A peculiar identity
1
A peculiar identity
The sociological make-up of second-century Christianity
The second century was a rather curious period in church history. It was a time when Christians were struggling to define themselves, not only in terms of departure from their Jewish roots, but also against the Greco-Roman world around them.
Emily J. Hunt1
As early Christianity left the apostolic period and headed into the second century, it had already spread to a variety of geographical locations – Palestine, Asia Minor, Syria, Macedonia, Greece, Rome and probably Egypt. Around the turn of the century (c.111–113), Pliny the Younger, Roman governor of Bithynia, writes to Emperor Trajan expressing his concern about how much Christianity had spread:
For the matter seemed to me well worth referring to you – especially considering the numbers endangered. Persons of all ranks and ages, and of both sexes are, and will be, involved in the prosecution. For this contagious superstition is not confined to the cities only, but has spread through the villages and rural districts.2
Pliny’s testimony indicates that by the second century the Christian religion had already expanded far and wide, even into a varied cross section of ancient society: ‘all ranks and ages, and of both sexes’. His testimony also reveals that the spread of Christianity was not viewed as a positive development by the Roman authorities. The earliest public perceptions of Christianity, it would seem, were largely negative. Christianity was a ‘contagious superstition’.
Of course, second-century Christians recognized that the Roman government was now noticing their fledgling movement – and not in a good way. Consequently, they laboured to demonstrate that they were ordinary citizens like everyone else. The author of the Epistle to Diognetus defends the legitimacy of Christianity by making this very point: ‘For Christians are no different from other people in terms of their country, language, or customs. Nowhere do they inhabit cities of their own, use a strange dialect, or live life out of the ordinary.’3
This back and forth between Christianity’s critics and defenders raises the question of who exactly these second-century Christians were. Were they ordinary people (as the Christians themselves claimed), or were they a dangerous, subversive movement (as the Romans claimed)? What was their religious background (prior to conversion)? What was their ethnic make-up? Were they rich or were they poor? Educated or uneducated? Male or female? In order to understand the Christian movement in the second century, we must begin with the identity of the Christians themselves. After all, early Christianity cannot be analysed only in regard to structures and doctrines – at its most basic level Christianity was composed of people.
Even in the first century the apostle Paul laid forth his own convictions about the sociological dimensions of the emerging Christian faith (or at least what these sociological dimensions ought to be) when he said, ‘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’ (Gal. 3.28). In Paul’s mind at least, Christianity’s salvific message was profoundly inclusive – it was truly designed for everyone. It was not a system which admitted individuals on the basis of ethnicity (neither Jew nor Greek), socio-economic status (neither slave nor free), or gender (neither male nor female). As we examine these same three categories in the second century, we shall see that Christianity’s commitment to reaching all kinds of people was not only (part of) the reason for its rapid growth, but also (part of) the cause of its many difficulties and challenges.
Neither Jew nor Greek
There is little doubt that the very earliest Christians were, in fact, Jews. They believed that Jesus of Nazareth was the long-awaited Jewish Messiah who would fulfil God’s extensive promises to Israel and usher in the kingdom of God. Thus, Jesus was understood quite naturally within the categories and expectations of Judaism. Sure, something new was happening with Jesus – the inauguration of a new covenant, in fact (Luke 22.20). But the first Christians would not have conceived of this as the beginning of an entirely new religion; on the contrary, they would have seen it as the completion of something very old, namely the story of God’s dealings with Israel (cf. Jer. 31.31). Thus, early Christians were quite content, at least at first, to continue worshipping at the Temple (Acts 2.46) and following the laws of Moses (Acts 10.9–16). Christianity, in some sense, was a continuation of Judaism.
This continuity between early Christian thought and Judaism can even be seen in the way Christians described their faith. The earliest Christians continued to define themselves in a Jewish framework: Christians viewed themselves as the heirs of the promises to Abraham (Romans 11; Gal. 3.29); as the spiritual ‘temple’ composed of living ‘stones’ (1 Pet. 2.3–4); as those who continue to offer sacrifices, but spiritual ones (Rom. 12.1; 1 Pet. 2.5); as the keepers of God’s moral law in the Ten Commandments (Jas. 2.8–11); and as those who still have a high priest who intercedes for them through the blood of the sacrifice (Heb. 4.14–16; 9.11–14). These early Christian expressions were not breaking away from Judaism, but building upon it.
But as we shall see below, the early Christian movement would not be able to stay under the umbrella of Judaism for ever. Eventually, Christians would begin to distinguish themselves from Jews, and Jews would begin to distinguish themselves from Christians. And the early second century was the key period for this transition.
Factors in the separation of Judaism and Christianity
Of course, as soon as one begins to speak of the separation of ‘Judaism’ and ‘Christianity’ the ambiguity and complexity of these terms becomes immediately evident.4 To what extent are these terms even valid to describe first-century realities? After all, Jewish belief and practice in the Second Temple period was quite diverse and varied. And Christianity was certainly not monolithic in the earliest centuries. Are we not therefore taking concepts and ideas that emerged later and (anachronistically) importing them back into an earlier period? And given the extensive overlap between the two ‘religions’ (assuming that the term ‘religion’ is even valid!),5 would the earliest adherents even be able to make such distinctions themselves?
These are important questions to ask and there are no easy answers. Some scholars have insisted that terminology like ‘Judaism’ and ‘Christianity’ should be abandoned in favour of other terminology (e.g., ‘Judaisms’, ‘Jesus movement’). But one wonders whether such language really does bring more clarity or just drives us deeper into a terminological quagmire.6 In addition, the diversity of Judaism in the first century does not preclude that there was still a ‘common’ Judaism that most Jews would have recognized. Indeed, unless there was a common Judaism, then the question of how Christianity came to be regarded as ‘not Jewish’ by the majority of Jews becomes unintelligible. As Bauckham observes, ‘This common Judaism makes the parting of the ways a real issue, as the model of many Judaisms does not.’7 Thus, for the purposes of this book, we shall employ the traditional terminology, while also acknowledging its inherent limitations and difficulties (which, incidentally, is true of any term we might use).
With these considerations in mind, we shall now consider several factors that played a role in the eventual emergence of Christianity as its own distinctive movement. Due to limitations of space, we can only briefly touch on a few of these factors here.
