From the Giant to the Wonder-Worker: The Church of Maximinus Thrax to Philip the Arab

October 14, 2025 / Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

For nearly two decades, the Christian movement had lived in relative peace. Under Severus Alexander (AD 222–235), believers were tolerated, even respected. The Historia Augusta claimed he placed images of Christ and Abraham in his private chapel and inscribed the words “Do not do to another what you would not have done to yourself” on the walls of his palace. Whether or not every detail is true, the tone of his reign was unmistakably mild.

That peace ended in blood.

1. Maximinus Thrax (r. 235–238 AD): The Giant Who Hated His Predecessor

When Alexander was murdered by his own troops in 235 AD, the army raised a Thracian soldier of enormous stature—Gaius Julius Verus Maximinus, known to history as Maximinus Thrax. With him began both the Crisis of the Third Century and the first targeted persecution of Christian clergy.

Eusebius of Caesarea, writing around AD 312–324, gives our earliest account:

“Maximinus then ordered that the leaders of the churches should be put to death.
The reason for this persecution was the hatred that he bore toward his predecessor Alexander, whose household was full of believers.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.28 (Loeb)

This was not an empire-wide assault but a surgical strike against the heads of the churches. Maximinus saw in bishops and presbyters a rival network of loyalty. In his eyes, purging them was devotion to the gods of Rome.

The Harsh Provinces: Pontus and Cappadocia

Eusebius continues:

“In some places the persecution was scarcely felt, but in others—especially in Pontus and Cappadocia—it raged fiercely, as the governors there, moved by zeal for idolatry, put to death great numbers of the faithful with various kinds of tortures.
And many of the martyrs of that time were famous, the records of whose martyrdoms are still preserved among the brethren.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.28–29 (Loeb)

Among those caught in the storm were Pontian, bishop of Rome, and Hippolytus, a learned presbyter who had long opposed him.
Eusebius gives the earliest account:

“At this time also Pontianus, who was then bishop of the church of Rome, and Hippolytus, who was distinguished among its presbyters, were exiled to the mines of Sardinia by the decree of Maximinus; and there they were put to death by hardship.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.23 (Loeb)

Their shared suffering and death ended years of division and became one of the church’s earliest examples of reconciliation through martyrdom.

Origen’s Exhortation to Martyrdom (AD 235–238)

At the same time, Origen of Caesarea wrote a remarkable letter to his imprisoned friends Ambrose and Protoctetus, who faced death under Maximinus Thrax.
His Exhortation to Martyrdom is one of the few surviving works written during persecution itself, not after it.

Who Were Ambrose and Protoctetus?

Both men were students and patrons of Origen’s school in Caesarea.
Ambrose—not to be confused with the later bishop of Milan—was a wealthy Alexandrian who had once been drawn to Gnostic philosophy. Origen’s teaching brought him to orthodox faith, and he became one of Origen’s closest allies, financing his commentaries and employing scribes to preserve his work.
Protoctetus was a presbyter of the church in Caesarea, a man of deep integrity and one of Origen’s most loyal companions.

When the persecution of Maximinus reached Palestine, both men were arrested and imprisoned at Caesarea Maritima, the Roman capital on the coast of Judea.
Eusebius writes that their courage made them models for others:

“In these times Origen composed his Exhortation to those suffering persecution, full of encouragement and power, and strengthened many for the contest, among whom were Ambrose and Protoctetus, who were at that time distinguished for their confession of faith.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.28 (Loeb)

Later in his narrative, Eusebius adds:

“Ambrose, who was called Origen’s friend, and Protoctetus, a presbyter of the church at Caesarea, after many trials and noble endurance, were perfected by martyrdom in the persecution under Maximinus.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.39 (Loeb)

Both were executed at Caesarea, probably by beheading around AD 238, remembered as martyrs “distinguished for their confession.”
Origen himself narrowly escaped the same fate; the governor had ordered his arrest, but he hid until the edict was withdrawn.

It was to these two men—waiting in prison for the sentence he expected himself—that Origen wrote his Exhortation to Martyrdom. It was not theory; it was farewell.

“If persecution comes upon us, let us not be disturbed as though something strange had happened.
The Son of God was the first of all martyrs, and He calls us to share His sufferings that we may share His glory.”
— Exhortation to Martyrdom 1–2 (Loeb)

He urged them to love even those who condemned them:

“We must love our enemies, bless those who curse us, and pray for those who persecute us.
It is not enough to bear stripes; we must conquer hatred with patience.
The victory of the Christian is not in killing his persecutor but in dying for the truth.”
— ibid. 24–25

He described martyrdom as the perfection of baptism:

“Baptism cleanses, but martyrdom enlightens.
Baptism receives the forgiveness of sins; martyrdom obtains the crown of righteousness.
By baptism we are born again; by martyrdom we become perfect.”
— ibid. 50–51

He cautioned that believers should never provoke danger but be ready when called:

“We must not throw ourselves into danger, for Scripture says, ‘When they persecute you in one city, flee to another.’
Yet when the hour comes and we are called, we must not deny Christ, even in thought.”
— ibid. 34

And he closed with serene strength:

“Do not imagine, friends most beloved, that the soul is conquered when the body is overcome.
The soul conquers when, though the body is slain, it departs unvanquished.
For no iron can pierce faith, no flame consume virtue, no wild beast devour love.”
— ibid. 37

Eusebius later said this work “strengthened many for the contest.” (Ecclesiastical History 6.28.)
It shows Origen not as an academic but as a pastor under siege—teaching that victory lay not in survival but in transformation.

Within three years the soldiers who made Maximinus emperor turned on him. He was murdered outside Aquileia in 238 AD, ending the first Christian persecution since Severus.

2. Gordian III (r. 238–244 AD): The Boy Emperor and a Season of Quiet

After the chaos of six emperors in one year, the Senate placed power in the hands of a boy—Gordian III, only thirteen. The brief reign that followed was remarkably calm. No persecutions are recorded, and Christian writers reemerged into view.

“The churches throughout the world enjoyed peace, and the word of salvation was daily increasing.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.39 (Loeb)

During this lull, Origen completed massive scriptural projects—his Hexapla and commentaries on Matthew and John.
His influence also radiated outward through a new generation of leaders—Firmilian of Caesarea and Gregory Thaumaturgus in the East.

Firmilian of Caesarea: The Theologian of Cappadocia

Firmilian, bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia, was one of the key bridges between Origen’s intellectual world and the organized episcopal networks that later defined the Church.
He invited Origen north to Cappadocia, where theological councils were held during this time of peace.

“Being invited especially by Firmilian, bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia, Origen stayed with him a considerable time, being of the greatest assistance in the ecclesiastical discussions held there.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.27 (Loeb)

Firmilian’s circle shaped the theological life of Cappadocia decades before Basil or Gregory of Nyssa.
He saw bishops as physicians for wounded souls, not magistrates of punishment.

A generation later Cyprian of Carthage would write directly to him:

“Beloved brother, we have received your letter, which has given us great delight by your faith and wisdom; for you have rightly maintained the truth of the Gospel, and by the vigor of your reasoning strengthened the fellowship of our faith.”
— Cyprian, Epistle 74.1 (CSEL 3.2, AD 256)

This East–West friendship was built on Origen’s foundations.
From Firmilian’s school would come his most famous student—Gregory Thaumaturgus.

Gregory Thaumaturgus: The Wonder-Worker of Pontus

Gregory Thaumaturgus—“the Wonder-Worker”—was born around AD 210 in Neocaesarea in Pontus.
He came to Origen as a skeptical philosopher but left as a missionary bishop.

