She describes how she experienced the work of the Spirit as it directed her thoughts, moved her tongue, and inspired her dreams with visions. The passage is worth quoting in full:
A few days after, while we were all praying, suddenly in the midst of the prayer I uttered a word and named Dinocrates [Perpetua’s younger brother, now deceased]; and I was amazed because he had never come into my mind save then; and I sorrowed, remembering his fate. And straightway I knew that I was worthy, and that I ought to ask for him. And I began to pray for him long, and to groan unto the Lord. Immediately the same night, this was shown me.
I beheld Dinocrates coming forth from a dark place, where were many others also; being both hot and thirsty, his raiment foul, his color pale; and the wound on his face which he had when he died. This Dinocrates had been my brother in the flesh, seven years old, who being diseased with ulcers of the face had come to a horrible death, so that his death was abominated of all men. For him therefore I had made my prayer; and between him and me was a great gulf, so that either might not go to the other. There was moreover, in the same place where Dinocrates was, a font full of water, having its edge higher than was the boy’s stature; and Dinocrates stretched up as though to drink. I was sorry that the font had water in it, and yet for the height of the edge he might not drink.
And I awoke, and I knew that my brother was in travail. Yet I was confident I should ease his travail; and I prayed for him every day till we passed over into the camp prison. (For it was in the camp games that we were to fight; and the time was the feast of the Emperor Geta’s birthday.) And I prayed for him day and night with groans and tears, that he might be given me.
On the day when we abode in the stocks, this was shown me.
I saw that place which I had before seen, and Dinocrates clean of body, finely clothed, in comfort; and the font I had seen before, the edge of it being drawn to the boy’s navel; and he drew water thence which flowed without ceasing. And on the edge was a golden cup full of water; and Dinocrates came up and began to drink therefrom; which cup failed not. And being satisfied he departed away from the water and began to play as children will, joyfully.
And I awoke. Then I understood that he was translated from his pains.120
Perpetua’s anticipated martyrdom enabled her to work a vicarious baptism for her brother, who had been raised, like herself, in a pagan household and had died at too young an age to seek Christian baptism for him-self. Her visions are permeated with baptismal imagery: the fountain of water is evocative of the baptismal fountain, and Dinocrates’ transformation from the ragged appearance of severe illness to a picture of health and purity is reminiscent of the white garments that neophytes wear after their baptism and alludes to the notion of baptism as a ritual of healing and restoration. Perpetua’s confidence in her own ability to bring on this transformation through her prayers, only barely mitigated by her insistence that she was moved to do so by the Spirit, may seem exaggerated to the modern reader. But it was not an isolated phenomenon.
Several decades later, during the persecution that the emperor Decius (249–251) unleashed with his empire-wide order to perform sacrifices, the martyrs in Carthage were yet more specific in the purpose of their intercession. They prayed for those in the community who had committed sins, and especially for those who had, under pressure from the Roman authorities, taken part in pagan sacrifice. More than that, they issued written confirmation of their prayers in the form of libelli pacis. Apostasy from Christianity was considered one of the capital sins—a perpetration so monstrous, as most ecclesiastical authorities at the time agreed, that no penance could ever be sufficient to expiate it. Baptism removed all pre-baptismal sins, and after baptism a graduated system of penance existed for the atonement of lighter offenses, but the ecclesiastical mediation of divine forgiveness was powerless when it came to the capital sins of apostasy, murder, and adultery. The perpetrators of capital sins could only hope for God’s mercy on the Day of Judgment, and perhaps for reconciliation with the church on their deathbed. The willingness of the Carthaginian martyrs to pray for those who had lapsed was a stunning demonstration of confidence in their powers of intercession, both on the side of the imprisoned martyrs and on the side of those who sought their assistance. It was a bold declaration of spiritual authority, born out of the need of a Christian community to make a new beginning after it had been traumatized by the order to sacrifice and humiliated by the compliance of some of its members.
The consequences of Perpetua’s prayers for her dead brother were known only to herself. But the lapsed Christians of Carthage were very much alive, and those who had been assured of the intercession of the martyrs expected to be reintegrated into the congregation. The value of the prayer of those who were on the threshold of martyrdom was accepted by all. But the belief of some that the prayers of Carthaginian martyrs could effect a renewal of the baptismal purification from sin and blot out even the gravest sin of apostasy placed Bishop Cyprian (248/249–258) in an awkward position, between the need to uphold his penitential authority as a bishop and his desire to recognize the prayers of the martyrs. At the core of the conflict was the question of who could claim possession of spiritual authority, in this instance hinged on the power of conciliatory prayer. Was it the future martyr, who was assured through his suffering for the sake of Christ of a special proximity to God? Or was it the bishop, who had in his ordination been placed in the succession of the first pneumatophoroi, the apostles, and whose pastoral responsibilities elevated him above the rest in practical terms?
The confessors of the Decian persecution in Alexandria engaged in similar acts of compassion toward the lapsed, causing Bishop Dionysius no small amount of consternation, which he shared in a letter to Bishop Fabius of Antioch, preserved by Eusebius:
Thus even the divine martyrs among us, who now sit by Christ’s side as partners in His kingdom, share His authority, and are His fellow-judges, opened their arms to their fallen brethren who faced the charge of sacrificing. Seeing their conversion and repentance, they were sure that it would be acceptable to Him who does not in the least desire the death of a sinner, but rather his repentance; so they received them, admitted them to the congregation as “bystanders,” and allowed them to take part in services and feasts. What then, brothers, is your advice to us in this matter? What must we do? Shall we take our stand in full agreement with them, uphold their merciful decision, and deal gently with those they pitied? Or shall we condemn their decision as improper, and set ourselves up as judges of their attitude, wound their gentleness, and turn their practice upside down?121
We don’t know how Dionysius of Alexandria solved this dilemma, but we are well informed about Cyprian’s response. Cyprian had come to the episcopal throne of Carthage without much prior experience in the church, let alone the clergy. Converted as an adult, he chose a life of celibacy, disposed of most of his estate, and then, in short succession, was made presbyter and bishop in 248/249. His appointment was welcomed by the Christian congregation, which valued his prior training as a rhetorician and his network of connections. But as a newcomer to the clergy, he was met with less enthusiasm by a number of priests. Within a year or two after his election, the Decian persecution broke out. Cyprian himself went into hiding, convinced that he would serve his flock better by counseling them through his letters than by attracting the attention of the persecutors. His thought on the libelli developed over the course of the persecution, in response not only to the letters of the confessors in prison, but also with a view to preserving peace and unity within his church,122 for during Cyprian’s absence, some priests had honored the martyrs’ libelli and readmitted penitent apostates to the eucharist. Their decision could not easily be revoked.
Cyprian’s solution was to defuse the conflict by redefining the contested ground. The martyrs, he affirmed, had intercessory power with God with regard to admission to the kingdom in heaven. The bishop’s prayer could do the same, but, in addition, the bishop was responsible for the welfare of the kingdom of heaven as it exists, however imperfectly and insufficiently, in the here and now in the church. While the martyrs could issue recommendations, it was only the bishop’s prerogative to readmit sinners into the community. In essence,
