Chapter X

On the Danger of False Legends and Persecution.

Falsehood has deceived humanity for too long. It is time to learn the few truths we can discern through those clouds of fables that cover Roman history from Tacitus and Suetonius onward, and that have almost always shrouded the annals of other ancient nations.

How can we believe, for example, that the Romans—that grave and stern people from whom we derive our laws—condemned Christian virgins, girls of high birth, to prostitution? This shows a very poor understanding of the austere dignity of our lawmakers, who punished the lapses of the Vestals so severely. Ruinart’s Authentic Acts relate these infamies; but must we believe Ruinart’s Acts as we believe the Acts of the Apostles? These Authentic Acts, following Bollandus, say that in the city of Ancyra there were seven Christian virgins, each about seventy years old; that the governor Theodectes condemned them to pass through the hands of the city’s young men; but that, since these virgins were spared—as was only natural—he obliged them to serve naked in the mysteries of Diana, which, however, no one ever attended without a veil. St. Theodotus, who was admittedly a tavern keeper but no less zealous for that, prayed fervently that God would be pleased to put these holy maidens to death, lest they yield to temptation. God granted his prayer: the governor had them thrown into a lake with stones around their necks. They immediately appeared to Theodotus and begged him not to allow “their bodies to be eaten by fish”: those were their very words.

The holy tavern keeper and his companions went by night to the shore of the lake, which was guarded by soldiers. A heavenly torch went before them all the way, and when they reached the guards’ post, a heavenly horseman in full armor pursued the guards, lance in hand. St. Theodotus drew the virgins’ bodies from the lake; he was brought before the governor, and the heavenly horseman did not prevent his head from being cut off. Let us never cease repeating that we venerate true martyrs, but that this story of Bollandus and Ruinart is difficult to believe.

Must we recount here the tale of young St. Romanus? He was thrown into the fire, says Eusebius, and some Jews who were present reviled Jesus Christ for leaving his confessors to burn, when God had rescued Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace. Scarcely had the Jews spoken when St. Romanus emerged triumphant from the pyre. The emperor ordered him pardoned and told the judge that he wanted no quarrel with God. (Strange words for Diocletian!) Despite the emperor’s indulgence, the judge ordered St. Romanus’s tongue cut out; and although he had executioners, he had a physician perform the operation. Young Romanus, born with a stammer, spoke fluently as soon as his tongue had been cut out. The physician was reprimanded; and to show that the operation had been performed according to the rules of his art, he seized a passerby and cut out exactly as much of his tongue as he had cut from St. Romanus’s, whereupon the passerby died on the spot: “For,” the author adds learnedly, “anatomy teaches us that a man cannot live without a tongue.” Truly, if Eusebius wrote such nonsense, if it was not added to his writings, what reliance can we place on his history?

We are given the martyrdom of St. Felicity and her seven children, supposedly sent to their deaths by the wise and pious Antoninus, without being told the author of the account. It is very likely that some author, more zealous than truthful, wished to imitate the history of the Maccabees. The account begins: “St. Felicity was a Roman woman; she lived in the reign of Antoninus.” These words make it plain that the author was not a contemporary of St. Felicity. He says that the praetor judged them from his tribunal in the Field of Mars; but the prefect of Rome held his tribunal on the Capitol, not in the Field of Mars, which, after having served for the assemblies of the people, was then used for reviews of soldiers, races, and military games. This alone proves the forgery.

We are also told that, after the judgment, the emperor entrusted different judges with carrying out the sentence—a practice entirely contrary to all the formalities of those times, and of every age.

There is likewise a St. Hippolytus supposedly dragged by horses, like Hippolytus, son of Theseus. This punishment was never known among the ancient Romans; the resemblance of the names alone gave rise to this fable.

