamartiōn katangelletai apo pantōn hōn ouk ēdunēthēte en nomō
   Mōuseōs dikaiōthēnai). [147]

   “You know that when you were pagans you were led away to dumb idols” (1 Cor.
   xii. 2). “You turned to God from idols, to serve the living and true God,
   and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead, even
   Jesus, who delivers us from the wrath to come” (1 Thess. i. 9-10). Here we
   have the mission-preaching to pagans in a nutshell. The “living and true
   God” is the first and final thing; the second is Jesus, the Son of God, the
   judge, who secures us against the wrath to come, and who is therefore “Jesus
   the Lord.” To the living God, now preached to all men, we owe faith and
   devoted service; to God’s Son as Lord, our due is faith and hope. [148]

   The contents of this brief message—objective and subjective, positive and
   negative—are inexhaustible. Yet the message itself is thoroughly compact and
   complete. It is objective and positive as the message which tells of the
   only God, who is spiritual, omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent, the creator
   of heaven and earth, the Lord and Father of men, and the great disposer of
   human history; [149] furthermore, it is the message which tells of Jesus
   Christ, the Son of God, who came from heaven, made known the Father, died
   for sins, rose, sent the Spirit hither, and from his seat at God’s right
   hand will return for the judgment; [150] finally, it is the message of
   salvation brought by Jesus the Saviour, that is, freedom from the tyranny of
   demons, sin, and death, together with the gift of life eternal.

   Then it is objective and negative, since it announces the vanity of all
   other gods, and forms a protest against idols of gold and silver and wood,
   as well as against blind fate and atheism.

   Finally, it is subjective, as it declares the uselessness of all sacrifice,
   all temples, and all worship of man’s devising, and opposes to these the
   worship of God in spirit and in truth, assurance of faith, holiness and
   self-control, love and brotherliness, and lastly the solid certainty of the
   resurrection and of life eternal, implying the futility of the present life,
   which lies exposed to future judgment.

   This new kind of preaching excited extraordinary fears and hopes: fears of
   the imminent end of the world and of the great reckoning, at which even the
   just could hardly pass muster; hopes of a glorious reign on earth, after the
   dénouement, and of a paradise which was to be filled with precious delights
   and overflowing with comfort and bliss. Probably no religion had ever
   proclaimed openly to men such terrors and such happiness.

   To wide circles this message of the one and almighty God no longer came as a
   surprise. It was the reverse of a surprise. What they had vaguely divined,
   seemed now to be firmly and gloriously realized. At the same time, as “Jesus
   and the Resurrection” were taken for new dæmons in Athens (according to Acts
   xvii. 18), and considered to be utterly strange, this doctrine must have
   been regarded at first as paradoxical wherever it was preached. This,
   however, is not a question into which we have here to enter. What is certain
   is, that “the one living God, as creator,” “Jesus the Saviour,” [151] “the
   Resurrection” (hē anastasis), and ascetic “self-control” (hē enkrateia)
   formed the most conspicuous articles of the new propaganda. Along with this
   the story of Jesus must have been briefly communicated (in the statements of
   Christology), the resurrection was generally defined as the resurrection of
   the flesh, and self-control primarily identified with sexual purity, and
   then extended to include renunciation of the world and mortification of the
   flesh. [152]

   The most overwhelming element in the new preaching was the resurrection of
   the flesh, the complete “restitutio in integrum,” and the kingdom of glory.
   Creation and resurrection were the beginning and the end of the new
   doctrine. The hope of resurrection which it aroused gave rise to a fresh
   estimate of the individual value, and at the same time to quite inferior and
   sensuous desires. Faith in the resurrection of the body and in the
   millennium soon appeared to pagans to be the distinguishing feature of this
   silly religion. And the pagans were right. It was the distinguishing feature
   of Christianity at this period. Justin explains that all orthodox Christians
   held this doctrine and this hope. “Fiducia christianorum resurrectio
   mortuorum, illa credentes sumus,” Tertullian writes (de Resurr. i.), adding
   (in ch. xxi.) that this must not be taken allegorically, as the heretics
   allege, since “verisimile non est, ut ea species sacramenti, in quam fides
   tota committitur, in quam disciplina tota conititur, ambigue annuntiata et
   obscura proposita videatur” (the gospel is too important to be stated
   ambiguously; see further what follows). The earliest essays of a technical
   character by the teachers of the Catholic church were upon the resurrection
   of the flesh. It was a hope, too, which gave vent to the ardent desires of
   the oppressed, the poor, the slaves, and the disappointed upon earth: “We
   want to serve no longer, our wish is to reign soon” (Tert., de Orat. 5).
   “Though the times of this hope have been determined by the sacred pen, lest
   it should be fixed previous, I think, to the return of Christ, yet our
   prayers pant for the close of this age, for the passing of this world to the
   great day of the Lord, for the day of wrath and retribution” (Cum et tempora
   totius spei fida sunt sacrosancto stilo, ne liceat eam ante constitui quam
   in adventum, opinor, Christi, vota nostra suspirant in saeculi huius
   occasum, in transitum mundi quoque ad diem domini magnum, diem irae et
   retributionis.—Tert., de Resurr. xxii.). “May grace come and this world pass
   away! The Lord comes!” is the prayer of Christians at the Lord’s Supper
   (Did. x.). In many circles this mood lasted even after the beginning of the
   third century, but it reached its height during the reign of Marcus
   Aurelius. [153]

   From the outset “wisdom,” “intelligence,” “understanding,” and “intellect”
   had a very wide scope. Indeed, there was hardly mission propaganda of any
   volume which did not overflow into the “gnostic” spirit, i.e., the spirit of
   Greek philosophy. The play of imagination was at once unfettered and urged
   to its highest flights by the settled conviction (for we need not notice
   here the circles where a different view prevailed) that Jesus, the Saviour,
   had come down from heaven. It was, after all, jejune to be informed, “We are
   the offspring of God” (Acts xvii. 28); but to be told that God became man
   and was incarnate in order that men might be divine—this was the apex and
   climax of all knowledge. It was bound up with the speculative idea (i) that,
   as the incarnation was a cosmic and divine event, it must therefore involve
   a reviving and heightened significance for the whole creation; and (ii) that
   the soul of man, hitherto divided from its primal source in God by forces
   and barriers of various degrees, now found the way open for its return to
   God, while every one of those very forces which had formerly barred the path
   was also liberated and transformed into a step and intermediate stage on the
   way back. Speculations upon God, the world, and the soul were inevitable,
   and they extended to the nature of the church. Here, too, the earthly and
   historical was raised to the level of the cosmic and transcendental.

   At first the contrast between a “sound” gnosis and a heretical only emerged
   by degrees in the propaganda, although from the very outset it was felt that
   certain speculations seemed to imperil the preaching of the gospel itself.
   [154] The extravagances of the “gnosis” which penetrated all the
   syncretistic religion of the age, and issued in dualism and docetism, were
   corrected primarily by a “sound” gnosis, then by the doctrine of Christian
   freedom, by a sober, rational theology and ethics, by the realism of the
   saving facts in the history of Jesus, by the doctrine of the resurrection of
   the body, but ultimately and most effectively by the church prohibiting all
   “innovations” and fixing her tradition. From this standpoint Origen’s
   definition of gospel preaching (Hom. in Joh. xxxii. 9) is extremely
   instructive. After quoting Hermas, Mand. i. (the one God, the Creator), he
   adds: “It is also necessary to believe that Jesus Christ is Lord, and to
   believe all the truth concerning his deity and humanity, also to believe in
   the Holy Spirit, and that as free agents we are punished for our sins and
   rewarded for our good actions.”

   By the second century Christianity was being preached in very different
   ways. The evangelists of the Catholic church preached in one way throughout
   the East, and in another throughout the West, though their fundamental
   position was identical; the Gnostics and Marcionites, again, preached in yet
   another way. Still Tertullian was probably not altogether wrong in saying
   that missions to the heathen were not actively promoted by the latter; the
   Gnostics and the Marcionites, as a rule, confined their operations to those
   who were already Christians. After the gnostic controversy, the anti-gnostic
   rule of faith gradually became the one basis of the church’s preaching. The
   ethical and impetuous element retreated behind the dogmatic, although the
   emphasis upon self-control and asceticism never lost its vogue.

   At the transition from the second to the third century, theology had
   extended widely, but the mission-preaching had then as ever to remain
   comparatively limited. For the “idiotæ” it was enough, and more than enough,
   to hold the four points which we have already mentioned. Scenes like those
   described in Acts (viii. 26-38) were constantly being repeated, mutatis
   mutandis, especially during the days of persecution, when individual
   Christians suffered martyrdom joyfully; and this, although an orthodox
   doctrine of considerable range was in existence, which (in theory, at any
   rate) was essential. For many the sum of knowledge amounted to nothing more
   than the confession of the one God, who created the world, of Jesus the
   Lord, of the judgment, and of the resurrection; on the other hand, some of
   the chief arguments in the proof from prophecy, which played so prominent a
   part in all preaching to Jews and pagans (see Chapter VIII.), were
   disseminated far and wide; and as the apologists are always pointing in
   triumph to the fact that “among us,” “tradesmen, slaves, and old women know
   how to give some account of God, and do not believe without evidence,” [155]
   the principles of the Christian conception of God must have been familiar to
   a very large number of people.

   These four points, then—the one living God, Jesus our Saviour and Judge, the
   resurrection of the flesh, and self-control—combined to form the new
   religion. It stood out in bold relief from the old religions, and above all
   from the Jewish; yet in spite of its hard struggle with polytheism, it was
   organically related to the process of evolution which was at work throughout
   all religion, upon the eastern and the central coasts of the Mediterranean.
   The atmosphere from which those four principles drew their vitality was the
   conception of recompense—i.e., the absolute supremacy of the moral element
   in life on the one hand, and the redeeming cross of Christ upon the other.
   No account of the principles underlying the mission-preaching of
   Christianity is accurate, if it does not view everything from the standpoint
   of this conception: the sovereignty of morality, and the assurance of
   redemption by the forgiveness of sins, based on the cross of Christ. [156]
   “Grace,” i.e., forgiveness, did play a leading role, but grace never
   displaced recompense. From the very first, morality was inculcated within
   the Christian churches in two ways: by the Spirit of Christ and by the
   conception of judgment and of recompense. Yet both were marked by a decided
   bent to the future, for the Christ of both was “he who was to return.” To
   the mind of primitive Christianity the “present” and the “future” were
   sharply opposed to each other, [157] and it was this opposition which
   furnished the principle of self-control with its most powerful motive. It
   became, indeed, with many people a sort of glowing passion. The church which
   prayed at every service, “May grace come and this world pass away:
   maranatha,” was the church which gave directions like those which we read in
   the opening parable of Hermas. [158] “From the lips of all Christians this
   word is to be heard: The world is crucified to me, and I to the world”
   (Celsus, cited by Origen, V. lxiv.). [159]

   This resolute renunciation of the world was really the first thing which
   made the church competent and strong to tell upon the world. Then, if ever,
   was the saying true: “He who would do anything for the world must have
   nothing to do with it.” Primitive Christianity has been upbraided for being
   too un-worldly and ascetic. But revolutions are not effected with rosewater,
   and it was a veritable revolution to overthrow polytheism and establish the
   majesty of God and goodness in the world—for those who believed in them, and
   also for those who did not. This could never have happened, in the first
   instance, had not men asserted the vanity of the present world, and
   practically severed themselves from it. The rigor of this attitude, however,
   hardly checked the mission-preaching; on the contrary, it intensified it,
   since instead of being isolated it was set side by side with the message of
   the Saviour and of salvation, of love and charity. And we must add, that for
   all its trenchant forms and the strong bias it imparted to the minds of men
   towards the future, the idea of recompense was saved from harshness and
   inertia by its juxtaposition with a feeling of perfect confidence that God
   was present, and a conviction of his care and of his providence. No mode of
   thought was more alien to early Christianity than what we call deism. The
   early Christians knew the Father in heaven; they knew that God was near them
   and guiding them; the more thoughtful were conscious that he reigned in
   their life with a might of his own. This was the God they proclaimed. And
   thus, in their preaching, the future became already present; hard and fast
   recompense seemed to disappear entirely, for what further “recompense” was
   needed by people who were living in God’s presence, conscious in every
   faculty of the soul, aye, and in every sense of the wisdom, power, and
   goodness of their God? Moods of assured possession and of yearning,
   experiences of grace and phases of impassioned hope, came and went in many a
   man besides the apostle Paul. He yearned for the prospect of release from
   the body, and thus felt a touching sympathy for everything in bondage, for
   the whole creation in its groans. But it was no harassing or uncertain hope
   that engrossed all his heart and being; it was hope fixed upon a strong and
   secure basis in his filial relationship to God and his possession of God’s
   Spirit. [160]

   It is hardly necessary to point out that, by proclaiming repentance and
   strict morals on the one hand, and offering the removal of sins and
   redemption on the other hand, the Christian propaganda involved an inner
   cleavage which individual Christians must have realized in very different
   ways. If this removal of sins and redemption was bound up with the sacrament
   or specifically with the sacrament of baptism, then it came to this, that
   thousands were eager for this sacrament and nothing more, satisfied with
   belief in its immediate and magical efficacy, and devoid of any serious
   attention to the moral law. Upon the other hand, the moral demand could
   weigh so heavily on the conscience that redemption came to be no more than
   the reward and prize of a holy life. Between these two extremes a variety of
   standpoints was possible. The propaganda of the church made a sincere effort
   to assign equal weight to both elements of its message; but sacraments are
   generally more welcome than moral counsels, and that age was particularly
   afflicted with the sacramental mania. It added to the mysteries the
   requisite quality of naïvete, and at the same time the equally requisite
   note of subtlety.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [143] Bishops and theologians, in the West especially, are always bewailing
   the defective knowledge of the Bible among the laity, and even among the
   clergy. Cp. also Clement of Alexandrinus.

   [144] The earliest mission-preaching (Matt. x. 7 f.) with which the
   disciples of Jesus were charged, ran: kērussete legontes hoti ēngiken hē
   basileia tōn ouranōn. Although repentance is not actually mentioned, it is
   to be supplied from other passages. The prospect of power to do works of
   healing is also held out to them (asthenountas therapeuete, nekrous
   egeirete, leprous katharizete, daimonia ekballete).

   [145] Cp. the confession of the resurrection common to primitive
   Christianity, in 1 Cor. xv. 4 f.

   [146] To “imitate” or “be like” Christ did not occupy the place one would
   expect among the ethical counsels of the age. Jesus had spoken of imitating
   God and bidden men follow himself, whilst the relationship of pupil and
   teacher readily suggested the formula of imitation. But whenever he was
   recognized as Messiah, as the Son of God, as Saviour, and as Judge, the
   ideas of imitation and likeness had to give way, although the apostles still
   continued to urge both in their epistles, and to hold up the mind, the
   labors, and the sufferings of Jesus as an example. In the early church the
   imitation of Christ never became a formal principle of ethics (to use a
   modern phrase) except for the virtuoso in religion, the ecclesiastic, the
   teacher, the ascetic, or the martyr; it played quite a subordinate role in
   the ethical teaching of the church. Even the injunction to be like Christ,
   in the strict sense of the term, occurs comparatively seldom. Still, it is
   interesting to collect and examine the passages relative to this point; they
   show that whilst a parallel was fully drawn between the life of Christ and
   the career and conduct of distinguished Christians such as the confessors,
   the early church did not go the length of drawing up general injunctions
   with regard to the imitation of Christ. For one thing, the Christology stood
   in the way, involving not imitation but obedience; for another thing, the
   literal details of imitation seemed too severe. Those who made the attempt
   were always classed as Christians of a higher order (though even at this
   early period they were warned against presumption), so that the Catholic
   theory of “evangelic counsels” has quite a primitive root.

   [147] Acts xiii. 38; up to this point, I think, the Jewish Christian view is
   clearly stated in the address of Paul at Antioch, but the further
   development of the idea (en toutō pas ho pisteuōn dikaioutai (“by whom
   everyone who believes is justified”) is specifically Pauline. Taken as a
   whole, however, the speech affords a fine example of missionary preaching to
   the Jews. From 1 Cor. xv. 3 it follows that the tenet, “Christ died for our
   sins according to the scriptures,” was not simply Pauline, but common to
   Christianity in general. Weizsäcker (op. cit., pp. 60 f.; Eng. trans., i. 74
   f.) rightly lays great stress on the fact that previous to Paul and
   alongside of him, even within Jewish Christian circles (as in the case of
   Peter), the view must have prevailed that the law and its observance were
   not perfectly adequate to justification before God, and that a
   sotereological significance attached to Jesus the Messiah or to his death.

   [148] When questioned upon the “dogma” of Christians, Justin answered: hoper
   euseboumen eis ton tōn Christianōn theon, hon hēgoumetha hena toutōn ex
   archēs poiētēn kai dēmiourgon tēs pasēs ktiseōs, horatēs te kai aoratou, kai
   kurion Iēsoun Christon paida theou, hos kai prokekēruktai hupo tōn prophētōn
   mellōn paraginesthai tō genei tōn anthrōpōn sōtērias kērux kai didaskalos
   kalōn mathētōn (Acta Just. i.) (“It is that whereby we worship the God of
   the Christians, whom we consider to be One from the beginning, the maker and
   fashioner of the whole creation, visible and invisible, and also the Lord
   Jesus Christ the Son of God, whom the prophets foretold would come to the
   race of men, a herald of salvation and a teacher of good disciples”).

   [149] In this respect the speech put by Luke (Acts xvii. 22-30) into the
   mouth of Paul at the Areopagus is typical and particularly instructive. It
   exhibits, at the same time, an alliance with the purest conceptions of
   Hellenism. We must combine this speech with First Thessalonians, in order to
   understand how the fundamentals of mission-preaching were laid before
   pagans, and also in order to get rid of the notion that Galatians and Romans
   are a model of Paul’s preaching to pagan audiences.—The characteristic
   principles of the mission-preaching (both negative and positive) are also
   preserved, with particular lucidity, in the fragmentary Kerugma Petri, an
   early composition which, as the very title indicates, was plainly meant to
   be a compendium of doctrine for missionary purposes.

   [150] Thaddaeus announces to Abgar a missionary address for the next day,
   and gives the following preliminary outline of its contents (Eus. H.E. i.
   13): kēruxō kai sperō ton logon tēs zōēs, peri te tēs eleuseōs tou Iēsou
   kathōs egeneto, kai peri tēs apostolēs autou, kai heneka tinos apestalē hupo
   tou patros, kai peri tēs dunameōs kai tōn ergōn autou kai mustēriōn hōn
   elalēsen en kosmō, kai poia dunamei tauta epoiei, kai peri tēs kainēs autou
   kēruxeōs, kai peri tēs mikrotētos kai peri tēs tapeinōseōs, kai pōs
   etapeinōsen heauton kai apetheto kai esmikrunen autou tēn theotēta, kai
   estaurōthē, kai katebē eis ton ῎Aidēn, kai dieschise phragmon ton ex aiōnos
   mē schisthenta, kai anēgeiren nekrous kai katebē monos, anebē de meta pollou
   ochlou pros ton patera autou (“I will preach and sow the word of God,
   concerning the advent of Jesus, even the manner of his birth: concerning his
   mission, even the purpose for which the Father sent him: concerning the
   power of his works and the mysteries he uttered in the world, even the
   nature of this power: concerning his new preaching and his abasement and
   humiliation, even how he humbled himself and died and debased his divinity
   and was crucified and went down to Hades and burst asunder the bars which
   had not been severed from all eternity, and raised the dead, descending
   alone but rising with many to his Father”).

   [151] One of the distinctive ideas in Christianity was the paradox that the
   Saviour was also the Judge, an idea which gave it a special pre-eminence
   over other religions.—“Father and Son,” or “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit”:
   the dual and the triple formula interchange, but the former is rather older,
   though both can be traced as far back as Paul. Personally I should doubt if
   it was he who stamped the latter formula. Like the “Church,” “the new
   People,” “the true Israel,” “apostles, prophets, and teachers,”
   “regeneration,” etc., it was probably created by the primitive circle of
   disciples.—The preaching of Jesus was combined with the confession of the
   Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and with the church, the forgiveness of sins,
   and the resurrection of the body. The Roman symbol is our earliest witness
   to this combination, and it was probably the earliest actual witness; it
   hardly arose out of the work of missions, in the narrower sense of the term,
   but out of the earlier catechetical method.

   [152] Hermas, Mand. i: prōton pantōn pisteuson, hoti heis estin ho theos ho
   ta panta ktisas kai katartisas, k.t.l. (“First of all, believe that God is
   one, even he who created and ordered all things,” etc.), is a particularly
   decisive passage as regards the first point (viz., the one living God); see
   Praedic. Petri in Clem., Strom. v. 6. 48, vi. 5. 39, vi. 6. 48 (the twelve
   disciples dispatched by Jesus with the charge to preach to all the
   inhabitants of the world, that they may know God is one; euangelisasthai
   tous kata tēn oikoumenēn anthrōpous, ginōskein, hoti heis theos estin). In
   Chap. II. of his Apology, Aristides sets forth the preaching of Jesus
   Christ; but when he has to summarize Christianity, he is contented to say
   that “Christians are those who have found the one true God.” Cp., e.g.,
   Chap. XV.: “Christians . . . . have found the truth. . . . . They know and
   trust in God, the creator of heaven and earth, through whom and from whom
   are all things, beside whom there is none other, and from whom they have
   received commandments which are written on their hearts and kept in the
   faith and expectation of the world to come.” (Cp. also the Apology of
   pseudo-Melito.) The other three points are laid down with especial clearness
   in the Acta Theclae, where Paul is said (i. 5) to have handed down panta ta
   logia kuriou kai tēs gennēseōs kai tēs anastaseōs tou ēgapēmenou (“all the
   sayings of the Lord and of the birth and resurrection of the Beloved”), and
   where the contents of his preaching are described as logos theou peri
   enkrateias kai anastaseōs (“the word of God upon self-control and the
   resurrection”). The last-named pair of ideas are to be taken as mutually
   supplementary; the resurrection or eternal life is certain, but it is
   conditioned by enkrateia, which is therefore put first. Cp., for example,
   Vita Polycarpi 14: elegen tēn hagneian prodromon einai tēs mellousēs
   aphthartou basileias (“he said that purity was the precursor of the
   incorruptible kingdom to come”).

   [153] Origen (de Princ. II. xi. 2) has described in great detail the views
   of the chiliasts, whom he opposed as, even in his day, a retrograde party.
   His description proves that we cannot attribute too sensuous opinions to
   them. They actually reckoned upon “nuptiarum conventiones et filiorum
   procreationes.” Compare the words of Irenæus in the fifth book of his large
   work upon the millennium, where he follows “apostolic tradition” and
   attaches himself to Papias.

   [154] One of the most remarkable and suggestive phenomena of the time is the
   fact that wherever a “dangerous” speculation sprang up, it was combated in
   such a way that part of it was taken over. For example, contrast Ephesians
   and Colossians with the “heresies” which had emerged in Phrygia (at
   Colosse); think of the “heresies” opposed by the Johannine writings, and
   then consider the Gnostic contents of the latter; compare the theology of
   Ignatius with the “heresies attacked in the Ignatian epistles”; think of the
   great gnostic systems of the second century, and then read their opponent
   Irenæus. “Vincendi vincentibus legem dederunt”! Such was the power of these
   Hellenistic, syncretistic ideas! It looks almost as if there had been a sort
   of disinfectant process, the “sound” doctrine being inoculated with a strong
   dilution of heresy, and thus made proof against virulent infection.

   [155] Together with the main articles in the proof from prophecy (i.e., a
   dozen passages or so from the Old Testament), the corresponding parts of the
   history of Jesus were best known and most familiar. An inevitable result of
   being viewed in this light and along this line was that the history of Jesus
   (apart from the crucifixion) represents almost entirely legendary materials
   (or ideal history) to a severely historical judgment. Probably no passage
   made so deep an impression as the birth-narratives in Matthew and especially
   in Luke. The fact that the story of the resurrection did not in its details
   prove a similar success, was due to a diversity of the narratives in the
   authoritative scriptures, which was so serious that the very exegetes of the
   period (and they were capable of almost anything!) failed to give any
   coherent or impressive account of what transpired. Hence the separate
   narratives in the gospels relating to the resurrection did not possess the
   same importance as the birth-narratives. “Raised on the third day from the
   dead, according to the scripture”: this brief confession was all that
   rivaled the popularity of Luke i.-ii. and the story of the wise men from the
   East.—The notion that the apostles themselves compiled a quintessence of
   Christian doctrine was widely current; but the greatest difference of
   opinion prevailed as to what the quintessence consisted of. The Didachê
   marks the beginning of a series of compositions which were supposed to have
   been written by the apostles collectively, or to contain an authoritative
   summary of their regulations.

   [156] Redemption by the forgiveness of sins was, strictly speaking,
   considered to take place once and for all. The effects of Christ’s death
   were conferred on the individual at baptism, and all his previous sins were
   blotted out. Many teachers, like Paul, presented the cross of Christ as the
   content of Christianity. Thus Tertullian (de Carne v.), protesting against
   the docetism of Marcion, which impaired the death of Christ upon the cross,
   calls out, “O spare the one hope of the whole world” (parce unicæ spei
   totius orbis). The cross exerts a protective and defensive influence over
   the baptized (against demons), but it does not bestow any redeeming
   deliverance from sin. Speculations on the latter point do not arise till
   later. As a mystery, of course, it is inexhaustible, and therefore it is
   impossible to state its influence. Pseudo-Barnabas and Justin are already
   mystagogues of the cross; cp. Ep. Barn. xi.-xii., and Justin’s Apol. I. lv.,
   where he triumphantly claims that “the wicked demons never imitated the
   crucifixion, not even in the case of any of the so-called sons of Zeus”
   (oudamou oud' epi tinos tōn legomenōn huiōn tou Dios to staurōthēnai
   emimēsanto). Cp. further Minucius, Octav. xxix.; Tert., ad. Nat. I. xii.,
   etc.

   [157] Cp. 2 Clem., ad Cor. vi.: estin houtos ho aiōn kai ho mellōn duo
   echthroi. houtos legei moicheian kai phthoran kai philargurian kai apatēn,
   ekeinos de toutois apotassetai. ou dunametha oun tōn duo philoi einai. dei
   de hēmas toutō apotaxamenous ekeinō chrasthai. oiometha, hoti beltion estin
   ta enthade misēsai, hoti mikra kai oligochronia kai phtharta; ekeina de
   agapēsai, ta agatha ta aphtharta (“This age and the future age are two
   enemies. The one speaks of adultery, corruption, avarice, and deceit; the
   other bids farewell to these. We cannot, therefore, be friends of both; we
   must part with the one and embrace the other. We judge it better to hate the
   things which are here, because they are small and transient and corruptible,
   and to love the things that are yonder, for they are good and
   incorruptible”).

