The Scholar's Challenge

By Julian Bauer

In the third century, the Roman Empire threatened Christians with torture and death if they did not sacrifice before the Roman gods. The Church thrived under such pressure, for as Tertullian said, The blood of martyrs is the seed of Christianity. Instead, the greatest threat to Christianity was Christianity itself. Divergent theories of Gods nature, apostolic tradition, and dissimilar copies of Holy Scriptures caused the early Church to question itself.

Without telephones, printing presses, or a reliable postal system, the 1,800 bishops of that time found themselves in numerous cultures, speaking different languages, and needing someone to gather and consolidate authentic Church doctrine and reliable Scriptures. They found such men in Origen and Jerome. These two men wrote the unifying books that caused the Christian Church to remain One, Holy, and Universal. This is their story, warts and all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781449788278

Julian Bauer

Julian Bauer writes about integrity in governing, a knowledge he gained as CEO of his own company; as a Federal government executive; and as the president of a national non-profit organization. He has been married for fifty-six years to Carmen Espinosa and lives in Maryland.

Book preview

PART ONE

IANOS AND ORIGEN

AD 202–254

Chapter One

SCHOOL OF THE CHRISTIANS

Polona and I became adults the day we found a squad of eight legionnaires wearing dress uniforms pounding on Agapious’s door. At first, when we saw them from the road we thought they might have wanted something for the lustration exercise. During this annual religious ceremony, the Legion purified their standards, dressing them in garlands and perfume. Agapious sold cotton and other goods. We learned, though, that the exercise wasn’t the reason the legionnaires had come to his house.

Agapious ran a Christian household and had much to fear from an unannounced visit. The arenas were filled with unsuspecting Christians who’d hoped to live their lives in peace. Not wishing to worm our way through the sea of Third Cyrenaica Legion emblems emblazoned on the rectangular shields, we hurried to the back. We could hear the legionnaire pounding on the front door, its hinges barely holding against the force.

We entered through the back door and rushed through the sitting room to the front just as Agapious opened the door. We gaped at the legionnaires and realized this was no ordinary visit. Up until this time, Polona and I had lived the carefree life of youth in beautiful Alexandria. It was to be no more.

I loved Polona, even though she was a slave. She had the slim, tan body of the Egyptian royal family. Her elegant and regal bearing made her like no other slave I had ever known. Although I was of average height for a man, she could gaze directly into my hazel eyes. When she smiled at me, it was as if she were bestowing a blessing. Ianos, she would say to me, why are you staring at me? How could I help it?

Her master was the Christian merchantman Agapious, who sold Egyptian cotton to the Romans. Almost as wide as he was tall, Agapious was quite prosperous and generous toward his slaves. She was free to go to the market with Gia, Agapious’s master cook, where I would gaze at Polona’s unblemished beauty. Gia was a head shorter than Polona and, with her two hundred pounds, made quite a comparison with the willowy Polona as they searched the market for fresh vegetables.

By the time I was nineteen and Polona was seventeen, in the year of our Lord 202, Gia allowed me to accompany them while they shopped for Agapious’s dinner. It was heaven. Polona’s voice had the melodious tones of wind through the delta. Her tawny skin was the perfect setting for her white teeth, black hair, and sparkling eyes.

When I told the sixty-year-old Agapious that I planned to purchase Polona’s freedom and marry her, he laughed and said, Ianos, you’d better not to wait too long, for she’s an exceedingly attractive girl. Yet he knew by watching Polona that I was her favorite. I was sure he would allow me the time to collect the money. My father sold linen as a fellow tradesman of Agapious, but not a competitor.

When the door was opened, the tallest centurion I’d ever seen stepped through. He wore a deep-red legionary tunic over segmented metal armor covering his chest, shoulders, and back. Bravery decorations adorned the chest. As he entered, he removed a helmet with a traverse crest of eagle feathers and placed it under his arm, which bore a scar from the elbow to the wrist. He looked around while adjusting with his free hand the dagger on his right hip and the short sword on his left hip, both encased in scabbards with black and gold inlays.

His steely eyes settled on Polona, and my heart froze. Polona, he said.

Stepping in front of Polona, a shaky Agapious said, She is my slave.

Brushing Agapious aside with a flick of his hand, the centurion said, She is my daughter. A gasp went out from the entire household.

With her chin in the air, Polona just stared at the centurion, unable to speak.

