The Evangelical Industrial Complex Completely Misunderstands the History of Christian Rebellion
It has become commonplace for New York Times Evangelicals to deplore the crude “fundamentalism” of their flyover, especially white, brethren. Whether it is the latter’s toxic “John Wayne” masculinity, their Bibles and guns, their unmatched vaccine hesitancy, their “Trump worship,” or their supposed rightwing thirst for power (despite being universally reviled as a class), the average Evangelical has a lot of problems. For these NYT highfliers, especially the more traditionally minded, the early, pre-Constantine church provides an alternative and starkly contrasting ethos. To start, their contrived “Jesus of the New Testament” is non-judgmental and more worried about greed and lust for power than culture or worship wars. This Jesus is simultaneously violently counter-cultural and meekly accommodating to the dominant, metropolitan culture. He opposes the “Religious Right” of self-justifying Pharisees, seeking a third-way Kingdom diagonal to pagan Rome and Judaic zealotry (whatever that means). The early Christians continued in this spirit until, all of a sudden, for no reason at all, Constantine embraced Christianity, Rome embraced the Church, and Jesus was betrayed for earthly power.
Of course, this essay could be about how this caricature of Jesus as the hippy sage (let alone Jesus as the brown illegal immigrant socialist killed for peace protests like Gandhi) is a falsehood and projection. Atheists like Christopher Hitchens have already attacked this Jesus vs Paul paradigm. Jesus claimed he would bring fire on the earth and divide families. Jesus warned a healed man not to sin again or something bad would happen and used the tragedy at the Tower of Siloam to preach “turn or burn” theology. Jesus called a Canaanite woman by a racial epithet and was fairly rude to his mother at the Wedding of Cana. Even more, Jesus praised the righteousness of the Pharisees as something to exceed and expected to bring a final judgment on Earth to destroy the wicked. While Jesus did preach against the piling up of wealth, he was no advocate for the Social Democrats of Jerusalem to start a welfare program for single moms. The refusal to condemn a woman caught in adultery was not out of tolerance of sexual sin (or abused women) but the unjust legal proceedings of a riled-up mob. But this essay is not about the New Testament. Rather, this essay focuses on the caricature of the early church that was somehow “corrupted” by the reign of Constantine.
A first major misconception, popularized by social liberals and repeated by Nietzscheans, is that Christianity was a religion for the poor, huddled masses. Karl Marx may have seen something of this phenomenon in the Welsh coal miners flocking to Methodism, but such piety was very different from the early church. As Rodney Stark’s sociological work has adequately demonstrated, particularly in The Rise of Christianity, the early church was dominated primarily by what we could classify as the “middle class.” Early Christianity flourished in cities not because of the presence of the poor and indigent but because the city, with its connection to the peaceful and profitable Roman world of Mediterranean trade, was where life happened. Craftsmen, merchants, shopkeepers, and small property owners jockeyed for access to the limited goods of the city. Contrary to Romantic myths of rural idylls, being a farmer was a brutal existence and generally socially frozen. In the cities, a man could move upwardly through hard labor and service to the city.
Many early Christians were involved in the cut and thrust of urban living, especially with its alternate challenges and brutality. Cities smelled awful (with open sewers), were filled with poorly constructed apartments that collapsed or caught fire, and were often subject to invasion from hostile empires or barbarian marauders. Death was common, and provision for death difficult. Most cities had guilds that would provide the fundamentals of social life, with a common fund for support and burial. Usually dedicated to some god, these societies provided peer-based friendships, burial costs, and support for widows and orphans of members. Additionally, a little bit of learning opened the ancient man to the chaos and corruption of the world. Why were the gods silent? What was truth? Rome provided some answers but created many other questions. “What was the good life?” and “How should we live?” were two questions that mobilized the growth of schools, in which both patricians and upwardly mobile free citizens participated (usually for a fee).
Christianity answered both these needs, usually without care for wealth. The church collected donations for mutual support, not requiring any particular amount from its constituent members. There was no membership fee to belong to the church, so the richest helped the poorest through the costs of burial and post-mortem abandonment. The church provided for others only out of the excess of charity, including dangerous activities like caring for the sick during a plague, after it provided for its own. As Stark noted, Christianity spread primarily through networks of influence. The power was not so much in street preaching but in tapping into groups and gaining a foothold. One can see this process in St Paul’s visits to Hellenic synagogues and a visit to the Areopagus, after his engagement in the public debates of Athens. Households and friends converted according to preexistent pathways. Belonging to a church, however, was costly in another way. It required obedience to the faith, in belief and practice, which set the average Roman against his culture. Christianity was not a soup kitchen or a social group; it demanded abnormal deviations from social norms, most especially in worship. It operated as a “school” before it was ever treated as a civil cult (a distinction worth further examination in another essay), providing a total way of life that influenced everything from dress and speech to dining customs. People came to Christianity because they tasted and saw that it was good.
