roman-religion

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.

Caligula, the Jews, and the Birth of the Christian Name

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Introduction

When the Emperor Tiberius died in AD 37, the empire — and Judea in particular — was ready for change.
Years of suspicion and repression had left the people weary.

Into that moment stepped Gaius Julius Caesar Germanicus — better known by his childhood nickname, Caligula, “little boots.”
At first, he was welcomed as a breath of fresh air: the beloved son of the popular general Germanicus, a man whose family name still inspired loyalty in the legions.

But within months of taking the throne, Caligula’s rule took a shocking turn.
A serious illness changed him — or perhaps revealed him.
He began to speak and act as if he were not just Rome’s ruler, but Rome’s god.

Caligula’s four-year reign takes us into the early chapters of the book of Acts — roughly Acts 8 through Acts 11, and possibly touching Acts 12. This is the period after Stephen’s martyrdom, when Saul is converted, the gospel spreads to Samaria, and the first Gentiles come to faith.
In Acts 11:26 we read, “The disciples were first called Christians in Antioch.”
That moment, the birth of the Christian name, happens right around the time Caligula is assassinated.

At this stage in history, Christians were still viewed by Rome as part of the Jewish community. There was no legal distinction between them. Because of that, they came under the same imperial pressures as the Jews — but their primary opposition, as the book of Acts records, came from certain Jewish religious leaders, not directly from Rome.

Demanding Worship

Caligula’s early popularity soon gave way to demands for divine honors.

Cassius Dio, Roman History 59.28 (c. AD 200–235):
“He gave orders that the statue of Zeus at Olympia be brought to Rome, in order that he might set up a statue of himself in its place, and be worshipped as Zeus.”

Suetonius, Caligula 22 (c. AD 110–130):
“He demanded that all statues of the gods be brought to Rome and have his image set upon them.
Those who failed to swear by his Genius or sacrifice to him were executed or exiled.”

Cassius Dio, Roman History 59.6:
“He became terribly bloodthirsty, once stained with blood. He killed without trial anyone he suspected.
And because he was now calling himself a god, any slight was counted as sacrilege.”

Cassius Dio, Roman History 59.25:
“In Gaul he executed many nobles who failed to show delight at his arrival.
Some were accused of mocking the temples erected in his honor.”

These weren’t harmless eccentricities. Caligula’s divine pretensions were enforced with political terror. Refusal to participate in his worship could mean exile, confiscation of property, or death — whether you were a senator in Rome or a provincial subject.

Christians Were Still Seen as Jews

In the late 30s AD, the Roman state made no distinction between Jews and Christians.

The followers of Jesus still met in synagogues. They kept many Jewish customs. Their proclamation of a crucified and risen Messiah looked, to outsiders, like one more messianic variation within Judaism.

That meant that when Jews came under threat for refusing emperor worship, Christians came under the same threat — not because Rome recognized them as a separate group, but because they were still identified as Jews.

It’s important to remember: in this period, as Acts records, the primary persecution of Christians came from Jewish religious authorities and their allies, not from the Roman state.

The Temple Statue Order

Caligula’s most infamous act toward the Jews came in AD 39 or 40, when he ordered a colossal statue of himself to be placed in the Jerusalem Temple — the holiest site in Judaism.

Josephus, Antiquities 18.261–262 (c. AD 93):
“Petronius, the governor of Syria, was astonished at the constancy of the Jews… Tens of thousands came to meet him, begging him not to allow the laws of their forefathers to be transgressed. They threw themselves on the ground and exposed their necks, declaring they were ready to be slain rather than see the image set up.”

Josephus, War 2.195 (c. AD 75):
“They continued in this posture for forty days, lying prostrate on the ground and praying with tears that the laws of their forefathers not be violated.”

Josephus, Antiquities 18.278:
“They said they would rather let their land lie untilled than submit to such impiety. ‘We will neither fight nor flee,’ they said, ‘but if you wish, kill us. Slaughter us as sacrifices upon our own soil, and we shall die satisfied if we keep our Law.’”

This was a theological line that could not be crossed. The Jewish resistance was total and nonviolent, but it risked triggering a rebellion that could have spread far beyond Judea.

Philo Stands Before Caligula

In Alexandria, Jews were being attacked. Synagogues were seized. A delegation led by Philo of Alexandria (c. AD 40s) was sent to plead their case before Caligula.

Philo’s description in Embassy to Gaius is striking.

Philo, Embassy to Gaius 206:
“He would run to the peacocks and talk to them, then dart off to a cluster of trees… laughing loudly and pretending to judge the beauty of the statues.
We followed him like prisoners in a triumphal procession.”

Philo, Embassy to Gaius 351–352:
“He ridiculed us without restraint.
He said, ‘You are people who do not believe I have been made a god, although I am clearly one!’
And when we tried to explain our ancestral customs, he laughed louder still and said,
‘You are not defending your religion — you are insulting mine!’”

