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Christianity’s Unstoppable Growth in the First 300 Years

/ Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

When people think of the first centuries of the Roman Empire, they imagine a crowded religious marketplace: temples to Jupiter, processions for Isis, secret gatherings of Mithraists, ecstatic festivals for Cybele. Against this backdrop, Christianity sometimes gets cast as “just another mystery religion.” But the evidence — both Christian and pagan — tells a different story.

Christianity grew in ways no other religion did. And it grew because it was different.

A Movement That Could Not Be Ignored

By the year AD 112, the Roman governor Pliny the Younger wrote to Emperor Trajan about the rapid spread of Christianity in his province of Bithynia-Pontus:

“For many persons of every age, every rank, and also of both sexes are and will be endangered. For the contagion of this superstition has spread not only through the cities but also through the villages and the countryside.”
— Pliny, Letters 10.96 (Loeb Classical Library), written c. AD 112

Pliny’s words confirm what the New Testament had already claimed: Christianity wasn’t staying local. It had spread across cities, villages, farms, households, men and women, slave and free. This was no longer a tiny sect in Jerusalem — it was a movement Rome could not ignore.

Growth by the Numbers

Sociologist Rodney Stark, in The Rise of Christianity (1996), famously calculated that Christianity expanded at about 40% per decade — slow and steady exponential growth. Bart Ehrman, in The Triumph of Christianity (2018), adopts a similar model for illustration.

  • 30 AD: a few dozen disciples in Jerusalem
  • 100 AD: ~7,000–10,000
  • 200 AD: ~200,000–300,000
  • 300 AD: ~4–6 million
  • 350 AD: ~30 million (roughly half the empire)

No other religion in antiquity shows a comparable curve.

Why Was Christianity Different?

1. Exclusivity

Roman religion was inclusive. You could worship Mithras in the army, Isis at home, and Jupiter in the forum. Christianity, by contrast, insisted that all other gods were false. Converts had to abandon sacrifices and festivals. Romans accused them of being “atheists” for rejecting the gods of the empire.

Judaism shared that exclusivity, but it was ethnic and national. Christianity took it further: one God for all nations.

Justin Martyr, writing in the mid-2nd century (c. AD 155), put it this way:

“We do not sacrifice to idols, for we know they are not gods but lifeless and dead. We do not worship with the multitude, but we direct prayers to the only true God.”
— Justin, First Apology 9 (Loeb/ANF)

Later in the 2nd century, Tertullian sharpened the same point in legal and political terms. Accused of disloyalty to the emperor, he replied:

“We Christians are accused of being irreligious with regard to the emperors. But let it be said: we do not worship the emperor, we will not swear by the genius of Caesar. We worship him lawfully, as a man, and pray for him. But as for the gods, we know that they are no gods.”
— Tertullian, Apology 24 (written c. AD 197, Loeb/ANF)

That phrase — “we worship him lawfully, as a man” — is carefully chosen. Christians would:

  • Honor the emperor in his human role (by paying taxes, obeying laws, and praying for him).
  • But they would not cross into idolatry by offering sacrifices or calling him divine.

This was the flashpoint of exclusivity. Christians were loyal citizens in every human way — but their refusal to honor the gods (and Caesar’s genius) made them appear dangerous, even atheistic, to Roman society.

2. Universality

Other cults were tied to particular groups: Mithraism to soldiers, Isis to Egyptian traditions, Cybele to Asia Minor. Christianity declared itself for everyone.

Paul put it in striking terms:

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
— Paul, Letter to the Galatians 3:28 (written c. AD 50s, Loeb/NRSV)

Nearly a century later, Justin Martyr could make the same claim even more boldly:

“There is no people, whether Greek or barbarian, or any race whatsoever, among whom prayers and thanksgivings are not offered through the name of the crucified Jesus.”
— Justin, First Apology 46 (written c. AD 155, Loeb/ANF)

From Paul to Justin, the message is consistent: Christianity was not a local or ethnic faith. It was a movement that claimed universality — open to all nations, classes, and peoples.

3. Community and Care

This is where Christianity truly stood apart. Roman society had structures of family, guilds, and even associations — but none looked like the Christian ethic of charity.

  • Roman families (familia) cared for their own household, but responsibility rarely extended beyond kin and slaves.
  • Guilds and burial clubs (collegia) sometimes pooled resources for funerals, but their reach was limited and local.
  • Philosophical schools (Stoics, Epicureans, Platonists) spoke of virtue and brotherhood in theory, but offered no system of daily material support to the poor.
  • Mystery cults like Isis or Mithras provided rituals and camaraderie, but not hospitals or famine relief.

Christianity was different. Caring for widows, orphans, the poor, the sick, and even strangers was commanded as part of the “way of life” (Didache 1–4, c. AD 80–100).