This appeal not only influenced these middling classes, who had something to lose, but also the patricianate, who had a lot to lose. As Origen wrote in the third-century about the quality of Christian converts against an educated neo-platonist in Contra Celsum:
At the present day, indeed, when, owing to the multitude of Christian believers, not only rich men, but persons of rank, and delicate and high-born ladies, receive the teachers of Christianity, some perhaps will dare to say that it is for the sake of a little glory that certain individuals assume the office of Christian instructors. It is impossible, however, rationally to entertain such a suspicion with respect to Christianity in its beginnings, when the danger incurred, especially by its teachers, was great; while at the present day the discredit attaching to it among the rest of mankind is greater than any supposed honor enjoyed among those who hold the same belief, especially when such honor is not shared by all.
In other words, Christianity spread among the elite in spite of the social cost it had. Against Celsus’ sneering, Origen reflected the general Christian condemnation of polytheism as “pagan,” as in it belonged to the pagani, the rustic buffoon or ignorant country bumpkin. Christian polemics involved a level of social elitism in the condemnation of civic festivals from which they frequently absented themselves. To equate a Platonist from the Athenian Academy with a village idiot who drunkenly smears blood on rocks as a sacrifice was a slap in the face. But this Christian social polemic flowed from their generally anti-social, or seemingly hostile and bigoted, disposition.
One example of this behavior was in the Roman legions. Christians served in the Roman military, but this relationship was far from harmonious. While Christians generally abjured shedding blood as corrupt imperfection, with the second-century Christian philosopher Athenagoras declaring that “we cannot endure to see a man being put to death, even justly,” the primary problem was idolatry. In one account of principled opposition to accepted culture, Tertullian, in De Corona, recounted how one Christian soldier refused to wear the laurel wreaths of martial glory. The result was a trial:
The tribune at once puts the question to him, Why are you so different in your attire? He declared that he had no liberty to wear the crown with the rest. Being urgently asked for his reasons, he answered, I am a Christian. O soldier! Boasting yourself in God. Then the case was considered and voted on; the matter was remitted to a higher tribunal; the offender was conducted to the prefects. At once he put away the heavy cloak, his disburdening commenced; he loosed from his foot the military shoe, beginning to stand upon holy ground; he gave up the sword, which was not necessary either for the protection of our Lord.
In Tertullian’s interpretation, the Christian soldier had followed the Lord in this refusal. But contrary to the average lay interpretation, that Christian martyrdom flowed from an intolerant and totalitarian Roman state, the tribunal was not upset that he was a Christian, but that he would not wear the crown. Tertullian lamented the presence of other Christians who refused to refuse the crown:
Thereafter adverse judgments began to be passed upon his conduct — whether on the part of Christians I do not know, for those of the heathen are not different — as if he were headstrong and rash, and too eager to die, because, in being taken to task about a mere matter of dress, he brought trouble on the bearers of the Name, — he, forsooth, alone brave among so many soldier-brethren, he alone a Christian. It is plain that as they have rejected the prophecies of the Holy Spirit, they are also purposing the refusal of martyrdom. So they murmur that a peace so good and long is endangered for them.
In other words, the Christian who basically courted a civil punishment over what was idolatry caused consternation among the others. He was willing to cause a scene and provoke punishment when the others were willing to comply, conform, and move on with the job. This attitude of refusal and rejection was not unusual, and it almost always attracted praise. Another example is found in the second-century Martyrdom of Polycarp, who Irenaeus claimed as a disciple of the biblical John the Elder. After his arrest, Polycarp, an old man, was brought before local magistrate:
And the Irenarch Herod, accompanied by his father Nicetes (both riding in a chariot ), met him, and taking him up into the chariot, they seated themselves beside him, and endeavoured to persuade him, saying, What harm is there in saying, Lord Cæsar, and in sacrificing, with the other ceremonies observed on such occasions, and so make sure of safety? But he at first gave them no answer; and when they continued to urge him, he said, I shall not do as you advise me. So they, having no hope of persuading him, began to speak bitter words unto him, and cast him with violence out of the chariot, insomuch that, in getting down from the carriage, he dislocated his leg [by the fall]. But without being disturbed, and as if suffering nothing, he went eagerly forward with all haste, and was conducted to the stadium, where the tumult was so great, that there was no possibility of being heard.
