The Darkening Age by Catherine Nixey

Early Christianity didn’t just peacefully convert the Roman Empire – it violently dismantled classical civilization along the way.

That’s a strong thesis for a book, especially since it goes directly against what every history book I’ve ever read implies.

The short story that I always heard (and read) was something like this: the Romans and Greeks built this beautiful, literate, incredible civilization. And then, the Vandals, Goths, Huns, sacked and destroyed Rome. Meanwhile, off in far-away monasteries, there were a few copies of Virgil, Plato, Ovid, Cato, Aristotle, etc. Monks dutifully copied a few and happened to save the historical documents that we have today.

OK – that story is true…but it also contains an unfortunate lie of omission. You hear that story and assume that the destruction of literature, art, etc was part of the “sacked and destroyed Rome”. That, it turns out, is an incorrect assumption. The destruction had already been happening for more than a hundred years. And the monks who did “save civilization”? They were saving it from zealots within their own religion.

The modern analogy is to say that “Afghanistan had one of the world’s richest troves of ancient civilization until the 1970s. Then, the Soviets and then Americans invaded. But, dedicated Muslims saved a small portion of what they could.” Ok – that story is true…but also, it sort of leaves out the whole Taliban part. And what is unfortunate is that telling the full story that includes the Taliban only increases the deep admiration of the Afghans who have worked to save what is left.

So that’s the provocative thesis Nixey presents in The Darkening Age – an clear, engaging, deeply-researched look at how Christian zealots systematically destroyed classical art, burned ancient libraries, and silenced Greek and Roman philosophers.

Nixey flips the traditional persecution narrative on its head. Rather than focusing on Christians as victims of Roman oppression, she documents how triumphant Christians brutally suppressed classical culture once they gained power under Constantine and his successors. It’s a story of what happens every time that any religion gets a hold of state power (and yes, everybody, Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, Jews, Sikhs – even Shinto for goodness’ sake.)

The book takes us through vivid scenes of destruction. There are mobs of monks attacking temples, defacing exquisite statues, and terrorizing those who clung to classical traditions. Nixey describes the murder of the philosopher Hypatia in graphic detail – torn to pieces by a Christian crowd in Alexandria.

But this isn’t just about physical violence. Nixey reveals how Christian leaders worked to eradicate classical knowledge itself. Books were burned, banned, or left to rot. Centuries of scientific and philosophical work were dismissed as demonic. The rich intellectual tradition of Greece and Rome was deliberately forgotten. The books that we have now are only around due to personal preference of a few open-minded monks or because some open-minded bishops thought there was some synergy between Greek and Christian thought (e.g., the Stoics, Plato, Aristotle).

The writing carries a clear tone of mourning for what was lost. Nixey argues that this wasn’t a natural cultural evolution, but an orchestrated campaign of destruction that robbed humanity of countless artistic and intellectual treasures. There was no “historical preservation” movement at all. She challenges readers to consider how this deliberate forgetting still shapes our view of classical civilization. Think about how much what we have influences us today – and how much we’re missing.

Yet Nixey’s perspective remains measured. While she clearly sympathizes with the victims of the violence, she acknowledges the complexity of the period and avoids painting early Christians as purely villainous. As in today’s world, the damage was done by unchecked individuals within a growing group. There were plenty of Christians who deeply respected the culture that they were outgrowing, and you know, actually lived the whole “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” commandment. And there were even more who probably just didn’t care either way – they certainly were not out to hurt others but they also weren’t willing to stand up to the extremists in their own church. It was a Status Game gone awry.

Instead, she shows how religious fervor combined with political power can lead any group to justify destruction in the name of truth.

Excellent read – and an excellent non-fiction book.

Notes & Quotes

A few pullquotes from the book…

One final note: many, many good people are impelled by their Christian faith to do many, many good things. I know because I am an almost daily beneficiary of such goodness my- self. This book is not intended as an attack on these people and I hope they will not see it as such. But it is undeniable that there have been that there still are those who use monotheism and its weapons to terrible ends. Christianity is a greater and a stronger religion when it admits this-and challenges it.

Ipsum

But although martyr stories have often made for arresting and compelling drama, very few, if any, of these tales are based on historical fact. There were simply not that many years of imperially ordered persecution in the Roman Empire. Fewer than thirteen-in three whole centuries of Roman rule. These years may have loomed understandably large in Christian ac- counts but to allow them to dominate the narrative in the way that they have and still do is at best misleading and at worst a gross misrepresentation. During these first centu- ries of the new religion, local persecutions of Christians oc- curred. But we know of no government-led persecution for the first 250 years of Christianity with the exception of Nero’s -and Nero, with even-handed lunacy, persecuted everyone. For two and a half centuries the Roman imperial government left Christianity alone.

The idea, therefore, of a line of satanically inspired emper- ors, panting for the blood of the faithful, is another Christian myth. As the modern historian Keith Hopkins wrote, “the traditional question: ‘Why were the Christians persecuted?’ with all its implications of unjust repression and eventual tri- umph, should be re-phrased: ‘Why were the Christians perse- cuted so little and so late?”