During the plague of the 260s, Dionysius of Alexandria described the difference Christians made:

“Most of our brethren, in their exceeding love and brotherly kindness, did not spare themselves, but kept by each other, and visited the sick without thought of danger, and ministered to them assiduously, and treated them for their healing in Christ, and with them departed this life serenely happy; for they were infected by others with the disease, drawing upon themselves the sickness of their neighbors, and willingly taking over their pains.”
— Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 7.22 (Loeb Classical Library, written c. AD 310–325, quoting Dionysius’s letter from c. AD 260)

Even pagan critics noticed. Lucian of Samosata, a satirist writing around AD 170, mocked Christians for their enduring practice of brotherhood:

“The poor wretches have convinced themselves, first and foremost, that they are going to be immortal and live for all time… and then it was impressed on them by their original lawgiver that they are all brothers from the moment they are converted, and deny the gods of Greece, and worship that crucified sophist himself, and live under his laws. So they despise all things indiscriminately and consider them common property.”
— Lucian, The Passing of Peregrinus 13 (Loeb Classical Library, written c. AD 170)

And this care extended to the most vulnerable: children. In Roman society, it was common to expose unwanted infants — especially girls — leaving them to die or be taken as slaves. Philosophers like Aristotle endorsed the practice. But Christians condemned it as murder and became known for rescuing and raising exposed infants.

The Epistle of Barnabas (c. AD 130) instructed believers:

“You shall not kill a child by abortion, nor shall you destroy it after birth.”
— Barnabas 19.5 (Loeb, Apostolic Fathers)

This was radical. Christians didn’t only nurse plague victims — they took in abandoned babies, treating them as precious image-bearers of God.

And later, even Rome’s own emperor admitted it. Julian the Apostate (who tried to revive paganism after Constantine) begrudgingly confessed:

“Why do we not observe how it is their benevolence to strangers, their care for the graves of the dead, and the pretended holiness of their lives that have done most to increase atheism [i.e., Christianity]?”
— Julian, Letter to Arsacius (Loeb Classical Library, written c. AD 362)

Julian even instructed pagan priests to imitate Christian charity — because he knew it was winning hearts.

So while families cared only for their own, guilds helped only with burials, and philosophers offered only ideals, Christians made charity the center of their identity. This ethic reshaped communities across the empire.

4. Moral Demands

Pagan cults emphasized ritual. Christianity demanded a transformed life.

Pliny himself noted that Christians bound themselves by oath:

“They asserted, however, that the sum and substance of their fault or error had been that they were accustomed to meet on a fixed day before dawn and sing responsively a hymn to Christ as to a god, and to bind themselves by oath, not to some crime, but not to commit fraud, theft, or adultery, not to falsify their trust, nor to refuse to return a trust when called upon to do so.”
— Pliny, Letters 10.96 (Loeb Classical Library, written c. AD 112)

For Christians, morality wasn’t optional — it was central.

And Christian writers pointed to transformed lives as the greatest proof of all. Origen, writing in the mid-3rd century, argued:

“Their reform of life is the strongest testimony that they have come upon a truth that cannot be shaken. For who that sees the untold multitudes who have abandoned their former vices, and given themselves to a pure and sober life, does not wonder at the power that has wrought this change?”
— Origen, Against Celsus 1.67 (written c. AD 248, Loeb)

For Origen, the very existence of morally changed communities was itself evidence that Christianity was real and divine.

5. A Historical Resurrection

Skeptics sometimes argue that the resurrection of Jesus was just another version of the “dying and rising god” myths in the ancient world. But when we examine the actual stories, each one is different in crucial ways — especially when it comes to dates and eyewitnesses.

Osiris (Egyptian):

  • Date: 2nd millennium BC; Plutarch, On Isis and Osiris (c. AD 100).
  • Story: Murdered, dismembered, reassembled, becomes ruler of the underworld.
  • Eyewitnesses: None.
  • Difference: Never returns bodily to life among mortals.

Dionysus (Greek):

  • Date: 6th c. BC (Homeric Hymns); 4th c. BC (Orphic).
  • Story: Torn apart, restored; fertility cycles.
  • Eyewitnesses: None.
  • Difference: Cyclical vegetation rebirth, not historical resurrection.

Attis (Phrygian):

  • Date: 4th–3rd c. BC cult; Roman references 1st c. BC–4th c. AD.
  • Story: Castrates himself, dies under a tree; later myths say preserved from decay.
  • Eyewitnesses: None.
  • Difference: Mourning cult, not resurrection.

Adonis (Greek/Near Eastern):

  • Date: 7th–6th c. BC cult; Ovid Metamorphoses (AD 8); Lucian (AD 150).
  • Story: Killed by boar; blood gives flowers; seasonal return.
  • Eyewitnesses: None.
  • Difference: Fertility myth.

Inanna/Ishtar (Mesopotamian):

  • Date: Descent of Inanna (c. 1750 BC); Descent of Ishtar (7th c. BC).
  • Story: Dies in the underworld, restored by gods.
  • Eyewitnesses: None.
  • Difference: Cosmic myth, not history.

