Our Scandalous Emperor-Saint by presbyter Justin Patterson
W
hen I was a student at Saint Vladimir’s Seminary back in the mid-2000s, a literary phenomenon swept the United States. The author Dan Brown captivated believers and non-believers alike with his bestseller, The Da Vinci Code. At the request of panicked parishioners in my first parish, whose trust in the Church seemed to be teetering after reading Brown’s novel, I decided to read it myself. To my surprise, I found it to be a thoroughly riveting read—at least in the same way that I enjoy a good romp through biblical archaeology with Indiana Jones. At the same time, I recognized at once that Brown’s grasp of history was slipshod at best. He parroted as established facts “pop-history” claims about Christianity in general, and about the legacy of Emperor Constantine in particular. At one point in The Da Vinci Code, a crafty English archaeologist gives Sophie, the main character, a brief synopsis of the "history" of Christianity. In it, he makes the following points about Constantine: ◗ He was a lifelong pagan who was unwillingly baptized on his deathbed. ◗ He made Christianity the official Roman religion solely for political gain. ◗ Christianity is a hybrid religion, the result of Constantine's fusing of the pagan cult of Sol Invictus with Christian beliefs. ◗ Under pagan influence, he moved the primary day of Christian worship from Saturday to Sunday. ◗ He inspired the unsuspecting bishops at the Council of Nicea to turn a mortal prophet into the divine Son of God. ◗ He ordered a redaction of the Bible that would reinforce his own pagan-inspired view that Jesus was the divine Son of God. ◗ He tried to erase the documentary evidence that showed an alternate and more pristine version of Christianity.
Each of these absurd claims can, of course, be refuted point-by-point (though such detailed refutation is not the purpose of this reflection). And yet, the fact remains that Orthodox Christians celebrate and venerate a Roman emperor who was, by all accounts, a shrewd political animal and steely-eyed soldier. Many of our fellow Orthodox—particularly in the West—have understandably wondered: What does it mean that this man is a canonized saint? Ought I to trust the Church? Might the “cult of Constantine” among Orthodox prove the Enlightenment jacob's well
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charge that Eastern Christians have been fundamentally sycophantic and even “Caesaro-papal” in relation to the state? Might not the whole “Constantine thing” be a blemish on our tradition that ought to embarrass us? Before tackling such broad questions, it might be more helpful to frame them with another one: “Why would a man like Constantine be drawn to the Christian faith in the first place?” It might be strange to begin by answering, “because of his mom,” but the example of our parents is often crucial in our lives. The historical record shows clearly that Constantine deeply loved and admired his mother Helena. As the pious Christian wife of Constantius Chlorus, one of four co-rulers under Emperor Diocletian, Helena profoundly influenced her son. His devotion to her was so pronounced, in fact, that when Constantine became master in the West, he proclaimed her “Augusta,” the highest title in the empire. For the remainder of her life, Helena’s faith and piety remained a fixation for Constantine, who zealously funded her (quite costly) faith-based works. Second, while Constantine was indeed a product of his time in terms of being part of a violent imperial system, we can see his gradual embrace of Christianity as an expression of his deep reservations about this very system. As a young man, Constantine couldn’t help but note that the Christian population, under the cruel hand of Emperor Diocletian, was bled of a tenth of its faithful. It is now supposed that 1% of the Roman Empire’s entire population was exterminated in an orgy of persecution that would not be surpassed until the 20th century. As the 4th-century church historian Eusebius later noted, such a situation horrified young Constantine personally—perhaps in part because he was keenly aware that his own mother could be accused as a Christian. Though Constantine became a soldier, and, at key moments, did not hesitate to use violence to achieve his ends, he himself made clear on more than one occasion that there were absolute limits to his capacity to shed blood. Most notably, on the eve of the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, it is reported that his pagan generals advised him to resort to a sacrificial bath in the blood of children—an especially powerful invocation for victory, according to Roman military custom. In horror, Constantine declined. By the same token, Constantine’s most odious act as emperor, the brutal suppression of his wife and son who were in rebellion, was ordered so that civil war and chaos might be averted. Even so, the emperor would reportedly be