We need to talk, he said. Glaring at Gia, he added, Bring me tea. Without an invitation, he led the way into the sitting room, where he placed his helmet on a table and sat, directing the rest of us to do likewise.

Before your mother died, she told me she placed you with this family, he said to Polona. He hesitated, and then his voice softened as he went on. You look just like your mother. Polona remained silent. We were all silent. What could we say?

Finding my courage, I turned from Polona to the centurion. If you are her father, why didn’t you purchase her freedom? I asked sarcastically. I immediately lowered my eyes, for I’d said too much.

With a sneer, the centurion asked, Just who are you?

He is the man I am going to marry, Polona said with the bravery I lacked.

Man …? the centurion said, laughing.

Yes, man! Polona replied with a huff.

I am Ianos, the son of a free man, I said, gathering courage from Polona. I will purchase her freedom and marry her.

I see, said the thoughtful centurion. He was frowning now as I went on babbling about my education and future prospects as the son of a well-to-do merchant.

Turning to Agapious, he said, "My name is Publius. I am the primus pilus, the first of the sixty centurions in the Third Cyrenaica Legion. You heard that Quintus Maecius Laetus is the new prefect of Egypt?"

Yes, said Agapious, rumor has it that Laetus is kind and gentle and will benefit Egypt as no other prefect has done. Lying came easily to him. I think he was hoping to impress the highest-ranked centurion in the entire legion.

Kind and gentle. Publius snorted. He is a slimy snake without honor. Listen carefully to what I have to say. He nodded in Polona’s direction. "Laetus has heard of the beautiful virgin that lives in this house. He wants to purchase her. When my optio was given the order to complete the purchase by our tribune, I told the tribune I would handle it."

I grabbed Polona’s hand. You will have to kill me first.

That shouldn’t be too difficult, Publius said with a sneer as Pia handed him his cup of tea.

What can we do? asked Agapious. He was ignoring me and seemed to be asking if the centurion intended to ignore the prefect.

Laetus wants to purchase a young virgin for his pleasure. He added more sugar to his tea. If, on arriving here, I found that Polona were free, married, and living elsewhere, I would have to report back that the conditions of purchase were not acceptable, for she would no longer be an available virgin slave. The prefect’s ardor should cool on learning this. At least, that is what I think will happen.

But she is worth a lot of money, whispered Agapious.

With a disgusted look, Publius drew a bag of coins from his belt. "One hundred twenty aurei, and a full year’s wages for a legionnaire. That should be enough. Now prepare a bill of sale with a copy I can take back with me."

You are the buyer? Agapious asked.

No, you fool, Publius answered, nodding at me. He is.

Polona and I looked at each other and smiled.

You will marry immediately, said Publius. Where will you live? Do you have money?

We will live with my father, I said with enthusiasm. We are not poor.

But what will happen to you? Polona asked her father.

Nothing, said the centurion, as long as I have this. He pointed at the Corona Vallaris on his chest, the most prestigious bravery award available to a Roman soldier, given to the first soldier to storm an entrenchment and live. To harm its wearer would inflame the entire legion. My twenty years will be up next year, and I will be given a small plot of land and twelve hundred aurei as my discharge bonus. Maybe I’ll have something else to look forward to. He gazed at Polona. Besides, I will report to the tribune, and he’ll have to notify Laetus.

Why didn’t you come for me before this? asked Polona with a hurt look.

With a proud sniff, the centurion’s eyes fell on the door. I am a legionnaire. I have no time for a girl.

Yet you came today.

Laetus is scum. He will not play with my daughter as with a toy.

Thank you, father.

Publius hid his eyes so that Polona could not see them, but I did. They looked moist. Perhaps I imagined the sight, as it quickly disappeared. Polona moved toward him as if to give him an embrace. He stepped back, looking surprised. I could tell he was not going to share his emotions.

While we waited for the sales papers to be prepared, Publius told us of the legion headquarters with its solid stone buildings behind formidable stone walls enclosing granaries, bathhouses, workshops, and stables. There was no comfort in these buildings as could be found in the house of Agapious, even for a slave. Legionnaires lived in a man’s world, and softening only shortened a man’s life. We listened avidly as he told us how he had won the Corona Vallaris. I wanted to hear more of his battles, while Polona wanted to hear more of her mother. He tried to satisfy us both.