Romulus (Roman):

  • Date: Legendary founder, 8th c. BC; Livy, History of Rome 1.16 (27–9 BC); Plutarch, Life of Romulus (c. AD 100).
  • Story: Competing endings — (1) vanishes in a storm; (2) Proculus Julius claims vision; (3) Senators murdered him and invented tale.
  • Eyewitnesses: One vision, contradictory stories.
  • Difference: Apotheosis (becoming divine), not bodily resurrection.

Heracles (Greek):

  • Date: Homer (8th c. BC); Apollodorus (1st–2nd c. AD).
  • Story: Dies on pyre; mortal part destroyed, divine part ascends.
  • Eyewitnesses: None.
  • Difference: Apotheosis, not resurrection.

Zalmoxis (Thracian):

  • Date: Herodotus, Histories 4.94–96 (c. 440 BC).
  • Story: Hides underground for three years, reappears.
  • Eyewitnesses: Followers saw him reemerge, but he never died.
  • Difference: Retreat-and-return, not resurrection.

Melqart (Phoenician):

  • Date: Cult at Tyre, 9th c. BC; Greek accounts 5th c. BC onward.
  • Story: Annual rites of seasonal renewal.
  • Eyewitnesses: None.
  • Difference: Fertility ritual, not resurrection.

Mithras (Roman cult):

  • Date: Late 1st c. AD in Rome.
  • Story: Slays bull; Mithras never dies.
  • Eyewitnesses: None.
  • Difference: No resurrection myth at all.

Apollonius of Tyana (Greek philosopher):

  • Date: 1st c. AD; Philostratus, Life of Apollonius (c. AD 217–238).
  • Story: Three endings — (1) dies in Ephesus; (2) dies in Lindus; (3) vanishes in Crete, appears to one disciple.
  • Eyewitnesses: At most, one disciple in one version; others contradict.
  • Difference: Late, legendary, contradictory; no bodily resurrection.

Why Christianity Was Different

By contrast, the Christian proclamation was unique:

  • Early: The resurrection was proclaimed from the very start. Paul’s letters (c. AD 50s) are our earliest Christian writings, but in 1 Corinthians 15:3–7 he cites a creed he himself “received” from the Jerusalem church — most scholars date this creed to within five years of Jesus’ death (c. AD 30–35).
  • Historical: Located in Jerusalem under Pontius Pilate. Tacitus (c. AD 115) confirms: “Christus, the founder of the name, was put to death by the procurator Pontius Pilate, during the reign of Tiberius.” — Annals 15.44 (Loeb)
    Even atheist or agnostic historians today agree on three facts: Jesus lived, was crucified under Pilate, and his followers soon claimed to see him alive.
  • Eyewitnessed: Paul lists appearances:
    1. To Cephas (Peter)
    2. To the Twelve
    3. To more than five hundred at once (most still alive when Paul wrote)
    4. To James (the brother of Jesus)
    5. To all the apostles
    6. Finally, to Paul himself
      Plus, we have four independent Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, AD 65–95), each preserving distinct traditions but united in testifying to Jesus’ crucifixion, burial, and resurrection.
  • Bodily: Jesus left behind an empty tomb and ate with disciples; not a ghost, not apotheosis.
  • Transformative: These claims produced communities whose lives of charity and moral transformation astonished even critics.

Conclusion

Christianity wasn’t “just another mystery religion.”

  • It was exclusive like Judaism, but universal in scope.
  • It demanded moral transformation, not just ritual.
  • It built enduring communities of care unmatched in Roman society — nursing plague victims, rescuing exposed infants, treating every life as sacred.
  • And it proclaimed not a seasonal myth or apotheosis, but a historical resurrection, rooted in eyewitness testimony and confirmed by transformed lives.

By AD 300, Christians numbered in the millions. By AD 350, they were half the empire. What began as a small sect in Jerusalem became the movement that reshaped the world.

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.

The True Temple Rises: Christianity After AD 70

/ Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

When Nero died by suicide in AD 68, the Roman Empire plunged into chaos. In one year, four emperors—Galba, Otho, Vitellius, and finally Vespasian—rose and fell. While Rome burned and battled for power, Judea was in full revolt.

And in the smoldering ruins of that rebellion, Vespasian and his son Titus would become emperors. Their campaign didn’t just crush a revolt—it destroyed Jerusalem, leveled the Temple, and forever reshaped both Jewish and Christian identity.

The Revolt Begins: Taxes, Desecration, and Massacres

In AD 66, the Roman governor of Judea, Gessius Florus, pushed the people beyond their limits. He looted the Temple treasury—seizing 17 talents, equivalent to about $10 million today.

This wasn’t mere corruption — it was an act of sacrilege and robbery of funds consecrated to God.

The people mocked Florus by passing baskets around as though collecting alms for him. His response was slaughter. Josephus (c. AD 75–79) records:

“Florus sent soldiers into Jerusalem and ordered a massacre. They killed 3,600 men, women, and children—even Roman citizens of equestrian rank. Some were scourged, and then crucified.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 2.14.9 (Loeb)

This atrocity ignited full-scale revolt.