“When I came to him I was enslaved to many false opinions, but he freed me from them all, leading me by the hand to the truth, as from darkness to light.
He opened to us the whole treasure of divine wisdom, showing the harmony of all things and the unity of the Creator.”
— Panegyric to Origen 10, 13–14 (Loeb, c. AD 240)

Returning to Pontus, Gregory became bishop of Neocaesarea and composed a Confession of Faith that anticipates the Nicene language:

“There is one God, the Father of the living Word, of wisdom and power and eternal image; perfect begetter of the perfect, Father of the only-begotten Son.
There is one Lord, the only-begotten of the only One, God of God, image and likeness of the Deity, Word through whom all things were made, true Son of the true Father.”
— Confession of Faith 1 (Loeb, c. AD 260)

During plague and civil turmoil he guided his church with courage.
His Canonical Epistle—written c. AD 263–265—offers a vivid picture of Christian life under duress.

“Those who were called of Christ rejoiced in the danger; they visited the sick without dread, ministered to their needs, and attended to them in Christ.
Thus they departed this life in gladness, for they were infected by others’ disease, drawing to themselves the affliction of their neighbors and taking their pain upon themselves.”
— Canonical Epistle 11 (Loeb)

“Some, being of little faith, abandoned the brethren in distress; others even denied the faith to save their lives.
To such, leniency is to be shown if they repent, yet they shall stand apart for a season, that their penitence may be proven.”
— ibid. 12

“Let the widows be honored as the altar of God, for they continually intercede for the Church.
Let virgins keep themselves in purity, knowing that they are the portion of Christ; for the crown of chastity is not gained by words but by life.”
— ibid. 24–26

Basil the Great, writing a century later, said:

“The faith which Gregory the Wonder-Worker received from Origen was preserved without spot among us down to our fathers.”
— Basil of Caesarea, Letter 28.1 (Loeb, AD 375)

Why He Was Called “The Wonder-Worker”

His title Thaumaturgus (“Wonder-Worker”) came from the miracles remembered by later generations.

“When he came to Neocaesarea he found only seventeen Christians, and when he departed this life there were not more than seventeen unbelievers.
For the signs and wonders which he worked drew the whole people to the faith.”
— Gregory of Nyssa, Life of Gregory Thaumaturgus 3 (Loeb, AD 380)

One account tells of a flood stopped by his prayer:

“Gregory, seeing the danger to his flock, took a staff and planted it in the ground, praying that the waters would go no farther.
Immediately the torrent stopped, as if held back by an invisible wall, and from that day the place was called ‘The Boundary of the Wonder.’”
— ibid. 4–5 (Loeb)

Another recounts justice revealed by resurrection:

“At his prayer a man slain by his brother arose and named his murderer before returning to death.
The spot is still called ‘The Resurrection Field.’”
— ibid. 7 (Loeb)

Whether literal or legendary, these memories portray a man whose faith transformed an entire region.
He turned Pontus from a land of martyrdom into a mission field.

3. Philip the Arab (r. 244–249 AD): A Christian on the Throne?

When Gordian died during the Persian campaign, his Praetorian Prefect Marcus Julius Philippus, later called Philip the Arab, seized power.

“Philip, the Roman Emperor, is said to have been a Christian, and desired to join in the prayers of the Church on the vigil of Easter;
but he was not permitted by the bishop until he had made confession of his sins and taken his place among the penitents.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.34 (Loeb)

Even if legendary, the story shows that by mid-century an emperor could be imagined kneeling with Christians.
Under Philip, churches met openly and owned property; the faith’s visibility was now empire-wide.

4. Cyprian of Carthage: The Western Counterpart

While Origen’s disciples shaped the East, the West produced a new leader from Africa—Thascius Caecilius Cyprianus, or Cyprian of Carthage.

Conversion during Philip’s Peace (c. AD 246–248)

A wealthy teacher of rhetoric, Cyprian was converted in Philip’s later years:

“When I lay in darkness and the gloomy night closed me in, I used to think that what was promised of God’s light was a thing incredible…
But after the stain of my former life had been washed away by the water of rebirth, a light from above poured into my heart.”
— Cyprian, Ad Donatum 4–5 (c. AD 246–248)

Bishop of Carthage (AD 248–249)

Soon after baptism he was chosen bishop—about the same year Origen finished Against Celsus and Dionysius took over in Alexandria.

“Under Philip, the churches enjoyed peace, and bishops were freely appointed everywhere. At that time Thascius Cyprian became illustrious at Carthage, a man most skillful in both word and deed.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 6.43 (Loeb)

Cyprian would soon face what Origen, Firmilian, and Gregory had trained their flocks for—the empire-wide ordeal under Decius.

5. Between Persecution and Peace

The years 235–249 AD formed a fragile hinge in Christian history:

Maximinus Thrax tried to sever the Church’s head.
Gordian III let it rebuild.
Philip the Arab perhaps even prayed with it.
Origen taught courage under fire.
Firmilian built theological bridges in Cappadocia.
Gregory Thaumaturgus turned Origen’s learning into creed, charity, and wonder.
Cyprian arose in the West to lead through the coming storm.

The persecution under Thrax was brief but real; the calm under Gordian and Philip allowed the faith to mature in scholarship, discipline, and compassion.
When Decius seized power in 249 AD, that peace—and all it had built—would face the empire’s first universal test.

Conversion Forbidden, Courage Unstoppable: Severus and the Early Church

September 19, 2025 / Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

The assassination of Commodus on December 31, AD 192 plunged Rome into civil war. In what became known as the Year of the Five Emperors (AD 193), power passed rapidly between Pertinax, Didius Julianus, Pescennius Niger, and Clodius Albinus. Finally, Septimius Severus—an African-born general from Leptis Magna—emerged victorious. He would rule for nearly two decades (193–211).

For Christians, nothing new is recorded under these brief emperors—only the continued, by now ancient, tradition that those accused of the name and refusing to deny it could be put to death. This tradition reached back to Nero’s precedent, when Christians were first condemned in Rome.

Once Severus consolidated power, however, a new wave of persecution broke out. By his tenth year (AD 202/203), we find evidence across Africa and Egypt of Christians martyred, catechumens executed, and great teachers forced to reckon with Rome’s hostility. And although only one late source names it directly, the tradition survives that Severus had issued a law forbidding conversions to Judaism and Christianity.

The Edict, Plainly Stated

Historia Augusta, Life of Severus 17.1 (Loeb):

“He forbade anyone to become a Jew, and he enacted severe penalties against those who attempted to convert to Judaism and Christianity.”

This is our sole explicit witness to the edict. The Historia Augusta was written in the 4th century and is often unreliable. But the law it describes explains why, at precisely this time, catechumens and teachers were executed from Carthage to Alexandria.

Eusebius: A Wave of Persecution

Eusebius, Church History 6.1.1–2 (Loeb):

“When Severus had been emperor for ten years, he stirred up persecution against the churches, and illustrious testimonies of martyrdom were given at that time. At Alexandria the great teachers of the faith were most distinguished, and in other regions also a great many received crowns of martyrdom with all kinds of tortures and punishments. At that time Origen, a young man, devoted himself with all earnestness to the divine word, while his father Leonidas received the crown of martyrdom.”

Here Carthage and Alexandria are linked. In North Africa, women and slaves were led to the arena. In Egypt, a father was executed, leaving his son to become the greatest theologian of early Christianity.

The Martyrs of Carthage: Perpetua, Felicitas, and Saturus (North Africa, AD 203)

The most vivid testimony of Severus’ persecution comes from the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas. Its uniqueness lies in the fact that it is partly autobiographical—the first-person diary of Perpetua herself, later woven together with Saturus’ vision and an eyewitness account of their deaths.

When her father begged her to deny Christ, Perpetua answered with a simplicity Rome could not overcome:

“Father, do you see this little pitcher? Can it be called by any other name than what it is? … So too I cannot call myself anything else than what I am, a Christian.” (Passion 3–4)

She was imprisoned with several other catechumens. Among them was Saturus, a Christian teacher who had not been arrested at first but chose to surrender himself so he could share their chains. His voluntary imprisonment made him a model of pastoral courage, and in Perpetua’s visions he appears as her guide.