Theological differences
Although the earliest Christians were Jews, and operated within the theological categories of Judaism (e.g., temple, sacrifice, priest), certain theological claims began to create tension with their fellow Jews: (a) Christians claimed not only that Jesus was the Messiah, the promised ‘Christ’ (e.g., Matt. 16.16; Acts 2.36), but that he shared in the divine identity of Yahweh, Israel’s God (e.g., John 1.1; 1 Cor. 8.6; Phil. 2.6–11; Heb. 1.1–4); (b) even more than this, Christians made bold claims about their own identity as Israel; it was the followers of Christ who were the true ‘sons of Abraham’, the real ‘circumcision’ group, and partakers in a ‘better’ covenant (Gal. 3.29; Phil. 3.3; Heb. 8.6); (c) Christians did not require Gentile converts to follow ceremonial aspects of the Mosaic law – these were ‘boundary markers’ near and dear to the heart of any Jew and had, for generations, visibly marked out their identity from the surrounding pagan world (e.g., circumcision, Sabbath, food laws); and (d) Christians began to criticize the continuing relevance of the Temple, pointing out that Jesus had promised its future destruction (Acts 6.13–14).
Some of these theological issues will be revisited in later chapters, but here we shall simply observe that these were monumental theological shifts. Although some Jews were able to overcome these hurdles (and thus became part of the early Christian movement), most could not. Bauckham comments on these same four theological areas: ‘On all four points, which were basic to Jewish self-identity, Christians interpreted what all Jews had in common in a way that other Jews eventually considered un-Jewish, unrecognizable as common Judaism.’8 Inevitably, such massive theological differences would play a role in the creation of two distinctive religious communities.
Influx of Gentiles
In addition to theological considerations, the distinction between Judaism and Christianity also had an ethnic component. While it is true that most early Christians were Jews, it also true that most Jews did not become Christians. This reality compelled Paul to address the question of whether God had rejected his own people (Rom. 11.1–2). Meanwhile, the Christian movement quickly began to spread into Gentile populations. An influx of Gentiles occurred very early, leading to numerous first-century debates about whether Gentiles were obligated to keep the Mosaic law if they converted to Christianity (Acts 15.1–21; Gal. 2.11–21). There is little doubt that this Gentile shift is part of the reason that, by the beginning of the second century, Christianity begins to take on a distinct identity separate from Judaism.
The impact of this Gentile shift can only be appreciated when we recognize that, up to this point, the religion of the Jewish people and the ethnic identity of the Jewish people were not easily distinguishable. The two were bound together in the single nation of Israel. Sure, Gentiles were allowed to join the nation of Israel, but they were required to adopt the entire cultural package in order to do so (otherwise, they remained on the outskirts as ‘God-fearers’). Thus, becoming a Jew was not so much like a religious ‘conversion’ (in the modern sense), but more like joining a new society; it was akin to becoming Greek or Roman. Some have even suggested that, at this time, there was no such thing as ‘Judaism’ as a separate free-floating religion; there was just the Jewish nation and the religious practices that went along with it.9 Regardless, with the advent of the Christian movement, this all began to change. The vast number of Gentiles that embraced Christianity made this tight union between cult and culture more difficult to sustain. In a rather unprecedented fashion, Christianity now allowed religion to be conceived as an entity independent of the ethnic-cultural components that were inevitably attached to it.
Needless to say, this new Christian movement was difficult for ancient Romans to identify. What exactly was it? The large number of Gentile converts – converts who didn’t follow traditional Jewish customs – made it clear that it was not any ordinary Jewish sect. On the flip side, it clearly was not a Greek/Gentile religion because it was unashamedly exclusive in its religious worship, refusing to embrace any of the pagan gods – just as Judaism refused to do. Christianity, it seemed, was neither Jewish nor Greek (at least in the traditional senses). Skarsaune comments, ‘[Christians] were something new; they belonged to a category unheard of in Hellenistic culture’.10 The author of the second-century work Epistle to Diognetus even refers to Christians as ‘a new race or way of life’,11 that is neither Greek nor Jewish. As we shall see below, this distinctive feature created serious problems for the emerging Christian movement. Roman officials tolerated (at least to some extent) what they saw as the oddities of the Jews precisely because they were viewed as a distinctive ethnic/national entity. But Christianity enjoyed no such status. And so the oddities of Christians (such as their refusal to worship the Roman gods) were viewed not with tolerance but as disruptive to the social-political stability of the empire.
Even so, it was precisely this quality of early Christianity that also made it attractive to some groups. The separation of cultural-ethnic markers from religious identity may have made it particularly appealing to those who worshipped in Diaspora synagogues, a key target audience for Paul’s missional enterprise (e.g., Acts 9.20; 13.5; 13.14; 14.1). For Gentile ‘God-fearers’ who embraced the monotheism of Judaism but were unwilling to adopt circumcision, food laws and other boundary markers, Christianity would have been a compelling option.12 Although Lieu is surely right that we should not overplay the role of God-fearers in the growth of the early Church,13 neither should we ignore the fact that our earliest sources suggest they would have been part of the success of Christianity in the synagogues. Likewise, many Diaspora Jews, perhaps struggling with these same boundary markers in the midst of living in a Greco-Roman melting pot, may have also found Christianity appealing because it retained a clear monotheism but without the cultural-ethnic requirements.
Political events
Some scholars have suggested that this so-called ‘parting(s) of the ways’ between Judaism and Christianity may also have been aided by more monumental events that interrupted the religious life of the Jews. The destruction of the Temple (ad 70) and the Bar Kokhba revolt (c.ad 132–135) were both devastating blows for the Jewish people. Although the significance of the destruction of the Temple for the ‘parting(s) of the ways’ has been overplayed in the past (famously by Harnack), it did lead to a seismic religious shift for Judaism.14 After ad 70, Judaism was no longer centred on the Temple in Jerusalem (there was no Temple!) and shifted toward what we might now call ‘rabbinic Judaism’ more centred on the Torah. This new ‘rabbinic Judaism’ began to tighten its theological boundaries – even developing ‘curses’ for heretics (more on this below) – and thus proved to be quite an inhospitable place for Jews who proclaimed Jesus as Messiah. Moreover, the destruction of the Temple removed Jerusalem as the geographical centre point of the earliest followers of Jesus. Now, Christians would be associated more with locations outside Palestine in the broader Roman world.
