St. Paul of Tarsus
I would like to take a glance at the subject of Christian subversion. I did not want to mention this in the title because it would have scandalized those who judge the contents of a text by the title–even when it is paradoxical.
Rest reassured! I am not going to subvert your religion or criticize what you have learned. In fact, when I first imagined this topic, I thought of dealing with the subject in quite a different manner from that which I am actually going to do. I had planned to use St. Paul as a starting point and go as far as the fall of the Roman Empire to show that Christianity was not the agent of its destruction–the termites!–as it is sometimes said to be. It is a vast subject, and it was obviously going to be impossible to cover briefly. So, despairing a little, I looked for a shortcut which would enable me to reach my conclusion. As it happens, just recently I overheard a couple of statements which made me prick up my ears and have made me partly change the objective I had originally set. Hence the somewhat improvised character of this for which I pray you will excuse me.
The old statement of our common master, Mr. André Piganiol–“The Roman Empire did not die, it was murdered”–still resounds in our ears. But it was just a quip. His other habitual discourses mostly denied this paradoxical and provoking assertion. It would seem, however, that he has epigones1 far less educated, intelligent, or subtle than he was. For instance, the other day, one of his successors at the Sorbonne said, by way of an allusion during a lecture on Roman History, whilst commenting upon the famous text of Tacitus about the fire of Rome, a text famous among all (Annals, Book XV, 38-45), that we do not really know who set Rome on fire. It had been said that it was the Christians, a fact later refuted. Tacitus himself did not seem to be quite sure about this fact. But after all, from such people as the Christians you could expect anything, and the very fact that it had been imagined that it could have been the Christians given the fact that they are–and not were!–spoilsports and troublemakers, it seemed to be quite likely that it was their work after all. They were feverish, they had just been converted, they did not have the audience to which their silly pretension aspired; so in order to get some publicity and draw attention to themselves, they set Rome on fire! This is what I heard gravely uttered on a peremptory tone by an eminent professor at the Sorbonne. This is quite curious given the fact that for many years now no one has granted any credit to this ridiculous fable.
Another fellow professor said, while commenting with much more erudition and subtlety on the reforms of the Council of Trent and their possible repercussions on our times, that she was not taking sides concerning such or such an aspect of the reform, because she wanted to get out of the classroom alive and that there might be some convinced Catholics present at the lecture. Consequently, she took all oratory precautions possible to make sure that she would be able to leave the room in one piece, alive and well! Once again, we are considered as decidedly dangerous folk. So, I told myself that maybe I should make known the truth of the matter. Consequently, we are going to proceed from the beginning and aim to show, using existing texts, whether or not these first Christians were indeed dangerous people or revolutionaries as some still wish to portray us even now.
The first meeting between Christianity and the Roman State took place not in Rome but in the East, where Christianity was born.
Origin of the Word “Christian”
It may not be completely pointless to recall whence we got our name: from Christ, of course, but that was not our first designation. During the first decades of the existence of Christianity, local or Roman magistrates considered Christianity as one of the Jewish sects. There were many; you have heard about the Pharisees and Sadducees, for instance. And then there were these newcomers, whom the Jews called Nazarenes. I am looking at things from the viewpoint of the power which was to become opposed to Christianity: the Roman State. For them, it was just a Jewish sect! Hence, contrary to what we might believe a little naively, it was not going to cause alarm to the suspicious eyes of any Roman civil servant. The Jewish religion was what they called a religio licita, a licit, permissible religion within the Roman State. It was among those which could be freely practiced in the Roman Empire. Thus incipient Christianity–under cover of this alleged Judaism–first benefited from ambiguity, and consequently from the permission granted to the practice of the Jewish religion. Even better, the first Christians were protected by the Romans because of this confusion. Thus we observe great optimism with regard to temporal power in the texts from the first Christian generation: the Gospels, the writings of St. Luke, and of St. Paul in the Acts of the Apostles. The inspired writers praised the sense of justice of the Roman State, its juridical organization: the emperor was just because he punished evildoers, and representatives of this just emperor, the magistrates, were also thus regarded. (I leave aside the case of Pontius Pilate, the Roman Procurator who condemned Christ, because this is quite a different issue, and I do not want to launch into the exegesis of the trial of Christ.)
The first Christians, once established after having left the hiding places in which they remained until the day of Pentecost, practiced their worship freely with respect to the Roman State. However, it was soon necessary to distinguish between the Jewish sects and the new religion. Hence, they needed a name. Between themselves, the very first Christians–the term is anachronistic at that time—simply called themselves brethren, the disciples, the saints. The Jews called them Nazarene because it was general public knowledge that Jesus Christ had been born in Nazareth, and they were the disciples of Jesus of Nazareth. As far as we know, the pagans “christened” our fathers in the faith with the name of Christians. This word was born in pagan circles and in the context of pagan conversions following the apostles’ preaching.