At first, Perpetua struggled with the darkness and the crowding of prison, but her greatest fear was for her baby:

“I was horrified, for I had never experienced such darkness. Oh, terrible day! The crowding of the mob, the harsh treatment by the soldiers, the extortion of the jailers. Then I was distressed by anxiety for my baby.” (Passion 3–5)

Eventually she was allowed to nurse her son in prison:

“Then I was allowed to nurse him in prison, and I recovered my strength, and my prison became to me a palace, so that I would rather have been there than anywhere else.” (Passion 5)

Later the baby was given into the care of her family. Though she grieved, she found freedom to face martyrdom without distraction:

“I endured great pain because I saw my infant wasted with hunger … Then I arranged for the child to stay with my mother and brother. For a little while I took care of the child in prison, but later I gave him up. And immediately the prison became a place of refreshment to me, and my anxiety for the child no longer consumed me.” (Passion 6)

That is the last we hear of her son, who survived, raised by his grandmother. The absence of any mention of her husband is striking. Whether she was widowed or separated we do not know; the editor of the Passion was not interested in her social status, but in her confession of Christ.

Perpetua’s visions gave her courage. She saw a narrow bronze ladder stretching to heaven, lined with swords and hooks, with a dragon lurking at its base. Saturus climbed first, and she followed, treading on the dragon’s head and entering a garden where a shepherd gave her milk turned into a cake, and all around said “Amen” (Passion 4).

Her fellow prisoner Felicitas faced her own trial. She was a slave woman, eight months pregnant when arrested. Roman law forbade executing pregnant women, and she feared she might be separated from her companions. She prayed to give birth before the day of the games, and her prayers were answered. When mocked by a jailer for her cries in labor, she replied:

“Now I myself suffer what I suffer, but then another will be in me who will suffer for me, because I am to suffer for him.” (Passion 15)

At last came the day of execution:

“The day of their victory dawned, and they marched from the prison into the amphitheater, as if into heaven, with cheerful looks and graceful bearing. Perpetua followed with shining step as the true spouse of Christ. When the young gladiator trembled to strike her, she guided his hand to her throat, for it was as if such a woman could not be slain unless she herself were willing.” (Passion 18, 21)

Rome called it punishment; the Christians called it victory. The amphitheater was meant to shame them before the crowd, but Perpetua, Felicitas, and Saturus walked into it as though into heaven.

Tertullian of Carthage (North Africa, c. 197–220)

Before the main outbreak of persecution under Severus, another Carthaginian gave voice to the church in Latin: Tertullian. A lawyer by training and a fiery Christian apologist, he addressed his works to Roman officials, governors, and pagan audiences who misunderstood the church. His writings prove that Christians in Africa were already living under suspicion and facing punishment years before Severus’ edict of 202/203.

In his Apology (c. AD 197), addressed to the provincial governors and magistrates of North Africa, Tertullian insists that Christians are everywhere:

Apology 37 (Loeb):

“We are but of yesterday, and we have filled every place among you—cities, islands, fortresses, towns, marketplaces, the very camp, tribes, companies, palace, senate, forum; we have left nothing to you but the temples of your gods.”

Persecution was already a reality. Christians were blamed for every disaster:

Ad Nationes 1.7:

“If the Tiber rises as high as the city walls, if the Nile does not rise into the fields, if the heavens give no rain, if the earth quakes, if there is a famine or a plague, the cry at once is, ‘The Christians to the lion!’”

And yet, persecution only multiplied them:

Apology 50:

“We multiply whenever we are mown down by you: the blood of Christians is seed.”

Later, in To Scapula (written around AD 212 to Scapula, the proconsul of Africa), he warned Rome’s governor directly:

To Scapula 5 (Loeb):

“Kill us, torture us, condemn us, grind us to dust; your injustice is the proof that we are innocent. … The more often you mow us down, the more we grow; the blood of Christians is seed.”

Tertullian’s writings show that persecution was not sudden but constant. By the time Severus issued his edict, the soil had already been watered with blood—and, as Tertullian argued, that blood was the seed of growth.

Clement of Alexandria (Egypt, c. 190–203+)

Meanwhile in Alexandria, the church had established a tradition of Christian teaching known as the catechetical school. Its master was Clement of Alexandria, a philosopher-turned-Christian who wrote in Greek to the city’s educated elite.

Clement’s trilogy of major works shows the breadth of his teaching:

Protrepticus (Exhortation to the Greeks):

“Leave the old delusion, flee from the ancient plague; seek after the new song, the new Logos, who has appeared among us from heaven. He alone is both God and man, the source of all our good.” (Protrepticus 1.5)

Paedagogus (The Instructor):

“The Word is all things to the child: father and mother, tutor and nurse. ‘Eat my flesh,’ He says, ‘and drink my blood.’ Such is suitable food for children, the Lord Himself made nourishment, love, and instruction.” (Paedagogus 1.6)

Stromata (Miscellanies):

“The true gnostic is one who imitates God as far as possible: he rests on faith, is founded on love, is educated by hope, and is perfected by knowledge. He has already attained the likeness of God, being righteous and holy with wisdom.” (Stromata 7.10)

On martyrdom, he wrote plainly:

“Many martyrs are daily burned, confined, or beheaded before our eyes, so that not only in ancient times but also among ourselves may one see such examples, being set forth in their thousands.” (Stromata 4.4)

And on wealth and charity:

Who Is the Rich Man That Shall Be Saved? 27:

“Wealth is not to be thrown away. It is a material for virtue, if it be rightly used. Riches are called good if they are distributed well; for they can become instruments of righteousness. Let the rich man do good, let him give liberally, let him share willingly, and he will be perfect.”

For Clement, charity was not about ascetic rejection but about transformed stewardship. Wealth was a tool, not a curse—its danger was in clinging to it selfishly, its virtue in giving it freely. He presented charity as a spiritual discipline: rational, cheerful, and loving generosity for the good of others.

When Severus’ persecution reached Alexandria around AD 202, Clement fled the city and took refuge in Cappadocia, never to return. Leadership of the Alexandrian school passed to the teenage Origen. But Clement’s writings remained a legacy: in the empire’s intellectual capital, he had given Christianity an intellectual defense, a moral handbook, and a vision of charity rooted not in fear but in love.

Origen and Leonidas (Alexandria, Egypt, AD 202/203)

When Leonidas, Origen’s father, was executed, Origen was only about seventeen years old. He was the eldest of seven children, and his family’s property was confiscated. He suddenly found himself destitute, responsible for his widowed mother and six younger siblings.

Eusebius, Church History 6.2.2–3 (Loeb):

“Leonidas, the father of Origen, was beheaded. Origen was eager to accompany him and to die as a martyr, but his mother prevented him by hiding all his clothes and thus compelled him to remain in the house. And he wrote to his father in prison, saying: ‘Take heed not to change your mind on our account.’”

Eusebius, Church History 6.3.9–11 (Loeb):

“Leonidas would often, when Origen was sleeping, uncover his breast and reverently kiss it, as though it were already sanctified by the divine Spirit within him. He educated his boy not only in general studies but above all in the Holy Scriptures.”

To support his family, Origen opened a school of grammar and literature, teaching pagans by day and catechumens by night. He lived with radical austerity, sleeping on the ground and fasting, so he could provide for his mother and siblings. In time, wealthy patrons like Ambrose of Alexandria also supported him, funding secretaries to copy his works.

When Clement fled, Origen inherited the catechetical school. This “school” (didaskaleion) was not simply a building but a tradition of Christian teaching in Alexandria, begun by Pantaenus, a Stoic philosopher turned Christian. Now, still in his teens, Origen became its master. From there he wrote commentaries on nearly every book of the Bible, debated pagan philosophers, and composed On First Principles, the first systematic theology in Christian history.

The persecution that took his father’s life launched his own.

Hippolytus of Rome (Italy, c. 200–215)

In Rome, the church was codifying its order even under threat. Hippolytus, writing in Greek, preserved the earliest liturgy and church order that has survived.