In addition, the Bar Kokhba revolt proved particularly difficult for Jewish Christians because new claims arose that the real Jewish messiah had finally arrived (Bar Kokhba, not Jesus) and he would lead Israel back to political prominence. Such claims forced the hand of Jewish followers of Jesus – they realized they could no longer be both ‘Jews’ and ‘Christians’ but would have to pick which path they would follow.15 The urgency of this choice was exacerbated by the fact that some Jewish Christians who would not recognize Bar Kokhba’s messianic status were being persecuted.16 Needless to say, this would have driven a deep wedge between Judaism and Christianity.
Date of the separation between Judaism and Christianity
Determining the date of the separation of Judaism and Christianity is a complex matter. It should be remembered that the relationship between Judaism and Christianity during this time was very fluid – it is an oversimplification to suggest there was a specific moment in time where there was a decisive once-and-for-all split. It was a gradual process, accelerated in some locations, and less evident in others. Christianity and Judaism were themselves diverse religious movements that often overlapped and interacted, producing a variety of combinations. This is evidenced by the existence of various ‘Jewish-Christian’ groups which persisted for centuries after most scholars recognize the two religions had parted ways (more on some of these groups in Chapter 4). It seems that some converts to Christianity were not willing to leave Judaism behind. Indeed, the overlap between the two religions continued for so long that some scholars have even insisted there never really was a parting of the ways.17
But even with such complexities in play, the historical evidence still suggests that the beginning of the second century marked a new era for early Christianity whereby it was largely (though not absolutely) regarded as distinct from Judaism.18 Even if we acknowledge that the ‘parting’ between Judaism and Christianity would not be complete until the fourth century,19 this process was well underway by the second. A number of lines of evidence bear this out.
Statements of sharp distinction by second-century Christian writers
While the New Testament writings make no sharp distinctions between Judaism and Christianity, the situation begins to change in the second century. Leading figures (or texts) in this period began to make the separation more clear – Judaism and Christianity were not to be confused with one another. Ignatius, bishop of Antioch (c.110), is quite direct: ‘It is outlandish to proclaim Jesus Christ and practice Judaism. For Christianity did not believe in Judaism, but Judaism in Christianity – in which every tongue that believes in God has been gathered together.’20 Similarly, the Didache, an early manual on the Christian life (c.100), commands Christians to fast on different days from the Jews so that the two groups might be distinguishable.21 The Epistle of Barnabas, a Christian treatise written c.130, is quite keen to distinguish between Jewish and Christian interpretations of the Old Testament – even separating the two groups with terms like ‘us’ and ‘them’.22 In addition, Justin Martyr, one of the earliest Christian apologists (writing c.150–160), uses his dialogue with Trypho the Jew to distinguish the manner in which Christians are saved from the manner in which Jews are saved.23 The Martyrdom of Polycarp is particularly noteworthy as Polycarp refuses to swear to the emperor on the grounds of his identity: ‘I am a Christian.’24 He even offers to teach ‘Christianity’ to his accusers – clearly a distinct system of belief that is not identified here with Judaism.
Focus on pagan religions by second-century Christian writers
There is a marked difference between the way first-century Christian authors discuss Gentile converts and the way this is done in second-century Christian authors. In the first century, largely visible through the New Testament writings themselves, Gentile converts raise a particular set of issues, namely how they will relate to the Mosaic law. Should Gentiles be circumcised? Should they keep the food laws? Curiously, the New Testament writings spend comparably little time, on the whole, addressing pagan idolatry.25 Sure, there are exceptions (e.g., Acts 14.15–17; 17.22–31; 1 Cor. 10.19–21), but the New Testament is largely focused on how Gentiles would relate to Jewish practices.
In the second century, this focus shifts notably. With the rise of the Christian apologists (more on them in a later chapter), we see a concerted effort to respond to issues related to paganism. Now the focus is less about how Gentiles will deal with (and respond to) Judaism, but how Christianity will deal with (and respond to) Greco-Roman pagan idolatry. Clearly something has changed here. Christianity has moved outside the Jewish umbrella – where it was, largely speaking, protected from many of these pagan issues – and now is in direct contact with the Greco-Roman world which has so influenced these raw Gentile converts. This marks not only an ethnic shift (the Church is becoming increasingly Gentile), but also a shift in religious identity.
Growing animosity between Jews and Christians
The second century is a time when hostilities between Jews and Christians notably increase, marking at least some level of separation between the two groups. As Carleton Paget observes:
It is the case that the earliest adversus Judaeos texts appear in the second century, that is, it can be argued that it is only from the second century onwards that some Christians sought in a conscious way to engage with the question of ‘Judaism’ to define the Jew as they sought in some senses to define themselves.26
There has been much written on anti-Jewish sentiments evident in some early Christian writers.27 Of course, what even counts as anti-Jewish rhetoric (as opposed to just vigorous disagreement), and how widespread it actually was, is up for debate. Nevertheless, there are some second-century writings that move in a more aggressive and polemical direction.28 Melito of Sardis, in his sermon Peri Pascha (On the Passover), is more critical towards Judaism: ‘It is he [the Lord] that has been murdered. And where has he been murdered? In the middle of Jerusalem. By whom? By Israel.’29 The second-century text the Martyrdom of Polycarp portrays the Jews in a more negative light when it describes people gathering wood for the pyre to burn Polycarp and adds, ‘with the Jews proving especially eager to assist, as is their custom’.30 And works like the Epistle of Barnabas sometimes use hostile and inflated rhetoric to distinguish Christianity from Judaism, even suggesting at one point that the practice of circumcision may have derived from an ‘evil angel’.31
But the hostilities went in both directions. One possible example of Jewish antagonism towards Christians is the Birkat Ha-Minim – literally the ‘benediction of the heretics’ – which is a Jewish imprecation against heretics, particularly ‘Nazarenes’ or Christians. In essence, this was a liturgical curse, implemented some time at the end of the first century or early in the second, designed to keep Christians (presumably Jewish Christians) from worshipping in the Jewish synagogue. The curse reads, ‘Let Christians [notzrim] and the heretics [minim] perish in a moment, let them be blotted out of the book of the living.’32 The authenticity of the Birkat Ha-Minim has been rightly challenged by scholars, some doubting whether it originally contained the words ‘Nazarene’ or whether it can be dated so early. Others, however, have offered impressive defences of its historical legitimacy.33 Regardless of the debate over the specifics, it does seem that something like this liturgical curse was happening in the second century since Justin Martyr (confirmed by later reports from Jerome and Epiphanius) charges the Jews with ‘cursing in your synagogues those that believe on Christ’.34 If so, then we have yet another example of a growing separation between Christians and Jews by the second century.