This took place in Antioch. We can be very precise about this fact because we have the first occurrence of this name in the Acts of the Apostles. It did not come from the Jews and could not have because christianos—christianus in Latin–means disciple of Christ. Now, what is the meaning of the Greek word Christ? It is the Greek translation of the Hebrew word Messiah; consequently, to call these newcomers Christians was to acknowledge that they were disciples of the Messiah under its Greek name, and hence admit that Jesus was indeed the Messiah–a fact denied by any Jew. This is blatant linguistic proof that the name “Christian” could not come from the Jewish community. This word was coined in a community whose members were in majority pagan and not Jewish; they had no opinion concerning a true or false Messiah. What they desired was to become followers of this already resplendent personage with his divine prestige who had come to bring them truth and salvation. So they were going to be called christianoï. There is something strange here, however, because christos is a Greek word, and the ending is Latin. So they added a Latin suffix to a Greek word and the result was a kind of hybrid word. This simply proves that the social circle where the word was coined was bilingual, but not very refined as to the linguistic purity of the words it used. Thus we have a Latin suffix appended to a Greek stem, translated from Hebrew: all three sacred languages are there.
The coining of the word “Christian” comes from the pagan world, which proves that Christianity had been first and foremost received into pagan circles as the light they had been expecting. Hence the conversions. At first the name was a nickname; it meant “the disciples of Christ.” It had no official value, and in the primitive Church, they were not yet calling themselves Christians. It was a nickname given by others, by those from the other side who were wondering what to call the disciples of this Christos, whether they were following them or merely observing them. The name was at first unknown to the judicial service. As no other name was suggested, the popular nickname was adopted.
The name spread far and wide with speed. From the very beginning it had the meaning that it still has today. For instance, when Paul appears before the Procurator Festus, King Agrippa, and Bernice during one of his trials in Cæsarea, King Aggripa, upon hearing Paul, told him: “In a little thou persuadest me to become a Christian.” Such was the word used by this unconverted foreigner before whom Paul stood as an apostle and a propagandist of the Faith.
St. Peter, in his first Epistle (4:12-16) says:
St. Paul in Antioch and Philippi
The first incidents between Christians and the Roman State, or at least the representatives of authority, took place in Antioch of Pysidia in the years 50-52. Paul and Barnabas were taken in for questioning by the local magistrates of the small town of Antioch–“the chief men of the city”–the text reads. The magistrates were given this idea by women of good standing, who had allowed themselves to be persuaded by the Jews that these individuals were dangerous men, and that they had to be immediately subdued. The apostles were cast out of the town of Antioch without any other formality.
Much more interesting is the affair in the city of Philippi. This town was a municipus, i.e. a city, which though in foreign lands, benefited from the status of a Roman city, and its inhabitants enjoyed the titles, ranks, and prerogatives of Roman citizens. For this reason, everything was administered according to Roman law. There was in Philippi a young slave girl who was divining, and her masters were making great profits out of her talents and charged for consultations with her. Paul and Silas, on a conversion tour, noticed the phenomenon and discerned in it a diabolical phenomenon. Paying heed only to their faith and mission, they delivered the young slave from the devil. The young girl was again in her normal state, but this deprived her masters from their lucrative business. The masters were enraged against these “troublemakers,” and not discerning the special social origin of Paul and Silas, they denounced them as Jews to the local authorities, the praetors of the town.