Philo, Embassy to Gaius 358:
“No one could guess what he would do next.
His madness was like the sea, stirred by contrary winds — always shifting, never at peace.”

The emperor’s mood, not the law, was the deciding factor for the fate of entire communities.

Petronius Risks His Life

In Judea, the man tasked with carrying out the statue order was the governor of Syria, Publius Petronius. He saw the Jewish determination to resist and feared the order would ignite a rebellion that could consume the whole region.

Josephus, Antiquities 18.297–299:
“Petronius took the blame upon himself… He wrote to Caligula saying that if he forced the image into the Temple, all Syria would be in revolt.
He told his wife and children to prepare for his death.”

Caligula sent a letter ordering Petronius to commit suicide. But before it arrived:

Josephus, Antiquities 18.302:
“The letter from Caligula, commanding Petronius to kill himself, was already on its way —
but a messenger arrived first announcing that Gaius was dead. And so Petronius was saved.”

What Was Happening in the Church?

During Caligula’s reign:

  • Jesus had been crucified just a few years earlier, c. AD 30.
  • Paul had been converted, c. AD 31–32.
  • The gospel had spread to Samaria and Antioch.
  • According to Acts 11:26, “The disciples were first called Christians in Antioch.”
  • The events of Acts 8–11 — and possibly into Acts 12 — take place during these years.
  • The primary persecution of Christians recorded in Acts during this period came from certain Jewish authorities (Acts 8:1–3; Acts 9:1–2), not from Rome.

Conclusion

Caligula’s reign ended in AD 41 when members of the Praetorian Guard assassinated him.
For the Jews — and for Christians — his death was seen as a deliverance.

But his four years on the throne left a deep impression: the empire could demand worship from its subjects, and refusal could bring you to the brink of death.

The birth of the Christian name in Antioch happened in this very period, under the shadow of an emperor who claimed to be all the gods.

In the next post, we’ll see how the man who succeeded him — Claudius — brought a surprising period of stability, and how, under that stability, the Christian mission exploded across the empire.

The Sons of God: Augustus and the Christ

/ Jason Conrad / 1 Comment

What did it mean to call someone “Son of God” in the Roman world—and why would anyone believe it about Jesus?

Before Christianity ever faced persecution, the Jewish people had already gained a remarkable status in the Roman Empire. They were allowed to observe the Sabbath, govern themselves according to their laws, and send offerings to the Jerusalem temple. These rights were not typical for most conquered peoples.

But Rome’s tolerance had limits. The story of how the Jewish people moved from protected status to persecution—how revolts turned into crosses—is crucial for understanding the world Jesus was born into.

And even more striking is this: before anyone called Jesus “Son of God,” those words already belonged to another man—Caesar Augustus.

Julius Caesar and Jewish Privilege

Julius Caesar’s relationship with the Jews was rooted in both politics and pragmatism. During the Roman civil war, the Jewish high priest Hyrcanus II supported Caesar against Pompey. In return, Caesar issued formal decrees protecting Jewish religious customs and governance:

“Gaius Julius Caesar… orders that [the Jews] be permitted to observe their own customs and laws and to gather together according to their ancestral customs.”
—Josephus, Antiquities 14.190–192 (Whiston)

“Gaius Caesar… has granted to Hyrcanus… and to the Jewish nation, exemption from tribute every seventh year… and that they may be governed according to their own laws.”
—Antiquities 14.213–216

These were not vague gestures—they were publicly posted and sent to provincial officials for enforcement.

By the first century, Jews made up 7–10% of the Roman Empire, with communities spread across nearly every major city. Their presence was especially concentrated along Rome’s eastern frontier, bordering the Parthian Empire, Rome’s greatest military rival. For Caesar, Jewish loyalty brought stability to a region where stability was hard to come by.

“Countless myriads of Jews are in every region… in Asia and Europe, in the islands and mainland, in the East and the West.”
—Philo, Embassy to Gaius §281, c. AD 41

“There is no city, no nation, no people among whom our custom… has not spread… they have penetrated every city.”
—Josephus, Against Apion 2.282, c. AD 95

When Caesar was assassinated in 44 BC, the Jews stood out in their mourning.

“At Caesar’s funeral, the Jews alone mourned for him publicly and for many nights kept vigil at his tomb.”
—Appian, Civil Wars 2.148, c. AD 120

Rome Respected the Ancient

Rome didn’t simply tolerate the Jews because of politics. Their religion was ancient—and that mattered deeply in Roman culture. New religions were suspicious. Old ones were revered.

“Whatever their origin, their customs are at least ancient, and therefore entitled to respect.”
—Tacitus, Histories 5.5, c. AD 100

“All new kinds of religion are suspect… only ancient worships are worthy of divine status.”
—Pliny the Elder, Natural History 30.11, c. AD 77

This perspective explains why Jews were granted legal protection, while newer movements like Christianity eventually provoked suspicion and hostility. The age of a religion—its antiquity—was a Roman marker of legitimacy.

