The Triumph of Christianity

by Bart D. Ehrman

  Most Christian leaders—both bishops and state officials, all the way up to the emperor—had a different opinion. Their religion had long been built on a solitary notion of truth. One way was right and the other ways were wrong. There was one path to the divine, and it was the one that could be found in the orthodox Christian creeds. Some Christians, of course, did believe that true religion was a personal matter and that there was no reason to force their views on others. Others, however, practiced complete intolerance for any difference, whether found among Jews, pagans, or other Christians. This was not a problem that would quickly go away. Meanwhile the Christian church acquired more and more power, eventually becoming the most powerful institution in the Western world, destined to outlive the Roman Empire itself by many centuries.

  THE EFFICACY OF COERCION

  Some scholars have argued that Christianity ultimately succeeded in taking over the empire because of its coercive efforts.39 In this view, pagans converted in droves because they were more or less forced to do so. Exercising their newly won power, Christians imposed their will on the religious world of the time.

  Other scholars have maintained that this view is inherently implausible. Coercion rarely succeeds in forcing people to change their minds, even if it compels them to alter their patterns of behavior. Think about pagan attempts under Diocletian to force Christians to recant. Many Christians complied with the imperial decrees, turning over the Scriptures when demanded or performing sacrifices. When the persecution ended, most of these returned to the Christian fold. It surely would not have been different with pagans deprived of their right to follow the cultic traditions of their ancestors. They could be forced to stop sacrificing, but they could not be forced to accept the god of the Christians against their will.

  Moreover, and even more important, there is scant evidence that coercion was widely practiced. There were certainly instances, including the ones I have detailed. But there is nothing to indicate that Christians everywhere were cracking pagan heads in an effort to make them convert. That is why a scholar such as Michele Renee Salzman, focusing on the western empire, has argued that “it is hard to accept the interpretation advanced by certain scholars that physical violence, coercion, was a central factor in explaining the spread of Christianity.”40

  THE RISE OF CHRISTIAN INTOLERANCE: IN SUM

  No century of Christian history was more transformative than the fourth. In 303 CE, the Roman emperor Diocletian declared war on the Christian church and instigated the most massive persecution it ever endured. In 312 CE, the emperor Constantine himself converted to become a Christian. In 313 CE, Constantine and his co-ruler Licinius issued a declaration of complete toleration for all religions, pagan and Christian. In 325 CE, Constantine ruled over a council of bishops at Nicaea called to resolve the deep but nuanced theological disputes of the day. In 341 CE, the Christian emperor Constantius II issued the first legislation banning pagan cultic practices. In 361 CE, the pagan Julian ascended the imperial throne and spent nineteen months attempting to suppress Christianity and reinstate paganism. In 363 CE, the Christian emperor Jovian replaced him, and from that time on there would never again be a pagan ruler of the empire. In 391 to 392 CE, the vehemently orthodox Christian Theodosius declared all pagan practices illegal and in effect made Christianity the state religion of Rome. It was to remain the state religion for as long as the empire stood—not just the West, which fell in the fifth century, but also the East, which lasted until the fifteenth. Christianity was to become the greatest and most powerful institution Western Civilization has ever seen.

  With the growth of Christianity came moments of heightened intolerance. Sometimes this intolerance erupted in ugly acts of violence, suppression, and coercion. Christians were not, of course, the only intolerant people on the planet. They themselves had been the victims of violent coercion early in the century. In addition, it would be a mistake to consider the majority of Christians as intolerant. Most, to be sure, were exclusivist in their religious views. For them, there was only one god and only one set of correct theological beliefs and ritual practices (even if they disagreed among themselves about what those beliefs and practices were supposed to be). Any other paths to truth were excluded. But as with Jews before and alongside them, for many Christians this exclusive religion did not compel intolerance toward others.

  By the end of the fourth century about half the empire was Christian. A triumphalist narrative of the march of Christian progress might well celebrate that historical reality as some kind of ultimate victory. Still, it is important to realize that the other half of the empire was not Christian. Jews possibly made up 5 to 7 percent of the empire; pagans the rest. And despite the occasional acts of Christian violence, most of the time, in most places, all these people—Jew, pagan, and Christian—more or less got along. It is wrong to think that the legislation passed by Theodosius, enforced sporadically by officials such as Maternus Cynegius and used occasionally to justify local violence, absolutely crushed paganism and forced all followers of traditional religions into hiding.

  On the contrary, as Princeton historian Peter Brown has so elegantly argued in numerous publications, pagans and Christians into the fourth and fifth centuries by and large accommodated one another and generally managed to work, function, and live together. This was certainly the case at the higher reaches of imperial government, which had its own concerns apart from the need to enforce religious conformity. For one thing, it had to keep the empire running. That required raising revenues, quelling internal turmoil, and defending the borders. The leaders of the empire were politicians who recognized the need for compromise in order for government to run efficiently. In Brown’s words, when it came to achieving their desired goals, these rulers understood full well “the art of the possible.”41 These were goals largely shared among members of the upper-crust ruling elite, both pagans and Christians. Indeed, Brown and others have shown that the educated and ruling elite Christians had more in common with their pagan counterparts than with lower-class, uneducated fellow Christians.