   [158] Here is the passage; it will serve to represent a large class. “You
   know that you servants of God dwell in a foreign land, for your city is far
   from this city. If, then, you know the city where you are to dwell, why
   provide yourselves here with fields and expensive luxuries and buildings and
   chambers to no purpose? He who makes such provision for this city has no
   mind to return to his own city. Foolish, double-minded, wretched man! Seest
   thou not that all these things are foreign to thee and controlled by
   another? For the lord of this city shall say, ‘I will not have thee in my
   city; leave this city, for thou keepest not my laws.’ Then, possessor of
   fields and dwellings and much property besides, what wilt thou do with
   field, and house, and all thine other gains, when thou art expelled by him?
   For the lord of this land has a right to tell thee, ‘Keep my laws, or leave
   my land.’ What then shalt thou do, thou who hast already a law over thee in
   thine own city? For the sake of thy fields and other possessions wilt thou
   utterly repudiate thy law and follow the law of this city? Beware! It may be
   unwise for thee to repudiate thy law. For shouldst thou wish to return once
   more to thy city, thou shalt not be allowed in: thou shalt be shut out,
   because thou didst repudiate its law. So beware. Dwelling in a foreign land,
   provide thyself with nothing more than a suitable competency; and whenever
   the master of this city expels thee for opposing his law, be ready to leave
   his city and seek thine own, keeping thine own law cheerfully and
   unmolested. So beware, you that serve God and have him in your heart;
   perform his works, mindful of his commandments and of the promises he has
   made, in the faith that he will perform the latter if the former be
   observed. Instead of fields, then, buy souls in trouble, as each of you is
   able; visit widows and orphans, and neglect them not; expend on such fields
   and houses, which God has given to you [i.e., on the poor], your wealth and
   all your pains. The Master endowed you with riches that you might perform
   such ministries for him. Far better is it to buy fields, possessions, houses
   of this kind; thou wilt find them in thine own city when thou dost visit it.
   Such expenditure is noble and cheerful; it brings joy, not fear and sorrow.
   Practise not the expenditure of pagans, then: that ill becomes you, as
   God’s servants. Practise your proper expenditure, in which you may rejoice.
   Do not stamp things falsely; never touch other people’s property, nor lust
   after it, for it is evil to lust after what belongs to other people. Do
   thine own task and thou shalt be saved.” For all the rigor of his counsel,
   however, it never occurs to Hermas that the distinction of rich and poor
   should actually cease within the church. This is plain, if further proof be
   needed, from the next parable. The progress of thought upon this question in
   the church is indicated by the tractate of Clement of Alexandria entitled
   “Quis dives salvetur?” Moreover, the saying already put into the lips of
   Jesus in John xii. 8 (“the poor ye have always with you”), a saying which
   was hardly inserted without some purpose, shows that the abolition of the
   distinction between rich and poor was never contemplated in the church.

   [159] The pessimistic attitude of the primitive Christians towards the world
   cannot be too strongly emphasised. (Marcion called his fellow-confessors
   suntalaipōroi kai summisoumenoi, “partners in the suffering of wretchedness
   and of hatred.”—Tert., adv. Marc. iv. 9). This is confirmed by the evidence
   even of Tertullian, and of Origen himself. Let one instance suffice. In Hom.
   8 ad. Levit., t. ix. pp. 316 f., Origen remarks that in the Scriptures only
   worldly men, like Pharaoh and Herod, celebrate their birthdays, whereas “the
   saints not only abstain from holding a feast on their birthdays, but, being
   filled with the Holy Spirit, curse that day” (Sancti non solum non agunt
   festivitatem in die natali suo, sed a spiritu sancto repleti exsecrantur
   hunc diem). The true birthday of Christians is the day of their death.
   Origen recalls Job, in this connection; but the form which his pessimism
   assumes is bound up, of course, with special speculative ideas of his own.

   [160] It was only in rare cases that the image of Christ’s person as a whole
   produced what may be termed a “Christ-emotion,” which moved people to give
   articulate expression to their experiences. Ignatius is really the only man
   we can name alongside of Paul and John. Yet in how many cases of which we
   know nothing, this image of Christ must have been the dominating power of
   human life! In some of the dying confessions of the martyrs, and in the
   learned homilies of Origen, it emerges in a very affecting way.
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 2

  THE GOSPEL OF THE SAVIOR AND OF SALVATION [161]

   The gospel, as preached by Jesus; is a religion of redemption, but it is a
   religion of redemption in a secret sense. Jesus proclaimed a new message
   (the near approach of God’s kingdom, God as the Father, as his Father), and
   also a new law, but he did his work as a Saviour or healer, and it was amid
   work of this kind that he was crucified. Paul, too, preached the gospel as a
   religion of redemption.

   Jesus appeared among his people as a physician. “The healthy need not a
   physician, but the sick” (Mark ii. 17, Luke v. 31). The first three gospels
   depict him as the physician of soul and body, as the Saviour or healer of
   men. Jesus says very little about sickness; he cures it. He does not explain
   that sickness is health; he calls it by its proper name, and is sorry for
   the sick person. There is nothing sentimental or subtle about Jesus; he
   draws no fine distinctions, he utters no sophistries about healthy people
   being really sick and sick people really healthy. He sees himself surrounded
   by crowds of sick folk; he attracts them, and his one impulse is to help
   them. Jesus does not distinguish rigidly between sicknesses of the body and
   of the soul; he takes them both as different expressions of the one supreme
   ailment in humanity. But he knows their sources. He knows it is easier to
   say, “Rise up and walk,” than to say, “Thy sins are forgiven thee” (Mark ii.
   9). [162] And he acts accordingly. No sickness of the soul repels him—he is
   constantly surrounded by sinful women and tax-gatherers. Nor is any bodily
   disease too loathsome for Jesus. In this world of wailing, misery, filth,
   and profligacy, which pressed upon him every day, he kept himself invariably
   vital, pure, and busy.

   In this way he won men and women to be his disciples. The circle by which he
   was surrounded was a circle of people who had been healed. [163] They were
   healed because they had believed on him, i.e., because they had gained
   health from his character and words. To know God meant a sound soul. This
   was the rock on which Jesus had rescued them from the shipwreck of their
   life. They knew they were healed, just because they had recognized God as
   the Father in his Son. Henceforth they drew health and real life as from a
   never-failing stream.

   “Ye will say unto me this parable: Physician, heal thyself” (Luke iv. 23).
   He who helped so many people, seemed himself to be always helpless.
   Harassed, calumniated, threatened with death by the authorities of his
   nation, and persecuted in the name of the very God whom he proclaimed, Jesus
   went to his cross. But even the cross only displayed for the first time the
   full depth and energy of his saving power. It put the copestone on his
   mission, by showing men that the sufferings of the just are the saving force
   in human history.

   “Surely he hath borne our sickness and carried our sorrows; by his stripes
   we are healed.” [164] This was the new truth that issued from the cross of
   Jesus. It flowed out, like a stream of fresh water, on the arid souls of men
   and on their dry morality. The morality of outward acts and regulations gave
   way to the conception of a life which was personal, pure, and divine, which
   spent itself in the service of the brethren, and gave itself up ungrudgingly
   to death. This conception was the new principle of life. It uprooted the old
   life swaying to and fro between sin and virtue; it also planted a new life
   whose aim was nothing short of being a disciple of Christ, and whose
   strength was drawn from the life of Christ himself. The disciples went forth
   to preach the tidings of “God the Saviour,” [165] of that Saviour and
   physician whose person, deeds, and sufferings were man’s salvation. Paul was
   giving vent to no sudden or extravagant emotion, but expressing with quiet
   confidence what he was fully conscious of at every moment, when he wrote to
   the Galatians (ii. 20), “I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me. For the
   life I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved
   me and gave up himself for me.” Conscious of this, the primitive Christian
   missionaries were ready to die daily. And that was just the reason why their
   cause did not collapse.

   In the world to which the apostles preached their new message, religion had
   not been intended originally for the sick, but for the sound. The Deity
   sought the pure and sound to be his worshippers. The sick and sinful, it was
   held, are a prey to the powers of darkness; let them see to the recovery of
   health by some means or another, health for soul and body—for until then
   they are not pleasing to the gods. It is interesting to observe how this
   conception is still dominant at the close of the second century, in Celsus,
   the enemy of Christendom (Orig., c. Cels. III. lix. f.). “Those who invite
   people to participate in other solemnities, make the following proclamation:
   ‘He who hath clean hands and sensible speech (is to draw near)’; or again,
   ‘He who is pure from all stain, conscious of no sin in his soul, and living
   an honorable and just life (may approach).’ Such is the cry of those who
   promise purification from sins. [166] But let us now hear what sort of
   people these Christians invite. ‘Anyone who is a sinner,’ they say, ‘or
   foolish, or simple-minded—in short, any unfortunate will be accepted by the
   kingdom of God.’ By ‘sinner’ is meant an unjust person, a thief, a burglar,
   a poisoner, a sacrilegious man, or a robber of corpses. Why, if you wanted
   an assembly of robbers, these are just the sort of people you would
   summon!” [167] Here Celsus has stated, as lucidly as one could desire, the
   cardinal difference between Christianity and ancient religion. [168]

   But, as we have already seen (Book I, Chapter III.), the religious temper
   which Christianity encountered, and which developed and diffused itself very
   rapidly in the second and third centuries, was no longer what we should term
   “ancient.” Here again we see that the new religion made its appearance “when
   the time was fulfilled.” The cheerful, naïve spirit of the old religion, so
   far as it still survived, lay a-dying, and its place was occupied by fresh
   religious needs. Philosophy had set the individual free, and had discovered
   a human being in the common citizen. By the blending of states and nations,
   which coalesced to form a universal empire, cosmopolitanism had now become a
   reality. But there was always a reverse side to cosmopolitanism, viz.,
   individualism. The refinements of material civilization and mental culture
   made people more sensitive to the element of pain in life, and this increase
   of sensitiveness showed itself also in the sphere of morals, where more than
   one Oriental religion came forward to satisfy its demand. The Socratic
   philosophy, with its fine ethical ideas, issued from the heights of the
   thinker to spread across the lowlands of the common people. The Stoics, in
   particular, paid unwearied attention to the “health and diseases of the
   soul,” moulding their practical philosophy upon this type of thought. There
   was a real demand for purity, consolation, expiation, and healing, and as
   these could not be found elsewhere, they began to be sought in religion. In
   order to secure them, people were on the look-out for new sacred rites. The
   evidence for this change which passed over the religious temper lies in the
   writings of Seneca, Epictetus, and many others; but a further testimony of
   much greater weight is afforded by the revival which attended the cult of
   Æsculapius during the Imperial age. [169] As far back as 290 B.C.,
   Æsculapius of Epidaurus had been summoned to Rome on the advice of the
   Sibylline books. He had his sanctuary on the island in the Tiber, and close
   to it, just as at the numerous shrines of Asclepius in Greece, there stood a
   sanatorium in which sick persons waited for the injunctions which the god
   imparted during sleep. Greek physicians followed the god to Rome, but it
   took a long time for either the god or the Greek doctors to become popular.
   The latter do riot seem at first to have recommended themselves by their
   skill. “In 219 B.C. the first Greek surgeon became domiciled in Rome. He
   actually received the franchise, and was presented by the State with a shop
   ‘in compito Acilio.’ But this doctor made such unmerciful havoc among his
   patients by cutting and cauterizing, that the name of surgeon became a
   synonym for that of a butcher.” [170] Things were different under the
   Cæsars. Though the Romans themselves still eschewed the art of medicine,
   considering it a kind of divination, skilled Greek doctors were in demand at
   Rome itself, and the cult of that “deus clinicus,” Æsculapius, was in full
   vogue. From Rome his cult spread over all the West, fusing itself here and
   there with the cult of Serapis or some other deity, and accompanied by the
   subordinate cult of Hygeia and Salus, Telesphorus and Somnus. Furthermore,
   the sphere of influence belonging to this god of healing widened steadily;
   he became “saviour” pure and simple, the god who aids in all distress, the
   “friend of man” (philanthrōpotatos). [171] The more men sought deliverance
   and healing in religion, the greater grew this god’s repute. He belonged to
   the old gods who held out longest against Christianity, and therefore he is
   often to be met with in the course of early Christian literature. The cult
   of Æsculapius was one of those which were most widely diffused throughout
   the second half of the second century, and also during the third century.
   People traveled to the famous sanatoria of the god, as they travel today to
   baths. He was appealed to in diseases of the body and of the soul; people
   slept in his temples, to be cured; the costliest gifts were brought him as
   the ThEOS SŌTĒR (“God the Saviour”); and people consecrated their lives to
   him, as innumerable inscriptions and statues testify. In the case of other
   gods as well, healing virtue now became a central feature. Zeus himself and
   Apollo (cp., e.g., Tatian, Orat. 8) appeared in a new light. They, too,
   became “saviours.” No one could be a god any longer, unless he was also a
   saviour. [172] Glance over Origen’s great reply to Celsus, and you soon
   discover that one point hotly disputed by these two remarkable men was the
   question whether Jesus or Æsculapius was the true Saviour. Celsus champions
   the one with as much energy and credulity as Origen the other. The
   combination of crass superstition and sensible criticism presented by both
   men is an enigma to us at this time of day. We moderns can hardly form any
   clear idea of their mental bearings. In III. iii Origen observes: “Miracles
   occurred in all lands, or at least in many places. Celsus himself admits in
   his book that, Æsculapius healed diseases and revealed the future in all
   cities that were devoted to him, such as Tricca, Epidaurus, Cos, and
   Pergamum.” According to III. xxii. Celsus charged the Christians with being
   unable to make up their minds to call Æsculapius a god, simply because he
   had been first a man. Origen’s retort is that the Greek tradition made Zeus
   slay Æsculapius with a thunderbolt. Celsus (III. xxiv.) declared it to be an
   authentic fact that a great number of Greeks and barbarians had seen, and
   still saw, no mere wraith of Æsculapius, but the god himself engaged in
   healing and helping man, whereas the disciples of Jesus had merely seen a
   phantom. Origen is very indignant at this, but his counter-assertions are
   weak. Does Celsus also appeal to the great number of Greeks and barbarians
   who believe in Æsculapius? Origen, too, can point to the great number of
   Christians, to the truth of their scriptures, and to their successful cures
   in the name of Jesus. But then he suddenly alters his defense, and proceeds
   (III. xxv.) to make the following extremely shrewd observation: “Even were I
   going to admit that a demon named Æsculapius had the power of healing bodily
   diseases, I might still remark to those who are amazed at such cures or at
   the prophecies of Apollo, that such curative power is of itself neither good
   nor bad, but within reach of godless as well as of honest folk; while in the
   same way it does not follow that he who can foretell the future is on that
   account an honest and upright man. One is not in a position to prove the
   virtuous character of those who heal diseases and foretell the future. Many
   instances may be adduced of people being healed who did not deserve to live,
   people who were so corrupt and led a life of such wickedness that no
   sensible physician would have troubled to cure them. . . . . The power of
   healing diseases is no evidence of anything specially divine.” From all
   these remarks of Origen, we can see how high the cult of Æsculapius was
   ranked, and how keenly the men of that age were on the lookout for
   “salvation.”

   Into this world of craving for salvation the preaching of Christianity made
   its way. Long before it had achieved its final triumph by dint of an
   impressive philosophy of religion, its success was already assured by the
   fact that it promised and offered salvation—a feature in which it surpassed
   all other religions and cults. It did more than set up the actual Jesus
   against the imaginary Æsculapius of dreamland. Deliberately and consciously
   it assumed the form of “the religion of salvation or healing,” [173] or “the
   medicine of soul and body,” and at the same time it recognized that one of
   its chief duties was to care assiduously for the sick in body. We shall now
   select one or two examples out of the immense wealth of material, to throw
   light upon both of these points.

   Take, first of all, the theory. Christianity never lost hold of its innate
   principle; it was, and it remained, a religion for the sick. Accordingly it
   assumed that no one, or at least hardly any one, was in normal health, but
   that men were always in a state of disability. This reading of human nature
   was not confined to Paul, who looked on all men outside of Christ as dying,
   dying in their sins; a similar, though simpler, view was taught by the
   numerous unknown missionaries of primitive Christianity. The soul of man is
   sick, they said, a prey to death from the moment of his birth. The whole
   race lies a-dying. But now “the goodness and the human kindness of God the
   Saviour” have appeared to restore the sick soul. [174] Baptism was therefore
   conceived as a bath for regaining the soul’s health, or for “the recovery of
   life”; [175] the Lord’s Supper was valued as “the potion of immortality,”
   [176] and penitence was termed “vera de satisfactione medicina” (the true
   medicine derived from the atonement, Cypr., de Lapsis xv.). At the
   celebration of the sacrament, thanks were offered for the “life” therein
   bestowed (Did. ix.-x.). The conception of “life” acquired a new and deeper
   meaning. Jesus had already spoken of a “life” beyond the reach of death, to
   be obtained by the sacrifice of a man’s earthly life. The idea and the term
   were taken up by Paul and by the fourth evangelist, who summed up in them
   the entire blessings of religion. With the tidings of immortality, the new
   religion confronted sorrow, misery, sin, and death. So much, at least, the
   world of paganism could understand. It could understand the promise of bliss
   and immortality resembling that of the blessed gods. And not a few pagans
   understood the justice of the accompanying condition that one had to submit
   to the regime of the religion, that the soul had to be pure and holy before
   it could become immortal. Thus they grasped the message of a great Physician
   who preaches “abstinence” and bestows the gift of “life.” [177] Anyone who
   had felt a single ray of the power and glory of the new life reckoned his
   previous life to have been blindness, disease, and death [178] —a view
   attested by both the apostolic fathers and the apologists. “He bestowed on
   us the light, he spoke to us as a father to his sons, he saved us in our
   lost estate. . . . . Blind were we in our understanding, worshipping stones
   and wood and gold and silver and brass, nor was our whole life aught but
   death.” [179] The mortal will put on, nay, has already put on, immortality,
   the perishable will be robed in the imperishable: such was the glad cry of
   the early Christians, who took up arms against a sea of troubles, and turned
   the terror of life’s last moment into a triumph. “Those miserable people,”
   says Lucian in the Proteus Peregrinus, “have got it into their heads that
   they are perfectly immortal.” He would certainly have made a jest upon it
   had any occurred to his mind; but whenever this nimble scoffer is depicting
   the faith of Christians, there is a remarkable absence of anything like
   jesting.

   While the soul’s health or the new life is a gift, however, it is a gift
   which must be appropriated from within. There was a great risk of this truth
   being overlooked by those who were accustomed to leave any one of the
   mysteries with the sense of being consecrated and of bearing with them super
   mundane blessings as if they were so many articles. It would be easy also to
   show how rapidly the sacramental system of the church lapsed into the spirit
   of the pagan mysteries. But once the moral demand, i.e., the purity of the
   soul, was driven home, it proved such a powerful factor that it held its own
   within the Catholic church, even alongside of the inferior sacramental
   system. The salvation of the soul and the lore of that salvation never died
   away; in fact, the ancient church arranged all the details of her worship
   and her dogma with this end in view. She consistently presented herself as
   the great infirmary or the hospital of humanity: pagans, sinners, and
   heretics are her patients, ecclesiastical doctrines and observances are her
   medicines, while the bishops and pastors are the physicians, but only as
   servants of Christ, who is himself the physician of all souls. [180] Let me
   give one or two instances of this. “As the good of the body is health, so
   the good of the soul is the knowledge of God,” says Justin. [181] “While we
   have time to be healed, let us put ourselves into the hands of God the
   healer, paying him recompense. And what recompense? What but repentance from
   a sincere heart” (2 Clem., ad Cor. ix.). “Like some excellent physician, in
   order to cure the sick, Jesus examines what is repulsive, handles sores, and
   reaps pain himself from the sufferings of others; he has himself saved us
   from the very jaws of death—us who were not merely diseased and suffering
   from terrible ulcers and wounds already mortified, but were also lying
   already among the dead . . . .; he who is the giver of life and of light,
   our great physician, [182] king and lord, the Christ of God.” [183] “The
   physician cannot introduce any salutary medicines into the body that needs
   to be cured, without having previously eradicated the trouble seated in the
   body or averted the approaching trouble. Even so the teacher of the truth
   cannot convince anyone by an address on truth, so long as some error still
   lurks in the soul of the hearer, which forms an obstacle to his arguments”
   (Athenagoras, de resurr. i.). “Were we to draw from the axiom that ‘disease
   is diagnosed by means of medical knowledge,’ the inference that medical
   knowledge is the cause of disease, we should be making a preposterous
   statement. And as it is beyond doubt that the knowledge of salvation is a
   good thing, because it teaches men to know their sickness, so also is the
   law a good thing, inasmuch as sin is discovered thereby.” [184]

   As early as 2 Tim. ii. 17, the word of heretics is said to eat “like a
   gangrene.” This expression recurs very frequently, and is elaborated in
   detail. “Their talk is infectious as a plague” (Cyprian, de Lapsis, xxxiv.).
   “Heretics are hard to cure,” says Ignatius (ad Ephes., vii.,
   dustherapeutos); “. . . . there is but one physician, Jesus Christ our
   Lord.” In the pastoral epistles the orthodox doctrine is already called
   “sound teaching” as opposed to the errors of the heretics.

   Most frequently, however, bodily recovery is compared to penitence. It is
   Ignatius again who declares that “not every wound is cured by the same
   salve. Allay sharp pains by soothing fomentations.” [185] “The cure of evil
   passions,” says Clement at the opening of his Paedagogus, “is effected by
   the Logos through admonitions; he strengthens the soul with benign precepts
   like soothing medicines, [186] and directs the sick to the full knowledge of
   the truth.” “Let us follow the practice of physicians (in the exercise of
   moral discipline), says Origen, [187] “and only use the knife when all other
   means have failed, when application of oil and salves and soothing poultices
   leave the swelling still hard.” An objection was raised by Christians who
   disliked repentance, to the effect that the public confession of sin which
   accompanied the penitential discipline was at once an injury to their
   self-respect and a misery. To which Tertullian replies (de Poen., x.): “Nay,
   it is evil that ends in misery. Where repentance is undertaken, misery
   ceases, because it is turned into what is salutary. It is indeed a misery to
   be cut, and cauterized, and racked by some pungent powder; but the excuse
   for the offensiveness of means of healing that may be unpleasant, is the
   cure they work.” This is exactly Cyprian’s point, when he writes [188] that
   “the priest of the Lord must employ salutary remedies. [189] He is an
   unskilled physician who handles tenderly the swollen edges of a wound and
   allows the poison lodged in the inward part to be aggraved by simply leaving
   it alone. The wound must be opened and lanced; recourse must be had to the
   strong remedy of cutting out the corrupting parts. Though the patient scream
   out in pain, and wail or weep, because he cannot bear it—afterwards he will
   be grateful, when he feels that he is cured.” But the most elaborate
   comparison of a bishop to a surgeon occurs in the Apostolic Constitutions
   (ii. 41). “Heal thou, O bishop, like a pitiful physician, all who have
   sinned, and employ methods that promote saving health. Confine not thyself
   to cutting or cauterizing or the use of corrosives, but employ bandages and
   lint, use mild and healing drugs, and sprinkle words of comfort as a
   soothing balm. If the wound be deep and gashed, lay a plaster on it that it
   may fill up and be once more like the rest of the sound flesh. If it be
   dirty, cleanse it with corrosive powder, i.e., with words of censure. If it
   has proud flesh, reduce it with sharp plasters, i.e., with threats of
   punishment. If it spreads further, sear it, and cut off the putrid
   flesh—mortify the man with fastings. And if after all this treatment thou
   findest that no soothing poultice, neither oil nor bandage, can be applied
   from head to foot of the patient, but that the disease is spreading and
   defying all cures, like some gangrene that corrupts the entire member; then,
   after great consideration and consultation with other skilled physicians,
   cut off the putrified member, lest the whole body of the church be
   corrupted. So be not hasty to cut it off, nor rashly resort to the saw of
   many a tooth, but first use the lancet to lay open the abscess, that the
   body may be kept free from pain by the removal of the deep-seated cause of
   the disease. But if thou seest anyone past repentance and (inwardly) past
   feeling, then cut him off as an incurable with sorrow and lamentation.”
   [190]

   It must be frankly admitted that this constant preoccupation with the
   “diseases” of sin had results which were less favorable. The ordinary moral
   sense, no less than the aesthetic, [191] was deadened. If people are ever to
   be made better, they must be directed to that honorable activity which means
   moral health; whereas endless talk about sin and forgiveness exercises, on
   the contrary, a narcotic influence. To say the least of it, ethical
   education must move to and fro between reflection on the past (with its
   faults and moral bondage) and the prospect of a future (with its goal of
   aspiration and the exertion of all one’s powers). The theologians of the
   Alexandrian school had some sense of the latter, but in depicting the
   perfect Christian or true gnostic they assigned a disproportionate space to
   knowledge and correct opinions. They were not entirely emancipated from the
   Socratic fallacy that the man of knowledge will be invariably a good man.
   They certainly did surmount the “educated” man’s intellectual pride on the
   field of religion and morality. [192] In Origen’s treatise against Celsus,
   whole sections of great excellence are devoted to the duty and possibility
   of even the uneducated person acquiring health of soul, and to the supreme
   necessity of salvation from sin and weakness. [193] Origen hits the nail
   upon the head when he remarks (VII. lx.) that “Plato and the other wise men
   of Greece, with their fine sayings, are like the physicians who confine
   their attention to the better classes and despise the common man, whilst the
   disciples of Jesus carefully study to make provision for the great mass of
   men.” [194] Still, Origen’s idea is that, as a means of salvation, religion
   merely forms a stage for those who aspire to higher levels. His conviction
   is that when the development of religion has reached its highest level,
   anything historical or positive becomes of as little value as the ideal of
   redemption and salvation itself. On this level the spirit, filled by God, no
   longer needs a Saviour or any Christ of history at all. “Happy,” he exclaims
   (Comm. in Joh., i. 22; Lomm., i. p. 43), “happy are they who need no longer
   now God’s Son as the physician of the sick or as the shepherd, people who
   now need not any redemption, but wisdom, reason, and righteousness alone.”
   In his treatise against Celsus (III. lxi. f.) he draws a sharp distinction
   between two aims and boons in the Christian religion, one higher and the
   other lower. “To no mystery, to no participation in wisdom ‘hidden in a
   mystery,’ do we call the wicked man, the thief, the burglar, etc., but to
   healing or salvation. For our doctrine has a twofold appeal. It provides
   means of healing for the sick, as is meant by the text, ‘The whole need not
   a physician, but the sick.’ But it also unveils to those who are pure in
   soul and body ‘that mystery which was kept secret since the world began, but
   is now made manifest by the Scriptures of the prophets and the appearing of
   our Lord Jesus Christ.’ . . . . God the Word was indeed sent as a physician
   for the sick, but also as a teacher of divine mysteries to those who are
   already pure and sin no more.” [195]

   Origen unites the early Christian and the philosophic conceptions of
   religion. He is thus superior to the pessimistic fancies which seriously
   threatened the latter view. But only among the cultured could he gain any
   following. The Christian people held fast to Jesus as the Saviour.

   No one has yet been able to show that the figure of Christ which emerges in
   the fifth century, probably as early as the fourth, and which subsequently
   became the prevailing type in all pictorial representations, was modeled
   upon the figure of Æsculapius. The two types are certainly similar; the
   qualities predicated of both are identical in part; and no one has hitherto
   explained satisfactorily why the original image of the youthful Christ was
   displaced by the later. Nevertheless, we have no means of deriving the
   origin of the Callixtine Christ from Æsculapius as a prototype, so that in
   the meantime we must regard such a derivation as a hypothesis, which,
   however interesting, is based upon inadequate evidence. There would be one
   piece of positive evidence forthcoming, if the statue which passed for a
   likeness of Jesus in the city of Paneas (Cæsarea Philippi) during the fourth
   century was a statue of Æsculapius. Eusebius (H.E., vi. 18) tells how he had
   seen there, in the house of the woman whom Jesus had cured of an issue of
   blood, a work of art which she had caused to be erected out of gratitude to
   Jesus. “On a high pedestal beside the gates of her house there stands the
   brazen image of a woman kneeling down with her hands outstretched as if in
   prayer. Opposite this stands another brazen image of a man standing up,
   modestly attired in a cloak wrapped twice round his body, and stretching out
   his hand to the woman. At his feet, upon the pedestal itself, a strange
   plant is growing up as high as the hem of his brazen cloak, which is a
   remedy for all sorts of disease. This statue is said to be an image of
   Jesus. Nor is it strange that the Gentiles of that age, who had received
   benefit from the Lord, should express their gratitude in this fashion.” For
   various reasons it is unlikely that this piece of art was intended to
   represent Jesus, or that it was erected by the woman with an issue of blood;
   [196] on the contrary, the probability is that the statuary was thus
   interpreted by the Christian population of Paneas, probably at an early
   period. If the statue originally represented Æsculapius, as the curative
   plant would suggest, we should have here at least one step between
   “Æsculapius the Saviour” and “Christ the Saviour.” But this interpretation
   of a pagan saviour or healer is insecure; and even were it quite secure, it
   would not justify any general conclusion being drawn as yet upon the matter.
   At any rate we are undervaluing the repugnance felt even by Christians of
   the fourth century for the gods of paganism, if we consider ourselves
   entitled to think of any conscious transformation of the figure of
   Æsculapius into that of Christ. [197]

   Hitherto we have been considering the development of Christianity as the
   religion of “healing,” as expressed in parables, ideas, doctrine, and
   penitential discipline. It now remains for us to show that this character
   was also stamped upon its arrangements for the care of bodily sickness.