And it came to pass, as we went to prayer, a certain girl, having a pythonical spirit [a spirit pretending to divine—Ed.], met us, who brought to her masters much gain by divining. This same, following Paul and us, cried out, saying: These men are the servants of the most high God, who preach unto you the way of salvation. And this she did many days. But Paul being grieved, turned, and said to the spirit: I command thee, in the name of Jesus Christ, to go out from her. And he went out the same hour. But her masters, seeing that the hope of their gain was gone, apprehending Paul and Silas, brought them into the marketplace to the rulers. And presenting them to the magistrates, they said: These men disturb our city, being Jews; and preach a fashion which it is not lawful for us to receive nor observe, being Romans. And the people ran together against them; and the magistrates rending off their clothes, commanded them to be beaten with rods. And when they had laid many stripes upon them, they cast them into prison, charging the jailer to keep them diligently. Who having received such a charge, thrust them into the inner prison, and made their feet fast in the stocks. And at midnight, Paul and Silas praying, praised God. And they that were in prison heard them. And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. And immediately all the doors were opened, and the bands of all were loosed. And the keeper of the prison, awaking out of his sleep, and seeing the doors of the prison open, drawing his sword, would have killed himself, supposing that the prisoners had fled. But Paul cried with a loud voice, saying: Do thyself no harm, for we all are here. Then calling for a light, he went in, and trembling, fell down at the feet of Paul and Silas. And bringing them out, he said: Masters, what must I do, that I may be saved? But they said: Believe in the Lord Jesus, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house. And they preached the word of the Lord to him and to all that were in his house. And he, taking them the same hour of the night, washed their stripes, and himself was baptized, and all his house immediately. And when he had brought them into his own house, he laid the table for them, and rejoiced with all his house, believing God. And when the day was come, the magistrates sent the sergeants, saying, Let those men go. And the keeper of the prison told these words to Paul: The magistrates have sent to let you go; now therefore depart, and go in peace. But Paul said to them: They have beaten us publicly, uncondemned, men that are Romans, and have cast us into prison: and now do they thrust us out privately? Not so; but let them come, and let us out themselves. And the sergeants told these words to the magistrates. And they were afraid, hearing that they were Romans. And coming, they besought them; and bringing them out, they desired them to depart out of the city. And they went out of the prison, and entered into the house of Lydia; and having seen the brethren, they comforted them, and departed. (Acts 16:16-40)
This shows you that these very first Christians were not at all considered as under-citizens, but rather dangerous either because of their Jewish denomination first attributed to them, or because of the fact that they were Christians. Indeed, they were bearers of a message which was immediately recognizable on the social level: they freed a young slave girl and converted their jailer.
In Thessaloniki and Ephesus
Paul continued on his way, went to Jerusalem, and next arrived in Thessaloniki. This city had a particular juridical status: it had a Senate composed of five or six magistrates called politarchs, i.e. chiefs of the city. Paul and Silas were once again the objects of an incantation. This time, the Jews drew in a crowd against them and besieged the house of Jason, where they had sought refuge. But, as the Jews did not find Paul and Silas, for want of anything better, they dragged Jason and the other Christians before the magistrates of the city. They accused them of subversive activities, saying: “These people claim that they do not serve the emperor, but another personage by the name of Jesus, and whom they call king.” In other words, they were revolutionaries. This was one of the reasons why Our Lord had been condemned. It is the crimen majestatis, the accusation of fomenting revolution, of questioning imperial authority, which was liable to the death penalty. No, stated Paul and Silas, we are Roman citizens, and consequently we do not have to answer to a lower authority which is here present on behalf of Rome to judge natives of the place. Thessaloniki was not a municipus. The politarchs, realizing that this was an ambiguous issue which did not quite fit with revolutionaries of the ordinary kind, merely demanded bail, and then released them.
Each time, they were accused of being public troublemakers or revolutionaries and each time, after an inquest, they were released.
In Ephesus, at the time when Paul and Silas happened to be there, all the most important representatives of the great cities of Asia Minor were gathered for their annual solemn meeting in honor of the emperor and of the city of Rome. There were games and sacrifices. These men were most important because of their family connections and fortune. They had been elected by the prominent citizens of every town to go there. They were used to coming once a week and conveying requests to the Roman powers, i.e. requests which were always taken into consideration, because in Rome the authorities paid heed to the request of the Asiatic cities. At that very time, a riot of the silversmiths took place during which they tried to tear Paul to pieces. The dignitaries from Asia Minor took care to warn him not to show himself or to go back to the theater where there was a raving mob, angered by Paul’s discourse. They told him: We desire your good–remain in hiding. The secretary of this assembly of prominent citizens from the whole province of Asia astutely managed to calm things down by speaking to the angry mob, saying: These men whom you have arrested are guilty neither of sacrilege nor of blasphemy against the local goddess, who was Artemis.
Such are the relationships that Paul of Tarsus, a Roman citizen, had with the provincial magistrates who were stirred up against him by the Jews. After having stoned Stephen these latter had unleashed their hatred against Christians wherever they could find them. They had no better means of getting rid of these Nazarenes than to deliver them up to the Roman authorities accusing them of political plots and blasphemies against the official religions.
In Corinth and Caesarea
In Corinth, the Jews accused Paul of worshipping God in a manner opposed to the law, and they brought him before the proconsul of Achaia, Gallio, the brother of the writer Seneca. Let us bear in mind that the Jewish religion was protected by law. So, the trick used by the Jews consisted of saying: This man, of Jewish origin, teaches a cult which is contrary to the Jewish religion, consequently to a religion authorized by the government. Hence, Paul must be condemned as seeking to destroy Jewish law and also endeavoring to destroy Roman law. This was quite clever, but Gallio did not play their game. He merely said: This is a theological issue, a matter of vocabulary within the Jewish domain.
