Vision of the Cross by the School of Raphael
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Available from St. Bonaventure Publications
Book Length: 305 pages
In considering the history of the Church, it is unfortunate that many today possess only a rudimentary knowledge of that period which is commonly known as the “Early Church”. Along these lines, the story of the Great Persecution of Diocletian and, moreover, the events which led to the rise of Constantine and the legalization of the Christian faith by that illustrious yet controversial monarch, are subjects which remain mostly unknown to the minds of even faithful Catholics. We owe it not only to the martyrs of that era to remember them and their struggle, but also to those who survived; they are our spiritual forebears from whom we have generously received.
Abbot Giuseppe Ricciotti’s study of this period, with the intense political, social, and religious turmoil and reordering it involved, and the lives of those who lived through it—from obscure martyrs whose names we may have encountered in our missals to the power-jockeying Caesars and Augusti of the Tetrarchy—makes this work a masterful history. An integral element which makes this book not only highly informative but even enjoyable is that, as the author relates, its style consists in “…a critical narrative of the facts…” which is exposition modeled “…after the example of the ancient masters of history writing” (ix). This strength grants the text an accessibility which is often lacking in modern histories, even in great ones—such as George Ostrogorsky’s History of the Byzantine State—thus enabling the author to impart history to the reader in such a manner as to edify both the simple-minded and the learned.
The Great Persecution began in 303 AD, though it was preceded by at least two years of sporadic harassment of Christian soldiers in the Roman army. These men were enjoined either to preserve their careers (and the attractive benefits which came with them) or to renounce their faith. Many chose the former rather than the latter, and so took the better path, for they chose to forfeit perishable things for the eternal goods of Heaven. Such a policy, as with the Persecution itself, came actually at the behest of Galerius, the Caesar (or junior ruler) of Diocletian,1 as this Augustus was not particularly prejudiced against the Faith. Indeed, such a route of attack was meant to disarm the Christians, and rob them of the most likely sympathizers in the military; it also disproves a prominent myth of our times, this being that the Early Christians were practically all pacifists. As the author relates, the true situation was quite different:
At this time the Christians were numerous in the Roman armies, especially because the young men from the provinces tried to alleviate their impoverished condition by enrolling (par. 1)…Christians had been in the Roman armies from the earliest times (cf. Acts. 10:1 sqq.), but they had adopted a working compromise without any deep consideration of the matter. From the few references we have, it would seem that the great majority of Christians held military service to be licit, while a few were either dubious or condemned it.
(33)
However, there still remained a sizable number of Christians in the Roman army even after the expulsions were carried out, as the purge of the nonconformists was not universal; for in the territories of Constantius (fellow member of the tetrarchy and the father of Constantine) it was not carried out.2 And so unsatisfied with these half-measures, Galerius pressed his senior co-ruler for further actions against the faithful. This led to an anti-Christian edict which was, owing to the moderation of Diocletian, a soft persecution of the Church; Abbot Ricciotti tells us that it:
…affected churches, writings, and the Christian people, but did not contain any penalty of death. Christians, even if they held important posts, were to be stripped of all their privileges and put to the torture. They were forbidden to defend themselves on any charge in the public courts or to make official complaints of injuries, adultery, or theft. If they were slaves, they lost the right of emancipation. The churches were to be demolished and the sacred books burned.
(42)
Despite these “bloodless” measures, the author wisely comments that, “For the persecutor it was a clever move to attack the Christians through their sacred books for it became a matter of honor to save their books even at the cost of their lives” (72). There were indeed many Catholics who, rightly valuing the riches of the Sacred Scriptures, gave up their lives to protect them; yet there were also those who succumbed to the threats of the pagans. We unknowingly preserve the memory of these craven persons whenever we use the word “traitor”, for this is the origin of the term:
The edict commanded them to surrender (tradere) them to the authorities. Any person who obeyed this order was “one who surrendered” (traditor); he was favored by the persecutor and hated by the Christians who called him precisely what he was—a traditor—a traitor.
(72-73)
Describing the consequences of this order on the extant copies of the Bible, Abbot Ricciotti states that:
Though Christians generally did their utmost to save the Sacred Scriptures there were many traditores among them. The resulting destruction of the Scriptures was not complete but it was very extensive—this is shown by the fact that none of the great uncial codices of Scripture which exist in modern times dates any farther back than the fourth century. This century with its hecatombs of manuscripts marks a real break in the transmission of the text.
(73)
Such unfortunate details also betray a deeper truth which does not go unnoticed in the author’s study of the period; there were indeed many bad Christians who lived before, during, and even after the Great Persecution. In a later section of this work, Abbot Ricciotti utilizes the historical witness of Bishop Eusebius and the decrees of the Council of Elvira to determine that there were all sorts of abuses among both the clergy and the faithful before the first edict came crashing down upon the peace they had taken for granted. Given that the historical analysis he engages in is too lengthy to do justice here, it will be left for the inquiring reader to discover the truth of these things for themselves. Yet, it should be sufficient to remark that even a cursory glance of these abuses certainly brings a more realistic light to the dynamics of the Early Church, in contrast to the modernistic trend of selectively idealizing her simplicity while ignoring these disciplinary issues.3 This inquiry should not be feared, but rather embraced; for when one understands the failings of their contemporaries, the rays of the saints who stood their ground becomes ever the more brighter.