Apostolic Tradition (On Ordination, ch. 3):

“Let the bishop be ordained after he has been chosen by all the people. … Let all lay hands on him and pray, saying: ‘O God, pour forth the power of your Spirit upon this your servant, whom you have chosen to be shepherd of your people.’”

Apostolic Tradition (On Baptism, ch. 21):

“Do you believe in God the Father Almighty? … Do you believe in Christ Jesus, the Son of God, who was born … crucified … and rose again … and will come to judge the living and the dead? … Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, and the holy Church, and the resurrection of the flesh? … And so he is baptized a third time.”

Apostolic Tradition (On the Eucharist, ch. 4):

“We give you thanks, O God, through your beloved Son Jesus Christ, whom you sent to us as Savior and Redeemer … and when he had given thanks, he said: ‘This is my body, which is for you.’ … Remembering therefore his death and resurrection, we offer to you this bread and this cup, giving thanks to you.”

From the same hand we also have the Refutation of All Heresies, in which he exposed pagan astrology and Gnostic sects:

Refutation 4.37:

“If everything is under the control of fate, then let no one be blamed for sins, nor praised for virtues. But if this is absurd, then their teaching is false. For man has been made free by God.”

Refutation 9.7:

“There are those who, under the name of Christ, corrupt the truth by their deceit. But we have the tradition from the apostles, delivered through the succession of bishops, and we guard it in the Church by the Holy Spirit.”

Hippolytus shows us that in Rome itself—at the empire’s heart—Christians were not retreating underground but continuing to baptize, ordain, and celebrate the Eucharist. At the very time Severus forbade conversions, Rome’s church was still welcoming new converts and defending its doctrine.

Minucius Felix (Rome or North Africa, c. 197–210)

Octavius is the earliest surviving Christian apology written in elegant Latin. It is framed as a dialogue between Caecilius, a pagan, and Octavius, a Christian, with Minucius himself as arbiter.

On slanders against Christians, Caecilius charges:

Octavius 9:

“It is said that in your sacred rites you slay an infant and drink its blood, and that after the banquet you join in incestuous unions in shameless darkness. These are the fables you believe of us—things which you would not even believe of your own enemies.”

Octavius replies with a portrait of Christian life:

Octavius 31–32:

“They love one another before they know one another; they call one another brother and sister, and with reason. They are ready even to die for one another. … We neither keep our religion hidden, for our life is made known by its teachings, nor are we silent, since we are always being accused.”

On worship:

Octavius 33:

“We do not worship the images you make, for we know they are made of stone and wood. … Our sacrifice is a pure prayer proceeding from a pure heart.”

On persecution:

Octavius 35:

“Do you think that we are to be pitied, who are counted as your enemies? When we are slain, we conquer; when we are struck down, we are crowned; when we are condemned, we are acquitted.”

Minucius shows us Christianity in Rome’s own idiom: clear, concise, legal Latin rhetoric. He captures both the accusations Christians faced in Severus’ time and the moral beauty of their reply—love, openness, prayer, courage.

Bardaisan of Edessa (Syria/Mesopotamia, c. 200–222)

Far from Rome and Carthage, in the eastern frontier city of Edessa, the philosopher Bardaisan defended Christianity in Syriac against astrology and fatalism. His Book of the Laws of Countries, preserved by his disciples, is a dialogue on fate, free will, and culture.

On free will:

Laws of Countries 617 (Wright trans.):

“The constellations do not compel a man either to be righteous or to be a sinner, nor does fate constrain him to be rich or poor. But every man, according to his own will, approaches what is right, and departs from what is evil.”

On cultural diversity:

Laws of Countries 619:

“The same stars shine everywhere, yet laws differ among the Parthians, the Romans, and the Syrians. If fate compelled, all would live the same way. But men live according to their laws, and these laws are the fruit of free will.”

On the universality of Christianity:

Laws of Countries 622:

“The new law of our Lord is not written on stone but on the heart. Because of it, men from every nation have renounced their former customs and are ready to suffer and even to die rather than transgress it.”

On martyrdom:

Laws of Countries 623:

“This law has not only been written and spoken, but it is practiced. For in all places and in every land, men and women, young and old, endure persecution for the sake of this law, and they do not deny it.”

Bardaisan’s “law” is not Roman statute or Jewish Torah, but the gospel of Christ written on the heart. He stresses that this law is already global: Romans, Syrians, Parthians alike live by it, and all are ready to suffer for it. From the eastern frontier of the empire, Bardaisan shows us Christianity as a universal faith that conquers fatalism with freedom, and unites nations in one confession.

Conclusion

The reign of Septimius Severus (AD 193–211) was decisive for Christianity.

The edict: remembered in the Historia Augusta, forbidding conversion.
The martyrs: Perpetua, Felicitas, and Saturus in Carthage; Leonidas in Alexandria.
The writers:
- Tertullian (Carthage) — lawyer turned apologist, addressing governors and magistrates, insisting that persecution was constant and blood was seed.
- Clement (Alexandria) — philosopher turned teacher, whose writings shaped Christian virtue, charity, and knowledge before he fled persecution.
- Origen (Alexandria) — teenage prodigy, shaped by his father’s death, who built the greatest Christian school of the ancient world.
- Hippolytus (Rome) — presbyter preserving baptismal, eucharistic, and ordination rites, proving the church’s order survived in the capital.
- Minucius Felix (Rome/Africa) — polished Latin lawyer refuting slander and showing Christian innocence and love.
- Bardaisan (Edessa) — philosopher on the frontier, proclaiming the gospel as the new law written on the heart, freely obeyed in every nation.

By Severus’ reign, Christian voices were speaking from every corner of the empire. Rome tried to choke Christianity at its source—conversion—but instead gave the church martyrs, apologists, and theologians whose words and courage still inspire today.

Faith in the Age of Commodus: From Senate Martyrs to Catacomb Worship

September 13, 2025 / Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

When Marcus Aurelius died in AD 180, the Roman world changed. For nearly a century the empire had been governed by what historians often call the “five good emperors”: Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius. Each was chosen by adoption, trained for years, and admired for discipline and stability. But Marcus broke the pattern. He left the empire to his son, Commodus — a move that ancient writers say marked the decline of Rome’s golden age.

Executions in the Imperial Household

At the very end of Marcus’ reign, even members of the imperial household were executed. Dio Cassius records:

“Many others, however, who adopted foreign customs were persecuted, and great numbers of them perished. And, in particular, those who were accused of atheism were executed. Among these were several of those who belonged to the imperial household.” (Roman History 72.4, Loeb)

The Romans used the charge of atheism not in our modern sense of denying all gods, but of rejecting the gods of Rome. Jews and Christians were the ones most often branded as atheists, because they refused to sacrifice to the gods and the emperor. The fact that Dio says members of the imperial household were executed strongly suggests that Christianity had already reached into Caesar’s own palace — and that believers there paid with their lives.

This makes what followed under Commodus all the more striking.

The Character of Commodus

Dio Cassius, who lived through Commodus’ reign, offers us a vivid portrait:

“Commodus was not naturally wicked, but, on the contrary, as guileless as any man that ever lived. His great simplicity, however, together with his cowardice, made him the slave of his companions, and it was through them that he at first, out of ignorance, missed the better life and then was led on into lustful and cruel habits, which soon became second nature.” (Roman History 72.1, Loeb)

Herodian likewise describes Commodus as a man given over to entertainment and self-indulgence:

“He showed no interest in military campaigns nor in the hardships of war; he devoted his entire attention to the amusements of the circus and the theater, delighting in gladiatorial spectacles and contests with wild beasts.” (Roman History 1.15.9, Loeb)

This is the emperor who styled himself Hercules, fought in the arena, and renamed Rome after himself. Ancient authors despised him as cruel and debased.

And yet — Christians found unexpected favor in his reign.