Nevertheless, martyr tales have been hugely influential, not least on Christianity’s image of itself. The academic Can- dida Moss has argued that in the years that followed the per- secutions, Christianity came to see itself, with great pride, as a persecuted Church. Its greatest heroes were not those who did good deeds but those who died in the most painful way.

Ipsum

As the early Christian author Origen ad- mitted, the numbers of martyrs were few enough to be easily countable and Christians had died for their faith only “occasion- ally.” The stories might have proliferated but, as the Church realized when it started to analyze them properly, many were little more than stories. In the seventeenth century, one scholar wrote a radical paper entitled “De paucitate martyrum” (On the Small Number of Martyrs) that made just this point.” For all the hyperbole, as Edward Gibbon crushingly put it, the aver- age “annual consumption” of martyrs in Rome during the per- secutions was no more than one hundred and fifty per year during years of persecution.

Ipsum

In fact, all over the empire, Romans are frustratingly unwill ing to play their role as bloodthirsty martyr-makers. Many even refuse to execute Christians when they arrive in front of them. Arrius Antoninus was a Roman governor of Asia who in the late second century had executed a number of Christians in his province. He was perhaps unprepared for what came next. Instead of fleeing, local Christians suddenly turned up and, in one large mob, presented themselves before him. Antoni- nus did indeed dutifully kill a few (presumably there is only so much temptation a Roman can stand) but rather than dispatch- ing the rest with pleasure, he turned to them with what, even with the passage of almost two millennia, sounds unmistaka- bly like exasperation. “Oh you ghastly people,” he said. “If you want to die you have cliffs you can jump off and nooses to hang yourself with.”

Other Christians were so eager to die that when they spon- taneously turned up in front of officials they did so ready chained, much to the interest of bemused locals. As one Chris- tian author excitedly said, “so far from dreading, we sponta- neously call for tortures!”” Often with disappointing results. In AD 311, St. Antony, hearing that a persecution was in full swing in nearby Alexandria, hurried from his desert dwelling to the city. There, he went out dressed in white “to catch the judge’s attention as he walked past, for Antony was burning with a de- sire for martyrdom.” Alas for Antony, the judge either did not notice the saint or did not bother with him. Antony returned home, “saddened by the fact that despite his wish to suffer for the name of God, martyrdom was not granted him.”14 Once back in his cell, Antony consoled himself for his continuing existence by adding a hair shirt to his daily attire and never washing again.

Ipsum

Trajan adds three simple but powerful words. “Con- quirendi non sunt” – “These people must not be hunted out.”43

Many Romans didn’t like the Christians. They found their reclusive behavior offensive, their teachings foolish, their fervor irritating and their refusal to sacrifice to the emperor insulting. But for the first 250 years after the birth of Christ, the imperial policy towards them was first to ignore them and then to declare that they must not be hounded.

Ipsum

Their ‘converts’ have not really been changed-they only have they won when adherence to their doctrine is a matter say they have. In which case, he went on, “what advantage of words and the reality is absent? Persuasion is required in such matters, not constraint. “5” Some of the greatest orators in the ancient world stepped forward to defend the empire’s long tradition of religious pluralism-and, yes, tolerance.* An other orator named Themistius echoed Libanius’s arguments closely in a speech delivered in AD 364. People had always, he said, worshipped different gods and there was nothing wrong with that. On the contrary, the divine law sets “free each per- son’s soul for the path of religious devotion which they think best. No confiscation of property, no punishment, no burning has ever overcome this law; it may happen that the body is broken and dead, but the soul will depart carrying with it the knowledge of the law of freedom, even if its expression has been constrained.”52

Christians disagreed and took pride in conversions made after a show of force. In Carthage, two imperial officials de- stroyed the temples of the “false gods” and broke their statues. This little burst of thuggishness had, in Christian eyes, a pleas- ingly invigorating effect on the locals. As Augustine observed contentedly, “almost thirty years have gone by since that day and anyone can see how Christianity has grown, especially by the conversion of those who were held back from the faith.”

Ipsum

Rome’s ancient cults were collapsing. And yet though Symmachus lost-perhaps because he lost-his words still have a terrible power. “We request peace for the gods of our forefathers,” he had begged. “Whatever each person worships, it is reasonable to think of them as one. We see the same stars, the sky is shared by all, the same world surrounds us. What does it matter what wisdom a person uses to seek for the truth?”

Ipsum

What these instruments were – They were not the tools of mathematics and philosophy, no.

they were the work of the Devil. Hypatia was not a philoso pher: she was a creature of hell. It was she who was turning with her trickery and her was “atheizing” Alexandria. Naturally, she seemed appealing enough-but that was how the Evil One worked. Hypana they said, had “beguiled many people through satanic wiles. Worst of all, she had even beguiled Orestes. Hadn’t he stopped going to church? It was clear: she had “beguiled him through her magic.” This could not be allowed to continue.

