Tuesday, October 20, 2020

Life-giving Precepts: Lactantius and Justice in the Commonwealth

Lactantius is an interesting ante-Nicaean authority. He straddles the beginning of an era that began to transform the social ethos of the Christian church. I reject the Anabaptistic "Fall of the Church" narrative because of its lack of historicity, but that doesn't mean there wasn't a change. Although the Waldensian claim that Peter Waldo was the bishop who fled the corrupt court of Sylvester and Constantine is false, it doesn't mean there wasn't truth behind it. That critique had more to do with attacking the Donation of Constantine and the underpinnings of papal-imperial alliance of western Europe. But it also is significant for trying to note and suss out changes over the centuries.

I would argue Constantine is a far more ambivalent figure than most sides are willing to grant. I don't think he represents the dawning of a new age except in retrospect, and I think that's pushing it. The 4th c. is far more tenuous, with Arian and apostate emperors taking the throne successively. There was still pretty substantial criticism of the fusion between church and empire from Hilary of Poitiers and Athanasius of Alexandria, even as there was still dust in the air about what all of this meant. And as recent scholars have noted, Lactantius is perhaps the first major figure to really wrestle with this new ambiguity.

Lactantius was a courtier and he wrote his Divine Institutes as an attempt to be a Christian Seneca. He wanted to offer a Christian vision of things to the tetarch-augustus Constantine  (he wasn't even the emperor at this point). The narratives are so ingrained that it's hard to unwind, but at this point Constantine had not substantially favored the church. Constantine was not baptized until a much later date. Constantine still dabbled (until the end of his life) with his father's sun worship. It's never quite clear when, or if, Constantine ever disaggregated the imperial monotheism (or at least henotheism) of Sol Invictus from Christianity. Thus, we ought to tread carefully and not be too quick tempered with our understanding. Constantine's (and Licinius') Edict of Milan is basically a state-sanctioned monotheism, allowing all people to do as they wish (with specific reference to the Christians). It is in fact one of the greatest statements of official toleration from antiquity. Perhaps we have Lactantius' influence to thank for its production.

Unlike Eusebius (who was not such a fawner as many have thought him to be, but far more clever), Lactantius didn't see the "conversion" of the empire. He didn't even see Constantine execute his son Crispus, whom Lactantius had been tutoring.  Recent scholarship (Digeser's A Threat to Public Piety) has suggested that the last major persecution under Diocletian resulted from polemics from court neo-Platonists who jockeyed for power. Lactantius followed a tradition that sought Christianity as the true philosophy and thus was in competition among the various "schools" as the way of life. This didn't relate to an imperial cult or a state religion, but it did mean someone like Lactantius made sense in this stage of antiquity. A wealthy and educated Christian was concerned that the state didn't infringe upon justice, including the state murder of the innocent, offering his philosophic take. It wasn't about "establishing" a religion, at least not yet.

The early 4th c. was far more ambiguous, bishops weren't handing the keys of the church over to the emperor, even as they were highly appreciative that a ruler came who seemed to care for justice. Despite Constantine's megalomania at times, he was rather just as far as Roman emperors go. Again, Lactantius' ministrations may be thanked as one of the source of this moral compass. The fact that Constantine was never baptized until his deathbed shows, still, that he refrained from being a Christian until he laid down the purple (something Eusebius is clear about in his account of the emperor's baptism).

Anyway, the following are sections from Lactantius that I thought were relevant when considering political opinions. In this, Lactantius seemed to remain a Christian who was nevertheless a Roman, trying to aid his countrymen with the truth of justice:

