Plague, Persecution, and the Strength of the Early Church: From Decius to Valerian

November 23, 2025 / Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

In AD 249, the Roman emperor Decius looked across an empire in decline and believed he saw the cause clearly. Rome had forgotten the gods. Old discipline had collapsed. Armies rebelled, frontiers failed, provinces grew restless, and a strange new disease was beginning to appear in major cities. His solution was drastic: force every inhabitant of the empire to offer sacrifice to the ancestral gods, renewing the divine favor that had once made Rome strong.

Aurelius Victor, a pagan Roman historian writing around AD 360, explains Decius’s reasoning:

“Decius wished to restore the old discipline, for he thought the state had been corrupted by the neglect of ancestral customs.”
(De Caesaribus 29)

Zosimus, a pagan historian hostile to Christianity writing around AD 500, reports the same motive:

“Decius strove to restore the ancient religion.”
(New History 1.23)

Cyprian of Carthage, a Christian bishop writing in the AD 250s, saw the truth directly:

“Decius wished to compel every man to sacrifice.”
(Letter 55)

Decius believed enforced religious unity would stabilize Rome. Instead, the empire fell into one of the worst crises in its history.

Rome’s Crisis Deepened and the Plague Swept the Empire

Within two years of Decius’s edict:

he died in battle against the Goths (AD 251),
military rebellions multiplied,
pretenders seized the throne,
frontier defenses collapsed,
and the plague exploded.

Eutropius, a pagan Roman imperial official writing around AD 369, summarizes these years in a single devastating sentence:

“The state was wasted by pestilence, devastated by enemies, and its strength exhausted.”
(Breviarium 9.5)

Aurelius Victor, writing as a secular historian around AD 360, echoes it:

“The State was collapsing under its misfortunes.”
(De Caesaribus 30)

The most severe blow was not military—it was biological.

The Plague of Cyprian (AD 249–262): One of the Deadliest Pandemics of Antiquity

The epidemic we now call the Plague of Cyprian lasted roughly thirteen years (AD 249–262). Evidence suggests it reached nearly every major region of the Roman Empire:

North Africa (Cyprian’s home)
Egypt (Dionysius’s letters)
Rome and Italy
Asia Minor (Firmilian of Caesarea)
Syria, Judea, and Palestine
Greece
Gaul
The Danube provinces
Possibly Britain

Firmilian of Cappadocia, a Christian bishop writing around AD 256, states plainly:

“The pestilence is raging everywhere, and the whole world is devastated.”
(Epistle 74 to Cyprian)

Historians estimate:

Urban mortality: 20–30%
Some cities: up to 50%
Total empire-wide deaths: 5–10 million

No Roman epidemic produced more detailed Christian eyewitness testimony.

Cyprian’s Full Plague Description (On Mortality 14)

Cyprian of Carthage, a Christian bishop writing in the mid-250s, recorded the most vivid medical description of the plague. Here is the complete account:

“This trial, that is now common to all, puts us on equal terms. Whatever is the character of the plague which now ravages the human race, it attacks all without distinction. It lays waste the people equally as it perpetually rages among them; and though it may injure many, still it should improve the discipline of all.

This death, in its devastations, as it attacks the righteous and the unrighteous, does not spare the brave or the peaceful; the man of learning and the unlearned; the strong and the weak.

This trial, that now the bowels loosen into a constant flux; that a fire originated in the marrow boils up in the throat; that the intestines are shaken with continual vomiting; that the eyes are on fire with the injected blood; that in some cases the feet or some parts of the limbs are taken off by the contagion of diseased and corrupted putrefaction; and that from the weakness caused by the failing and loss of the body, either the gait is enfeebled, or the hearing obstructed, or the sight darkened—this devastates countless bodies, and destroys whole families and households…

But nevertheless it profits, in that it searches out the righteousness of each one and examines the minds of the human race: whether one who is in health cares for the sick; whether a relation affectionately loves his kindred; whether masters have compassion on their languishing servants; whether physicians do not desert the afflicted; whether the fierce restrain their violence; whether the rapacious can quench the ever insatiable fire of their furious desires; whether the haughty bend their necks; whether the wicked soften their daring; whether, when their dear ones perish, the rich, even then, give anything.”
(On Mortality 14)

Christian Bravery During the Plague

Dionysius of Alexandria, a Christian bishop writing c. AD 260, preserved by Eusebius:

“Most of our brethren, in their exceeding love and affection for the brotherhood, did not spare themselves. They visited the sick fearlessly, ministered to them continually, tended to them in Christ, and died with them most joyfully.”
(Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 7.22.7–8)

He adds:

“The heathen thrust aside those who began to be sick and fled from their dearest. They cast the dying into the roads before they were dead.”
(Eusebius, HE 7.22.10)

Christians stayed.
They carried the sick.
They buried the dead.
And they died doing it.

Cyprian’s Theology of Charity During Crisis

Cyprian’s On Works and Alms (c. AD 252–254) shows how Christians understood charity in plague and persecution.

“What a great and honorable thing it is, beloved brethren, to wash away the stains of sin by the works of mercy! What a glorious thing to convert earthly possessions into heavenly treasures!”
(On Works and Alms 2)

“Christ taught that He was hungry in His poor… Whatever is given to these is given to Christ.”
(On Works and Alms 6–7)

“Let no one be hindered from doing good by the fear of death. He cannot fear to die who is already dying to the world.”
(On Works and Alms 20–21)

“Even the widow’s two mites were accepted… He who gives to the poor makes God his debtor.”
(On Works and Alms 18)

“Almsgiving prepares us for the crown. He who shows mercy learns to suffer.”
(On Works and Alms 34)

This ethic shaped Christian identity more deeply than any imperial decree.

