A strange superstition
2
A strange superstition
The political and intellectual acceptability of second-century Christianity
Some [Christians] do not even want to give or receive a reason for what they believe, and use such expressions as ‘Do not ask questions, just believe’ and ‘Your faith will save you.’
Celsus (1.9)
As we explored the sociological make-up of second-century Christianity in the prior chapter, it became evident that the members of the early Jesus movement were, to some extent, cultural misfits. Even though Christians, as a whole, led quite ordinary lives, their distinctive religious commitments and ethical practices rapidly alienated them from the surrounding Jewish and Greco-Roman worlds. As we shall see in this present chapter, Christianity’s precarious social standing quickly led to various forms of persecution, both political and intellectual. Followers of Christ were viewed by the state as subversive and dangerous, and by the thinkers and philosophers as intellectually defective. We shall examine these forms of persecution more fully, including the rise of the Christian apologists who offered a defence against them.
Political persecution
Long before the second century, Christians had already begun to endure persecution at the hands of governing officials. In the book of Acts, Paul was imprisoned and brought before a number of Roman figures including a Roman tribune named Claudius Lysias (Acts 21.31; 23.26), Felix the governor of Judea (23.26), Festus the governor of Judea (24.27), and eventually Herod Agrippa (25.13). Although the governing officials did little to distinguish Christians from Jews at this stage (cf. Acts 18.12), these encounters may explain later unfavourable interactions with Rome in the first century, such as the uprising in Rome due to the controversy over ‘Chrestus’1 (a possible reference to Christ) and, of course, Nero’s severe punishment of Christians for (purportedly) starting the fires of Rome.2 Also, there appears to be some historical evidence that persecution may have occurred under the reign of Domitian (c.81–96) towards the end of the first century.3
In all of these instances, however, there is no formal empire-wide persecution in place – it is sporadic and geographically isolated. As we explore some select examples from the second century (there is no space to be exhaustive), we shall see that this trend continues. The relationship between the empire and Christianity is an inconsistent one, often determined by local governors whose idiosyncratic practices are frequently influenced by the complaints and accusations of the Roman mob.
Pliny the Younger
As we noted in the prior chapter, Pliny the Younger, governor of Bithynia, writes a letter (c.111–113) to Emperor Trajan to complain that Christians are becoming a danger to the whole of the empire.4 But the precise nature of his concern is not entirely clear. Pliny’s objection is not that Christianity is illegal; there is no official law banning Christianity at this point.5 It is evident, however, that Pliny is eager to know about what the Christians are doing in secret – he interrogates some ex-Christians about what Christians eat at their feasts and whether their activities are immoral. Pliny learns that their feasts are apparently innocuous; the Christians ate ‘food of an ordinary and innocent kind’ and they do not engage in debauchery but are encouraged ‘never to commit any fraud, theft, or adultery, never to falsify their word’.6 Nevertheless, the nature of Pliny’s questioning suggests that there were already widespread concerns about what Christians were doing in these secret meetings – enough at least to reach the ears of the governor. One possibility is that Christianity invoked memories of other foreign religious groups that were accused of holding secret meetings filled with debauchery.7 For instance, the society of Bacchi (a cult to Dionysus) was banned by the senate in the second century bc for their secret and overtly sexual feasts.8 This story would have been well known in the time of Pliny and may have led him, and apparently others, to be suspicious of this new Christian movement.
Although Pliny learns that these Christian meetings are not what he feared, his remaining complaint against the Christians is sufficient, in his own mind, to justify his actions against them. He informs Trajan that his torture of two deaconesses revealed that Christianity was an excessive superstitio – a ‘superstition’.9 Pliny was not the only one to use this language to describe the Jesus movement. The Roman historian Tacitus (writing c.116) tells of Nero’s persecution of the Christians and describes the religion as a ‘pernicious superstition’.10 Similarly, Suetonius (writing c.120) also recounts Nero’s persecution of the Christians and says the latter are committed to a ‘mischievous superstition’.11 Thus, including the testimony of Pliny, we have three historians writing in the early second century that all regard Christianity as a superstitio.
Of course, Christianity was not the first religious movement to receive such a label. Romans regarded a group as a superstitio if it was deemed strange, foreign or subversive.12 That is, a superstitio is a religious group that was out of sync with the traditional Roman understanding of what religion was designed to do. Although Roman citizens took their religion seriously, and were genuine in their personal devotion, they conceived of religion as something that would serve and stabilize the social and political structure of the Roman Empire.13 Pleasing the gods meant prosperity for the city. As Robert Wilken observed, ‘Piety towards the gods was thought to insure the well-being of the city, to promote a spirit of kinship and mutual responsibility, indeed, to bind together the citizenry.’14 The value of genuine religious piety was the way it involved and united all citizens. Thus, Cicero was able to write, ‘In all probability, disappearance of piety towards the gods will entail the disappearance of loyalty and social union among men as well.’15 For Romans, true religion was, by definition (and contrary to modern sensibilities), a public affair.16
Pliny’s objection to Christianity, then, appears to be the manner in which it separated its adherents from the ordinary (and acceptable) religious activity of Roman society. The Christian insistence on worshipping Christ alone not only led them to meet separately – which, as noted above, occasioned all sorts of rumours about what happened at their ‘secret’ feasts – but was in danger of inciting the displeasure of the gods. In short, it was Christianity’s exclusivism that was at the heart of the Roman objection to its existence.17 To adhere to a religion exclusively or secretly is, on Roman terms, not to adhere to a religion at all, but to a superstitio.
As such, Christianity was deemed to be a threat. Refusal to worship the gods, and to potentially invoke their wrath, was viewed as recklessly endangering the Roman people. For Christians to do so was viewed as a blatant disregard for the welfare of their fellow citizens. This is why, no doubt, Christians were charged with ‘hatred of mankind’.18 This also explains the language in the dialogue of Minucius Felix in which the pagan Caecilius complains about Christians as follows:
You do not attend the shows; you take no part in the processions; fight shy of public banquets; abhor the sacred games, meats from the victims, drinks poured in libation on the altars. So frightened are you of the gods you deny!19
Thus, Pliny does not need to prove Christians committed a particular crime in order for them to be arrested; he needs only to know they are associated with ‘the Name’. And, as Pliny acknowledges, the Roman citizens themselves have been all too eager to supply a list of known Christians20 – evidence that the outbreak of persecutions is typically fuelled by the anger of the mob.
Pliny’s concern that Christianity’s exclusiveness would disrupt the religious-social structure of the Roman world is borne out in his letter in two ways. First, Pliny argues that his crackdown on Christians has restored the normal, public religious activity of Roman citizens: ‘the temples, which had been almost deserted, begin now to be frequented; and the sacred festivals, after a long intermission, are again revived; while there is a general demand for sacrificial animals, which for some time past have met with but few purchasers’.21 Apparently, Christians had attained some success in keeping people from engaging in the normal religious rites, and Pliny has laboured to reverse this pattern. Second, Pliny’s concern over Christianity’s exclusiveness can be seen in the way he forces Christians to recant. He requires, on pain of death, not just that they curse Christ, but that they have ‘repeated after me an invocation to the gods’.22 In other words, he forces Christians to abandon their private and exclusive worship of Jesus and to rejoin the public religious life of Rome.