But when Gallio was proconsul of Achaia, the Jews with one accord rose up against Paul, and brought him to the judgment seat, saying: This man persuadeth men to worship God contrary to the law. And when Paul was beginning to open his mouth, Gallio said to the Jews: If it were some matter of injustice, or an heinous deed, O Jews, I should with reason bear with you. But if they be questions of word and names, and of your law, look you to it: I will not be judge of such things. And he drove them from the judgment seat. And all laying hold of Sosthenes, the ruler of the synagogue, beat him before the judgment seat; and Gallio cared for none of those things. (Acts of the Apostles, 18:12-17)
Gallio confined himself to violation of common law, and there was none. There was only a subtle distinction on the part of Jewish theologians who did not admit the new interpretation brought by St. Paul. There was nothing particularly offensive to the Roman State in the discourses Paul gave in the town. To the eyes of a Roman magistrate, the distinction between a christianii and a Jew was not yet obvious. This Roman magistrate did not have to make any pronouncement on a question of Jewish orthodoxy, nor to be used as the secular arm for Jews who wanted to use Roman justice to get rid of someone who was a bother to them. The accusation was without juridical ground, hence there was no defendant.
When, a little later, in Caesarea, Paul was brought to the judgment seat of two procurators, Festus and Felix, he was kept in custody for two years. Was there then matter to condemn him? No, we know very well that Felix was a venal magistrate, and he wanted to draw money from the prisoners who came into his hands. But there was nothing in the dossier of Paul when he appeared before Felix, Festus, King Agrippa, and Bernice. It was only hoped that after a certain time, Paul would eventually hand money under the table, and at this price he would be free to go. However, Paul had no money and had no mind to sneak through doors that would be left ajar in return for a bribe. He wanted to get out gloriously, holding his head up. Paul’s arrest in Caesarea was once more the Jews’ doing. The advocate for the Jews, who was a Roman, presented Paul as the head of the sect of the Nazarenes, and his accusation consisted of stating that he was brewing trouble against the Jews everywhere in the world. Since these Nazarenes attacked the Jews, who were protected by Roman law, they were subversive. We see here an official attempt at dissociating the Jews from Christianity, and at moving the debate to the political level. There was sedition, violation of common law, because the Jews had been taken to task.
After having carried out an inquest, the next procurator, Festus, acknowledged that Paul was not guilty of any of the crimes of which he was accused and that he might only be charged with a religious fault, but this did not come within the competence of the tribunal of Caesarea. Hence, to be discharged, Paul should have accepted to stand before a Jewish tribunal, the Sanhedrin. In order to do this, he would have had to renounce his Roman citizenship. Paul refused to take this way out, and asked to stand before the imperial tribunal. This is the reason he went to Rome, where he stood before the tribunal of the Emperor, who did not condemn him either.
Such are the records on file for this troublemaker, this subversive personage. The first part of this article has shown that there was nothing in Paul’s attitude or behavior which could, in the least, be a sign of revolt, revolution, perversion, or of subversion of the Roman State.
The Fire of Rome
In the days of Paul, the fire of Rome occurred. It took place under the Emperor Nero. You know that the claim was, and still is, that it was the Christians who set the city on fire. Chapter 44 of Book 15 of Tacitus’ Annals gave rise to much discussion. The first remark that must be made is that we are dealing with a writer, a historian, who loved to dramatize the events he was recounting with extraordinary talent. He expounded on the events of a given epoch as different acts in a tragedy which begin threateningly and end up in catastrophe. Such is Tacitus’ art.
Thus, Nero’s reign began with a sinister and ambiguous atmosphere—I am referring to the account given by Tacitus–consequent to the murder of Emperor Claudius, and continues all through the account with more and more appalling and dramatic episodes: the death of Britannicus, the death of Agrippina, the death of Octavia, etc. Then, in the middle of Book 15, the flames appear which, for more than a week, were to lay waste to seven out of the fourteen districts of the city of Rome; three were completely annihilated and only four were left untouched. The historian describes the damage caused by the fire and also speaks of the measures taken by Nero both to stop the fire progressing throughout the drama and also to rebuild the damaged city in a clearer, modern, urban way–which granted the best areas to the imperial property.
