Guest Blog by C J Dull
An enduring issue in the history of Christianity is the relationship to surrounding culture or history. For some, “adaptation to culture” is a positive and realistic course; others condemn it as simply a surrender to a new–or not so new–paganism. Some years ago, I reviewed a book containing articles on Patristic themes. What especially caught my attention as one trained as a classical Greek and Roman historian was a piece on Jerome and paganism. It was interesting to note that this was still an issue. Will Durant reflects well the attitude last century (Caesar and Christ, p. 595). His peroration begins with the sentence: Christianity did not destroy paganism; it adopted it; and ends with the following: Christianity was the last great creation of the ancient pagan world.
The church, however defined, has gone both ways on this issue. The “Orthodox”, somewhat surprisingly, use a Neo-Platonic concept to justify their use of icons. Neo-Platonism from its early years was pitched as a pagan alternative to Christianity. The bugaboo especially in the East was a fear of becoming “too Jewish” (later Islamic) rather than too pagan.
This issue was a particularly strong one in the 19th century as demonstrated by the classic statement of Durant above, which innumerable preachers have been able to forgive or ignore because of his ability to continually turn a memorable phrase. In fact, the scholarship behind such a statement probably knew more about dying and rising gods than about Rabbinic and other forms of Judaism. In that era, it was not uncommon for many to have undergraduate degrees (or at least work) in Classics as a preparation for careers in law, medicine, government, theology (aka divinity) and such. During my graduate study years, the largest course in the Classics department was “Greek and Latin origins of medical terms.” Aside from the usual emphasis on Cicero (cf. both Jerome and Augustine), which is natural for public speakers, there are real issues in significant areas. Romans often dedicated temples to a triad of gods. The most famous one was that on the Capitoline to Jupiter, Juno and Minerva. Is it just coincidence that Rome—where it was more important to affirm a position than to understand it — was an early and strong supporter of a trinitarian formula? Similarly, another area, Egypt, that became a strong supporter of the formula was familiar with triads as well, most notably Osiris, Isis and Horus. Ancient Roman religion also placed a premium on the exact repetition of certain formulae.
In the East, especially the Greek East, understanding was often more stressed than affirmation. They also preferred to think in pairs more than triads. The pairs could be almost any combination such as Zeus-Hera (male-female), Apollo-Artemis (brother-sister), the Gemini (both male although both not immortal). An early work, Hesiod’s Theogony, conceived of virtually all creation as coming from a sexual pair. Before Nicaea, it was common in the East to talk a great deal about the Father and the divine Son, but little about the Holy Spirit.
The major difficulty in discussing the relations and intersections of ancient paganism and Christianity is our lack of conscious familiarity with paganism. To us, the term conjures up images of primitive tribesmen performing ghoulish animal or even human sacrifices. The more educated paganism of the later Roman Empire was often philosophical, intricate and sophisticated, morally uplifting, and presented with considerable skill even in astrological terms. Most of all, it had adherents in high places (e.g., the emperor Marcus Aurelius). Thus, it is not surprising that such adherents found Judaism (especially circumcision) repugnant and barbaric. Christianity was to them a religion of slaves and the ancient version of white trash. It seemed the epitome of Troeltsch’s dictum about religion and the lower classes. By contrast, ancient paganism had status.
My first encounter with this sort of approach came from a presentation that compared (and to some extent equated) Independent Christian Church structures with the governmental structures of states in the U.S. Both have an elected executive; an upper house, a council of elders (the “senate”, the common governmental term, comes from a Latin word, senex, an elder or old man); and a lower house usually referred to as “the general board” or “church board”, which mainly deals with financial matters and other practical concerns. The author had lived in Nebraska for some years, and it may have sensitized him to the issue since that state has a unicameral legislature.
In one sense that comparison may be appropriate since modes of governing most often seem to impress themselves on religious groups. The centralized control of the Roman and Byzantine empires is seen in the religious groups most prominent in that era. In fact, it was not unusual for certain powers and definitions of jurisdictions to be decided by the emperor. In Geneva, a banking center then and now, it should not be surprising that the Calvinist presbyters emanating from there should act like the board of directors of a business, sometimes even meeting quarterly as scheduled business reports now appear. The ecumenical movement advocated by Eugene Carson Blake, a prominent Presbyterian, overlaps nicely with the “conglomerate period” accounting textbooks talk about. Perhaps the most positive development of the Disciple-Independent split was an increasing appreciation of Judaism and congregational autonomy. One might compare the nearly autocratic control of Baptist ministers over their congregations, which seems a reflection of the monarchies in the countries from which they emerged, England and Holland. The term “high priest” may or may not convey a sense of rule; translated into the Latin “pontifex maximus”, a regular title of the Roman emperors, it certainly does. To apply it to a pope invariably brings in this nuance.