The fact that Pliny was so unwilling to tolerate Christian monotheism, while at the same time Roman officials (generally speaking) tolerated the monotheism of the Jews, highlights again the unique nature of the early Christian movement. As noted in Chapter 1, early Christianity chartered a rather unprecedented course – its emergence allowed religious identity to be separate from cultural-ethnic identity. Unlike our modern world, ‘religion’ was not viewed by the Romans as a personal, private affair, separate from their national identity as Roman citizens. On the contrary, religious observance was the duty of any good citizen of the empire. Cult and culture belonged together. Jews were allowed to abstain from the public cult of Rome precisely because they were viewed as a distinct national-ethnic group. Since Christians did not enjoy this status, they were viewed as simply insubordinate and disruptive to the prosperity and stability of the state. This problem was made particularly acute by the fact that many Gentile Christians, prior to conversion, would have participated regularly in the worship of the Roman gods. To suddenly stop such participation without just cause (at least in the minds of the Romans) created a high degree of suspicion and animosity. Thus, the multi-ethnic and transnational nature of Christianity proved to be both its greatest strength and its greatest vulnerability.
Of course, it needs to be acknowledged that not all Christians necessarily observed a strict exclusive/monotheistic pattern of worship. As we will see in later chapters, early Christianity was quite a diverse movement and not all claiming the name of Christ necessarily abandoned all of their former practices. We must be careful not to use descriptions of how Christians ought to behave (or believe) as evidence that they always behaved (or believed) this way. As Éric Rebillard reminds us, ‘texts should not be read as uncomplicated representations of external reality’.23 No doubt some would have professed to follow Christ while still adhering, at least to some extent, to their family (or city) gods. As just one example, the interaction between Hippolytus and the Naassenes suggests that the latter were quite willing to adopt multiple deities despite their profession to follow Christ.24 Nonetheless, the testimony of both outsiders (like Pliny, Lucian and Celsus) and insiders (as exhibited in second-century Christian writings we will explore in later chapters), suggests that monotheism was certainly the general pattern and core commitment of early Christians, even if there were exceptions to it. J. B. Rives makes this same point, ‘the extensive evidence for Christian refusal to take part in traditional cult acts suggests that the analysis advocated by most Christian leaders was indeed widely accepted by their followers’.25
Pliny’s testimony is a first glimpse at a larger, and to some extent ironic, pattern that would emerge in the earliest centuries of the Christian faith. Contrary to modern perceptions and expectations, Christianity was rejected not by a secular Roman Empire, but by an extremely religious one. The modern distinction between the secular and the religious would not have been recognized in the ancient Roman world. Indeed, Porphyry later accuses Christians of being ‘impious and atheistic’ and even asks, ‘What else are they than fighters against God?’26 In other words, for second-century Roman citizens, Christianity’s refusal to participate in the public cults meant (at least in their eyes) that Christianity was anti-religious.
Ignatius
Pliny’s testimony that Christians were executed under the reign of Trajan finds confirmation in the account of Ignatius, bishop of Antioch. Some time during Trajan’s reign (c.98–117), Ignatius was taken to Rome by an escort of soldiers and thrown to the wild animals in the Coliseum. His journey to Rome was a lengthy one – passing through Philadelphia, Smyrna, Troas and Philippi – and Ignatius was allowed to fellowship with Christians at various stops. Ignatius also penned seven letters along the way; six of those letters were to churches and one was to Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, who preserved the entire collection of Ignatius’ letters.
Unfortunately, Ignatius’ letters provide very little information about the charges against him or what led to his arrest. A number of scholars have argued that Ignatius’ arrest was due not to government persecution of Christians but to an internal dispute in the church at Antioch that caused such a stir that the governing authorities were forced to act by seizing the church’s leader.27 However, there are several indications in Ignatius’ letters,28 as well as Polycarp’s,29 that other Christians were being martyred at this same time, suggesting that broader government persecution is in view and not just an event isolated to Antioch.30 Moreover, at several points Ignatius mentions that he suffers because of ‘the Name’31 – a notable echo of the broad government persecution under Pliny discussed above. If Pliny’s approach can be considered typical for a Roman governor during this period – and given Trajan’s positive response to his actions, this seems quite likely – then it seems reasonable to conclude that the persecution Ignatius experienced in his own province was driven by similar concerns. Thus, Ignatius was probably arrested precisely because he was a leader of those who followed ‘the Name’, a movement regarded as a superstitio and a threat to the stability of Roman society.
Regardless of which explanation for Ignatius’ arrest one finds persuasive, Ignatius proves noteworthy because we have access, through his letters, to his mental state prior to his execution. Ignatius’ letters reveal much about his approach to his impending martyrdom – even the theological reasons why he embraces his fate. For one, it allows him to follow in the footsteps of Christ: ‘Allow me to be an imitator of the suffering of my God.’32 Also, his death provides a positive refutation of one of his most ardent theological opponents, the docetists.33 Docetism rejected the physical nature of Jesus’ body and therefore downplayed the importance of physical suffering. Thus, Ignatius’ martyrdom, at least in his own mind, would be the ultimate affirmation of the Incarnation of Christ over and against Docetic heresy.
But perhaps most noteworthy is that Ignatius speaks as though he wants to die; it is an honour and a privilege. He declares, ‘I write to you while living, desiring to die.’34 He even asks the Christians in Rome not to interfere with his death but to instead ‘coax the wild beasts that they may become a tomb for me’.35 The manner in which Ignatius embraces his martyrdom, and the degree to which it plays out in the public sphere, marks the beginning of the martyrdom mentality that was so prevalent in second-century Christianity. Some Christians even began to seek out martyrdom, believing it would grant them immediate access to heaven, and other Christians venerated the lives of martyrs, granting them special tribute and honour.36 Tertullian even tells the story of a group of Christians in Asia at the end of the second century who voluntarily presented themselves to the governor, Antoninus, to be martyred. The governor refused, saying, ‘You wretches, if you want to die, you have cliffs to leap from and ropes to hang by.’37 While certainly not all martyrdoms were voluntary, the pursuit of voluntary martyrdom in the second century eventually grew to such proportions that it was later condemned by Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Cyprian and other third-century Christian leaders.38
Polycarp
Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, was no doubt one of the most influential Christian leaders in the first half of the second century. In his youth, he was mentored by the apostle John himself, and in turn, during his later years, he mentored a young Irenaeus, the future bishop of Lyons.39 His contemporary colleagues also included the likes of Ignatius and Papias, bishop of Hierapolis. For these reasons, Polycarp’s martyrdom in c.156, at the age of 86, was one of the most well-known and impactful instances of persecution in the second century. It was also well known because the entire event was captured in the Martyrdom of Polycarp, a second-century treatise probably written by a member of Polycarp’s own congregation.
The account of Polycarp’s martyrdom is exceptionally detailed. At the instigation of a mob, Polycarp is hunted down, arrested, interrogated before the proconsul, and finally put to death in the Roman amphitheatre in Smyrna. At each point along the way, Polycarp exhibits nothing but grace, patience, and steadfastness in the face of suffering. Most notable is the scene in the stadium before the proconsul:
The proconsul began trying to persuade him [Polycarp] to make a denial, saying, ‘Have respect for your age,’ along with other related things they customarily say, ‘Swear by the fortunes of Caesar, repent and say “Away with the atheists.”’ . . . The proconsul became more insistent and said, ‘Take the oath and I will release you. Revile Christ.’ But Polycarp responded, ‘For eighty-six years I have served him, and he has done me no wrong. How can I blaspheme my king who saved me?’40
Some scholars have argued against the authenticity of the entire treatise, pointing out that many of its features – such as miraculous embellishments (e.g., Polycarp is set on fire but is unharmed) and the way details of Polycarp’s death so explicitly parallel Christ’s – suggest a later date, possibly third-century.41 However, most scholars affirm the general integrity of the account (even if there are some literary embellishments) and a date in the middle of the second century.42 It is also worth noting that Polycarp is not the first martyr to be cast as an imitatio Christi – the same themes and images already appear in Ignatius’ account many years before. Moreover, the political motivations and circumstances surrounding Polycarp’s martyrdom are remarkably consistent with the second-century reports from Ignatius and Pliny we have observed above. The Martyrdom of Polycarp informs us that Christians were accused of being ‘atheists’, and of being ‘the destroyer of our own gods’. They were even tortured for more information, as was done by Pliny.43 Polycarp’s only crime is that he has ‘confessed himself to be a Christian’, and, like the situation under Pliny, he is offered a pardon if he will only make an offering to the gods and curse Christ.44
Justin Martyr
Justin Martyr (c.103–165) was one of the most well-known Christian philosophers and apologists in the second century. In his early years, Justin migrated from one philosophical idea to another – from Stoicism to Pythagoreanism to Platonism – before finally converting to Christianity and settling in Rome. Not only do we learn much about the intellectual attacks on Christians through Justin’s writings (more on this below), but we also gain critical insights into the political persecutions that were occurring during his day. These insights are largely derived from Justin’s First and Second Apology (written c.151–155), which make an appeal to the Emperor Antoninus Pius (reigned c.137–161) regarding the unjust treatment of Christians.