When we stared at his helmet, he told us the common legion helmet had a neck guard that flared out with flexible cheek flaps adorned with a removable parade plume of yellow horsehair, and how they wore a neck scarf to prevent chafing. Seeing our interest, for we had never dared to speak with a legionnaire before, Publius told us the men outside wore their double-edged, sharp-pointed, twenty-inch sword on the right hip and their dagger on the left hip, just the opposite to his, and also in less-decorative scabbards than his. As teenagers, we had many questions to ask him about the legion, and he readily answered them, for he was a proud man.

Nevertheless, once the sales receipt was ready, Publius grabbed it and left the house without another word, a battle-hardened legionnaire to the end. I’m sure that Publius didn’t realize it (nor did I), but my name on the sales receipt was a death warrant.

Chapter Two

ORIGEN

That evening, I took Polona to my father’s house, where she stayed in the slave’s rooms until we could be married. In Roman North Africa, we were both well above the legal age for marriage, so that was no problem. Having safely secreted her at my father’s, I rushed over to see Leonides, the father of my friend and schoolmate, Origen. Leonides had connections even my father didn’t have.

On the way to Origen’s home, I met Alexander. We climbed the ladder to Origen’s roof, where we found our classmate’s father reading the Scriptures to his seven sons. The cool breeze flowing from the Mediterranean in the evening made the roof an ideal place to sit and enjoy the stories of the Scriptures. Ordinarily, these visits would find Origen and his brothers yelling, Ianos, Alexander, come tell us what you did today. We would respond with some interesting encounter during class or on our travels through the city. Leonides always smiled when we explained the scholastic disciplines or the philosophical discussions we’d engaged in during the day. There were many temptations for young men in Alexandria, but we can honestly say that neither Alexander nor I would ever dishonor our families, and so we never had occasion to discuss those temptations.

It was well known that Origen, with his short, curly blond hair, was the brightest star in our class at school. His reputation, even at the age of seventeen, was quickly growing. Because the manner of teaching at the catechetical school involved questions and answers, no student could hide his knowledge or ignorance from everyone within earshot. Origen was always clever in his answers, and the teachers approved of his response even when he disagreed with their positions. He was not a prideful boy, rarely referring to himself but freely granting credit to others. As a result, he was well liked by all the students and teachers.

Leonides would beckon me with his finger and, once I was close, would pat me on my raven-black hair. Ianos, he would say, How has my son been doing this week?

He loved my name, Ianos, because it meant the gatekeeper, and I was indeed the gateway or door to his son’s accomplishments. While Origen refused to discuss the praise he received, Alexander and I freely gave an account of every word or honor directed the younger boy’s way. To whet our tongues, Leonides would offer us a small cup of date wine. Naturally, we accepted. Most Egyptians drank beer, fermented from wheat, with their meals. Only rarely did the common man enjoy the pleasures of date wine. We drank it slowly to savor the flavor.

Ianos, Leonides would ask after I ran out of praises for his son, does your father still attend the synagogue on Saturdays?

Yes, sir, I would answer. On this particular day, there on the roof, I gave the answer I had stated so many times before. Synagogue on Saturday and church on Sunday. He believes our Jewish ancestry and culture should be honored. He likes to remind our family that the Septuagint, the Old Testament used in church, was written in Alexandria by Jews for Jewish use two hundred years before Christ. Jews had virtually forgotten Hebrew in those days and needed the Scriptures written in Greek.

Ianos is too modest, Origen would say. He never mentions his father’s pride in having Philo, the famous Jewish biblical philosopher somewhere in his ancestry. Ianos’s family has lived in Alexandria for five hundred years, since the days of Alexander the Great, and Philo heads the list of extraordinary men in his family.

Leonides liked to test his son’s knowledge, for he greatly admired his son’s precocious genius. And what do you know of Philo?

For Origen, this was like asking the sum of two plus two. Well, Philo was born twenty years before Christ and died about twenty years after Christ. Philo’s philosophy was similar to that of Plato. He placed the act of creation outside of time, as time only began with the world. He said that before time, our souls existed without a body or any earthly matter, without flaws. With the creation of time, our souls lost their purity and were confined within a body, morally imperfect. Philo believed that the Scriptures were the source of philosophical truth and the Greek philosophers discovered their reasoning by borrowing from the Scriptures.

I felt bound to say, He came from an aristocratic family and was a Roman citizen.

Origen went on as if my comment had no relevance—which, of course, it didn’t. Philo used his philosophy to defend and justify Jewish religious truths. He refused to use those Greek philosophical tenets which didn’t harmonize with the Jewish religion. Of course, one could argue that Plato also influenced Christianity.

How is that? said Leonides, smiling.

