The History of Christianity, John S. C. Abbott [ebook reader browser .txt] 📗

“Count that day lost whose low-descending sun

Views at thy hand no worthy action done.”

It was during the reign of Titus, in A.D. 79, that the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii—as corrupt in all conceivable abominations as Sodom and Gomorrah could possibly have been—were buried beneath the lava and ashes of Vesuvius. They were discovered early in the last century. The remains of these cities, so wonderfully preserved, and now being brought to light, reveal much of the habits and social customs of those days.

We know not that Titus was a Christian. The light is very dim which comes down to us through these long centuries. But it is certain, that, in very many things, he manifested the spirit of Christ. The reign of this good man was short. Titus had a brother Domitian, an utterly depraved young man. He was to Titus as Cain to Abel. Anxious to grasp the sceptre, it is said that he poisoned his brother Titus when he had attained the forty-first year of his age and the second of his reign. The wretched Domitian ascended the throne. It is certain that he had heard of Jesus, of Christianity. The guilty are always suspicious. Knowing that the Christians regarded Jesus as their King, that they were looking for his second coming to reign as their Lord and Master, he regarded Jesus as a formidable rival. Apprehensive that there might be some heirs of Jesus around whom the Christians might rally, he arrested a large number of the disciples, and had them brought before him for examination. Anxiously he inquired of them what money they had in their treasury, what territory they possessed, and when and where the reign of Jesus would commence. The disciples assured him that they had neither lands nor money. In proof, they showed him their hands, indurated by toil. They assured him that the kingdom of Jesus was to be, not an earthly kingdom, but a heavenly and angelic; and that his reign would not commence until the end of the world, when Jesus would appear in clouds of glory.

Domitian was by no means satisfied with these replies. It was the general belief of the Christians, that Christ, in his second coming, might appear at any time. This was appalling tidings to Domitian. Such a dethronement was more terrible than any other which could be thought of. He hated the Christians, and wreaked undiscriminating and pitiless vengeance upon them. Many were driven from their homes into exile. They carried with them into the remotest provinces of the empire the glad tidings of the gospel. Many suffered death, accompanied by all conceivable tortures.

It is one of the legends of the Catholic Church, that the aged apostle John, being then at Rome, was, by the order of Domitian, thrown into a caldron of boiling oil. Miraculously he escaped without injury. He was then banished to the Isle of Patmos. It was there that he was favored with that wonderful series of visions recorded in the book of Revelation. In these mystic pages, so much of which is still enigmatical, the apostle represents what was to happen in succeeding ages,—particularly that the Church should suffer persecution; the punishment of its persecutors; the ruin of Rome, where idolatry reigned; the destruction of idolatry itself, and the final glory of the triumphant Church.171

There was a very renowned Roman general, by the name of Agricola, who, under Titus, had been very efficiently employed in Britain in endeavoring to civilize the barbarous natives. He taught them many of the manners and customs of the more enlightened Romans. It is said that Domitian, fearing that Agricola was acquiring reputation, caused him to be poisoned.

Sin and insanity are closely allied. Domitian wished to enjoy the splendors of a Roman triumph; but he had never won a victory. He was no soldier. Still he got up a magnificent civil and military display, and with streaming banners, and pealing music, and the tramp of armed legions, entered Rome, charioted like a conqueror returning from the most triumphant campaign. A large number of slaves, disguised as captives of war, were led in the train to grace a triumph which exposed Domitian to universal ridicule and contempt. He assumed divine honors; reared statues of himself in gold and silver in conspicuous positions, and required his subjects to address him as a god. Any who were suspected of being unfriendly to him were mercilessly punished with torture and death. The extravagance of his expenditure was so enormous, that Martial says, in one of his epigrams,—

“If the emperor would call in all his debts, Jupiter himself, even though he had made a general auction of Olympus, would have been unable to pay two shillings in the pound.”