In his First Apology, Justin makes his case that Christians ought not to be prosecuted just because they bear the ‘name’ nor should they be forced by governing officials to deny Christ, but they should be prosecuted solely on whether they have committed an actual crime.45 Justin also denies that Christians are guilty of the typical charges levelled against them – atheism, immorality and disloyalty – and makes an extended case for the morality and virtue of the Christian faith.46 Then Justin embarks on an extended defence of monotheism by exposing the futility of the pagan gods.47 In the Second Apology, Justin gives specific examples of persecution. He tells the story of a Christian woman who was married to a wicked, unbelieving husband and eventually sought a divorce due to his repeated infidelity. In revenge, he accused her ‘saying that she was a Christian’48 – a charge that was sufficient to have her arrested. Justin recounts similar stories of Ptolemaeus and Lucius who were both arrested merely because they were ‘called by the name of Christian’ and others who were ‘dragged to the torture’ until they confessed crimes.49 Justin, due to his outspoken defence of Christianity, even anticipates his own future death, most likely at the hands of the Cynic philosopher Crescens with whom he has had vigorous disputes.50
When it comes to the details of Justin’s own martyrdom, our historical data is less certain. Both Eusebius and Tatian testify that Justin was martyred after the pagan philosopher Crescens reported him to the Roman authorities, but they provide very few specifics about the event itself.51 The fuller account of Justin’s death can be found in the Acts of Justin and His Companions (typically dated c.165) which describes his trial and execution, along with several of his students, before the Roman governor Rusticus, noted friend of the Emperor, Marcus Aurelius. While the authenticity of the account is doubted by some,52 it has generally been received by scholars as the most reliable of the acta martyrum – a collection of ‘Acts’ that describe the deaths of early Christians.53 One notable feature of this account is that it records a brief theological debate between Justin and Rusticus who is also a Stoic philosopher. Thus, Justin’s noble death serves a theological purpose as well, namely it presents Christianity in a positive light over and against Stoic philosophy (similar to the way Ignatius’ death served to refute Docetism).
Christians in Gaul
The church historian Eusebius records the contents of a letter composed by ‘the servants of Christ residing at Vienne and Lyons’ that catalogues the persecutions and sufferings of Christians in Gaul (modern-day France) during the late second century (c.177).54 Aside from the writings of Irenaeus himself who later became the bishop of Lyons, this literary work, known as the Letter of the Churches of Vienne and Lyons, is one of the few glimpses we have into the life of Christians in this time and place. The letter tells of a massive outbreak against the church in this region and how the Christians
endured nobly all that was heaped upon them by the mob, howls and stripes and dragging about, and rapine and imprisonment and stoning . . . then they were dragged into the market-place by the tribune and by the chief authorities of the city, were indicted and confessed.55
The names and brief stories of many Christians were recounted, such as Vettius (a lawyer), Sanctus (a deacon), Pothinus (a 90-year-old man), Maturus (a new convert), Attalus (a Pergamene by race), Ponticus (a 15-year-old boy), and Blandina (a slave woman) – all who suffered terrible forms of torture and eventually were beheaded or fed to the wild animals in the amphitheatre. And the accusation levelled against these individuals was simply that they bore the name ‘Christian’.56 The only exception appears to be that some Christians were accused by their own slaves of the crimes of ‘Thyestean feasts and Oedipodean intercourse’.57 Given that such accusations were the result of the slaves being tortured, there are few reasons to regard them as credible. Nevertheless, the fact that these accusations were made at all shows that there was a persistent belief among some that Christians were cannibals and engaged in sexual promiscuity in their secret meetings.
Such accusations were evident even during the time of Pliny (as discussed above) and are repeated frequently by critics of the early Christian movement.58 Although scholars have typically assumed these rumours were due to misunderstandings of the Lord’s Supper – which was often called a ‘love feast’ and even mentioned eating the flesh of Christ – other possibilities should be considered. In the Greco-Roman world, charges of cannibalism and sexual immorality were often levelled against groups that were thought to be strange, foreign or a threat to society – something that was certainly true of early Christianity.59 Moreover, charges of sexual immorality may have been largely due to the fact that Christians allowed women to participate in their feasts – something more rare in the Greco-Roman world where such feasts were usually composed of men only.60 If so, then these accusations against Christianity, ironically, were possibly due to the fact that it had a higher and more dignified view of women and valued their participation in religious life.
The reality of persecution in the region of Gaul appears to find confirmation in the writings of Irenaeus himself who acknowledges that there are Christians ‘who are slain on account of the confession of the Lord, and who suffer all things predicted by the Lord, and who in this respect strive to follow the footprints of the Lord’s passion, having become martyrs of the suffering One’.61 Irenaeus’ testimony not only supports the typical grounds for why Christians are persecuted (‘on account of the confession of the Lord’), but it again reveals aspects of the martyrdom mentality in the second century which viewed death as an aspect of the imitatio Christi (‘follow the footprints of the Lord’s passion’).
Christians in North Africa
The Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs provides a record of the trial of 12 Christians before Roman authorities in Carthage, North Africa towards the end of the second century (c.180). While its historicity is a topic of continuing discussion and doubted by some,62 the brevity and simplicity of the account have led most scholars to accept it as generally reliable.63 In addition, the North African church leader Tertullian appears to confirm this outbreak of persecution when he mentions that ‘Saturninus . . . who first used the sword against us’ would be subject to God’s judgement for his actions.64
The Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs tells the story of seven men and five women on trial before the proconsul Saturninus who are interrogated and eventually executed according to the following decree:
Whereas Speratus, Nartzalus, Cittinus, Donata, Vestia, Secunda and others confess themselves to be living according to the Christian religion, and since they obstinately persisted even when offered the chance of returning to Roman ways, it is proper that they are to be punished with the sword.65
Again, we see here that Christians are condemned not for some explicit crime, but for following the Christian manner of worship and rejecting the religious custom of the Romans. Saturninus’ declaration that they have ‘obstinately persisted’ in this path is reminiscent of Pliny’s charge that Christians were guilty of ‘inflexible obstinacy’.66
That persecutions were, in fact, taking place in North Africa is confirmed again by Tertullian’s Apology written at the end of the second century in which he laments how Christians are arrested merely because of ‘the name’, how they are accused of cannibalism and incest, and how they are tortured until they deny Christ.67 Tertullian even observes how nearly any public disaster or affliction is blamed on Christians (causing them to be thrown to the lions) because they are ‘despisers of your gods’.68
By way of summary, this selective survey of second-century persecution and martyrdom highlights the fact that Roman persecution against the Christians, while not due to official imperial decree, and while not as perpetual or widespread as some might think, was not uncommon throughout the provinces and, at times, could be quite severe. Local governors, often responding to the complaints of the mob, prosecuted Christians for two main reasons. First, and most definitively, the Christian commitment to worship only Jesus and the refusal to engage in the public worship of Roman gods (including even the emperor himself) led Christianity to be labelled a superstitio – and thus a threat to the peace and stability of the empire. For this reason, Christians were regularly condemned just for bearing ‘the Name’ and were often forced, upon pain of death, to renounce Christ and re-engage in traditional Roman worship. Second, the fact that Christianity was a foreign religion that held secret meetings aroused suspicions that Christians engaged in various forms of debauchery, similar to the Bacchi cult condemned in prior generations. These suspicions eventually led to oft-repeated accusations that Christians used these meetings to engage in cannibalism and illicit sexual activities.