Alexander softly answered for Origen. "Well, the philosophical word Logos parallels the Hebrew phrase ‘Word of God,’ which the Scriptures portray as bearing God’s message. Both word and phrase became critical components of John’s gospel."

Philo, I said, unwilling to forget my family’s historical importance, was the principal representative before the Roman emperor Gaius Caligula in the year of our Lord forty.

And what caused this amazing embassy? asked Leonides, fully aware of the answer.

Pointing his finger at his brothers, Origen answered for me. "A terrible conflict had arisen between the Jews and the pagans in Alexandria. Each party had selected three representatives to approach Caligula in Rome to resolve the dispute and end the killing. The chief spokesperson for the pagans, Apion, charged the Jews with refusing to honor the emperor as a god and to erect statues as well as altars and temples to him. Before Caligula became emperor, Jews were frequently given the rare privilege of honoring their own God and were not forced to honor Roman gods, unlike other conquered people.

Philo was an old man, but he refused to cower before Caligula. He told Caligula that the emperor’s plan to erect a statue of himself in the temple of Jerusalem would be a provocation. He asked if Caligula was making war on the Jews. Caligula was furious, but when the delegations returned to Alexandria, they found the conflict ended.

Ianos, Leonides said, growing serious, I worry that your father may dampen his love of Christianity by going to the synagogue so often. I know it is not unusual, but I remember what Ignatius of Antioch said in the year of our Lord one hundred ten.

Who’s Ignatius of Antioch? said Origen’s youngest brother.

Leonides smiled at his youngest son. Ignatius was the third bishop of Antioch, after Peter himself and Evodius. He was a student of John, the apostle.

What did he say about attending synagogue? asked the boy with a furrowed brow.

Leonides hesitated, turning from his son to me, Now Ianos, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. When Ignatius wrote this, he was a prisoner from Antioch on his way to Rome and the wild beasts in the arena.

Well, I asked, shrugging my shoulders, what did he say?

The apostle John was a Jew, as were all the apostles and Jesus Christ. Most of the earliest Christians were Jews and spoke in synagogues, Leonides said.

I began to get irritated. I knew all that. But what did Ignatius say?

Leonides, his eyes turning to the rushes on the roof, said, He wrote that it is no longer possible to practice Judaism while having Jesus Christ on the lips.

I thought he was going to say something new and different, but this was a common refrain. Leonides should know better. My father doesn’t practice Judaism. He finds joy in knowing that he is a Jew together with all the prophets and learned men who wrote Scriptures. He takes pride in his culture and how it led to our Lord and Savior. He attends the synagogue for cultural attachments, not to counter his Christianity.

Quickly changing the subject, Leonides motioned to his oldest son. Origen, did you go see the patriarch as I asked you?

Origen’s eyes were focused on the floor. Yes. He said you should take your family and flee Alexandria.

Does he think that I’m a coward? asked Leonides, looking disturbed at hearing this advice.

Origen assured his father that wasn’t the intent. The persecutions of Christians by the Roman Emperor Septimius Severus over the past five years had been comparatively minor and bearable. Only when someone was accused of being a Christian would he then be faced with either cursing Jesus and making an offering to Roman gods or being executed. The accusations had been limited. While many had fled, Patriarch Demetrius was not aware of anyone forsaking his faith.

So why the warning? Besides, the emperor Septimius Severus only forbade imperial subjects from becoming Christians or Jews. In effect, the order only affected recent converts. How can I be in danger? I’m not a convert.

The new prefect of Egypt, Quintus Maecius Laetus, hopes to win the approval of the emperor by stepping up the persecutions. Laetus knows that the Christians will not take up arms in revolt. He plans a bloody sweeping of Alexandria with roastings, impalings, and beheadings.

And as an outspoken Christian, I’ll be one of the first? asked Leonides with a snicker.

That’s what Demetrius said, father, Origen answered slowly. Laetus would prefer finding Demetrius, the eleventh bishop and patriarch of Alexandria, except Demetrius moves from household to household to avoid the soldiers. Even our priests and deacons move about, but it’s not so easy for someone so prominent and dependent on commerce as yourself.

But you’re a Roman citizen, Alexander said to Leonides, and a wealthy man from a prominent family. Surely he wouldn’t dare harm you.

Laetus is an ambitious man, said Leonides. If Severus encourages Christian persecutions, then Laetus will go above and beyond the necessary to seek the emperor’s favor.