Gallus and Aemilian: Crisis Without Coherence

Trebonianus Gallus (AD 251–253) inherited an empire collapsing under plague and war.

Aurelius Victor, a pagan historian around AD 360, writes:

“Gallus possessed neither the authority nor the industry necessary for ruling a state collapsing under its misfortunes.”
(De Caesaribus 30)

Eutropius, a pagan imperial official writing c. AD 369, says:

“Pestilence and war wasted every part of the state.”
(Breviarium 9.5)

Cyprian of Carthage, a Christian bishop writing in the mid-250s, provides direct testimony:

“Gallus, at once hostile and timid, succeeded the empire. He drove Cornelius, the bishop, into exile, and pursued the pastors of the Church with wicked fury.”
(Epistle 55.9)

Aemilian (AD 253) ruled only months.
Zosimus, the pagan historian hostile to Christianity, says:

“Aemilian ruled so briefly that nothing worth remembering could be accomplished.”
(New History 1.24)

Valerian: A Brief Peace and Then a Sharp Persecution

Valerian (AD 253–260) began with unusual favor toward Christians.

Dionysius of Alexandria, writing c. AD 260, recalls:

“In the early days of Valerian, there was not even a whisper of hatred against us. Men of God were in his household.”
(Eusebius, HE 7.10.3–4)

But everything changed dramatically under the influence of Macrianus, his powerful financial officer.

Macrianus: The Architect of Valerian’s Shift

Macrianus was a pagan imperial financial officer—the Rationalis, responsible for taxation, troop pay, and imperial expenditures. With Rome’s finances collapsing under plague, invasion, and mutiny, he wielded enormous bureaucratic power and shaped the emperor’s thinking. Christian writers remembered him as deeply hostile toward Christians, viewing them as destabilizing because they refused state sacrifices.

Lactantius, a Christian historian writing c. AD 310–320, explains Valerian’s reversal:

“He was corrupted by Macrianus, who was long hostile to the Christian name.”
(De Mortibus Persecutorum 5)

Valerian’s First Edict (AD 257)

Lactantius, a Christian historian writing c. AD 310–320, preserves the full legal summary:

“He sent a rescript that bishops, presbyters, and deacons should be punished immediately.

Senators and men of importance who practiced Christianity were to lose their dignities, and if they persisted, be deprived of their property.

Matrons were to be deprived of their goods and banished.

And all members of the imperial household who confessed Christ were to be sent in chains.”
(De Mortibus Persecutorum 5)

Dionysius of Alexandria, Christian bishop writing c. AD 260, adds a key detail:

“It was not permitted for us to assemble, not even in the cemeteries.”
(Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 7.11.10)

Banning Christian burial gatherings was a direct attack on the most basic expression of the Christian community.

Valerian’s Second Edict (AD 258)

Valerian’s second edict escalated sharply.

Lactantius:

“He ordered that bishops, presbyters, and deacons be executed immediately.

Senators and men of rank who persisted in Christianity were to lose their property and, if they continued, be beheaded.

Matrons were to be deprived of their property and exiled.

And members of the imperial household who confessed Christ were to be sent in chains and assigned to work on the imperial estates.”
(De Mortibus 6)

This was the most targeted persecution since Nero, and the most systematically organized until Diocletian.

It ruthlessly attacked:

The clergy (execution)
The upper classes (confiscation, then execution)
Wealthy Christian women (exile)
Christian imperial slaves and staff (forced labor)

By striking at bishops and deacons first, Valerian tried to dismantle Christian leadership.
By attacking Christian senators and matrons, he tried to destroy Christian influence.
By enslaving Christian palace staff, he tried to cleanse the imperial household of the faith.

The Execution of Sixtus II and the Roman Deacons

Eusebius, Christian historian c. AD 310–325, writes:

“Sixtus was seized in the cemetery and put to death with four deacons.”
(Ecclesiastical History 7.14)

The Liber Pontificalis (drawing on much earlier Roman records) gives the names of the deacons:

Januarius
Magnus
Vincent
Stephen

Fourth-century bishop Ambrose of Milan, using earlier Roman tradition, expands this event:

“The prefect found Sixtus seated, preaching to the brethren, and said, ‘Are you the bishop?’
Sixtus replied, ‘I am.’
And he was led away to suffer with his deacons.”
(De Officiis 2.28)

Rome remembered that Sixtus and his deacons died during worship, defying Valerian’s ban on assembly in cemeteries, choosing obedience to God over obedience to Rome.

The Full Interrogation of Cyprian of Carthage

This is one of the best-documented martyrdom interrogations from the ancient world.

Eusebius, quoting the official Roman court transcript:

“When Cyprian had been brought before the tribunal, the proconsul said to him:

‘Are you Thascius Cyprian?’

Cyprian replied: ‘I am.’

The proconsul Galerius Maximus said: ‘The most sacred emperors have commanded you to sacrifice.’

Cyprian said: ‘I will not sacrifice.’

Galerius Maximus said: ‘Consider your position.’

Cyprian replied: ‘Do what you are commanded. In so just a cause there is no need of deliberation.’

After conferring with his council, Galerius Maximus reluctantly pronounced the sentence:

‘You have long lived sacrilegiously and have attracted many by your wickedness.
You have shown yourself an enemy to the gods and the laws of Rome.

The sacred emperors have commanded that those who do not sacrifice shall be executed with the sword.