The Roman people, sorely tried by the disaster, did not believe in the hypothesis of an accidental fire, which was the immediate official explanation. In a popular reaction, culprits were looked for, and people were not even fearful of accusing the emperor himself. It was said that people in the service of Nero, the neroniani, had been seen sneaking into the streets of Rome and throwing firebrands into places that had not yet been set alight, thus preventing the progress of rescue teams. It was also being spread abroad that during the fire, Nero had taken his lyre and sung the fire of Troy as described by Virgil, seated in the private theater of his palace.
Whether true or false, rumor had it that the emperor was responsible for the catastrophe. The emperor, frightened by these threatening rumors, decided that he had to find a culprit. Tacitus tells us that the Christians were designated to be the victims of popular anger and thus the emperor made himself the executor of popular vengeance by immolating them in a spectacular and atrocious manner.
Expiatory ceremonies, charges, and torment of the Christians are thus described by Tacitus:
Human prudence had ordered all that depends upon its counsels: soon we thought of swaying the gods, and the books of the Sybil were opened. According to what was read therein, prayers were addressed to Vulcan, Ceres, and Proserpina. Roman ladies implored Juno, first at the Capitol, next on the shore of the nearest sea, where water was drawn to sprinkle the walls of the temple and the statue of the goddess. Lastly, married women celebrated sellisternia and nocturnal rites. But neither human means, nor imperial lavishness, nor the ceremonies to appease the gods could silence the public cry accusing Nero of having given order to set the city on fire. Consequently, to stifle these rumors, he presented as culprits a class of men detested for their abominations and whom lower class people called Christians, and he made them undergo the most exquisite torments. This name was given to them because of the Christ, who, under the principate of Tiberius, was delivered up to torment by the Procurator Pontius Pilate. Repressed immediately, this obnoxious superstition was invading again not only Judea, where it originated, but Rome itself, where all that the world contains as far as infamies and horrors flood in and finds partisans. First those who avowed their sect were seized; and, thanks to their revelations, an immense multitude was recognized guilty not so much of the criminal fire, than of their hatred for the human race. Their torments were an entertainment: some wrapped in animal skins were devoured by dogs; others died on crosses, or they were coated with some inflammable substance, and burnt as torches when the sun went down. Nero lent his gardens for this spectacle, and at the same time there were games at the Circus, during which he mixed with the crowd sometimes dressed as a coachman, and at other times driving a chariot. So, even though these men were guilty, and deserving of the utmost rigors, hearts opened to compassion, thinking that they were not immolated only for the sake of the public good, but because of the cruelty of one man. (Annals, Book 15, 44)
Consequently, the question is as follows: were the Christians responsible or not in this affair of the fire of Rome?
Bibliography on the subject is immense. But when all has been said, it turns out to have been a cruel fable. Thus my eminent fellow-professor who accused the Christians–a people capable of everything, even the worst public crimes–deserves a short moment of shame. The final touch was given to this cause some 20 years ago by a specialist of Roman religious history, Mr. Beaujeu, who, in a well-documented study, reviewed all the hypotheses and questions, and stated: No, the fire was the result of an accident. But the reputation of the Emperor was so terrible and indeed as a lover of cruel spectacles (during which he did not hesitate to show the public capital executions), made it seem probable that he had indeed been its author. It was well known that Nero loved this kind of spectacle.
The Christians appeared here only as unfortunate victims exposed to public condemnation, because they had nobody to defend them. They were weird, the butt of general antipathy, and of some sort of malevolence, because of the rumors circulated about them by the pagans as well as the Jews. Let us not forget that Nero’s wife had many acquaintances in Jewish circles. I am not, however, saying that she was responsible for the death sentences passed upon the Christians. They had a secret way of life, with a lengthy initiation which, at that time, gave access to the mysteries only after an abstruse catechesis. They were already fairly numerous at the time and the Christian community was growing. Testimonies immediately following this period speak of a host of people immolated due to the cruelty of the Emperor. This important community did not benefit from any support of sympathizers, nor from any legal support for they were outside the religio licita. They had severed their connection with Judaism and the Jews were most eager to separate themselves from them. They were thus in an awkward situation, in a complete void legally speaking.
It was not permissible to practice any unauthorized religion in Rome. If it were authorized, the form of worship still had to be accepted by a decree emanating from the Senate or from the emperor. Such was not the case for the Christians; consequently, they benefited from no juridical support. What had, up to that time, allowed Paul to benefit from the ambiguity of his Judaic religion in his encounters with magistrates no longer existed for the Christians when they lost this Judaic “umbrella.” There was no protection for them and hence they were outlaws. How marvelous! From this point on, no one would defend them, not a single advocate or magistrate was there to say that no offense had been committed. There was indeed no offense but there were no defendants either–because they did not exist for Christians.