A Turning Point for Christians

Eusebius tells us:

“In the time of Commodus, our affairs took an easier turn. By the grace of God the emperor’s concubine, Marcia by name, who was highly honored by him, was friendly to the Christians. She rendered many favors to our brethren, for she requested the emperor to grant the release of those who had been condemned to labor in the mines of Sardinia. And he readily granted her request.” (Church History 5.21, Loeb)

Think of the contrast: under Marcus, Christians in the imperial household were executed; under Commodus, a member of the imperial household — his concubine Marcia — became the protector of Christians, winning freedom for many. The palace went from being a place of death to a place of refuge.

Eusebius’ Perspective

Eusebius interprets Marcia’s intervention as proof that the whole situation of Christians “took an easier turn” under Commodus. But this is the same mistake he had made when describing Hadrian. In Church History 4.9, he claimed that Hadrian’s rescript lessened persecution, when in fact it only required Christians to be executed after formal accusation and trial. The legal status of Christianity never changed.

So too under Commodus: while individual figures like Marcia could grant relief, the “ancient law” still condemned Christians once accused. As the case of Apollonius shows, the empire’s hostility remained intact.

The Case of Apollonius

Eusebius also preserves the case of Apollonius, a Christian senator:

“At this time Apollonius, a senator who was well learned and of great distinction, came forward as a champion of the faith. Accused by one of his servants, he gave an eloquent and philosophical defense of Christianity before the Senate. Yet he was not permitted to go free, but in accordance with an ancient law that no Christian who had once been brought before the tribunal should be dismissed unpunished, he was condemned and executed.” (Church History 5.21, Loeb)

Apollonius was not a slave or artisan, but a senator — a member of Rome’s ruling elite. This alone shows how far Christianity had spread in just 150 years. Yet even his status could not shield him from the law.

What Did “Ancient Law” Mean?

Eusebius says Apollonius died under an “ancient law.” For Romans, a law could be called ancient (vetus or antiqua) if it had been established by earlier emperors or the Senate and had been observed continuously. It did not require centuries of distance. Cicero used vetus in the 1st century BC to describe laws less than a hundred years old. By Apollonius’ time, Nero’s precedent (AD 64) was already more than a century old — plenty of time for it to be viewed as antiqua lex.

This fits perfectly with Trajan’s rescript to Pliny (c. 112). When Pliny asked how to handle Christians, Trajan didn’t invent a new rule; he assumed the principle was already established. His ruling — “They are not to be sought out, but if accused and proven guilty, they must be punished” — shows that the criminality of Christianity itself was a recognized policy across the empire. By Commodus’ day, the Senate could legitimately call this an “ancient law.”

So the martyrdom of Apollonius was not local prejudice. It was the outworking of a Roman legal culture that had, since Nero, considered Christians criminal by definition.

Christianity in High Places — and Under Empire-Wide Law

By Commodus’ reign, Christianity had a paradoxical position. On the one hand, it had entered the palace: Marcia secured the release of prisoners. It had entered the Senate: Apollonius confessed Christ before Rome’s rulers. On the other hand, the very same Senate invoked the ancient law that bound them to execute Christians once accused.

This shows why skeptical historians are mistaken to portray persecution as local and sporadic. The record of Apollonius proves otherwise: Christianity had been treated as a crime throughout the empire since Nero’s precedent. Trajan’s rescript only confirmed what was already assumed to be Roman policy. By calling it an “ancient law,” the Senate in Commodus’ day acknowledged that Christians had been subject to execution for generations.

The stories we possess come from certain places — Lyons, Smyrna, Rome, Bithynia — but the law itself was empire-wide. Every Christian in every province lived under its shadow.

And yet, Christians did not retreat into silence. Even while the empire branded them criminals, they carved out spaces where their hope was made visible. Nowhere is this clearer than in the catacombs of Rome, which became both burial grounds and gathering places for a people who lived under constant threat.

What Are Catacombs?

Catacombs are underground burial galleries dug out of the soft volcanic stone (tufa) beneath Rome and other cities. They began as family tomb networks, but by the late 2nd century Christians began using them extensively. Unlike pagan necropoleis, which were mostly above ground, catacombs gave Christians a way to bury their dead together and to mark their faith with symbols of hope — the fish, the anchor, the Good Shepherd.

They were not secret hideouts (as legend sometimes imagines) but cemeteries that doubled as gathering spaces. Christians would hold memorial meals (refrigeria) on the anniversaries of a martyr’s death, or gather to pray and read Scripture. These underground spaces gave Christianity a physical presence in Rome that was both practical and symbolic.

Who Was Domitilla?

The Catacomb of Domitilla takes its name from Flavia Domitilla, a noblewoman of the Flavian dynasty (the same imperial family as Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian). Ancient sources say she was exiled by Domitian, possibly for sympathy with Jews or Christians.

Her property outside Rome became the site of one of the largest Christian cemeteries. This link to the Flavian family shows that Christianity was not only present among the poor but was also connected, even from the 1st century, with Roman aristocracy.

The Unique Chamber in Domitilla

Within the Catacomb of Domitilla is a chamber unlike any other known space from this early period — the so-called hypogeum of the Flavians:

Architectural design: benches carved into the walls on three sides, allowing 30–40 people to recline for meals.
Decoration: Christian frescoes on the plastered walls — symbols like the fish, the Good Shepherd, and biblical scenes.
Function: communal banquets for the dead (refrigeria), and likely the Eucharist as well.

This is the earliest surviving space adapted for Christian assembly. Before this, house churches left no archaeological trace distinct from other homes. The Domitilla chamber is different: it was carved and decorated in ways that mark it as intentionally Christian.

Here, during the same years Apollonius stood in the Senate and Marcia interceded in the palace, Christians were gathering underground in spaces designed for their worship and remembrance.

Christian Authors and Contested Writings

The reign of Commodus also coincided with one of the richest bursts of Christian literature in the 2nd century. While some believers were dying under law and others were carving chambers in the catacombs, Christian teachers were laying down the intellectual and theological foundations of the faith.

Irenaeus of Lyons

Irenaeus had been born in Asia Minor, most likely in Smyrna, where as a youth he had listened to Polycarp, the disciple of the apostle John. Later he moved west to Gaul, where he served as a presbyter in Lyons. After the persecutions of AD 177 that left his community devastated and their bishop Pothinus martyred, Irenaeus returned from a mission in Rome and was chosen as the new bishop of Lyons.

It was from this place of pain and resilience that he composed one of the most important works in Christian history. Its title was “Detection and Overthrow of Knowledge Falsely So-Called” — what we call Against Heresies. Unlike earlier apologists (Justin Martyr, Athenagoras), who wrote defenses to pagan rulers, Irenaeus aimed his work inward: to protect Christians from the flood of Gnostic sects and rival “gospels” circulating in his day.

He begins by describing the danger:

“They set forth their own compositions, boasting that they have more gospels than there really are. But in truth they have not gospels which are not full of blasphemy. For indeed there can be no more or fewer than the number of the gospels we have declared.” (Against Heresies 3.11.9, Loeb)

On Persecution

“The suffering of the righteous… is not new, but has been foreshown by the prophets, and fulfilled in Christ, and is now being fulfilled in the Church.” (Against Heresies 5.30.1, Loeb)

Here he interprets martyrdom itself — the loss of his own flock — as fulfillment of God’s plan. Persecution was not failure, but continuity with Christ.

On the Unity of the Church

“The Church, though dispersed throughout the whole world, even to the ends of the earth, has received from the apostles and their disciples this faith… She likewise believes these things as if she had but one soul and the same heart, and she proclaims them, and teaches them, and hands them down with perfect harmony, as if she possessed but one mouth. For, although the languages of the world are dissimilar, yet the import of the tradition is one and the same.” (Against Heresies 1.10.2, Loeb)

Even after his own community was ravaged, Irenaeus could insist that the church was one body, one voice, one heart across the world.

On the Fourfold Gospel

“It is not possible that the Gospels can be either more or fewer in number than they are. For, since there are four zones of the world in which we live, and four principal winds, while the Church is scattered throughout all the world… it is fitting that she should have four pillars, breathing out immortality on every side.” (Against Heresies 3.11.8, Loeb)

Against those who produced “more gospels,” Irenaeus anchored the church to the fourfold Gospel.