Therefore Thascius Cyprian, you are to be executed with the sword.’

Cyprian responded: ‘Thanks be to God.’”
(Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 7.11*)

This transcript is extraordinary:
It shows a bishop speaking directly, calmly, and fearlessly to the Roman state.

Eyewitness Account of Cyprian’s Final Moments (Pontius the Deacon)

Pontius of Carthage, Cyprian’s deacon and an eyewitness writing in the AD 260s, describes what happened next:

“When he came to the place appointed for execution, Cyprian prayed on his knees.

He took off his cloak and folded it carefully before kneeling upon it.

He removed his dalmatic and handed it to the deacons, remaining in his linen tunic.

Then he bound his own eyes with his handkerchief.

The faithful spread cloths and napkins before him to catch his blood.

Cyprian himself commanded the executioner to do his duty, and the executioner struck the blow.”
(Pontius, Life of Cyprian 19–20)

Pontius adds one more vivid detail:

“There was a great cry from the brethren, many saying: ‘Let us be slain with him!’
But Cyprian had already received the crown.”
(Life of Cyprian 20)

Additional 3rd-Century Witnesses to Cyprian’s Martyrdom

Early Carthaginian martyr traditions remember:

“He knelt upon the earth and clasped his hands in prayer.
The soldiers marveled at his calmness.”
(Acts of Cyprian, fragment)

And:

“He offered himself willingly, and the people wept as for a father.”
(Acts of Cyprian, fragment)

These traditions formed part of the earliest Christian liturgical memory in North Africa.

Valerian’s Catastrophic End

In AD 260, Valerian marched east to confront the rising Persian king Shapur I.
He was defeated, captured alive, and humiliated—an unprecedented disaster.

Shapur I, Zoroastrian Persian king writing c. AD 260, proudly carved:

“We captured Valerian, the emperor of the Romans, with our own hands.”
(Res Gestae Divi Saporis)

Roman historians—pagan and Christian—agreed that nothing like this had ever happened in Rome’s history.

For Christians, it confirmed the justice of God.
For pagans, it proved the empire was in unprecedented crisis.

Valerian’s son, Gallienus, now ruled alone.

The First Pro-Christian Law in Roman History

Gallienus immediately reversed his father’s policies.
He issued a rescript restoring Christian property and protecting their right to assemble.

Eusebius, Christian historian c. AD 310–325, preserves the text:

“The places which were seized are to be restored to you,
and the governors shall desist from molesting you.”
(Ecclesiastical History 7.13)

This was the first legal recognition of Christianity by a Roman emperor.

It inaugurated what historians call the Little Peace of the Church (AD 260–303)—a 40-year span of relative safety before the Great Persecution under Diocletian.

Why Gallienus Did This

Gallienus reversed the persecution because the empire needed stability, not conflict.
After Valerian’s capture, the Roman world was breaking apart:

provinces were rebelling,
armies were mutinying,
and the plague still ravaged cities.

Christians were:

organized,
peaceful,
widespread,
and exceptionally charitable.

Restoring their property strengthened urban life at zero cost to the state.

Another major reason was the downfall of Macrianus, the architect of the persecution.
Macrianus was the empire’s powerful financial officer. After Valerian’s capture, he betrayed the imperial family by attempting to put his own sons on the throne. His rebellion failed, discrediting both his faction and his policies.

Continuing a persecution designed by a traitor would have undermined Gallienus’s legitimacy.
Ending it unified support behind his rule.

Gallienus’s toleration was not theological. It was practical statecraft in the middle of collapse.

Why Christianity Grew Stronger While Rome Collapsed

From Decius to Valerian, Rome tried to save itself through:

fear,
coercion,
forced sacrifice,
and violence.

Christians grew through:

sacrificial charity,
unity across classes,
courage in martyrdom,
doctrinal clarity,
care for the sick,
and unshakable resurrection hope.

Where Rome fled the plague, Christians carried the dying.
Where Rome cast out its sick, Christians welcomed them.
Where Rome fractured, Christians unified.
Where Rome enforced loyalty through fear, Christians won loyalty through love.

This is why Christianity endured Rome’s darkest decades—not through power, but through faithful love in the face of death, a way of life no emperor could crush.

The Decian Persecution: When Rome Tested Every Soul

October 27, 2025 / Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

When Emperor Gaius Messius Quintus Decius came to power in AD 249, the Roman Empire was unraveling.
The northern frontiers were collapsing under Gothic pressure.
Civil wars and mutinies had stripped away the sense of divine favor that had long sustained Roman identity.
The economy, ravaged by inflation and plague, staggered beneath decades of crisis.
Decius—an old-fashioned senator from Pannonia—believed that the solution was not merely political or military but spiritual.

He declared that Rome’s troubles stemmed from the neglect of its ancestral gods.
To save the empire, he would restore the ancient religion, the sacrificia publica that had once bound the provinces to the gods of Rome.
He dreamed of a unified empire where all citizens once again poured libations to Jupiter, Juno, and Mars—just as Augustus had revived the temples three centuries earlier.

To Decius, it was not persecution but piety.
To Christians, it was the empire’s first universal test of faith.

1. Rome’s Imperial Revival of Piety

Later Roman historians remembered Decius as a reformer, not a persecutor.
Aurelius Victor recorded:

“Decius wished to restore the ancient discipline and the ceremonies of the Romans, which for a long time had fallen into neglect.”
(De Caesaribus 29.1, c. AD 360)

The Chronographer of 354, a Roman calendar and imperial chronicle compiled under Constantius II from earlier state records, likewise notes:

“Under Decius, sacrifices were ordered throughout the provinces, that all might offer to the gods.”
(Chronographus Anni CCCLIIII, Part XII ‘Liber Generationis’, AD 354)

Decian coinage confirms this campaign of religious restoration. Thousands of coins survive showing the emperor pouring a libation at an altar, with legends such as PIETAS AVGG (“The Piety of the Emperors”) and GENIVS SENATVS.