  Still, even without massive coercive efforts, it cannot be ignored that Christianity continued to grow as very large numbers converted. Although there were not armed bands of military police attacking groups of non-Christians at every pagan shrine, there were laws proscribing pagan practices and occasional acts of violent intolerance. Even though such coercion almost certainly had no effect on the widespread practices of traditional religion in the short run, it is easy to see how it might take its toll over the long haul. Unlike Christianity, paganism was never declared “legal” after a short period of persecution. Christian emperor followed Christian emperor. And people continued to convert, in increasingly large numbers.

  In some places temples were shut down. Cult statues were destroyed, mutilated, or desacralized and made secular works of art. Most important, public funding to the traditional religions began to be cut. In some instances this was because the Christian government withdrew its support. But even more it was the result of the conversion of the upper classes. Local pagan cults were almost always supported by local pagan aristocrats. As the Roman upper classes increasingly became Christian, naturally their resources were redirected to the church. It was not just in converts but also in cash that traditional religions experienced a massive collapse over time, with the Christian church experiencing a growth that was literally exponential. Paganism did not have to be destroyed by violent acts of Christian intolerance. It could, and did, die a natural death, cut off from resources and abandoned by popular opinion.

  Afterword

  Gains and Losses

  The idea for this book struck me twenty years ago during my first trip to Athens. I was keen to explore the archaeological wonders of the city, and most especially the Agora and the Acropolis. The Agora was the ancient center of the city and is still filled with monumental buildings: the old Athenian meeting place called the Metroon; the impressively reconstructed South Stoa with its rooms, shops, and area
s for people to mingle; and a number of ruined sacred sites—including the single best-preserved Greek temple to come down to us from antiquity, one dedicated to the Greek god Hephaestus, god of volcanoes, fire, and metal working.

  Constructed from 449 to 415 BCE during the glory days of Athens, the temple is a large and imposing structure in the northwest part of the Agora. Made completely of marble, it stands on a large platform, 104 by 45 feet. The front and back—east and west sides—are adorned with six massive columns, the two longer sides with thirteen. Along the top are magnificent friezes, one of which depicts the labors of Heracles. Inside the temple, in antiquity, stood bronze statues of Hephaestus and Athena, the patron goddess of Athens. This testament to the architectural skills of ancient Greece stands virtually intact today—including its roof—appearing much as it did to the Athenians twenty-five centuries ago, a glorious temple that would have been observed in person by Euripides and Sophocles, by Socrates and Plato.

  High above the Agora, to the southeast, stands the Acropolis, home to numerous archaeological wonders, including the glorious Temple of Athena Nike; the temple known as the Erechtheion with its six enormous female statues, the Caryatids; and of course, chiefly, the Parthenon, perhaps the most magnificent ruin of any kind to come down to us from classical antiquity. Although much larger than the Temple of Hephaestus, the Parthenon took less time to complete, just fifteen years. The temple is dedicated to Athena, the parthenos—that, is the virgin. But the building was not a cultic site devoted to her worship. It was instead used as a treasury for the city of Athens.

  The building is simply enormous. It stands on a base measuring 228 by 101 feet, on which stand eight giant columns on both front and back, seventeen on each side. Their construction is an architectural marvel. If all the columns had been straight and exactly the same size, the building would appear curved to the naked eye. And so the architects designed the columns to lean slightly toward the interior of the building and enlarged them slightly in the middle. Moreover, the floor of the temple is imperceptibly higher in the center than at the sides. Altogether these carefully plotted design features make the building appear completely straight and symmetrical.

  In antiquity a statue of Athena stood inside the structure, measuring twelve meters high and constructed of fine ivory and gold around a wooden core. It was made by Phidias, the most famous sculptor of classical antiquity. Numerous other sculptures adorned the temple, including those known today as the Elgin Marbles, named after the man who pilfered them in the early nineteenth century, Thomas Bruce, seventh earl of Elgin and British ambassador to the Ottoman Empire. The marbles can still be seen in all their relocated glory in the British Museum.

  The temple of Hephaestus and the Parthenon were high on my agenda during my visit, as were the surrounding archaeological remains. But I was especially intent on climbing an otherwise unimpressive rock outcropping that, as a historian of early Christianity, I had known about since my youth. This is called the Areopagus, or Mars Hill. It is where the apostle Paul allegedly delivered a speech to Epicurean and Stoic philosophers upon first arriving in Athens during his storied travels.

  The Areopagus today looks much as it did in Paul’s time, a stony crag overlooking the city, boasting no ruins of any kind. Its only distinctive features are a plaque embedded in the rock below, encapsulating the text of the speech Paul delivered, and a set of slippery steps leading up to the top. It is a spectacular location, not because of any inherent merit or archaeological ruins, but because on both sides can be seen the vestiges of one of the most spectacular civilizations the world has ever known, the magnificent remains of the Agora below and the even more magnificent remains of the Acropolis above. This is Athens, the home of some of the greatest philosophers, dramatists, artists, architects, and political thinkers of classical antiquity, captured in a gaze downward and upward.