Roman Garrisons Overrun

Jewish Zealots stormed the Antonia Fortress, overran the Roman garrison, and then ambushed Roman forces at Masada. Josephus writes:

“They compelled the Roman garrison to surrender and slaughtered them. The war was now started in earnest.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 2.17.9 (Loeb)

Rome had no choice but to respond.

Vespasian in Galilee: Fire and Terror

Nero sent Vespasian, a seasoned general, to crush the uprising. Accompanied by his son Titus, he swept through Galilee.

At Jotapata, Josephus himself was the Jewish commander. He was captured there and became an eyewitness to everything that followed. His account of these events is not second-hand history; it comes from someone who stood in the middle of the war and later wrote under Roman patronage.

Josephus describes the fall of Jotapata:

“Forty thousand were slain, and the city was utterly demolished. Those hiding in caves were dragged out and killed.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 3.7.36 (Loeb)

In Gamla, the scene was horrific:

“People hurled themselves, wives, and children over the cliffs. The entire city was covered with corpses.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 4.1.9 (Loeb)

He sums it up:

“Galilee was filled with fire and blood.”

Christians in Galilee were not spared this. They lived in the same villages and towns, and the Roman army made no distinction. Alongside their Jewish neighbors, they too were killed, crucified, or driven into slavery. The suffering Josephus describes was shared by all, including those who confessed Christ.

Titus and the Siege of Jerusalem

After Nero’s death, Vespasian left for Rome, leaving the siege of Jerusalem in the hands of Titus.

Jerusalem was already fractured from within. Zealots and moderates fought each other while Roman forces built a five-mile siege wall to starve the city.

Josephus, still an eyewitness from the Roman camp, records the horrors inside:

“The famine was so severe that parents stole food from their own children. Dead bodies lay everywhere. No one had strength to bury them.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 5.12.3–4 (Loeb)

And then, one of the darkest accounts in ancient history:

“A woman named Mary… took her infant son, slew him, roasted him, and ate half, hiding the rest. When soldiers smelled the roasted flesh and stormed in, she said, ‘This is my son… I have eaten my own child.’”
— Josephus, Jewish War 6.201–213 (Loeb)

Titus pressed on. Though he claimed to want to spare the Temple:

“I gave orders to preserve the Temple, but my commands were ignored in the madness of battle.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 6.4.7 (6.254 Loeb)

The Temple burned. The city fell. Josephus claimed over 1.1 million people died in the siege.

For Christians, the destruction of the Temple wasn’t only tragedy — it was fulfillment of Jesus’ prophecy (Mark 13:2). The collapse of the Temple-centered world validated their conviction that Christ himself was the new and greater Temple.

Crucifixions Without Number

Josephus gives us two chilling glimpses of Roman cruelty:

“As for those who had fled from within the city, many were caught; and when they were caught, they were scourged and tortured, then crucified opposite the walls. The Roman soldiers, out of anger and hatred, nailed up those they caught, one after one way, and another after another, to entertain themselves by the variety. And so great was their number that there was not room enough for the crosses, and not crosses enough for the bodies.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 5.11.1 (Loeb)

And again:

“They caught those that had fled out of the city… and when they were caught, they were first scourged, then tormented with all sorts of tortures, and finally crucified before the wall of the city. Titus indeed commiserated their fate; yet he understood that their number was so great that room was lacking for the crosses, and crosses lacking for the bodies. About five hundred were crucified daily.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 6.1.1 (Loeb)

This was the empire’s logic of terror — the same system of crucifixion that had killed Jesus, now repeated on a scale of hundreds per day. Early Christians could never look at the Roman cross as anything but a symbol of cruelty and their Lord’s triumph over it.

Aftermath: Slavery, Spectacle, and the Jewish Tax

Thousands of survivors were:

  • Paraded through Rome in Titus’s triumph, forced to carry sacred items like the Menorah.
  • Sold into slavery across the empire.

Rome minted coins that read:

“Judea Capta” — Judea Captured.

And then came the fiscus Judaicus—the Jewish tax.

“He also decreed that all Jews throughout the world should pay each year two drachmas to the Capitol in Rome, as they had previously paid them to the Temple in Jerusalem.”
— Dio Cassius (c. AD 200–220), Roman History 66.7 (Loeb)

For Jewish Christians, this was especially complex. In Judea, they were still outwardly seen as part of the Jewish community and likely taxed along with them. But in Rome, Nero had already distinguished Christians as a separate group. The destruction of the Temple and the imposition of this tax pushed the divide further: Christians were being forced to decide — were they simply another branch of Judaism, or something distinct?

And the atmosphere in Rome was not one of tolerance. Suetonius (c. AD 120) records:

“He banished from the city the philosophers and the astrologers.”
— Suetonius, Vespasian 15 (Loeb)

This wasn’t aimed at Christians directly, but it reveals the suspicion with which Rome viewed any new teachers or rival authorities. The gospel’s claim that Jesus is Lord would have sounded as threatening to imperial ears as the mutterings of philosophers or astrologers.

