Christianity, under the successors of Aurelius, enjoyed a season of comparative repose and tranquility. The depravity of the contemptible Commodus was overruled to subserve the interests of the Christians after their long sufferings under his father; and the brief reign of many of the emperors left them no leisure to war against the aggressions of Christianity. “During little more than a century,” says Milman, “from the accession of Commodus to that of Dioclesian, more than twenty emperors flitted like shadows along the tragic scene of the imperial palace. The empire of the world became the prize of bold adventure, or the precarious gift of a lawless soldiery. A long line of military adventurers, often strangers to the name, to the race, to the language of Rome—Africans, Pyreans, Arabs, and Goths—seized the quickly shifting scepter of the world. The change of sovereign was almost always a change of dynasty, or, by some strange fatality, every attempt to re-establish an hereditary succession was thwarted by the vices or imbecility of the second generation.”
Thus the Christians had about a hundred years of comparative rest and peace. There were, no doubt, many cases of persecution and martyrdom during that period, but such cases were more the result of personal hostility in some individual than from any systematic policy pursued by the government against Christianity. The first and commanding object of each succeeding emperor was to secure his contested throne. They had no time to devote to the suppression of Christianity, or to the social and religious changes within the empire. Thus the great Head of the Church—who is also “head over all things to the church”—made the weakness and insecurity of the throne the indirect means of the strength and prosperity of the Church.
But although the reign of Commodus was. generally favorable to the progress of Christianity, there was one remarkable instance of persecution which we must note.
APOLLONIUS, a Roman senator, renowned for learning and philosophy, was a sincere Christian. Many of the nobility of Rome, with their whole families, embraced Christianity about this time. The dignity of the Roman senate felt itself lowered by such innovations. This led, it is supposed, to the accusation of Apollonius before the magistrate. His accuser, under an old and unrepealed law of Antoninus Pius, which enacted grievous punishments against the accusers of Christians, was sentenced to death and executed. The magistrate asked the prisoner, Apollonius, to give an account of his faith before the senate and the court. He complied, and boldly confessed his faith in Christ; in consequence of which, by a decree of the senate, he was beheaded. It is said by some to be the only trial recorded in history where both the accused and the accuser suffered judicially. But the Lord’s hand was in it, high above both the accuser and the magistrate, Perennius, who condemned them both. From this period many families of distinction and opulence in Rome professed Christianity, and sometimes we meet with Christians in the imperial family.
After a reign of about twelve years, the unworthy son of Aurelius died from the effects of a poisoned cup of wine.
PERTINAX, immediately upon the death of Commodus, was elected by the senate to the throne; but after a brief reign of sixty-six days was killed in an insurrection. A civil war followed, and Septimus Severus ultimately obtained the sovereign power in Rome.
Christianity Under The Reign Of Severus. A.D. 194- 210.
In the early part of the reign of Severus he was rather favorable to the Christians. A christian slave, named Proculus, was the means of restoring the emperor to health, by anointing him with oil. This remarkable cure, no doubt in answer to prayer, gave the Christians great favor in the eyes of Severus. Proculus received an honorable position in the imperial family, and a christian nurse and a christian tutor were engaged to form the character of the young prince. He also protected from the popular indignation men and women of the highest rank in Rome—senators, their wives and families—who had embraced Christianity. But, alas, all this favor towards the Christians was merely the result of local circumstances. The laws remained the same, and violent persecutions broke out against them in particular provinces.
Persecutions Under Severus. A.D. 202.
It was not till about the tenth year of his reign that the native ferocity of his dark and relentless mind was manifested against the Christians. In 202, after his return from the East, where he had gained great victories, and no doubt lifted up with pride, he put forth his hand and impiously dared to arrest the progress of Christianity—the chariot of the gospel. He passed a law which forbade, under severe penalties, that any of his subjects should become either Jews or Christians. This law, as a matter of course, kindled a severe persecution against young converts and Christians in general. It stimulated their enemies to all kinds of violence. Large sums of money were extorted from timid Christians by some of the venal governors as the price of peace. This practice, though yielded to by some for the sake of life and liberty, was strongly denounced by others. It was considered by the more zealous as degrading to Christianity, and an ignominious barter of the hopes and glories of martyrdom. Still the persecution does not appear to have been general. It left its deepest traces in Egypt and Africa.
At Alexandria, Leonides, father of the famous Origen, suffered martyrdom. Young people at schools, who were receiving a christian education, were subjected to severe tortures, and some of their teachers were seized and burned. The young Origen distinguished himself at this time by his active and fearless labors in the now almost deserted schools. He longed to follow in his father’s footsteps, and rather sought than shunned the crown of martyrdom. But it was in Africa—a place we only think of now as a dark, miserable, and thinly peopled desert—that the silver line of God’s marvelous grace was most distinctly marked in the heavenly patience and fortitude of the holy sufferers. “We must indulge our readers with a few brief details.
The Persecution In Africa.
Historians say, that in no part of the Roman Empire had Christianity taken more deep and permanent root than in the province of Africa. Then it was crowded with rich and populous cities. The African type of Christianity was entirely different to the Egyptian. The former was earnest and impassioned, the latter dreamy and speculative, through the evil influence of Platonism. Tertullian belongs to this period, and is a true type of the difference we have referred to; but more of this further on. We will now notice some of the African martyrs.
Perpetua And Her Companions.
Amongst others who were apprehended and martyred in Africa during this persecution, Perpetua and her companions, in all histories, hold a distinguished place. The history of their martyrdom not only bears throughout the stamp of circumstantial truth, but abounds with the most exquisite touches of natural feeling and affection. Here we see the beautiful combination of the tenderest feelings and the strongest affections, which Christianity recognizes in all their rights, and makes even more profound and tender; but yet causes all to be sacrificed on the altar of entire devotedness to Him who died entirely devoted to us. “Who loved me,” as appropriating faith says, “and gave himself for me.” Gal. 2:2020I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20).
