The origin of nunneries was coeval with that of monasteries, and the
history of female recluses runs parallel to that of the men. Almost
every male order had its counterpart in some sort of a sisterhood. The
general moral character of these female associations was higher than
that of the male organizations. I have confined my treatment in this
work to the monks, but a few words may be said at this point concerning
female ascetics.
Hermit life was unsuited to women, but we know that at a very early
date many of them retired to the seclusion of convent life. It will be
recalled that in the biography of St. Anthony, before going into the
desert he placed his sister in the care of some virgins who were living
a life of abstinence, apart from society. It is very doubtful if any
uniform rule governed these first religious houses, or if definitely
organized societies appear much before the time of Benedict. The
variations in the monastic order among the men were accompanied by
similar changes in the associations of women.
The history of these sisterhoods discloses three interesting and
noteworthy facts that merit brief mention:
First, the effect of a corrupt society upon women. As in the case of
men, women were moved to forsake their social duties because they were
weary of the sensual and aimless life of Rome. Those were the days of
elaborate toilettes, painted faces and blackened eyelids, of intrigues
and foolish babbling. Venial faults—it may be thought—innocent
displays of tender frailty; but woman's nature demands loftier
employments. A great soul craves occupations and recognizes obligations
more in harmony with the true nobility of human nature. Rome had no
monitor of the higher life until the monks came with their stories of
heroic self-abnegation and unselfish toil. The women felt the force and
truth of Jerome's criticism of their trifling follies when he said: “Do
not seek to appear over-eloquent, nor trifle with verse, nor make
yourself gay with lyric songs. And do not, out of affectation, follow
the sickly taste of married ladies, who now pressing their teeth
together, now keeping their lips wide apart, speak with a lisp, and
purposely clip their words, because they fancy that to pronounce them
naturally is a mark of country breeding.”
Professor Dill is inclined to discount the testimony of Jerome
respecting the morals of Roman society. He thinks Jerome exaggerated
the perils surrounding women. He says: “The truth is Jerome is not only
a monk but an artist in words; and his horror of evil, his vivid
imagination, and his passion for literary effect, occasionally carry
him beyond the region of sober fact. There was much to amend in the
morals of the Roman world. But we must not take the leader of a great
moral reformation as a cool and dispassionate observer.” But this
observation amounts to nothing more than a cautionary word against
mistaking evils common to all times for special symptoms of excessive
immorality. Professor Dill practically concedes the truthfulness of
contemporary witnesses, including Jerome, when he says: “Yet, after all
allowances, the picture is not a pleasant one. We feel that we are far
away from the simple, unworldly devotion of the freedmen and obscure
toilers whose existence was hardly known to the great world before the
age of the Antonines, and who lived in the spirit of the Sermon on the
Mount and in constant expectation of the coming of their Lord. The
triumphant Church, which has brought Paganism to its knees, is very
different from the Church of the catacombs and the persecutions.” The
picture which Jerome draws of the Roman women is indeed repulsive, and
Professor Dill would gladly believe it to be exaggerated, but,
nevertheless, he thinks that “if the priesthood, with its enormous
influence, was so corrupt, it is only probable that it debased the sex
which is always most under clerical influence.”
But far graver charges cling to the memories of the Roman women.
Crime darkened every household. The Roman lady was cruel and impure.
She delighted in the blood of gladiators and in illicit love. Roman law
at this time permitted women to hold and to control large estates, and
it became a fad for these patrician ladies to marry poor men, so that
they might have their husbands within their power. All sorts of
alliances could then be formed, and if their husbands remonstrated,
they, holding the purse strings, were able to say: “If you don't like
it you can leave.” A profligate himself, the husband usually kept his
counsel, and as a reward, dwelt in a palace. “When the Roman matrons
became the equal and voluntary companions of their lords,” says Gibbon,
“a new jurisprudence was introduced, that marriage, like other
partnerships, might be dissolved by the abdication of one of the
associates.” I have but touched the fringe of a veil I will not lift;
but it is easy to understand why those women who cherished noble
sentiments welcomed the monastic life as a pathway of escape from
scenes and customs from which their better natures recoiled in horror.
