The History of Christianity - John S. C. Abbott (bookstand for reading .txt) 📗

refusing to worship the pagan gods, and persisting in Christianity, should be put to death, passing with his victorious army from the banks of the Danube to combat the barbarians of the East, stopped for a time at Antioch. Ignatius was brought before him, charged with the crime of being a Christian. The emperor sternly inquired of him, “Why do you disobey our orders, and influence others to ruin themselves by doing the same?”

Ignatius replied, “I must be obedient to God, whom I bear in my heart.”

“Who is the God,” asked Trajan, “whom you bear in your heart?”

“Jesus Christ,” was the reply.

“And do you not believe that we bear in our hearts those gods who combat with us against our enemies?” was the question of Trajan.

The Christian bishop boldly replied, “You deceive yourself in calling the demons of the Gentiles gods. There is but one God, who has made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all which they contain; and there is but one Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, to whose kingdom I aspire.”

Trajan replied, “Do you speak of him who was crucified under Pontius Pilate?”

“Yes,” responded Ignatius: “he has made atonement for my sins, and has put all the malice of Satan under their feet who carry him in their hearts.”

“Do you, then, carry in your heart him who was crucified?”

“I do,” was the response; “for it is written, ‘I will dwell in them, and walk with them.’”

Trajan was irritated, and angrily replied, “Since Ignatius confesses that he carries in his heart him that was crucified, we command that he be conveyed in chains, under a guard of soldiers, to Rome, there to be thrown to the beasts, for the entertainment of the people.”

The venerable bishop was hurried by his guard to Seleucia. There he took ship for Smyrna. In this city he had an interview with the illustrious Christian pastor Polycarp, who was soon to follow him in the path to martyrdom. From Smyrna he was conveyed to Troas, and thence to Neapolis. Having found a ship in one of the seaports of the Adriatic, he sailed to Ostia, near Rome. Here he was met by a large number of Christians, who were overwhelmed with grief in view of his cruel and inevitable doom. Ignatius, however, who was cheerful, and even happy, as he looked forward to his approaching martyrdom, consoled them with touching words of love and affection. The hour for the sacrifice came. The Coliseum was crowded with the jeering multitude, filling all its vast expanse, to enjoy the spectacle. The venerable bishop was placed in the centre of the arena.

As the iron doors of the dens were opened, a large number of ferocious wild beasts, gaunt with famine, with loud roarings, and lashing their sides with rage, rushed into the enclosure. Sharp and short was the agony which this benevolent disciple of Jesus was called to endure. The famished beasts, lions and tigers, leaped upon him; and scarcely a moment elapsed ere he was torn limb from limb, and devoured. Nothing remained but one or two of the larger bones. A hundred thousand pagans raised a shout of applause; but louder was the acclaim as clustering angels gathered around the Christian who had been faithful unto death, welcoming him to his heavenly home.

While these tragic scenes were transpiring in Rome, Trajan was pushing his conquests on the distant shores of the Persian Gulf. He was seized with sickness and pain; and it was soon evident that the hour of his death was near at hand. In a state of extreme dejection and languor, he bade adieu to the army, and by short stages endeavored to reach Rome. But inexorable Death could not be appeased. He had advanced only as far as Cilicia when he sank into the grave. His guilty spirit ascended to that tribunal to which he had so cruelly sent Ignatius before him.

Trajan, on leaving the Persian Gulf, had intrusted the command of his army to his nephew Adrian, a man of much military renown. The army proclaimed him emperor. The senate at Rome ratified the appointment. Adrian was kind to his friends, demoniacal to his enemies. He had many virtues, and many terrible vices.

Christianity was by this time very widely extended throughout the Roman world. Many new sects sprang up, and fanatical and immoral heresies arose. Hence the reputation of Christianity suffered severely. All these religious adventurers, endeavoring to establish new sects, many of them influenced by the worst of motives, assumed the name of Christians. The extravagances which they taught, and the abominations in which they indulged, in many places, caused the very name of Christian to be regarded with contempt and odium. The pagans were by no means disposed to discriminate between the true disciples of Jesus and those miserable fanatics who were called by the Christian name.

As the new religion gained in strength, the antagonism of its opponents grew more virulent. Several men of letters arose, who wrote against Christianity with great force of argument, and power of sarcasm. Probably no infidel writer in any age has surpassed the Epicurean philosopher Celsus in the shrewd adaptation of his writings to influence the popular mind: indeed, from that day to this, infidel writers have done little more than repeat his arguments. He overwhelmed the Christians with calumnies and contempt.