Some scholars have even suggested the beginnings of this rift are even evident in the Gospel of John, written during this same period. Numerous passages in John’s Gospel (9.22; 12.42; 16.2) suggest that it was written in a historical context where Christians had already been separated from the broader Jewish community.35 While there are disagreements on the details – and while J. L. Martyn’s influential thesis that John’s Gospel is simply a retelling of Jewish Christians being expelled from the synagogue has rightly been critiqued – the sharp level of Johannine rhetoric between Jesus and the Jews seems to indicate the differentiation between Judaism and Christianity had probably begun. As Judith Lieu puts it, John’s Gospel gives the reader ‘a sense that neither Jesus nor his true disciples are counted among “the Jews”’.36
Roman perceptions of Christians
In the earliest (first-century) stage, Christianity was largely viewed by the Roman government as a part of Judaism. For instance, when the Jews brought Paul before the Roman tribunal and charged him, the proconsul Gallio would not hear the case because he said the dispute was ‘a matter of questions about words and names and your own law, see to it yourselves’ (Acts 18.15; cf. Acts 16.20). However, as we move into the second century we see Roman officials speak of Christianity as if it were a separate thing entirely. The Roman historian Suetonius (writing c.120), reports on Nero’s persecution of Christians referring to them as ‘a class of men given to a new and mischievous superstition’.37 Given that Roman officials were quite aware of Judaism’s long history, Suetonius clearly viewed Christianity as something new and different. Pliny the Younger (writing c.111–113), complained to Emperor Trajan in a letter about what to do with these ‘Christians’ with whom he was quite unfamiliar and was unsure how to control. As noted above, he referred to the movement as a ‘depraved and excessive superstition’ and even described their unusual worship: ‘they were in the habit of meeting on a certain fixed day before it was light, when they sang in alternate verses a hymn to Christ, as to a god’.38 The Roman historian Tacitus (c.116) speaks of Christianity in a very similar manner, referring to them as ‘a group whom the crowd styled Christians’ and as a ‘disease’ and a ‘pernicious superstition’.39
Clearly, for Suetonius, Pliny and Tacitus, Christians were not the same as Jews. When it comes to the perspective of these pagan writers, Carleton Paget argues, ‘Prima facie, then, such evidence would appear to show that to some outsiders, Christians had an identity separate from that associated with Jews, and precisely because this is the view of those looking in from the outside, it should be taken seriously.’40 And because the Roman government did not recognize Christians as Jews, they were not afforded the same political protections and rights that Jews enjoyed, and thus were sometimes severely persecuted (an issue we shall explore further in a later chapter). Indeed, the very fact that the government treated Christians and Jews differently demonstrates that (at least in the eyes of the government), Christianity and Judaism were not the same thing.41 Even more, there is no indication that Christians sought to avoid such persecution by claiming to be part of Judaism (a solution that might have been possible had these groups been viewed as indistinct).
Implications of (the beginning of) a separation between Judaism and Christianity
In sum, the historical evidence suggests that by the beginning of the second century, the separation between Judaism and Christianity had already begun. To be sure, that separation was not once and for all, but would ebb and flow for the next several centuries. But the initial rift had occurred – a rift that would grow ever wider as the years went by.
Such a development has tremendous implications for our study of second-century Christianity. For one, it tells us that, sociologically speaking, the Christian movement was ethnically mixed. There continues to be a debate about whether Gentiles dominated the second-century Church42 or whether there were still substantial numbers of Jewish believers in Jesus.43 Regardless, this new Christian movement was not ethnically monolithic. And it should be remembered that this was its goal – the good news of Jesus was to be spread to all the nations. Justin Martyr, no doubt with a degree of inflated rhetoric, celebrates this reality even in his own day: ‘For there is not one single race of men, whether barbarians, or Greeks, or whatever they may be called, nomads, or vagrants, or herdsmen living in tents, among whom prayers and giving of thanks are not offered through the name of the crucified Jesus.’44
While the ethnic mix of early Christianity was a positive, it would (largely) determine the type of theological issues that Christians would face in the second century. The substantial Gentile population meant that most new converts were coming out of Greco-Roman backgrounds, inevitably bringing with them various pagan influences and ideas that shaped the direction of Christianity. As a result, ‘Gnosticism’, and the associated gnostic-like thinking, would become a (if not the) major issue faced by the second-century Church. However, at the same time, there was a substantial population of ethnic Jews in the early Christian movement – and some of them insisted on maintaining some of the distinctive Jewish identity markers they were accustomed to (circumcision, food laws, etc.). These ‘Jewish-Christian’ groups (we will discuss the complexities of that title in a later chapter) gained traction in some quarters as the gospel spread to Diaspora communities. The existence of these groups continued to raise complicated questions about how much of the Mosaic law was to be observed by followers of Jesus. While the second-century Christian movement faced many challenges, these two proved to be some of the most formidable: ‘gnostic’ Christianity on the one side, and ‘Jewish Christianity’ on the other.