At Carthage, in the year 202, three young men, Revocatus, Saturnius, and Secundulus, and two young women, Perpetua, and Felicitas, were arrested, all of them being still catechumens, or candidates for baptism and communion. Perpetua was of a good family, wealthy and noble, of liberal education, and honorably married. She was about twenty-two years of age; was a mother, with her child at the breast. Her whole family seem to have been Christians except her aged father, who was still a Pagan. Nothing is said of her husband. Her father was passionately fond of her, and greatly dreaded the disgrace that her sufferings for Christ would bring on his family. So that she had not only death in its most frightful form to struggle with, but every sacred tie of nature.
When she was first brought before her persecutors, her aged father came and urged her to recant and say she was not a Christian. “Father,” she calmly replied, pointing to a vessel that lay on the ground, “can I call this vessel anything else than what it is?” “No,” he replied. “Neither can I say to you anything else than that I am a Christian.” A few days after this the young Christians were baptized. Though they were under guard they were not yet committed to prison. But shortly after this, they were thrown into the dungeon. “Then,” she says, “I was tempted, I was terrified, for I had never been in such darkness before. Ο what a dreadful day! The excessive heat occasioned by the number of persons, the rough treatment of the soldiers, and, finally, anxiety for my child, made me miserable.” The deacons, however, succeeded in purchasing for the christian prisoners a better apartment, where they were separated from the common criminals. Such advantages could usually be purchased from the venal overseers of prisons. Perpetua was now cheered by having her child brought to her. She placed it at her breast, and exclaimed, “Now this prison has become a palace to me!”
After a few days, there was a rumor that the prisoners were to be examined. The father hastened to his daughter in great distress of mind. “My daughter,” he said, “pity my gray hairs, pity thy father, if I am still worthy to be called thy father. If I have brought thee up to this bloom of thy age, if I have preferred thee above all thy brothers, expose me not to such shame among men. Look upon thy child—thy son—who, if thou diest, cannot long survive thee. Let thy lofty spirit give way, lest thou plunge us all into ruin. For if thou diest thus, not one of us will ever have courage again to speak a free word.” Whilst saying this, he kissed her hands, threw himself at her feet, entreating her with terms of endearment, and many tears. But, though greatly moved and pained by the sight of her father, and his strong and tender affection for her, she was calm and firm, and felt chiefly concerned for the good of his soul. “My father’s gray hairs,” she said, “pained me, when I considered that he alone of my family would not rejoice in my martyrdom.” “What shall happen,” she said to him, “when I come before the tribunal, depends on the will of God; for we stand not in our own strength, but only by the power of God.”
On the arrival of the decisive hour—the last day of their trial—an immense multitude was assembled. The aged father again appeared, that he might for the last time try his utmost to overcome the resolution of his daughter. On this occasion he brought her infant son in his arms, and stood before her. And thus she stood before the tribunal, before the assembled multitude, before the admiring myriads of heaven, before the frowning hosts of hell. What a moment! what a spectacle! Her aged father, his gray hairs, her tender infant; to say nothing of his agonizing importunities; what an appeal to a daughter—to a young mother’s heart! “Have pity on thy father’s gray hairs,” said the governor, “have pity on thy helpless child, offer sacrifice for the welfare of the emperor.” But Perpetua was calm and firm. Like Abraham of old, the father of the faithful, her eye was not now on her son, but on the God of resurrection. Having commended her child to her mother and her brother, she answered the governor, and said, “That I cannot do.” “Art thou a Christian?” he asked. “Yes,” she replied, “I am a Christian.” Her fate was now decided. They were all condemned to serve as a cruel sport for the people and the soldiers, in a fight with wild beasts, on the anniversary of young Geta’s birthday. They returned to their dungeon, rejoicing that they were thus enabled to witness and suffer for Jesus’ sake. The gaoler, Pudas, was converted by the tranquil behavior of his prisoners.
When led forth into the amphitheater, the martyrs were observed to have a peaceful and joyful appearance. According to a custom which prevailed in Carthage, the men should have been clothed in scarlet like the priests of Saturn, and the women in yellow as the priestesses of Ceres; but the prisoners protested against such a proceeding. “We have come here,” they said, “of our own choice, that we may not suffer our freedom to be taken from us; we have given up our lives that we may not be forced to such abominations.” The Pagans acknowledged the justice of their demand, and yielded. After taking leave of each other with the mutual kiss of christian love, in the certain hope of soon meeting again, as “absent from the body and present with the Lord,” they came forward to the scene of death in their simple attire. The voice of praise to God was heard by the spectators. Perpetua was singing a psalm. The men were exposed to lions, bears, and leopards; the women were tossed by a furious cow. But all were speedily released from their sufferings by the sword of the gladiator, and entered into the joy of their Lord.
The interesting narrative, which is here abridged, and said to have been written by Perpetua’s own hand, breathes such an air of truth and reality as to have commanded the respect and confidence of all ages. But our main object in writing it for our readers is to present to them a living picture, in which many of the finest features of christian faith are beautifully blended with the finest and tenderest christian feelings; and that we may learn, not to be complainers, but to endure all things for Christ’s sake, that so His grace may shine, our faith triumph, and God be glorified.
A few years after these events, Severus turned his attention to Britain, where the Romans had been losing ground. The emperor, being at the head of a very powerful army, drove back the independent natives of Caledonia, and regained the country south of the wall of Antoninus, but lost so many troops in the successive battles which he was obliged to fight, that he did not think proper to push his conquests beyond that boundary. Feeling at length his end approaching, he retired to York, where he soon afterward expired, in the eighteenth year of his reign.