Augustus and the Gospel of the Empire

Jesus was born during the reign of Caesar Augustus (27 BC – AD 14), the adopted son of Julius Caesar. He didn’t just inherit Caesar’s power—he inherited Caesar’s divinity.

Augustus was declared Divi Filius—“Son of the Divine [Julius].” He was called savior, lord, and bringer of peace. These weren’t just political slogans—they were religious titles, printed on coins, etched in stone, and celebrated in public festivals.

“He added the title ‘Son of a God’ to his name.”
—Suetonius, Divus Augustus 94.1, c. AD 120

“After my death… the Senate decreed that my name should be included in the hymns of the Salii and be consecrated as a god.”
—Res Gestae Divi Augusti §35, written by Augustus, AD 14

“To the Divine Augustus Caesar, Son of the Divine Julius.”
—Temple Dedication, Pergamon (1st c. BC)

One famous inscription from Priene (9 BC) declared:

“Since Providence… has filled [Augustus] with virtue so that he might benefit mankind… sending him as a Savior (sōtēr)… The birthday of the god Augustus was the beginning for the world of the good tidings (euangelion) that have come through him.”

Even his titles were spiritual:

“To our lord, Augustus Caesar, savior of the inhabited world…”
—Provincial Dedication, Asia Minor

So when the Gospel of Mark opens with:

“The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”
—Mark 1:1

—it wasn’t just religious language. It was a counterclaim. A direct confrontation with imperial theology.

Herod the Great and the Mass Crucifixions

Jesus was about two years old when Herod the Great died. Though he expanded the Jerusalem temple and was a Roman ally, Herod was known for ruthless paranoia:

“His whole life was a continual scene of bloodshed… even his own sons were not spared.”
—Josephus, Antiquities 17.191–192

“He gave orders to kill a great number of the most illustrious men of the whole Jewish nation…”
—Antiquities 17.204

Among Herod’s victims was Hyrcanus II—the same high priest who had once supported Julius Caesar. His death signaled the end of a political era.

When Herod died in 4 BC, Judea erupted in revolt. The Roman governor Varus responded with overwhelming force:

“Varus… crucified about two thousand of those that had been the authors of the revolt.”
—Jewish War 2.5.2

This was the world into which Jesus was born: a land where crosses lined the roads, and loyalty to Rome was enforced by terror.

The Census and the Revolt of Judas the Galilean

By AD 6, Jesus was about 12 years old. Rome had removed Herod’s son Archelaus, annexed Judea, and placed it under direct rule. A census for taxation followed.

“Coponius… had the power of life and death put into his hands by Caesar…”
—Josephus, Antiquities 18.1.1

“In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered…”
—Luke 2:1

For most provinces, a census was normal. But in Judea, taxation felt like a theological betrayal—a declaration that Caesar, not God, was king.

A Galilean named Judas stirred rebellion:

“Judas… said that this taxation was nothing less than slavery… and exhorted the nation to assert their liberty.”
—Antiquities 18.4

“They say that God alone is their ruler and lord… and they do not value dying any more than living…”
—Jewish War 2.117–118

“This was the beginning of great disturbances.”
—Antiquities 18.27

Jesus grew up in Galilee, where this revolt happened. The trauma of crushed rebellion—arrests, crucifixions, suppression—was not distant history. It was personal memory for many families.

Rome Never Forgets

The revolt of Judas the Galilean may have been suppressed, but Rome remembered. Decades later, during the reign of Claudius, Judas’s sons were crucified:

“Two of his sons, James and Simon, were taken and crucified by order of Tiberius Alexander.”
—Antiquities 20.102

Even after Jesus’ own crucifixion, Rome continued to hunt down zealot bloodlines. The cross wasn’t just punishment. It was policy.

Other Revolts, Other Crosses

Judea wasn’t the only place that rebelled.

“The Gauls… declared they were being reduced to slavery under the guise of a census and taxation.”
—Tacitus, Annals 3.40, c. AD 100

“The Britons… outraged by abuses and tribute… rose in fury to throw off the Roman yoke.”
—Annals 14.31

But the difference in Judea was theological.

The Britons and Gauls wanted political freedom. The Jews wanted God’s reign restored. That made the conflict with Caesar something more than rebellion. It made it blasphemy versus worship.

The Gospel Against the Empire

Jesus was born during a Roman census, raised where a zealot revolt was crushed, and crucified by the same empire that lined Judean roads with crosses.

His death was not the first.
But his death redefined what the cross meant.

The gospel of Caesar said:

“The emperor is savior, son of god, and lord.”

The gospel of Jesus said:

“No. He is.”