eucharist

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

/ 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.

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

/ 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.