The latter inscription—GENIVS SENATVS—invoked the “Genius of the Senate,” the divine spirit believed to guard and embody the Roman Senate itself.
Every household, legion, and civic body in Rome was thought to possess its own genius, a protective deity who received offerings of wine and incense.
By reviving the Genius Senatus cult, Decius was sacralizing the institutions of Rome themselves—binding political loyalty and divine worship into one act.
These coins, struck in Rome, Antioch, and Viminacium, visually proclaimed that the restoration of the gods meant the restoration of the state.

Side	Inscription (Latin)	Expanded Form	Translation (English)	Description / Symbolism
Obverse (Front)	`IMP C M Q TRA DECIVS AVG`	Imperator Caesar Marcus Quintus Traianus Decius Augustus	“Emperor Caesar Marcus Quintus Trajan Decius Augustus”	Laureate, draped, and cuirassed bust of Decius facing right. The adoption of the name Trajan links him with Rome’s most admired emperor, emphasizing his mission to restore Roman discipline and piety.
Reverse (Back)	`VICTORIA AVG`	Victoria Augusti	“Victory of the Emperor”	Depicts Victory (Nike) standing left, presenting a wreath to the Emperor Decius, who stands facing her, holding a spear. The wreath symbolizes triumph and divine approval. The scene celebrates Decius’s military success and divine sanction for his rule.

Every coin and inscription declared that the gods were returning—and every Christian knew what that would soon mean.

2. The Edict and the Libelli Certificates

In January AD 250, Decius issued an edict commanding all inhabitants of the empire to perform public sacrifice before local officials and obtain written proof of obedience.
Those who refused faced imprisonment or death.

Dozens of papyri discovered in Egypt record the edict’s enforcement. The best-known, now in the Oxford Bodleian Library, reads:

“To the commissioners of sacrifices of the village of Alexander’s Island, from Aurelia Ammonous, daughter of Mystus, aged forty years, scar on right eyebrow. I have always sacrificed to the gods, and now in your presence, in accordance with the edict, I have sacrificed and poured a libation and tasted the offerings. I request you to certify this below. Farewell.”
(Papyrus Oxyrhynchus 2601, AD 250)

Other libelli from Fayum and Theadelphia bear identical phrasing—kata to prostagma (“according to the edict”)—and carry the red-ink seals of village commissioners.
These fragile papyri, recovered by archaeologists in the 1890s, are the only surviving documents produced in direct obedience to Decius’s decree.

They prove that the policy was systematic and bureaucratic—Rome’s paper war against conscience.

“To those who have been selected to oversee the sacrifices, from Aurelius Sarapammon, servant of Appianus, former exegetes of the most-illustrious city of the Alexandrians, and however he is styled, residing in the village of Theadelphia. Always sacrificing to the gods, now too, in your presence, in accordance with the orders, I sacrificed and poured the libations and tasted the offerings, and I ask that you sign below. Farewell. (2nd hand) We, the Aurelii Serenus and Hermas, saw you sacrificing (?) …”

“To the commissioners of sacrifices of the village of Theadelphia:
From Aurelius Syrus, the son of Theodorus, of the village of Theadelphia. I have always sacrificed to the gods, and now, in your presence, I have poured libations, sacrificed, and tasted the sacred offerings, according to the edict. I ask you to certify this for me. Farewell.

We, Aurelius Serenus and Aurelius Hermas, have seen you sacrificing.

Year 1 of the Emperor Decius (AD 250).”

3. The Policy in Motion: Fear and Defiance

Governors such as Sabinus in Egypt and Urbanus in Palestine carried out the edict with zeal.
Eusebius of Caesarea later wrote:

“Decius, who became emperor after Philip, was the first to raise a universal persecution against the Church throughout the inhabited world. There was great persecution against us; the governor Urbanus displayed great zeal in carrying out the imperial commands. Some of the faithful were dragged to the temples and forced to offer sacrifice by tortures.”
(Ecclesiastical History 6.39.1; 6.41.10–12, c. AD 310–325)

Even pagan dedications record the campaign: a marble inscription from Thasos honors local magistrates “for restoring the sacrifices that had fallen into neglect.”
For Decius these were civic triumphs; for Christians, they were death warrants.

4. Voices from the Fire: Martyrdom Across the Empire

Alexandria – Apollonia and the First Flames (AD 249–250)

Bishop Dionysius of Alexandria, an eyewitness, reported:

“The old virgin Apollonia was seized, her teeth broken out, and fire prepared. They threatened to burn her alive if she refused to repeat impious words. She leapt of her own accord into the fire and was consumed.”
(Letter to Fabius of Antioch, in Eusebius 6.41.7–8)

“All Egypt was filled with the noise of those who called upon Christ even in the midst of their tortures.”
(ibid. 6.41.13)

Archaeology corroborates his words: Egyptian sites at Bacchias and Oxyrhynchus reveal temples hastily refurbished and new altars installed in strata dated precisely to AD 250—evidence of an empire suddenly compelled to sacrifice.