First, Lactantius tries to distinguish eternal justice from the history of Rome and its laws:
But how greatly utility differs from justice the Roman people themselves teach, who, by proclaiming war through the Fecials, and by inflicting injuries according to legal forms, by always desiring and carrying off the property of other, have gained for themselves the possession of the whole world. But these persons think themselves just if they do nothing against their own laws; which may be even ascribed to fear, if they abstain from crimes through dread of present punishment. But let us grant that they do that naturally, or, as the philosopher says, of their own accord, which they are compelled to do by the laws. Will they therefore be just, because they obey the institutions of men, who may themselves have erred, or have been unjust?— as it was with the framers of the twelve tables, who certainly promoted the public advantage according to the condition of the times. Civil law is one thing, which varies everywhere according to customs; but justice is another thing, which God has set forth to all as uniform and simple: and he who is ignorant of God must also be ignorant of justice. (Lactantius, Divine Institutes, Book V, IX)
This section is pretty interesting in its thoroughgoing critique of the empire. Rome had been engaged in centuries of theft. Yet none of this was "illegal", but that's not relevant. Justice and civil laws are not commensurate. Thus Lactantius can judge his countrymen for crimes, despite the weak appeals to a constitution (a time-bound set of laws that were compromised). It's worth pausing and considering, especially for Americans. National idolatry is quite common, as well as trying to only hold people to time-bound constraints. All of that is fair and true, but obedience to civil laws (in a given time and place) is not the same as justice. Christians should not be blinkered by false equivocation between the two, as if it's all fair as long as the law says so, or you should obey the law even if it makes you commit wickedness. Of course, in christendom (in all of its variations) this confusion usually was the norm. Sacral secularity is just riffing off the same problems, with talk of the Rights of Man, the Constitution, Nature's god, and Founding Fathers. It was critical enlighteners who noted that these projects were also time-bound, and could not claim universality as if they stepped out of time. Hegel tries to solve this problem, but its manifest in Christianity: knowledge of justice is because the law-giving Word takes flesh. And yet the Christian disjunction between ages meant that, while Christians knew true justice, it didn't equate to any particular empire or nation, who could (at best) better approximate it. For Lactantius, it was his role as courtier to make the truth known to his patron. He sought to secure peace in Babylon, even as his eye was ever on the New Jerusalem.

The same concern motivates how Lactantius defines justice. It's one thing to focus on social policies, virtuous actions, and basic civic decency. It's easy, for some, to reduce Christian righteousness to these points and basically scrap the demands of liturgy and doctrine. However, Lactantius has not compromised. Worship and doctrine cannot be separated from either virtue or justice:
But let us suppose it possible that any one, by natural and innate goodness, should gain true virtues, such a man as we have heard that Cimon was at Athens, who both gave alms to the needy, and entertained the poor, and clothed the naked; yet, when that one thing which is of the greatest importance is wanting — the acknowledgment of God — then all those good things are superfluous and empty, so that in pursuing them he has laboured in vain. For all his justice will resemble a human body which has no head, in which, although all the limbs are in their proper position, and figure, and proportion, yet, since that is wanting which is the chief thing of all, it is destitute both of life and of all sensation. Therefore those limbs have only the shape of limbs, but admit of no use, as much so as a head without a body; and he resembles this who is not without the knowledge of God, but yet lives unjustly. For he has that only which is of the greatest importance; but he has it to no purpose, since he is destitute of the virtues, as it were, of limbs.

Therefore, that the body may be alive, and capable of sensation, both the knowledge of God is necessary, as it were the head, and all the virtues, as it were the body. Thus there will exist a perfect and living man; but, however, the whole substance is in the head; and although this cannot exist in the absence of all, it may exist in the absence of some. And it will be an imperfect and faulty animal, but yet it will be alive, as he who knows God and yet sins in some respect. For God pardons sins. And thus it is possible to live without some of the limbs, but it is by no means possible to live without a head. This is the reason why the philosophers, though they may be naturally good, yet have no knowledge and no intelligence. All their learning and virtue is without a head, because they are ignorant of God, who is the Head of virtue and knowledge; and he who is ignorant of Him, though he may see, is blind; though he may hear, is deaf; though he may speak, is dumb. But when he shall know the Creator and Parent of all things, then he will both see, and hear, and speak. For he begins to have a head, in which all the senses are placed, that is, the eyes, and ears, and tongue. For assuredly he sees who has beheld with the eyes of his mind the truth in which God is, or God in whom the truth is; he hears, who imprints on his heart the divine words and life-giving precepts; he speaks, who, in discussing heavenly things, relates the virtue and majesty of the surpassing God. Therefore he is undoubtedly impious who does not acknowledge God; and all his virtues, which he thinks that he has or possesses, are found in that deadly road which belongs altogether to darkness. Wherefore there is no reason why any one should congratulate himself if he has gained these empty virtues, because he is not only wretched who is destitute of present goods, but he must also be foolish, since he undertakes the greatest labours in his life without any purpose. (Lactantius, Divine Institutes, Book V, IX)
Thus, the Christian is in a far superior place, even as Lactantius focuses on deeds. It's not enough to do good deeds (as in contemporary garbage doctrines like "anonymous Christians" and the fetishization of Gandhi by some). In conjunction with the prior quote, Lactantius is trying to desacralize politics and the state. One can appreciate limited time-bound goods without fooling oneself. Following the law doesn't mean you're just. Doing the right thing doesn't mean you're truly virtuous. Even an Athenian hero like Cimon is ultimately unjust because he's ignorant of why he does his good deeds. He stumbles in the dark and can't discern the truth of actions, the ultimate end which determines their virtue.