This was hardly a case of a submissive, pious soul who was calmly on mission for the oppressed. But the efforts to persuade Polycarp, the perplexity of being so obtuse and obnoxious about a simple pledge of loyalty, continued. It was not simply that Polycarp was asked to deny Christ, he was asked to conform to a fairly standard social convention:
And when the proconsul yet again pressed him, and said, Swear by the fortune of Cæsar, he answered, Since you are vainly urgent that, as you say, I should swear by the fortune of Cæsar, and pretend not to know who and what I am, hear me declare with boldness, I am a Christian. And if you wish to learn what the doctrines of Christianity are, appoint me a day, and you shall hear them. The proconsul replied, Persuade the people. But Polycarp said, To you I have thought it right to offer an account [of my faith]; for we are taught to give all due honour which entails no injury upon ourselves) to the powers and authorities which are ordained of God. But as for these, I do not deem them worthy of receiving any account from me.
Not only was Polycarp asked just to swear a simple oath that showed obedience, but the old bishop showed disdain for the idea of preaching before a mob. It was simply absurd to yell at a braying blob of morons when due respect dictated that Polycarp would alone justify his faith to a magistrate. Even after these refusals and rebukes, Polycarp continued his intransigence:
The proconsul then said to him, I have wild beasts at hand; to these will I cast you, unless you repent. But he answered, Call them then, for we are not accustomed to repent of what is good in order to adopt that which is evil; and it is well for me to be changed from what is evil to what is righteous. But again the proconsul said to him, I will cause you to be consumed by fire, seeing you despise the wild beasts, if you will not repent. But Polycarp said, You threaten me with fire which burns for an hour, and after a little is extinguished, but are ignorant of the fire of the coming judgment and of eternal punishment, reserved for the ungodly. But why do you tarry? Bring forth what you will.
It was not simply a case of a persecuting Roman magistrate looking for innocent Christian blood. It is not hard to see how these threats were trying to cow the old man into submission. All he needed was a simple oath, and now the local pastor (the head of his community and likely to have a trickle-down effect of obedience) had forced his hand. Polycarp was nearly begging for a public spectacle for his disobedience. Rather than Roman soldiers searching for Christians in attics and under floorboards, Christian martyrdom was usually a very public attack on the legitimacy of the government. It was not because Rome was an empire or in the name of the working poor, but because Rome was pagan and required pagan rituals, accompanied by a whole host of immoral behaviors (usually sexual). Rome was very tolerant, with an ecumenical faith that made room for all the gods (manifest in the Pantheon, which had alcoves for all kinds of oriental gods from among subject peoples). Various Roman Emperors even devoted themselves to strange gods (such as the Severian emperor, Elgabalus, with his flamboyant name change). The Roman military’s officer corps worshiped the oriental Mithra, and the cults of Isis and Cybele (which involved its priests in ritually castrating themselves for the goddess; sounds oddly familiar) were booming alongside the growth of Christianity. Tolerance was nearly omnipresent, and yet Christians were targeted (and not intensively and universally) for their intolerance. As early Christian historian Candida Moss put it, Roman officials faced frustrating agitators:
Once they were arrested, early Christians could hardly be accused of trying to secure their release. They were by and large uncooperative and stubborn. In the martyrdom accounts themselves Christians fail to answer the questions that are put to them. Even simple’ questions such as “What is your name?” or “Where are you from?” are met with vague, evasive, and nonsensical answers. According to the second-century Martyrs of Lyons, a martyr named Sanctus refused to give the judge any information about his name, citizenship, nationality, or background and instead answered all questions by saying, “I am a Christian.” In early Christian stories about martyrs, this kind of impudence is found in abundance. Although we might be able to empathize with Christian refusals to worship the emperor, this sort of behavior was, for some, the kind of unnecessary stubbornness that invited trouble. ‘To an ancient Roman observer this practice seemed perverse. Is it really necessary to refuse to give one’s name in a trial? Even in modern American trials in which defendants regularly “take the fifth” in order to avoid answering questions, they’re not usually evasive about their own names. (The Myth of Persecution,178)
These kinds of antics are almost analogous to “sovereign citizens” facing down police and courts. Why were early Christians so obnoxious, and why were they so willing to face martyrdom? It was not a death drive or hatred of life but a refusal to compromise and an active effort to delegitimize and embarrass a government that tolerated cultural wickedness. All politics is intertwined with religion, and all cultures are mixed with cult. There is no neutrality, and these early Christians were willing to face down their enemies in somewhat theatrical contests with local magistrates. Christians were not a race of hermits and peace-loving monks; they lived in the world. But they chose a very different vision of ideal society, as Tertullian floridly described in his Apologia:
We sojourn with you in the world, abjuring neither forum, nor shambles, nor bath, nor booth, nor workshop, nor inn, nor weekly market, nor any other places of commerce. We sail with you, and fight with you, and till the ground with you; and in like manner we unite with you in your traffickings — even in the various arts we make public property of our works for your benefit. How it is we seem useless in your ordinary business, living with you and by you as we do, I am not able to understand. But if I do not frequent your religious ceremonies, I am still on the sacred day a man.