Smyrna – Pionius and Companions (AD 250)

The Martyrdom of Pionius preserves an authentic courtroom record:

“On the day of the feast of Saint Polycarp, while we were fasting, the chief of police came suddenly upon us with men bearing chains and bade us sacrifice to the gods. And Pionius said, ‘We are Christians; it is not lawful for us to sacrifice to idols.’”
(Martyrdom of Pionius 2–3)

“They hung him by his wrists, fixing his feet in the stocks. He said, ‘You mistake my torment for your victory; yet it is my freedom, for I rejoice to suffer for the name of Christ.’”
(ibid. 20)

“He breathed out his spirit, and a sweet odor, as of incense, filled the air.”
(ibid. 21)

In Smyrna’s agora, archaeologists have identified a mid-third-century inscription honoring the local strategos who “maintained the sacrifices.” It almost certainly relates to this same enforcement.

Rome – Fabian, Bishop and Martyr (January AD 250)

“Fabian, the bishop of the city of Rome, suffered martyrdom under Decius.”
(Eusebius 6.39.5)

The Depositio Martyrum adds:

“On the twentieth day of January, Fabian, bishop, in the Catacombs.”

His epitaph—FABIAN EPISCOPVS MARTYR—was found in the Catacomb of Callistus.
Soot stains from vigil lamps still darken the marble, showing that Christians visited the site immediately after his death to honor their bishop.

Antioch – Babylas, The Bishop in Chains (AD 250)

“At Antioch, Babylas, bishop of the church there, after glorious bonds and confession, fell asleep in prison.”
(Eusebius 6.39.4)

Archaeological excavations north of Antioch have uncovered the Basilica of Babylas, built atop a repurposed Roman cemetery. Beneath its altar lay a third-century sarcophagus scratched with crosses—widely accepted as the resting place of the Decian bishop who died in chains.

Carthage – Mappalicus and the Imprisoned Confessors (AD 250)

Cyprian wrote from exile:

“Blessed Mappalicus, glorious in his fight, gave witness before the proconsul that he would soon see his Judge in heaven. And when the day came, he was crowned with martyrdom, together with those who stood firm with him.”
(Epistle 37.3)

“The prison has become a church; their bonds are ornaments, their wounds are crowns.”
(Epistle 10.2)

Archaeologists excavating beneath the later Cyprianic Basilica in Carthage found reused Roman blocks incised in red with the names MAPPALICUS VICTOR and FELIX CONFESSOR, strong evidence of a local memorial tradition dating directly to Decius’s time.

Macedonia – Maximus and Companions (AD 250–251)

“In Macedonia, the blessed Maximus and many others gave proof of their faith, being scourged and stoned and finally beheaded.”
(Eusebius 6.43.4–5)

Provincial coinage from Thessalonica of AD 250–251 depicts the goddess Roma receiving sacrifice—a local mirror of the imperial policy that cost these believers their lives.

Sicily – Agatha of Catania (AD 250)

“Quintianus commanded that her breasts be torn with iron hooks, but she said, ‘These torments are my delight, for I have Christ in my heart.’”
(Passio Agathae 6, 3rd-century nucleus)

In Catania’s cathedral crypt, a mid-third-century inscription reading AGATHAE SANCTAE MARTYRI was found in situ, demonstrating that her cult was already established within a generation of her death.

5. The Problem of the Lapsed

Many believers succumbed to fear and sacrificed or bought forged libelli. The Church now had to decide: could such people be restored?

Cyprian’s Pastoral Balance

“Neither do we prejudice God’s mercy, who has promised pardon to the penitent, nor yet do we relax the discipline of the Gospel, which commands confession even unto death.”
(Epistle 55.21, AD 251)

“Let everyone who has been wounded by the devil’s darts, and has fallen in battle, not despair. Let him take up arms again and fight bravely, since he still has a Father and Lord to whom he may return.”
(On the Lapsed 36, AD 251)

Novatian’s Rigorism and Schism

“He who has once denied Christ can never again confess Him; he has denied Him once for all.”
(De Trinitate 29, mid-3rd century)

Bishop Cornelius countered:

“Novatian has separated himself from the Church for which Christ suffered. He says the Church can forgive no sin; yet he himself sins more grievously by dividing the brethren.”
(Eusebius 6.43.10–11)

Fragments of Cornelius’s own epitaph—CORNELIVS EPISCOPVS MARTYR—found near the Callistus catacombs show how quickly the debate over mercy was itself hallowed in stone beside the graves of Decian victims.

Dionysius of Alexandria’s Moderation

“Some of the confessors, being too tender-hearted, desired to welcome all indiscriminately, but we persuaded them to discern, that mercy is good when it is tempered with justice.”
(Eusebius 6.42.4–5)

“Each church dealt with the fallen as it judged best, some treating them harshly, others gently. In this diversity of discipline, yet unity of faith, the Lord was glorified.”
(ibid. 6.42.6*)

6. Pagan Reflection and Christian Memory

Lactantius explained the emperor’s motives:

“Decius, being a man of old-fashioned rigor, desired to restore the ancient religion; and therefore he decreed that sacrifices should be offered to the gods by all. He did evil while intending good.”
(Divine Institutes 5.11, c. AD 310)

Eusebius reflected:

“Those who endured were tried as by fire and found faithful; others, weak through fear, failed the test, yet afterward were restored through tears and repentance.”
(Ecclesiastical History 6.42.2)

Roman catacomb graffiti from this very decade—FELIX MARTYR IN PACE and VICTOR IN CHRISTO—show that Christians carved into the walls the same theology Eusebius would later write: faith tested by fire, rewarded with peace.