The Arch of Titus

The victory was immortalized in stone. After Titus’s death, the Roman Senate and People built the Arch of Titus (c. AD 81), which still stands in Rome today.

The dedicatory inscription reads:

“The Senate and People of Rome [dedicated this] to the deified Titus Vespasian Augustus, son of the deified Vespasian.”

Inside the arch, the reliefs show Roman soldiers carrying the sacred objects of the Jerusalem Temple — the Menorah, the Table of Showbread, and even the Torah scrolls. Josephus describes the same scene in his account of Titus’s triumph:

“They brought the menorah and the table of the bread of the Presence, and the last of the spoils was the Law of the Jews. After these, a great number of captives followed.”
— Josephus, Jewish War 7.5.5 (Loeb, c. AD 75–79)

For Rome, this was not just a military victory. It was theological. In Roman eyes, Titus had defeated the Jewish god himself. That is why the arch presents Titus as a god honored for his conquest: our god overcame your god.

For Jews and Christians alike, the arch became a bitter monument. For Christians especially, it underscored the truth that the Temple was gone, but Christ had already promised: “Not one stone shall be left upon another.”

The Christians Who Fled – and the First Heretical Group

The church in Jerusalem did not perish in the siege.

“The people of the church in Jerusalem had been commanded by a revelation… to dwell in a town of Perea called Pella.”
— Eusebius (c. AD 310–325), Ecclesiastical History 3.5.3 (Loeb)

This flight preserved the core of the church, but not all Christians escaped. Those who stayed in Jerusalem, or who were caught in the countryside during Rome’s advance, would have shared the same fate as their Jewish neighbors — famine, crucifixion, or slavery. The Roman army made no distinction. To them, it was one rebellious people.

But at Pella, Christians regrouped. And in the same city, other Jewish survivors settled. Out of this mixture emerged the Ebionites, the first major heretical group.

  • They rejected Paul as an apostle.
  • They insisted on strict adherence to the Law.
  • They denied the full divinity of Jesus.
  • They used only a corrupted form of Matthew’s Gospel, altered to fit their theology.

Epiphanius (c. AD 375–400) writes:

“They accept the Gospel according to Matthew, but only that which is called ‘according to the Hebrews.’ They call it the Gospel of Matthew, however it is not complete and entire but falsified and mutilated.”
— Panarion 30.13.2

Irenaeus (c. AD 180) confirms:

“Those who are called Ebionites… use the Gospel according to Matthew only, and repudiate the Apostle Paul, maintaining that he was an apostate from the law.”
— Against Heresies 1.26.2

The fact that the Ebionites were already mutilating Matthew’s Gospel in the 70s AD shows that Matthew must have been written before the destruction of the Temple.

This stands in contrast to the critical scholarly view, which typically places Mark around AD 70 and Matthew and Luke in the 80s or later. Their reasoning? Jesus’ prophecy of the Temple’s destruction. They assume prophecy is impossible, and therefore the Gospels must have been written after the event.

But if Matthew was already available to be twisted by the Ebionites in the 70s, then Mark — the source they say Matthew used — must be earlier still. The Gospels, far from being late inventions, stand close to the events they describe.

For more on the Ebionites and their altered gospel, see my earlier blog post: [The Ebionites]

Rome’s Pride, God’s Judgment

Tacitus (c. AD 100–110) gives us the Roman perspective:

“Their temple was famous beyond all other works of men… it was resolved to raze it to the ground, that the religion of the Jews might be more completely abolished.”
— Tacitus, Histories 5.12 (Loeb)

But Jesus had said long before:

“Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone shall be left upon another that shall not be thrown down.”
— Mark 13:2

To Rome, it was conquest.
To Christians, it was fulfillment.

Conclusion: What This Meant for Christians

The fall of Jerusalem was not only a Jewish tragedy but a Christian turning point.

  • It validated Jesus’ prophecy of the Temple’s destruction.
  • It preserved the church through the flight to Pella — though many Christians were slaughtered along with the Jews.
  • It deepened the separation between Christianity and Judaism.
  • It produced the first major heresy (Ebionites), which ironically confirms the early existence of Matthew’s Gospel.

Tacitus summed up Rome’s perspective:

“It was resolved to raze it to the ground, that the religion of the Jews might be more completely abolished.”
— Tacitus, Histories 5.12 (Loeb, c. AD 100–110)

What Rome thought was the abolition of a religion, Christians understood as the vindication of Christ’s words:

“Not one stone shall be left upon another that shall not be thrown down.” (Mark 13:2)

Vespasian and Titus were hailed as saviors of Rome and later deified as gods. But their triumph was also God’s judgment — and the stage on which Christianity stepped into a new identity as the true temple of the living God.