If this sounds extreme, consider a murderer who, in his zeal to kill, cut down an even worse murderer. Does that make him a hero? Of course not, his actual intent matters when discerning the justice of things. The fact he killed in ignorance doesn't therefore vindicate his crime. Similarly, handing alms to glorify demons, to gain mastery over people, or win public recognition invalidates the justice of the acts, even if they accomplish real goods. Again, Lactantius isn't an idolator. He doesn't believe Rome is sacred or divinely blessed. It is simply his country and as a Christian (and well-heeled elite) he was trying to keep it from further evil. It's hard not to read later apologies for the "most Christian empire of the Romans" back into someone like Lactantius, but it would be false. As a philosopher, he sought to restrain the worst and encourage the better. It was not an unworthy (even if highly fraught) task.

A final quote may be most relevant for those who sneer at welfare programs. In the following Lactantius takes Cicero to task on the issue of charity:
What does Marcus Tullius say in his books respecting Offices? Does he not also advise that bounty should not be employed at all? For thus he speaks: Bounty, which proceeds from our estate, drains the very source of our liberality; and thus liberality is destroyed by liberality: for the more numerous they are towards whom you practice it, the less you will be able to practice it towards many. And he also says shortly afterwards: But what is more foolish than so to act that you may not be able to continue to do that which you do willingly? This professor of wisdom plainly keeps men back from acts of kindness, and advises them carefully to guard their property, and to preserve their money-chest in safety, rather than to follow justice. And when he perceived that this was inhuman and wicked, soon afterwards, in another chapter, as though moved by repentance, he thus spoke: Sometimes, however, we must exercise bounty in giving: nor is this kind of liberality altogether to be rejected; and we must give from our property to suitable persons when they are in need of assistance. What is the meaning of suitable? Assuredly those who are able to restore and give back the favour. If Cicero were now alive, I should certainly exclaim: Here, here, Marcus Tullius, you have erred from true justice; and you have taken it away by one word, since you measured the offices of piety and humanity by utility. For we must not bestow our bounty on suitable objects, but as much as possible on unsuitable objects. For that will be done with justice, piety, and humanity, which you shall do without the hope of any return!  (Lactantius, Divine Institutes, Book V, XI)
 Lactantius point starts at a personal level, but easily expands to a larger question (remember: he's writing to imperial magistrate Constantine). Cicero, fittingly as a greedy and self-absorbed oligarch working for the senatorial class, wrung his hands. Yes, I'd love to give, but alas, I'd run out. Lactantius sees this complaint as utilitarian trash. The circumspect prudence is to keep safe his own prosperity and wealth. He doesn't want to really pursue the demands of justice because he would rather preserve his overlordship status above the groveling plebs. Of course, the abuse doesn't end there. In order to best serve his wealth, Cicero wants to police who receives the funds. But this again is to twist justice into a self-reliant indulgence. Instead, Cicero (who as a pagan is ignorant of the true God) should have given to all equally in need. But he is unwilling to forego his power of the dole, and instead seeks to remain in control.