Of course, we should remember that these martyrdom accounts, even if they are generally reliable, should not be taken as evidence that all Christians were faithful under the threat of torture and persecution. No doubt some Christian writers would have wanted to give that impression. Since persecution served, at least in the minds of some, to validate the Christian message, there would have been an inclination to present believers as always true to their beliefs under pressure. After all, the willingness of Christians to die was viewed as a confirmation of Christ’s death and also a refutation of key heresies (e.g., Docetism), or even pagan philosophies (e.g., Stoicism). But the reality on the ground would have been less ideal. As became clear in the Decian persecution in the third century, many Christians capitulated and agreed to offer sacrifices to the gods. Similar ‘compromises’ were happening in the second century. Indeed, even Pliny himself testifies that some Christians, under threat of execution, were willing to curse Christ and offer sacrifices.69 And the Letter of the Churches of Vienne and Lyons tells of a number of Christians who ‘failed in training and in strength, unable to endure the strain’.70 Moreover, it is worth observing that we have very little historical evidence of martyrdom within groups that would later be regarded as ‘heretical’ (e.g., Gnosticism, Valentinianism). Although it is difficult to know the reasons for this trend, some scholars have argued that ‘gnostic’ theology made martyrdom either unnecessary or undesirable.71 It is also possible that the gnostic propensity to adapt other religious systems and deities meant that they did not offend Roman authorities to the same degree as ‘orthodox’ Christians who were more committed to exclusive worship of Christ.72 Other scholars have pushed back against such a position, arguing that gnostic approaches to martyrdom were no different from those of the ‘orthodox’ communities.73
Intellectual persecution
In addition to being persecuted by the Roman government, second-century Christians were also attacked by the leading philosophers and thinkers of the day. The accusations levelled against Christians by the intellectual elites were wide and varied. Christian doctrines were viewed as scandalous and irrational, Christian writings were seen as incoherent and inconsistent, Christian behaviour was regarded as anti-social and immoral, and Christians themselves were deemed to be uneducated, unsophisticated and lower-class. Such accusations remind us that there can be no sharp divide between political persecution and intellectual persecution – indeed the latter is often the grounds for the former. The two forms of persecution inevitably overlap.
Lucian of Samosata
Lucian of Samosata (c.115–200) was a well-known rhetorician and satirist in the second century. One of his satirical works, The Passing of Peregrinus (c.165), tells the story of the Cynic philosopher Peregrinus who is charged with murdering his own father and flees to Palestine, eventually joining the Christian community there (though his ‘conversion’ appears to be disingenuous). He quickly achieves a level of influence and popularity with the Christians and soon finds himself in a position of leadership – which lands him in jail for a brief period. Peregrinus receives so many gifts from Christians while in jail that he amasses a small fortune. After later being removed from the church for eating forbidden food (probably meat sacrificed to idols), he moves on to other adventures and eventually commits suicide by setting himself on fire. Although the satire is about more than Christianity, Lucian takes the opportunity to mock Christians whenever the opportunity arises.
At the centre of Lucian’s critique are the gullibility, naivety and intellectual deficiency of the Christians who would allow a recent convert of questionable moral character into positions of leadership so quickly. Lucian states:
It was then that [Peregrinus] learned the wondrous lore of the Christians, by associating with their priests and scribes in Palestine. And – how else could it be? – in a trice he made them all look like children, for he was prophet, cult-leader, head of the synagogue, and everything, all by himself. He interpreted and explained some of their books and even composed many, and they revered him as a god, made use of him as a lawgiver, and set him down as a protector.74
No doubt there is some overstated rhetoric here – it is unlikely that Christians worshipped Peregrinus as they did Jesus. Nevertheless, it is evident that Lucian views Christians as uneducated simpletons who are quickly outmatched by the intellectual capability of someone like Peregrinus.
Lucian continues this same theme as he describes Peregrinus’ stint in prison:
When [Peregrinus] had been imprisoned, the Christians, regarding the incident as a calamity, left nothing undone in the effort to rescue him. Then, as this was impossible, every other form of attention was shown him, not in any casual way but with assiduity, and from the very break of day aged widows and orphan children could be seen waiting near the prison, while their officials even slept inside with him after bribing the guards. Then elaborate meals were brought in, and sacred books of theirs were read aloud, and excellent Peregrinus – for he still went by that name – was called by them ‘the new Socrates.’75
Lucian highlights the degree to which Christians fawn all over Peregrinus (despite his moral questionability) simply because he is so intelligent – the ‘new Socrates’. The negative portrayal of Christianity is furthered by Lucian’s observation that it was ‘aged widows and orphan children’ that visited Peregrinus in prison; implying that such was the standard (uneducated) demographic of the Christian community.
But Lucian has additional complaints about Christianity:
The poor wretches have convinced themselves, first and foremost, that they are going to be immortal and live for all time, in consequence of which they despise death and even willingly give themselves into custody; most of them. Furthermore, their first lawgiver persuaded them that they are all brothers of one another after they have transgressed once for all by denying the Greek gods and by worshipping that crucified sophist himself and living under his laws. Therefore they despise all things indiscriminately and consider them common property, receiving such doctrines traditionally without any definite evidence.76
Here Lucian provides evidence that he is aware of the persecution of Christians and that they are willing to give their life for Christ (‘they despise death and even willingly give themselves into custody’). However, instead of praising such steadfastness, Lucian mocks it by criticizing the belief that ‘they are going to be immortal and live for all time’. In addition, Lucian’s statement that Christians are known for ‘denying the Greek gods’ affirms what is repeatedly stated in other sources, namely that Christians refuse to participate in the corporate cultic worship of Rome. He even shares the same complaint of Galen (below) that Christians believe things solely on faith and ‘without any definite evidence’.
Galen
Galen (c.129–199) was a famous second-century physician and philosopher known for his relationship with the Emperor Marcus Aurelius and his son Commodus. He was a prolific author, penning numerous treatises on topics such as medicine, anatomy, logic and philosophy. While in Rome, he became aware of the influential Christian community there and offered occasional observations on Christianity in a number of his written works.
In comparison to some of Christianity’s harsher critics, Galen is noteworthy because he offers Christianity a general level of respect.77 Rather than view it as a dangerous foreign cult or as a superstitio, Galen regards Christianity as a philosophy. At one point, in his work On the Difference of Pulses, he says, ‘For one might more easily teach novelties to the followers of Moses and Christ than to the physicians and philosophers who cling fast to their schools.’78 Galen clearly regards Christianity and Judaism as ‘schools’ of philosophy, similar to the others in his day.79
Of course, Galen’s demonstration of respect does not mean that he agrees with Christian thinking. He was quite willing to critique Christian ideas, just as he critiqued other philosophical schools. Galen’s major complaint about Christianity is that it made claims without adequate proofs, relying on faith and the claims of its leaders rather than on reason and demonstration.80 In his On the Usefulness of the Parts of the Body, written c.170, Galen even critiques the Genesis account of creation because he thinks it teaches that God made things not based on reason, but based merely on his own arbitrary will.81 No doubt Galen would have instead affirmed the classical Greek view of creation, laid out in Plato’s Timaeus, where the creator shapes and fashions the world on the basis of reason.82 Thus, in the mind of Galen, Christianity fails because it does not provide the reason or rationale for creation – it merely states that God created and not why he created.