Hatred of the Human Race: Rome’s First Verdict on Christianity

/ Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

When Claudius ruled the Roman Empire from AD 41 to 54, the Christian movement was still young. His reign, while not free from hostility, created an unusual window in which the church could grow rapidly across the empire. Claudius’ policies toward Jews — and Christians who were still seen as part of Judaism — meant the faith could spread along the empire’s roads, through its cities, and into its synagogues with relatively less interference from the imperial government.

But this didn’t mean the first Christians were safe. In Judea, Herod Agrippa I executed James the son of Zebedee and imprisoned Peter. Claudius himself expelled Jews from Rome — an act that affected Jewish Christians as well. Persecution was still real, but it was often local and sporadic.

Under Nero, who reigned from AD 54 to 68, everything changed. In the aftermath of the Great Fire of Rome in AD 64, Christians were no longer treated as just another branch of Judaism. For the first time, they were publicly named, legally separated from the Jewish community, and branded as a dangerous new superstition.

During Nero’s reign, Paul wrote several of his most significant letters — 2 Corinthians, Romans, Philippians, and Philemon. In them, he repeatedly testifies to Christian suffering, urging endurance and faithfulness in the face of mounting hostility. These were not abstract warnings. Paul himself was on the road to Rome, knowing he would one day stand before the emperor’s judgment seat — and, by all early accounts, be executed for the gospel he preached.

The Great Fire of Rome and the First Imperial Persecution (AD 64)

In July AD 64, a massive fire swept through Rome. Ancient sources disagree on whether Nero was responsible, but the rumor persisted. To end it, he found a scapegoat.

Tacitus, Annals 15.44 (Loeb Translation)

“To suppress the rumor, Nero fabricated scapegoats and punished with every refinement the notoriously depraved Christians (as they were popularly called). Their originator, Christ, had been executed in Tiberius’ reign by the procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilatus.

Checked for a moment, this pernicious superstition again broke out—not only in Judea, the home of the disease, but even in Rome, where all things horrible or shameful in the world collect and find a vogue.

First, those who confessed were arrested; then, on their information, a vast multitude was convicted, not so much on the charge of arson as for hatred of the human race.

Their deaths were made farcical. Dressed in wild animal skins, they were torn to pieces by dogs, or crucified, or made into torches to be ignited after dark as substitutes for daylight.

Nero provided his gardens for the spectacle, and exhibited displays in the Circus, at which he mingled with the crowd—dressed as a charioteer or mounted on a chariot.

Hence, in spite of a guilt which had earned the most exemplary punishment, there arose a sentiment of pity, due to the impression that they were being sacrificed not for the welfare of the state but to the ferocity of a single man.”
—Tacitus, Annals 15.44, Loeb Classical Library

What Did “Hatred of the Human Race” Mean?

To Roman ears, this charge meant Christians refused the social glue of Roman life.

  • They would not sacrifice to the gods for the welfare of the empire.
  • They avoided festivals, temples, and gladiatorial games.
  • They proclaimed divine judgment on the world, which Romans heard as contempt for humanity itself.

Christians believed they were called to love their neighbors, but their refusal to share in Rome’s civic religion was taken as proof that they despised mankind.

Suetonius, Life of Nero 16.2 (Loeb Translation)

“Punishments were also inflicted on the Christians, a sect professing a new and mischievous religious belief.”

Cassius Dio (via Zonaras, Loeb-based paraphrase)

“Nero was the first to punish the Christians, though they were guilty of no crime. Some were torn by dogs, others crucified, and others burned alive to serve as lamps at night.
The spectacle was held in Nero’s gardens. He mingled with the crowd in a charioteer’s garb. Pity arose, for it was evident they were being put to death not for the public good, but to gratify the cruelty of a single man.”

Why Christians, Not Jews, Were Targeted

Until Nero, Christians often shared in the legal protection Rome afforded to Judaism — a tolerated “ancient superstition.” But after the fire, Nero treated Christianity as a separate, unauthorized cult.

“Punishments were also inflicted on the Christians, a sect professing a new and mischievous religious belief.”
—Suetonius, Nero 16.2

“Checked for a moment, this pernicious superstition again broke out — not only in Judea, the home of the disease, but even in Rome…”
—Tacitus, Annals 15.44

Rome’s Respect for Ancient Religions but Suspicion of New Ones

“Whatever is novel in religion is forbidden; but whatever is ancient is respected — even if it be based on error.”
—Tacitus, Histories 5.5, Loeb

“Religious belief exerts enormous power over the minds of men… Ancient religions win tolerance through their antiquity; new ones are looked on with suspicion, particularly when they refuse to worship the Roman gods.”
—Pliny the Elder, Natural History 30.11, Loeb

GroupRoman ViewLegal Status
JewsAncient superstitionTolerated (licita)
ChristiansNew superstitionUnlawful (illicita)

Modern Skepticism vs. Ancient Testimony

Candida Moss, The Myth of Persecution (2013):

“The earliest Christians were not targeted for being Christians… They were targeted for their refusal to obey the laws of the land.”