Neither slave nor free
In addition to the ethnic composition of second-century Christianity, we must also consider its socio-economic dimensions. In the early twentieth century, it was pretty much a given among scholars that early Christianity was, as Friedrich Engels claimed, ‘originally a movement of oppressed people: it first appeared as the religion of slaves’.45 The earliest Christians were uneducated peasants, it was argued, as made clear by the description of Peter and John (who were just lower-class fishermen) as ‘uneducated, common men’ (Acts 4.13), and the admission of Paul that, at least when it comes to the Corinthians, ‘not many of you were wise according to worldly standards . . . not many of noble birth’ (1 Cor. 1.26). In addition, early pagan critics like Celsus referred to Christians as ‘ignorant’, ‘stupid’, ‘bucolic yokels’46 – a charge that Origen does not entirely deny.47
However, in recent years, the scholarly consensus has shifted. E. A. Judge agreed that early Christianity was largely lower-class, but pointed out that this fact is largely irrelevant because virtually all of society during this period was lower-class.48 In addition, other scholars have observed that there were also Christians among the upper-class and elite portions of society.49 When it comes to early Pauline congregations, Meeks concluded that ‘a Pauline congregation generally reflected a fair cross-section of urban society’,50 including wealthy artisans, traders and freedmen.51 Stark even argues, following classicist W. M. Ramsey, that the early Christian movement actually began as a movement of the privileged classes.52
Social standing of second-century Christians
While the above studies largely pertain to the first century, the situation seems little changed by the time of the second – Christianity continued to find representation across the social spectrum. As noted above, Pliny himself argues that Christians are everywhere, infiltrating ‘all ranks’ of Roman society. Although Pliny may be exaggerating for rhetorical effect, we have no reason to doubt the general truth that Christians are not isolated to just the lowest socio-economic segment of the culture. Of course, some Christians during this period were slaves: the two Christians that Pliny tortured were slaves,53 Ignatius encourages believers not to look down on fellow believers who are slaves,54 the author of the Shepherd of Hermas was a former slave (a freedman), and the well-known female martyr Blandina was a slave (more on her below). But at the end of the second century Tertullian confirms that Christians can be found in a vast array of vocations, including commerce, trade, military, farming, and even the arts.55 Indeed, Tertullian observes that non-Christians are worried that Christianity is affecting all levels of society:
The outcry is that the State is filled with Christians – that they are in the fields, in the citadels, in the islands: they make lamentation, as for some calamity, that both sexes, every age and condition, even high rank, are passing over to the profession of the Christian faith.56
Minucius Felix, probably writing around the same period, makes the same point, ‘We [Christians] do not take our place among the dregs of the people.’57
In addition, there is also evidence that many second-century Christians were quite well-to-do. The Shepherd of Hermas mentions that there are many rich believers and proceeds to rebuke them for their lack of care for the poor.58 Justin Martyr indicates that there were rich Christians in his circles and that they were quite willing to help the poor: ‘wealthy among us help the needy’.59 Similarly, Tatian’s Oration to the Greeks says that not only the ‘rich’ study philosophy, but the ‘poor’ are given free instruction.60 Eusebius tells us that during the reign of Commodus (c.180–192) ‘many of those who at Rome were famous for wealth and family turned to their own salvation with all their house and with all their kin’.61 Similarly, Eusebius also mentions Apollonius, apparently a Roman senator and famous for ‘his education and philosophy’, who was discovered to be a Christian and made his defence on the floor of the senate before his execution.62 The apocryphal Acts of Peter (c.180–190) tells of several senators and noblemen (and noblewomen) converting to Christianity. Although it is a fictional account, it probably reflects some actual sociological realities of the second century.63
The fact that Christians were present at high levels of the Roman government is confirmed also by the existence of Christian freedmen and slaves in the household of Caesar himself. Irenaeus, writing c.180, probably refers to such individuals when speaking of ‘those believing ones who are in the royal palace’.64 Elsewhere, Irenaeus also mentions that in his youth he knew a Christian man named Florinus, describing him as ‘a man of rank in the royal hall’,65 another reference to a Christian in Caesar’s household. This report finds confirmation in Hippolytus who tells us of a certain Carpophorus who, during the reign of Commodus, was ‘a man of the faith belonging to the household of Caesar’ and possessed a considerable amount of money.66 Speaking of such individuals, Kyrtatus observes that ‘because of their privileged posts, many imperial freedmen and slaves managed to amass large fortunes and considerable property’.67
Indeed, by the end of the second century, the number of wealthy Christians had increased at least to the point that Clement of Alexandria could write an entire treatise (Who is the Rich Man Who Can Be Saved?) defending the right for Christians to have wealth because of the good they can accomplish with it. At one point, Clement even declares that the Lord ‘has also called rich people’.68 Clement’s treatise was part of a larger debate over how Christians should handle their wealth and whether it was legitimate to own property – an issue which would not have arisen if the entire Church was destitute and poor.69 Christians struggled with how to apply the teachings of Jesus on money, particularly the account of the rich man who was asked to sell everything and give to the poor (Matt. 19.16–30 / Mark 10.17–31 / Luke 18.18–30).
Regardless of the debate over the proper role of wealth, it is evident that Christians during this period distinguished themselves by their commitment to help those in financial need. Christians, unlike many in the Greco-Roman world, were willing to transcend socio-economic boundaries to aid those with economic burdens. Peter Lampe observes that within second-century Christianity, and contra to the broader Roman culture, ‘members of different social strata became extremely close to one another, supporting each other. . . . The church offered subsistence to the needy and in this way, again, contributed to the social integration of the Roman society as a whole.’70 We see this pattern of concern for the poor in a number of second-century texts including the Didache,71 1 Clement,72 2 Clement,73 Shepherd of Hermas,74 Ignatius75 and Irenaeus.76 But care for the poor was also mentioned in apologetic texts as a defence of Christianity’s legitimacy. For instance, in the second-century Apology of Aristides we read concerning Christians:
And whenever one of their poor passes from the world, each one of them according to his ability gives heed to him and carefully sees to his burial. And if they hear that one of their number is imprisoned or afflicted on account of the name of their Messiah, all of them anxiously minister to his necessity, and if it is possible to redeem him they set him free. And if there is among them any that is poor and needy, and if they have no spare food, they fast two or three days in order to supply to the needy their lack of food. They observe the precepts of their Messiah with much care, living justly and soberly as the Lord their God commanded them.77
The widespread Christian commitment to help those in need was particularly evident in times of disease and pestilence (which were not uncommon in the ancient world). Compassion and pity on the dying was not seen as a virtue in much of pagan Greco-Roman culture78 – during such times of distress, pagan priests and aristocrats would often flee the cities to leave the poor and sick to fend for themselves. For instance, while a great plague swept the Roman Empire during the reign of Marcus Aurelius (c.165), killing up to a third of the total population and possibly the emperor himself, the pagan physician Galen fled Rome and hid in the countryside. In contrast, early Christians often remained in the cities during such epidemics to care not only for fellow believers, but also for pagans who were left behind. Indeed, by the time of Tertullian, it appears that Christians had become known, even among their pagan enemies, for their ‘care of the helpless’.79 Stark even argues that it was this Christian concern for those in need that contributed to its growth and success in the Greco-Roman world.80
Education and literacy of second-century Christians
Closely connected to the social status of second-century Christians was their level of education. As noted above, Celsus accused Christians in the second century not only of being from the lowest classes of society, but of being ‘ignorant’, ‘stupid’, ‘bucolic yokels’.81 Origen even concedes that the disciples themselves ‘had not acquired even the merest element of learning’.82 And such charges were not unusual from pagan critics. Minucius Felix records the accusation that Christians were ‘unskilled in learning, strangers to literature, [and] without knowledge’.83 Lucian portrayed Christians as gullible simpletons who were easily tricked by the intellectually superior Peregrinus.84
Of course, it is difficult to assess the accuracy of the claims of Christianity’s critics – especially when they are offered in a polemical context. Moreover, assessing literacy rates in the ancient world is notoriously difficult due to the fact that the extent and type of literacy varies widely. Gradations of literacy range from mere signature literacy (ability to write one’s name) to full-fledged scribal literacy (competency in both reading and writing). This problem is exacerbated by the rapid spread of Christianity into various regions where there were different languages and different degrees of linguistic development and sophistication.