The relations between governments and religions are deep, frequently inseparable, and often by design. The idea that Israel’s theocracy was a unique experiment is far from reality. Most ancient governments claimed a connection with some deity, even if only a tutelary presence. A connection with religion is hardly unusual. In most countries, especially before the American Revolution, it is more the rule than the exception. Thus, the conflict in dealing with various forms of pagan influences actually resolves itself into a question of old governmental influences versus more recent ones. This difference may well ensure that there can be no merger into a single, unified church. Reconciling very strict central organization with much freer ones can be extremely difficult. A number of groups have “free” in their names. Putting liturgical groups, Pentecostals and Quakers under the same roof virtually ensures a lack of final unity.
One of the most intriguing studies in my efforts was research on the abortive merger efforts between the Disciples of Christ and the Northern (now American) Baptists. These efforts began in the 1920’s with no success. Slowly it began again in the following decades. A joint hymnal, Christian Hymns, mostly funded by Disciples, was produced in the early forties. There were even some mergers of congregations (e.g., in suburban Milwaukee, Duluth and near Purdue University, to cite a few). The effort ended in 1952 following simultaneous conventions. What was most interesting was the different approach to American history. Disciples felt that the term “union” indicated that the church could be united even as the country could be despite disparate states. The Baptists particularly honed in on individuals such as Roger Williams and America as a refuge for religious freedom with the concomitant emphasis on the value of congregational autonomy, quite the contrast with the Disciples’ increasing valuing of cooperation.
The rapprochement with paganism begins within the ancient church probably noting the discoveries of similarities with pagan writers. One of the most popular of these was Virgil’s Eklogue (Bucolic) IV. The author, who wrote not long after the end of the civil war (about 38 BC) following the death of Julius Caesar, Virgil, became virtually a propagandist for the new regime of Augustus (cf. the end of his epic, the Aeneid), looked forward to a period of peace and prosperity after the prolonged conflict. He mentioned the coming birth of a child that would herald the new era. There are also allusions to a virgo and even to Syria, the Roman province Israel was a part of. Not surprisingly, the ancient church considered him a “pagan prophet”.
The use of Virgil as quasi-scripture also connects to another issue. He starts Romans inadvertently on the same course as Joseph Smith among the Mormons: the beginning of a theological tradition in the native milieu. Greek was not only the language of the N.T. but of the Roman church until the mid-third century. Then Pope Stephan I, Cyprian’s nemesis, both elevated Latin to the language of the Church of Rome and his own claim to the importance of his office.
The Book of Mormon does much the same as the ancient church did with Virgil; it connects an existing religious tradition or belief system to a new/different area, the Americas. Thus, Virgil helps to begin a tradition in Latin separate from the original biblical languages and geography. Similarly, and much more controversially, the Nazis tried to build a new religion for Germans and accommodate historic Christianity to their own people. A number of Saints Lives likewise try to connect local issues to historic Christianity. Perhaps even later portrayals of Washington praying in the snow at Valley Forge are part of the same process. Allister Cooke’s America (p. 135) prints a painting shortly after his death showing Washington ascending to heaven (note: Cooke assigns it to a “Chinese artist”; most others to John James Barralet, an Irish artist; perhaps the former is a commercial copy of the latter). That period saw a number of paintings of Washington’s apotheosis.
It is easy to write off such studies as the irrelevant esotericism of scholars, yet perhaps no greater testimony exists to the power of culture currently than Amish walking around with cell phones. It is especially so because it is difficult to recognize many manifestations of such influences. Yet there are some clear examples. Augustine of Hippo stated that he could not have become a Christian were it not for “that philosophy”, and he did not quote Scripture on his deathbed but the founder of Neo-Platonism. Some think his mother’s name, Monica, is based on the name of a local pagan god. Ambrose, whose liturgy is still used, was a strong user of Neo-Platonic themes. In the ecumenical creeds, the emphasis on Christ always seems to be a definition of what he is. Parentage of course matters—as in Hesiod—but above all, beginning with Parmenides and the Eleatic School, a group that believed nothing ever changed (Plato was affected by him; his dialogue the Parmenides is one of the few in which Socrates does not prevail). Since there is no change–defining one’s essence is to define one’s achievements. The detail is secondary, if not irrelevant, in such pagan religious thought. Pagan thought is almost unavoidable in the ancient church; either the church accepted it or fought actively against it. It is almost ubiquitous in the background. The need for restoration becomes ever more crucial unless we are to be satisfied with the accretions of pagan philosophies (Stoic “natural law”, Platonism, Aristotelianism to cite a few) and events. Religious groups often preserve for very long periods items that once were contemporary. Plutarch—himself a pagan priest—relates how caps were initiated for the major Roman priesthoods (three in number of course; Plutarch Life of Numa Pompilius 7). We saw a multitude of them in the recent cardinal priestly processions.
Christianity is above all a historical religion; what happened does matter. More and more we need to hone in on that!
(Register now for the course Colossians and Christology which will run from June 3rd to July 29th https://pbi.forgingploughshares.org/offerings)