   “I was sick and ye visited me. . . . . As ye have done it unto one of the
   least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” In these words the
   founder of Christianity set the love that tends the sick in the center of
   his religion, laying it on the hearts of all his disciples. Primitive
   Christianity carried it in her heart; she also carried it out in practice.
   [198] Even from the fragments of our extant literature, although that
   literature was not written with any such intention, we can still recognize
   the careful attention paid to works of mercy. At the outset we meet with
   directions everywhere to care for sick people. “Encourage the faint-hearted,
   support the weak,” writes the apostle Paul to the church of Thessalonica (1
   Thess. v. 14), which in its excitement was overlooking the duties lying
   close at hand. In the prayer of the church, preserved in the first epistle
   of Clement, supplications are expressly offered for those who are sick in
   soul and body. [199] “Is any man sick? Let him call for the elders of the
   church,” says Jas. v. 14—a clear proof that all aid in cases of sickness was
   looked upon as a concern of the church. [200] This comes out very plainly
   also in the epistle of Polycarp (vi. 1), where the obligations of the elders
   are displayed as follows: “They must reclaim the erring, care for all the
   infirm, and neglect no widow, orphan, or poor person.” Particulars of this
   duty are given by Justin, who, in his Apology (ch. lxvii.), informs us that
   every Sunday the Christians brought free-will offerings to their worship;
   these were deposited with the president (or bishop), “who dispenses them to
   orphans and widows, and to any who, from sickness or some other cause, are
   in want.” A similar account is given by Tertullian in his Apology (ch.
   xxxix.), where special stress is laid on the church’s care for old people
   who are no longer fit for work. Justin is also our authority for the
   existence of deacons whose business it was to attend the sick.

   Not later than the close of the third century, the veneration of the saints
   and the rise of chapels in honor of martyrs and saints led to a full-blown
   imitation of the Æsculapius-cult within the church. Cures of sickness and
   infirmities were sought. Even the practice of incubation must have begun by
   this time, if not earlier; otherwise it could not not have been so widely
   diffused in the fourth century. The teachers of the church had previously
   repudiated it as heathenish; but, as often happens in similar circumstances,
   it crept in, though with some alteration of its ceremonies.

   In its early days the church formed a permanent establishment for the relief
   of sickness and poverty, a function which it continued to discharge for
   several generations. It was based on the broad foundation of the Christian
   congregation; it acquired a sanctity from the worship of the congregation;
   and its operations were strictly centralized. The bishop was the
   superintendent (Apost. Constit., iii. 4), and in many cases, especially in
   Syria and Palestine, he may have actually been a physician himself. [201]
   His executive or agents were the deacons and the order of “widows.” The
   latter were at the same time to be secured against want, by being taken into
   the service of the church (cp. 1 Tim. v. 16). Thus, in one instruction
   dating from the second century, [202] we read that, “In every congregation
   at least one widow is to be appointed to take care of sick women; [203] she
   is to be obliging and sober, she is to report cases of need to the elders,
   she is not to be greedy or addicted to drink, in order that she may be able
   to keep sober for calls to service during the night.” She is to “report
   cases of need to the elders,” i.e., she is to remain an assistant (cp. Syr.
   Didasc. xv. 79 f.). Tertullian happens to remark (de Præscr. 41) in a
   censure of women belonging to the heretical associations, that “they venture
   to teach, to debate, to exorcise, to promise cures, probably even to
   baptize.” In the Eastern Church the order of widows seems to have passed on
   into that of “deaconesses” at a pretty early date, but unfortunately we know
   nothing about this transition or about the origin of these “deaconesses.”
   [204]

   In the primitive church female assistants were quite thrown into the shadow
   by the men. The deacons were the real agents of charity. Their office was
   onerous; it was exposed to grave peril, especially in a time of persecution,
   and deacons furnished no inconsiderable proportion of the martyrs. “Doers of
   good works, looking after all by day and night”—such is their description
   (Texte u. Unters. ii. 5, p. 24), one of their main duties being to look
   after the poor and sick. [205] How much they had to do and how much they
   did, may be ascertained from Cyprian’s epistles [206] and the genuine Acts
   of the Martyrs. Nor were the laity to be exempted from the duty of tending
   the sick, merely because special officials existed for that purpose. “The
   sick are not to be overlooked, nor is anyone to say that he has not been
   trained to this mode of service. No one is to plead a comfortable life, or
   the unwonted character of the duty, as a pretext for not being helpful to
   other people”—so runs a letter of pseudo-Justin (c. xvii.) to Zenas and
   Serenus. The author of the pseudo-Clementine epistle “de virginitate” brings
   out with special clearness the fact that to imitate Christ is to minister to
   the sick, a duty frequently conjoined with that of “visiting orphans and
   widows” (visitare pupillos et viduas). Eusebius (de mart. Pal. xi. 22) bears
   this testimony to the character of Seleucus, that like a father and guardian
   he had shown himself a bishop and patron of orphans and destitute widows, of
   the poor and of the sick. Many similar cases are on record. In a time of
   pestilence especially, the passion of tender mercy was kindled in the heart
   of many a Christian. Often had Tertullian (Apolog. xxxix.) heard on pagan
   lips the remark, corroborated by Lucian, “Look how they love one another!”
   [207]

   As regards therapeutic methods, the case stood as it stands today. The more
   Christians renounced and hated the world, the more skeptical and severe they
   were against ordinary means of healing (cp.,e.g., Tatian’s Oratio
   xvii.-xviii.). There was a therapeutic “Christian science,” compounded of
   old and new superstitions, and directed against more than the “dæmonic”
   cures (see the following section). Compare, by way of proof, Tertullian’s
   Scorp. i: “We Christians make the sign of the cross at once over a bitten
   foot, say a word of exorcism, and rub it with the blood of the crushed
   animal.” Evidently the sign of the cross and the formula of exorcism were
   not sufficient by themselves.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [161] This chapter is based on a fresh revision of Section VI. in my study
   on “Medicinisches aus der ältesten Kirchengeschichte” (Texte und Unters.
   VIII., 1892).

   [162] Or are we to interpret the passage in another way? Is it easier to
   say, “Thy sins are forgiven thee”? In that case, “easier” evidently must be
   taken in a different sense.

   [163] An old legend of Edessa regarding Jesus is connected with his activity
   as a healer of men. At the close of the third century the people of Edessa,
   who had become Christians during the second half of the second century,
   traced back their faith to the apostolic age, and treasured up an alleged
   correspondence between Jesus and their King Abgar. This correspondence is
   still extant (cp. Euseb., H.E. i. 13). It is a naïve romance. The king, who
   is severely ill, writes thus “Abgar, toparch of Edessa, to Jesus the
   excellent Saviour, who has appeared in the country of Jerusalem; greeting. I
   have heard of thee and of thy cures, performed without medicine or herb.
   For, it is said, thou makest the blind to see, and the lame to walk; thou
   cleansest lepers, thou expellest unclean spirits and demons, thou healest
   those afflicted with lingering diseases, and thou raisest the dead. Now, as
   I have heard all this about thee, I have concluded that one of two things
   must be true: either thou art God, and, having descended from heaven, doest
   these things, or else thou art a son of God by what thou doest. I write to
   thee, therefore, to ask thee to come and cure the disease from which I am
   suffering. For I have heard that the Jews murmur against thee, and devise
   evil against thee. Now, I have a very small, yet excellent city, which is
   large enough for both of us.” To which Jesus answered: “Blessed art thou for
   having believed in me without seeing me. For it is written concerning me
   that those who have seen me will not believe in me, while they who have not
   seen me will believe and be saved. But as to thy request that I should come
   to thee, I must fulfill here all things for which I have been sent, and,
   after fulfilling them, be taken up again to him who sent me. Yet after I am
   taken up, I will send thee one of my disciples to cure thy disease and give
   life to thee and thine.” The narrative then goes on to describe how
   Thaddaeus came to Edessa and cured the king by the laying on of hands,
   without medicine or herbs, after he had confessed his faith. “And Abdus, the
   son of Abdus, was also cured by him of gout.”

   [164] 1 Pet. ii. 24, hou tō mōlōpi autoi iathēte.

   [165] Luke ii. 11, etechthē humin sōtēr, hos estin Christos kurios; John iv.
   42, oidamen hoti houtos estin ho sōtēr tou kosmou; Tit. ii. 11, epephanē hē
   charis tou theou sōtērios pasin anthrōpois; Tit. iii. 4, hē chrēstotēs kai
   hē philanthrōpia epephanē tou sōtēros hēmōn theou. By several Christian
   circles, indeed, the title “Saviour” was reserved for Jesus and for Jesus
   only. Irenæus (I. i. 3) reproaches the Valentinian Ptolemæus for never
   calling Jesus kurios but only sōtēr, and, as a matter of fact, in the
   epistle of Ptolemæus to Flora, Jesus is termed sōtēr exclusively.

   [166] The meaning is that even to mysteries connected with purification
   those only were bidden who had led upon the whole a good and a just life.

   [167] Porphyry’s position is rather different. He cannot flatly set aside
   the saying of Christ about the sick, for whose sake he came into the world.
   But as a Greek he is convinced that religion is meant for intelligent, just,
   and inquiring people. Hence his statement on the point (in Mac. Magnes, iv.
   10) is rather confused.

   [168] Origen makes a skillful defense of Christianity at this point. “If a
   Christian does extend his appeal to the same people as those addressed by a
   robber-chief, his aim is very different. He does so in order to bind up
   their wounds with his doctrine, in order to allay the festering sores of the
   soul with those remedies of faith which correspond to the wine and oil and
   other applications employed to give the body relief from pain” (III. lx.).
   “Celsus misrepresents facts when he declares that we hold God was sent to
   sinners only. It is just as if he found fault with some people for saying
   that some kind and gracious [philanthrōpotatos, an epithet of Æsculapius]
   monarch had sent his physician to a city for the benefit of the sick people
   in that city. God the Word was thus sent as a physician for sinners, but
   also as a teacher of divine mysteries for those who are already pure and sin
   no more” (III. lxi.).

   [169] For the cult of Æsculapius, see von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf’s Isyllos
   von Epidauros (1886), pp. 36 f., 44 f., 116 f., and Usener’s Götternamen
   (1896), pp. 147 f., 350, besides Ilberg’s study of Æsculapius in Teubner’s
   Neuen Jahrbüchern, II., 1901, and the cautious article by Thrämer in
   Pauly-Wissowa’s Real. Encykl. (II. 1642 f.).

   [170] Preller-Jordan, Röm. Mythologie, ii. p. 243. Pliny observes: “Mox a
   saevitia secandi urendique transisse nomen in carnificem et in tædium artem
   omnesque medicos” (“Owing to cruelty in cutting and cauterizing, the name of
   surgeon soon passed into that of butcher, and a disgust was felt for the
   profession and for all doctors”).

   [171] The cult was really humane, and it led the physicians also to be
   humane. In a passage from the Parangeliai of pseudo-Hippocrates we read: “I
   charge you not to show yourselves inhuman, but to take the wealth or poverty
   (of the patient) into account, in certain cases even to treat them
   gratis”—the repute of the iatroi anarguroi is well known—“and to consider
   future gratitude more than present fame. If, therefore, the summons for aid
   happens to be the case of an unknown or impecunious man, he is most of all
   to be assisted; for wherever there is love to one’s neighbor, it means
   readiness to act” (ix. 258 Littré, iii. 321 Erm.; a passage which Ilberg
   brought under my notice, cp. also the Berl. Philol. Wochenschrift for March
   25, 1893). How strongly the Christians themselves felt their affinity to
   humane physicians is proved by a striking instance which Ilberg quotes (loc.
   cit., from vi. 90 Littré, ii.123 Erm.). Eusebius writes (H. E. x. 4. 11)
   that Jesus, “like some excellent physician, in order to cure the sick,
   examines what is repulsive, handles sores, and reaps pain himself from the
   sufferings of others.” This passage is literally taken from the treatise of
   pseudo-Hippocrates peri phusōn: o men gar iētros horei te deina, thinganei
   te aēdeōn ep' allotriēsi de xumphorēsin idias karpoutai lupas.

   [172] Corresponding to this, we have Porphyry’s definition of the object of
   philosophy as hē tēs psuchēs sōtēria (the salvation of the soul).

   [173] The New Testament itself is so saturated with medicinal expressions,
   employed metaphorically, that a collection of them would fill several pages.

   [174] Tit. iii. 4: hē chrēstotēs kai hē philanthrōpia epephanē tou sōtēros
   hēmōn theou . . . . esōsen hēmas. See the New Testament allusions to sōtēr.

   [175] Tert., de Baptism., i., etc., etc.; Clement (Paedag. i. 6. 29) calls
   baptism paiōnion pharmakon. Tertullian describes it as “aqua medicinalis.”

   [176] Ignatius, Justin, and Irenæus.

   [177] Clement of Alexandria opens his Paedagogus by describing his Logos as
   the physician who heals suffering (I. i. 1., ta pathē ho paramuthētikos
   logos iatai). He distinguishes the logos protreptikos, hupothetikos, and
   paramuthikos, to which is added further ho didaktikos. And the Logos is
   Christ. Gregory Thaumaturgus also calls the Logos a physician, in his
   panegyric on Origen (xvi.). In the pseudo-Clementine homilies, Jesus, who is
   the true prophet, is always the physician; similarly Peter’s work everywhere
   is that of the great physician who, by the sole means of prayer and speech,
   heals troops of sick folk (see especially Bk. VII.). Simon Magus, again, is
   represented as the wicked magician, who evokes disease wherever he goes.
   Origen has depicted Jesus the physician more frequently and fully than
   anyone else. One at least of his numerous passages on the subject may be
   cited (from Hom. viii., in Levit., ch. i. vol. ix. pp. 312 f): “Medicum dici
   in scripturis divinis dominum nostrum Jesum Christum, etiam ipsius domini
   sententia perdocemur, sicut dicit in evangeliis [here follows Matt. ix. 12
   f.]. Omnis autem medicus ex herbarum succis vet arborum vel etiam metallorum
   venis vel animantium naturis profectura corporibus medicamenta componit. Sed
   herbas istas si quis forte, antequam pro ratione artis componantur,
   adspiciat, si quidem in agris aut montibus, velut foenum vile conculcat et
   praeterit. Si vero eas intra medici scholam dispositas per ordinem viderit,
   licet odorem tristem, fortem et austerum reddant, tamen suspicabitur eas
   curae vel remedii aliquid continere, etiamsi nondum quae vel qualis sit
   sanitatis ac remedii virtus agnoverit. Haec de communibus medicis diximus.
   Veni nunc ad Jesum coelestem medicum, intra ad hanc stationem medicinae eius
   ecclesiam, vide ibi languentium iacere multitudinem. Venit mulier, quae et
   partu immunda effecta est, venit leprosus, qui extra castra separatus est
   pro immunditia leprae, quaerunt a medico remedium, quomodo sanentur, quomodo
   mundentur, et quia Jesus hic, qui medicus est, ipse est et verbum dei,
   aegris suis non herbarum succis, sed verborum sacramentis medicamenta
   conquirit. Quae verborum medicamenta si quis incultius per libros tamquam
   per agros videat esse dispersa, ignorans singulorum dictorum virtutem, ut
   vilia haec et nullum sermonis cultum habentia praeteribit. Qui sero ex
   aliqua parte didicerit animarum apud Christum esse medicinam, intelliget
   profecto ex hic libris, qui in ecclesiis recitantur, tamquam ex agris et
   montibus, salutares herbas adsumere unumquemque debere, sermonum dumtaxat
   vim, ut si quis illi est in anima languor, non tam exterioris frondis et
   corticis, quam succi interioris hausta virtute sanetur” (“The Lord himself
   teaches us, in the gospels, that our Lord Jesus Christ is called a physician
   in the Holy Scriptures. Every physician compounds his medicines for the good
   of the body from the juices of herbs or trees, or even from the veins of
   metals or living creatures. Now, supposing that anyone sees these herbs in
   their natural state, ere they are prepared by skill of art, he treads on
   them like common straw and passes by them, on mountain or field. But if he
   chances to see them arranged in the laboratory of a herbalist or physician,
   he will suspect that, for all their bitter and heavy and unpleasant odors,
   they have some healing and healthful virtue, though as yet he does not know
   the nature or the quality of this curative element. So much for our ordinary
   physicians. Now look at Jesus the heavenly physician. Come inside his room
   of healing, the church. Look at the multitude of impotent folk lying there.
   Here comes a woman unclean from childbirth, a leper expelled from the camp
   owing to his unclean disease; they ask the physician for aid, for a cure,
   for cleansing; and because this Jesus the Physician is also the Word of God,
   he applies, not the juices of herbs, but the sacraments of the Word to their
   diseases. Anyone who looked at these remedies casually as they lay in books,
   like herbs in the field, ignorant of the power of single words, would pass
   them by as common things without any grace of style. But he who ultimately
   discovers that Christ has a medicine for souls, will find from these books
   which are read in the churches, as he finds from mountains and fields, that
   each yields healing herbs, at least strength won from words, so that any
   weakness of soul is healed not so much by leaf and bark as by an inward
   virtue and juice”).

   [178] That the vices were diseases was a theme treated by Christian teachers
   as often as by the Stoics. Cp., e.g., Origen, in Ep. ad Rom., Bk. II.
   (Lommatzsch, vi. 91 f.): “Languores quidem animae ab apostolo in his (Rom.
   ii. 8) designantur, quorum medelam nullus inveniet nisi prius morborum
   cognoverit causas et ideo in divinis scripturis aegritudines animae
   numerantur et remedia describuntur, ut hi, qui se apostolicis subdiderint
   disciplinis, ex his, quae scripta sunt, agnitis languoribus suis curati
   possint dicere: ‘Lauda anima mea dominum, qui sanat omnes languores tuos’”
   (‘The apostle here describes the diseases of the soul; their cure cannot be
   discovered till one diagnoses first of all the causes of such troubles, and
   consequently Holy Scripture enumerates the ailments of the soul, and
   describes their remedies, in order that those who submit to the apostolic
   discipline may be able to say, after they have been cured of diseases
   diagnosed by aid of what is written: ‘Bless the Lord, O my soul, who healeth
   all thy diseases’”).

   [179] 2 Clem., Ep. ad Cor. i. Similar expressions are particularly common in
   Tatian, but indeed no apology is wholly devoid of them.

   [180] Celsus, who knew this kind of Christian preaching intimately,
   pronounced the Christians to be quacks. “The teacher of Christianity,” he
   declares, “acts like a person who promises to restore a sick man to health
   and yet hinders him from consulting skilled physicians, so as to prevent his
   own ignorance from being exposed.” To which Origen retorts, “And who are the
   physicians from whom we deter simple folk?” He then proceeds to show that
   they cannot be the philosophers, and still less those who are not yet
   emancipated from the coarse superstition of polytheism (III. lxxiv.).

   [181] Fragm. ix. (Otto, Corp. Apol. iii., p. 258). Cp. also the beautiful
   wish expressed at the beginning of 3 John: peri pantōn euchomai se
   euodousthai kai hugiainein, kathōs euodoutai sou hē psuchē (ver. 2).

   [182] Cp. Ep. ad Diogn. ix. 6, pseudo-Justin, de Resurr. x.: “Our physician,
   Jesus Christ”; Clem., Paedag. i. 2. 6: “The Logos of the Father is the only
   Paeonian physician for human infirmities, and the holy charmer (hagios
   epōdos) for the sick soul” (whereupon he quotes Ps. lxxxii. 2-3): “The
   physician’s art cures the diseases of the body, according to Democritus, but
   wisdom frees the soul from its passions. Yet the good instructor, the
   Wisdom, the Logos of the Father, the creator of man, cares for all our
   nature, healing it in body and in soul alike—he ho panakēs tēs anthrōpotētos
   iatros ho sōtēr (the all-sufficient physician of humanity, the Saviour),”
   whereupon he quotes Mark ii. 2. See also ibid., i. 6. 36, and i. 12. 100.
   “Hence the Logos also is called Saviour, since he has devised rational
   medicines for men; he preserves their health, lays bare their defects,
   exposes the causes of their evil affections, strikes at the root of
   irrational lusts, prescribes their diet, and arranges every antidote to heal
   the sick. For this is the greatest and most royal work of God, the saving of
   mankind. Patients are irritated at a physician who has no advice to give on
   the question of their health. But how should we not render thanks to the
   divine instructor,” etc. (Paedag. i. 8. 64-65).

   [183] Eus., H.E., v. 4. 11 (already referred to on p. 106). Cp. also the
   description of the Bible in Aphraates as “the books of the wise
   Physician,” and Cypr., de Op., i.: “Christ was wounded to cure us of our
   wounds. . . . . When the Lord at his coming had healed that wound which Adam
   caused,” etc. Metaphors from disease are on the whole very numerous in
   Cyprian; cp., e.g., de Habitu, ii.; de Unitate, iii.; de Lapsis, xiv.,
   xxxiv.

   [184] Origen, opposing the Antinomians in Comm. in Rom., iii. 6 (Lommatzsch,
   vi. p. 195), Hom. in Jerem., xix. 3. Similarly Clem., Paedag., i. 9. 88: “As
   the physician who tells a patient that he has fever is not an enemy to
   him—since the physician is not the cause of the fever but merely detects it
   (ouk aitios, all' elenchos) neither is one who blames a diseased soul
   ill-disposed to that person.” Cp. Methodius (Opp. I. p. 52, Bonwetsch): “As
   we do not blame a physician who explains how a man may become strong and
   well,” etc.; see also I. 65: “For even those who undergo medical treatment
   for their bodily pains do not at once regain health, but gladly bear pain in
   the hope of their coming recovery.”

   [185] Ad Polyc., ii. The passage is to be taken allegorically. It is
   addressed to Bishop Polycarp, who has been already (i) counselled to “bear
   the maladies of all”; wisely and gently is the bishop to treat the erring
   and the spiritually diseased. In the garb given it by Ignatius, this counsel
   recurs very frequently throughout the subsequent literature; see
   Lightfoot’s learned note. Also Clem. Alex., Fragm. (Dindorf, iii. 499):
   “With one salve shalt thou heal thyself and thy neighbor (who slanders
   thee), if thou acceptest the slander with meekness”; Clem. Hom., x. 18: “The
   salve must not be applied to the sound member of the body, but to the
   suffering”; and Hermes Trismeg., peri bot. chul., p. 331: “Do not always use
   this salve.”

   [186] i. 1. 3, ēpia pharmaka (see Homer).

   [187] In l. Jesu Nave, viii. 6 (Lomm. xi. 71). Cp. Hom. in Jerem., xvi. 1.

   [188] De Lapsis, xiv. Penitence and bodily cures form a regular parallel in
   Cyprian’s writings; cp. Epist. xxxi. 6-7, lv. 16, lix. 13, and his Roman
   epistle xxx. 3. 5. 7. Novatian, who is responsible for the latter, declares
   (in de Trinit., v.) that God’s wrath acts like a medicine.

   [189] Cp. pseudo-Clem., Ep. ad Jac., ii.: “The president (the bishop) must
   hold the place of a physician (in the church), instead of behaving with the
   violence of an irrational brute.”

   [190] Cp. Clem. Alex., Paedag., i. 8. 64 f.: “Many evil passions are cured
   by punishment or by the inculcation of sterner commands. . . . . Censure is
   like a surgical operation on the passions of the soul. The latter are
   abscesses on the body of the truth, and they must be cut open by the lancet
   of censure. Censure is like the application of a medicine which breaks up
   the callosities of the passions, and cleanses the impurities of a lewd life,
   reducing the swollen flesh of pride, and restoring the man to health and
   truth once more.” Cp. i. 9. 83; also Methodius, Opp., I. i. p. 115 (ed.
   Bonwetsch).

   [191] It was at this that the Emperor Julian especially took umbrage, and
   not without reason. As a protest against the sensuousness of paganism, there
   grew up in the church an æsthetic of ugliness. Disease, death, and death’s
   relics—bones and putrefaction—were preferred to health and beauty, whilst
   Christianity sought to express her immaterial spirit in terms drawn from the
   unsightly remnants of material decay. How remote was all this artificial
   subtlety of an exalted piety from the piety which had pointed men to the
   beauty of the lilies in the field! The Christians of the third and fourth
   centuries actually begin to call sickness health, and to regard death as
   life.

   [192] Clem. Alex., Strom., vii. 48. 4: hōs ho iatros hugieian parechetai
   tois sunergousi pros hugieian, houtōs kai ho theos tēn audion sōtērian tois
   sunergousi pros gnōsin te kai eupragian (“Even as the physician secures
   health for those who cooperate with him to that end, so does God secure
   eternal salvation for those who cooperate with him for knowledge and good
   conduct”).

   [193] C. Cels., III. 54: “We cure every rational being with the medicine of
   our doctrine.”

   [194] In VII. lix. there is an extremely fine statement of the true
   prophet’s duty of speaking in such a way as to be intelligible and
   encouraging to the multitude, and not merely to the cultured. “Suppose that
   some food which is wholesome and fit for human nourishment, is prepared and
   seasoned so delicately as to suit the palate of the rich and luxurious
   alone, and not the taste of simple folk, peasants, laborers, poor people,
   and the like, who are not accustomed to such dainties. Suppose again that
   this very food is prepared, not as epicures would have it, but to suit poor
   folk, laborers, and the vast majority of mankind. Well, if on this
   supposition the food prepared in one way is palatable to none but epicures,
   and left untasted by the rest, while, prepared in the other way, it
   ministers to the health and strength of a vast number, what persons shall we
   believe are promoting the general welfare most successfully—those who cater
   simply for the better classes, or those who prepare food for the multitude?
   If we assume that the food in both cases is equally wholesome and
   nourishing, it is surely obvious that the good of men and the public welfare
   are better served by the physician who attends to the health of the
   multitude than by him who will merely attend to a few.” And Origen was far
   removed from anything like the narrow-mindedness of orthodoxy, as is plain
   from this excellent remark in III. xiii.: “As only he is qualified in
   medicine who has studied in various schools and attached himself to the best
   system after a careful examination of them all . . . . so, in my judgment,
   the most thorough knowledge of Christianity is his who has carefully
   investigated the various sects of Judaism and of Christianity.”

   [195] So Clem. Alex., Paed., i. 1. 3: isai ouk estin hugieia kai gnōsis,
   all' hē men mathēsei, hē de iasei periginetai; ouk an oun tis nosōn eti
   proteron ti tōn didaskalikōn ekmathoi prin ē teleon hugianai; oude gar
   ōsautōs pros tous manthanontas ē kamnontas aei tōn parangelmatōn hekaston
   legetai, alla pros ohus men eis gnōsin, pros ohus de eis iasin. kathaper oun
   tois nosousi to sōma iatrou chrēzei, tautē kai tois asthenousi tēn psuchēn
   paidagōgou dei, hin' hēmōn iasētai ta pathē, eita de kai didaskalou, hos
   kathēgēsetai pros katharan gnōseōs epitēdeiotēta eutrepizōn tēn psuchēn,
   dunamenēn chōrēsai tēn apokalupsin tou logou (“Health and knowledge are not
   alike; the one is produced by learning, the other by healing. Before a sick
   person, then, could learn any further branch of knowledge, he must get quite
   well. Nor is each injunction addressed to learners and to patients alike;
   the object in one case is knowledge, and in the other a cure. Thus, as
   patients need the physician for their body, so do those who are sick in soul
   need, first of all, an instructor, to heal our pains, and then a teacher who
   shall conduct the soul to all requisite knowledge, disposing it to admit the
   revelation of the Word”).

   [196] Cp. Hauck, Die Entstehung des Christus-typus (1880), p. 8 f.