These attacks influenced intelligent Christians to write in defence of their faith. The Emperor Adrian, in the year 140, visited Athens. Quadrat, the bishop of the church there, a man of much ability, wrote an apology in defence of the Christian faith. He presented a copy to the Emperor Adrian. It seems probable that the argument exerted a great influence upon the mind of the emperor; for, while in Athens, he declared himself so favorably impressed with what he could learn of the faith and conduct of Christians, that he was unwilling that they should any longer be exposed to persecution. He even expressed the wish that Christianity should be recognized as one of the religions of Rome.

To a governor of one of the provinces who wrote a letter on that subject he replied, “If the people of the province will appear publicly, and make open charges against the Christians, so as to give them an opportunity of answering for themselves, let them proceed in that manner only, and not by rude demands and mere clamors. If any thus accuse them, and show that they have committed any offence against the laws, do you decide according to the nature of the crime committed. But, by Hercules!” exclaims the impetuous emperor, “if the charge be a mere calumny, do you estimate the enormity of the offence, and punish the calumniator as he deserves.”

Adrian had erected upon the banks of the Tiber, near Rome, a very magnificent palace. With characteristic fickleness, he decided to dedicate it to the pagan gods. The oracles were consulted. They returned the response, probably through the cunning of the idolatrous priests, that the Christian widow Symphorose, with her seven sons, was exciting the displeasure of the gods by their worship of the Christians’ God; and the emperor was promised, if he would sacrifice them, he should be blessed in all his undertakings. Adrian ordered Symphorose and her sons to be brought before him. At first he employed very mild measures, and in kind tones entreated them to offer sacrifices to the pagan gods.

Symphorose replied, “My husband and my brother were both your tribunes. They suffered many torments for the name of Jesus, rather than sacrifice to idols. By their death they have vanquished your demons. They chose rather to be beheaded than to consent to sin. The death which they have suffered has covered them with ignominy in the sight of men, but has crowned them with glory before the angels.”

The emperor was irritated, and began to threaten.

“Unless you sacrifice,” said he, “with your sons, to the all-powerful gods, I will offer you all up in sacrifice to them.”

The Christian matron replied, “Your gods cannot receive me in sacrifice; but if I am burned for the name of Jesus Christ, my God, I shall render the flames to which your demons are consigned more tormenting.”

The emperor curtly rejoined, “Take your choice: either sacrifice to my gods, or die miserably.”

“Do you think,” said Symphorose meekly, “that fear will cause me to yield? It is my desire to rejoin my husband, whom you have slain for the name of Jesus Christ.”

The emperor ordered her to be taken to the Temple of Hercules. There she was scourged, and then hung by the hair of her head. As she still remained firm, he ordered her to be thrown into the river, with a large stone tied around her neck. The savage deed was immediately performed; and the body of the heroic Christian martyr disappeared beneath the waves. The next day, the emperor caused her seven sons to be brought before him. In vain he exhorted them to sacrifice to the idols. Seeing all his menaces to be unavailing, he erected seven stakes, and bound the brothers to them with cords. He ordered a different death for each one. The first, named Crescent, had his throat cut. The second, Julian, was pierced through the breast with a pike. The third, Nemesius, was struck to the heart with a dagger. Thus they all perished. Their mutilated bodies remained during the day exposed to the jeers of brutal pagans. The next morning the emperor ordered the corpses to be collected and thrown into a ditch. The Christians subsequently gathered up the remains, and buried them about eight miles from Rome. The ruins of a church are still to be seen, which in after-years was erected upon that spot, called the Church of the Seven Brothers.

Such is the narrative which has come down to us from those distant ages. We have no reason to doubt its essential accuracy. Such scenes were continually occurring; and the evidence is incontrovertible, that, in those days of terrible persecution, God did sustain the disciples of Jesus with supernatural support. Tender children and timid maidens encountered death in its most frightful forms with firmness which excited the wonder and admiration of the sturdiest pagans.

The Eastern sage, as he accompanied a monarch through the gorgeous saloons of his palace, said that it had one great defect,—it had no chamber which was death-proof. Adrian found this true in the magnificent pile which he had reared upon the banks of the Tiber. He was taken ill. The disease developed itself in a tormenting dropsy. He had no rest by day, no rest by night. The weary hours were filled with suffering. Remorse was undoubtedly gnawing at his heart. He had known the better way, but had refused to walk in it. Paganism offered him no consolations. Christianity he had rejected. In his anguish he longed to die,—to take that leap in the dark which must be so terrible to any thoughtful man who has not accepted the truth, that life and immortality are brought to light in the gospel. His sufferings were so great, that he begged his friends to kill him,—to present him the poisoned cup, or to plunge the dagger to his heart. But no one was willing to perform that service. He was often heard to exclaim, “How miserable a thing it is to seek death, and not to find it! How strange it is that I, who have put so many others to death, cannot die myself!”

Upon this couch of suffering, from which death removed him in the sixty-second year of his age, he wrote the following lines to his departing spirit, so affecting, so melancholy, that they have survived the lapse of eighteen centuries:—