But we can begin by acknowledging that the vast majority of Christians in the early centuries of the faith would have been fully illiterate (unable to read or write). While the specific percentage is debatable – William Harris has argued that the average rate of literacy in the first-century Greco-Roman world would have been no more than 10 to 15 per cent,85 but other studies have suggested this number is far too low86 – literacy rates in the ancient world would have been very different from what we experience today. The primary reason for such a low rate of literacy is that there were no formal educational structures that would have made mass literacy a genuine possibility. And there are no reasons to think that these general trends would have changed significantly by the time of the second century. Although Christian texts from this period often mention the importance of teaching or instruction,87 there is no evidence that this included teaching reading or writing.
However, there is nothing particularly scandalous about the wide illiteracy of early Christians because the same was true for all groups in the Greco-Roman world during this period. Gamble observes, ‘We must assume, then, that the large majority of Christians in the early centuries of the church were illiterate, not because they were unique but because they were in this respect typical.’88 Formal education was something enjoyed only by the privileged few who had the financial resources, and therefore the time, to devote themselves (or their children) to learning and study. Of course, as discussed above, some Christians in the second century came from wealthier families and, as a result, were often educated and literate (at least to some degree). While some Christians did send their children to Greco-Roman schools,89 there is evidence that some withdrew their children to avoid the pagan influences and trained them privately.90 More affluent families could also afford to have slaves who were trained as scribes – either by a private tutor or in a paedagogium. It was quite common that such slaves would perform the functions of reading or writing for members of the literate upper class (even if such individuals were able to do it themselves). No doubt it was the literate members of the early Christian communities that more often found their way into leadership positions in the Church.
Indeed, by the middle of the second century some of the more educated Christian thinkers had begun to gain a level of intellectual respectability. The Roman physician and philosopher, Galen, offered more sympathetic statements about the burgeoning Christian movement, acknowledging not only that Christians were known for their distinctive morality, but also that they had a philosophy that was not all that inferior to that of pagan philosophers.91 Thus, Galen marked a significant shift in the way some Greco-Roman thinkers viewed Christianity – it was no longer a dangerous and superstitious movement but a genuine intellectual option (though, for Galen, still inferior to other philosophies). Christianity’s intellectual reputation was no doubt helped by Justin Martyr, one of the bright intellectual minds of second-century Christianity, who defends the faith on the grounds that it is a ‘safe and profitable philosophy’.92 He indicates that both intellectual elites and the uneducated converted to Christianity: ‘not only philosophers and scholars believed, but also artisans and people entirely uneducated, despising both glory, and fear, and death’.93
Neither male nor female
Given that Jesus and the original Twelve Disciples were all men, it would be easy to think that Christianity was designed to be a male-only religion. However, the history of early Christianity tells a very different story. Even in our first-century sources, it is clear that women played a major role in the burgeoning Christian movement. We are told that a significant group of women travelled with Jesus, even providing financial support: ‘Mary called Magdalene . . . Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod’s household manager, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their means’ (Luke 8.2–3). Many female followers of Jesus were present at the crucifixion while most of the Twelve were absent (Luke 23.27), and they were also the earliest witnesses to the resurrection while, again, most of the Twelve were hiding in the upper room (Matt. 28.1; Mark 16.1; Luke 24.1). The book of Acts continues to present women as part of the core group of Jerusalem believers (Acts 1.14; 12.12–13) and also highlights key women like Lydia (Acts 16.11–15) who appears to be a wealthy founding member of the church in Philippi, and Priscilla (Acts 18.2, 26) who had a vibrant missionary career with her husband Aquila and apparently hosted a church at her house (Rom. 16.3–5; 1 Cor. 16.19). When Paul writes to the churches, it is noteworthy that many of his greetings are given to women (e.g., nearly half of the final greetings in Romans are to women). Such evidence allowed Henry Chadwick to observe that ‘Christianity seems to have been especially successful among women’.94
Women in second-century Christianity
When we come to the second century, this strong presence of women in the early Christian movement remains unchanged. Returning again to Pliny’s Epistle to Trajan, he observes that this new religion is affecting ‘both sexes’, and when he needs to find Christians to interrogate for information, it is worth noting that he chooses ‘two female slaves who were called deaconesses’. Ignatius, just like Paul, often greets women in his letters, including the ‘household of Tavia’,95 ‘Alce, a name dear to me’,96 and ‘the wife of Epitropus, along with the entire household of her and her children’97 – each of whom must have played an important role, perhaps even helping to maintain a house church in that locale. The daughters of Philip (whether Philip is the evangelist or apostle is unclear) apparently played a significant role in the Church at the turn of the century since they are mentioned numerous times in a favourable manner by Eusebius.98 Even their grave sites in Hierapolis were well known.99 The popular second-century work, The Shepherd of Hermas, tells of Grapte who apparently had a well-known ministry to ‘widows and orphans’.100 Some widows in early Christianity apparently had ministries of their own – Lucian tells of how ‘widows and orphan children’ would bring meals to those in prison.101 The apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla, while clearly not a historical account, does positively portray the ministry of a female missionary, Thecla, who becomes a companion of the apostle Paul, goes from house to house proclaiming the word of God, and even baptizes herself. This book also mentions a number of other women by name, including Theonoe, Stratonike, Eubulla, Phila, Artemilla and Nympha. The story of Thecla proved to be quite popular, and some later Christian groups devoted much attention to her story.102 Tatian, in his Oration to the Greeks, even rebukes his pagan audience for the way they pour scorn on Christian women who ‘pursue philosophy’ – probably a reference to how women were studying the doctrines of the Christian faith.103
Justin Martyr provides a very positive testimony of a well-to-do Roman woman who converted to Christianity and dealt patiently with her pagan husband who refused to convert104 – not an uncommon occurrence in the second century and beyond.105 The fact that Justin calls attention to this woman’s story suggests she may have been well known and may have even been a patron of the church in Rome.106 Similarly, Marcia, the concubine of the Emperor Commodus, converted to Christianity and evangelized the emperor but to no avail. However, she did persuade him to be more lenient towards Christians, particularly Callistus whom he released from prison.107 These accounts (and more could be added) demonstrate that one way that Christian women advanced the missionary cause of Christianity was by witnessing to their unbelieving spouses.