   [197] In the eyes of Christians, Æsculapius was both a demon and an idol; no
   Christian could take him as a model or have any dealings with him. Some
   Roman Christians, who were devotees of learning, are certainly reported in
   one passage (written by a fanatical opponent, it is true) to have worshipped
   Galen (Eus., H.E., v. 28); but no mention is made of them worshipping
   Æsculapius. In addition to the passages cited above, in which early
   Christian writers deal with Æsculapius (who is probably alluded to also as
   far back as Apoc. ii. 23), the following are to be noted: Justin, Apol., I,
   xxi., xxii., xxv., liv. (passages which are radically misunderstood when it
   is inferred from them that Justin is in favor of the god); Tatian, Orat.,
   xxi.; Theoph., ad Autol., i. 9; Tertull., de Anima, i. (a passage which is
   specially characteristic of the aversion felt for this god); Cyprian’s Quod
   Idola, i.; Orig., c. Cels., iii., xxii.-xxv., xxviii., xlii. Clement
   explains him in Protr., ii. 26, after the manner of Euhemerus: ton gar
   euergetounta mē sunientes theon aneplasan tinas sōtēras Dioskourous . . . .
   kai Asklēpion iatron (“Through not understanding the God who was their
   benefactor, they fashioned certain saviours, the Dioscuri . . . . and
   Æsculapius the physician”). A number of passages (e.g., Protr. ii. 20,
   iatros philarguros ēn, “he was an avaricious physician,” and iv. 52) show
   how little Clement cared for him.

   [198] Cp. the beautiful sentences of Lactantius, Div. Inst., vi. 12
   (especially p. 529, Brandt): Aegros quoque quibus defuerit qui adsistat,
   curandos fovendosque suscipere summae humanitatis et magnae operationis est
   (“It is also the greatest kindness possible and a great charity to undertake
   the care and maintenance of the sick, who need some one to assist them”).

   [199] 1 Clem. lix.: tous astheneis (such is the most probable reading) iasai
   . . . . exanastēson tous asthenountas, parakaleson tous oligopsuchountas
   (“Heal the sick, . . . . raise up the weak, encourage the faint-hearted”).
   Cp. the later formulas of prayer for the sick in App. Constit., viii. 10 and
   onwards; cp. Binterim, Denkwürdigkeiten, vi. 3, pp. 17 f.

   [200] Cp. 1 Cor. xii. 26: “If one member suffers, all the members suffer
   with it.”

   [201] Achelis (Texte u. Unters. xxv. 2 1904, p. 381) attempts to prove that
   the author of the Syriac Didascalia was at once a bishop and a physician; he
   shows (p. 383) that similar combinations were not entirely unknown (cp. de
   Rossi’s Roma Sotter., tav. XXI. 9, epitaph from San Callisto, Dionusiou
   iatrou presbuterou; Zenobius, physician and martyr in Sidon in the reign of
   Diocletian, Eus., H.E. viii. 13; a physician and bishop in Tiberias, Epiph.,
   Hær. xxx. 4; Theodotus, physician and bishop in Laodicea Syr.; Basilius,
   episcopus artis medicinæ gnarus, at Ancyra, Jerome, de Vir. Ill. 89; in Can.
   Hipp. iii. § 18, the gift of healing is asked for the bishop and presbyter
   at ordination, while viii. § 53 presupposes that anyone who possessed this
   gift moved straightway to be enrolled among the clergy). Cp. Texte u.
   Unters. viii. 4. pp. 1-14 (“Christian doctors”).

   [202] Cp. Texte u. Unters. ii. 5. p. 23.

   [203] “But thou, O widow, who art shameless, seest the widows, thy comrades,
   or thy brethren lying sick, yet troublest not to fast or pray for them, to
   lay hands on them or to visit them, as if thou wert not in health thyself or
   free” (Syr. Didasc. xv. 80).

   [204] They are first mentioned in Pliny’s letter to Trajan.

   [205] Cp. Ep. pseudo-Clem. ad Jacob. 12: hoi tēs ekklēsias diakonoi tou
   episkopou sunetōs rhembomenoi estōsan ophthalmoi, hekastou tēs ekklēsias
   polupragmonountes tas praxeis . . . . tous de kata sarka nosountas
   manthanetōsan kai tō agnounti plēthei prosantiballetōsan, hin'
   epiphainōntai, kai ta deonta epi tē tou prokathezomenou gnōmē parechetōsan
   (“Let the deacons of the church move about intelligently and act as eyes for
   the bishop, carefully inquiring into the actions of every church member
   . . . let them find out those who are sick in the flesh, and bring such to
   the notice of the main body who know nothing of them, that they may visit
   them and supply their wants, as the president may judge fit”).

   [206] In the epistles which he wrote to the church from his hiding-place, he
   is always reminding them not to neglect the sick.

   [207] I merely note in passing the conflict waged by the church against
   medical sins like abortion (Did. ii. 2; Barn. xix. 5; Tert., Apol. ix.;
   Minuc. Felix., xxx. 2; Athenag., Suppl. xxxv.; Clem., Paed. ii. 10, 96,
   etc.), and the unnatural morbid vices of paganism. It was a conflict in
   which the interests of the church were truly human; she maintained the value
   and dignity of human life, refusing to allow it to be destroyed or
   dishonored at any stage of its development. With regard to these offences,
   she also exerted some influence upon the State legislation, in and after the
   fourth century, although even in the third century the latter had already
   approximated to her teaching on such points.
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 3

  THE CONFLICT WITH DEMONS [208]

   During the early centuries a belief in demons, and in the power they
   exercised throughout the world, was current far and wide. There was also a
   corresponding belief in demon possession, in consequence of which insanity
   frequently took the form of a conviction, on the part of the patients, that
   they were possessed by one or more evil spirits. Though this form of
   insanity still occurs at the present day, cases of it are rare, owing to the
   fact that wide circles of people have lost all belief in the existence and
   activity of demons. But the forms and phases in which insanity manifests
   itself always depend upon the general state of culture and the ideas current
   in the social environment, so that whenever the religious life is in a state
   of agitation, and a firm belief prevails in the sinister activity of evil
   spirits, “demon possession” still breaks out sporadically. Recent instances
   have even shown that a convinced exorcist, especially if he is a religious
   man, is able to produce the phenomena of “possession” in a company of people
   against their will, in order subsequently to cure them. “Possession” is also
   infectious. Supposing that one case of this kind occurs in a church, and
   that it is connected by the sufferer himself, or even by the priest, with
   sin in general or with some special form of sin; supposing that he preaches
   upon it, addressing the church in stirring language, and declaring that this
   is really devil’s play, then the first case will soon be followed by a
   second and by a third. [209] The most astounding phenomena occur, many of
   whose details are still inexplicable. Everything is doubled—the
   consciousness of the sufferer, his will, his sphere of action. With perfect
   sincerity on his own part (although it is always easy for frauds to creep in
   here), the man is at once conscious of himself and also of another being who
   constrains and controls him from within. He thinks and feels and acts, now
   as the one, now as the other; and under the conviction that he is a double
   being, he confirms himself and his neighbors in this belief by means of
   actions which are at once the product of reflection and of an inward
   compulsion. Inevitable self-deception, cunning actions, and the most abject
   passivity form a sinister combination. But they complete our idea of a
   psychical disease which usually betrays extreme susceptibility to
   “suggestion,” and, therefore, for the time being often defies any scientific
   analysis, leaving it open to anyone to think of special and mysterious
   forces in operation. In this region there are facts which we cannot deny,
   but which we are unable to explain. [210] Furthermore, there are
   “diseases” in this region which only attack superhuman individuals, who draw
   from this “disease” a new life hitherto undreamt of, an energy which
   triumphs over every obstacle, and a prophetic or apostolic zeal. We do not
   speak here of this kind of “possession”; it exists merely for faith— or
   unbelief.

   In the case of ordinary people, when disease emerges in connection with
   religion, no unfavorable issue need be anticipated. As a general rule, the
   religion which brings the disease to a head has also the power of curing it,
   and this power resides in Christianity above all other religions. Wherever
   an empty or a sinful life, which has almost parted with its vitality, is
   suddenly aroused by the preaching of the Christian religion, so that dread
   of evil and its bondage passes into the idea of actual “possession,” the
   soul again is freed from the latter bondage by the message of the grace of
   God which has appeared in Jesus Christ. Evidence of this lies on the pages
   of church history, from the very beginning down to the present day. During
   the first three centuries the description of such cases flowed over into the
   margin of the page, whereas nowadays they are dismissed in a line or two.
   But the reason for this change is to be found in the less frequent
   occurrence, not of the cure, but of the disease.

   The mere message or preaching of Christianity was not of course enough to
   cure the sick. It had to be backed by a convinced belief or by some person
   who was sustained by this belief. The cure was wrought by the praying man
   and not by prayer, by the Spirit and not by the formula, by the exorcist and
   not by exorcism. Conventional means were of no use except in cases where the
   disease became an epidemic and almost general, or in fact a conventional
   thing itself, as we must assume it often to have been during the second
   century. The exorcist then became a mesmerist, probably also a deluded
   impostor. But wherever a strong individuality was victimized by the demon of
   fear, wherever the soul was literally convulsed by the grip of that power of
   darkness from which it was now fain to flee, the will could only be freed
   from its bondage by some strong, holy, outside will. Here and there cases
   occur of what modern observers, in their perplexity, term “suggestion.” But
   “suggestion” was one thing to a prophet, and another thing to a professional
   exorcist.

   In the form in which we meet it throughout the later books of the
   Septuagint, or in the New Testament, or in the Jewish literature of the
   Imperial age, belief in the activity of demons was a comparatively late
   development in Judaism. But during that period it was in full bloom. [211]
   And it was about this time that it also began to spread apace among the
   Greeks and Romans. How the latter came by it, is a question to which no
   answer has yet been given. It is impossible to refer the form of belief in
   demons which was current throughout the empire, in and after the second
   century, solely to Jewish or even to Christian sources. But the naturalizing
   of this belief, or, more correctly, the development along quite definite
   lines of that early Greek belief in spirits, which even the subsequent
   philosophers (e.g., Plato) had supported — all this was a process to which
   Judaism and Christianity may have contributed, no less than other Oriental
   religions, including especially the Egyptian, [212] whose priests had been
   at all times famous for exorcism. In the second century a regular class of
   exorcists existed, just as at the present day in Germany there are
   “Naturärzte,” or Nature physicians, side by side with skilled doctors.
   Still, sensible people remained skeptical, while the great jurist Ulpian
   refused (at a time when, as now, this was a burning question) to recognize
   such practitioners as members of the order of physicians. He was even
   doubtful, of course, whether “specialists” were physicians in the legal
   sense of the term. [213]

   The characteristic features of belief in demons [214] during the second
   century were as follows. In the first place, the belief made its way upwards
   from the obscurity of the lower classes into the upper classes of society,
   and became far more important than it had hitherto been; in the second
   place, it was no longer accompanied by a vigorous, naïve, and open religion
   which kept it within bounds; furthermore, the power of the demons, which had
   hitherto been regarded as morally indifferent, now came to represent their
   wickedness; and finally, when the new belief was applied to the life of
   individuals, its consequences embraced psychical diseases as well as
   physical. In view of all these considerations, the extraordinary spread of
   belief in demons, and the numerous outbursts of demonic disease, are to be
   referred to the combined influence of such well-known factors as the
   dwindling of faith in the old religions, which characterized the Imperial
   age, together with the rise of a feeling on the part of the individual that
   he was free and independent, and therefore flung upon his inmost nature and
   his own responsibility. Free now from any control or restraint of tradition,
   the individual wandered here and there amid the lifeless, fragmentary, and
   chaotic debris of traditions belonging to a world in process of dissolution;
   now he would pick up this, now that, only to discover, himself at last
   driven, often by fear and hope, to find a deceptive support or a new disease
   in the absurdest of them all. [215]

   Such was the situation of affairs encountered by the gospel. It has been
   scoffingly remarked that the gospel produced the very diseases which it
   professed itself able to cure. The scoff is justified in certain cases, but
   in the main it recoils upon the scoffer. The gospel did bring to a head the
   diseases which it proceeded to cure. It found them already in existence, and
   intensified them in the course of its mission. But it also cured them, and
   no flight of the imagination can form any idea of what would have come over
   the ancient world or the Roman empire during the third century, had it not
   been for the church. Professors like Libanius or his colleagues in the
   academy at Athens, are of course among the immortals; people like that could
   maintain themselves without any serious change from century to century. But
   no nation thrives upon the food of rhetoricians and philosophers. At the
   close of the fourth century Rome had only one Symmachus, and the East had
   only one Synesius. But then, Synesius was a Christian.

   In what follows I propose to set down, without note or comment, one or two
   important notices of demon-possession and its cure from the early history of
   the church. In the case of one passage I shall sketch the spread and shape
   of belief in demons. This Tertullian has described, and it is a mistake to
   pass Tertullian by.—In order to estimate the significance of exorcism for
   primitive Christianity, one must remember that according to the belief of
   Christians the Son of God came into the world to combat Satan and his
   kingdom. The evangelists, especially Luke, have depicted the life of Jesus
   from the temptation onwards as an uninterrupted conflict with the devil;
   what he came for was to destroy the works of the devil. In Mark (i. 32) we
   read how many that were possessed were brought to Jesus, and healed by him,
   as he cast out the demons (i. 34). “He suffered not the demons to speak, for
   they knew him” (see also Luke iv. 34, 41). In i. 39 there is the general
   statement: “He preached throughout all Galilee in the synagogues and cast
   out the demons.” When he sent forth the twelve disciples, he conferred on
   them the power of exorcising (iii. 15), a power which they forthwith
   proceeded to exercise (vi. 13; for the Seventy, see Luke x. 17); whilst the
   scribes at Jerusalem declared he had Beelzebub, [216] and that he cast out
   demons with the aid of their prince. [217] The tale of the “unclean
   spirits” who entered a herd of swine is quite familiar (v. 2), forming, as
   it does, one of the most curious fragments of the sacred story, which has
   vainly taxed the powers of believing and of rationalistic criticism. Another
   story which more immediately concerns our present purpose is that of the
   Canaanite woman and her possessed daughter (vii. 25 f.). Matt. vii. 15 f.
   (Luke ix. 38) shows that epileptic fits, as well as other nervous disorders
   (e.g., dumbness, Matt. xii. 22, Luke xi. 14), were also included under
   demon-possession. It is further remarkable that even during the lifetime of
   Jesus exorcists who were not authorized by him exorcised devils in his name.
   This gave rise to a significant conversation between Jesus and John (Mark
   ix. 38). John said to Jesus, “Master, we saw a man casting out demons in thy
   name, and we forbade him, because he did not follow us.” But Jesus answered,
   “Forbid him not. No one shall work a deed of might in my name and then deny
   me presently; for he who is not against us, is for us.” On the other hand,
   another saying of our Lord numbers people who have never known him (Matt.
   vii. 22) among those who cast out devils in his name. From one woman among
   his followers Jesus was known afterwards to have cast out “seven demons”
   (Mark xvi. 9, Luke viii. 2), and among the mighty deeds of which all
   believers were to be made capable, the unauthentic conclusion of Mark’s
   gospel enumerates exorcism (xvi. 17). [218]

   It was as exorcisers that Christians went out into the great world, and
   exorcism formed one very powerful method of their mission and propaganda. It
   was a question not simply of exorcising and vanquishing the demons that
   dwelt in individuals, but also of purifying all public life from them. For
   the age was ruled by the black one and his hordes (Barnabas); it “lieth in
   the evil one,” keitai en ponērō (John). Nor was this mere theory; it was a
   most vital conception of existence. The whole world and the circumambient
   atmosphere were filled with devils; not merely idolatry, but every phase and
   form of life was ruled by them. They sat on thrones, they hovered around
   cradles. The earth was literally a hell, though it was and continued to be a
   creation of God. To encounter this hell and all its devils, Christians had
   command of weapons that were invincible. Besides the evidence drawn from the
   age of their holy scriptures, they pointed to the power of exorcism
   committed to them, which routed evil spirits, and even forced them to bear
   witness to the truth of Christianity. “We,” says Tertullian towards the
   close of his Apology (ch. xlvi.), “we have stated our case fully, as well as
   the evidence for the correctness of our statement— that is, the
   trustworthiness and antiquity of our sacred writings, and also the testimony
   borne by the demonic powers themselves (in our favor).” Such was the stress
   laid on the activity of the exorcists. [219]

   In Paul’s epistles, [220] in Pliny’s letter, and in the Didachê, they are
   never mentioned. [221] But from Justin downwards, Christian literature is
   crowded with allusions to exorcisms, and every large church at any rate had
   exorcists. Originally these men were honored as persons endowed with special
   grace, but afterwards they constituted a class by themselves, in the lower
   hierarchy, like lectors and sub-deacons. By this change they lost their
   pristine standing. [222] The church sharply distinguished between exorcists
   who employed the name of Christ, and pagan sorcerers, magicians, etc.; [223]
   but she could not protect herself adequately against mercenary impostors,
   and several of her exorcists were just as dubious characters as her
   “prophets.” The hotbed of religious frauds was in Egypt, as we learn from
   Lucian’s Peregrinus Proteus, from Celsus, and from Hadrian’s letter to
   Servian. [224] At a very early period pagan exorcists appropriated the names
   of the patriarchs (cp. Orig., c. Cels. I. xxii.), of Solomon, and even of
   Jesus Christ, in their magical formulæ; even Jewish exorcists soon began to
   introduce the name of Jesus in their incantations. [225] The church, on the
   contrary, had to warn her own exorcists not to imitate the heathen. In the
   pseudo-Clementine de Virginitate we read (i. 12): “For those who are
   brethren in Christ it is fitting and right and comely to visit people who
   are vexed with evil spirits, and to pray and utter exorcisms over them, in
   the rational language of prayer acceptable to God, not with a host of fine
   words neatly arranged and studied in order to win the reputation among men
   of being eloquent and possessed of a good memory. Such folk are just like a
   sounding pipe, or a tinkling cymbal, of not the least use to those over whom
   they pronounce their exorcisms. They simply utter terrible words and scare
   people with them, but never act according to a true faith such as that
   enjoined by the Lord when he taught that ‘this kind goeth not out save by
   fasting and prayer offered unceasingly, and by a mind earnestly bent (on
   God).’ Let then make holy requests and entreaties to God, cheerfully,
   circumspectly, and purely, without hatred or malice. For such is the manner
   in which we are to visit a sick (possessed) brother or a sister . . . .
   without guile or covetousness or noise or talkativeness or pride or any
   behavior alien to piety, but with the meek and lowly spirit of Christ. Let
   them exorcise the sick with fasting and with prayer; instead of using
   elegant phrases, neatly arranged and ordered, let them act frankly like men
   who have received the gift of healing from God, to God’s glory. By your
   fastings and prayers and constant watching, together with all the rest of
   your good works, mortify the works of the flesh by the power of the Holy
   Spirit. He who acts thus is a temple of the Holy Spirit of God. Let him cast
   out demons, and God will aid him therein. . . . The Lord has given the
   command to ‘cast out demons’ and also enjoined the duty of healing in other
   ways, adding, ‘Freely ye have received, freely give.’ A great reward from
   God awaits those who serve their brethren with the gifts which God has
   bestowed upon themselves.” Justin writes (Apol. II. vi.): “The Son of God
   became man in order to destroy the demons. This you can now learn from what
   transpires under your own eyes. For many of our Christian people have healed
   a large number of demoniacs throughout the whole world, and also in your own
   city, exorcising them in the name of Jesus Christ, who was crucified under
   Pontius Pilate; yet all other exorcists, magicians, and dealers in drugs
   failed to heal such people. Yea, and such Christians continue still to heal
   them, by rendering the demons impotent and expelling them from the men whom
   they possessed.” In his dialogue against the Jews (lxxxv.), Justin also
   writes: “Every demon exorcised in the name of the Son of God, the First-born
   of all creatures, who was born of a virgin and endured human suffering, who
   was crucified by your nation under Pontius Pilate, who died and rose from
   the dead and ascended into heaven—every demon exorcised in this name is
   mastered and subdued. Whereas if you exorcise in the name of any king or
   righteous man, or prophet, or patriarch, who has been one of yourselves, no
   demon will be subject to you. . . . Your exorcists, I have already said, are
   like the Gentiles in using special arts, employing fumigation and magic
   incantations.” From this passage we infer that the Christian formulae of
   exorcism contained the leading facts of the story of Christ. [226] And
   Origen says as much, quite unmistakably, in his reply to Celsus (I. vi.):
   “The power of exorcism lies in the name of Jesus, which is uttered as the
   stories of his life are being narrated.” [227]

   Naturally one feels very skeptical in reading how various parties in
   Christianity denied each other the power of exorcism, explaining cures as
   due either to mistakes or to deception. So Irenæus (II. xxxi. 2): “The
   adherents of Simon and Carpocrates and the other so-called workers of
   miracles were convicted of acting as they acted, not by the power of God,
   nor in truth, nor for the good of men, but to destroy and deceive men by
   means of magical illusions and universal deceit. They do more injury than
   good to those who believe in them, inasmuch as they are deceivers. For
   neither can they give sight to the blind or hearing to the deaf, nor can
   they rout any demons save those sent by themselves—if they can do even
   that.” [228] With regard to his own church, Irenæus (cp. below, ch. iv.) was
   convinced that the very dead were brought back to life by its members. In
   this, he maintains, there was neither feint, nor error, nor deception, but
   astounding fact, as in the case of our Lord himself. “In the name of Jesus,
   his true disciples, who have received grace from him, do fulfill a healing
   ministry in aid of other men, even as each has received the free gift of
   grace from him. Some surely and certainly drive out demons, so that it
   frequently happens that those thus purged from demons also believe and
   become members of the church. [229] Others again, possess a fore-knowledge
   of the future, with visions and prophetic utterances. . . . . And what shall
   I more say? For it is impossible to enumerate the spiritual gifts and
   blessings which, all over the world, the church has received from God in the
   name of Jesus Christ, who was crucified under Pontius Pilate, and which she
   exercises day by day for the healing of the pagan world, without deceiving
   or taking money from any person. For as she has freely received them from
   God, so also does she freely give” (iatroi anarguroi).

   The popular notion prevalent among the early Christians, as among the later
   Jews, was that, apart from the innumerable hosts of demons who disported
   themselves unabashed throughout history and nature, every individual had
   beside him a good angel who watched over him, and an evil spirit who lay in
   wait for him (cp., e.g., the “Shepherd” of Hermas). If he allowed himself to
   be controlled by the latter, he was thereby “possessed,” in the strict sense
   of the word; i.e., sin itself was possession. This brings out admirably the
   slavish dependence to which any man is reduced who abandons himself to his
   own impulses, though the explanation is naively simple. In the belief in
   demons, as that belief dominated the Christian world in the second and third
   centuries, it is easy to detect features which stamp it as a reactionary
   movement hostile to contemporary culture. Yet it must not be forgotten that
   the heart of it enshrined a moral and consequently a spiritual advance,.
   viz., in a quickened sense of evil, as well as in a recognition of the power
   of sin and of its dominion in the world. Hence it was that a mind of such
   high culture as Tertullian’s could abandon itself to this belief in demons.
   It is interesting to notice how the Greek and Roman elements are bound up
   with the Jewish Christian in his detailed statement of the belief (in the
   Apology), and I shall now quote this passage in full. It occurs in
   connection with the statement that while demons are ensconced behind the
   dead gods of wood and stone, they are forced by Christians to confess what
   they are, viz., not gods at all, but unclean spirits. At several points we
   catch even here the tone of irony and sarcasm over these “poor devils” which
   grew so loud in the Middle Ages, and yet never shook belief in theist. But,
   on the whole, the description is extremely serious. People who fancy at this
   time of day that they would possess primitive Christianity if they only
   enforced certain primitive rules of faith, may perhaps discover from what
   follows the sort of coefficients with which that Christianity was burdened.
   [230]

   “We Christians,” says Tertullian (ch. xxii. f.), “affirm the existence of
   certain spiritual beings. Nor is their name new. The philosophers recognize
   demons; Socrates himself waited on a demon’s impulse, and no wonder—for a
   demon is said to have been his companion from childhood, detaching his mind,
   I have no doubt, from what was good! The poets, too, recognize demons, and
   even the ignorant masses use them often in their oaths. In fact, they appeal
   in their curses to Satan, the prince of this evil gang, with a sort of
   instinctive knowledge of him in their very souls. Plato himself does not
   deny the existence of angels, and even the magicians attest both kinds of
   spiritual beings. But it is our sacred scriptures which record how certain
   angels, who fell of their own free will, produced a still more fallen race
   of demons, who were condemned by God together with their progenitors and
   with that prince to whom we have already alluded. Here we cannot do more
   than merely describe their doings. The ruin of man was their sole aim. From
   the outset man’s overthrow was essayed by these spirits in their wickedness.
   Accordingly they proceed to inflict diseases and evil accidents of all kinds
   on our bodies, while by means of violent assaults they produce sudden and
   extraordinary excesses of the soul. Both to soul and to body they have
   access by their subtle and extremely fine substance. Invisible and
   intangible, those spirits are not visible in the act; it is in their effects
   that they are frequently observed, as when, for example, some mysterious
   poison in the breeze blights the blossom of fruit trees and the grain, or
   nips them in the bud, or destroys the ripened fruit, the poisoned atmosphere
   exhaling, as it were, some noxious breath. With like obscurity, the breath
   of demons and of angels stirs up many a corruption in the soul by furious
   passions, vile excesses, or cruel lusts accompanied by varied errors, the
   worst of which is that these deities commend themselves to the ensnared and
   deluded souls of men, [231] in order to get their favorite food of
   flesh—fumes and of blood offered up to the images and statues of the gods.
   And what more exquisite food could be theirs than to divert then from the
   thought of the true God by means of false illusions? How these illusions are
   managed, I shall now explain. Every spirit is winged; angel and demon alike.
   Hence in an instant they are everywhere. The whole world is just one place
   to them. ’Tis as easy for them to know as to announce any occurrence; and as
   people are ignorant of their nature, their velocity is taken for divinity.
   Thus they would have themselves sometimes thought to be the authors of the
   events which they merely report—and authors, indeed, they are, not of good,
   but occasionally of evil events. The purposes of Divine providence were also
   caught up by them of old from the lips of the prophets, and at present from
   the public reading of their works. So picking up in this way a partial
   knowledge of the future, they set up a rival divinity for themselves by
   purloining prophecy. But well do your Crœsuses and Pyrrhuses know the clever
   ambiguity with which these oracles were framed in view of the future.
   . . . . As they dwell in the air, close to the stars, and in touch with the
   clouds, they can discern the preliminary processes in the sky, and thus are
   able to promise the rain whose coming they already feel. Truly they are most
   kind in their concern for health! First of all, they make you ill; then, to
   produce the impression of a miracle, they enjoin the use of remedies which
   are either unheard of or have quite an opposite effect; lastly, by
   withdrawing their injurious influence, they get the credit of having worked
   a cure. Why, then, should I speak further of their other tricks or even of
   their powers of deception as spirits—of the Castor apparitions, of water
   carried in a sieve, of a ship towed by a girdle, of a beard reddened at a
   touch—things done to get men to believe in stones as gods, instead of
   seeking after the true God?

   “Moreover, if magicians call up ghosts and even bring forward the souls of
   the dead, if they strangle boys in order to make the oracle speak, if they
   pretend to perform many a miracle by means of their quackery and juggling,
   if they even send dreams by aid of those angels and demons whose power they
   have invoked (and, thanks to them, it has become quite a common thing for
   the very goats and tables to divine), how much more keen will be this evil
   power in employing all its energies to do, of its own accord and for its own
   ends, what serves another’s purpose? Or, if the deeds of angels and demons
   are exactly the same as those of your gods, where is the pre-eminence of the
   latter, which must surely be reckoned superior in might to all else? Is it
   not a more worthy conception that the former make themselves gods by
   exhibiting the very credentials of the gods, than that the gods are on a
   level with angels and demons? Locality, I suppose you will say, locality
   makes a difference; in a temple you consider beings to be gods whom
   elsewhere you would not recognize as such! . . . .