The tyrant kept a tablet, upon which he wrote the names of those whom he had doomed to die. His infamous wife Domitia, for some cause suspecting him, got a peep at the tablet while her husband was asleep. To her consternation, she found her own name, with those of several others, on the fatal list. She immediately entered into a conspiracy with them for the assassination of her husband. One of the conspirators approached the emperor under the pretence of presenting him a memoir disclosing a conspiracy. Assuming that his right arm was crippled, it was hung in a sling. As he presented the memorial with his left hand, he suddenly drew a concealed dagger, and plunged it into the heart of the tyrant.

Thus died Domitian, as is reported, on the 17th of September, A.D. 96. He was but forty-five years of age, and had reigned fifteen years. This wicked world of ours has produced many monsters. Among them all, it would be difficult to find any one more execrable than Domitian. In his character, not a redeeming trait could be found to mitigate the hatred and contempt with which he was universally regarded. The tidings of his death were hailed with joy throughout the empire. His statues were demolished, and his name consigned to infamy.

While these scenes were transpiring within the bounds of the Roman empire, almost nothing is known of the condition of the world outside of those not very clearly-defined limits. There are dim and shadowy glimpses of vast tribes or nations wandering over the hills and plains, as savage, as ferocious, as the wild beasts in whose skins they were clad. They seemed to be ever struggling in battle, as they surged to and fro over the vast plains of India, around the shores of the Caspian, and through the defiles of the Caucasus, amidst the gloomy forests extending far away from the remote banks of the Danube to the regions of eternal ice and snow. Storms of passion and cruelty were here silently accumulating, which were soon to burst with overwhelming destruction upon the Roman empire. With many thinking men there was a growing apprehension of these barbarians, who were gathering in such appalling swarms upon the frontiers of the Roman world. Occasionally an adventurous traveller would penetrate these wilds, and bring back astounding stories of the numbers, barbarism, and warlike ferocity, of these innumerable tribes.

If we look within the Roman empire, we see little but crime and misery. A haughty slaveholding aristocracy, few in number, but strong in the resistless power of the Roman legions, trampled the degraded and depraved millions beneath their feet. The Roman aristocracy had scarcely a redeeming virtue. The pillage of the known world had fallen into their hands. There were those of them who possessed estates larger than many modern kingdoms. Their vice and luxury were boundless. They seldom moved unless guarded by a troop of insolent retainers, whose devotion they easily purchased by spoils of the plundered.

The religion of pagan Rome consisted of a gorgeous display of magnificent temples, shrines, and imposing ceremonies. It was a religion which never ennobled the character, exerting no influence whatever in the promotion of public or individual virtue. Gibbon, whose authority on this point will not be questioned, states “that the private character and conduct of these foul idolaters were never in the slightest degree restrained by the religion which they professed.”

Upon the very day of the death of Domitian, the senate, apprehensive that the army might anticipate them in the choice of a successor, conferred the imperial purple upon Nerva, a venerable and virtuous man of sixty-five. We say that he was venerable and virtuous; while there is no evidence that he was a disciple of Jesus. It is impossible now to ascertain how far the influence of the Jewish religion, with its ten commandments and its revelation of one only God, had extended beyond the Israelitish organization, or how far the teachings of Jesus had penetrated the community and was influencing the lives of those who did not openly profess his name; but it is certain that here and there individuals were found, though few in number, who were devout men, like the Roman centurion Cornelius, “who feared God with all his house, which gave much alms to the people, and prayed to God alway.”

Such a man was Nerva. He immediately recalled all the Christians who had been banished from Rome by the Emperor Domitian. He issued a decree forbidding that any one should be molested for cherishing the faith either of the Jews or of the Christians. The dungeons, which were filled with the victims of tyranny, he opened, and liberated the captives. The venerable apostle John was released from his exile at Patmos, and returned to Ephesus, where it is said that he remained for the rest of his life.

It is often difficult to discriminate between what should be regarded as true and what as fable in the annals of those early days. But the following incident, given by the Abbé Fleury, is alike interesting and instructive, as showing the reputation which the venerable apostle enjoyed. It is said that St. John one day attended a meeting of the disciples in a small village a few miles from Ephesus. A young man of remarkable personal beauty was also present, who was so frank and genial in his manners as at once to win the tender regard of the affectionate disciple whom Jesus loved. Addressing himself to the pastor of the church after the young man had left, the apostle said, “In the presence of this church, and of our