Observe, too, that in the accounts of martyrdoms, composed exclusively by Christians themselves, we almost always see crowds of Christians freely visiting the condemned man’s prison, following him to his execution, gathering his blood, burying his body, and working miracles with his relics. If religion alone had been persecuted, would not these avowed Christians have been sacrificed too—these Christians who assisted their condemned brethren and were accused of working enchantments with the remains of martyred bodies? Would they not have been treated as we treated the Waldensians, the Albigensians, the Hussites, and the various Protestant sects? We slaughtered them, burned them in crowds, without distinction of age or sex. Is there a single incident in the authenticated accounts of ancient persecutions that approaches the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre or the massacres in Ireland? A single one resembling the annual festival still celebrated in Toulouse—a cruel festival, one to be abolished forever—in which an entire people thanks God in procession and congratulates itself on having slaughtered four thousand of its fellow citizens two hundred years ago?

I say it with horror, but truthfully: it is we Christians, we ourselves, who have been persecutors, executioners, murderers! And of whom? Of our brothers. It is we who have destroyed a hundred cities, crucifix or Bible in hand, and who have never ceased shedding blood and lighting pyres, from the reign of Constantine to the frenzies of the cannibals who inhabited the Cévennes—frenzies which, thank heaven, no longer survive today.

We still sometimes send poor people from Poitou, Vivarais, Valence, and Montauban to the gallows. Since 1745 we have hanged eight of those men called preachers, or ministers of the Gospel, whose only crime was to have prayed to God for the king in their local speech and given a drop of wine and a piece of leavened bread to a few foolish peasants. Nothing is known of this in Paris, where pleasure is the only matter of importance, where nothing is known of what happens in the provinces or abroad. These trials take an hour, less time than it takes to judge a deserter. If the king were informed, he would grant a pardon.

Catholic priests are treated this way in no Protestant country. There are more than a hundred Catholic priests in England and Ireland; they are known, and they were allowed to live very peacefully during the last war.

Shall we always be the last to embrace the sound opinions of other nations? They have reformed; when shall we reform? It took sixty years to make us accept what Newton had demonstrated; we are scarcely beginning to dare to save our children’s lives by inoculation; only very recently have we begun to practice the true principles of agriculture. When shall we begin to practice the true principles of humanity? And with what effrontery can we reproach the pagans for having made martyrs, when we have been guilty of the same cruelty in the same circumstances?

Let us grant that the Romans put a multitude of Christians to death for their religion alone; in that case the Romans were deeply culpable. Would we wish to commit the same injustice? And when we reproach them for having persecuted, would we wish to be persecutors?

If someone were so devoid of good faith, or so fanatical, as to say to me here, “Why do you come to expose our errors and our faults? Why destroy our false miracles and our false legends? They nourish many people’s piety; some errors are necessary. Do not tear from the body an inveterate ulcer whose removal would destroy the body itself”—this is what I would answer.

All these false miracles, by which you shake the faith owed to genuine ones, all these absurd legends you add to the truths of the Gospel, extinguish religion in people’s hearts. Too many who wish to learn, but have no time to learn enough, say: “The teachers of my religion have deceived me, so there is no religion. Better to throw myself into the arms of nature than into those of error; I would rather depend on natural law than on human inventions.” Others have the misfortune to go still further. They see that imposture has put a bridle on them, and they refuse even the bridle of truth; they incline toward atheism. People become depraved because others have been deceitful and cruel.

These are certainly the consequences of all pious frauds and all superstitions. People generally reason only halfway. It is a very bad argument to say: “Voragine, author of the Golden Legend, and the Jesuit Ribadeneira, compiler of The Flower of the Saints, wrote nothing but nonsense; therefore there is no God. Catholics slaughtered a certain number of Huguenots, and Huguenots in turn murdered a certain number of Catholics; therefore there is no God. Confession, Communion, and all the sacraments have been used to commit the most horrible crimes; therefore there is no God.” I would conclude the opposite: therefore there is a God who, after this fleeting life, in which we have so misunderstood him and committed so many crimes in his name, will deign to console us for so many dreadful misfortunes. For when we consider the wars of religion, the forty papal schisms, almost all bloody, the impostures, almost all disastrous, the irreconcilable hatreds kindled by differing opinions—when we see all the evils false zeal has produced—humanity has long had its hell in this life.