   “But hitherto it has been merely a question of words. Now for facts, now for
   a proof that ‘gods’ and ‘demons’ are but different statues for one and the
   same substance. Place before your tribunals any one plainly possessed by a
   demon. Bidden speak by any Christian whatsoever, that spirit will confess he
   is a demon, just as frankly elsewhere he will falsely pretend to be a god.
   [232] Or, if you like, bring forward any one of those who are supposed to be
   divinely possessed, who conceive divinity from the fumes which they inhale
   bending over an altar, and (“ructando curantur”) are delivered of it by
   retching, giving vent to it in gasps. Let the heavenly virgin herself, who
   promises rain, let that teacher o£ healing arts, Æsculapius, ever ready to
   prolong the life of those who are on the point of death, with Socordium,
   Tenatium (?), and Asclepiadotum—let them then and there shed the blood of
   that daring Christian, if—in terror of lying to a Christian—they fail to
   admit they are demons. Could any action be more plain? Any proof more
   cogent? Truth in its simplicity stands here before your eyes; its own worth
   supports it; suspicion there can be none. Say you, it is a piece of magic or
   a trick of some sort? . . . . What objection can be brought against
   something exhibited in its bare reality? If, on the one hand, they (the
   demons) are really gods, why do they pretend (at our challenge) to be
   demons? From fear of us? Then your so-called ‘Godhead’ is subordinated to
   us, and surely no divinity can be attributed to what lies under the control
   of men. . . . . So that ‘Godhead’ of yours proves to be no godhead at all;
   for if it were, demons would not pretend to it, nor would gods deny it.
   . . . . Acknowledge that there is but one species of such beings, namely,
   demons, and that the gods are nothing else. Look out, then, for gods! For
   now you find that those whom you formerly took for such, are demons.”

   In what follows, Tertullian declares that the demons, on being questioned by
   Christians, not only confess they are themselves demons, but also confess
   the Christian’s God as the true God. “Fearing God in Christ, and Christ in
   God, they become subject to the servants of God and Christ. Thus at our
   touch and breath, overpowered by the consideration and contemplation of the
   (future) fire, they leave human bodies at our command, reluctantly and
   sadly, and—in your presence—shamefacedly. You believe their lies; they
   believe them when they tell the truth about themselves. When anyone lies, it
   is not to disgrace but to glorify himself. . . . . Such testimonies from
   your so-called deities usually result in a making people Christians.”

   In ch. xxvii. Tertullian meets the obvious retort that if demons were
   actually subject to Christians, the latter could not possibly succumb
   helplessly to the persecutions directed against them. Tertullian contradicts
   this. The demons, he declares, are certainly like slaves under the control
   of the Christians, but like good-for-nothing slaves they sometimes blend
   fear and contumacy, eager to injure those of whom they stand in awe. “At a
   distance they oppose us, but at close quarters they beg for mercy. Hence,
   like slaves that have broken loose from workhouses, or prisons, or mines, or
   any form of penal servitude, they break out against us, though they are in
   our power, well aware of their impotence, and yet rendered the more
   abandoned thereby. We resist this horde unwillingly, the same as if they
   were still unvanquished, stoutly maintaining the very position which they
   attack, nor is our triumph over them ever more complete than when we are
   condemned for our persistent faith.”

   In ch. xxxvii. Tertullian once more sums up the service which Christians
   render to pagans by means of their exorcists. “Were it not for us, who would
   free you from those hidden foes that are ever making havoc of your health in
   soul and body—from those raids of the demons, I mean, which we repel from
   you without reward or hire?” He says the same thing in his address to the
   magistrate Scapula (ii.): “We do more than repudiate the demons: we overcome
   them, we expose then daily to contempt, and exorcise them from their
   victims, as is well known to many people.” [233] This endowment of
   Christians must therefore have been really acknowledged far and wide, and in
   a number of passages Tertullian speaks as if every Christian possessed it.
   [234] It would be interesting if we could only ascertain how far these cures
   of psychical diseases were permanent. Unfortunately, nothing is known upon
   the point, and yet this is a province where nothing is more common than a
   merely temporary success.

   Like Tertullian, Minucius Felix in his “Octavius” has also treated this
   subject, partly in the same words as Tertullian (ch. xxvii.). [235] The
   apologist Theophilus (ad Autolyc. ii. 8) writes: “The Greek poet spoke under
   the inspiration, not of a pure, but of a lying spirit, as is quite obvious
   from the fact that even in our own day possessed people are sometimes still
   exorcised in the name of the true God, whereupon their lying spirits
   themselves confess that they are demons, the actual demons who formerly were
   at work in the poets.” This leads us to assume that the possessed frequently
   cried out the name of “Apollo” or of the Muses at the moment of exorcising.
   As late as the middle of the third century Cyprian also speaks, like earlier
   authors, of demonic cures wrought by Christians (ad Demetr. xv.): “O if thou
   wouldst but hear and see the demons when they are adjured by us, tormented
   by spiritual scourges, and driven from the possessed bodies by racking
   words; when howling and groaning with human voices (!), and feeling by the
   power of God the stripes and blows, they have to confess the judgment to
   come! Come and see that what we say is true. And forasmuch as thou sayest
   thou dost worship the gods, then believe even those whom thou dost worship.
   Thou wilt see how those whom thou implorest implore us; how those of whom
   thou art in awe stand in awe of us. Thou wilt see how they stand bound under
   our hands, trembling like prisoners—they to whom thou dost look up with
   veneration as thy lords. Verily thou wilt be made ashamed in these errors of
   thine, when thou seest and hearest how thy gods, when cross-questioned by
   us, at once yield up the secret of their being, unable, even before you, to
   conceal those tricks and frauds of theirs.” [236] Similarly in the treatise
   To Donatus (ch. v.): “In Christianity there is conferred (upon pure
   chastity, upon a pure mind, upon pure speech) the gift of healing the sick
   by rendering poisonous potions harmless, by restoring the deranged to
   health, and thus purifying them from ignominious pains, by commanding peace
   for the hostile, rest for the violent, and gentleness for the unruly, by
   forcing—under stress of threats and invective—a confession from unclean and
   roving spirits who have come to dwell within mankind, by roughly ordering
   them out, and stretching them out with struggles, howls, and groans, as
   their sufferings on the rack increase, by lashing them with scourges, and
   burning them with fire. This is what goes on, though no one sees it; the
   punishments are hidden, but the penalty is open. Thus what we have already
   begun to be, that is, the Spirit we have received, comes into its
   kingdom.” The Christian already rules with regal power over the entire host
   of his raging adversary. [237]

   Most interesting of all are the discussions between Celsus and Origen on
   demons and possessed persons, since the debate here is between two men who
   occupied the highest level of contemporary culture. [238] Celsus declared
   that Christians owed the power they seemed to possess to their invocation
   and adjuration of certain demons. [239] Origen retorted that the power of
   banishing demons was actually vested in the name of Jesus and the witness of
   his life, and that the name of Jesus was so powerful that it operated by
   itself even when uttered by immoral persons (c. Cels. I. vi.). Both Origen
   and Celsus, then, believed in demons; and elsewhere (e.g., I. xxiv. f.)
   Origen adduces the old idea of the power exercised by the utterance of
   certain “names”; in fact, he indicates a secret “science of names” [240]
   which confers power on the initiated, although of course one had to be very
   careful to recite the names in the proper language. “When recited in the
   Egyptian tongue, the one class is specially efficacious in the case of
   certain spirits whose power does not extend beyond such things and such a
   sphere, whilst the other class is effective with some spirits if recited in
   Persian, and so forth.” “The name of Jesus also comes under this science of
   names, as it has already expelled numerous spirits from the souls and bodies
   of mankind and shown its power over those who have thus been freed from
   possession.” [241] Origen several times cites the fact of successful
   exorcism (I. xlvi., xlvii.), and the fact is not denied by Celsus, who
   admits even the “miracles” of Jesus. Only, his explanation was very
   different (lxviii.). “The magicians,” he said, “undertake still greater
   marvels, and men trained in the schools of Egypt profess like exploits,
   people who for a few pence will sell their reverend arts in the open
   market-place, expelling demons from people, blowing diseases away with their
   breath, calling up the spirits of the heroes, exhibiting expensive viands,
   with tables, cakes, and dainties, which are really non-existent, and setting
   inanimate things in motion as if they really possessed life, whereas they
   have but the semblance of animals. If any juggler is able to perform feats
   of this kind, must we on that account regard him as ‘God’s son’? Must we not
   rather declare that such accomplishments are merely the contrivances of
   knaves possessed by evil demons?” Christians are jugglers or sorcerers or
   both; Christ also was a master of demonic arts—such was the real opinion of
   Celsus. [242] Origen was at great pains to controvert this very grievous
   charge (see, e.g., I. lxviii.). And he succeeded. He could appeal to the
   unquestionable fact that all Christ’s works were wrought with the object of
   benefiting men. [243] Was it so with magicians? Still, in this reproach of
   Celsus there lay a serious monition for the church and for the Christians, a
   monition which more than Celsus canvassed. As early as the middle of the
   second century a Christian preacher had declared, “The name of the true God
   is blasphemed among the heathen by reason of us Christians; for if we
   fulfill not the commands of God, but lead an unworthy life, they turn away
   and blaspheme, saying that our teaching is merely a fresh myth and error.”
   [244] From the middle of the second century onwards the cry was often raised
   against Christians, that they were jugglers and necromancers, and not a few
   of them were certainly to blame for such a charge. [245] Cures of
   demon-possession practised by unspiritual men as a profession must have
   produced a repellent impression on more serious people, despite the
   attractive power which they did exercise (Tert., Apol. xxiii., “Christianos
   facere consuerunt”). Besides, frivolous or ignorant Christians must often
   have excused themselves for their sins by pleading that a demon had seduced
   them, or that it was not they who did the wrong but the demon. [246] But
   there was hardly any chance of the matter being cleared up in the third
   century. Christians and pagans alike were getting more and more entangled in
   the belief in demons. In their dogmas and their philosophy of religion,
   polytheists certainly became more and more attenuated as a sublime
   monotheism was evolved; but in practical life they plunged more helplessly
   than ever into the abysses of an imaginary world of spirits. The protests
   made by sensible physicians [247] were all in vain.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [208] Based on the essay from which the previous section has largely
   borrowed. Cp. on this point Weinel, Die Wirkungen des Geistes und der
   Geister im nachapost. Zeitalter (1899), pp. 1 f., and the article
   “Dämonische” in the Protest. Real Encykl., iv.(3), by J. Weiss.

   [209] Tertullian (de Anima ix.) furnishes an excellent example of the way in
   which morbid spiritual states (especially visions) which befell Christians
   in the church assemblies depended upon the preaching to which they had just
   listened. One sister, says Tertullian, had a vision of a soul in bodily
   form, just after Tertullian had preached on the soul (probably it was upon
   the corporeal nature of the soul). He adds quite ingenuously that the
   content of a vision was usually derived from the scriptures which had just
   been read aloud, from the psalms, or from the sermons.

   [210] Cp. the biography of Blumhard by Zündel (1881); Ribot’s Les maladies
   de la personnalité (Paris, 1885), Les maladies de la mémoire (Paris, 1881),
   and Les maladies de la volonté (Paris, 1883) [English translations of the
   second in the International Scientific Series, and of the first and third in
   the Religion of Science Library, Chicago]; see also Jundt’s work, Rulman
   Merswin: un problème de psychologie religieuse (Paris, 1890), especially pp.
   96 f.; also the investigations of Forel and Krafft-Ebing.

   [211] Cp. the interesting passage in Joseph., Ant. viii. 2. 5:Paresche
   Solomōni mathein ho theos kai tēn kata tōn daimonōn technēn eis ōpheleian
   kai therapeian tois anthrōpois; epōdas te suntaxamenos hais parēgoreitai ta
   nosēmata kai tropous exorkōseōn katelipen, hois hoi endoumenoi ta daimonia
   hōs mēket' epanelthein ekdiōxousi; kai hautē mechri nun par' hēmin hē
   therapeia pleiston ischuei (“God enabled Solomon to learn the arts valid
   against demons, in order to aid and heal mankind. He composed incantations
   for the alleviation of disease, and left behind him methods of exorcism by
   which demons can be finally expelled from people. A method of healing which
   is extremely effective even in our own day”). Compare also the story that
   follows this remark. The Jews must have been well known as exorcists
   throughout the Roman empire.

   [212] And also the Persian.

   [213] Cp. the remarkable passage in Dig. Leg. xiii. c. 1, § 3: Medicos
   fortassis quis accipiet etiam eos qui alicuius partis corporis vel certi
   doloris sanitatem pollicentur: ut puta si auricularis, si fistulæ vel
   dentium, non tamen si incantavit, si inprecatus est si ut vulgari verbo
   impostorum utar, exorcizavit: non sunt ista medicinæ genera, tametsi sint,
   qui hos sibi profuisse cum praedicatione adfirmant (“Perchance we should
   admit as physicians those also who undertake to cure special parts of the
   body or particular diseases, as, for example, the ear, ulcers, or the teeth;
   yet not if they employ incantations or spells, or—to use the term current
   among such impostors—if they ‘exorcise.’ Though there are people who loudly
   maintain that they have been helped thereby.”)

   [214] The scientific statement and establishment of this belief, in
   philosophy, goes back to Xenocrates; after him Posidonius deserves special
   mention. Cp. Apuleius, de Deo Socratis.

   [215] Jas. iii. 15 speaks of a sophia daimoniōdēs.

   [216] John the Baptist was also said to have been possessed (cp. Matt. xi.
   18).

   [217] Jesus himself explains that he casts out demons by aid of the spirit
   of God (Matt. xii. 28), but he seems to have been repeatedly charged with
   possessing the devil and with madness (cp. John vii. 20, viii. 48 f., x.
   20).

   [218] Indeed, it is put first of all.

   [219] In the pseudo-Clementine epistle “on Virginity” (i. 10), the reading
   of Scripture, exorcism, and teaching are grouped as the most important
   functions in religion.

   [220] See, however, Eph. vi. 12; 2 Cor. xii. 7, etc.

   [221] No explanation has yet been given of the absence of exorcism in Paul.
   His doctrine of sin, however, was unfavorable to such phenomena.

   [222] The history of exorcism (as practised at baptism, and elsewhere on its
   own account) and of exorcists is far too extensive to be discussed here;
   besides, in some departments it has not yet been sufficiently investigated.
   Much information may still be anticipated from the magical papyri, of which
   an ever-increasing number are coming to light. So far as exorcism and
   exorcists entered into the public life of the church, see Probst’s
   Sakramente und Sakramentalien, pp. 39 f., and Kirchliche Disziplin, pp. 116
   f.

   [223] Cp. the apologists, Origen’s reply to Celsus, and the injunction in
   the Canons of Hippolytus (Texte u. Unters. vi. 4, pp. 83 f.): “Oiōnistēs vel
   magus vet astrologus, hariolus, somniorum interpres, praestigiator . . . .
   vel qui phylacteria conficit . . . . hi omnes et qui sunt similes his neque
   instruendi neque baptizandi sunt.” Observe also the polemic against the
   magical arts of the Gnostics.

   [224] Vopiscus, Saturn. 8: “Nemo illic archisynagogus Judaeorum, nemo
   Samarites, nemo Christianorum presbyter, non mathematicus, non haruspex, non
   aliptes.”

   [225] Compare the story of the Jewish exorcists in Acts xix. 13: “Now
   certain of the itinerant Jewish exorcists also undertook to pronounce the
   name of the Lord Jesus over those who were possessed by evil spirits. ‘I
   adjure you,’ they said, ‘by the Jesus whom Paul preaches.’” It is admitted,
   in the pseudo-Cypr. de Rebapt. vii., that even non-Christians were
   frequently able to drive out demons by using the name of Christ.

   [226] In the formula of exorcism the most important part was the mention of
   the crucifixion; cp. Justin’s Dial. xxx., xlix., lxxvi.

   [227] Ischuein dokousin . . . . tō onomati Iēsou meta tēs epangelias tōn
   peri auton historiōn.

   [228] Cp. the sorry and unsuccessful attempts of the church in Asia to treat
   the Montanist prophetesses as demoniacs who required exorcism. Compare with
   this Firmilian’s account (Cypr., Epist. lxxv. 10) of a Christian woman who
   felt herself to be a prophetess, and “deceived” many people: Subito apparuit
   illi unus de exorcistis, vir probatus et circa religiosam disciplinam bene
   semper conversatus, qui exhortatione quoque fratrum plurimorum qui et ipsi
   fortes ac laudabiles in fide aderant excitatus erexit se contra illum
   spiritum nequam revincendum . . . . ille exorcista inspiratus dei gratia
   fortiter restitit et esse illum nequissimum spiritum qui prius sanctus
   putabatur ostendit (“Suddenly there appeared before her one of the
   exorcists, a tried man, of irreproachable conduct in the matter of religious
   discipline. At the urgent appeal of many brethren present, themselves as
   courageous and praiseworthy in the faith, he roused himself to meet and
   master that wicked spirit. . . . Inspired by the grace of God, that exorcist
   made a brave resistance, and showed that the spirit which had previously
   been deemed holy, was in reality most evil”).

   [229] Still it seems to have been made a matter of reproach, in the third
   century, if any one had suffered from possession. Cornelius taxes Novatian
   (cp. Euseb., H.E. vi. 43) with having been possessed by a demon before his
   baptism, and having been healed by an exorcist.

   [230] Next to Tertullian, it is his predecessor Tatian who has given the
   most exact description of the Christian doctrine of demons (in his Oratio ad
   Græcos vii.-xviii.). The demons introduced “Fatum” and polytheism. To
   believers, i.e., to men of the Spirit (pneumatikoi), they are visible, but
   psychic men (psuchikoi) are either unable to see them, or only see them at
   rare intervals (xv.-xvi.). Illnesses arise from the body, but demons assume
   the final responsibility for them. “Sometimes, indeed, they convulse our
   physical state with a storm of their incorrigible wickedness; but smitten by
   a powerful word of God they depart in terror, and the sick man is cured.”
   Tatian does not deny, as a rule, that possessed persons are often healed,
   even apart from the aid of Christians. In the pseudo-Clementine Homilies
   (ix. 10. 16-18) there is also important information upon demons. For the
   Christian belief in demons, consult also Diels, Elementum (1899), especially
   pp. 50 f.

   [231] This ranks as the chef-d’œuvre of iniquity on the part of the demons;
   they are responsible for introducing polytheism, i.e., they get worshipped
   under the images of dead gods, and profit by sacrifices, whose odor they
   enjoy.

   [232] In this, as in some other passages of the Apology, Tertullian’s talk
   is too large.

   [233] See also the interesting observations in de Anima i.

   [234] 2Cp., for example, de Corona xi. Other Christian writers also express
   themselves to the same effect, e.g., the speech of Peter in the
   pseudo-Clementine Homilies (ix. 19), which declares that Christians at
   baptism obtain a gift of healing other people by means of exorcisms:
   “Sometimes the demons will flee if you but look on them, for they know those
   who have surrendered themselves to God, and flee in terror because they
   honor such people” (eniote de hoi daimones monon enidontōn humōn pheuxontai;
   isasin gar tous apodedōkotas heautous tō theō, dio timōntes autous
   pephobēmenoi pheugousin).

   [235] “Adjurati (daemones) per deum verum et solum inviti miseris corporibus
   inhorrescunt, et vel exiliunt statim vel evanescunt gradatim, prout fides
   patientis adiuvat aut gratia curantis adspirat. Sic Christianos de proximo
   fugitant, quos longe in coetibus per vos lacessebant,” etc.

   [236] See also Quod Idola Dei non sint (vii.), and Cypr., Ep. lxix. 15:
   “Hodie etiam geritur, ut per exorcistas voce humana et potestate divina
   flagelletur et uratur et torqueatur diabolus, et cum exire se et homines dei
   dimittere saepe dicat, in eo tamen quod dixerit fallat . . . . cum tamen ad
   aquam salutarem adque ad baptismi sanctificationem venitur, scire debemus et
   fidere [which sounds rather hesitating], quia illic diabolus opprimitur”
   (“This goes on today as well, in the scourging and burning and torturing of
   the devil at the hands of exorcists, by means of the human voice and the
   divine power, and in his declaring that he will go out and leave the men of
   God alone, yet proving untrue in what he says. . . . . However, when the
   water of salvation and the sanctification of baptism is reached, we ought to
   know and trust that the devil is crushed there”).

   [237] Compare with this Lactantius, Divin. Instit. ii. 15, iv. 27, who
   repeats in part the description of Cyprian, but lays special emphasis on the
   sign of the cross as a means of salvation from demons.

   [238] Origen (in Hom. xv. 5, in Jesu Nave xi., pp. 141 f.) has developed a
   theory of his own to explain the suppression of demons by the church,
   especially in the light of its bearing upon the spread of Christianity.
   “Anyone who vanquishes a demon in himself, e.g., the demon of lewdness, puts
   it out of action; the demon is cast into the abyss, and cannot do any harm
   to anyone. Hence there are far fewer demons now than before; hence, also, a
   large number of demons having been overthrown, the heathen are new free to
   believe, as they would not be did whole legions of demons exist as
   formerly” (“Et inde est quod plurimo daemonum numero iam victo ad
   credulitatem venire gentes relaxantur, qui utique nullatenus sinerentur, si
   integras eorum, sicut prius fuerant, subsisterent legiones”).

   [239] The ethical principles of Christianity, says Celsus (I. iv. f.), are
   common to Christians and philosophers alike, while the apparent strength of
   the former lies in the names of a few demons and in incantations.

   [240] Peri onomatōn ta en aporrētois philosophein.

   [241] See on this point the statement of Origen’s pupil Dionysius, Bishop of
   Alexandria (in Euseb., H.E. vii. 10. 4), for the reason why the Valerian
   persecution broke out. Here pagan and Christian exorcisers opposed each
   other. Of the latter, Dionysius says: “There are and were among them many
   persons whose very presence and look, though they merely breathed and spoke,
   were able to scatter the delusive counsels of the sinful demons.” Local
   persecution of Christians elsewhere, and indeed the great persecution under
   Diocletian, arose in this way, pagan priests affirming that the presence of
   Christians who attended the sacrifices hindered their saving influence, etc.

   [242] He gives his opinion of the Gnostic exorcisers in particular in VI.
   xxxix. f.

   [243] Cp., e.g., III. xxviii., and I. lxviii.

   [244] 2 Clem. xiii. 3, muthon tina kai planēn.

   [245] Origen, who himself admits that Christian exorcists were usually
   uneducated people, asserts deliberately and repeatedly that they employed
   neither magic nor sorcery but prayer alone and “formulæ of exorcism which
   are so plain that even the plainest man can make use of them” (c. Cels. VII.
   iv.: sun oudeni periergō kai magikō ē pharmakeutikō pragmati, alla monē
   euchē kai horkōsesin haplousterais kai hosa an dunaito prosagein
   haplousteros anthrōpos. Cp. Comm. in Matth. xiii. 7, vol. iii., p. 224).

   [246] Cp. Origen, de Princip. iii. 2. 1: “Hence some of the less intelligent
   believers think that all human transgressions arise from their [i.e., the
   demons’] antagonistic powers, which constrain the mind of the sinner” (“Unde
   et simpliciores quique domino Christo credentium existimant, quod omnia
   peccata, quaecumque commiserint homines, ex istis contrariis virtutibus
   mentem delinquentium perurgentibus fiant”).

   [247] So the famous physician Posidonius at the close of the fourth century,
   of whom Philostorgius (H.E. viii. 10, reported by Photius) narrates: “He
   said, though incorrectly, that it was not by the incentive of demons` that
   men grew frenzied, but that it was the bad juices of certain sick bodies
   which wrought the mischief; since the power of demons was in no whit hostile
   to the nature of man” (legein auton, homōs ouk orthōs ouchi daimonōn
   epithesei tous anthrōpous ekbacheuesthai, hugrōn de tinōn kakochumian to
   pathos ergazesthai; mē gar einai to parapan ischun daimonōn anthrōpōn phusin
   epēreazousan).
     _________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 4

  THE GOSPEL OF LOVE AND CHARITY [248]

   “I was hungry, and ye fed me; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a
   stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye
   visited me; I was in prison, and ye came to me. In as much as ye did it unto
   one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me.”

   These words of Jesus have shone so brilliantly for many generations in his
   church, and exerted so powerful an influence, that one may further describe
   the Christian preaching as the preaching of love and charity. From this
   standpoint, in fact, the proclamation of the Saviour and of healing would
   seem to be merely subordinate, inasmuch as the words “I was sick, and ye
   visited me” form but one link in the larger chain.

   Among the extant words and parables of Jesus, those which inculcate love and
   charity are especially numerous, and with them we must rank many a story of
   his life. [249] Yet, apart altogether from the number of such sayings, it is
   plain that whenever he had in view the relations of mankind, the gist of his
   preaching was to enforce brotherliness and ministering love, and the surest
   part of the impression he left behind him was that in his own life and
   labors he displayed both of these very qualities. “One is your Master, and
   ye are all brethren”; “Whoso would be first among you shall be servant of
   all; for the Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and
   to give his life a ransom for many.” It is in this sense that we are to
   understand the commandment to love one’s neighbor. How unqualified it is,
   becomes evident from the saying, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse
   you, do good to them that hate you, pray for them that despitefully use you
   and persecute you; [250] that ye may be sons of your Father in heaven, for
   he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sendeth rain on the
   just and the unjust.” “Blessed are the merciful”—that is the keynote of all
   that Jesus proclaimed, and as this merciful spirit is to extend from great
   things to trifles, from the inward to the outward, the saying which does not
   pass over even a cup of cold water (Matt. x. 42) lies side by side with that
   other comprehensive saying, “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our
   debtors.” Brotherliness is love on a footing of equality; ministering love
   means to give and to forgive, and no limit is to be recognized. Besides,
   ministering love is the practical expression of love to God.

   While Jesus himself was exhibiting this love, and making it a life and a
   power, his disciples were learning the highest and holiest thing that can be
   learned in all religion, namely, to believe in the love of God. To them the
   Being who had made heaven and earth was “the Father of mercies and the God
   of all comfort”—a point on which there is no longer any dubiety in the
   testimony of the apostolic and post-apostolic ages. Now, for the first tine,
   that testimony rose among men, which cannot ever be surpassed, the testimony
   that God is Love. The first great statement of the new religion, into which
   the fourth evangelist condensed its central principle, was based entirely
   and exclusively on love: “We love, because He first loved us,” “God so loved
   the world,” “A new commandment give I unto you, that ye love one another.”
   And the greatest, strongest, deepest thing Paul ever wrote is the hymn
   commencing with the words: “Though I speak with the tongues of men and
   angels, but have not love, I am become sounding brass or a clanging
   cymbal.” The new language on the lids of Christians was the language of
   love.

   But it was more than a language, it was a thing of power and action. The
   Christians really considered themselves brothers and sisters, and their
   actions corresponded to this belief. On this point we possess two
   unexceptionable testimonies from pagan writers. Says Lucian of the
   Christians: “Their original lawgiver had taught them that they were all
   brethren, one of another. . . . They become incredibly alert when anything
   of this kind occurs, that affects their common interests. On such occasions
   no expense is grudged.” And Tertullian (Apolog. xxxix.) observes: “It is our
   care for the helpless, our practice of loving kindness, that brands us in
   the eyes of many of our opponents. ‘Only look,’ they say, ‘look how they
   love one another!’ (they themselves being given to mutual hatred). ‘Look how
   they are prepared to die for one another!’ [251] (they themselves being
   readier to kill each other).” Thus had this saying became a fact: “Hereby
   shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to
   another.”

   The gospel thus became a social message. The preaching which laid hold of
   the outer man, detaching him from the world, and uniting him to his God, was
   also a preaching of solidarity and brotherliness. The gospel, it has been
   truly said, is at bottom both individualistic and socialistic. Its tendency
   towards mutual association, so far from being an accidental phenomenon in
   its history, is inherent in its character. It spiritualizes the irresistible
   impulse which draws one man to another, and it raises the social connection
   of human beings from the sphere of a convention to that of a moral
   obligation. In this way it serves to heighten the worth of man, and essays
   to recast contemporary society, to transform the socialism which involves a
   conflict of interests into the socialism which rests upon the consciousness
   of a spiritual unity and a common goal. This was ever present to the mind of
   the great apostle to the Gentiles. In his little churches, where each person
   bore his neighbor’s burden, Paul’s spirit already saw the dawning of a new
   humanity, and in the epistle to the Ephesians he has voiced this feeling
   with a thrill of exultation. Far in the background of these churches—i.e.,
   when they were what they were meant to be—like some unsubstantial semblance,
   lay the division “between Jew and Gentile, Greek and Barbarian, great and
   small, rich and poor. For a new humanity had now appeared, and the apostle
   viewed it as Christ’s body, in which every member served the rest and each
   was indispensable in his own place. Looking at these churches, with all
   their troubles and infirmities, he anticipated, in his exalted moments of
   enthusiasm, what was the development of many centuries. [252]

   We cannot undertake to collect from the literature of the first three
   centuries all the passages where love and charity are enjoined. This would
   lead us too far afield, although we should come across much valuable
   material in making such a survey. We would notice the reiteration of the
   summons to unconditional giving, which occurs among the sayings of Jesus,
   whilst on the contrary we would be astonished to find that passages
   enforcing the law of love are not more numerous, and that they are so
   frequently overshadowed by ascetic counsels; we would also take umbrage at
   the spirit of a number of passages in which the undisguised desire of being
   rewarded for benevolence stands out in bold relief. [253] Still, this
   craving for reward is not in every case immoral, and no conclusion can be
   drawn from the number of times when it occurs. The important thing is to
   determine what actually took place within the sphere of Christian charity
   and active love, and this we shall endeavor to ascertain.