Thus we may justify this gratuitous accusation, never defended except by protests of innocence. It explains why the Christians were singled out by the Roman government. However, it does not absolutely allow us to say, if we are honest, “they were condemned and justly so.”
Did Christian Doctrine Subvert Roman Order?
Let us now examine St. Paul’s doctrine to see if it and Christianity were subversive. Did Christians introduce into Roman society ferments which, by their gradual development, undermined society and slowly but surely led to the fall of the Empire, emptied of its substance and beliefs, under the assaults of the barbarians? Was the Roman Empire murdered by slow doctrinal and social poisoning?
Here I will take the issue of slavery as a starting point for more general considerations.
All of ancient society rested on a division between free men, aristocrats by birth, few in number, who enjoyed privileges, and by slaves, a multitude of slaves of all kinds whose condition was sub-human. Because of this situation, a balance resting upon the principle of slavery was produced and maintained until the end. The status of slaves was such that they hardly had any chance of escaping from their state of life and there was thus a cruel aspect of life for two thirds or three quarters of the human race in the Greco-Roman world. No reformer, no revolutionary—apart from occasional uprisings—ever undertook a plan to weaken this balance. Spartacus is sometimes mentioned, but he is almost the only one who ever attempted a systematical uprising of slaves.
It was a horrible condition because a slave did not belong to himself; he had no juridical existence. He belonged entirely to his master, who could do with him what he pleased. The slave had no rights, not even that of getting married and having children. He had no right of ownership and could be sold or killed at any time, in theory at least, by his master. The slave was an object owned by a master who could use it at will. These men and women were branded like cattle so a fugitive slave was always found.
In actual fact, the ancients were not monsters. It happened that they would realize that these slaves were men like themselves, that they were deserving of some consideration, as those sharing the same human nature. Sometimes this even meant a degree of intimacy; they would live in a familiar way with them. The condition was dreadful, but they were not always treated with cruelty. We have many examples of public or private slaves who had relationships with their masters which–on the level of conversation, intimacy, and feelings–were not very different from that of servants in the past, or even of the maids in Molière’s comedies.
However, metaphysically speaking–and this makes all the difference–there was the fact that even if the relationships were kind, familiar, and loving, they were still slaves. Once feelings were gone, when old age or illness came about, when the master changed, there always remained the right of getting rid of them. Even if it occasionally came about that someone led the life of a pampered slave—it did happen–he was nonetheless still less than a man.
We have two quite interesting texts which deal with the condition of the free man and of the slave: Pliny the Younger, Letters VII, 21, 24; and the Epistle of St. Paul to Philemon.
The text of St. Paul relates to one of his friends the fact that a slave took refuge near him:
Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus, and Timothy, a brother: to Philemon, our beloved and fellow laborer; and to Appia, our dearest sister, and to Archippus, our fellow soldier, and to the church which is in thy house: grace to you and peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.
I give thanks to my God, always making a remembrance of thee in my prayers. Hearing of thy charity and faith, which thou hast in the Lord Jesus, and towards all the saints: that the communication of thy faith may be made evident in the acknowledgment of every good work, that is in you in Christ Jesus. For I have had great joy and consolation in thy charity, because the bowels of the saints have been refreshed by thee, brother.
Wherefore though I have much confidence in Christ Jesus, to command thee that which is to the purpose: for charity sake I rather beseech, whereas thou art such a one, as Paul an old man, and now a prisoner also of Jesus Christ. I beseech thee for my son, whom I have begotten in my bands, Onesimus, who hath been heretofore unprofitable to thee, but now is profitable both to me and thee, whom I have sent back to thee. And do thou receive him as my own bowels. Whom I would have retained with me, that in thy stead he might have ministered to me in the bands of the gospel: but without thy counsel I would do nothing: that thy good deed might not be as it were of necessity, but voluntary. For perhaps he therefore departed for a season from thee, that thou mightest receive him again for ever: not now as a servant, but instead of a servant, a most dear brother, especially to me: but how much more to thee both in the flesh and in the Lord? If therefore thou count me a partner, receive him as myself. And if he hath wronged thee in any thing, or is in thy debt, put that to my account. I Paul have written it with my own hand: I will repay it: not to say to thee, that thou owest me thy own self also. Yea, brother. May I enjoy thee in the Lord. Refresh my bowels in the Lord. Trusting in thy obedience, I have written to thee: knowing that thou wilt also do more than I say.
But withal prepare me also a lodging. For I hope that through your prayers I shall be given unto you. There salute thee Epaphras, my fellow prisoner in Christ Jesus; Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke my fellow laborers. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen.