Of course, in some instances the unbelieving husbands of Christian wives did, in fact, convert to Christianity. Most often these were what Stark calls ‘secondary conversions’ – a husband decides to ‘go along’ with his wife’s new religion while he would not necessarily have embraced it himself. Such secondary conversions would not only include the spouse, but would naturally include the slaves and servants as well. It was a household affair. Stark argues that such conversions would have played a significant role in the spread of Christianity.108
The extensive involvement of women in early Christianity can also be ascertained in second-century groups or texts that were later deemed to be ‘heretical’ (the issue of heresy and orthodoxy will be discussed further below in Chapters 4 and 5). Within the Montanist movement, for example, Priscilla and Maximilla functioned as female oracles and their visions were wildly popular.109 Celsus tells us that there are numerous divergent sects that seemed to be named after women: Marcellina, Salome, Mariamme and Martha.110 The existence of some of these groups is confirmed by writers such as Irenaeus and Origen. Irenaeus also tells us that the gnostic Marcus ‘devotes himself especially to women, and those such as are well-bred, and elegantly attired, and of great wealth, whom he frequently seeks to draw after him, by addressing them in . . . seductive words’.111 The gnostic Gospel of Mary presents Mary Magdalene as the favoured disciple of Jesus who receives exclusive revelations. Similarly, in the Gospel of Philip, Mary is presented as having a special relationship with Jesus that again surpasses that of the male apostles. The gnostic Epistle to Flora, written by Ptolemy (a disciple of Valentinus), is expressly addressed to a woman, Flora, who probably had some standing within the early gnostic movement. In addition, a wide range of gnostic texts use female imagery and symbolism to communicate their theological message.112 Perhaps most notable is the apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla mentioned above. After renouncing her fiancé and committing to a life of celibacy, Thecla lives a life of adventure, spreading the gospel and escaping potential martyrdom. Tertullian indicates that the story was later used by some Christians to suggest women should be allowed to teach and baptize.113
Women also play a significant role in the accounts of early Christian martyrdom, a topic we shall explore more fully in Chapter 2.114 At the turn of the century, Flavia Domitilla, the relative of a Roman consul, was sent into exile because of her testimony to Christ.115 The Letter of the Churches of Vienne and Lyons, recorded by Eusebius, informs us that among the second-century martyrs in Gaul and Vienne was a slave woman named Blandina.116 Despite her low social status, the story of her death and torture receives extensive attention from the author and she is presented as especially strong, courageous and faithful. The popularity of female martyr stories did not end in the second century but continued on into the third, most notably in the wildly popular Passion of Perpetua and Felicity (c.203). While the account documents the death of four other individuals (three men and a woman named Felicity), it largely centres on the death of a young woman named Perpetua. Like Blandina, she is presented as the hero of the story and the archetype of a faithful martyr.
While substantive participation from women can certainly be viewed as a positive development for early Christianity, not all in the ancient world agreed. Celsus, Christianity’s most persistent critic, actually presents the involvement of women as a cause for derision: ‘[Christians] show that they want and are able to convince only the foolish, dishonorable and stupid, only slaves, women and little children’.117 Here Celsus engages in a standard polemic against Christianity, presenting it as something that lacks the Greco-Roman ideal of masculinity and as a religion primarily for women and children.118 Elsewhere, Celsus accuses Christians of hiding out in their ‘private houses’119 and being unwilling to engage in the public sphere – yet another way to associate Christianity with women who were often the managers of those households. A similar polemic can even be felt in Pliny’s statement above; the fact that the only specific Christians he mentions to Trajan are ‘two female slaves’ is a less-than-veiled statement that Christianity is an emasculated religion (even if some men also happen to participate). Likewise, Lucian’s comments about the ministry of ‘widows and orphan children’ was not intended positively, but as yet another reason to regard the Christian movement as unworthy of serious consideration by the Greco-Roman elite. In addition, Minucius Felix records the criticism that early Christianity was recruiting from ‘the dregs of the populace and credulous women with the inability natural to their sex’.120
Of course, it is difficult to know how much of these sorts of criticism should be taken at face value and how much are exaggerated rhetoric.121 It was standard fare in the Greco-Roman world to attack new movements by associating them with women. For instance, in 186 bc Livy denigrates the cult of Dionysus by describing it as something primarily for women122 – and other examples could be given.123 However, the fact that the statements by these critics of Christianity seem, generally speaking, to correspond to the other historical evidence surveyed above suggests that, at least in this case, the critics may be (partially) right. Moreover, it seems that, at least in the case of Celsus, he possesses more than a surface knowledge of the early Christian movement and may have therefore been more accurate than most regarding its practices. If so, then such critiques may provide further evidence for the substantial involvement of women in the early Christian movement. Celsus even informs us that the women took children ‘to the wooldresser’s shop, or the cobbler’s or the washerwoman’s shop, that they might learn perfection’.124 Apparently these Christian women, in addition to being the recipients of missionary activity, were also actively engaged in missionary activity by taking children to various Christian-run businesses for what appears to be catechetical or doctrinal instruction.125 In short, the criticisms of Celsus suggest that Christian women were functioning as missionaries, evangelists and teachers. Moreover, Celsus’ mention of ‘private houses’ confirms the participation of women in the early house churches, something we already glimpse in the first century (Acts 12.12; Col. 4.15; 1 Tim. 5.14).