   Three passages may be brought forward to show the general activities which
   were afoot.

   In the official writing sent by the Roman to the Corinthian church c. 96
   A.D., there is a description of the first-rate condition of the latter up
   till a short time previously (1 Clem. i., ii.), a description which
   furnishes the pattern of what a Christian church should be, and the
   approximate realization of this ideal at Corinth. “Who that had stayed with
   you did not approve your most virtuous and steadfast faith? Who did not
   admire your sober and forbearing Christian piety? Who did not proclaim the
   splendid style of your hospitality? Who did not congratulate you on your
   perfect and assured knowledge? For you did everything without respect of
   persons; you walked by the ordinances of God, submitting to your rulers and
   rendering due honor to your senior men. Young persons also you charged to
   have a modest and grave mind; women you instructed to discharge all their
   tasks with a blameless, grave, and pure conscience, and to cherish a proper
   affection for their husbands, teaching them further to look after their
   households decorously, with perfect discretion. You were all lowly in mind,
   free from vainglory, yielding rather than claiming submission, more ready to
   give than to take; content with the supplies provided by God and holding by
   them, you carefully laid up His words in your hearts, and His sufferings
   were ever present to your minds. Thus a profound and unsullied peace was
   bestowed on all, with an insatiable craving for beneficence. . . . . Day and
   night you agonized for all the brotherhood, that by means of compassion and
   care the number of God’s elect might be saved. You were sincere, guileless,
   and void of malice among yourselves. Every sedition and every schism was an
   abomination to you. You lamented the transgressions of your neighbors and
   judged their shortcomings to be your own. You never rued an act of kindness,
   but were ready for every good work.”

   Then Justin concludes the description of Christian worship in his Apology
   (c. lxvii.) thus: “Those who are well-to-do and willing, give as they
   choose, each as he himself purposes; the collection is then deposited with
   the president, who succours orphans, widows, those who are in want owing to
   sickness or any other cause, those who are in prison, and strangers who are
   on a journey.”

   Finally, Tertullian (Apolog. xxxix.) observes: “Even if there does exist a
   sort of common fund, it is not made up of fees, as though we contracted for
   our worship. Each of us puts in a small amount one day a month, or whenever
   he pleases; but only if he pleases and if he is able, for there is no
   compulsion in the matter, everyone contributing of his own free will. These
   monies are, as it were, the deposits of piety. They are expended upon no
   banquets or drinking-bouts or thankless eating-houses, but on feeding and
   burying poor people, on behalf of boys and girls who have neither parents
   nor money, in support of old folk unable now to go about, as well as for
   people who are shipwrecked, or who may be in the mines or exiled in islands
   or in prison—so long as their distress is for the sake of God’s
   fellowship—themselves the nurslings of their confession.”

   In what follows we shall discuss, so far as may be relevant to our immediate
   purpose:—

   1. Alms in general, and their connection with the cultus and officials of
   the church.

   2. The support of teachers and officials.

   3. The support of widows and orphans.

   4. The support of the sick, the infirm, and the disabled.

   5. The care of prisoners and people languishing in the mines.

   6. The care of poor people needing burial, and of the dead in general.

   7. The care of slaves.

   8. The care of those visited by great calamities.

   9. The churches furnishing work, and insisting upon work.

   10. The care of brethren on a journey (hospitality), and of churches in
   poverty or any peril.

   1. Alms in general and in connection with the cultus.—Liberality was
   steadily enjoined upon Christians; indeed, the headquarters of this virtue
   were to lie within the household, and its proof was to be shown in daily
   life. From the apostolic counsels down to Cyprian’s great work de Opere et
   Eleemosynis, there stretches one long line of injunctions, in the course of
   which ever-increasing stress is laid upon the importance of alms to the
   religious position of the donor, and upon the prospect of a future
   recompense. These points are already prominent in Hermas, and in 2 Clem. we
   are told that “almsgiving is good as a repentance from sin; fasting is
   better than prayer, but almsgiving is better than either” (kalon eleemosunē
   hōs metanoia hamartias, kreissōn nēsteia proseuchēs, eleemosunē de
   amphoterōn). Cyprian develops alms [254] into a formal means of grace, the
   only one indeed which remains to a Christian after baptism; in fact he goes
   still further, representing alms as a spectacle which the Christian offers
   to God. [255]

   It is not our business to follow up this aspect of almsgiving, or to discuss
   the amount of injury thus inflicted on a practice which was meant to flow
   from a pure love to men. The point is that a great deal, a very great deal,
   of alms was given away privately throughout the Christian churches. [256] As
   we have already seen, this was well known to the heathen world. [257]

   But so far from being satisfied with private almsgiving, [258] early
   Christianity instituted, apparently from the first, a church fund
   (Tertullian’s arca), and associated charity very closely with the cultus and
   officials of the church. From the ample materials at our disposal, the
   following outline may be sketched:—Every Sunday (cp. already 1 Cor. xvi. 2),
   or once a month (Tertullian), or whenever one chose, gifts in money or kind
   (stips) were brought to the service and entrusted to the president, by whom
   they were laid on the Lord’s table and so consecrated to God. [259] Hence
   the recipient obtained them from the hand of God. “Tis God’s grace and
   philanthropy that support you,” wrote bishop Cornelius (Eus., H.E. vi. 43).
   The president decided who were to be the recipients, and how much was to be
   allocated to each, a business in which he had the advice of the deacons, who
   were expected to be as familiar as possible with the circumstances of each
   member, and who had the further task of distributing the various donations,
   partly at the close of worship, partly in the homes of the indigent. In
   addition to regular voluntary assessments—for, as the principle of liberty
   of choice was strictly maintained, we cannot otherwise describe these
   offerings—there were also extraordinary gifts, such as the present of
   200,000 sesterces brought by Marcion when, as a Christian from Asia, he
   entered the Roman church about the year 139. [260]

   Among these methods of maintenance we must also include the love-feasts, or
   agapæ, with which the Lord’s Supper was originally associated, but which
   persisted into a later age. The idea of the love-feast was that the poor got
   food and drink, since a common meal, to which each contributed as he was
   able, would unite rich and poor alike. Abuses naturally had to be corrected
   at an early stage (cp. 1 Cor. xi. 18 f.), and the whole affair (which was
   hardly a copy of the pagan feasts at the Thiasoi) never seems to have
   acquired any particular importance upon the whole. [261]

   From the very first, the president appears to have had practically an
   absolute control over the donations; [262] but the deacons had also to
   handle them as executive agents. The responsibility was heavy, as was the
   temptation to avarice and dishonesty; hence the repeated counsel, that
   bishops (and deacons) were to be aphilarguroi, “no lovers of money.” It was
   not until a later age that certain principles came to be laid down with
   regard to the distribution of donations as a whole, from which no divergence
   was permissible.

   This system of organized charity in the churches worked side by side with
   private benevolence—as is quite evident from the letters and writings of
   Cyprian. But it was inevitable that the former should gradually handicap the
   latter, since it wore a superior lustre of religious sacredness, and
   therefore, people were convinced, was more acceptable to God. Yet, in
   special cases, private liberality was still appealed to. One splendid
   instance is cited by Cyprian (Epist. lxii.), who describes how the
   Carthaginian churches speedily raised 100,000 sesterces (between £850 and
   £1000). [263]

   In 250 A.D. the Roman church had to support about 100 clergy and 1500 poor
   persons. Taking the yearly cost of supporting one man at £7, 10s. (which was
   approximately the upkeep of one slave), we get an annual sum of £12,000. If,
   however (like Uhlhorn, op. cit., p. 153; Eng. trans., p. 159), we allow
   sixty Roman bushels of wheat per head a year at 7s. 6d., we get a total of
   about £4300. It is safe to say, then, that about 250 A.D. the Roman church
   had to expend from half a million to a million sesterces (i.e., from £5000
   to £10,000) by way of relief.

   The demands made upon the church funds were heavy, as will appear in the
   course of the following classification and discussion.

   2. The support of teachers and officials.—The Pauline principle [264] that
   the rule about a “laborer being worthy of his hire” applied also to
   missionaries and teachers, was observed without break or hesitation
   throughout the Christian churches. The conclusion drawn was that teachers
   could lay claim to a plain livelihood, and that this claim must always have
   precedence of any other demand upon the funds. When a church had chosen
   permanent officials for itself, these also assumed the right of being
   allowed to claim a livelihood, but only so far as their official duties made
   inroads upon their civil occupations. [265] Here, too, the bishop had
   discretionary power; he could appropriate and hand over to the presbyters
   and deacons whatever he thought suitable and fair, but he was bound to
   provide the teachers (i.e., missionaries and prophets) with enough to live
   on day by day. Obviously, this could not fail to give rise to abuses. From
   the Didachê and Lucian we learn that such abuses did arise, and that
   privileges were misemployed. [266]

   3. The support of widows and orphans. [267] —Wherever the early Christian
   records mention poor persons who require support, widows and orphans are
   invariably in the foreground. This corresponds, on the one hand, with the
   special distress of their position in the ancient world, and on the other
   hand with the ethical injunctions which had passed over into Christianity
   from Judaism. As it was, widows and orphans formed the poor kat’ exochēn The
   church had them always with her. “The Roman church,” wrote bishop Cornelius,
   “supports 1500 widows and poor persons” (Eus., H.E. vi. 43). Only widows, we
   note, are mentioned side by side with the general category of recipients of
   relief. Inside the churches, widows had a special title of honor, viz.,
   “God’s altar,” [268] and even Lucian the pagan was aware that Christians
   attended first and foremost to orphans and to widows (Peregrin. xii.). The
   true worship, James had already urged (i. 27), is to visit widows and
   orphans in their distress, and Hermas (Mand. viii. 10) opens his catalogue
   of virtues with the words: chērais hupēretein, orphanous kai husteroumenous
   episkeptesthai (“to serve widows and visit the forlorn and orphans”). [269]
   It is beyond question that the early church made an important contribution
   to the amelioration of social conditions among the lower classes, by her
   support of widows. [270] We need not dwell on the fact, illustrated as early
   as the epistles to Timothy, that abuses crept into this department. Such
   abuses are constantly liable to occur wherever human beings are relieved, in
   whole or in part, of the duty of caring for themselves. [271]

   4. The support of the sick, the infirm, the poor, and the disabled.—Mention
   has already been made of the cure of sick people; but where a cure was
   impossible the church was bound to support the patient by consolation (for
   they were remembered in the prayers of the church from the very first; cp. 1
   Clem. lix. 4), visitation, [272] and charitable gifts (usually in kind).
   Next to the sick came those in trouble (en thlipsei) and people sick in soul
   (kamnontes tē psuchē, Herm. Mand. viii. 10) as a rule, then the helpless and
   disabled (Tertullian singles out expressly senes domestici), finally the
   poor in general. To quote passages would be superfluous, for the duty is
   repeatedly inculcated; besides, concrete examples are fairly plentiful,
   although our records only mention such cases incidentally and quite
   accidentally. [273] Deacons, “widows,” and deaconesses (though the
   last-named were apparently confined to the East) were set apart for this
   work. It is said of deacons in the Apostolic Constitutions (see Texte u.
   Unters. ii. 5. 8 f.): “They are to be doers of good works, exercising a
   general supervision day and night, neither scorning the poor nor respecting
   the person of the rich; they must ascertain who are in distress and not
   exclude them from a share in the church funds, compelling also the
   well-to-do, to put money aside for good works.” Of “widows” it is remarked,
   in the same passage, that they should render aid to women afflicted by
   disease, and the trait of philoptōchos (a lover of the poor) is expected
   among the other qualities of a bishop. [274] In an old legend dating from
   the Decian persecution, there is a story of the deacon Laurentius in Rome,
   who, when desired to hand over the treasures of the church, indicated the
   poor as its only treasures. This was audacious, but it was not incorrect;
   from the very first, any possessions of the church were steadily
   characterized as poor funds; and this remained true during the early
   centuries. [275] The excellence of the church’s charitable system, the deep
   impression made by it, and the numbers that it won over to the faith, find
   their best voucher in the action of Julian the Apostate, who attempted an
   exact reproduction of it in that artificial creation of his, the pagan
   State-church, in order to deprive the Christians of this very weapon. The
   imitation, of course, had no success. [276]

   Julian attests not only the excellence of the church’s system of relief, but
   its extension to non-Christians. He wrote to Arsacius (Sozom. v. 16): “These
   godless Galileans feed not only their own poor but ours; our poor lack our
   care.” This testimony is all the more weighty inasmuch as our Christian
   sources yield no satisfactory data on this point. Cp., however, under (8),
   and Paul’s injunction in Gal. vi. 10: “Let us do good to all, especially to
   those who belong to the household of the faith.” “True charity,” says
   Tertullian (Apol. xlii.), “disburses more money in the streets than your
   religion in the temples.” The church-funds were indeed for the use of the
   brethren alone, but private beneficence did not restrict itself to the
   household of faith. In a great calamity, as we learn from reliable evidence
   (see below), Christians did extend their aid to non-Christians, even
   exciting the admiration of the latter.

   5. Care for prisoners and for people languishing in the mines.—The third
   point in the catalogue of virtues given by Hermas is: ex anankōn lutrousthai
   tous doulous tou theou (“Redeem the servants of God from their bonds”).
   Prisoners might be innocent for various reasons, but above all there were
   people incarcerated for their faith or imprisoned for debt, and both classes
   had to be reached by charity. In the first instance, they had to be visited
   and consoled, and their plight alleviated by gifts of food. [277] Visiting
   prisoners was the regular work of the deacons, who had thus to run frequent
   risks; but ordinary Christians were also expected to discharge this duty. If
   the prisoners had been arrested for their faith, and if they were rather
   distinguished teachers, there was no hardship in obeying the command; in
   fact, many moved heaven and earth to get access to prisoners, [278] since it
   was considered that there was something sanctifying about intercourse with a
   confessor. In order to gain admission they would even go the length of
   bribing the gaolers, [279] and thus manage to smuggle in decent meals and
   crave a blessing from the saints. The records of the martyrs are full of
   such tales. Even Lucian knew of the practice, and pointed out the
   improprieties to which it gave rise. Christian records, particularly those
   of a later date, [280] corroborate this, and as early as the Montanist
   controversy it was a burning question whether or no any prominent confessor
   was really an impostor, if, after being imprisoned for misdemeanors, he made
   out as if he had been imprisoned on account of the Christian faith. Such
   abuses, however, were inevitable, and upon the whole their number was not
   large. The keepers, secretly impressed by the behavior of the Christians,
   often consented of their own accord to let them communicate with their
   friends (Acta Perpet. ix.: “Pudens miles optio, præpositus carceris, nos
   magnificare coepit, intelligens magnam virtutem esse in nobis; qui multos ad
   nos admittebat, ut et nos et illi invicem refrigeraremus” (“Pudens, a
   military subordinate in charge of the prison, began to have a high opinion
   of us, since he recognized there was some great power of God in us. He let
   many people in to see us, that we and they might refresh one another”).

   If any Christian brethren were sentenced to the mines, they were still
   looked after, even there. [281] Their names were carefully noted; attempts
   were made to keep in touch with them; efforts were concocted to procure
   their release, [282] and brethren were sent to ease their lot, to edify and
   to encourage them. [283] The care shown by Christians for prisoners was so
   notorious that (according to Eusebius, H.E. v. 8) Licinius, the last emperor
   before Constantine who persecuted the Christians, passed a law to the effect
   that “no one was to show kindness to sufferers in prison by supplying them
   with food, and that no one was to show mercy to those who were starving in
   prison.” “In addition to this,” Eusebius proceeds to relate, “a penalty was
   attached, to the effect that those who showed compassion were to share the
   fate of the objects of their charity, and that those who were humane to the
   unfortunate were to be flung into bonds and imprisonment and endure the same
   suffering as the others.” This law, which was directly aimed at Christians,
   shows, more clearly than anything else could do, the care lavished by
   Christians upon their captive brethren, although much may have crept in
   connection with this which the State could not tolerate.

   But they did more than try to merely alleviate the lot of prisoners. Their
   aim was to get them ransomed. Instances of this cannot have been altogether
   rare, but unfortunately it is difficult for us to form any judgment on this
   matter, since in a number of instances, when a ransom is spoken of, we
   cannot be sure whether prisoners or slaves are meant. Ransoming captives, at
   any rate, was regarded as a work which was specially noble and well-pleasing
   to God, but it never appears to have been undertaken by any church. To the
   last it remained a monopoly of private generosity and along this line
   individuals displayed a spirit of real heroism. [284]

   6. Care of poor people requiring burial, and of the dead in general.—We may
   begin here with the words of Julian, in his letter to Arsacius (Soz., v.
   15): “This godlessness (i.e., Christianity) is mainly furthered by its
   philanthropy towards strangers and its careful attention to the bestowal of
   the dead.” Tertullian declares (see p. 153) that the burial of poor brethren
   was performed at the expense of the common fund, and Aristides (Apol. xv.)
   corroborates this, although with him it takes the form of private charity.
   “Whenever,” says Aristides, “one of their poor passes from the world, one of
   them looks after him and sees to his burial, according to his means.” We
   know the great importance attached to an honorable burial in those days, and
   the pain felt at the prospect of having to forego this privilege. In this
   respect the Christian church was meeting a sentiment which even its
   opponents felt to be a human duty. Christians, no doubt, were expected to
   feel themselves superior to any earthly ignominy, but even they felt it was
   a ghastly thing not to be buried decently. The deacons were specially
   charged with the task of seeing that everyone was properly interred (Const.
   Ap. iii. 7), [285] and in certain cases they did not restrict themselves to
   the limits of the brotherhood. “We cannot bear,” says Lactantius (Instit.
   6.12), “that the image and workmanship of God should be exposed as a prey to
   wild beasts and birds, but we restore it to the earth from which it was
   taken, [286] and do this office of relatives even to the body of a person
   whom we do not know, since in their room humanity must step in.” [287] At
   this point also we must include the care of the dead after burial. These
   were still regarded in part as destitute and fit to be supported. Oblations
   were presented in their name and for the welfare of their souls, which
   served as actual intercessions on their behalf. This primitive custom was
   undoubtedly of immense significance to the living; it comforted many an
   anxious relative, and added greatly to the attractive power of Christianity.
   [288]

   7. Care for slaves. — It is a mistake to suppose that any “slave question”
   occupied the early church. The primitive Christians looked on slavery with
   neither a more friendly nor a more hostile eye than they did upon the State
   and legal ties. [289] They never dreamt of working for the abolition of the
   State, nor did it ever occur to them to abolish slavery for humane or other
   reasons — not even amongst themselves. The New Testament epistles already
   assume that Christian masters have slaves (not merely that pagan masters
   have Christian slaves), and they give no directions for any change in this
   relationship. On the contrary, slaves are earnestly admonished to be
   faithful and obedient. [290]

   Still, it would not be true to assert that primitive Christianity was
   indifferent to slaves and their condition. On the contrary, the church did
   turn her attention to them, and effected some change in their condition.
   This follows from such considerations as these:—

   (a) Converted slaves, male or female, were regarded in the full sense of the
   term as brothers and sisters from the standpoint of religion. Compared to
   this, their position in the world was reckoned a matter of indifference.
   [291]

   (b) They shared the rights of church members to the fullest extent. Slaves
   could even become clergymen, and in fact bishops. [292]

   (c) As personalities (in the moral sense) they were to be just as highly
   esteemed as freemen. The sex of female slaves had to be respected, nor was
   their modesty to be outraged. The same virtues were expected from slaves as
   from freemen, and consequently their virtues earned the same honor. [293]

   (d) Masters and mistresses were strictly charged to treat all their slaves
   humanely, [294] but, on the other hand, to remember that Christian slaves
   were their own brethren. [295] Christian slaves, for their part, were told
   not to disdain their Christian masters, i.e., they were not to regard
   themselves as their equals. [296]

   (e) To set a slave free was looked upon, probably from the very beginning,
   as a praiseworthy action; [297] otherwise, no Christian slave could have had
   any claim to be emancipated. Although the primitive church did not admit any
   such claim on their part, least of all any claim of this kind on the funds
   of the church, there were cases in which slaves had their ransom paid for
   out of such funds. [298] The church never condemned the rights of masters
   over slaves as sinful; it simply saw in them a natural relationship. In this
   sphere the source of reform lay, not in Christianity, but in general
   considerations derived from moral philosophy and in economic necessities.

   From one of the canons of the Council of Elvira (c. 300 A.D.), as well as
   from other minor sources, we learn that even in the Christian church, during
   the third century in particular, cases unfortunately did occur in which
   slaves were treated with revolting harshness and barbarity. [299] In
   general, one has to recollect that even as early as the second century a
   diminution of the great slave-establishment can be detected—a diminution
   which, on economic grounds, continued during the third century. The
   liberation of slaves was frequently a necessity; it must not be regarded, as
   a rule, in the light of an act prompted by compassion or brotherly feeling.

   8. Care for people visited by great calamities.—As early as Hebrews x. 32 f.
   a church is commended for having nobly stood the test of a great persecution
   and calamity, thanks to sympathy and solicitous care. From that time onward,
   we frequently come across counsels to Christian brethren to show themselves
   especially active and devoted in any emergencies of distress; not counsels
   merely, but also actual proofs that they bore fruit. We shall not, at
   present, go into cases in which churches lent aid to sister churches, even
   at a considerable distance; these fall to be noticed under section 10. But
   some examples referring to calamities within a church itself may be set down
   at this stage of our discussion.

   When the plague raged in Alexandria (about 259 A.D.), bishop Dionysius wrote
   (Euseb., H.E., vii. 22): “The most of our brethren did not spare themselves,
   so great was their brotherly affection. They held fast to each other,
   visited the sick without fear, ministered to them assiduously, and served
   them for the sake of Christ. Right gladly did they perish with them. . . .
   Indeed many did die, after caring for the sick and giving health to others,
   transplanting the death of others, as it were, into themselves. In this way
   the noblest of our brethren died, including some presbyters and deacons and
   people of the highest reputation. . . . . Quite the reverse was it with the
   heathen. They abandoned those who began to sicken, fled from their dearest
   friends, threw out the sick when half dead into the streets, and let the
   dead lie unburied.”

   A similar tale is related by Cyprian of the plague at Carthage. He exclaims
   to the pagan Demetrianus (x.): “Pestem et luem criminaris, cum peste ipsa et
   lue vel detecta sint vel aucta crimina singulorum, dum nec infirmis
   exhibetur misericordia et defunctis avaritia inhiat ac rapina. Idem ad
   pietatis obseqium timidi, [300] ad impia lucra temerarii, fugientes
   morientium funera et adpetentes spolia mortuorum” (“You blame plague and
   disease, when plague and disease either swell or disclose the crimes of
   individuals, no mercy being shown to the weak, and avarice and rapine gaping
   greedily for the dead. The same people are sluggish in the discharge of the
   duties of affection, who rashly seek impious gains; they shun the deathbeds
   of the dying, but make for the spoils of the dead”). Cyprian’s advice is
   seen in his treatise de Mortalitate. His conduct, and the way he inspired
   other Christians by his example, are narrated by his biographer Pontianus
   (Vita, ix. f.): “Adgregatam primo in loco plebem de misercordiae bonis
   instruit. Docet divinae lectionis exemplis . . . . tunc deinde subiungit nun
   esse mirabile, si nostros tantum debito caritatis obsequio foveremus; cum
   enim perfectum posse fieri, qui plus aliquid publicano vel ethnico fecerit,
   qui malum bono vincens et divinae clementiae instar exercens inimicos quoque
   dilexerit. . . . . Quid Christiana plebs faceret, cui de fide nomen est?
   distributa sunt ergo continuo pro qualitate hominum atque ordinum ministeria
   [organized charity, then]. Multi qui paupertatis beneficio sumptus exhibere
   non poterant, plus sumptibus exhibebant, compensantes proprio labore
   mercedem divitiis omnibus cariorem . . . . fiebat itaque exuberantium operum
   largitate, quod bonum est ad omnes, non ad solos domesticos fidei (“The
   people being assembled together, he first of all urges on them the benefits
   of mercy. By means of examples drawn from the sacred lessons, he teaches
   them. . . . Then he proceeds to add that there is nothing remarkable in
   cherishing merely our own people with the due attentions of love, but that
   one might become perfect who should do something more than heathen men or
   publicans, one who, overcoming evil with good, and practicing a merciful
   kindness like to that of God, should love his enemies as well. . . . What
   should a Christian people do, a people whose very name was derived from
   faith? The contributions are always distributed then according to the degree
   of the men and of their respective ranks. Many who, on the score of poverty,
   could not make any show of wealth, showed far more than wealth, as they made
   up by personal labor an offering dearer than all the riches in the world.
   Thus the good done was done to all men, and not merely to the household of
   faith, so richly did the good works overflow”).

   We hear exactly the same story of practical sympathy and self-denying love
   displayed by Christians even to outsiders, in the great plague which
   occurred during the reign of Maximinus Daza (Eus., H.E., ix. 8): “Then did
   they show themselves to the heathen in the clearest light. For the
   Christians were the only people who amid such terrible ills showed their
   fellow feeling and humanity by their actions. Day by day some would busy
   themselves with attending to the dead and burying them (for there were
   numbers to whom no one else paid any heed); others gathered in one spot all
   who were afflicted by hunger throughout the whole city, and gave bread to
   them all. When this became known, people glorified the Christians’ God, and,
   convinced by the very facts, confessed the Christians alone were truly pious
   and religious.”

   It may be inferred with certainty, as Eusebius himself avows, that cases of
   this kind made a deep impression upon those who were not Christians, and
   that they gave a powerful impetus to the propaganda.

   9. The churches furnishing work and insisting upon work.—Christianity at the
   outset spread chiefly among people who had to work hard. The new religion
   did not teach its votaries “the dignity of labor” or “the noble pleasure
   invariably afforded by work” What it inculcated was just the duty of work.
   [301] “If any will not work, neither let him eat” (2 Thess. iii. 10). Over
   and again it was enunciated that the duty of providing for others was
   conditioned by their incapacity for work. The brethren had soon to face the
   fact that some of their numbers were falling into restless and lazy habits,
   as well as the sadder fact that these very people were selfishly trying to
   trade upon the charity of their neighbors. This was so notorious that even
   in the brief compass of the Didachê there is a note of precautions which are
   to be taken to checkmate such attempts, while in Lucian’s description of the
   Christians he singles out, as one of their characteristic traits, a
   readiness to let cunning impostors take advantage of their brotherly love.
   [302]

   Christianity cannot be charged at any rate with the desire of promoting
   mendicancy or with underestimating the duty of work. [303] Even the charge
   of being “infructuosi in negotiis” (of no use in practical affairs) was
   repudiated by Tertullian. “How so?” he asks. “How can that be when such
   people dwell beside you, sharing your way of life, your dress, your habits,
   and the same needs of life? We are no Brahmins or Indian gymnosophists,
   dwelling in woods and exiled from life. . . . We stay beside you in this
   world, making use of the forum, the provision-market, the bath, the booth,
   the workshop, the inn, the weekly market, and all other places of commerce.
   We sail with you, fight at your side, till the soil with you, and traffic
   with you; we likewise join our technical skill to that of others, and make
   our works public property for your use” (Apol., xlii.). [304] Even clerics
   were not exempted from making a livelihood, [305] and admirable sayings on
   the need of labor occur in Clement of Alexandria as well as in other
   writers. We have already observed (pp. 155 f.) that one incentive to work
   was found in the consideration that money could thus be gained for the
   purpose of supporting other people, and this idea was by no means thrown out
   at random. Its frequent repetition, from the epistle to the Ephesians
   onwards, shows that people recognized in it a powerful motive for the
   industrious life. It was also declared in simple and stirring language that
   the laborer was worthy of his hire, and a fearful judgment was prophesied
   for those who defrauded workmen of their wages (see especially Jas. v. 4
   f.). It is indeed surprising that work was spoken of in such a sensible way,
   and that the duty of work was inculcated so earnestly, in a society which
   was so liable to fanaticism and indolence.