Galen’s critiques notwithstanding, his influence most likely proved to be a positive development for early Christianity because it allowed the new faith to be taken more seriously as a philosophy. As we shall see below, the idea of Christianity as a philosophy, competing within the arena of ideas, is picked up by a number of other second-century writers, most notably Justin Martyr.
Fronto
In the early third century, Minucius Felix penned an apologetic work called Octavius which contains a dialogue between a pagan named Caecilius and a Christian named Octavius. Caecilius offers a lengthy diatribe against Christianity, repeating the standard charges that Christians have no basis for their beliefs, they are uneducated and philosophically naive, they affirm absurd and problematic doctrines, and they foolishly, if not arrogantly, deny the Roman gods whose existence and power have long been established. Octavius then responds with a classic Christian rebuttal, critiquing pagan worship practices, exposing idolatry as the worship of demons, and defending traditional Christian doctrines like the resurrection of the dead and the future judgement of the world. Much of Octavius’ defence sounds remarkably similar to the apology of Tertullian, a contemporary of Minucius Felix.
While Octavius as a third-century apology falls outside our timeframe (although it has been mentioned occasionally in prior chapters), portions of Caecilius’ attack on Christians appear to be drawn from a second-century critic named Marcus Cornelius Fronto (c.100–166), a Latin rhetorician and tutor to Marcus Aurelius.83 In particular, Fronto accuses Christians of sexual debauchery, incest and even cannibalism:
An infant, cased in dough to deceive the unsuspecting, is placed beside the person to be initiated. The novice is thereupon induced to inflict what seem to be harmless blows upon the dough, and unintentionally the infant is killed by his unsuspecting blows; the blood – oh, horrible – they lap up greedily; the limbs they tear to pieces eagerly; and over the victim they make league and covenant, and by complicity in guilt pledge themselves to mutual silence. . . .
On the day appointed they gather at a banquet with their children, sisters, and mothers, people of either sex and every age. There, after full feasting, when the blood is heated and drink has inflamed the passions of incestuous lust . . . [the] light is upset and extinguished, and in the shameless dark lustful embraces are indiscriminately exchanged; and all alike, if not in act, yet by complicity, are involved in incest.84
As we have already noted above, accusations that Christians engaged in sexual debauchery and cannibalism were not unusual – such claims were a standard way to discredit groups in the Greco-Roman world and probably have little basis in reality. It is noteworthy, however, that some Christians conceded that the charges in some instances might be true – at least for fringe Christian groups that were deemed ‘heretical’. Justin Martyr indicates that the charges of sexual promiscuity he knew about had actually been levelled against Marcionite groups,85 and Clement of Alexandria said that such practices were present among a gnostic group known as the Carpocratians.86 A few centuries later, Epiphanius made accusations against a gnostic group known as the Phibionites that sound eerily similar to the ones levelled by Fronto.87 It is difficult to know what to make of such claims – it is possible that they are mistaken (or at least exaggerated) since they seem to come from ‘orthodox’ opponents who had a motive to discredit these heretical groups. Nevertheless, it is also possible that some pagan charges of debauchery might have been true for some of these fringe Christian groups, leading folks to make (erroneous) generalizations about all Christians.
Celsus
In contrast to the measured critiques of Galen, the philosopher Celsus proved to be one of Christianity’s harshest and most influential critics. Around ad 177, Celsus published True Doctrine, one of the first extensive critiques of Christianity. Although the book is lost, much of it can be reliably reconstructed through the writings of Origen who cites the work extensively in his rebuttal Contra Celsum. Celsus’ work is a wide-ranging attack on early Christian beliefs that sometimes draws on popular sentiments and other times on careful philosophical reasoning – all of which is laced with satire, wit and sharp polemics. What makes Celsus particularly effective is that he is well-informed about the beliefs of Christians, and the nature of Christians themselves, allowing him to attack where the faith is the most vulnerable.
As already observed in the prior chapter, Celsus was especially fond of attacking Christianity on a sociological level.88 Due to their lack of education, Christians, he argued, were on the margins of respectable Roman society. But Celsus moves beyond such mocking and expresses more fundamental concerns about how Christian devotion to Jesus undermines the civil order of the Greco-Roman world. Similar to the complaints of Pliny and others, Celsus laments the refusal of Christians to worship the Roman gods and considers this to be a serious breach of civic responsibility.89 Religion was supposed to be a public enterprise that united Roman citizens together and curried the favour of the gods, and the Christians were trying to make it a private affair, independent of any nation. The anti-social behaviour of Christians had made them an ‘obscure and secret society’ that threatened the very stability of the empire.90 Indeed, Celsus declares that Christians ‘suffer from the disease of sedition’.91 Thus, it is no surprise that he also compares Christianity to the problematic and licentious Bacchic cult that was condemned in earlier generations.92
In the light of these concerns, Celsus not only calls upon Christians to ‘accept public office’93 as a means of proving their civic loyalty, but he attacks the Christian commitment to monotheism that is at the heart of the problem. He fundamentally objects to the idea that Jesus should be worshipped exclusively as God. After all, there is nothing problematic with worshipping both the one great God and the lesser gods, he argues, because the lesser gods serve the great God.94 Thus, in his mind, Christians should be able to worship both Jesus and the Roman gods.
In addition to concerns about how Christians fit into Roman society, Celsus has a litany of complaints against key Christian doctrines. For instance, he argues that the Incarnation, the idea that God would take on a human body, was ‘most shameful and no lengthy argument is required to refute it’.95 After all, reasons Celsus, how could an unchangeable immutable God take on human flesh and still retain those qualities? And why is such an absurd proposition even necessary? If God is omnipotent, why could God not accomplish whatever he needed to accomplish from heaven? The belief in the resurrection is equally baffling to Celsus. For one, he viewed God as not outside nature, but as subject to the laws of nature. Thus, God cannot do ‘what is contrary to nature’96 like raise a corpse back to life. Moreover, Celsus could not imagine why God would want the physical body to last for ever given that it is corrupt and ‘full of things which is not even nice to mention’.97
But the most original portion of Celsus’ criticism is his discussion of the historical Jesus. While most other second-century critiques of Christianity tend to focus on the Christians themselves, Celsus’ knowledge of the Gospel accounts allows him to probe into the life and teachings of Jesus like no critic before him. He recognized that the credibility of Christianity could not be determined solely by whether its adherents were social misfits, but it depended wholly on the person of Jesus himself.
Celsus attacks the historicity of a variety of key events in the life of Jesus such as the virgin birth, the baptism by John, the resurrection, and more. None of these accounts are able to be externally verified, argues Celsus; there is no formal proof for any of them.98 All we have are the words of Jesus and his followers, and these cannot be trusted. Even the miracles of Jesus do not validate his ministry because, argues Celsus, these are merely evidence that Jesus is a magician. Celsus is the first critic of Christianity to attribute Jesus’ influence to magic: ‘It was by magic that [Jesus] was able to do the miracles which he appeared to have done.’99 Likewise, he thinks Christians also practise magic: ‘Christians get the power which they seem to possess by pronouncing the names of certain daemons and incantations.’100 Celsus even suggests that Jesus must have learned these magical skills when he lived in Egypt.101
Celsus’ criticisms of the Gospels, and the later response by Origen, reveal an important truth about the emerging Christian faith, namely that it really did matter whether the Gospels were reliable accounts of the historical Jesus. Celsus understood this; and so did the Christians he attacked. Thus, the battle over the historical veracity of the Gospels is not just a post-Enlightenment phenomenon – as is so often claimed – but was present as early as the second century.