However, Lactantius' point extends beyond interpersonal relations. Most Christians could probably get on board with this vision of charity. But remember Constantine's retinue, his palace, is an extension of his person. Lactantius' account of justice isn't simply about people, but extends to the treasury of the Roman state. Here people's hackles would rise: market discipline! how can we get them to work without the stick?!? and all sorts of other capitalist ideological claptrap. Well, what if the commonwealth was oriented to the people. What if riches were dispersed like God disperses the riches of His creation? The sun shines on all, the earth is open to all, the rain falls on all. If someone abuses these good things, do we wag our finger at God? So too would true justice require a distribution of funds for the good of all. This is not about building a welfare state, but sharing the common goods with all citizens/subjects. It's not about dependence, but bounty and blessing. And in it, an organization acts justly. Again, the point is not to Christianize, but to hold true justice apart from historical phenomena of states and laws. Lactantius preserved the eschatological awareness that these times are under the shadow of the future: such will be our judgement, either to eternal life or eternal death.

7 comments:

  1. Great thoughts. Although one of the most noteworthy things about Lactantius is how he taught against involvement in the military and capital punishment, but dropped that after Constantine's success, which does strike me as a shift.

    On that note, you've mentioned the 'fall of the church' narrative before, but what are you aiming at there? The idea that the church completely lost its way and became completely false?

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    1. In fact, I just looked it up, and while in the DI he condemns all killing including in warfare, after Constantine's enthronement he celebrates Constantine's military victories in On the Death of the Persecutors, c.315, and defends capital punishment in On the Anger of God, c.316, while his later summary of the DI drops warfare from the list of condemned killing (still including gladiatorial combat, infanticide, capital punishment, etc.).

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    2. That's a good point about the subtle shift. I'm not denying there were changes, but they have roots that extend before Constantine and are not solidified until much later in the 4th/5th c. Good catch on such a subtle subtraction!

      I guess my point is trying to get away from Constantine as a watershed moment in terms of Christendom. That's an assessment that's only able to be made in retrospect (and later lore, legend, and theological history), but it was actually far more ambiguous in practice. I think things could have gone several ways, and the path towards Theodosius and "the most Christian Empire of the Romans" was not a given. There's some evidence that Constantine wasn't even the first Christian emperor (that going to the short reign of Phillip the Arab), and, to iterate the point in the post, it's not even clear if Constantine clearly understood Christianity as distinct (and opposed) to his prior worship of Sol Invictus.

      I'm trying to reframe the narrative a bit. The question is how to respond in light of the impossible possibility that the emperor became Christian. We're too harsh to judge if we go along with an Anabaptistic "Fall of the Church" narrative that, instantly, the church became corrupt and swarming with time-servers and ladder-climbers. But I also want to appreciate the changes that existed prior to make this a possibility. We can't simply damn Christian tradition outside scripture, but we should also be able to hold it to account. And I think we need a more honest assessment of Constantine. The NT doesn't unilaterally condemn Christians in public office and relations with the state in se. It's trying to appreciate what Lactantius was trying to do, even if, as a courtier, he lost his nerve or pragmatically adapted to a more friendly situation. But we should also appreciate that Constantine himself saw incompatibility with Christian devotion and imperial rule, putting off his baptism till he put down the purple.

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    3. Yeah, that all makes sense. I can stretch things beyond Constantine in the sense that I have to trust God's mercy led the church to a tighter NT canon even if it began a turn for the worse in other areas, and I think Augustine tightened up some things the earlier church left unresolved.

      I think there may well be foundations for avoiding political office altogether across Luke 1:52; 16:15-16 and 1 Cor 1:18-31, as well as Jesus exemplifying the meek inheriting the earth after rejecting worldly power from Satan. But you're right to emphasise this shouldn't lead to disengagement from issues of justice and so on. It's striking that Justin Martyr could both exhort the Emperor to leave behind his violent way of thinking to follow the Sermon on the Mount, yet also fault him by the standards of power for not ridding the Empire of perverted slavers.

      Good point about Constantine's late baptism... an angle I presume Leithart may not suggest in his book.