St. Paul was reaching the end of his life, he was in prison, and sent to one of his converts, to whom consequently he had brought true life, supernatural life, the life of the Lord; he sent this letter to Philemon because Onesimus, Philomenon’s slave, had run away and taken refuge with Paul. Normally, Paul, a Roman citizen and free man, even in prison, had to return the slave to his master as a matter of justice. A lost object had to be returned to its owner, otherwise one was regarded as a thief and a receiver of stolen goods. Moreover, when it was a matter of a slave, the case was even worse. Once returned to his master the slave was punished according to the law. Paul did thus but with a testimonial letter.
There was another similar case, that of Pliny the Younger who wrote a letter to one of his friends, Sabinianus, who had also lost a slave (Letters VIII, 21,24). Sabinianus’ slave had taken refuge with Pliny because Pliny was his master’s friend, an advocate, and a man of exquisite character. Pliny was pleasant and an excellent companion. When visiting his friends’ homes he left the best of impressions upon the house staff:
Pliny to his dear Sabinianus, greetings. Your freedman, whom you lately mentioned to me with displeasure, has been with me, and threw himself at my feet with as much submission as he could have fallen at yours. He earnestly requested me with many tears, and even with all the eloquence of silent sorrow, to intercede for him; in short, he convinced me by his whole behavior that he sincerely repents of his fault. I am persuaded he is thoroughly reformed, because he seems deeply sensible of his guilt. I know you are angry with him, and I know, too, it is not without reason; but clemency can never exert itself more laudably than when there is the most cause for resentment. You once had an affection for this man, and, I hope, will have again; meanwhile, let me only prevail with you to pardon him. If he should incur your displeasure hereafter, you will have so much the stronger plea in excuse for your anger as you show yourself more merciful to him now. Concede something to his youth, to his tears, and to your own natural mildness of temper: do not make him uneasy any longer, and I will add, too, do not make yourself so; for a man of your kindness of heart cannot be angry without feeling great uneasiness. I am afraid, were I to join my entreaties with his, I should seem rather to compel than request you to forgive him. Yet I will not scruple even to write mine with his; and in so much the stronger terms as I have very sharply and severely reproved him, positively threatening never to interpose again in his behalf. But though it was proper to say this to him, in order to make him more fearful of offending, I do not say so to you. I may, perhaps, again have occasion to entreat you upon his account, and again obtain your forgiveness; supposing, I mean, his fault should be such as may become me to intercede for, and you to pardon. Farewell.
Pliny to his dear Sabinianus, greetings! I greatly approve of your having, in compliance with my letter, received again into your favor and family a discarded freedman, whom you once admitted into a share of your affection. This will afford you, I doubt not, great satisfaction. It certainly has me, both as a proof that your passion can be controlled, and as an instance of your paying so much regard to me as either to yield to my authority or to comply with my request. Let me, therefore, at once both praise and thank you. At the same time I must advise you to be disposed for the future to pardon the faults of your people, though there should be none to intercede in their behalf. Farewell.
In both cases the situation is exactly the same: a fugitive slave fears to go back to his master and has found among friends of this latter someone who could intercede in his favor. In both cases, the master’s friend did indeed intercede for the slave. In the case of Pliny, who wrote a charming and irresistible letter, the slave remained a slave, and nothing was changed. Paul did the same with Philemon, but he asked him, in a letter not devoid of humor, to take his slave back. In what capacity? In the capacity of a brother! Without, however, asking him to make him a free man. He was to be taken back as a slave, but would henceforth be his brother in the Faith, in love, in the divine filiation handed down through Paul’s ministry.
From this, all the philosophy of Christianity, all the political and social philosophy of Christianity, and the whole process of Christianity appears in its slow unfolding which was to result not only in the Christian Empire and the conversion of Constantine, but later in medieval Christendom.
The starting point is here: Paul, a Christian, did not upset anything in the established order. He left it intact. All structures, even those which were unjust (like slavery) were maintained–but the Christian ferment was instilled inside it, as it was in the souls of those who were the subjects of these political and social structures, even those that were unjust. As a result, without upsetting order from the outside by political or revolutionary action against institutions, the quality of relationships between men in society were utterly changed. There was always a master and a slave, but the slave had become like a brother to his master and his master would likewise consider him as his brother. The same thing gradually occurred in all domains of political and social life. There was not even a change of vocabulary; Onesimus was still the doulos, the servus, the slave of Philemon. Relationships remained unchanged.