7. The End and the Legacy

In AD 251, Decius and his son Herennius Etruscus fell in battle against the Goths near Abrittus. The edict died with them.
But its memory lived on in papyrus and stone—libelli in the desert, epitaphs beneath Rome, and basilicas raised over tombs from Antioch to Carthage.

The Decian persecution produced the earliest empire-wide martyrology, the first letters written from prison, and a theology forged in fire.
It made public what Rome could never suppress:

“We must obey God rather than men.” — Acts 5:29

The empire had demanded a certificate; the Church answered with a confession.

Slaves as Deacons, Christians on Trial: The World of Pliny and Trajan

August 24, 2025 / Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

Christians had already been singled out under Nero in AD 64, when they were executed as scapegoats for the great fire of Rome. Tacitus explained that this was possible because the movement was already “a pernicious superstition” spreading from Judea to Rome itself.

Under Trajan we find something new: the earliest preserved imperial correspondence about Christians. Around AD 111–113, Pliny the Younger wrote to the emperor, uncertain how to judge these people who seemed to be everywhere in his province. His letter, and Trajan’s reply, provide the first official window into how Rome defined the Christian movement: not for crimes committed, but for stubborn loyalty to Christ.

Pliny’s First Provincial Post

Pliny the Younger had served in Rome as a lawyer, senator, and consul, but in AD 111 Trajan appointed him governor of Bithynia-Pontus in Asia Minor. This was his first post outside Rome, and very early in his service he encountered Christians.

Bithynia-Pontus was no small territory. It stretched across the Black Sea coast of northern Asia Minor, covering about 50,000–80,000 square kilometers — comparable to a modern U.S. state like South Carolina or a country like Ireland. Its population likely numbered one to three million people, scattered across major cities such as Nicomedia (the capital), Nicaea, Amisus, and Sinope, as well as countless villages and rural communities.

It was a wealthy and strategically important province, close to Rome’s troubled eastern frontier. Pliny had been sent there with special imperial authority to repair corruption in the local cities and restore order to provincial finances. He wrote dozens of letters to Trajan on everything from aqueduct projects to fire safety. Among them is this extraordinary letter — the earliest Roman testimony we possess about Christians.

Pliny’s Letter to Trajan (Letters 10.96, Loeb)

“It is my rule, Sir, to refer to you all matters concerning which I am in doubt. For who is better able either to direct my hesitation or to instruct my ignorance? I have never been present at any trials of Christians; therefore I do not know what is the customary subject-matter of investigations and punishments, or how far it is usual to go. Whether pardon is to be granted on repentance, or if a man has once been a Christian it does him no good to have ceased to be one; whether the mere name, apart from atrocious crimes associated with it, or only the crimes which adhere to the name, is to be punished—all this I am in great doubt about.

In the meantime, the course that I have adopted with respect to those who have been brought before me as Christians is as follows: I asked them whether they were Christians. If they admitted it, I repeated the question a second and a third time, with a warning of the punishment awaiting them. If they persisted, I ordered them to be led away for execution; for I could not doubt, whatever it was that they admitted, that stubbornness and unbending obstinacy ought to be punished. There were others similarly afflicted; but, as they were Roman citizens, I decided to send them to Rome.

In the case of those who denied that they were or had been Christians, when they invoked the gods in the words I dictated and offered prayer with incense and wine to your image, which I had ordered to be brought for this purpose together with statues of the gods, and furthermore cursed Christ—none of which things, I am told, those who are really Christians can be forced to do—I thought they ought to be discharged.

Others, who were named by an informer, first said that they were Christians and then denied it; true, they had been of that persuasion, but they had left it, some three years ago, some more, and a few as much as twenty years. All these also worshiped your image and the statues of the gods, and cursed Christ.

They maintained, however, that the sum and substance of their fault or error had been that on a fixed day they were accustomed to meet before daylight and to recite by turns a form of words to Christ as to a god, and that they bound themselves by an oath—not for any crime, but not to commit theft, robbery, or adultery, not to break their word, and not to refuse to return a deposit when called upon to restore it. After this it was their custom to separate, and then meet again to partake of food—but ordinary and harmless food. Even this they said they had ceased to do after the publication of my edict, by which, in accordance with your instructions, I had forbidden associations.

I thought it the more necessary, therefore, to find out what was true from two slaves, whom they call deaconesses, by means of torture. I discovered nothing else but depraved, excessive superstition.

I therefore postponed the investigation and hastened to consult you. The matter seems to me to justify consultation, especially on account of the number of those in danger; for many of every age, every rank, and also of both sexes are already and will be brought into danger. For the contagion of this superstition has spread not only through cities, but also through villages and the countryside; and yet it seems possible to check and cure it. It is certain at least that the temples, which had been almost deserted, have begun to be frequented, and the sacred rites, long suspended, are again being performed, and there is a general demand for the flesh of sacrificial victims, for up till now very few purchasers could be found. From this it may easily be supposed what a multitude of people can be reclaimed, if only room is granted for repentance.”

Trajan’s Reply (Letters 10.97, Loeb)

“You have followed the right course, my dear Secundus, in examining the cases of those who had been denounced to you as Christians; for it is impossible to lay down any general rule which will apply as a fixed standard. They are not to be sought out; if they are brought before you and convicted, they must be punished. With this proviso, however—that if anyone denies that he is a Christian and proves it by worshiping our gods, he is to obtain pardon through repentance, even if he has incurred suspicion in the past.

As for anonymous accusations, they must not be admitted in any proceedings. For that would establish a very bad precedent and is not in keeping with the spirit of our age.”