In sum, the intellectual climate of the second-century Greco-Roman world was relatively hostile to the emerging Christian faith. In addition to the stock complaints about the sociological status of Christians (poor, uneducated, women and children, etc.), the philosophers and rhetoricians of the second century struggled to understand and appreciate core Christian doctrines, expressed frustration at Christianity’s anti-social disposition, and regarded the Christian claims as lacking in historical evidence or empirical demonstration. It is precisely this litany of complaints (among others) that led to the emergence of the Christian apologists, to which we now turn.
Second-century apologists
Both the political and intellectual persecution of Christianity in the second century gave rise to a distinctive type of Christian literature. As we shall see in the following chapters, most Christian literature was written for the believing community – theological treatises, exhortational letters, and even apocryphal writings. In these writings, argues Oscar Skarsaune, ‘you speak about the world outside the Church rather than to it’.102 But apologetic writings were different. They were unique because they were written primarily to engage non-Christian thinking (regardless of who actually read the work). Apologetic writings were designed to accomplish many tasks; e.g., to overturn caricatures and misrepresentations, to defend against false accusations, to explain controversial beliefs and doctrines, and to plead for tolerance and fair treatment from governing officials. But such works were not only defensive. Apologists would also go on the offensive, demonstrating that pagan philosophies and religions were problematic, irrational, and the foundation for immoral behaviour.
Although Christian apologetic activity certainly continued throughout the life of the early Church, the selective survey of apologists below will indicate that the second century was clearly the ‘golden age’ of apologetics.103 It was a time when the infant Church was especially vulnerable and a time when the persecution was particularly pointed. This reminds us that apologetics is a reactionary enterprise – it exists as a response to the cultural, political and intellectual environment in which Christianity lives.
Quadratus and Aristides
Eusebius informs us of the apologies of Quadratus and Aristides, which are probably two of Christianity’s earliest apologetic works.104 Both presented their works to Emperor Hadrian around ad 125 – the first of many appeals to Roman emperors by Christian apologists. Of course, most apologetic treatises had very little chance of actually being read by the emperor; and even less of a chance of receiving an answer. Regardless, addressing an apologetic work to the emperor was an effective rhetorical device designed to call attention to political and civil issues that were affecting Christian communities.
We know very little about Quadratus, but his apology was popular enough that Eusebius informs us that by his day ‘It is still extant among many of the brethren and we have a copy ourselves.’105 The rationale for the work is what we would expect; Quadratus composes ‘a defense (ἀpologίan) for our religion because some wicked men were trying to trouble the Christians’. Eusebius then records the only known excerpt from Quadratus:
Our Savior’s deeds were always present, for they were true. Those healed or risen from the dead did not just appear as healed or risen but were always present, not just while the Savior visited us but even when he went away; they remained for a long time so that some of them even reached our own time.106
Quadratus appears to be defending the validity of Christ’s miracles by pointing out that they weren’t done in such a fashion that people only appeared healed or risen, but the miracles were real enough that healed/risen people survived even till ‘our own time’. It is difficult to know exactly what claims Quadratus is responding to, but it is possible that he is contrasting the quality of Jesus’ miracles with that of other (perhaps gnostic) miracle workers.107
Aristides was an Athenian philosopher who was converted to Christ and yet continued to wear ‘his philosopher’s garb’.108 His full Apology survives only in Syriac (although there is an abbreviated Greek version embedded within an eighth-century Greek novel, Barlaam and Josaphat). Aristides begins his treatise by offering a thorough explanation of the Christian doctrine of God, laying out the divine characteristics and attributes. Then he proceeds to contrast the Christian God with the gods of the Barbarians, Greeks and Egyptians. His analysis is impressive in its scope and depth – perhaps not surprising given his philosophical learning – and one of the very first critical comparisons between Christianity and other religions. The Barbarians effectively are pantheists, argues Aristides, and thus foolishly worship the earth. The Greek gods, Aristides demonstrates, have attributes that are all too human and fallible, even engaging in adultery and murder themselves. And the Egyptians just worship animals, not realizing that ‘they daily witness their gods being eaten and consumed by men’.109
Towards the end of his treatise, Aristides links the Christian God to the God of Judaism, acknowledging that ‘as we learned from their writings, they [the Jews] have come nearer to truth and genuine knowledge than the rest of the nations’.110 However, Aristides faults the Jews for denying Christ and, in turn, offers one of the most succinct descriptions of early Christian beliefs about Jesus:
The Christians, then, trace the beginning of their religion from Jesus the Messiah; and he is named the Son of God Most High. And it is said that God came down from heaven, and from a Hebrew virgin assumed and clothed himself with flesh; and the Son of God lived in a daughter of man. This is taught in the gospel, as it is called, which a short time was preached among them; and you also if you will read therein, may perceive the power which belongs to it. This Jesus, then, was born of the race of the Hebrews; and he had twelve disciples in order that the purpose of his incarnation might in time be accomplished. But he himself was pierced by the Jews, and he died and was buried; and they say that after three days he rose and ascended to heaven.111
This statement confirms that many core beliefs of Christianity were already well established, such as the divinity of Jesus (‘God came down from heaven’), the Incarnation (‘clothed himself with flesh’), virgin birth (‘from a Hebrew virgin’), and, of course, his death, resurrection and Ascension.
Epistle to Diognetus
Around the middle of the second century, an unknown Christian author penned a treatise to a certain ‘Diognetus’, offering a thorough defence of Christian beliefs and practices. It is possible that the Diognetus in view is the well-known tutor of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, but we cannot know for sure. Either way, Diognetus is given the title ‘most excellent’ (krἁtiste; cf. Luke 1.3), which suggests he holds a position of some rank within the Roman government.112 The Epistle to Diognetus, then, is another example of an apologetic work written to defend Christianity to governing authorities.
In the introduction, the author acknowledges that the origin of Christianity requires an explanation: ‘I see, most excellent Diognetus, that you are extremely eager to learn about the religion of the Christians . . . and just why this new race or new way of life came into being now and not before.’113 It is clear that the author is aware that a common charge against Christianity is its newness; it lacks the age and tradition which Romans deeply value in their religious life.114 The rest of the epistle, more or less, is devoted to addressing this macro concern.
After critiquing the Roman gods,115 the religious practices of the Jews,116 and even pagan philosophers,117 the author then explains why Christianity is valid despite its recent arrival: because it was revealed directly from heaven through the Son of God himself. Christians do not believe as they do because of an ‘earthly discovery that has been handed over to them . . . nor have they been entrusted with the administration of merely human mysteries’.118 But Christians believe because ‘the truly all-powerful God himself, creator of all and invisible, set up and established in their hearts the truth and the holy word from heaven’.119 And how did God do this? ‘To do so, [God] did not, as one might suppose, send them one of his servants, or an angel . . . but he sent the craftsman and maker of all things himself, by whom he created the heavens . . . his own son.’120 The reason Christianity should not be disqualified for its appearance of newness is because it is revealed by the Son, the creator himself, and therefore is very ancient. Indeed, the author describes Jesus elsewhere as ‘the one who was from the beginning, who appeared to be recent but was discovered to be ancient’121 – a direct rebuttal to the criticism that Christianity was a recent invention.