Laetus is also an immoral man, I said. He tried to purchase Polona to be his plaything.

I watched Origen shudder as he heard this news, for he knew of my love for Polona. What did Agapious say? asked Leonides, pointing to a plate of figs

I shook my head and told them the story of how Publius had come with the news and the solution. Polona now lives with my family. We will be married.

If the patriarch Demetrius also lives with you, he can perform the ceremony, Alexander suggested.

I’ve spoken with him, I said, and he is thinking about the matter. He prefers a public announcement to see if any object.

Object! Origen almost shouted. Isn’t he aware that this is an emergency? Everyone is in danger until you are married.

But her age—

Her age, Origen said, is well over the legal age according to Roman law. You need a certificate of marriage as proof to protect Publius, Agapious, Polona, and yourself.

Origen is right, said Leonides. In the morning, I will speak to Demetrius, and if he agrees, I will act as a witness to your wedding.

The sun rose with a hot breath the next morning. All had gathered in my father’s house for the wedding. I cornered Leonides and reminded him that if he, as a Christian, had been in danger before, by witnessing my wedding he had doubled the danger. Will you do as the patriarch suggests and leave?

Do you think I care so much of this life, my little Ianos? Leonides said. Believe me, my faith in Christ takes precedence over any earthly asset. We were the same size, so why Origen’s father always called me his little Ianos was a mystery to me. It certainly was not one of my favorite nicknames.

Overhearing his father, Origen, who was standing with his brothers, said, We’ll all be martyrs.

No, you’ll not be martyrs, said Leonides. You will grow in age and wisdom so that when the time comes and you must make such a decision, you can do so with full knowledge of the consequences. The Adamantius boys remained silent; only Origen shook his head, refusing to accept his father’s declaration. I noticed Alexander with Polona standing in a corner, his eyes on the floor, saying nothing but listening intently to the conversation about martyrdom.

Father, you’re not taking the coming purges seriously, said Origen with a disapproving air.

What will be, will be. In the meantime, we must get on with our lives.

Nevertheless, Demetrius wants you to be careful.

I spoke up, as Origen would never have mentioned it. The patriarch wants Origen to stay here with my family for protection. Demetrius was a scholar in his own right and fully recognized the scope of Origen’s progress at the school. Even at the age of seventeen, Origen was helping to teach the younger catechumens.

Origen glared at me for bringing up the topic. I’m a man and don’t need protection.

You’re a young man, and we all need protection at your age—from ourselves, if not from others, said Leonides. However, I won’t dishonor you by ordering you out of our house in a time of peril. The decision is yours to make.

I’ll be at our home, with you, father, said Origen as his brothers stared at him wide-eyed.

The wedding was brief. We invited only close relatives and cautioned them to never discuss it again. Polona wore a brilliant white toga, a borrowed gold clasp on the left shoulder, with my mother’s gold necklace and earrings. Her hair, arranged in a bun on top, held six tiny yellow daffodils. Demetrius limited the ceremony to the essentials and kept one eye on the door and the other on the nervous attendees. In spite of my fear, that was the greatest night of my short life.

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The prefect’s men came one night when all were sound asleep—not to my house, but to Origen’s house. Leonides was put in chains and taken to the jail. Origen’s mother later told me that she and his brothers had to hide Origen’s clothes and physically restrain Origen to prevent him from accompanying his father. His clothes were not returned to him for days, until his ardor for martyrdom cooled under his mother’s pleas not to forsake her. In the meantime he borrowed quill and papyrus from me to write a moving letter to his father in jail. He praised his father’s faith and admired the crown he would earn. He ended the letter with the clause, Take heed, sir, that for our sakes you do not change your mind.

Whether my marriage was the reason Leonides was targeted or not, I don’t know, but the prefect Laetus confiscated all of the Adamantius family’s estates and goods, leaving them destitute. They retained a small, empty house with no food or money. Because he was a Roman citizen, Leonides was beheaded instead of the ignoble roasting or impaling. My parents supplied the Adamantius family with sufficient funds to eat, but Origen was forced to leave the catechetical school to provide for his widowed mother and brothers.

In my father’s household, we feared some sort of retribution. We quickly decided that Polona and I would live quietly away from my parents. In that way Laetus would find it more difficult to find us should we become more than a minor irritant to him.