On Apostolic Continuity

“For it is a matter of necessity that every Church should agree with this Church [Rome], on account of its preeminent authority… The blessed apostles, then, having founded and built up the Church, committed into the hands of Linus the office of the episcopate… and now, in the twelfth place from the apostles, Eleutherus holds the inheritance of the episcopate.” (Against Heresies 3.3.2–3, Loeb)

This list of bishops, written during Commodus’ reign, was a defiant declaration: the church had unbroken succession from the apostles, while heretical sects had none.

On Christian Generosity

“The Jews were constrained to a regular payment of tithes; but Christians, who have received liberty, assign all their possessions to the Lord, bestowing joyfully and freely not the lesser portions of their property, since they have the hope of better things; like that poor widow who cast all her living into the treasury of God.” (Against Heresies 4.18.2)

This illustrates the distinctive spirit of the early church: while Roman officials often accused Christians of atheism or secrecy, their actual way of life was one of generosity, freely giving to the Lord and to the poor.

In Irenaeus we see the Christian mind under Commodus: scarred by persecution, yet confident in Scripture, united across the world, rooted in apostolic succession, and marked by radical generosity.

The Muratorian Fragment

The Muratorian Fragment, written around AD 180 in Rome, is our earliest surviving canonical list. It is preserved in a damaged Latin manuscript, so the very beginning and end are missing, but what remains is invaluable. It shows that by Commodus’ reign, the church already recognized a core New Testament canon.

On the Gospels

The opening lines are broken, but it clearly names Luke and John as the third and fourth Gospels — which implies Matthew and Mark were already listed. It says:

“The third book of the Gospel is that according to Luke… The fourth Gospel is that of John, one of the disciples.”

This affirms what Irenaeus said about the fourfold Gospel: no more, no fewer.

On Acts

“The Acts of all the apostles have been written in one book. Luke so comprised them for the most excellent Theophilus, because the several events took place when he was present.”

Acts was treated as authoritative history, alongside the Gospels.

On Paul’s Letters

“The blessed apostle Paul himself, following the order of his predecessor John, writes only to seven churches by name… But although he writes twice to the Corinthians and Thessalonians for correction, it is yet shown — one Church is recognized as being spread throughout the whole earth.”

Paul’s letters are described in a symbolic sevenfold pattern (like Revelation’s seven churches), but the list also included Philemon, Titus, and Timothy.

On Catholic Epistles and Revelation

The fragment accepts Jude and two letters of John. It recognizes the Apocalypse of John, and even mentions the Apocalypse of Peter — though it notes that some in the church did not want it read publicly.

On Spurious Works

The fragment draws a sharp line against forgeries:

“But the Epistle of Paul to the Laodiceans, and another to the Alexandrians, forged in Paul’s name for the heresy of Marcion, must be rejected… neither may gall be mixed with honey.”

This shows the church was not passively receiving every book that claimed apostolic authorship — it was testing and rejecting fakes.

On the Shepherd of Hermas

“But Hermas wrote the Shepherd quite recently, in our times, in the city of Rome, while his brother Pius was occupying the bishop’s chair. And therefore it ought indeed to be read; but it cannot be read publicly to the people in church, either among the prophets, whose number is complete, or among the apostles.”

This is remarkable. It shows that Roman Christians in Commodus’ day valued Hermas, but they knew it was recent and therefore not apostolic Scripture. It was good for private devotion, not for the public canon.

Why the Muratorian Fragment Matters

The Muratorian Fragment proves that by Commodus’ reign, the church already:

Recognized the four Gospels as the only Gospels.
Affirmed Acts, Paul’s letters, Revelation, and several Catholic Epistles.
Debated a few books (like the Apocalypse of Peter).
Rejected outright forgeries tied to heretical groups.
Distinguished between useful writings (like Hermas) and canonical Scripture.

Canon formation was not a 4th-century invention; it was already well advanced in the 2nd century.

Theophilus of Antioch

Theophilus, bishop of Antioch until about AD 183, was the earliest Christian writer to use the word “Trinity” (trias). Earlier Christians (like Justin Martyr) had spoken in triadic ways — Father, Son, and Spirit — but Theophilus is the first whose writings explicitly use the term.

On the Trinity

“In like manner also the three days which were before the luminaries are types of the Trinity (trias), of God, and His Word, and His Wisdom… The first is God, the second is the Son, the third is the Spirit of prophecy.” (To Autolycus 2.15)

This is one of the earliest explicit triadic statements: Father, Son, and Spirit named together.

On Scripture

“But if you will give yourself to a more exact study of the Scriptures, you will learn from them more accurately concerning God and His Christ, and concerning all things that are revealed.” (To Autolycus 2.9)

On Creation

“God, having His own Word internal within His own bowels, begat Him, emitting Him along with His own Wisdom before all things. He had this Word as a helper in the things that were created by Him, and by Him He made all things.” (To Autolycus 2.10)

On Idolatry

“Do not wonder if the truth is belabored by the lie; for first the lie is more ancient, but truth appeared later. For the truth always conquers, and falsehood is overcome.” (To Autolycus 1.14)

These words capture the apologetic spirit of Commodus’ era: Christians accused of atheism for rejecting idols, yet proclaiming Christ as the eternal Word, and the Spirit as the Spirit of prophecy.

Gnostic Rivals — The Gospel of Judas and Other Apocrypha

At the same time that orthodox leaders were defending the apostolic faith, rival groups were producing their own “gospels” and “acts.”

Irenaeus described one such group, the Cainites:

“They declare that Judas the traitor was thoroughly acquainted with these things, and that he alone, knowing the truth as no others did, accomplished the mystery of the betrayal. They produce a fictitious history which they style the Gospel of Judas.” (Against Heresies 1.31.1, Loeb)

For centuries this was our only evidence for the Gospel of Judas. Then, in the late 20th century, a Coptic manuscript was discovered in Egypt. Its contents matched Irenaeus’ account exactly.

In the text, Jesus mocks the disciples’ prayers:

“When he came to his disciples … they were gathered together and offering a prayer of thanksgiving over the bread. When he approached, he laughed.” (Gospel of Judas 33)

And to Judas, he offers a shocking commendation:

“You will exceed all of them. For you will sacrifice the man that clothes me.” (Gospel of Judas 56)

This bizarre inversion makes Judas the hero, praised for helping to discard Jesus’ human body. The discovery confirmed Irenaeus was right: the Gnostic “gospel” glorified the betrayer and denied Christ’s true incarnation.

Other apocrypha from this period were equally strange:

Apocryphal Gospels (30+ known by this time)

Gospel of Judas — Judas exalted for “sacrificing the man that clothes me.”
Gospel of Truth — Valentinian meditation redefining salvation as knowledge.
Gospel of the Egyptians — cited by Clement of Alexandria; ascetic in tone.
Gospel of Peter — fragment portrays a docetic Christ whose body feels no pain.
Gospel of the Hebrews — fragments used among Jewish-Christian groups.
Infancy Gospel of Thomas — boy Jesus curses playmates and strikes them dead, then raises them again.
Protoevangelium of James — elaborates Mary’s miraculous birth and childhood.
Gospel of the Ebionites — fragments depict a vegetarian Jesus, denying his divinity.
Gospel of the Nazarenes — fragments cited by Jerome.

Apocryphal Acts

Acts of Peter — includes the “Quo Vadis” scene; Peter crucified upside down.
Acts of Paul and Thecla — Thecla survives fire and beasts, preaches, baptizes herself.
Acts of John — Jesus leaves “no footprints,” appears in shifting forms.
Acts of Andrew — legendary missionary journeys and martyrdom of Andrew.
Acts of Thomas — missionary work in India, includes the famous “Hymn of the Pearl.”

Apocryphal Apocalypses

Apocalypse of Peter — visions of heaven and hell; debated in some churches.
Apocalypse of Paul — visionary journeys that became very popular later.
Apocalypse of Adam — Gnostic cosmology denying the Creator God.
Apocalypse of Zephaniah — Jewish-Christian apocalypse with angelic visions.