In addition to defending the truth of Christianity, the author also seeks to convince Diognetus that Christians are no threat to the empire. He presents Christians as ordinary: ‘Christians are no different than other people in terms of their country, language or customs.’122 And, he adds, Christians are not subversive but instead ‘are obedient to the laws that have been made’.123 Yet, despite their innocence, the author laments that Christians are still mistreated:
[Christians] do good and are punished as evil; when they are punished they rejoice as those who have been made alive. They are attacked by the Jews as foreigners and persecuted by the Greeks. And those who hate them cannot explain the cause of their enmity.124
Justin Martyr
Of all the second-century apologists, Justin Martyr (c.103–165) stands out as the most significant and the most influential. As noted above, Justin was a philosopher who eventually was converted to Christianity and settled in Rome in the middle of the second century. In his First and Second Apology (written c.151–155), which make an appeal to the Emperor Antoninus Pius, Justin defends Christians against the standard political and ethical charges of the day; e.g., insubordination, subversion, atheism, incest and cannibalism. What makes Justin’s apology unique is that it is the only example we have of an apology being submitted to the emperor as a formal petition – and thus with a real expectation of being read and answered by the emperor.125 Such petitions (libelli in Latin) were not uncommon, and were often drawn up by a citizen, or even a village, that had some legal complaint which they wished the emperor to address. While the other apologies surveyed here may have hoped to gain imperial attention, we have no evidence that they were delivered as formal libelli.
But Justin is not content to address only political issues in these two apologies. He is also intent on making the intellectual case for the truth of Christianity. If the emperor is to be persuaded, Justin will need more than a legal case; he will need to show that Christians are not really irrational atheists but the only ones who are worshipping the true God with reason. To accomplish this task, Justin turns to a well-established line of argumentation, namely that Jesus has successfully fulfilled Old Testament prophecies – an approach that would be repeated by other Christian apologists in generations to come. Justin offers a lengthy and detailed discussion of a wide variety of texts such as Exodus, Isaiah, Micah, Psalms, Zechariah and more, all designed to show that Christ completes the Old Testament promises.126 Not only does this argument serve to bolster the truth of Christianity, but it also serves to show, again, that Christianity is not new but has an ancient and established pedigree.
But Justin does not make his argument for Christianity only on a biblical basis; he also makes it on a philosophical one. The emperor was more likely to be persuaded by the latter, as opposed to the former. Although Justin is quite willing to critique pagan philosophies, he is quick to point out that the great thinkers of the past, like Socrates and Plato, really did think according to Christian principles. They were able to do so, argues Justin, because the logos – the true knowledge and wisdom of God – has always been made manifest throughout the world. ‘Whatever either lawgivers or philosophers uttered well, they elaborated according to their share of the logos.’127 Thus, even pagan thinkers before Christ were able to apprehend aspects of the true God because this logos principle was accessible to them.128 And, argues Justin, this logos was ultimately incarnate in the person of Jesus Christ.129
This comparison between Christians and Socrates is particularly poignant when Justin points out that Socrates was also martyred for his willingness to reject the state-sponsored gods, just like the Christians.130 In essence, Justin is arguing that Christians are like Socrates as they stand up for reason and oppose the false gods of Rome, and Roman officials are actually like the enemies of Socrates when they persecute Christians.131 This would have been a powerful argument because it presents Christians as the only true, rational philosophers.
Although not technically considered an apology, Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho the Jew, published soon after his First Apology, certainly has an apologetic dimension to it.132 The Dialogue presents a back-and-forth conversation with a Jew named Trypho where Justin offers a defence of Christianity against the claims of Judaism. Justin argues that the major Old Testament stories – Noah’s flood, the exodus from Egypt, Joshua’s conquest of the land – all foreshadow how God would deliver his people from judgement through Christ. Thus, the Old Testament Scriptures, according to Justin, are effectively ‘Christian’ documents. This sort of argument provided yet another rebuttal to the oft-repeated accusation that Christianity is a new religion without the tradition or history of established faiths like Judaism. While Justin sets his interaction with Trypho in the period soon after the Bar Kokhba revolt (c.135), it is difficult to ascertain how much the published Dialogue reflects the actual conversation. Regardless, the Dialogue reveals that Justin knew much about Judaism in his day and certainly represents the kind of theological and exegetical interchanges between Jews and Christians that were typical in the second century.
Tatian
Tatian, born in Syria in c.130, was one of Justin Martyr’s most famous students. He was converted to Christianity in Rome after being dissatisfied with the various philosophical and religious systems that he had studied during his pilgrimage throughout the empire. The Christian faith was the only one that proved to be intellectually compelling to him. Although he is most known for publishing the Diatessaron, a wildly popular harmony of the four Gospels, he also composed the influential apologetic work Oration to the Greeks (c.165). Tatian engages in a lengthy polemic against the Greek gods and also offers a defence of monotheism and key Christian doctrines.
In the account of his own conversion, Tatian explains that it was the reading of the Scriptures (among other things) that convinced him of the truth of Christianity. After carefully examining the pagan religious writings and finding them incoherent and problematic, Tatian happened to come across the Scriptures and began to read:
I was led to put my faith in these [Scriptures] by the unpretending cast of the language, the inartificial character of the writers, the foreknowledge displayed of future events, the excellent quality of the precepts, and the declaration of the government of the universe as centered on one Being. And my soul being taught of God, I discern that the former class of [pagan] writings lead to condemnation, but that these [Scriptures] put an end to the slavery that is in the world.133
Tatian’s treatise, while much more polemical and aggressive than his predecessors, also reaffirms a number of key points raised by prior apologists. He complains about the persecution of Christians, observing that even a robber is not punished only for the ‘name’ they bear but ‘only when the truth about him has been clearly ascertained’.134 Thus, Tatian asks, ‘Yet we [Christians] are to be assailed with abuse on a judgment formed without examination?’135 Tatian also continues to make the case that Christianity is not new, arguing that ‘our philosophy is older than the system of the Greeks’136 and that the Greeks even ‘drew’ upon the teachings of Moses.137 And Tatian pushes the origins of Christianity back even further by reaffirming the logos doctrine of his teacher Justin.138 He affirms that the logos was there in the beginning, shared the essential essence of the Father, and was the creator of the world.139
Athenagoras
A Christian philosopher from Athens, Athenagoras was one of the brightest minds among the early Christian apologists. We know very little about his life, but around 177 he presented his Plea for the Christians to the Emperor Marcus Aurelius and to his son Commodus – both of whom he regarded as philosophers. He is also said to have published On the Resurrection, a work defending the future resurrection of believers, but its authorship is disputed. The Plea for the Christians is motivated by the mistreatment and injustices done to Christians – they were being prosecuted just for bearing the ‘name’ Christian and not given equal treatment under the law. Thus, Athenagoras writes:
We venture, therefore, to lay a statement of our case before you – and you will learn from this discourse that we suffer unjustly, and contrary to law and reason – and we beseech you to bestow some consideration upon us also, that we cease at length to be slaughtered at the instigation of false accusers.140
Athenagoras then proceeds to deal with the three main accusations levelled against Christians, namely atheism, cannibalism and incest. As for the latter two charges, Athenagoras argues that the morality of Christians clearly stands in opposition to such acts and that their accusers have no basis for their claims. Even more, he argues that the accusers are the ones who are morally corrupt, engaging in all sorts of unspeakable acts themselves. It is the refutation of the charge of atheism, however, that occupies the bulk of Athenagoras’ response. He offers an extensive defence of the rationality of monotheism while, at the same time, exposing the futility and absurdity of the polytheistic system. To make his case, he demonstrates his great learning by drawing upon a variety of ancient philosophers and poets who affirm the existence of one true God. Thus, in the light of his audience, Athenagoras presents Christianity as something that is consistent with the very best philosophical traditions.