The attraction of women to Christianity
While it is clear that women played a substantive role in early Christianity, the actual ratio of men to women is less clear. Did women outnumber men? If so, by how much? Stark makes a compelling case that when it comes to ‘primary conversions’ to Christianity – where an individual embraces the new religion for herself – there is little doubt that women substantially outnumbered men. Peter Lampe has shown that this was certainly the case within aristocratic circles. Aristocratic Christian women so outnumbered aristocratic Christian men that they were often unable to find Christian spouses unless they were willing to marry someone from a lower class.126 Although precise numbers are impossible, Stark suggests the early Christian population may have been composed of nearly two-thirds women.127 If those numbers are remotely accurate, then the male–female ratio within the early Christian movement would have been nearly the opposite of the Greco-Roman world. In the latter, women were in short supply – due to some degree to female infanticide and high female mortality rates during childbearing – creating a more hostile environment for the women who were available. In contrast, women in Christianity were more abundant, creating an environment more conducive and more attentive to the needs of women.
Stark has suggested a variety of possible reasons for the disproportional number of women converting to Christianity, but the main one is that Christianity offered a more favourable and positive environment for women as compared to the position of women in the broader Greco-Roman world.128 The favourable environment would have included opportunities for real ministry involvement (with honour and dignity), the condemnation of female infanticide (a practice which had greatly reduced female numbers in the pagan population), fewer marriages with child brides (a practice which was harmful to young girls), lack of abortion (which resulted in greater fertility), and healthier marriages where divorce was condemned and use of prostitutes/concubines forbidden (which also resulted in greater fertility in Christian couples).
This last feature of early Christianity is worth exploring a little further. It is well known that in the Greco-Roman world married men were allowed a great deal of sexual freedom – they could have relations with slaves, concubines, and even prostitutes – whereas the wives were expected to remain faithful to their husbands.129 This posture towards women is exemplified in the words of Demosthenes, ‘We keep mistresses for our enjoyment, concubines to serve our person each day, but we have wives for the bearing of legitimate offspring and to be faithful guardians of the household.’130 Of course, this is not to suggest that all individuals or religions in a Greco-Roman context would have shared this approach to marriage. No doubt, many would have still pursued fidelity to their wives.131 Nonetheless, the overall trend in the Greco-Roman world allowed men more sexual freedom outside the marriage than women.
In contrast, the ethics of early Christianity called husbands to stay faithful to their wives and prohibited any form of sexual infidelity. For Christians, both husbands and wives were to be held to the same standard of holiness and purity. We see this sentiment expressed not only in first-century Christian texts (e.g., Matt. 19.1–9; 1 Cor. 6.12–20; 1 Thess. 4.1–7) but also in a number of second-century texts. In the Epistle to Diognetus, the author goes out of his way to declare how normal Christians are in regard to what they wear, what they eat, and how they participate in society. However, he then says Christians ‘share their meals, but not their sexual partners [i.e., marriage bed]’.132 The Apology of Aristides defends the legitimacy of the Christian faith to the Emperor Hadrian by pointing out how Christians ‘do not commit adultery nor fornication’ and ‘their men keep themselves from every unlawful union’.133 At the end of the second century, Tertullian expresses the same sentiment: ‘One in mind and soul, we do not hesitate to share our earthly goods with one another. All things are common among us but our wives.’134 The distinctive sexual ethic of Christians as opposed to the pagan world is particularly evident in the apology of Minucius Felix and is worth quoting at length:
Among the Persians the law approves unions with mothers, in Egypt and at Athens marriage with sisters is legal; your legends and tragedies glory in tales of incest, which you read and listen to with relish; the gods you worship have incestuous relations with a mother, a daughter, or a sister. No wonder then that among you cases of the same offence are often exposed, and constantly practiced. . . . On the other hand, our modesty lies not in outward look, but in soul; of our own free will we cleave to the bond of single marriage; in desire of procreation we are content with one wife or with none.135
This sort of distinctive ethic would not only have made early Christians out of place in their Greco-Roman context, but (and this is Stark’s point) it would have made Christianity a particularly attractive option for women. This is not to suggest, of course, that all Christian marriages lived up to this ideal. On the contrary, the bold rebukes contained in many of Paul’s letters show that many of these marriages, even in the earliest generations, did not (e.g., 1 Cor. 5.1; 1 Thess. 4.4–6). No doubt some Christians continued to engage in the same sexual behaviour they embraced prior to conversion. The above statements from Christian apologists do not always reflect the way things were in reality, but the way things, in their minds, ought to be. Nonetheless, Christianity as a movement was still collectively committed to fidelity, integrity, and equal treatment in marriage. And this would have played a role in its appeal.
Lieu, in contrast to Stark, is sceptical about whether women were more attracted to Christianity than men – or whether we could even know such a thing.136 Moreover, even if they were, she argues that it is quite difficult to know the reasons. Missing from Stark’s list, Lieu observes, is the possibility that women were attracted to Christianity for intellectual reasons, as well as for practical ones. Maybe they were drawn to Christianity not so much for what it could do for them, but because of the truths it affirmed.
Conclusion
The early Christian movement was not just composed of ideas and doctrines and infrastructures. It was ultimately composed of people. This chapter has explored these people in greater detail by examining the sociological make-up of second-century Christians.
Although the very first Christians were Jewish, it would not be long before there was significant influx of Gentiles. We argued above that by the beginning of the second century the separation between Judaism and Christianity was largely underway. While the exact ratio of Jews to Gentiles in the early Christian movement remains unclear, the ethnic composition of the Christian movement would be a key factor in the main theological battles of the second century (e.g., Gnosticism and Jewish Christianity).
While prior scholarship has often presented earliest Christianity as a movement of slaves, peasants, and the lower class, the historical evidence tells a very different story. Many Christians, of course, came from the lower rungs of society. But not all. By the end of the second century, it is clear that many Christians were quite well-to-do – and some even had aristocratic connections. While many Christians were illiterate (as were most during this period), others were more educated (often the wealthier Christians), allowing Christianity to achieve at least a minimal level of intellectual respect among some second-century philosophers.
Even though the Twelve Disciples, and Jesus himself, were all male, the historical evidence suggests that women played a substantial role in the earliest stages of Christianity – including the second century. Women advanced the Christian cause in many ways: they functioned as missionaries, evangelists, teachers, and helpers of the poor. There are even indications that women may have substantially outnumbered men in the first few centuries of the early Christian movement.
This chapter indicates that Paul’s vision of Christianity as something intended for all people – Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female – was on its way to being realized in the second century.