When Hadrian (he of “Hadrian’s Wall” fame) was Emperor of Rome (roughly 117 to 138), he engaged in major building projects in addition to that Wall in present-day Great Britain that was designed to guard the northernmost boundary of the Empire from Britons and Picts and whomever else might want to descend from the North against the occupied Roman territories. Indeed, Hadrian commissioned statutes and temples to Jupiter, Venus, Adonis, and other gods and goddesses to be erected throughout the Empire, and tried to make of his religion a force for unification throughout the Empire.

One of Hadrian’s projects involved constructing a palace near present-day Tivoli, Italy. Butler writes, with proper Christian disgust: “Having finished the building he [Hadrian] intended to dedicate it by heathenish ceremonies, which he began by offering sacrifices, in order to induce the idols to deliver their oracles.” And, lo: these oracles responded! Here’s Butler’s account:

The demons answered [Hadrian’s request for oracular guidance]: “The widow Symphorosa and her seven sons daily torment us by invoking their God; if they sacrifice, we promise to be favourable to your vows.”

Thus the oracles (here, think of priests or priestesses who would go into divine trances and would be the mouthpieces for particular gods or goddesses) at Tivoli told Hadrian: Look, there’s this local family that is a problem for us–get them in line and it will go well for you, O Emperor.” Me, I generally believe in the maxim, “Follow the money,” and have no trouble believing that a prominent family that did not bring (or encourage other locals to bring) money or other offerings to the local place of worship could well threaten the lifestyle that the priests and priestesses wanted…especially if this family was well-regarded, and others began getting the idea that their lives could go on on just as well, too, without funneling their money, cattle, or other sacrifices into the outstretched hands of this new palace’s oracles!

Be as it may, Hadrian, “whose superstition was alarmed at this answer of his gods or their priests, ordered her [Symphorosa] and her sons to be seized, and brought before him.” Predictably, the story ends up with 8 more Christians dead–clubbed, drowned, stabbed, gutted…all 8 were killed in different, horrific ways, and each stayed true to her or his faith until the end.

What strikes me in particular about this story of the slaying of Christians who refused to financially support their local shrines (so like many others found in the pages of Butler) is not so much the fact that Hadrian’s oracles spoke to him (it being their job and all), but what Symphorosa is reported as saying to Hadrian when she was dragged before him. After declining his promises and refusing his proddings, she was, not at all surprisingly, threatened by Hadrian with miserable deaths for her and for her sons. To Hadrian, Symphorosa responded:

“Do not imagine that fear will make me change.”

This reply alone made it worth the investment of time I spent reading these pages in Butler’s 7th (i.e. “July”) volume of The Lives of the Fathers, Martyrs, and Other Principal Saints: Compiled from Original Monuments and Other Authentic Records; Illustrated with the Remarks of Judicious Modern Critics and Historians.

“Do not imagine that fear will make me change.”

I know myself how, on a gradual and almost daily basis, fear has eroded my own me-ness. I know how fear has made me change–fear of being targeted or bullied, fear of being isolated, fear of losing health insurance, fear of ridicule, fear of ineffectiveness, fear of irrelevance, fear of cruelty. Funny, I feel (but who knows?) that I might well be able to stand up to someone threatening to kill me–at least I would know that there was to be an end point. But so may times in my life, the fear of someone (a boss, a classmate, an ex, a parent, a co-worker, a parishioner, an administrator, a health insurance company) determined to make each day progressively more difficult for me has led me to change, to pull back from authenticity, to withdraw from the fullness of my being, to mistrust my created and intrinsic nature, inclinations, and self. Fear inevitably steals more from my soul than the cause of that fear ever could.

I seek the steadfastness of Symphorosa. Fear can usefully signal to us the message, “Something MUST change!”–fear tells us to fight or to flee. Too often, we don’t trust our inclinations, and instead settle into a paralysis, hoping that whatever or whoever is creating the fear will abate, will pass over us, will become bearable, will select a different target, will be voted out, will die. All the while, when we don’t follow our own deep knowing that fear, if allowed, can show us, we end up being changed–not in the sense of being transformed, but in the sense of being eroded or gnarled or defeated.

And so I heartily recommend Symphorosa’s words as a mantra in the face of that which we (I) fear:

“Do not imagine that fear will make me change.”

So be it!