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    4. I'm not really sure how exactly to frame these things categorically. There was no clear public/private distinction in the ancient world and today corporations, private entities, wield far more power, making essentially life/death decisions, impacting peoples' health, destroying the environment, etc. So, we have the case of Erastus the Chamberlain or Cornelius the Centurion. These are public official involved in some level of local policy (either in managing the public works of the city or keeping public order). Does that mean, ultimately, these jobs are compatible? Maybe, maybe not. It's not for nothing that the history around Cornelius was that he abandoned soldiering and became a bishop (something that, even after the imperial adoption of the Christian cult, was still true for the ordained). Whether it's true or not, it reflects disease, and yet Christians were still connected to public soliciting and other engagements with the civil law and the state generally conceived.

      And so it can't simply be about the state and it can't simply be about extra-ecclesial authority. Families overlap with the church as mini-churches, but they are also not identical with the church. Do we turn away from paternal powers and responsibilities? What about a managerial job within a company, where you are organize and command your subordinates? Where do you draw the line? I think this is why the NT doesn't offer categorical assessments and depends upon wisdom. I wouldn't even say the NT is strictly pacifist (in a doctrinaire sense), but committed to "peace-making", which is a bit more flexible. It certainly doesn't permit a life of violence, soldiering, or military service of Caesar, but such is only a reflection from the modern world. In the ancient world I can imagine difficult situations from conscription and familial military obligations. I see Justin's account of the Thundering Legion is a way to account for Christians in the legions without compromising their moral witness. They refuse to kill and yet still wish to see Rome maintain its peace, and God blesses them and hears their prayer.

      This might seem overly nuanced and I can imagine someone thinking this is basically compromised. But I also don't think Christians can simply pretend to a kind of libertarian/anarchist attitude towards the state. It doesn't mean we expect utopia, or become statists, or baptize the empire, or the various other wicked and stupid things the church has permitted. But it does require a lighter touch when working through these problems, both morally and pastorally.

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    5. It's also why the NT doesn't offer categorical denunciation of slavery (to the shock of modern liberals). We ultimately can't escape our social (and thus political and economic) obligations, engagements, and entanglements. St. Paul doesn't seem bothered that we should rebel until we make a Christian state (a category he doesn't even know), but remains within pagan Rome. And yet his critique is far more radical, it's not simply about changing laws or institutional requirements, but submitting all such bonds to the church. Thus masters have a moral responsibility to treat slaves like brethren (as equals!) and to never mistreat them, knowing they are subordinates and slaves (the common NT reversal of power-relations, where weak are to know they're strong and the strong to know they're weak, without erasing the actual social bonds). Does this mean a Christian should get into the slavery business? Most probably not (manstealing is a sin in Revelation). But it doesn't mean abolition is absolute necessity. Church relations define how you act even in a world of economic/political inequality. In a world of wage-earning, such is the equivalent to a form of slavery/dependence. It would be better for it not to exist, but it does and we're in various positions as either wage-earners or wage-payers. The Christian moral command is that the wage-earner be treated as an equal owner. It radically transforms our relation to otherwise common realities. Thus, Christians who hold some kind of public office (like Erastus the Chamberlain) require a radically different set of ethics. Does that mean they will be "successful" or operate according to the demands of the job? Absolutely not and the church should judge, in its ordained hierarchy and as a congregation, accordingly.

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    6. Very good points. Not disagreements, but further to this:

      - I think that's the right distinction between Erastus and Cornelius. I've had a look through a good thesis that demonstrates that Erastus's position was pretty low-rung and didn't involve punitive measures. Email me if you want the link.

      - I guess the NT sanctions family authority and has commands for it in a way it doesn't for political authority. Notable that Ephesians 6 tells masters not to threaten slaves.. the only basis of effective power they'd actually have over them. Perhaps application to firing workers, etc.

      -Maybe personal violence is the thin end of the wedge - i.e., it wouldn't be too hard to go on from there to justify vigilantism, unofficial militias, etc., to protect one's own and the church more broadly in your local area and beyond.

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