In the 4th century the Western world was unalterably changed; there was a clash of kingdoms which resulted in real blood, real war crimes, and real heroism. There was a regime change, and the early Church didn't pretend there was a polite way to go about it. The Church was built with the blood of martyrs, but it was the martyrs themselves who cried out for vindication on earth: "How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?" (Revelation 6:10).

In some sense, Constantine was their answer. The church the martyrs built became a kingdom of saints. And to a certain degree, the entire struggle of the Church-from Stephen to Constantine-was political and something with very earthly ramifications.

After Milvian Bridge

An inscription dated to A.D. 310 contains a petition which Roman subjects in modern-day Turkey sent to the Roman Emperor, Maximinus:

Since the gods your kinsmen have demonstrated to all their love of mankind, oh most divine kings, who are concerned with worship of them on behalf of the eternal security of yourselves, we considered it would be well to take refuge with your eternal majesty and make petition that the Christians, long suffering from madness, should at length be made to cease and not give offense by some ill-omened new cult to the worship due the gods.

In what was the last major persecution before Constantine, the emperor gave his wholehearted consent to the expulsion of Christians from that province.[2] Churches were burnt, Christians exiled, and pagan rites were again performed on city streets. The Church, although still a small portion of the populace, had gained notoriety through what the Romans viewed as subversive practices. Exorcism of pagan "demons," clandestine "love feasts," and strange healings had given Rome cause to worry about the sanity of the Christians, much like we might view David Koresh and his followers.[3]

But for all the mystery which cloaked Christian ritual, there appears to have been little concern that the Christians would ever exercise political dominion in the Empire. It was, after all, nothing more than "some ill-omened cult."

Yet, looking at the end of the 4th century, the contrast could hardly be more stark. After Maximinus' persecution in 310, the tide changed swiftly: in 312, Constantine claimed that the Christian God had given him victory at Milvian Bridge over his rival. He soon proclaimed an edict of tolerance for those following the Christian religion; within a year, mere tolerance of the new religion had become outright support-the revenue of the empire was declared to be at the disposal of the Christian bishops.[4]

A few generations after Constantine, a series of events unfolded in the city of Alexandria which illustrated just how much the world had changed. The city had always been a strange mixture of Greek and Egyptian culture. The city gods were no exception. The primary local deity was named Serepis: a combination of the Greek god Hades and the Egyptian god Osiris. The god had a great world-renowned temple in the main city district called the Serapeum. However, in A.D. 391, the Christian emperor made an edict that "no one is to go to the [pagan] sanctuaries, [or] walk through the temples." This measure, in effect, declared all pagan temples "abandoned," and therefore allowed the Christians to claim the buildings and make them churches. After this edict, the bishop in Alexandria claimed that the temple of Dionysus was abandoned and the Christians began the process of dedicating the building to the Christian God. However, during the renovation, several secret treasure vaults were uncovered and the Alexandrian pagans were roused to a fervor and attempted to seize the treasure. A pitched battle ensued in the city and the pagans were driven to barricade themselves in the Serapeum. The Christians they had captured in battle were crucified publicly or sacrificed on burning altars.[5]

After soldiers quelled the uprising, all these events were brought before the Roman emperor. The Christian bishop, however, asked that the pagans involved in the uprising be pardoned, and only the pagan treasures and images be destroyed. The emperor agreed, and the Serapeum was destroyed in a joint effort by Roman soldiers and Christian monks.

Relating this story, the historian Ramsay MacMullen-who is generally adversarial toward the early Church-remarked on the ramifications of these events:

No doubt because Egypt was so wonderfully rich and for centuries had been exporting from Alexandria the fruits of her good fortune ... for these reasons, her greatest treasure, the Serapeum, was more widely talked about than that of any other center, and so, in proportion, the power and glory of Serapis. Now for the world to hear that Serapis had gone, that he was nothing, that he had been driven from his home by the Christians, exerted a powerful effect. There were conversions on the spot.[6]

The world had been turned inside out. The serpent god had been publicly humiliated. A papyrus from a 5th century Alexandrian chronicle shows the Christian bishop, Theophilus, standing on the image of Serapis. The Genesis typology would not have been lost on the Christians at the time.

The Fallout

The opposition to Christianity's ascendance was fierce on many levels. The populace was still largely pagan, and the new edicts and laws favoring Christianity were by no means universally loved. Christian officials in the church were exempt from state duties,[7] the traditional Roman calendar was reformed to suit the seven-day Judeo-Christian week,[8] and land-owners were commanded to destroy any idols on their property.[9] Other traditional standards were challenged as well-perhaps most prominently, the harsh Roman system of slavery. Christopher Dawson comments that this subversion of traditional Roman society had begun before Constantine as "an inner revolution ... [which produced] in time a corresponding change in all external social and economic relationships."[10]

In effect, the centuries of persecution had served to undermine the idea of Rome as the Eternal City for the Roman Christians. As Dawson again writes, "Christianity substituted membership of the Church for membership of the city as man's fundamental and most important relationship to his fellows."[11] This realignment was directed at the political heart of Rome. Christians, according to Dawson, were explicitly subverting Roman ideals: for every Roman sacrament there was a Christian counterpart.