The danger of false legends and persecution.

Falsehood has deceived people for far too long. It is time to recognize the few truths we can make out through the clouds of fables that cover Roman history from Tacitus and Suetonius onward, and that have almost always surrounded the records of other ancient nations.

How can anyone believe, for example, that the Romans, that serious, strict people from whom we received our laws, sentenced Christian virgins, girls of high birth, to prostitution? That is a very poor understanding of the stern dignity of our lawmakers, who punished the Vestal Virgins’ lapses so severely. Ruinart’s Authentic Acts report these shameful things. But should we believe Ruinart’s Acts as we believe the Acts of the Apostles? Following Bollandus, these Authentic Acts say that in the city of Ancyra there were seven Christian virgins, each about seventy years old. The governor Theodectes condemned them to be handed over to the city’s young men. But the virgins were spared, as one would expect. He then forced them to serve naked in the mysteries of Diana, which, however, no one ever attended without a veil. St. Theodotus, who was admittedly a tavern keeper but no less zealous for that, prayed fervently that God would let these holy women die, for fear they might give in to temptation. God answered him. The governor had them thrown into a lake with stones around their necks. They immediately appeared to Theodotus and begged him not to let “their bodies be eaten by fish.” Those were their very words.

The holy tavern keeper and his companions went by night to the edge of the lake, which soldiers were guarding. A heavenly torch led them all the way. When they reached the guards, a heavenly horseman in full armor chased the guards away, lance in hand. St. Theodotus recovered the virgins’ bodies from the lake. He was taken before the governor, and the heavenly horseman did not prevent his head from being cut off. Let us keep repeating that we honor true martyrs, but that this story from Bollandus and Ruinart is hard to believe.

Must I tell the story of young St. Romanus here? Eusebius says he was thrown into the fire. Some Jews who were present mocked Jesus Christ for letting those who professed his faith burn, after God had brought Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego out of the fiery furnace. The Jews had barely spoken when St. Romanus came triumphantly out of the flames. The emperor ordered him pardoned and told the judge that he wanted no quarrel with God. Strange words for Diocletian! Despite the emperor’s mercy, the judge ordered St. Romanus’s tongue cut out. Though he had executioners, he had a doctor perform this operation. Young Romanus, who had stammered from birth, spoke fluently as soon as his tongue was cut out. The doctor was reprimanded. To show that the operation had been performed according to the rules of his profession, he took a passerby and cut off exactly as much of his tongue as he had cut from St. Romanus’s. The passerby died on the spot: “for,” the author learnedly adds, “anatomy teaches us that a man cannot live without a tongue.” Really, if Eusebius wrote such nonsense, if it was not added to his writings, how much trust can we put in his history?

We are given the martyrdom of St. Felicity and her seven children, supposedly sent to their deaths by the wise and religious Antoninus, without being told who wrote the account. It is very likely that some author, more zealous than truthful, wanted to imitate the story of the Maccabees. The account begins like this: “St. Felicity was a Roman woman; she lived in the reign of Antoninus.” These words make it clear that the author did not live at the same time as St. Felicity. He says that the praetor judged them from his tribunal on the Field of Mars. But the prefect of Rome held his court on the Capitol, not on the Field of Mars. After being used for popular assemblies, the Field was then used for military reviews, races, and military games. That alone proves the account is fabricated.

It also says that after the judgment the emperor assigned different judges to carry out the sentence. That is completely contrary to the procedures of those times, and of all times.

There is also a St. Hippolytus who is supposedly dragged by horses, like Hippolytus, the son of Theseus. The ancient Romans never knew this form of execution. The similarity of the names alone led to the invention of this fable.