One day in March AD 415, Hypatia set out from her home to go for her daily ride through the city. Suddenly, she found her way blocked by a “multitude of believers in God.” They ordered her to get down from her chariot. Knowing what had recently happened to her friend Orestes, she must have real. ized as she climbed down that her situation was a serious one. She cannot possibly have realized quite how serious.

As soon as she stood on the street, the parabalani, under the guidance of a Church magistrate called Peter-“a perfect believer in all respects in Jesus Christ”-surged round and seized “the pagan woman.” They then dragged Alexandria’s greatest living mathematician through the streets to a church. Once inside, they ripped the clothes from her body and, us- ing broken pieces of pottery as blades, flayed her skin from her flesh. Some say that, while she still gasped for breath, they gouged out her eyes. Once she was dead, they tore her body into pieces and threw what was left of the “luminous child of reason” onto a pyre and burned her.

Ipsum

In such an atmosphere, it took something for a law out as to stand all the particularly repressive. Yet one law did. Out of froth and fury that was being issued from the government at the time, one law would become infamous for the next 1,500 years. Read this law and, in comparison to some of Justinian’s other edicts, it sounds almost underwhelming. Filed under the usual dull bureaucratic subheading, it is now known as “Law 1.11.10.2.” “Moreover,” it reads, “we forbid the teaching of any doctrine by those who labour under the insanity of paganism so that they might not “corrupt the souls of their disciples, “21 The law goes on, adding a finicky detail or two about pay, but

largely that is it. Its consequences were formidable. This was the law that forced Damascius and his followers to leave Athens. It was this law that caused the Academy to close. It was this law that led the English scholar Edward Gibbon to declare that the entirety of the barbarian invasions had been less damaging to Athenian philosophy than Christianity was. 22 This law’s consequences were described more simply by later historians. It was from this moment, they said, that a Dark Age began to descend upon Europe.

Ipsum

Centuries later, an Arab traveler would visit a town on the edge of Europe and reflect on what had happened in the Ro man Empire. “During the early days of the empire of the Rum,” he wrote meaning the Roman and Byzantine Empire

-“the sciences were honoured and enjoyed universal respect. From an already solid and grandiose foundation, they were raised to greater heights every day, until the Christian religion made its appearance among the Rum; this was a fatal blow to the edifice of learning; its traces disappeared and its pathways were effaced.”

There was one final loss, too. This loss is even more rarely remembered than all the others, but in its way it is almost as important. The very memory that there was any opposition at all to Christianity faded. The idea that philosophers might have fought fiercely, with all they had, against Christianity was -is-passed over. The memory that many were alarmed at the spread of this violently intolerant religion fades from view. The idea that many were not delighted but instead disgusted by the sight of burning and demolished temples was-is- brushed aside. The idea that intellectuals were appalled-and scared by the sight of books burning on pyres is forgotten.

Christianity told the generations that followed that their vic-tory over the old world was celebrated by all, and the genera- tions that followed believed it.

The pages of history go silent. But the stones of Athens pro- vide a small coda to the story of the seven philosophers. It is clear, from the archaeological evidence, that the grand villa on the slopes of the Acropolis was confiscated not long after the philosophers left. It is also clear that it was given to a new Christian owner.

Whoever this Christian was, they had little time for the an- cient art that filled the house. The beautiful pool was turned into a baptistery. The statues above it were evidently consid- ered intolerable: the finely wrought images of Zeus, Apollo and Pan were hacked away. Mutilated stumps are now all that remain of the faces of the gods, ugly and incongruous above the still-delicate bodies. The statues were tossed into the well. The mosaic on the floor of the dining room fared little bet- ter. Its great central panel, which had contained another pagan scene, was roughly removed. A crude cross pattern, of vastly inferior workmanship, was laid in its place.

The lovely statue of Athena, the goddess of wisdom, suf- fered as badly as the statue of Athena in Palmyra had. Not only was she beheaded, she was then, a final humiliation, placed face-down in the corner of a courtyard to be used as a step. Over the coming years, her back would be worn away as the goddess of wisdom was ground down by generations of Chris- tian feet, 48

The “triumph” of Christianity was complete.

And as part of my religion rabbit-hole, I read another book with a passage that directly sums up how any human group can be the best or the worst of ourselves.

The first Christian to be martyred by his fellow Christians was one Priscillian of Ávila, a bishop who, following a judgment by his fellow bishops, was beheaded with a small number of his disciples in 385 CE. He was the first, but hardly the last. One historian estimated that in the three hundred years that followed, imperial authorities in close cooperation with church officials put some twenty-five thousand Christians to death for their deficiency in creedal orthodoxy. It is painful to recall that even John Calvin, the revered founder of the Reformed tradition in Christianity, thought the views of Michael Servetus so dangerous he agreed to his execution in Geneva in October 1553. Servetus was burned at the stake, although Calvin is reported to have preferred the quicker method, beheading.

How To Read The Bible by Harvey Cox

And for every Calvin, there’s also a Sebastian Castellio.

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