Commentary on the Exchange

Pliny’s confession, “I have never been present at any trials of Christians,” shows both his inexperience and the fact that trials were already happening elsewhere. Christianity was under continual pressure across the empire, and now the problem landed on his desk.

The chilling reality is revealed in his line about “the mere name ….” To bear the name Christian was itself a death sentence. No crimes were needed. Identity alone was enough.

The procedure Pliny used shows just how brutal this was. He explains, “I asked them whether they were Christians. If they admitted it … I repeated the question a second and a third time … If they persisted, I ordered them to be led away for execution.” Imagine the horror of answering three times, knowing each affirmation sealed your fate.

He explains why: “stubbornness and unbending obstinacy ought to be punished.” His uncle, Pliny the Elder, had written:

Pliny the Elder, Natural History 28.3 (Loeb):
“There is no doubt that obstinacy (pertinacia) in every case is a kind of mental disease; and it is certainly detestable.”

Romans believed stubborn refusal to yield was itself madness. For Christians, refusing to recant was not insanity but faith. For Rome, it was intolerable.

Pliny even notes that apostates could prove themselves by worshiping Trajan’s image, since “none of which things … those who are really Christians can be forced to do.” This shows the fame of Christian commitment: even outsiders knew real Christians would never deny Christ.

He describes their worship: “on a fixed day … to Christ as to a god … by an oath … not to commit theft, robbery, or adultery … and then partake of food—but ordinary and harmless food.” This is the earliest pagan testimony to Christian worship of Jesus as divine.

Pliny adds they ceased such gatherings “after the publication of my edict … I had forbidden associations.” Christianity was caught in Rome’s general ban on private clubs. The suspicion of associations is illustrated vividly in another letter. When the city of Nicomedia asked to form a small fire brigade to deal with frequent blazes, Pliny petitioned Trajan for permission:

Pliny to Trajan (10.33): “The city of Nicomedia has been visited by frequent fires, and its narrow streets and the lack of aqueducts make this danger greater. They beg you to permit them to establish a fire brigade of 150 men. I will see to it that none but firemen are admitted into it. But still, it will be easy to keep them under control.”

Trajan flatly refused:

Trajan’s Reply (10.34a): “You are doubtless aware that societies of this sort have greatly disturbed the peace of the provinces, and particularly of your province. Whatever name we give them, and for whatever purpose they may be formed, they will not fail to degenerate into political clubs. Therefore we must not sanction the existence of such a body. It will be sufficient if private individuals bring help, and slaves too, when a fire breaks out.”

If Trajan would not allow even a fire brigade for public safety, how much less would he permit Christians to form weekly gatherings for worship.

Pliny then reports that he tried to get more information “from two slaves, whom they call deaconesses, by means of torture.” The Latin ancillae makes clear these were slaves. Roman law allowed slaves to be tortured for testimony, while free citizens were usually protected from such treatment.

What is remarkable is not only that slaves were tortured — that was routine — but that these enslaved women held the office of deacon (ministrae), functioning as ministers and leaders in their Christian community. To Rome, they were property; to the church, they were shepherds of the flock.

The Didache, written only a decade or two earlier, had instructed Christians to “appoint for yourselves bishops and deacons worthy of the Lord” (Did. 15). Now Pliny, in a completely different province, confirms the same office. This is the earliest Roman testimony that Christians had recognized offices — and it reveals something astonishing: the church entrusted even slaves, even women, with the role of deacon.

This convergence is remarkable. The Didache exhorted churches to choose deacons for their character; Pliny identifies two women who bore that title. To their fellow believers, they were leaders in worship. To Roman law, they were vulnerable bodies fit for torture. This single line in Pliny’s letter accidentally reveals the radical social reversal inside the Christian movement.

It is important to remember, however, that this is only one governor’s correspondence. Pliny was just one official among some forty provincial governors who administered Rome’s empire under Trajan. Their letters on taxation, roads, temples, and law were constant. It is reasonable to assume that similar exchanges about Christians were being carried on elsewhere, even if those letters have been lost. Trajan’s consistent instructions suggest this was not a one-off ruling, but an imperial policy applied across the empire.

Pliny also reports the movement’s scale: “many of every age, every rank, and also of both sexes … the contagion of this superstition has spread not only through cities, but also through villages and the countryside.” For a province the size of Bithynia-Pontus — with millions of inhabitants across urban and rural settings — this meant Christianity was embedded in every layer of society. He calls it a “contagion” to be “checked and cured,” echoing Tacitus who wrote that Christianity had been “checked for the moment” in Judea, but then broke out again in Rome.

Finally, Pliny admits that “the temples, which had been almost deserted, have begun to be frequented … the sacred rites … again being performed.” Christianity had already drained pagan practice. Only persecution revived it.

Trajan’s reply solidified the pattern: Christians were “not to be sought out; if … convicted, they must be punished.” Apostasy and sacrifice to the gods could secure pardon. Anonymous accusations were disallowed, but the danger remained.

And since this correspondence occurred in AD 111–113, it reflects how Christians had been treated from the beginning of Trajan’s reign in 98. For nearly two decades, the policy had been consistent: tolerated in silence, condemned if confessed.

Christian Voices Under Trajan

Ignatius of Antioch (c. 110–117)

Ignatius, Romans 6 (Loeb):
“Permit me to be an imitator of the passion of my God. If anyone has him within himself, let him consider what I long for and let him sympathize with me, knowing the things which constrain me.”

Ignatius explicitly calls Jesus “my God” and embraces death as imitation of his Lord’s passion.

Ignatius, Ephesians 20 (Loeb):
“Come together in common, one and all without exception in grace, in one faith and in one Jesus Christ … breaking one bread, which is the medicine of immortality, the antidote that we should not die but live forever in Jesus Christ.”