Notice, too, that in the accounts of martyrdoms, written entirely by Christians themselves, we almost always see crowds of Christians freely visiting the condemned person in prison, following him to his execution, collecting his blood, burying his body, and working miracles with his relics. If religion alone had been persecuted, would these openly Christian people not have been killed too? They were helping their condemned brothers and were accused of performing magic with the remains of martyred bodies. Would they not have been treated as we treated the Waldensians, Albigensians, Hussites, and the different Protestant sects? We slaughtered and burned them in crowds, without distinction of age or sex. Is there a single detail in the verified accounts of ancient persecutions that comes close to the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre or the massacres in Ireland? Is there a single one resembling the annual festival still celebrated in Toulouse? It is a cruel festival that should be abolished forever, in which an entire people thanks God in a procession and congratulates itself for having slaughtered four thousand of its fellow citizens two hundred years ago.

I say this with horror, but truthfully: it is we Christians who have been persecutors, executioners, murderers! And of whom? Our brothers. It is we who destroyed a hundred cities with a crucifix or Bible in our hands, who never stopped shedding blood and lighting fires for executions, from Constantine’s reign to the frenzies of the cannibals who lived in the Cévennes. Thank heaven, those frenzies no longer exist today.

We still sometimes send poor people from Poitou, Vivarais, Valence, and Montauban to the gallows. Since 1745 we have hanged eight of those called preachers, or ministers of the Gospel. Their only crime was praying to God for the king in their local dialect and giving a drop of wine and a piece of leavened bread to a few foolish peasants. None of this is known in Paris, where pleasure is the only important thing and people know nothing about what happens in the provinces or abroad. These trials are over in an hour, more quickly than a deserter is tried. If the king knew about them, he would grant pardons.

Catholic priests are not treated like this in any Protestant country. There are more than a hundred Catholic priests in England and Ireland. They are known, and during the last war they were allowed to live very peacefully.

Will we always be the last to adopt other nations’ sound views? They have reformed. When will we reform? It took sixty years to make us accept what Newton had demonstrated. We are only just beginning to dare to save our children’s lives through inoculation. We have been practicing the true principles of agriculture for only a very short time. When will we begin practicing the true principles of humanity? And how can we have the nerve to reproach pagans for making martyrs when we have been guilty of the same cruelty in the same circumstances?

Let us grant that the Romans killed a great many Christians for their religion alone. In that case, the Romans were very much to blame. Would we want to commit the same injustice? While reproaching them for persecuting, would we want to be persecutors?

Suppose someone dishonest enough or fanatical enough said to me here: “Why are you laying out our errors and faults? Why destroy our false miracles and false legends? They nourish many people’s religious devotion. Some errors are necessary. Do not tear a deep-rooted ulcer from the body if doing so would destroy the body itself.” Here is what I would answer.

All these false miracles, by which you shake the faith owed to real ones, all these absurd legends you add to the truths of the Gospel, extinguish religion in people’s hearts. Too many people who want to learn, but do not have time to learn enough, say: “The teachers of my religion have deceived me, so there is no religion. It is better to throw ourselves into the arms of nature than into the arms of error. I would rather depend on natural law than on human inventions.” Others have the misfortune to go further still. They see that deception has put a bridle on them, and they do not even want the bridle of truth. They lean toward atheism. People become depraved because others have been deceitful and cruel.

These are certainly the consequences of all pious frauds and superstitions. People usually reason only halfway. It is a very bad argument to say: “Voragine, author of the Golden Legend, and the Jesuit Ribadeneira, compiler of The Flower of the Saints, said nothing but foolish things; therefore there is no God. Catholics slaughtered a certain number of Huguenots, and Huguenots in turn murdered a certain number of Catholics; therefore there is no God. Confession, Communion, and all the sacraments have been used to commit the most horrible crimes; therefore there is no God.” I would conclude the opposite: therefore there is a God who, after this passing life in which we have so badly misunderstood him and committed so many crimes in his name, will be willing to comfort us for so many terrible misfortunes. For when we consider the religious wars, the forty papal schisms, almost all bloody, the frauds, almost all disastrous, and the irreconcilable hatreds kindled by different opinions—when we see all the evils false zeal has caused—human beings have long had their hell in this life.