Bart Ehrman, The Triumph of Christianity (2018):

“Christians were persecuted not because of their religion per se, but because they were perceived to be antisocial and subversive to Roman unity.”

But the Roman historians describe something different.

  • Tacitus: a pernicious superstition spreading from Judea to Rome.
  • Suetonius: a new and mischievous religious belief.
  • Cassius Dio: Christians guilty of “no crime,” yet publicly humiliated and killed.
  • Pliny the Elder: Rome tolerated ancient faiths, but new ones were inherently suspicious.

This was not simply scapegoating. It was the classification of Christianity as an unlawful religion — a precedent that would echo for decades.

Nero’s Persecution Compared with the Stoics

It is true that Nero also executed Stoic philosophers like Seneca and Thrasea Paetus. But there is a difference. The Stoics were influential individuals silenced for their independence. The Christians were rounded up in “a vast multitude” and condemned as a whole movement.

Nero’s persecution was not just the removal of a few dissidents. It was the criminalization of a religion.

The Precedent That Shaped the Next Half-Century

By defining Christians as a separate, new superstition, Nero set a precedent every emperor from Nero to Trajan would inherit:

  1. Christians could no longer claim Jewish exemptions.
  2. As a superstitio nova, Christianity was inherently unlawful.
  3. Governors had freedom to punish Christians whenever accusations arose.

This principle explains why, fifty years later, the governor Pliny the Younger could interrogate and execute Christians simply for the name — and why Emperor Trajan confirmed that policy. What began in Nero’s gardens would be codified in imperial correspondence.

The Martyrdom of Peter and Paul

Early Christian sources agree that Peter and Paul died in Nero’s persecution.

  • Dionysius of Corinth: “Peter and Paul… were martyred at the same time.”
  • Tertullian: “After having cruelly put to death Peter and Paul…”
  • Eusebius: “Paul was beheaded in Rome itself, and Peter likewise was crucified under Nero.”
  • Acts of Paul (late 2nd c.): Paul told Nero, “You will stand before the judgment seat of God,” before being beheaded outside the city.

Other Traditional Martyrs Under Nero

  • Linus – Peter’s successor; said to be martyred in Rome (Liber Pontificalis).
  • Mark the Evangelist – tradition places his death in Alexandria during Nero’s reign.
  • Trophimus and Eutychus – companions of Paul; later traditions connect them to Nero’s persecution.
  • Processus and Martinian – Roman guards who converted and were executed (Acts of Peter and Paul).

Conclusion

Under Nero (AD 54–68), Christianity became an illegal religion — not because it was violent, but because it was new, exclusive, and refused Rome’s gods.

  • Roman historians confirm the scale and cruelty of the persecution.
  • Christian writers affirm that Peter and Paul were among the victims.
  • Roman law explains why Christians were targeted apart from Jews.

The precedent Nero set would outlive him. For the next half-century, Christians lived under the same vulnerability — a reality spelled out with chilling clarity in the letters of Pliny and Trajan, which we will explore in a future post.

Why Even Atheist Historians Believe in John the Baptist

/ Jason Conrad / Leave a comment

What kind of world crucified Jesus—and why do even atheist historians agree that John the Baptist was real? This post explores the reign of Emperor Tiberius (AD 14–37) and the volatile political and religious landscape of Judea under Roman rule. It was during this time that both John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth were executed. And just one year later, Paul the Apostle was converted. Drawing on the writings of Josephus, Philo, and Tacitus, we’ll see how Rome responded to charismatic Jewish voices—and how their attempts to silence those voices only fueled the Christian movement.

“Now in the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar…”

That line from Luke 3:1 grounds the Gospel narrative in historical time. Tiberius ruled from AD 14 to 37. The fifteenth year corresponds to AD 28 or 29. Pontius Pilate was the governor of Judea. And John the Baptist was already preaching in the wilderness.

John the Baptist: A Voice Rome Couldn’t Ignore

Historians—including secular and even atheist scholars—agree that John the Baptist is one of the most historically verifiable figures from the New Testament. Why?

  • He’s documented in multiple independent sources: all four Gospels and the writings of Josephus, a Jewish historian with no sympathy for Christianity.
  • He presents a “criterion of embarrassment”—Jesus submits to baptism by John, which would suggest moral inferiority. The early church wouldn’t have invented that.
  • His role fits perfectly into first-century Jewish culture, when prophetic voices were seen as potential threats under Roman occupation.
  • His preaching content cited by Josephus matches what the Gospel accounts share as well.

Josephus was born in AD 37, just a few years after John’s death. He would have grown up among people who had heard John preach. Here’s Josephus’s full account:

“Now some of the Jews thought that the destruction of Herod’s army came from God, and that it was a very just punishment for what he had done against John, who was called the Baptist. For Herod had killed this good man, who had exhorted the Jews to lead righteous lives, to practice justice toward their fellows and piety toward God, and so doing join in baptism. In his view this was a necessary preliminary if baptism was to be acceptable to God. They must not employ it to gain pardon for whatever sins they committed, but as a consecration of the body, implying that the soul was already cleansed by right behavior.