Thus in early Christian culture the figure of the martyr took the place of that of the hero in pagan culture, and the lives and legends of the martyrs replaced the heroic myths and legends which were one of the most popular and persistent elements in the old culture.[12]

Ramsay MacMullen notes the account of a Carthaginian Christian who told of the conversion of a Roman prison guard who recognized "a great virtus, a miraculous power" in the persecuted Christians.[13] After the rise of Christendom in the Constantinian dynasty, these subversions of Roman society became overt. And we see the result of this in scenes like that of the conflict in 4th century Alexandria.

The political conversion of Rome-as it might be called-is all the more remarkable for how quickly the millennium-long pagan tradition was ushered out (in name, if not always in deed). As Ralph Novak points out, by the end of the Christian emperor Theodosius' reign (379-395),

Christianity had clearly replaced the thousand-year-old pagan religious tradition of the political and social elite of the Graeco-Roman world. Although in 400 C.E. the majority of the Empire's population was probably still pagan...the ultimate fate of paganism was sealed in the face of a unified political/economic/social elite willing and able to use moral persuasion, private violence, and state force to spread and enforce Christian belief.[14]

MacMullen comments that despite their minority status, Christian wielded a disproportionate influence in the empire. In effect, they made more "noise," by having a more vibrant-a younger-faith. Paganism was a weary religion.[15] It was too worn out from its "long war" against Christianity to resist.[16] The martyrs' prayers had been answered.

The Kingdom and the Power

The church historian Eusebius notoriously wrote a worshipful account of Constantine, in which the emperor came across as certainly one of the most pious men since the apostles. Yet, for most modern Christians, Constantine is a villain who, by institutionalizing the Christian faith, divested it of its power. By common conception, Constantine forced Christianity on the Roman world rather than allowing what might be termed "heart" conversions-true changes of inner belief. The ordinances which Constantine enacted supporting the Church financially are used as evidence of this charge. As MacMullen describes it,

Emperors or ecclesiastical officials controlling the distribution of material benefits waved them in front of non-Christians obviously in the hope of changing their allegiance, or they handed out money and food (and advertised the fact) at the instant of change, or threatened to take money or food away from the already converted if they would not abide in their allegiance. From all of which actions the conclusion seems certain: people were joining the church partly to get rich.[17]

After making this statement, MacMullen admits, "explicit testimonies of the sort, 'I call myself a Christian because I can't afford not to,' are quite lacking. But the thought must have been there."[18]

Similar assumptions are found throughout modern works on Christendom. Rodney Clapp in his book, A Peculiar People, writes that "Constantinianism is a theological and missiological mistake."[19] Stanley Hauerwas also argues that the Church should, contra Constantine, remain a peaceable kingdom: "Christians [under Constantine] were attempting to further the kingdom through the power of this world."[20] Yet this is an ideological assertion lacking historical evidence. Oliver O'Donovan responds to Hauerwas' claim:

I am afraid I think it simply wrong. That is not what Christians were attempting to do. Their own account of what happened was that those who held power became subject to the rule of Christ. Of course, clear-sighted individuals could see the temptations this situation posed. Criticism of worldly churchmanship or papal pretension did not begin with the dawn of modernity. But they did not think this danger a reason to refuse the triumph Christ had won among the nations.[21]

There is a world-altering difference of opinion here between O'Donovan and Hauerwas. Should the Church identify itself as a victorious kingdom or as suffering people? For Hauerwas, "genuine politics is about the art of dying."[22] According to O'Donovan, he cannot see "the triumph of Christ among the nations," since political victory is a Pyrrhic victory, at best. Hauerwas' "allegiance in the patristic age is not with Augustine's City of God but with Origen's Exhortation to Martyrdom."[23]

In contrast to Hauerwas' rejection of the Church's victory, O'Donovan sees the ascendancy of Christendom as inevitable:

With the vast change of context catalysed by the Edict of Milan the question of how to understand the obedience of rulers came high on the church's agenda. There is no point regretting this. The church of that age had to do contextual theology just as we do; nor did the evolution of the missionary questions into political ones strike anybody at the time as constituting a volte-face. This was the logical conclusion of their confidence in mission, the confirmation of what they had always predicted.[24]

Martyrdom, therefore, cannot be the end in itself. And Hauerwas' emphasis on martyrdom without political victory is like having the cross without resurrection.[25]

In this light, there are two considerations that need to be made. First, as O'Donovan argues, the Church's mission was always political. Christianity was intended to be an anti-Rome-and just as much an empire, with its own subversively ecclesiastical warriors, martyrs, rhetoricians, and political theorists. The martyrs themselves were warriors, as much as any Roman centurion. And for every social institution that Rome offered, Christianity was there to provide an alternative:

Christianity revitalized life in Greco-Roman cities by providing new norms and new kinds of social relationships able to cope with many urgent urban problems. To cities filled with the homeless and the impoverished, Christianity offered charity as well as hope. To cities filled with newcomers and strangers, Christianity offered an immediate basis for attachments. To cities filled with orphans and widows, Christianity provided a new and expanded sense of family.[26]

The second consideration is that the Church after Constantine was not "having its way," but rather receiving the attention that it was due from Rome. This is O'Donovan's point against Hauerwas: "Christendom is response to mission, and as such a sign that God has blessed it. It is constituted not by the church's seizing alien power, but by alien power's becoming attentive to the church."[27]

The narrative that Hauerwas presents is that of the Church being seduced by secular power. The narrative to counter that is one of Rome being seduced, or overcome, by the power of Christ. It shouldn't seem outlandish that Christ would receive-after three centuries of opposition-a piece of His inheritance: Rome. "The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign for ever and ever" (Revelation 11:15).

The charge of coercion which secularists and modern Christians level at early Christendom at least appears toothless. To the charge that Christendom made conversion hard to resist, the answer of the early Christian would be, "And your point?" If Christianity is a kingdom, and if its victory over Rome was a political one, there will be points of friction. This is the case in any political or military takeover. A spiritual one is no different. As O'Donovan writes, we cannot claim that early Christendom was faultless in exercising its new authority, but "the story-tellers of Christendom do not celebrate coercion; they celebrate the power of God to humble the haughty ones of the earth and to harness them to the purposes of peace."[28]

The establishment of a kingdom means that some who fall under its authority may initially obey only because they have to. But time is on the side of the victor. If a subject's loyalty is compromised initially, resistance to a new regime can only be maintained for so long.[29]

The real issue, though, is one of eschatology. What is the purpose of the Church? Christ Himself confessed that his purpose was not to bring peace, but a sword. One of the last images of Christ in the New Testament is the risen Lord riding to war against the nations with a sword in His mouth. It is a terrifying vision. It is this Christ of Revelation which perhaps makes the modern uncomfortable. A simple Judean teacher delivering platitudes could not upset their world. But a sun-white Prince who brings peace through war-this is a nemesis no one can face. This is an enemy who will ultimately stand on the head of the serpent, after plundering his temple. This is a foe who will not just stand to watch his servants crucified on the temple wall. This is a king who knows what is His, and will not be content with mere inner obedience: He demands that every knee bow and every tongue confess Him-whether or not they want to.

Bibliography

Dawson, Christopher. The Formation of Christendom. New York: Sheed and Ward, 1967.

Ellul, Jacques. The Subversion of Christianity. Grand Rapids, MI: William Eerdmans, 1986.

Hauerwas, Stanley. The Peaceable Kingdom. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press,
1983.

Leithart, Peter. Against Christianity. Moscow, ID: Canon Press, 2003.

MacMullen, Ramsay. Christianizing the Roman Empire. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984.

Novak Jr., Ralph Martin. Christianity and the Roman Empire. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press, 2001.

O'Donovan, Oliver. The Desire of the Nations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996.

Footnotes

1 This marks an interesting paradox of American culture: we view politicians as the moral equivalent of the used car salesman, and yet simultaneously believe the politician every two or four years when he tells us he has a new political "vision" to save the country, or world. The circumstances imply that the American public is no more than a beaten wife who can't fathom seeking some outside influence to save her.
2 Ralph Martin Novak Jr., Christianity and the Roman Empire (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press, 2001), 152.
3 Ramsay MacMullen, Christianizing the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), 26-28.
4 Novak, 168.
5 MacMullen, 99.
6 Ibid.
7 Novak, 168.
8 Ibid., 169.
9 MacMullen, 66.
10 Christopher Dawson, The Formation of Christendom (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1967), 118.
11 Ibid., 117.
12 Ibid., 97.
13 MacMullen, 30.
14 Novak, 227.
15 Ibid., 84.
16 Ibid., 101.
17 Ibid., 115.
18 Ibid.
19 As quoted in Peter Leithart, Against Christianity (Moscow, ID: Canon Press, 2003), 125.
20 As quoted in Oliver O'Donovan, The Desire of the Nations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 216.
21 Ibid.
22 Ibid.
23 Ibid.
24 O'Donovan, 194.
25 O'Donovan, 216.
26 Rodney Stark, Rise of Christianity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 156-7. As quoted in Leithart, 127.
27 O'Donovan, 195.
28 O'Donovan, 223.
29 For example-a generation after Constantine, the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate tried to reinstitute the old pagan ways in newly Christened Rome. He reopened the pagan temples, reinstituted temple properties, and welcomed back heretical Arian bishops to positions of power in order to stir up division in the Church. Yet, after a very brief reign, it is said that Julian realized on his death bed that he had failed to displace Christianity permanently. His last words were recorded to be, "You have won, Galilean." Within a year, a Christian was again sitting on the throne.