When it came to the mundane affairs of life, Christians were no threat. Yet they challenged the foundations upon which all our living, trading, working, and socializing were based. Christians were willing to earn a living, they were not living in caves and mountains. But Christians refused participation in both idolatry and socialized immorality. In an earlier apologetic, his Discourse Against the Greeks, Justin Martyr (or a convincing pseudepigrapher) condemned Roman parties:
For there are excessive banquetings, and subtle flutes which provoke to lustful movements, and useless and luxurious anointings, and crowning with garlands. With such a mass of evils do you banish shame; and ye fill your minds with them, and are carried away by intemperance, and indulge as a common practice in wicked and insane fornication.
This condemnation of lust and sexual immorality in musical parties was not the only problem. Tatian, a contemporary and mentor to Justin who later radicalized, condemned gladiators (the equivalent of NFL or MMA, with rules and referees in a crowd-pleasing violent popular sport) as “men weighed down by bodily exercise, and carrying about the burden of their flesh” who were bought and traded as a “legion of bloodstained murderers.” Even after all these confrontations, later non-Christian emperors in the third century (as Eusebius of Caesarea reported in his Ecclesiastical History) “entrusted the government of provinces, exonerating them from all anxiety as it regarded sacrificing on account of that singular good will that they entertained toward the doctrine.” Of course, Eusebius lamented, in terms similar to Tertullian, that this success brought about negligence and intra-Christian fighting. Nevertheless, Christians did not disdain even imperial service if it did not include the kinds of immoralities of cultural and worship war. Their righteous lives convinced good emperors that whatever their quirks, Christians were virtuous when it came to honesty and transparent administration.
In short, what were the early Christians like? They were not uniform, as many failed to live up to the standard they professed. Nevertheless, those who were lionized as heroes of the faith refused to compromise and courted public confrontation over official policies of idolatry and immorality. They were not meek martyrs but outspoken and frustrating. They did not run away from mundane society but imposed upon it an intolerant and inflexible vision of righteousness. And these advocates only had the capacity to speak and act as they did because they were well placed in society’s upper ranks. The early church sounds a lot like the seventeenth-century Puritans, in their “anti-fun” crusades against drunkenness and debauchery, demanding further reforms for godly worship. They even sound exactly like fundamentalists, who did not retreat from American public life but demanded it to change. The early Christians were not otherworldly or detached; they did not overwhelmingly represent the masses crying for bread and peace. They demanded a righteousness to life, especially when confronted with the demands of living within a pagan empire. They did not seek to dissolve the empire; they wanted it to tolerate the godly and be established upon the true eternal order of things.
Another point buried in this essay is that not only was the early Christian church more like Puritans and fundamentalists than our conciliatory New York Times Evangelicals would like to admit, it also means the early Christians were equivalent to the phony slur of “woke right” that has been tossed about. If, as James Lindsay seems to believe, a “free” society is one that allows atheism and gay sex, then early Christians never wanted a “free” society. Christians, from the very beginning, were the “woke right” and were intolerant of falsehood and perversion. This essay does not even address the cultural critique of associating ethnicities with abhorrent behavior that must be abandoned and/or suppressed. The early Christians did not hive off into separate social bonds that simply wanted to be left alone to practice as they saw fit, part of an ecumenical web of faith traditions; they sought confrontation. Compared with forcing a public execution from an annoyed Roman official, knocking over a Satan statue in a government building or courting arrest for protesting before an abortion clinic are tame reactions. Often these events are deplored by the mediocre chattering class as unnecessary, confused, and missing the point. But maybe it is they, not the average flyover Evangelical who votes for Trump as vengeance against a godless administrative state, who are completely out of touch with true Christianity.
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Great article, I appreciate the effort that went into it!