Early Church Leader: Jerome

Jerome

I frankly confess that I get carried away with indignation. I cannot listen to such sacrilege with patience- JEROME

None of the great personalities of the fourth century is more intriguing than Jerome.

He is outstanding, not for his sanctity, like Anthony, nor for his keen theological insight, like Athanasius, nor for his firmness before the authorities, like Ambrose, nor even for his preaching, like Chrysostom, but rather for his titanic and endless struggle with the world and with himself. Although he is known as “Saint Jerome,” he was not one of those saints who are granted the joy of God’s peace in this life. His holiness was not humble, peaceful, and sweet, but rather proud, stormy, and even bitter.

He always strove to be more than human, and therefore had little patience for those who appeared indolent, or who dared criticize him. Those who suffered his sharp attacks were not only the heretics of his time, as well as the ignorant and the hypocritical, but also John Chrysostom, Ambrose of Milan, Basil of Caesarea, and Augustine of Hippo. Those who disagreed with him were “two-legged asses.” But in spite of this attitude and perhaps to a large measure because of it—Jerome earned a place among the great Christian figures of the fourth century.

Even so, throughout the history of Christian art he has been depicted as a sour ascetic, often contemplating a skull.

He was born around 348 CE, in an obscure corner of northern Italy. He was younger than many of the great figures of the fourth century. But it has been aptly said that Jerome was born an old man, and therefore he soon considered himself older than his contemporaries. More surprisingly, they came to regard him as an imposing and ancient institution.

He was an ardent admirer of classical learning, and felt that this love for an essentially pagan tradition was sinful. His inner turmoil on this score peaked when, during a serious illness, he dreamed that he was at the final judgment and was asked: “Who are you?” “I am a Christian,” Jerome answered. But the judge retorted: “You lie. You are a Ciceronian.” After that experience, Jerome resolved to devote himself fully to the study of scripture and of Christian literature. But he never ceased reading and imitating the style of the classical pagan authors.

He was also obsessed with sex. Upon retiring to the monastic life, he hoped to be rid of that burden. But even there he was followed by his dreams and by the memories of dancers in Rome. He sought to suppress such thoughts by punishing his body, and by an exaggeratedly austere life. He was unkempt, and even came to affirm that, having been washed by Christ, there was no need to ever wash again. And yet that did not suffice. In order to fill his mind with something that would take the place of the pleasures of Rome, he decided to study Hebrew. That language, with its strange alphabet and grammar, seemed barbaric to him. But he told himself that, since the Old Testament was written in it, it must be divine.

Eventually Jerome conceded that he was not made for the life of a hermit and returned to civilization probably before three years were up. In Antioch he was ordained a presbyter. He was at Constantinople before and during the Council of 381. He returned to Rome, where Bishop Damasus, a good judge of human nature, made him his private secretary and encouraged him to engage in further study and writing. It was also Damasus who first suggested to him the project that would eventually occupy most of his time, and would become his greatest monument: a new translation of scripture into Latin. Although Jerome did some work on this project while in Rome, he pursued it most actively later in his life.

It is significant that Jerome, who never had any close male friends, and who was obsessed with sex, found such solace in this group of women. Perhaps he felt at ease because they did not dare compete with him. In any case, it was they who came to know the sensitivity that he desperately sought to hide from the rest of the world.

However, Jerome was not a tactful man, and he soon made enemies among the leaders of the church in Rome. When Damasus died, late in 384, Jerome lost his staunchest defender. Siricius, the new bishop, had little use for Jerome’s scholarship. When one of Paula’s daughters died, Jerome’s enemies, whom he had criticized for their comfortable life, claimed that her death was due to the rigors recommended by Jerome. Finally, he decided to leave Rome and go to the Holy Land—or, as he said, “from Babylon to Jerusalem.”

Above all, however, he devoted himself to the work that would be his great literary monument: the translation of the Bible into Latin. By then there were other translations, but these had been done on the basis of the Septuagint—the ancient translation of the Hebrew text into Greek. What Jerome then undertook was a direct translation from Hebrew. After many years of work, interrupted by a voluminous correspondence and by the calamities that shook the Roman world, Jerome completed this enormous task.

Jerome’s version, commonly known as the Vulgate, eventually became the standard Bible of the entire Latin-speaking church. Particularly successful was his translation of the Hebrew Psalms into excellent Latin poetry. These Psalms were given wider use and circulation when used in Gregorian chant, to the point that they were still in use in the liturgy long after the Vulgate had been supplanted by more modern translations.

But at first the Vulgate was not as well received as Jerome had wished. The new translation, naturally enough, altered the favorite texts of some people, and many demanded to know who had given Jerome authority to tamper with scripture.

Furthermore, many believed the legend that the Septuagint had been the work of independent translators who, upon comparing their work, found themselves in total agreement. That legend had long been used to argue that the Septuagint was just as inspired as the Hebrew text. Therefore, when Jerome published a version that disagreed with the Septuagint, there were many who felt that he lacked respect for the inspired Word of God.

Such criticism did not come only from ignorant believers, but also from some very learned Christians. From North Africa, Augustine of Hippo (the great theologian to whom we shall devote the next chapter) wrote:

I pray you not to devote your energies to translating the sacred books to Latin, unless you do as you did earlier in your translation of the book of Job, that is, adding notes that show clearly where your version differs from the Septuagint, whose authority has no equal. . . . Besides, I cannot imagine how, after so long, someone can find in the Hebrew manuscripts anything which so many translators did not see before, especially since they knew Hebrew so well.

At first Jerome did not answer Augustine’s letter—nor a second one. Augustine insisted on the matter, writing again and blaming Jerome for scandalizing the faithful. As an example of the evils caused by Jerome’s translation, he refers to the manner in which Jerome translated the name of the plant that provided shade for the prophet Jonah. The traditional version—based on Greek—called it a gourd. Jerome translated it as ivy. Augustine reports:

A certain bishop, our brother, ordered that your translation be employed in the church he leads. People were surprised that you translated a passage in Jonah in a very different way than they were used to singing [in church] for generations. There was a riot, particularly since the Greeks claimed that the passage was wrong. . . . So you see the consequences of supporting your translation on manuscripts that cannot be verified by known languages [that is, Greek or Latin, rather than Hebrew].

Jerome appeared to be an extremely insensitive person whose only concern was his own prestige. But in truth he was very different than he appeared, and his rigid facade hid a sensitive spirit. No one knew this as well as did Paula and Eustochium. But Paula died in 404, and Jerome felt alone and desolate. His grief was all the greater, for he was convinced that it was not only his end that approached, but that of an era. A few years later, on August 24, 410, Rome was taken and sacked by the Goths under Alaric’s command. The news shook the world. Jerome heard of it in Bethlehem, and wrote to Eustochium:

Who could have believed that Rome, built by the conquest of the world, would fall? That the mother of many nations has turned to her grave? . . . My eyes are dim by my advanced age . . . and with the light that I have at night I can no longer read Hebrew books, which are difficult even during the day for the smallness of their letters.

Jerome survived for almost ten more years. They were years of loneliness, pain, and controversy. Finally, a few months after the death of Eustochium, who had become as a daughter to him, the tired scholar went to his rest.