On this point, it is worth noting how Abbot Ricciotti animates the lives of the martyrs, so removed from us by time yet so related to us by faith, often by means of including excerpts of reliable historical documents. Considering the many possible examples, I found the story of Saint Edesius of Alexandria4 particularly striking. Of his life, the author tells us that he was the brother to another martyr, named Apphianus, and of how his virtue was rewarded. This young man, who “went about in the cloak of a philosopher,” was a true lover of Eternal Wisdom:
He had already experienced prison and forced labor in the mines of Palestine when he moved to Alexandria. He happened to be present one day in the tribunal when the judge was unburdening himself of some of his hatred of the Christians, attacking respectable men, and sending venerable matrons and virgins, consecrated to God, to the brothels. At this Edesius could contain himself no longer and went up to the judge and not only told him what he thought of him but added deeds—he punched and kicked him. It is quite superfluous also here to add that this daring deed was immediately rewarded with the most excruciating torments. Like his brother he was finally cast into the sea.
(113-114)
What Christian fortitude! Is there not a resemblance in his rebuke to that perverse judge to the just anger of Our Divine Master, who “…cast out them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers” (Mark 11:15), as Scripture tells us? Those men defiled the temple of God; that Roman judge sought to defile these consecrated virgins and chaste women, whose bodies were temples of the Holy Spirit. Surely the Catholic men of our time have something to learn from this heroic martyr, who did not even lay down his life for his own chastity, but for the chastity of his sisters in Christ.
“Be not deceived, God is not mocked” (Galatians 6:7), as St. Paul tells us. Indeed, Providence punished Galerius for his crimes against the Christians, for in March 310 AD he began to experience disgusting symptoms of his lecherous lifestyle which his doctors failed to heal, as his condition continued to deteriorate. Describing his horrific condition, Abbot Ricciotti writes that:
The proud ruler, who had first started the persecution and had slaughtered vast numbers of Christians, now whimpered like a child and began to propitiate the God of the Christians, promised to rebuild his temples and do penance for his crimes. The God of the Christians, however, quite reasonably distrusted promises extracted by the agonies of a frightful disease; some positive proof of sorrow was needed.
(151)
Unfortunately for Galerius, this man never did give God a “positive proof of sorrow”, for even the relief provided by the Edict of Toleration promulgated by the dying emperor in the April of the following year was insincere. Rightly does the author term it “a masterpiece of contradictions and incongruities” (Ibid). We should learn from this false contrition, no doubt a foul fruit of this man’s pride. It is an example of the pride of all who seek to cheat divine justice by refusing the divine mercy which is offered them. But it was this fortunate contradiction which eventually led to the far more praiseworthy Edict of Milan in 313, which officially liberated the Christian faith from any restrictions. This piece of legislation, as well as Constantine’s successful military campaign against Maximin which preceded it, is covered in great detail by Abbot Ricciotti in the text.
In the greater scheme of things, it is evident to see how the Lord brought good out of evil in considering Galerius’ vitriolic war against the Church. “Far from destroying Christianity,” the author notes, “the persecution had strengthened it and purged it of many evils” (Ibid). This same pattern, of God utilizing the forces of Satan to purify His elect occured in the Old Testament, and it has not ceased in the time of the New Testament.
Diocletian was also punished for his involvement, though in a manner far unlike that of his former junior ruler. He was not afflicted with sores nor ulcers nor worms as was Galerius; indeed, death would come much later for him, though the sources conflict on the exact year he departed from this life. So powerless he became after his retirement from the imperial purple that he could only watch from his villa in Salona as his ambitious tetrarchy fell apart on account of assassinations and civil wars. He must have felt even worse when his own wife and daughter became estranged from him as a result of the turbulent political situation. This man was certainly not as evil as Galerius, but there is something just in the circumstance that a man who consented to the separation and destruction of many Christian families at the hands of the state should face the ruin of his own from the same forces. Coloring this sad tale, the author recounts:
What was now left of the tetrarchy, the great creation of Diocletian? There was really nothing; the two Augusti left in power were there through their own strength, with no reference to the general rules of succession he had laid down.
…
He counted for nothing in politics any more; he had outlived his own work. No one now bothered about what he thought. In the solitude of Salona he was not even able to have his wife and daughter; it is even probable that they were executed in his own lifetime. The Christians he had persecuted had their triumph; those who had accepted the purple and honors from him paid no attention and caused him sorrow. Not until all this had happened, did long-desired Death (par. 67) come to liberate the unhappy old man.
(188)
Sic transit gloria mundi.