When others too joined the crowds about him because they were aroused to the highest degree by his sermons, Herod became alarmed. Eloquence that had so great an effect on mankind might lead to some form of sedition, for it looked as if they would do everything he counseled. Herod decided, therefore, that it would be much better to strike first and be rid of him than to wait until a disturbance broke out and he had to act when it was too late. Because of Herod’s suspicions, John was sent in chains to the fortress of Machaerus, which we have previously mentioned, and there put to death. The Jews, to this day, hold that the destruction of his army was a punishment sent upon Herod by God, a mark of his disapproval of what he had done against John.”
—Josephus, Antiquities 18.5.2

John was not a violent revolutionary. He called people to repentance and moral renewal. But Herod Antipas feared his influence. The people were ready to “do everything he counseled.” In a Roman client state, that was enough to warrant execution.

Pilate Provokes—and Then Bows to Pressure

Pontius Pilate, appointed by Tiberius, governed Judea from AD 26 to 36. He was known for provoking Jewish unrest. Here’s how Josephus describes one early incident, when Pilate introduced Roman standards bearing Caesar’s image into Jerusalem:

“But now Pilate, the procurator of Judaea, brought into Jerusalem by night and under cover the effigies of Caesar that are called standards. The next day this caused a great uproar among the Jews. Those who were shocked by the incident went in a body to Pilate at Caesarea and for many days begged him to remove the standards from Jerusalem. When he refused, they fell to the ground and remained motionless for five days and nights. On the sixth day Pilate took his seat on the tribunal in the great stadium and summoned the multitude, as if he meant to grant their petition. Instead, he gave a signal to the soldiers to surround the Jews, and threatened to cut them down unless they stopped pressing their petition. But they threw themselves on the ground and bared their necks, shouting that they would welcome death rather than the violation of their laws. Deeply impressed by their religious fervor, Pilate ordered the standards to be removed from Jerusalem.”
—Josephus, Antiquities 18.3.1

Thousands of Jews lay on the ground, necks exposed, ready to die. Pilate backed down. But this moment revealed his tendency to provoke until things nearly exploded.

Philo also describes Pilate’s recklessness—this time involving golden shields inscribed with the emperor’s name:

“Pilate, who had been appointed prefect of Judaea, displayed the shields in Herod’s palace in the Holy City. They bore no image—only an inscription. But when the people learned what had been done, and realized that their laws had been trampled underfoot, they petitioned Pilate to remove the shields. He steadfastly refused. Then they took the matter to Tiberius, who was indignant that Pilate had dared to offend religious sentiments and ordered him by letter to remove the shields immediately and transfer them to Caesarea.”
—Philo, Embassy to Gaius, §§299–305

Pilate was politically clumsy and religiously tone-deaf. But this is the man who would oversee the crucifixion of Jesus.

Tacitus Confirms the Crucifixion

Even Tacitus, the great Roman historian, confirms the execution of Jesus—and notes that Rome failed to stop what it had begun:

“Christus, the founder of the name, had undergone the death penalty in the reign of Tiberius, by sentence of the procurator Pontius Pilatus, and the pernicious superstition was checked for a moment, only to break out once more, not merely in Judea, the home of the disease, but in the capital itself, where all things horrible or shameful in the world collect and find a vogue.”
—Tacitus, Annals 15.44

This phrase—“checked for a moment”—reveals Rome’s belief that the crucifixion had ended the Jesus movement. But instead, it spread.

Tacitus calls Christianity a “pernicious superstition”—a key Roman legal category.

Religio vs. Superstitio: Why Rome Saw Christians as Dangerous

To the Roman mind:

  • Religio referred to official, ancestral, state-sponsored worship—gods like Jupiter or Mars, or the emperor himself.
  • Superstitio meant foreign, irrational, and unauthorized religion—often seen as destabilizing.

By labeling Christianity as a superstition rather than a religio, Tacitus reveals how Rome legally and socially marginalized the movement. It wasn’t just false—it was disruptive and subversive.

“Let the very mention of the cross be far removed not only from the body of a Roman citizen, but from his thoughts, his eyes, his ears.”
—Cicero, Against Verres 2.5.168

The cross was something to be erased from polite society. But the early Christians made it the centerpiece of their message.

AD 31: The Conversion of Paul

In AD 31, just one year after Jesus was crucified, Saul of Tarsus—a Roman citizen and a Pharisee—was converted. He would become Paul the Apostle, and his letters would one day be copied across the empire.

Conclusion: “Checked for the Moment”

When Tiberius died in AD 37, John the Baptist had been silenced, Jesus had been crucified, and Paul had been converted. Rome thought it had preserved peace. But instead, it had launched a kingdom that would spread from Judea to the capital.

Tacitus said the movement was “checked for the moment.”

But that moment didn’t last.

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.”