   But we have not yet alluded to what was the really noticeable feature in
   this connection. We have already come across several passages which would
   lead us to infer that, together with the recognition that every Christian
   brother had the right to a bare provision for livelihood, the early
   Christian church also admitted its obligation to secure this minimum either
   by furnishing him with work or else by maintaining him. Thus we read in the
   pseudo-Clementine homilies (cp. Clem., viii.): “For those able to work,
   provide work; and to those incapable of work, be charitable.” [306] Cyprian
   also (Ep., ii.) assumes that if the church forbids some teacher of dramatic
   art to practice his profession, it must look after him, or, in the event of
   his being unable to do anything else, provide him with the necessaries of
   life. [307] We were not aware, however, if this was really felt to be a duty
   by the church at large, till the discovery of the Didachê. This threw quite
   a fresh light on the situation. In the Didachê (xii.) it is ordained that no
   brother who is able to work is to be maintained by any church for more than
   two or three days. The church accordingly had the right of getting rid of
   such brethren. But the reverse side of this right was a duty. “If any
   brother has a trade, let him follow that trade and earn the bread he eats.
   If he has no trade, exercise your discretion in arranging for him to live
   among you as a Christian, but not in idleness. If he will not do this (i.e.,
   engage in the work with which you furnish him), he is trafficking with
   Christ (christemporos). Beware of men like that.” It is beyond question,
   therefore, that a Christian brother could demand work from the church, and
   that the church had to furnish him with work. What bound the members
   together, then, was not merely the duty of supporting one another—that was
   simply the ultima ratio; it was the fact that they formed a guild of
   workers, in the sense that the churches had to provide work for a brother
   whenever he required it. This fact seems to me of great importance, from the
   social standpoint. The churches were also labor unions. The case attested by
   Cyprian proves that there is far more here than a merely rhetorical maxim.
   The Church did prove in this way a refuge for people in distress who were
   prepared to work. Its attractive power was consequently intensified, and
   from the economic standpoint we must attach very high value to a union which
   provided work for those who were able to work, and at the same time kept
   hunger from those who were unfit for any labor.

   10. Care for brethren on a journey (hospitality) and for churches in poverty
   or peril. [308] —The diaconate went outside the circle of the individual
   church when it deliberately extended its labors to include the relief of
   strangers, i.e., in the first instance of Christian brethren on their
   travels. In our oldest account of Christian worship on Sunday (Justin,
   Apol., I. lxvii.; see above, p. 153), strangers on their travels are
   included in the list of those who receive support from the
   church-collections. This form of charity was thus considered part of the
   church’s business, instead of merely being left to the goodwill of
   individuals; though people had recourse in many ways to the private method,
   while the virtue of hospitality was repeatedly inculcated on the faithful.
   [309] In the first epistle of Clement to the Corinthian church, it is
   particularly noted, among the distinguishing virtues of the church, that
   anyone who had stayed there praised their splendid sense of hospitality.
   [310] But during the early centuries of Christianity it was the Roman church
   more than any other which was distinguished by the generosity with which it
   practiced this virtue. In one document from the reign of Marcus Aurelius, a
   letter of Dionysius the bishop of Corinth to the Roman church, it is
   acknowledged that the latter has maintained its primitive custom of showing
   kindness to foreign brethren. “Your worthy bishop Soter has not merely kept
   up this practice, but even extended it, by aiding the saints with rich
   supplies, which he sends from time to time, and also by addressing blessed
   words of comfort to brethren coming up to Rome, like a loving father to his
   children” (Eus., H.E., iv. 23. 10). We shall return to this later on;
   meanwhile it may be pointed out, in this connection, that the Roman church
   owed its rapid rise to supremacy in Western Christendom, not simply to its
   geographical position within the capital of the empire, or to the fact of
   its having been the seat of apostolic activity throughout the West, but also
   to the fact that it recognized the special obligation of caring for
   Christians in general, which fell to it as the church of the imperial
   capital. A living interest in the collective church of Christ throbbed with
   peculiar intensity throughout the Roman church, as we shall see, from the
   very outset, and the practice of hospitality was one of its manifestations.
   At a time when Christianity was still a homeless religion, the occasional
   travels of the brethren were frequently the means of bringing churches
   together which otherwise would have had no common tie; while in an age when
   Christian captives were being dragged off, and banished to distant spots
   throughout the empire, and when brethren in distress sought shelter and
   solace, the practical proof of hospitality must have been specially telling.
   As early as the second century one bishop of Asia Minor even wrote a book
   upon this virtue. [311] So highly was it prized within the churches that it
   was put next to faith as the genuine proof of faith. “For the sake of his
   faith and hospitality, Abraham had a son given him in his old age.” “For his
   hospitality and piety was Lot saved from Sodom.” “For the sake of her faith
   and hospitality was Rahab saved.” Such are the examples of which, in these
   very words, the Roman church reminds her sister at Corinth. [312] Nor was
   this exercise of hospitality merely an aid in passing. The obligation of
   work imposed by the Christian church has been already mentioned (cp. pp. 173
   f.); if any visitors wished to settle down, they had to take up some work,
   as is plain from the very provision made for such cases. Along roads running
   through waste country hospices were erected. The earliest case of this
   occurs in the Acta Archelai [313] (fourth century).

   It was easy to take advantage of a spirit so obliging and unsparing (e.g.,
   the case of Proteus Peregrinus, and especially the churches’ sad experience
   of so-called prophets and teachers). Heretics could creep in, and so could
   loafers or impostors. We note, accordingly, that definite precautions were
   taken against these at quite an early period. The new arrival is to be
   tested to see whether or not he is a Christian (cp. 2 and 3 John; Did.,
   xii.). In the case of an itinerant prophet, his words are to be compared
   with his actions. No brother is to remain idle in any place for more than
   two days, or three at the very most; after that, he must either leave or
   labor (Did., xii.). Later on, any brother on a journey was required to bring
   with him a passport from his church at home. Things must have come to a sad
   pass when (as the Didachê informs us) it was decreed that any visitor must
   be adjudged a false prophet without further ado, if during an ecstasy he
   ordered a meal and then partook of it, or if in an ecstasy he asked for
   money. Many a traveler, however, who desired to settle down, did not come
   with empty hands; such persons did not ask, they gave. Thus we know (see
   above) that when Marcion came from Pontus and joined the Roman church, he
   contributed 200,000 sesterces to its funds (Tert., de Præscr., xxx.). Still,
   such cases were the exception; as a rule, visitors were in need of
   assistance.

   Care lavished on brethren on a journey blossomed naturally into a sympathy
   and care for any distant churches in poverty or peril. The keen interest
   shown in a guest could not cease when he left the threshold of one’s house
   or passed beyond the city gates. And more than this, the guest occupied the
   position of a representative to any church at which he arrived; he was a
   messenger to them from some distant circle of brethren who were probably
   entire strangers and were yet related to them. His account of the distress
   and suffering of his own church, or of its growth and spiritual gifts, was
   no foreign news. The primitive churches were sensible that their faith and
   calling bound them closely together in this world; they felt, as the apostle
   enjoined, that “if one member suffer, all the members suffer with it, while
   if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it” (1 Cor. xii. 26).
   And there is no doubt whatever that the consciousness of this was most
   vigorous and vital in the very ages during which no external bond as yet
   united the various churches, the latter standing side by side in almost
   entire independence of each other. These were the ages when the primitive
   article of the common symbol, “I believe in one holy church,” was really
   nothing more than an article of faith. And of course the effect of the
   inward ties was all the stronger when people were participating in a common
   faith which found expression ere long in a brief and vigorous confession, or
   practicing the same love and patience and Christian discipline, or turning
   their hopes in common to that glorious consummation of Christ’s kingdom of
   which they had each received the earnest and the pledge. These common
   possessions stimulated brotherly love; they made strangers friends, and
   brought the distant near. “By secret signs and marks they manage to
   recognize one another, loving each other almost before they are
   acquainted”; such is the description of Christians given by the pagan
   Cæcilius (Min. Felix, ix. 3). Changes afterwards took place; but this vital
   sense of belonging to one brotherhood never wholly disappeared.

   In the great prayers of thanksgiving and supplication offered every Sabbath
   by the churches, there was a fixed place assigned to intercession for the
   whole of Christendom throughout the earth. Before very long this kindled the
   consciousness that every individual member belonged to the holy unity of
   Christendom, just as it also kept them mindful of the services which they
   owed to the general body. In the epistles and documents of primitive
   Christianity, wherever the church-prayers emerge their ecumenical character
   becomes clear and conspicuous. [314] Special means of intercourse were
   provided by epistles, circular letters, collections of epistles, the
   transmission of acts or of official records, or by travelers and special
   messengers. When matters of importance were at stake, the bishops themselves
   went forth to settle controversial questions or to arrange a common basis of
   agreement. It is not our business in these pages to describe all this varied
   intercourse. We shall confine ourselves to the task of gathering and
   explaining those passages in which one church comes to the aid of another in
   any case of need. Poverty, sickness, persecution, and suffering of all kinds
   formed one class of troubles which demanded constant help on the part of
   churches that were better off; while, in a different direction, assistance
   was required in those internal crises of doctrine and of conduct which might
   threaten a church and in fact endanger its very existence. Along both of
   these lines the brotherly love of the churches had to prove its reality.

   The first case of one church supporting another occurs at the very beginning
   of the apostolic age. In Acts xi. 27 f. we read that Agabus in Antioch
   foretold a famine. On the news of this, the young church at Antioch made a
   collection on behalf of the poor brethren in Judæa, and dispatched the
   proceeds to them by the hands of Barnabas and Paul. [315] It was a Gentile
   Christian church which was the first, so far as we are aware, to help a
   sister church in her distress. Shortly after this, the brotherly love felt
   by young Christian communities drawn from pagans in Asia and Europe is
   reported to have approved itself on a still wider scale. Even after the
   famine had passed, the mother church at Jerusalem continued poor. Why, we do
   not know. An explanation has been sought in the early attempt by which that
   church is said to have introduced a voluntary community of goods; it was the
   failure of this attempt, we are to believe, that left the local church
   impoverished. This is merely a vague conjecture. Nevertheless, the poverty
   at Jerusalem remains a fact. At the critical conference in Jerusalem, when
   the three pillar-apostles definitely recognized Paul’s mission to the
   Gentiles, the latter pledged himself to remember the poor saints at
   Jerusalem in distant lands; and the epistles to the Galatians, the
   Corinthians, and the Romans, show how widely and faithfully the apostle
   discharged this obligation. His position in this matter was by no means
   easy. He had made himself responsible for a collection whose value depended
   entirely on the voluntary devotion of the churches which he founded. But he
   was sure he could rely on them, and in this he did not deceive himself.
   Paul’s churches made his concerns their own, and money for the brethren far
   away at Jerusalem was collected in Galatia, Macedonia, and Achaia. Even when
   the apostle had to endure the prospect of all his work in Corinth being
   endangered by a severe local crisis, he did not fail to remember the
   business of the collection along with more important matters. The local
   arrangements for it had almost come to a standstill by the time he wrote,
   and the aim of his vigorous, affectionate, and graceful words of counsel to
   the church is to revive the zeal which had been allowed to cool amid their
   party quarrels (2 Cor. viii. 9). Not long afterwards he is able to tell the
   Romans that “those of Macedonia and Achaia freely chose to make a certain
   contribution for the poor saints at Jerusalem. They have done it willingly,
   and indeed it was a debt. For if the Gentiles have been made partakers of
   their spiritual things, they owe it to them also to minister to them in
   secular things” (Rom. xv. 26 f.). In this collection Paul saw a real duty of
   charity which rested on the Gentile churches, and one has only to realize
   the circumstances under which the money was gathered in order to understand
   the meaning it possessed for the donors themselves. As yet, there was no
   coming or going between the Gentile and the Judean Christians, though the
   former had to admit that the latter were one with themselves as brethren and
   as members of a single church. The churches in Asia and Europe were
   imitators of the churches of God in Judæa, (1 Thess. ii. 14), yet they had
   no fellowship in worship, life, or customs. This collection formed,
   therefore, the one visible expression of that brotherly unity which
   otherwise was rooted merely in their common faith. This was what lent it a
   significance of its own. For a considerable period this devotion of the
   Gentile Christians to their distressed brethren in Jerusalem was the sole
   manifestation, even in visible shape, of the consciousness that all
   Christians shared an inner fellowship. We do not know how long the
   contributions were kept up. The great catastrophes which occurred in
   Palestine after 65 A.D. had a disastrous effect at any rate upon the
   relations between Gentile Christians and their brethren in Jerusalem and
   Palestine. [316] —Forty years later the age of persecutions burst upon the
   churches, though no general persecution occurred until the middle of the
   third century. When some churches were in distress, their possessions seized
   [317] and their existence imperilled, the others could not feel happy in
   their own undisturbed position. Succor of their persecuted brethren seemed
   to them a duty, and it was a duty from which they did not shrink. Justin
   (loc. cit.) tells us that the maintenance of imprisoned Christians was one
   of the regular objects to which the church collections were devoted, a piece
   of information which is corroborated and enlarged by the statement of
   Tertullian, that those who languished in the mines or were exiled to desert
   islands or lay in prison all received monies from the church. [318] Neither
   statement explains if it was only members of the particular church in
   question who were thus supported. This, however, is inherently improbable,
   and there are express statements to the contrary, including one from a pagan
   source. Dionysius of Corinth (Eus., H.E., iv. 23. 10) writes thus to the
   Roman Christians about the year 170: “From the very first you have had this
   practice of aiding all the brethren in various ways and of sending
   contributions to many churches in every city, thus in one case relieving the
   poverty of the needy, or in another providing for brethren in the mines. By
   these gifts, which you have sent from the very first, you Romans keep up the
   hereditary customs of the Romans, a practice your bishop Soter has not
   merely maintained but even extended.” A hundred years later Dionysius, the
   bishop of Alexandria, in writing to Stephen the bishop of Rome, has occasion
   to mention the churches in Syria and Arabia. Whereupon he remarks in
   passing, “To them you send help regularly, and you have just written them
   another letter” (Eus., H.E., vii. 5. 2). Basil the Great informs us that
   under bishop Dionysius (259-269 A.D.) the Roman church sent money to
   Cappadocia to purchase the freedom of some Christian captives from the
   barbarians, an act of kindness which was still remembered with gratitude in
   Cappadocia at the close of the fourth century. [319] Thus Corinth, Syria,
   Arabia, and Cappadocia, all of them churches in the East, unite in
   testifying to the praise of the church at Rome; and we can understand, from
   the language of Dionysius of Corinth, how Ignatius could describe that
   church as the prokathēmenē tēs agapēs, “the leader of love.” [320] Nor were
   other churches and their bishops behindhand in the matter. Similar stories
   are told of the church at Carthage and its bishop Cyprian. From a number of
   letters written shortly before his execution, it is quite clear that Cyprian
   sent money to provide for the Christians who then lay captive in Numidia
   (Ep. lxxvi.-lxxix.), and elsewhere in his correspondence there is similar
   evidence of his care for stranger Christians and foreign churches. The most
   memorable of his letters, in this respect, is that addressed to the bishops
   of Numidia in 253 A.D. The latter had informed him that wild hordes of
   robbers had invaded the country and carried off many Christians of both
   sexes into captivity. Whereupon Cyprian instituted a collection on their
   behalf and forwarded the proceeds to the bishops along with the following
   letter (Ep. lxii.). It is the most elaborate and important document from the
   first three centuries bearing upon the support extended to one church by
   another, and for that reason we may find space for it at this point.

   “Cyprian to Januarius, Maximus, Proculus, Victor, Modianus, Nemesianus,
   Nampulus, and Honoratus, the brethren: greeting.

   “With sore anguish of soul and many a tear have I read the letter which in
   your loving solicitude you addressed to me, dear brethren, with regard to
   the imprisonment of our brothers and sisters. Who would not feel anguish
   over such misfortunes? Who would not make his brother’s grief his own? For,
   says the apostle Paul: Should one member suffer, all the others suffer along
   with it; and should one member rejoice, the others rejoice with it also. And
   in another place he says: Who is weak, and I am not weak? We must therefore
   consider the present imprisonment of our brethren as our imprisonment,
   reckoning the grief of those in peril as our grief. We form a single body in
   our union, and we ought to be stirred and strengthened by religious duty as
   well as by love to redeem our members the brethren.

   “For as the apostle Paul once more declares: Know ye not that ye are God’s
   temple and that the Holy Spirit dwelleth in you? Though love failed to stir
   us to succor the brethren, we must in this case consider that it is temples
   of God who are imprisoned, nor dare we by our procrastination and neglect of
   fellow-feeling allow temples of God to remain imprisoned for any length of
   time, but must put forth all our energies, and with all speed manage by
   mutual service to deserve the grace of Christ our Lord, our Judge, our God.
   For since the apostle Paul says: So many of you as are baptized into Christ
   have put on Christ, we must see Christ in our imprisoned brethren, redeeming
   from the peril of imprisonment him who redeemed us from the peril of death.
   He who took us from the jaws of the devil, who bought us with his blood upon
   the cross, who now abides and dwells in us, he is now to be redeemed by us
   for a sum of money from the hands of the barbarians. . . . . Will not the
   feeling of humanity and the sense of united love incline each father among
   you to look upon those prisoners as his sons, every husband to feel, with
   anguish for the marital tie, that his wife languishes in that
   imprisonment?” Then, after an account of the special dangers incurred by the
   consecrated “virgins”—“our church, having weighed and sorrowfully examined
   all those matters in accordance with your letter, has gathered donations for
   the brethren speedily, freely, and liberally; for while, according to its
   powers of faith, it is ever ready for any work of God, it has been raised to
   a special pitch of charity on this occasion by the thought of all this
   suffering. For since the Lord says in his gospel: I was sick and ye visited
   me, with what ampler reward for our alms will he now say I was in prison and
   ye redeemed me? And since again he says I was in prison and ye visited me,
   how much better will it be for us on the day of judgment, when we are to
   receive the Lord’s reward, to hear him say: I was in the dungeon of
   imprisonment, in bonds and fetters among the barbarians, and ye rescued me
   from that prison of slavery! Finally, we thank you heartily for summoning us
   to share your trouble and your noble and necessary act of love, and for
   offering us a rich harvest-field wherein to scatter the seeds of our hope,
   in the expectation of reaping a very plentiful harvest from this heavenly
   and helpful action. We transmit to you a sum of a hundred thousand sesterces
   [close upon £1000] collected and contributed by our clergy and people here
   in the church over which by God’s mercy we preside; this you will dispense
   in the proper quarter at your own discretion.

   “In conclusion, we trust that nothing like this will occur in future, but
   that, guarded by the power of God, our brethren may henceforth be quit of
   all such perils. Still, should the like occur again, for a test of love and
   faith, do not hesitate to write of it to us; be sure and certain that while
   our own church and the whole of the church pray fervently that this may not
   recur, they will gladly and generously contribute even if it does take place
   once more. In order that you may remember in prayer our brethren and sisters
   who have taken so prompt and liberal a share in this needful act of love,
   praying that they may be ever quick to aid, and in order also that by way of
   return you may present them in your prayers and sacrifices, I add herewith
   the names of all. Further, I have subjoined the names of my colleagues (the
   bishops) and fellow-priests, who like myself were present and made such
   contributions as they could afford in their own name and in the name of
   their people; I have also noted and forwarded their small sums along with
   our own total. It is your duty—faith and love alike require it—to remember
   all these in your prayers and supplications.

   “Dearest brethren, we wish you unbroken prosperity in the Lord. Remember
   us.”

   Plainly the Carthaginian church is conscious here of having done something
   out of the common. But it is intensely conscious also of having thus
   discharged a duty of Christian love, and the religious basis of the duty is
   laid down in exemplary fashion. It is also obvious that so liberal a grant
   could not be taken from the proceeds of the ordinary church-collections.

   Yet another example of Cyprian’s care for a foreign church is extant. In the
   case (cp. above, p. 175) already mentioned of the teacher of the histrionic
   art who is to give up his profession and be supported by the church, if he
   has no other means of livelihood, Cyprian (Ep. ii.) writes that the man may
   come to Carthage and find maintenance in the local church if his own church
   is too poor to feed him. [321]

   Lucian’s satire on the death of Peregrinus, in the days of Marcus Aurelius,
   is a further witness to the alert and energetic temper of the interest taken
   in churches at the outbreak of persecution or during a period of
   persecution. The governor of Syria had ordered the arrest of this character,
   who is described by Lucian as a nefarious impostor. Lucian then describes
   the honor paid him, during his imprisonment, by Christians, and proceeds as
   follows: “In fact, people actually came from several Asiatic townships, sent
   by Christians, in the name of their churches, to render aid, to conduct the
   defence, and to encourage the man. They become incredibly alert when
   anything of this kind occurs that affects their common interests. On such
   occasions, no expense is grudged. Thus they pour out on Peregrinus, at this
   time, sums of money which were by no means trifling, and he drew from this
   source a considerable income.” [322] What Lucian relates in this passage
   cannot, therefore, have been an infrequent occurrence. Brethren arrived from
   afar in the name of their churches, not merely to bring donations for the
   support of prisoners, but also to visit them in prison, and to encourage
   them by evidences of love; they actually endeavored to stand beside them in
   the hour of trial. The seven epistles of Ignatius form, as it were, a
   commentary upon these observations of the pagan writer. In them we find the
   keen sympathy shown by the churches of Asia Minor as well as by the Roman
   church in the fortunes of a bishop upon whom they had never set eyes before:
   we also get a vivid sense of their care for the church at Antioch, which was
   now orphaned. Ignatius is being taken from Antioch to Rome in order to fight
   with beasts at the capital, and meanwhile the persecution of Christians at
   Antioch proceeds apace. On reaching Smyrna, he is greeted by deputies from
   the churches of Ephesus, Magnesia, and Tralles. After several days’
   intercourse, he entrusts them with letters to their respective churches, in
   which, among other things, he warmly commends to the brethren of Asia Minor
   his own forlorn church. “Pray for the church in Syria,” he writes to the
   Ephesians. “Remember the church in Syria when you pray,” he writes to the
   Trallians; “I am not worthy to belong to it, since I am the least of its
   members.” And in the letter to the Magnesians he repeats this request,
   comparing the church at Antioch to a field scorched by the fiery heat of
   persecution, which needs some refreshing dew: the love of the brethren is to
   revive it. [323] At the same time we find him turning to the Romans also.
   There appears to have been some brother from Ephesus who was ready to convey
   a letter to the Roman church, but Ignatius assumes they will learn of his
   fortunes before the letter reaches them. What he fears is, lest they should
   exert their influence at court on his behalf, or rob him of his coveted
   martyrdom by appealing to the Emperor. The whole of the letter is written
   with the object of blocking the Roman church upon this line of action. [324]
   But all that concerns us here is the fact that a stranger bishop from abroad
   could assume that the Roman church would interest itself in him, whether he
   was thinking of a legal appeal or of the Roman Christians moving in his
   favor along some special channels open to themselves. A few days afterwards
   Ignatius found himself at Troas, accompanied by the Ephesian deacon Burrhus,
   and provided with contributions from the church of Smyrna. [325] Thence he
   writes to the churches of Philadelphia and Smyrna, with both of which he had
   become acquainted during the course of his journey, as well as to Polycarp,
   the bishop of Smyrna. Messengers from Antioch cached him at Troas with news
   of the cessation of the persecution at the former city, and with the
   information that some churches in the vicinity of Antioch had already
   dispatched bishops or presbyters and deacons to congratulate the local
   church (Philad., x. 2). Whereupon, persuaded that the church of Antioch had
   been delivered from its persecution through the prayers of the churches in
   Asia Minor, Ignatius urges the latter also to send envoys to Antioch in
   order to unite with that church in thanking God for the deliverance. “Since
   I am informed,” he writes to the Philadelphians (x. 1 f.), “that, in answer
   to your prayers and love in Jesus Christ, the church of Antioch is now at
   peace, it befits you, as a church of God, to send a deacon your delegate
   with a message of God for that church, so that he may congratulate the
   assembled church and glorify the Name. Blessed in Jesus Christ is he who
   shall be counted worthy of such a mission; and ye shall yourselves be
   glorified. Now it is not impossible for you to do this for the name of God,
   if only you have the desire.” The same counsel is given to Smyrna. The
   church there is also to send a messenger with a pastoral letter to the
   church of Antioch (Smyrn., xi.). The unexpected suddenness of his departure
   from Troas prevented Ignatius from addressing the same request to the other
   churches of Asia Minor. He therefore begs Polycarp not only himself to
   despatch a messenger with all speed (Polyc., vii. 2), but to write in his
   name to the other churches and ask them to share the general joy of the
   Antiochene Christians either by messenger or by letter (Polyc., viii. 1). A
   few weeks later the church at Philippi wrote to Polycarp that it also had
   made the acquaintance of Ignatius during that interval; it requested the
   bishop of Smyrna, therefore, to forward its letter to the church of Antioch
   whenever he sent his own messenger. Polycarp undertakes to do so. In fact,
   he even holds out the prospect of conveying the letter himself. As desired
   by them, he also transmits to them such letters of Ignatius as had come to
   hand, and asks for reliable information upon the fate of Ignatius and his
   companions. [326]

   Such, in outline, is the situation as we find it in the seven letters of
   Ignatius and in Polycarp’s epistle to the Philippians. What a wealth of
   intercourse there is between the churches! What public spirit! What
   brotherly care for one another! Financial support retires into the
   background here. The foreground of the picture is filled by proofs of that
   personal cooperation by means of which whole churches, or again churches and
   their bishops, could lend mutual aid to one another, consoling and
   strengthening each other, and sharing their sorrows and their joys. Here we
   step into a whole world of sympathy and love.