Other Gnostic Treatises Already Circulating

Gospel of Mary — Mary Magdalene as the revealer of secret knowledge. “Peter said to Mary, ‘Sister, we know that the Savior loved you more than the rest of women. Tell us the words of the Savior which you remember…’” (Gospel of Mary 10)
Apocryphon of John — a Gnostic retelling of Genesis, portraying the Creator God as an ignorant “demiurge.” “And he [the demiurge] said, ‘I am a jealous God, and there is no other god beside me.’ But by announcing this, he indicated to the angels who attended him that another God does exist.” (Apocryphon of John)
Teachings of Silvanus — wisdom text urging the pursuit of knowledge as the highest good.

By the year 200, at least 50–60 apocryphal works were already circulating — dozens of gospels, multiple acts, several apocalypses, and a growing shelf of Gnostic treatises. Some exalted Judas, others denied Jesus’ humanity, others turned Mary Magdalene into the revealer of hidden truth, and still others recast the Creator God as a blind and ignorant impostor.

Against this avalanche of counterfeits, the defenses of Irenaeus, the canon list of Rome, and the clarity of Theophilus stand out all the more. And archaeology has confirmed that they were not exaggerating. The rediscovery of the Gospel of Judas proved Irenaeus was right: the heretics really did produce “fictitious histories” that glorified the betrayer and denied Christ.

Conclusion

Commodus was assassinated in AD 192, strangled in his bath after twelve years of misrule. His death plunged Rome into the bloody “Year of the Five Emperors.” For the empire, his reign was remembered as a disgrace. But for Christians, Commodus’ years were remembered as a respite — a surprising turn from death in the palace to protection in the palace.

What began as a persecuted movement among the poor now had defenders in Caesar’s own household, a senator willing to declare Christ before Rome’s highest assembly, believers carving out rooms in the catacombs as their first communal spaces, and teachers like Irenaeus and Theophilus shaping the canon of Scripture and even the very word “Trinity” — all while the shadow of an “ancient law” reminded believers that the empire still considered them criminals.

Commodus’ reign thus marks a turning point: the faith of Jesus Christ was no longer hidden at the margins but had reached the heart of the empire, the underground corridors of Rome, and the contested battlefield of competing gospels — with the apostolic church proving itself the reliable guardian of the truth.

The Church’s Voice in an Emperor’s “Peaceful” Reign

August 31, 2025 / Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

Antoninus Pius (AD 138–161) is remembered as one of Rome’s “Five Good Emperors.” His reign lasted twenty-three years and was marked by peace, stability, and prosperity. He earned the title Pius because of his devotion: to his adoptive father Hadrian, whose memory he defended; to Roman religion, which he honored scrupulously; and to his family. Ancient writers portray him as the model of dutifulness and justice.

But beneath this outward calm, Christianity continued to grow. For Christians, Antoninus’ reign was not simply peaceful. It was a season of both intellectual flourishing and enduring danger. Some of the earliest apologies — reasoned defenses of Christianity addressed to emperors — come from this time, as well as one of the most famous martyrdom accounts of the ancient church.

Antoninus and His Reputation

The Historia Augusta reports:

“He was called Pius for the following reason: When the Senate wanted to annul Hadrian’s decrees, he persuaded them not to do so. He supported the father of his wife Faustina, who had been accused, and obtained his pardon. He always treated his stepmother with respect and honor. And he always sacrificed to the gods, showing reverence in every way.” (Life of Antoninus Pius, 6).

This reputation for reverence and stability carried into later Roman memory. He was remembered as a benevolent emperor who avoided war, strengthened the law, and ensured financial security.

Justin Martyr: Pleading Before the Emperors

During Antoninus’ reign, the Christian philosopher Justin Martyr composed his First Apology (c. 155), addressed to Antoninus Pius, Marcus Aurelius, Lucius Verus, and the Roman Senate. Why multiple emperors? Because Antoninus had adopted Marcus and Lucius as his heirs. By addressing all of them, Justin was not only appealing to the reigning emperor but also to those who would succeed him. He wanted Christianity to be judged fairly at the highest level of Rome.

Justin’s central plea was simple: stop condemning Christians for their name alone.

“Reason requires that those who are accused should not be condemned without a trial, nor hated on account of a name. For what is the accusation? That we are called Christians. This is no crime. The charge is only that we bear a name. If any is found guilty of evil, let him be punished as an evildoer; but not on account of the name, if he is found to be guiltless.” (First Apology 4, Loeb).

He exposed the absurdity of condemning someone merely for a title:

“For from a name neither praise nor punishment could reasonably spring, unless something excellent or base in action can be shown about it. Those who accuse us of atheism, because we do not worship the same gods as you, charge us falsely; for we worship the Maker of this universe, declaring that He has no need of streams of blood and libations and incense.” (First Apology 6, Loeb).

Justin also wanted to show that Christians lived morally upright lives:

“We who once delighted in fornication, now embrace chastity alone. We who used magical arts dedicate ourselves to the good and unbegotten God. We who loved gain above all things now bring what we have into a common stock, and share with every needy one. We who hated and destroyed one another, and on account of our different customs would not live with men of a different tribe, now, since the coming of Christ, live familiarly with them, and pray for our enemies.” (First Apology 14, Loeb).

Describing Christian Worship

Before Justin, the Roman governor Pliny the Younger had reported what former Christians told him under interrogation (ca. AD 112 under Trajan):

“They declared that the sum of their fault or error had been that they were accustomed to meet on a fixed day before dawn, and to sing responsively a hymn to Christ as to a god, and to bind themselves by an oath, not to some crime, but not to commit theft, robbery, or adultery, not to break their word, and not to refuse to return a deposit when asked for it. After this it was their custom to depart, and then to assemble again to partake of food — but ordinary and innocent food.” (Pliny, Letters 10.96, Loeb).

But Justin’s First Apology is the first time a Christian himself described worship directly to the Roman emperors. His account is fuller, and deliberately meant to explain Christian practice in detail:

“On the day called Sunday, all who live in cities or in the country gather together in one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits. Then, when the reader has finished, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray, and, as we said before, when our prayer is ended, bread and wine and water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability, and the people assent, saying Amen; and there is a distribution to each, and a sharing of that over which thanks have been given, and to those who are absent a portion is sent by the deacons.” (First Apology 67, Loeb).

And on the Eucharist:

“This food is called among us the Eucharist, of which no one is allowed to partake but the man who believes that the things which we teach are true, and who has been washed with the washing for the remission of sins, and unto regeneration, and who is so living as Christ has enjoined. For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Savior, having been made flesh by the Word of God, had both flesh and blood for our salvation, so likewise have we been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer of His word, and from which our blood and flesh are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh.” (First Apology 66, Loeb).

Justin left no doubt: Christians worshiped Christ as God, and their meal was not symbolic but sacred — the body and blood of Jesus.

In his Second Apology, Justin gave examples of how Christians were still executed for the name alone:

“When a certain woman, who had been made a disciple of Christ, remained with her husband for a time and tried to persuade him to live in chastity, and when he continued in licentiousness, she left him. Then, when she was about to be married to another, her former husband accused her of being a Christian. She presented a petition to delay the case until she could arrange her affairs, but her instructor in the faith was arrested and punished merely for being called a Christian.” (Second Apology 2, Loeb).

Even under Antoninus, Christians died for their confession of Christ.

Polycarp: Faithful Unto Death

At roughly the same time, Polycarp — bishop of Smyrna and disciple of the apostle John — was brought before the Roman proconsul.

When pressed to deny Christ, he famously replied:

“Eighty-six years I have served him, and he has done me no wrong. How then can I blaspheme my King who saved me?” (Martyrdom of Polycarp 9, Loeb).