Ignatius shows the same worship Pliny described — but where Pliny saw superstition, Ignatius saw immortality.

Polycarp of Smyrna, Letter to the Philippians (c. 110–115)

Polycarp, Philippians 2 (Loeb):
“Stand firm, therefore, in these things and follow the example of the Lord, being strong and unchangeable in the faith, loving the brotherhood, cherishing one another, joined together in the truth, forestalling one another in the gentleness of the Lord, despising no man.”

Here Polycarp echoes the oath Pliny heard — not to crime, but to virtue.

Polycarp, Philippians 2 (Loeb):
“If we please him in this present world, we shall also receive the world to come, as he has promised us that he will raise us from the dead, and that if we live worthily of him we shall also reign with him, if indeed we have faith.”

Moral living is bound to resurrection hope and the lordship of Christ.

The Didache (c. 100–110)

Didache 1.2 (Loeb):
“The way of life, then, is this: First, you shall love God who made you; second, your neighbor as yourself; and all things whatsoever you would not have done to you, do not do to another.”

This is the oath Pliny summarized — binding oneself to moral life.

Didache 10 (Loeb):
“We give you thanks, holy Father, for your holy name which you caused to tabernacle in our hearts, and for the knowledge and faith and immortality which you made known to us through Jesus your servant. To you be the glory forever.”

Here the Eucharist is described in prayer form, matching Pliny’s “ordinary and harmless food,” but revealing its sacred meaning.

The Shepherd of Hermas (Rome, c. 100–117 for earliest layers)

Hermas, Vision 3.2.4 (Loeb):
“Those who endure cheerfully the things that happen, these are the ones who are blessed. It is they who will inherit life.”

This is the Christian redefinition of “stubbornness”: not madness, but blessedness.

Hermas, Mandate 8.6 (Loeb):
“Keep the commandments of the Lord and you will be approved and enrolled among the number of those who keep his commandments. But if you do any other thing, you will not be saved, nor your children, nor your household, since you have despised the commandments of the Lord.”

Hermas shows the seriousness of moral life, binding salvation to obedience.

Papias of Hierapolis (c. 110–130)

Eusebius, Church History 3.39.3–4 (Loeb):
“I shall not hesitate also to set down for you along with my interpretations whatsoever things I learned with care from the presbyters and stored up in memory, guaranteeing their truth. For I did not, like the multitude, take pleasure in those who spoke much, but in those who taught the truth, nor in those who related strange commandments, but in those who rehearsed the commandments given by the Lord to the faith and proceeding from the truth itself. And if by chance anyone who had been a follower of the presbyters should come my way, I inquired into the words of the presbyters, what Andrew or what Peter said, or what Philip or what Thomas or James or what John or Matthew or any other of the Lord’s disciples; and what Aristion and the presbyter John, the disciples of the Lord, say. For I did not think that what was to be gotten from the books would profit me as much as what came from the living and abiding voice.”

Eusebius, Church History 3.39.15–16 (Loeb):
“And this the presbyter used to say: Mark, having become the interpreter of Peter, wrote down accurately whatever he remembered of the things said and done by the Lord, but not however in order. For he had neither heard the Lord nor followed him, but afterward, as I said, he followed Peter, who used to frame his teaching to meet the needs of his hearers, but not as making a connected narrative of the Lord’s discourses. So then Mark committed no error while he thus wrote down some things as he remembered them; for he took thought for one thing not to omit any of the things which he had heard, nor to falsify anything in them.

So then Matthew composed the oracles in the Hebrew language, and each man interpreted them as he was able.”

Papias, bishop of Hierapolis in Asia Minor, was writing during or soon after Trajan’s reign — in the same region Pliny governed. While Pliny dismissed Christianity as a superstition to be cured, Papias was carefully preserving the traditions of the apostles. His testimony shows that Christians of this time were not inventing novelties, but guarding what they believed came from Andrew, Peter, John, Matthew, and others.

Why Rome Considered Christianity a Superstition

Pliny the Elder had explained decades earlier:

Pliny the Elder, Natural History 30.12 (Loeb):
“Among foreign rites, it is only the ancient ones that have gained recognition; the rest are held accursed.”

Judaism was tolerated because it was ancient. Christianity, though born out of Judaism, was treated as new — and therefore dangerous. Rome did not see it as a venerable faith, but as an illegitimate superstition.

Conclusion

Pliny’s letter and Trajan’s reply give us the earliest imperial window into the treatment of Christians. They were punished not for crimes but for their name, not for sedition but for stubborn loyalty.

Rome called it obstinacy; Christians called it faith. Rome called it superstition; Christians called it worship. Rome called it contagion; Christians called it life.

And because this exchange took place late in Trajan’s reign, it shows that from AD 98 to 117 the policy never wavered: Christians were not to be hunted, but if accused and refusing to recant, they must die.

At the very same time, Ignatius longed to die for “my God,” Polycarp exhorted believers to live worthily of Christ, the Didache described the Eucharist as thanksgiving through Jesus, Hermas taught endurance as the path to life, and Papias preserved the sayings of the apostles.

Even Pliny, though hostile, could not deny the truth: Christianity was everywhere — men and women, rich and poor, city and countryside. It had weakened the pagan temples. It could not be forced into silence.

The empire tried to check and cure it. But history shows that the “contagion” of Christ only spread further — carried even by slaves who bore the title of deacon, ministers and leaders in their assemblies, and by all who confessed his name three times, even unto death.