  Paul visited the spot on his second missionary journey (Acts 17). He had come to Athens to preach about Jesus and his resurrection. Some of his original audience wanted to hear more from him. So, as requested, he ascended the Areopagus to speak to a group of philosophers who regularly gathered there. He started his speech by mentioning he had seen a large number of temples and idols in their city, but was particularly struck by an altar dedicated to “An Unknown God.”

  Scholars of early Christianity have long debated how to make sense of such an altar. Possibly it was erected as a backup measure by a group of pagans nervous about leaving a god out of their collective worship—in case there was one god who had been left unmentioned, unnamed, and unattended in the city. This altar was in that one’s honor.

  Paul uses this altar to an Unknown God as a launchpad for the rest of his address. The Athenians may not know who this god is, but Paul does. He in fact is the one God over all, the ultimate divine being, the God who created the heavens and the earth. As the creator of all things, he has no need for any physical representation or earthly temple. This is the God who is soon to judge the world and everyone on it through the second coming of his son, Jesus, whom God had raised from the dead.

  Paul’s words did not find a welcome acceptance on the Areopagus. It is not that the philosophers there were shocked, dismayed, or challenged. They were simply amused. Paul was relatively uneducated—in comparison to them, at least—and was speaking nonsense about a physical resurrection of the dead. Most of them mocked, although some wanted to hear more later. Paul did make one or two converts.

  While standing on the site twenty years ago, I thought about Paul, his sermon, and his surroundings. Paul was a lower-class artisan and itinerant preacher. From an external, material perspective, nothing stood in his favor. He was widely maligned and mistreated, frequently beaten, sometimes within an inch of his life, and lacking any worldly power or prestige. In many ways he stood on precisely the opposite end of the spectrum from the great cultural heroes of Athens, the heart of Greek civilization.

  Then the realization struck me. In the end, Paul won.

  What Paul preached that day on the Areopagus eventually triumphed over everything that stood below me in the Agora and above me on the Acropolis. It overwhelmed both the Temple of Hephaestus and the Parthenon. No one except, probably, Paul himself would have predicted it. Yet it happened: Christianity eventually took over Western Civilization.

  In this book I have tried to explain the triumph of Christianity without making it a triumphalist narrative. As a historian, I do not think the Christianization of the Roman Empire was inevitable and I do not celebrate it either as a victory for the human race and a sign of cultural progress on the one hand, or a major sociopolitical setback and cultural disaster on the other. I think it is impossible to say whether the world would have been a worse place or a better one had it not happened. Something else would have happened in its stead. But what?

  What would have happened if the emperor Julian had ruled for forty years instead of nineteen months? Would he have managed to achieve his goal of marginalizing and then eliminating Christianity? Would the glories of Greece and Rome have lived on? Would what we think of as Western Civilization ever have occurred? What would have happened if the emperor Constantine had not won the Battle at the Milvian Bridge but instead died in the conflict? Would Christianity have sputtered and died? Or would the movement have continued to grow at an exponential rate? Would one of his emperor sons have later converted? Or would persecution have continued and succeeded in quashing the faith? If so, what would have happened then? Even more, what difference would it have made to the world if Paul had not “seen the light”? Would someone else have arisen to take the Gospel to the gentiles, making possible the conversion of the entire pagan world? Or would the religion have remained a sect of Judaism, with the historical importance of, say, the Jewish Essenes?

  We do not know and we cannot know.

  We do know that Christianity won over the empire and in doing so considered their historical movement a triumph. If about half the empire was Christian by the year 400
CE, the great majority was Christian by 500 CE. This Christianization brought massive benefits to the church. It went from being legalized under Constantine, to being legislated under Theodosius, to being the dominant religion of the West in the centuries to follow. Once emperors became Christian, masses came in and, of particular importance, the path was open for the aristocracy to follow. The leaders of the churches shifted from being simply local believers who happened to be literate to embodying the most highly educated, well-connected, politically astute, wealthy, and revered elements of society.

  The wealth and the power of the church itself became enormous. The wealth was evident not simply in magnificent church structures or their spectacular accoutrements but in vast tracts of land and the holdings of the bishops. So too the power was not simply over the personal religious lives of the faithful; it was also social and political power. After the West saw its last Roman emperor with Romulus Augustulus in 476 CE, the church itself only grew in strength, as it did in the East as well.1

  In fact, eventually, the Roman popes claimed to rule the West. In the eighth century or, as one recent study has argued, in the ninth, there appeared a document known as the Donation of Constantine, in which the first Christian emperor allegedly bestowed the rule of all western provinces on the bishop of Rome. This is what Constantine is said to have written:

  As a return gift to the most blessed bishop, our father Silvester, the universal pope, we decree that our palace . . . as well as the city of Rome and all the provinces, places, and cities of Italy and the western regions must be distributed to his power and the administration of his successor bishops. Through a firm imperial judgment [and] by means of this divine, sacred, and lawful constitution we allow everything to remain under the jurisdiction of the holy Roman church.2