The proconsul urged him to swear by Caesar:

“Swear by the fortune of Caesar; repent, and say, Away with the atheists!’ But Polycarp, with solemn countenance, looked upon all the lawless heathen in the arena, and waving his hand toward them, groaned, and looking up to heaven, said: ‘Away with the atheists.’” (Martyrdom of Polycarp 10, Loeb).

As they bound him for the fire, he prayed:

“O Lord God Almighty, Father of Thy beloved and blessed Son Jesus Christ, by whom we have received the knowledge of Thee, the God of angels and powers and every creature, and of all the righteous who live before Thee, I bless Thee that Thou hast counted me worthy of this day and hour, that I may share, among the number of the martyrs, in the cup of Thy Christ, for resurrection to eternal life both of soul and body, in the incorruptibility of the Holy Spirit.” (Martyrdom of Polycarp 14, Loeb).

Polycarp’s death under Antoninus shows that Rome still demanded worship of Caesar — and Christians who refused still died.

The Epistle to Diognetus: Citizens of Another World

From the same period comes the anonymous Epistle to Diognetus. It begins with a fictional inquirer raising the questions that many pagans asked about Christians:

“Since I see, most excellent Diognetus, that you are exceedingly anxious to learn the religion of the Christians, and are searching into it with the most careful and exact inquiry — as to what God they trust, and how they worship Him, that they all despise the world and disregard death, and neither account the acknowledged gods of the Greeks to be gods, nor observe the superstition of the Jews; and what kind of love they have for one another, and why this new race or practice has entered into life now and not before — I welcome this zeal of yours, and I beg of God, who enables both us to speak and you to hear, that it may be granted to both of us to profit by what we learn.” (Epistle to Diognetus 1, Loeb).

After dismissing both idol worship and Jewish ritual sacrifices as unworthy of God, the author explains that Christianity did not come from human speculation, but from revelation:

“When then you have freed yourself from all these things, and laid aside the error of the common talk, and are rid of the deception of the gods, and no longer suppose, like the Jews, that God has need of sacrifices — then shall you learn what is the true mystery of the Christian faith. For neither by curiosity nor by busy inquiry have we learned it, nor did we discover it through the art of men, as in some empty talk; but it has been handed down to us from the very Word of God Himself, who was sent from heaven by God to men.” (Epistle to Diognetus 4, Loeb).

And then comes one of the most moving descriptions of the Christian life in the entire second century — a vision of paradox, resilience, and heavenly citizenship:

“For Christians are not distinguished from the rest of mankind by country or by speech or by customs. For they do not dwell somewhere in their own cities, nor do they use some different language, nor practice a peculiar kind of life. This teaching of theirs has not been discovered by the thought and reflection of inquisitive men, nor do they champion any human doctrine, as some do. But while they dwell in both Greek and barbarian cities, as each has fallen to their lot, and follow the native customs in clothing and food and the other matters of daily life, yet the condition of citizenship which they exhibit is wonderful, and admittedly strange. They live in their own countries, but only as sojourners; they share all things as citizens, and suffer all things as foreigners. Every foreign country is a fatherland to them, and every fatherland is foreign.

They marry like all other men, and they beget children; but they do not cast away their offspring. They have their meals in common, but not their wives. They are found in the flesh, yet they do not live after the flesh. They spend their days upon earth, but their citizenship is in heaven. They obey the established laws, and they surpass the laws in their own lives. They love all men, and are persecuted by all. They are not known, and yet they are condemned. They are put to death, and yet they are quickened into life. They are poor, yet make many rich; they lack all things, and yet abound in all things. They are dishonored, and yet are glorified in their dishonor. They are spoken evil of, and yet are justified. They are reviled, and bless; they are insulted, and repay the insult with honor. They do good, yet are punished as evildoers. Being punished, they rejoice as though they were thereby quickened into life. The Jews make war upon them as foreigners, and the Greeks persecute them; and those who hate them cannot state the cause of their enmity.” (Epistle to Diognetus 5–6, Loeb).

This is how Christians under Antoninus saw themselves: rooted in Roman cities, yet belonging to another world; hated and persecuted, yet bringing life to others; dishonored, yet glorified; punished, yet rejoicing.

Hegesippus: Guarding the Apostolic Tradition

During Antoninus’ reign, the writer Hegesippus began preserving Christian memory in his five books of Memoirs. Sadly the work is lost, but fragments survive in Eusebius:

On the uniformity of doctrine:

“And the Church of Corinth continued in the true faith until Primus was bishop in Corinth; and I conversed with them on my voyage to Rome, and we were refreshed together in the true doctrine. And being in Rome I made a succession up to Anicetus, whose deacon was Eleutherus. And after Anicetus, Soter succeeded, and after him Eleutherus. In every succession and in every city things are as the Law and the Prophets and the Lord proclaim.” (Hist. Eccl. 4.22.1–3, Loeb).

On the family of Jesus (“desposyni”):

“There still survived of the kindred of the Lord the grandsons of Jude, who had been called his brother according to the flesh. … Domitian asked them how much property they owned; they said they had only thirty-nine plethra of land, and showed their calloused hands from farming. Asked about Christ and his kingdom, they replied that it was not earthly but heavenly and angelic, to appear at the end of the world. At this Domitian let them go, and they became leaders of the churches, both as witnesses and as of the Lord’s family.” (Hist. Eccl. 3.19–20, Loeb).

On James the Just:

“James, the brother of the Lord, succeeded to the government of the Church in conjunction with the apostles. … His knees became hard like a camel’s because of his constant worship, kneeling and asking forgiveness for the people. … They threw him down from the temple, stoned him, and finally a fuller’s club struck his head. Thus he bore witness, and they buried him by the temple, and his monument still remains.” (Hist. Eccl. 2.23, Loeb, citing Hegesippus).

On heresies after the apostles:

“Until the times of Trajan the Church continued a pure and uncorrupted virgin. But when the sacred band of apostles had closed their lives, and that generation passed away, then the conspiracy of godless error arose through the fraud of false teachers.” (Hist. Eccl. 4.22.4–7, Loeb).

Hegesippus stands as one of the earliest church historians, traveling through cities, checking successions of bishops, and insisting on continuity with the apostles.

The Rescript of Antoninus — and Why It Fails

Eusebius also preserves a decree attributed to Antoninus, which seems to restrain mob violence against Christians:

“If, therefore, the provincials are able to make a clear case against the Christians in court, let them bring charges. But it is unlawful to persecute them merely for the name. If anyone continues to harass them, let the one accused be released, even though he be found to be a Christian, and let the informer be punished.” (Church History IV.13, Loeb).

At first glance, this sounds as if Antoninus protected Christians. But the evidence of the time says otherwise.

Justin begged that Christians not be condemned for the name alone — which shows they were.
Polycarp was executed for refusing to deny Christ.
Justin’s Second Apology explicitly describes Christians punished “merely for being called a Christian.”

For these reasons, most historians conclude that Eusebius was wrong in this instance — either quoting a spurious decree or idealizing Antoninus. Whatever Antoninus may have written, Christians still died for their confession of Christ.

Conclusion

Antoninus Pius is remembered by Roman historians as the calmest, most peaceful emperor of the second century. But for Christians, his reign looked different.

Justin Martyr wrote eloquent defenses of Christianity, describing their moral life and Sunday worship — but still had to plead that Christians not be killed for the name alone.
Polycarp was executed, proving that even in a so-called peaceful reign, death was the cost of faith.
The Epistle to Diognetus portrayed Christians as citizens of heaven, foreigners in every land.
Hegesippus preserved the memory of apostolic succession and the purity of the early church.
And Eusebius’ rosy decree about Antoninus was almost certainly wrong.

Antoninus’ reign demonstrates a crucial point: even when Rome was at peace, Christians were not safe. Their very identity was enough to condemn them. Yet it was in this climate that Christianity’s first great apologists wrote, its first great martyrdom was recorded, and its distinct self-understanding emerged.

The empire might call Antoninus Pius — dutiful and devout. But for Christians, true piety meant loyalty to a greater King, even unto death.