Theophilus
Theophilus, bishop of Antioch, wrote a three-volume apologetic work toward the end of the second century (c.180) to a pagan friend named Autolycus. This work, To Autolycus, presents a very lengthy argument against paganism and contrasts the God of Christianity with the gods of Greco-Roman religions. Theophilus draws upon his impressive learning as he makes his case, quoting philosophers, poets and historians that would be familiar to his audience. He affirms that there is one God who created all things out of nothing. While Theophilus acknowledges that Christians should honour the emperor as one appointed by God, he insists that only God himself is worthy of worship.141 Along with other second-century apologists he affirms that God created through the logos and that same logos inspired the prophetic writers of Scripture to speak truth.142 These prophetic writers, argues Theophilus, are even older than all the other authors valued by Greeks and Romans.143
Rather than only working on a broad philosophical level, Theophilus also offers lengthy explanations of biblical texts and stories. He focuses on the creation story in particular, offering a lengthy exposition of Genesis and the creation week. He also cites from other biblical books that mention creation (e.g., Psalms, Job, Isaiah). It is clear that he regards the Old Testament as fully authoritative, authored by ‘men of God carrying in them the Holy Spirit’.144 He even refers to numerous New Testament writings, including the Gospels, the epistles of Paul, and the book of Acts.
Tertullian
The North African teacher and author Tertullian (born c.160) wrote what is arguably his most important work, his Apology, at the very end of the second century (c.197). In many ways, this work functions as a capstone to all the apologetic efforts that dominated this period. Tertullian offers one of the most bold, articulate and impassioned defences of the faith – vindicating Christianity while at the same time exposing the futility of pagan worship.145 Its effectiveness is directly connected to ‘the brilliance of the argument which is still capable of leaving the reader applauding in admiration’.146 Everett Ferguson refers to it as ‘Tertullian’s literary masterpiece’.147
While addressing his apology to the governors of the Roman provinces, Tertullian takes on the posture of an attorney and argues that Christians are being condemned even though they are not properly understood or known. It is the height of injustice, he argues, to pronounce guilt upon a people with no knowledge of their crimes and with no opportunity to defend themselves. He states: ‘All that is cared about is having what the public hatred demands – the confession of the name [Christian], not examination of the charge.’148 The judicial mistreatment of Christianity is proved by the fact that often its despisers, once they learn more about it, change their opinion. Tertullian states:
The proof of their ignorance, at once condemning and excusing their injustice, is this, that those who once hated Christianity because they knew nothing about it, no sooner come to know it than they all lay down at once their enmity. From being its haters they become its disciples.149
As for the actual charges against Christians, particularly the claims that Christians eat babies and practise incest, Tertullian (again like an attorney) demonstrates first that there is never any evidence for such charges but they are based entirely on rumour. He then turns the tables on his accusers and suggests that such practices are actually present among pagan people groups, not Christian ones. In regard to the charge that Christians do not worship the Roman gods, Tertullian responds by saying, ‘We do not worship your gods, because we know that there are no such beings.’150 The Roman gods are just dead men and not worthy of worship.151 Thus Christians cannot be accused of rejecting the Roman religion when that religion is false. Tertullian states, ‘If there is no religion, because there are no gods, we are assuredly not guilty of any offense against religion.’152 In contrast, Christians worship only one God, the true creator of all things, who is incomprehensible to humans and not to be shaped into an earthly image.153
On top of this, Tertullian offers one of the most intriguing and articulate cases for the freedom of religion. All the provinces of Rome enjoy the freedom to worship the god they prefer, and so should Christians. He argues:
Let one consecrate his own life to his God, and another that of a goat. For see that you do not give a further ground for the charge of irreligion, by taking away religious liberty, and forbidding free choice of deity, so that I may no longer worship according to my inclination, but am compelled to worship against it.154
But Tertullian does not concern himself only with defending Christianity against accusation. With almost evangelistic zeal, he offers one of the most remarkable positive cases for the truth of Scripture and for the deity of Christ. He defends the Scriptures by arguing that first they are very ancient, ‘as far back as the first of your philosophers’.155 In addition, the Scriptures ‘offer proof that they are divine’156 in the fulfilment of prophecy all around them. Tertullian argues: ‘You may convince yourself of this [the divinity of Scripture] at once, and without going very far. Your instructors, the world, and the age, and the event, are all before you.’157 In regard to Christ, Tertullian again appeals to the logos language already evident in prior writers like Justin Martyr. He states that Christ ‘was the Logos of God, the primordial first-begotten Word, accompanied by power and reason, and based on Spirit’.158
Tertullian ends his apology by returning again to the theme of persecution. Regardless of the blameless character of the Christians, and despite the fact that they are a blessing to society, they are still blamed for virtually every ill that befalls Rome. He states:
If the Tiber rises as high as the city walls, if the Nile does not send its waters up over the fields, if the heavens give no rain, if there is an earthquake, if there is famine or pestilence, straightaway the cry is, ‘Away with the Christians to the lions!’159
But even in the midst of these sufferings, Tertullian says that God will grow his Church. Thus, he offers his famous dictum, ‘The oftener we are mown down by you, the more in numbers we grow; the blood of Christians is seed.’160
In sum, this brief survey demonstrates that the apologetics played a critical role in helping Christianity adapt to the often-hostile environment of the Greco-Roman world. Not only did apologists make a plea for political leniency and social acceptability of Christianity – refuting popular rumours and baseless charges – but they played a significant role in bolstering the intellectual respectability of Christianity. The apologists were forced to think through Christian doctrines in a more developed and more nuanced fashion, making them some of the most important theological thinkers of the second century.
That said, we must again remember the limitations of this sort of Christian literature. Apologetic works do not always describe the actual historical circumstances of early Christians but can sometimes offer an idealized and rhetorically effective presentation of how noble, faithful Christians suffer unjustly at the hands of a wicked government.161 Even so, there is little reason for wholesale scepticism over their contents. While we should not adopt the claims of these apologetic works uncritically, the fact that their content often corresponds with (and is corroborated by) what we know from a variety of other sources still makes them a (generally) reliable source for what Christians experienced in the second century.
Conclusion
The second century was not an easy time for the fledgling Christian faith. Still struggling to find their way apart from the influence and leadership of the original followers of Jesus, the earliest Christians found themselves in a world that was, at times, very hostile. On a political level, the new Christian movement had finally gained the attention of the imperial authorities, and they did not like what they saw. Christianity was viewed as a new and foreign religion that engaged in suspicious behaviour in secret meetings and, with its commitment to monotheism, undermined the religious and social stability of the Roman Empire. As a result, Roman governors, usually at the behest of the mob, were quite willing to torture and kill Christians if they refused to recant their faith in Christ.
But the opposition to Christianity was not just political. The intellectual elites of the day found the Christian religion to be lacking in sophistication and depth. Critics like Lucian, Galen and Celsus criticized Christian doctrines as irrational and incoherent and also criticized Christian texts as unhistorical and contradictory. Moreover, they criticized Christians themselves as ignorant, uneducated, gullible, and drawn from the lowest levels of society.
The response of the apologists to these sorts of attack formed a substantial part of Christian literature in the second century. Christian leaders could no longer write only with the believing community in mind; now they had to write in a manner that also engaged the unbelieving community. As a result, these Christian leaders were forced to think about what they believed in new and fresh ways. They learned to express Christian truths in a way that would build intellectual bridges into a pagan world. And their efforts were not in vain. Although the second-century Christians could not have foreseen it, many years later Christianity would eventually win over the hostile Roman world into which it was born.