Secondly, the fine quality of mercy that distinguishes woman's
character deserves recognition. Even though she retired to a convent,
she could not become so forgetful of her fellow creatures as her male
companions. From the very beginning we observe that she was more
unselfish in her asceticism than they. It is true the monk forsook all,
and to that extent was self-sacrificing, but in his desire for his own
salvation, he was prone to neglect every one else. The monk's
ministrations were too often confined to those who came to him, but the
nun went forth to heal the diseased and to bind up the broken-hearted.
As soon as she embraced the monastic life we read of hospitals. The
desire for salvation drove man into the desert; a Christ-like mercy and
divine sympathy kept his sister by the couch of pain.
Lastly, a word remains to be said touching the question of marriage.
At first, the nun sometimes entered the marriage state, and, of course,
left the convent; but, beginning with Basil, this practice was
condemned, and irrevocable vows were exacted. In 407, Innocent I.
closed even the door of penitence and forgiveness to those who broke
their vows and married.
Widows and virgins alike assumed the veil. Marriage itself was not
despised, because the monastic life was only for those who sought a
higher type of piety than, it was supposed, could be attained amid the
ordinary conditions of life. But marriage, as well as other so-called
secular relations, was eschewed by those who wished to make their
salvation sure. Jerome says: “I praise wedlock, I praise marriage, but
it is because they give me virgins; I gather the rose from the thorns,
the gold from the earth, the pearl from the shell.” He therefore
tolerated marriage among people contented with ordinary religious
attainments, but he thought it incompatible with true holiness.
Augustine admitted that the mother and her daughter may be both in
heaven, but one a bright and the other a dim star. Some writers, as
Helvidius, opposed this view and maintained that there was no special
virtue in an unmarried life; that Mary, the mother of Jesus, was also
the mother of other children, and as such was an example of Christian
virtue. Jerome brought out his guns and poured hot shot into the
enemies' camp. In the course of his answer, which contained many
intolerant and acrimonious statements, he drew a comparison between the
married and the unmarried state. It is interesting because it reflects
the opinions of those who disparaged marriage, and reveals the
character of the principles which the early Fathers advocated. It is
very evident from this letter against Helvidius that Jerome regarded
all secular duties as interfering with the pursuit of the highest
virtue.
“Do you think,” he says, “there is no difference between one who
spends her time in prayer and fasting, and one who must, at her
husband's approach, make up her countenance, walk with a mincing gait,
and feign a show of endearment? The virgin aims to appear less comely;
she will wrong herself so as to hide her natural attractions. The
married woman has the paint laid on before her mirror, and, to the
insult of her Maker, strives to acquire something more than her natural
beauty. Then come the prattling of infants, the noisy household,
children watching for her word and waiting for her kiss, the reckoning
up of expenses, the preparation to meet the outlay. On one side you
will see a company of cooks, girded for the onslaught and attacking the
meat; there you may hear the hum of a multitude of weavers. Meanwhile a
message is delivered that her husband and his friends have arrived. The
wife, like a swallow, flies all over the house. She has to see to
everything. Is the sofa smooth? Is the pavement swept? Are the flowers
in the cup? Is dinner ready? Tell me, pray, amid all this, is there
room for the thought of God?”
Such was Roman married life as it appeared to Jerome. The very
duties and blessings that we consider the glory of the family he
despised. I will return to his views later, but it is interesting to
note the absence at this period, of the modern and true idea that God
may be served in the performance of household and other secular duties.
Women fled from such occupations in those days that they might be
religious. The disagreeable fact of Peter's marriage was overcome by
the assertion that he must have washed away the stain of his married
life by the blood of his martyrdom. Such extreme views arose partly as
a reaction from and a protest against the dominant corruption, a state
of affairs in which happy and holy marriages were rare.