How different to the miserable ends of these two men was that of Constantine, who had the consolation of the Christian faith at his death! Abbot Ricciotti is noticeably very balanced in examining this man, whose convictions or lack thereof, despite the passage of over a thousand years, have not been protected from passionate inquiries and debates. Though the author reveals himself as a man deeply aware of the humanity of his subjects at various points of this work, his best analysis is concentrated in his examination of this complicated figure. The level of attention he dedicates to the father of Constantinople ascends that of his studies of Diocletian or Galerius, (or anyone else for that matter) and for very good reason. As he himself tells us in his most comprehensive analysis of the man, this being the final chapter of this work that:
Constantine is a person of the highest importance in the history of the Roman Empire, and in the story of the Catholic Church. He really changed the natural course of events.
(288)
He follows this by detailing his many qualities: these being physical, mental, and spiritual. His portrait of the liberator of the Catholic Church is vivid, as can be deduced by the following excerpt:
He had very good, but not prodigious, natural gifts. He was tall, strong, and vigorous, and had sympathetic looks and an affable manner. He had no time for abstract speculation and subtlety of thought, but had a very acute power of observation. He made his decisions with rapidity, but often on the basis of summary and approximate information.
…
He came to know Christianity at first very vaguely from his parents, Constantius and Helena, and then at the court of Diocletian. This second contact seems to have left a profound impression on him, for it came at the outbreak of the great persecution. A zealous seeker of ideas and facts, the young man was able to see with his own eyes the things of which a deep religious faith was capable.
(Ibid)
As Abbot Ricciotti further relates, this vigorous young man eventually matured into one who “…saw in Christianity the religion of the future—the only religion which was going to survive the decadence and collapse of paganism” (289). Thus his alignment with the Christian religion was founded on sincere grounds, not simply those of political opportunism.
Leading up to this final treatment of Constantine, the author elaborates in great detail the nature of the Donatist and Arian heresies in the preceding chapters, as well as the events of the historic Council of Nicaea. The relationship of the emperor in his role as “bishop of those outside” is sensibly established, and leads naturally into the author’s evaluation of his well-meaning interference in Church matters. In the fourth chapter, entitled “The Twilight of the Gods” (an apt reference to Wagner), he employs an analysis of Dante’s renowned lament in the Inferno for the unforeseen ill-effects of Constantine’s generosity which is excellent in its own right. Rather than derailing this work into unnecessary tangents, this added perspective enhances it, and encourages one to further ponder the bad effects which even the best of intentions can bring about.
Considering these points and many others that could be made, Abbot Ricciotti’s work is a superb history that ought to read. As Catholics, we certainly should be familiar with these pivotal events which would forever change the West, and those who lived in those dynamic times. For our lives, the example of the martyrs is more valuable to us than that of Constantine; for we may have to undergo very similar trials to the ones they faced. May their memory inspire us, and may we one day share in the reward of eternal life which they have received from Christ the King.
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For the sake of clarifying the nature of the tetrarchy, the following excerpt is provided:
“By a kind of fictio juris a relationship arose among the four rulers: the two Augusti were brothers and the two Caesars were their respective sons. Thus the succession was assured since each ‘son’ automatically succeeded his ‘father,’ while the two fathers were linked in ‘brotherhood.’ In their turn, each of the Caesars, when they had become Augusti, would chose a new Caesar as his ‘son.’ By this, the supreme power would be transmitted peacefully without any of the disturbances or rivalries which had so disturbed the Empire during the century just ending” (15).
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Intriguingly, neither did the pagan Constantius carry out the later edict of persecution. Thus, the lands of Gaul, Iberia, and Britain were spared the outrages which occurred in the other parts of the Empire where these criminal laws were enforced.
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For further information concerning this erroneous antiquarianism, read the words of Pope Pius XII:
“Assuredly it is a wise and most laudable thing to return in spirit and affection to the sources of the sacred liturgy. For research in this field of study, by tracing it back to its origins, contributes valuable assistance towards a more thorough and careful investigation of the significance of feast-days, and of the meaning of the texts and sacred ceremonies employed on their occasion. But it is neither wise nor laudable to reduce everything to antiquity by every possible device. Thus, to cite some instances, one would be straying from the straight path were he to wish the altar restored to its primitive tableform; were he to want black excluded as a color for the liturgical vestments; were he to forbid the use of sacred images and statues in Churches; were he to order the crucifix so designed that the divine Redeemer’s body shows no trace of His cruel sufferings; and lastly were he to disdain and reject polyphonic music or singing in parts, even where it conforms to regulations issued by the Holy See.”
Pius XII. Mediator Dei. (November 20, 1947). §62.
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He is more commonly known by the spelling “Adesius”, as his entry in The Roman Martyrology testifies:
“At Alexandria, in the time of the emperor Maximian Galerius, the martyr St. Aedesius, brother of the blessed Apphian. Because he reproved the wicked judge publicly for delivering to corruptors virgins consecrated to God, he was arrested by the soldiers, exposed to the most severe torments, and thrown into the sea for Christ our Lord.”
Entry for April 8th. The Roman Martyrology.