Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper, the rite that separated believers from unbelievers.
The Christian historians who record this merely say that Theodosius then confessed his sin, did penance, and was restored. But what passes almost as a footnote is the fact that it took Theodosius eight months to do so. Standing on the steps and looking at Ambrose’s unyielding face, Theodosius must have realized that his decrees were having an unintended consequence. The single, catholic church held his empire together because it was greater than the state, greater than any national loyalty, greater than any single man.
It was greater than the emperor.
Theodosius’s eight months of reflection were eight months in which, in all likelihood, the future of Christianity hung in the balance. Had Theodosius been able to think of any better strategy, he could simply have refused Ambrose’s demands. But in doing so he would have had either to turn his back on the Eucharist—which would have condemned his soul—or to deny Ambrose’s authority—which would have revealed that the Christian church was, in fact, not bigger than the emperor. “Educated as he had been in the sacred oracles,” concludes the Christian historian Theodoret, “Theodosius knew clearly what belonged to priests and what to emperors.” 12
What belonged to emperors was not sufficient to hold the empire together. Theodosius finally went back to Milan, subjected himself to Ambrose’s religious authority, accepted the several months of penance that Ambrose prescribed, and was readmitted to the fellowship of the church. He then ordered all Roman temples closed and abandoned so that Christians could knock them down and build Christian churches instead. He commanded that the fire once guarded by the Vestal Virgins in the Roman Forum be officially dowsed. He announced that the Olympic Games would be held one final time before their permanent cancellation.
Finally he announced that any act of worship made in honor of the old Roman gods would be an act of treachery against the emperor himself. The church might be greater than the emperor, but the emperor could still corral its loyalty and direct it to his own ends. 13
Chapter Ten
Cracked in Two
Between 392 and 396, the eastern and western halves of the empire find themselves in opposition
I N 392, AFTER FOUR YEARS of Arbogast’s “help,” Valentinian II killed himself in Milan. He was twenty-one.
His death immediately lit the fuse of civil war. Valentinian’s sister Galla, now Theodosius’s wife, insisted that her brother could not have killed himself. Theodosius was obligated to investigate, and Arbogast realized that the emperor’s first action would most likely be to remove him from power. Before Theodosius could act, Arbogast went to the Roman Senate and promised that he would help the senators restore the Altar of Victory and protect the Roman religion from extinction. Together, the senators and Arbogast chose a new western emperor: a harmless and malleable Roman official named Eugenius, who was a Christian but inclined to be supportive of the rights of the old state religion.
Theodosius, receiving news of this action, refused to recognize Eugenius as a valid emperor. Instead, he named his own eight-year-old son, Honorius, to the western throne. He then prepared for battle, hiring additional troops— foederati , Gothic troops under the command of their own warleader, Alaric—to beef up his own army. He marched west with Stilicho, his general and son-in-law, and met the army of Eugenius, Arbogast, and the Roman senators at the Battle of the Frigidus, September 5, 394.
Orosius insists that Theodosius gave the sign of the cross just before plunging into battle, and three different Christian historians record that a divine wind blew up and rammed the arrows of the western army back into their own bodies. * Sozoman adds that during the fight, a demon appeared at the church where Theodosius prayed
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