   From other sources we also learn that after weathering a persecution the
   churches would send a detailed report of it to other churches. Two
   considerable documents of this kind are still extant. One is the letter
   addressed by the church of Smyrna to the church of Philomelium and to all
   Christian churches, after the persecution which took place under Antonius
   Pius. The other is the letter of the churches in Gaul to those in Asia Minor
   and Phrygia, after the close of the bloody persecution under Marcus
   Aurelius. [327] In both letters the persecution is described in great
   detail, while in the former the death of bishop Polycarp is specially dwelt
   on, since the glorious end of a bishop who was well known in the East and
   West alike had to be announced to all Christendom. The events, which
   transpired in Gaul, had a special claim upon the sympathy of the Asiatic
   brethren, for at least a couple of the latter, Attalus of Pergamum and
   Alexander, a Phrygian, had suffered a glorious martyrdom in the Gallic
   persecution. The churches also took advantage of the opportunity to
   communicate to the brethren certain notable experiences of their own during
   the period of persecution, as well as any truths which they had verified.
   Thus the Smyrniote church speaks very decidedly against the practice of
   people delivering themselves up and craving for martyrdom. It gives one
   melancholy instance of this error (Mart. Polyc., iv.). The churches of Gaul,
   for their part (in Eus., H.E., v. 2), put in a warning against excessive
   harshness in the treatment of penitent apostates. They are able also to
   describe the tender compassion shown by their own confessors. It was
   otherwise with the church of Rome. She exhorted the church of Carthage to
   stand fast and firm during the Decian persecution, [328] and at a subsequent
   period conferred with it upon its mode of dealing with apostates. [329] Here
   a special case was under discussion. Cyprian, the bishop of Carthage, had
   fled during the persecution; nevertheless, he had continued to superintend
   his church from his retreat, since he could say with quite a good conscience
   that he was bound to look after his own people. The Romans, who had not been
   at first informed of the special circumstances of the case, evidently viewed
   the bishop’s flight with serious misgiving; they thought themselves obliged
   to write and encourage the local church. The fact was, no greater disaster
   could befall a church in a period of distress than the loss of its clergy or
   bishop by death or dereliction of duty. In his treatise on “Flight during a
   Persecution,” Tertullian relates how deacons, presbyters, and bishops
   frequently ran away at the outbreak of a persecution, on the plea of Matt.
   x. 23: “If they persecute you in one city, flee unto another.” The result
   was that the church either collapsed or fell a prey to heretics. [330] The
   more dependent the church became upon its clergy, the more serious were the
   consequences to the church of any failure or even of any change in the ranks
   of the latter. This was well understood by the ardent persecutors of the
   church in the third century, by Maximin I, by Decius, by Valerian, and by
   Diocletian. Even a Cyprian could not retain control of his church from a
   place of retreat! He had to witness it undergoing shocks of disastrous
   force. It was for this very reason that the sister churches gave practical
   proof of their sympathy in such crises, partly by sending letters of comfort
   during the trial, as the Romans did, partly by addressing congratulations to
   the church when the trial had been passed. In his church history Eusebius
   furnishes us with selections from the ample correspondence of Dionysius,
   bishop of Corinth, and one of these letters, addressed to the church of
   Athens, is relevant to our present purpose. Eusebius writes as follows
   (H.E., IV. xxiii. 2 f.): “The epistle exhorts them to the faith and life of
   the gospel, which Dionysius accuses them of undervaluing. Indeed, he almost
   says they have fallen away from the faith since the martyrdom of Publius,
   their bishop, which had occurred during the persecution in those days. He
   also mentions Quadratus, who was appointed bishop after the martyrdom of
   Publius, and testifies that by the zeal of Quadratus they were gathered
   together again and had new zeal imparted to their faith.” The persecution
   which raged in Antioch during the reign of Septimius Severus claimed as its
   victim the local bishop of that day, one Serapion. His death must have
   exposed the church to great peril, for when the episcopate was happily
   filled up again, the bishop of Cappadocia wrote a letter of his own from
   prison to congratulate the church of Antioch, in the following terms: “The
   Lord has lightened and smoothed my bonds in this time of captivity, by
   letting me hear that, through the providence of God, the bishopric of your
   holy church has been undertaken by Asclepiades, whose services to the faith
   qualify him thoroughly for such a position” (Eus., H.E., VI. xi. 5).

   Hitherto we have been gleaning from the scanty remains of the primitive
   Christian literature whatever bore upon the material support extended by one
   church to another, or upon the mutual assistance forthcoming in a time of
   persecution. But whenever persecutions brought about internal crisis and
   perils in a church, as was not infrequently the case, the sympathetic
   interest of the church extended to this sphere of need as well, and attempts
   were made to meet the situation. Such cases now fall to be considered—cases
   in which it was not poverty or persecution, but internal abuses and internal
   dangers, pure and simple, which drew a word of comfort or of counsel from a
   sister church or from its bishop.

   In this connection we possess one document dating from the very earliest
   period, viz., the close of the first century, which deserves especial
   notice. It is the so-called first epistle of Clement, really an official
   letter sent by the Roman church to the Corinthian. [331] Within the pale of
   the latter church a crisis had arisen, whose consequences were extremely
   serious. All we know, of course, is what the majority of the church thought
   of the crisis, but according to their account certain newcomers, of an
   ambitious and conceited temper, had repudiated the existing authorities and
   led a number of the younger members of the church astray. [332] Their
   intention was to displace the presbyters and deacons, and in general to
   abolish the growing authority of the officials (xl.-xlviii.). A sharp
   struggle ensued, in which even the women took some part. [333] Faith, love,
   and brotherly feeling were already threatened with extinction (i.-iii.). The
   scandal became notorious throughout Christendom, and indeed there was a
   danger of the heathen becoming acquainted with the quarrel, of the name of
   Christ being blasphemed, and of the church’s security being imperilled.
   [334] The Roman Church stepped in. It had not been asked by the Corinthian
   church to interfere in the matter; on the contrary, it spoke out of its own
   accord. [335] And it did so with an affection and solicitude equal to its
   candor and dignity. It felt bound, for conscience’ sake, to give a serious
   and brotherly admonition, conscious that God’s voice spoke through its words
   for peace, [336] and at the same time for the strict maintenance of respect
   towards the authority of the officials (cp. xl. f.). Withal it never forgets
   that its place is merely to point out the right road to the Corinthians, not
   to lay commands upon them; [337] over and again it expresses most admirably
   its firm confidence that the church knows the will of God and will bethink
   itself once more of the right course. [338] It even clings to the hope that
   the very agitators will mend their ways (cp. liv.). But in the name of God
   it asks that a speedy end be put to the scandal. The transmission of the
   epistle is entrusted to the most honored men within its membership. “They
   shall be witnesses between us and you. And we have done this that you may
   know we have had and still have every concern for your speedy restoration to
   peace” (lxiii. 3). The epistle concludes by saying that the Corinthians are
   to send back the envoys to Rome as soon as possible in joy and peace, so
   that the Romans may be able to hear of concord regained with as little delay
   as possible and to rejoice speedily on that account (lxv. 1). There is
   nothing in early Christian literature to compare with this elaborate and
   effective piece of writing, lit up with all the brotherly affection and the
   public spirit of the church. But similar cases are not infrequent. The
   church at Philippi, for example, sent a letter across the sea to the aged
   Polycarp at Smyrna, informing him of a sad affair which had occurred in
   their own midst. One of their presbyters, named Valens, had been convicted
   of embezzling the funds of the church. In his reply, which is still extant,
   Polycarp treats this melancholy piece of news (Polyc., ad Phil., xi.). He
   does not interfere with the jurisdiction of the church, but he exhorts and
   counsels the Philippians. They are to take warning from this case and avoid
   avarice themselves. Should the presbyter and his wife repent, the church is
   not to treat them as enemies, but as ailing and erring members, so that the
   whole body may be saved. The bishop lets it be seen that the church’s
   treatment of the case does not appear to him to have been entirely correct.
   He exhorts them to moderate their passion and to be gentle. But, at the same
   time, in so doing he is perfectly conscious of the length to which he may
   venture to go in opposing an outside church. When Ignatius, bishop of
   Antioch, is being conveyed across Asia Minor, he takes the opportunity of
   writing brief letters to encourage the local churches in any perils to which
   they may be exposed. He warns them against the machinations of heretics,
   exhorts them to obey the clergy, urges a prudent concord and firm unity, and
   in quite a thorough fashion gives special counsels for any emergency. At the
   opening of the second century a Roman Christian, the brother of the bishop,
   desires to lay down the via media of proper order and discipline at any
   crisis in the church, as he himself had found that via, between the extremes
   of laxity and rigor. His aim is directed not merely to the Roman church but
   to Christendom in general (to the “foreign cities”); he wishes all to learn
   the counsels which he claims to have personally received from the Holy
   Spirit through the church (Herm. Vis. ii. 4). In the days of Marcus Aurelius
   it was bishop Dionysius of Corinth in particular who sought (no doubt in his
   church’s name as well as in his own) by means of an extensive correspondence
   to confirm the faith of such churches, even at a great distance, as were in
   any peril. Two of his letters, those to the Athenians and the Romans, we
   have already noticed, but Eusebius gives us the contents of several similar
   writings, which he calls “catholic” epistles. Probably these were meant to
   be circulated throughout the churches, though they were collected at an
   early date and also (as the bishop himself is forced indignantly to relate)
   were interpolated. One letter to the church at Sparta contains an exposition
   of orthodox doctrine with an admonition to peace and unity. In the epistle
   to the church of Nicomedia in Bithynia he combats the heresy of Marcion. “He
   also wrote a letter to the church in Gortyna, together with the other
   churches in Crete, praising their bishop Philip for the testimony borne to
   the great piety and steadfastness of his church, and warning them to guard
   against the aberrations of heretics. He also wrote to the church of
   Amastris, together with the other churches in Pontus. . . . . Here he adds
   explanations of some passages from Holy Scripture, and mentions Palmas,
   their bishop, by name. He gives them long advice, too, upon marriage and
   chastity, enjoining them also to welcome again into their number all who
   come back after any lapse whatsoever, be it vice or heresy. There is also in
   his collection of letters another addressed to the Cnosians (in Crete), in
   which he exhorts Pinytus, the bishop of the local church, not to lay too
   heavy and sore a burden on the brethren in the matter of continence, but to
   consider the weakness of the majority” (Eus., H.E., iv. 23). Such is the
   variety of contents in these letters. Dionysius seems to have spoken his
   mind on every question, which agitated the churches of his day, nor was any
   church too remote for him to evince his interest in its inner fortunes.

   After the close of the second century a significant change came over these
   relationships, as the institution of synods began to be adopted. The free
   and unconventional communications, which passed between the churches (or
   their bishops) yielded to an intercourse conducted upon fixed and regular
   lines. A new procedure had already come into vogue with the Montanist and
   Quartodeciman controversies, and this was afterwards developed more highly
   still in the great Christological controversies and in the dispute with
   Novatian. Doubtless we still continue to hear of cases in which individual
   churches or their bishops displayed special interest in other churches at a
   distance, nor was there any cessation of voluntary sympathy with the weal
   and woe of any sister church. But this gave place more than ever both to an
   interest in the position taken up by the church at large in view of
   individual and particular movements, and also to the support of the
   provincial churches. [339] Keen interest was shown in the attitude taken up
   by the churches throughout the empire (or their bishops) upon any critical
   question. On such matters harmony could be arranged, but otherwise the
   provincial churches began to form groups of their own. Still, for all this,
   fresh methods emerged in the course of the third century by which one church
   supported or rallied another, and these included the custom of inviting the
   honored teachers of one church to deliver addresses in another, or of
   securing them, when controversies had arisen, to pronounce an opinion, to
   instruct the parties, and to give a judgment in the matter. Instances of
   this are to be found, for example, in the career of the great theologian
   Origen. [340] Even in the fourth and fifth centuries, the material support
   of poor churches from foreign sources had not ceased; Socrates, in his
   church history (vii. 25) notes one very brilliant example of the practice.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [248] In his work, Die christliche Liebestätigkeit in der alten Kirche (1st
   ed., 1882; Eng. trans., Christian Charity in the Ancient Church, Edinburgh),
   Uhlhorn presents a sketch which is thorough, but unfair to paganism. The
   Greeks and Romans also were acquainted with philanthropy.

   [249] One recalls particularly the parable of the good Samaritan, with its
   new definition of “neighbor” and also the parable of the lost son; among the
   stories, that of the rich young man. The gospel of the Hebrews tells the
   latter incident with especial impressiveness. “Then said the Lord to him,
   How canst thou say, ‘I have kept the law and the prophets,’ when it is
   written in the law, ‘Thou shall love thy neighbor as thyself’? And look,
   many of thy brethren, sons of Abraham, are lying in dirt and dying of
   hunger, while thy house is full of many possessions, and never a gift comes
   from it to them.”

   [250] The saying “Fast for them that persecute you” is also traditional
   (Didachê i.).

   [251] Also Cæcilius (in Minuc. Felix, ix.): “They recognise each other by
   means of secret marks and signs, and love one another almost before they are
   acquainted.”

   [252] Warnings against unmercifulness, and censures of this temper, must
   have begun, of course, at quite an early period; see the epistle of James
   (iv.-v.) and several sections in the “Shepherd” of Hermas.

   [253] All these points are illustrated throughout the literature, from the
   Didachê and Hermas downwards. For unconditional giving, see Did. 1. 5 f.:
   panti tō aitounti se didou kai mē apaitei; pasi gar thelei didosthai ho
   patēr ek tōn idiōn charismatōn. makarios ho didous kata tēn entolēn; athōos
   gar estin. ouai tō lambanonti; ei men gar chreian echōn lambanei tis, athōos
   estai; ho de mē chreian echōn dōsei dikēn, hina ti elabe kai eis ti; en
   sunochē de genomenos exetasthēsetai peri hōn epraxe, kai ouk exeleusetai
   ekeithen, mechris hou apodō ton eschaton kodrantēn (“Give to everyone who
   asks of thee, and ask not back again; for the Father desireth gifts to be
   given to all men from his own bounties. Blessed is he who gives according to
   the commandment, for he is guiltless. But woe to him who receives; for if a
   man receives who is in need, he is guiltless, but if he is not in need he
   shall give satisfaction as to why and wherefore he received, and being
   confined he shall be examined upon his deeds, and shall not come out till he
   has paid the uttermost farthing”). The counsel of unconditional giving,
   which is frequently repeated, is closely bound up with the question of
   earthly possessions in the early church, and consequently with the question
   of asceticism. Theoretically, from the very outset, there was to be neither
   property nor wealth at all; such things belong to the world which Christians
   were to renounce. Consequently, to devote one’s means to other people was a
   proceeding which demanded a fresh point of view; to part with one’s property
   was the authorized and most meritorious course of action, nor did it matter,
   in the first instance, who was the recipient. In practical life, however,
   things were very different, and this was constantly the result of the very
   theory just mentioned, since it never gave up the voluntary principle (even
   the attempt at communism in Jerusalem, if there even was such an attempt,
   did not exclude the voluntary principle). It was by means of this principle
   that Christian love maintained its power. In practical life, complete
   renunciation of the world was achieved only by a few; these were the saints
   and heroes. Other people were in precisely the same position, with the same
   feelings and concern, as serious, devoted Catholics at the present day; they
   were actuated by motives of ascetics and of love alike. It is needless,
   therefore, to depict this state of matters in closer detail. The extreme
   standpoint is represented by Hermas, Sim. (see above, pp. 97 f.). A great
   deal has been written upon early Christian “communism,” but nothing of the
   kind ever existed in the great Gentile church—for we need not take any
   account of an isolated phenomenon like the semi-pagan sect of the
   Carpocratians and their communism. Monastic “communism” is only called such
   by a misuse of the term, and, besides, it is irrelevant to our present
   subject. Even on the soil of Jewish Christianity, no communism flourished,
   for the example of the Essenes was never followed. Uhlhorn remarks truly
   (op. cit., p. 68; Eng. trans., 74) that “we cannot more radically
   misconceive the so-called ‘communism’ of early Christianity than by
   conceiving it as an institution similar to those which existed among the
   Essenes and the Therapeutæ. It is far more correct to represent the state of
   things as an absence of all institutions whatsoever.” Directions not
   infrequently occur (e.g., Barn. xix. 8; Tert., Apol. xxxix.) which have a
   communistic ring, but they are not to be taken in a communistic sense. The
   common formula ouk ereis idia einai (“thou shalt not say these things are
   thine own”) simply enjoins liberality, forbidding a man to use his means
   merely for his own advantage. I have already remarked that, upon the whole,
   the voluntary principle was never abandoned in the matter of Christian
   giving and the scale of gifts. This statement, however, admits of one
   qualification. While the West, so far as I can judge, knew nothing as yet of
   the law of first-fruits and tithes throughout our epoch (for Cyprian, de
   Unit. xxvi., is not to be understood as implying the law of tithes), in some
   quarters of the East the law of first-fruits was taken over at a very early
   period (see Didachê xiii.). From the Didachê it passed, as an apostolic
   regulation, into all the Oriental apostolic constitutions. Origen, however,
   does not appear to regard it yet as a law of the church, though even he
   admits the legitimacy of it (in Num. Hom. xi. 1; in Jos. Nav. Hom., xvii.).

   [254] De Op. et Eleem. 1: “Nam cum dominus adveniens sanasset illa quae Adam
   portaverat vulnera et venena serpentis antiqui curasset, legem dedit sano et
   pracepit ne ultra jam peccaret, ne quid peccanti gravius eveniret. Coartati
   eramus et in angustum innocentiae praescriptione conclusi, nec haberet quid
   fragilitatis humanae infirmitas atque imbecillitas faceret; nisi iterum
   pietas divina subveniens justitiae et misericordiae operibus ostensis viam
   quandam tuendae salutis aperiret ut sordes postmodum, quascumque
   contrahimus, eleemosynis abluamus (“For when the Lord had at his advent
   cured the wounds which Adam brought, and healed the poison of the old
   serpent, he gave a law to the sound man and bade him sin no more, lest a
   worse thing should befall the sinner. We were restrained and bound by the
   commandment of innocence. Nor would human weakness and impotence have any
   resource left to it, unless the divine mercy should once more come to our
   aid, by pointing out works of righteousness and mercy, and thus opening a
   way to obtain salvation, so that by means of alms we may wash off any stains
   subsequently contracted”).

   [255] Op. cit., xxi.: “Quale munus cuius editio deo spectante celebratur! Si
   in gentilium munere grande et gloriosum videtur proconsules vel imperatores
   habere presentes, et apparatus ac sumptus apud munerarios maior est ut
   possint placere maioribus—quanto inlustrior muneris et maior est gloria deum
   et Christum spectatores habere, quanto istic et apparatus uberior et sumptus
   largior exhibendus est, ubi ad spectaculum conveniunt caelorum virtutes,
   conveniunt angeli omnes, ubi munerario non quadriga vel consulatus petitur
   sed vita aeterna praestatur, nec captatur inanis et temporarius favor vulgi
   sed perpetuum praemium regni caelestis accipitur” (“What a gift is it which
   is set forth for praise in the sight of God! If, when the Gentiles offer
   gifts, it seems a great and glorious thing to have proconsuls or emperors
   present, and if their better classes make greater preparations and display
   in order to please the authorities—how much more illustrious and splendid is
   the glory of having God and Christ as the spectators of a gift! How much
   more lavish should be the preparation, how much more liberal the outlay, in
   such a case, when the powers of heaven muster to the spectacle, when all the
   angels gather when the donor seeks no chariot or consulship, but life
   eternal is the boon; when no fleeting and fickle popularity is craved for,
   but the lasting reward of the kingdom of heaven is received!”).

   [256] The pagan in Macarius Magnes (iii. 5) declares that several Christian
   women had become beggars by their lavish donations. “Not in the far past,
   but only yesterday, Christians read Matt. xix. 21 to prominent women and
   persuaded them to share all their possessions and goods among the poor, to
   reduce themselves to beggary, to ask charity, and then to sink from
   independence into unseemly pauperism, reducing themselves from their former
   good position to a woebegone condition, and being finally obliged to knock
   at the doors of those who were better off.”

   [257] With Clement of Alexandria, the motive of love to men is steadily kept
   in the front rank; cp. Paed. iii., and in particular the fine saying in iii.
   7. 39: kathaper tōn phreatōn hosa pephuken bruein apantloumena eis to
   archaion anapiduei metron, houtōs hē metadosis agathē philanthrōpias
   huparchousa pēgē, koinōnousa tois dipsōsi potou auxetai palin kai pimplatai
   (“Even as such wells as spring up rise to their former level even after they
   have been drained, so that kindly spring of love to men, the bestowal of
   gifts, imparts its drink to the thirsty, and is again increased and
   replenished”). Cyprian (in de Unit. xxvi.) complains of a lack of
   benevolence: “Largitas operationis infracta est. . . . nunc de patrimonio
   nec decimas damus et cum vendere jubeat dominus, emimus potius et augemus”
   (“Liberality in benevolence is impaired . . . . we do not now give even the
   tithe of our patrimony away. The Lord bids us sell, but we prefer to buy and
   lay up”).

   [258] One recommendation very frequently made, was to stint oneself by means
   of fasting in order to give alms. In this way, even the poor could afford
   something. See Hermas Sim. v.; Aristides, Apol. xv. (“And if anyone among
   them is poor or needy, and they have no food to share, they fast for two or
   three days, that they may meet the poor man’s need of sustenance”); Apost.
   Constit. v. 1, etc. The habit also prevailed in pre-Christian ages.
   Otherwise, whenever the question is raised, how alms are to be provided, one
   is pointed to work; in fact, this is almost the only point at which work is
   taken into consideration at all within the sphere of the religious estimate.
   See Eph. iv. 28 (“Let him that stole, steal no more, but rather work with
   his hands at honest work, so that he may have something to give the needy”);
   and Barn. xix. 10: dia cheirōn sou ergasē eis lutron hamartiōn sou [the
   reference being to alms]. Cp. my short study (in the “Evangelisch-Sozial”
   Magazine, 1905, pp. 48 f.) on “The Primitive Christian Conception of the
   Worth of Labour.”

   [259] The relation of stips and oblationes is a question which has not been
   cleared up yet, and need not be raised here.

   [260] See on this point Book 4, Chap. I. (1). The money was returned.

   [261] Cp. also Jude ver. 12; Tert., Apol. xxxix.; de Ieiun. xvii.; Clem.,
   Paed. ii. 1. We need not enter into the controversies over the agapæ; cp.
   Keating’s The Agape and the Eucharist (1901), Batiffol’s Études d’hist. et
   de théol. positive (1902), pp. 279 f., and Funk on “L’Agape” (Rev. d’hist.
   ecclésiastique, t. iv. 1, 1903). In later days the feasts served to satisfy
   the poor at the graves of the martyrs. Constantine justified this practice
   of feasts in honor of the dead against objections which were apparently
   current; cp. his address to the council (xii.), where he dwells expressly on
   their charitable uses: ta sumposia (for the martyrs, at their graves) pros
   eleon kai anaktēsin tōn deomenōn poioumena kai pros boētheian tōn
   ekpesontōn. haper an tis phortika einai nomizē, ou kata tēn theian kai
   makarian didaskalian phronei (“These feasts are held for the purpose of
   helping and restoring the needy, and in aid of the outcast. Anyone who
   thinks them burdensome, does not judge them by the divine and blessed rule
   of life”).

   [262] On the traces of an exception to this rule in the Apostolic
   Constitutions, see Texte u. Untersuch. ii. 5, pp. 12 f., 58.

   [263] For special collections ordered by the bishop, see Tertull., de Jejun.
   xiii., and Clem., Hom. iii. 71: hopote chreia tinos porou pros to anankaion
   genoito, hama hoi pantes sumballesthe (“Whenever any funds are needed, club
   together, all of you”).

   [264] Paul even describes the principle as a direction of Jesus himself; see
   1 Cor. ix. 14: ho kurios dietaxen tois to euangelion katangellousin ek tou
   euangeliou zēn.

   [265] The circumstances are not quite clear; still, enough is visible to
   corroborate what has been said above. Church officials were not, in the
   first instance, obliged to abandon their civil calling, and so far as that
   provided then with a livelihood they had no claim on the church’s funds. But
   in the course of time it became more and more difficult, in the larger
   churches, to combine civil employment with ecclesiastical office. There is
   one very instructive account in the Clementine homilies (iii. 71) which
   indicates that some people were skeptical upon the duty of supporting the
   bishop and clergy. The author writes: Zakchaios [the bishop] monos humin
   holos heauton ascholein apodedōkōs, koilian echōn kai heautō mē euscholōn,
   pōs dunatai tēn anankaian porizein trophēn? ouchi de eulogon estin pantas
   humas tou zēn autou pronoian poiein, ouk anamenontas auton humas aitein?
   touto gar prosaitountos estin; mallon de tethnēxetai limō ē touto poiein
   hupostaiē; pōs dē kai humeis ou dikēn huphexete, mē logisamenoi hoti “axios
   estin ho ergatēs tou misthou autou”? kai mē legetō tis; Oukoun ho dōrean
   paraschetheis logos pōleitai? mē genoito; ei tis gar echōn pothen zēn laboi,
   houtos pōlei ton logon—ei de mē echōn tou zēn charin lambanei trophēn, hōs
   kai ho kurios elaben en te deipnois kai philois, ouden echōn ho eis authis
   panta echōn, ouch hamartanei. akolouthōs oun timate [by an honorarium]
   presbuterous, katēchētas, diakonous chrēsimous, chēras eu bebiōkuias,
   orphanous hōs ekklēsias tekna (“Zacchaeus alone has devoted himself wholly
   to your interests; he needs food, and yet has no time to provide for
   himself; how then is he to get the requisitive provisions for a livelihood?
   Is it not reasonable that you should all provide for his support? Do not
   wait for him to ask you—asking is a beggar’s rôle, and he would rather die
   than stoop to that. Shall not you also incur punishment for failing to
   consider that ‘the labourer is worthy of his hire’? Let no one say, ‘Then is
   the word which was given freely, to be sold?’ God forbid. If any man has
   means and yet accepts any help, he sells the word. But there is no sin in a
   man without means accepting support in order to live—as the Lord also
   accepted gifts at supper and among his friends, he who had nothing though he
   was the Lord of all things. Honor, then, in appropriate fashion the elder
   catechists, useful deacons, respectable widows, and orphans as children of
   the church”). A fixed monthly salary, such as that assigned by the church of
   Theodotus to her bishop Natalis, was felt to be obnoxious. (Cp. the
   primitive story in Eus., H.E. v. 28).

   [266] Details will be found below, in the chapter [Book III. Chap. 1] on the
   mission-agents.

   [267] In the liturgy, widows and orphans are also placed immediately after
   the servants of the church.

   [268] See Polycarp, ad Phil. iv.; Tert., ad Uxor. i. 7; pseudo-Ignat., Tars.
   9; and Apos. Constit. ii. 26 (where the term is applied also to orphans; cp.
   iv. 3). I shall not discuss the institution of Widows, already visible in
   the first epistle to Timothy, which also tended to promote their interests.
   The special attention devoted to widows was also meant to check the
   undesirable step of remarriage.

   [269] In Vis. II. 4. 3, it is remarkable also how prominent are widows and
   orphans. See Aristides, Apol. xv.: “They do not avert their attention from
   widows, and they deliver orphans from anyone who oppresses them.” Instances
   of orphans being adopted into private families are not wanting. Origen, for
   example, was adopted by a Christian woman (Eus., H.E. vi. 2); cp. Acta
   Perpet. et Felic. xv.; Apost. Const. iv. 1. Lactantius (Instit. vi. 12)
   adduces yet another special argument for the duty of supporting widows and
   orphans: “God commands them to be cared for, in order that no one may be
   hindered from going to his death for righteousness’ sake on the plea of
   regard for his dear children, but that he may promptly and boldly encounter
   death, knowing that his beloved ones are left in God’s care and will never
   lack protection.”

   [270] See, further, Herm., Simil. i. v. 3, ix. 26-27, x. 4; Polyc., Epist.
   vi. 1; Barn. xx. 2; Ignat., Smyrn. vi. (a propos of heretics: “They care not
   for love, or for the widow, or for the orphan, or for the afflicted, or for
   the prisoner or ransomed, or for the hungry or thirsty”—peri agapēs ou melei
   autois, ou peri chēras, ou peri orphanou, ou peri thlibomenou, ou peri
   dedemenou ē lelumenou, ē peri peinōntos ē dipsōntos), ad Polyc. iv.;
   Justin’s Apol. I. lxvii.; Clem., Ep. ad Jacob. 8 (tois men orphanois
   poiountes ta goneōn, tais de chērais ta andrōn, “acting the part of parents
   to orphans and of husbands to widows”); Tert., ad Uxor. i. 7-8; Apost.
   Constit. (Bks. III., IV.); and pseudo-Clem., de Virgin. i. 12 (“pulchrum et
   utile est visitare pupillos et viduas, imprimis pauperes qui multos habent
   liberos”). For the indignation roused by the heartlessness of many pagan
   ladies, who were abandoned to luxury, read the caustic remark of Clement
   (Paedag. iii. 4. 30): paidion de oude prosientai orphanon hai tous
   psittakous kai tous charadrious ektrephousai (“They bring up parrots and
   curlews, but will not take in the orphan child”).

   [271] Scandalmongering, avarice, drunkenness, and arrogance had all to be
   dealt with in the case of widows who were being maintained by the church. It
   even happened that some widows put out to usury the funds they had thus
   received (cp. Didasc. Apost. xv.; Texte u. Unters. xxv. 2. pp. 78, 274 f.)
   But there were also highly gifted widows. In fact (cp. Apost. Constit.), it
   was considered that true widows who persevered in prayer received
   revelations.

   [272] See Tert., ad Uxor. ii. 4, on the difficult position of a Christian
   woman whose husband was a pagan: “Who would be willing to let his wife go
   through street after street to other men’s houses, and indeed to the poorest
   cottages, in order to visit the brethren?”

   [