As I was an only son, my father insisted I continue my studies at the catechetical school while helping him part-time. I wanted to be completely on my own, but Polona agreed with my father that an education would secure a better future for our new family. How could I refuse her when she asked me to follow my father’s wishes while I was enthralled in her embrace? If I loved Polona before we were married, my heart enveloped an emotion almost unbearable afterward. She was my all. My Egyptian princess was a treasure that even the pharaohs had not enjoyed.

Having studied under the famous Greek scholar Clement, Origen had no problem in earning funds by giving classes in the Greek language and literature. For almost a year, the entire Adamantius family subsisted on these earnings and what little my parents gave them. My parents did what they could, but they had to be careful themselves. They emphasized our Jewish heritage to keep the prefect’s soldiers from their door.

The catechetical school declined in population as the persecutions increased. We posted guards down the street to watch for any approaching men of the prefect’s cohort. Complying with Severus’s order, Laetus usually concentrated on catechumens, those who were undergoing instruction in the rudiments of Christianity. Few of them were now enrolling in the school. Few of any persuasion were entering, and many were leaving.

Ignatius was quoted often in our school, and one day I asked Clement, a voracious reader, why this was so. Clement collected numerous writings from the Greek philosophers and the early Christians, so I knew he would be able to help me. He told me that Ignatius succeeded Peter and Evodius as bishop of Antioch, a center of Christianity as it remains to this day. This holy man, Ignatius, wrote that Jesus Christ was flesh even after the resurrection, because he told the apostles, ‘Touch me and see that I am not a bodiless ghost.’ Ignatius heard this straight from the lips of one who knew Jesus intimately, the apostle John.

He wasn’t the only famous man who studied under John. Polycarp, Papias, and Ignatius were students of John at the same time. Polycarp later became the bishop of Smyrna; Papias became the bishop of Hierapolis; and Ignatius, bishop of Antioch. Even Alexandria was affected by this apostolic tradition, for Papias testified from what he had heard that Mark, as the interpreter for Peter, wrote down the words and deeds of the Lord as Peter remembered them.

And then Mark came to Alexandria and taught in the synagogues, I said.

Right, but he didn’t start the catechetical school, Clement said with a laugh. Growing serious, Clement said, scratching at his cheek, Still, you understand why the Church places so much emphasis on apostolic tradition. We revere not only the Scriptures but also the rites and understandings of those who were there and those who followed directly behind.

And how do we know whose words to trust?

Well, Ignatius wrote, and we have copies of his letters here in the school, that we should follow our bishops as we would Jesus Christ and the presbytery as we would the apostles. He added that we should reverence our deacons as we would the Word of God.

But they don’t always agree, I said.

"No they don’t. Now you need to reference the scrolls we have here from Irenaeus. You will find in his book Against Heresies the solution to disputations."

I got my wax tablet out and copied down the title. The scrolls were organized by author, so I would have no problem in finding it. It turned out that Irenaeus wrote that the only way for Christians to retain unity was to accept the doctrinal authority of episcopal councils. According to him, if the bishops join hands and declare something, we should accept it. Apparently, Irenaeus was the bishop of Lugdunum in Gaul and a student of Polycarp. So once again, we had a connection to John. Whether this solution came down from Polycarp and John, I had no way of knowing.

As usual, Clement’s attention to a student’s interests started wandering, and he started disputing the Greek philosopher’s idea of an eternal cosmos because this would present nature as a second co-eternal god—an idolatrous thought. I began dreaming of Polona’s comforting arms as he went meandering on to speak of the Egyptian astronomer Ptolemy’s theory that the earth was the center of the universe encased in eight spherical shells like an onion. I left him searching though a scroll for some sort of evidence.

His status as director of the catechetical school made Clement a prime target. While both the state and the patriarch—not to mention the reputation of the school—gave some protection to him, it was a precarious position not envied by anyone.

On the day my first child was born, about a year after Leonides was martyred, Clement simply called a general assembly in the school to announce his retirement. He had been an instructor in the school for twenty-two years and director for twelve of those years. Clement had been born in Athens and had traveled extensively in searching for truth. He converted to Christianity and found rest in Alexandria after meeting Pantaenus and assisting him in the foundation of the catechetical school. Now it was time to leave.

Little peace and little rest were to be found in Clement’s eyes—nor in anyone’s eyes if he lived in Alexandria during the days of Laetus. Christians did not advertise their faith; nor did they deny it when questioned. The people of the city, regardless of their religion, were tired of the constant surveillance. Clement simply announced to the assembly that he was leaving Alexandria and going to Caesarea in Cappadocia to live in peace.

Our patriarch, Demetrius, stood next to