Now, let us imagine for an instant that St. Paul, with the prestige, fire, and enthusiasm he used to provoke–and St. Peter, who used to convert crowds–used this conversion to say: “Henceforth, heads up, rise up, you unfortunate who laid prostrate in your servitude; the light of liberty has shone upon you; overthrow everything!” What would have happened? Quite simply, there might actually have been a revolution. Masters would have been changed but the structures would have necessarily been kept, and everything would have eventually fallen back, right side up, just as before. It would have disintegrated into a bloody repression and general misunderstanding.
Nothing was changed in the established order, except that this same order was no longer justified by the same principles. This was necessary since the subject and the prince, the slave and his master, the wife and her husband could no longer be considered as they were before, as being in a state of utter, supreme and limitless dependence–since the wife was on a par with her husband as a sister redeemed by Christ. It must be said that at that time a woman’s condition was somewhat hard. All those elements which would enable society to find a new equilibrium were introduced without upsetting the established order, without even giving anyone the desire to upset it. All this was done according to a providential design so that this evolution could be like the natural order of growth, of blossoming, of harmonious metamorphosis, and not a revolutionary, political or social upheaval. The meaning of words was simply changed: the master remained the master; the slave remained a slave–but he was also a brother. The almighty sovereign remained a sovereign, but he no longer had subjects submitted to him body and soul; they were also brethren over whom he must rule. At the end of this revolution we had a responsible King, who was responsible for the eternal salvation of the souls of all his subjects as well as the well-being of all the families in his country, under pain of his own salvation. This was obviously to take time but such was the starting point and the arrival point.
I think we are confronted with genuine subversion. There was truly a slow and intentional penetration, a substantial change of meaning of words and an attempt to slowly reach a superior condition which completely overthrew the order of values. Such was the Christian subversion achieved by St. Paul. However, for this to be a subversion in the usual sense, it ought to have had an evil intention; now, in this case there was the intention to bring salvation. The means was subversive, since, once again, it introduced to each of the words of society a new meaning, but not in order to pervert, as was the case with Satan respecting the society of Adam and Eve. This time the end was to bring about something far better than Adam and Eve’s society, since it was a society of divine life circulating through the whole network of the social body and in all the vessels of this social body.
This is what I might be allowed to call Christian subversion: The desire of the Creator recreating a society corrupted by the subversion of original sin, His desire to respect the architecture, life, and organization of the body He had created by re-instilling into it renovated principles which enabled the body to rejuvenate again and to recover its vitality and youth. Yes, there was evolution and progress in the slow, natural and supernatural reconquest achieved by each of us over himself, and of each member in this renovated society into which the new principles of eternal life had been instilled, while respecting God’s paternity, of brotherly life in Jesus, a spirit of charity thanks to which we recovered the principle which had been damaged and subverted on the day when Eve believed that she would become “like God.” A serious error!
The opposite of this evolution is the revolution of Jacobinism which introduced calculations in a human and intellectual manner, where there ought to have been an evolution following that of the rhythm of life such as created by God from one generation to the next throughout the course of history. The unfolding of true history is the revival of a once damaged society (by original sin) and which, when St. Paul said to Philemon: “I send you back your brother Onesimus,” was saved without this short-sighted and feverish revolutionary spirit of puny revolutionaries. The process remains the same; we proudly rebuild society, allowing life to blossom again as God created it at the origin, re-created it in the renewal of Calvary, and which must be slowly achieved throughout the course of history, that is, the course of Providence. This simply demands much patience and docility.
All notions of intellectual life had been warped. Christian subversion consisted of giving to the words of the tribes of intellectuals a superior meaning. At the time of St. John, when the Word of God became incarnate, the word logos, which in common Greek meant “reason” or “reasoning,” the highest virtue of human intelligence, was going to introduce what man could never find on its own, i.e. the existence of this second Person of the Trinity, the very Intelligence of God and who, by His virtue of incarnate Logos, was to enlighten every human intelligence. Read the Prologue of St. John again. If a new word had been used, nobody would have understood. The word had to be taken from among those used by the people and given a meaning on a higher level: dazzling Savior, supernatural.
Likewise with the word “holiness”; there was holiness among the ancients which was ritual purity and, at best, innocence. There was holiness for the Jews: it meant observing the law. This same word of holiness received a Catholic meaning. It was given to understand, through divine Revelation, that fidelity and docility of a soul opened to the divine influx, to the spirit of Pentecost, enabling it to acquire this purity, this innocence, the observance of the law in an infinitely different and superior manner. The newness of the divine life was introduced while keeping all the structures of philosophical intelligence, moral behavior and political management, yet it brought about a metamorphosis which really made it possible, and still makes it possible, to truly become sicut dei (like gods) through grace–which is a participation in the divine life.
1 An inferior imitator of some distinguished writer, artist, or musician.–Translator’s note.
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