“Constantine can not be overcome!” ~ Constantine enters Rome in triumph after the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, October 28, AD 312

Ruben's fanciful rendering of Maxentius plunging to his death at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge. 

 When Constantine entered Rome on October 28, AD 312 after crushing the superior forces of Maxentius at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, it marked the end of one era and the beginning of another. There are several accounts of the battle and its aftermath recorded in ancient times, and two in particular stand out as being written by immediate contemporaries who certainly spoke with the participants. One of those who recorded the battle was Lactantius, a scholar who had served at the court of Diocletian and later became the tutor of Constantine’s son, Crispus.

Here is his account as drawn from his invaluable work, On the Deaths of the Persecutors (Chapter XLIV):

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And now a civil war broke out between Constantine and Maxentius. Although Maxentius kept himself within Rome, because the soothsayers had foretold that if he went out of it he should perish, yet he conducted the military operations by able generals. In forces he exceeded his adversary, for he had not only his father’s army which deserted from Severus, but also his own which he had lately drawn together out of Mauritania and Italy.

They fought and the troops of Maxentius prevailed.

Other ancient accounts give additional details. Zosimus, a pagan historian hostile to Constantine writing in the early 6th century, indicates in his New History that the forces of Maxentius at the start of the campaign numbered some 170,000, while those of Constantine were about 98,000. Eusebius, writing in Life of the Blessed Emperor Constantine, says that Maxentius positioned his forces throughout Italy to ambush the army of Constantine as it made its way south. An anonymous panegyricist who wrote soon after Constantine’s victory says that Constantine was able to successfully fight through these ambushes, winning battles at the towns of Susa, Turin and Verona before approaching Rome. 

However, when he reached Rome, Constantine was faced with the task of besieging the huge city with an army still likely inferior in numbers to his opponent – a losing proposition when facing an entrenched enemy. Thus, he stood outside the city stymied. It is in this sense that we should understand Lactantius’s claim above that the forces of Maxentius prevailed, at least at first. Considering the situation from a military perspective, the prospects of Constantine were indeed grim upon reaching Rome. It should be recalled that Maxentius had easily defeated the previous attempts by Severus and Galerius to remove him from Rome. In both cases, Maxentius was able to bribe the soldiers of his opponents and his efforts were so successful that both emperors were to forced to flee in successive campaigns. In the case of Severus, his whole army defected to Maxentius and he was ignominiously captured and put to death. No doubt, Maxentius hoped to thwart Constantine’s attack using similar tactics while remaining safely ensconced in the Eternal City.

It was then that something wholly unexpected and incredible happened. Lactantius continues:

At length, Constantine with steady courage and a mind prepared for every event, led his whole forces to the neighborhood of Rome and encamped them opposite to the Milvian bridge. The anniversary of the reign of Maxentius approached—that is, the sixth of the kalends of November—and the fifth year of his reign was drawing to an end. 

Constantine was directed in a dream to cause the heavenly sign to be delineated on the shields of his soldiers and so to proceed to battle. He did as he had been commanded, and he marked on their shields the letter X, with a perpendicular line drawn through it and turned round thus at the top, being the cipher of Christ. Having this sign, his troops stood to arms. 

A bronze follis of Constantine showing the labarum or Christian standard
topped by the chi-rho on the reverse side.

This is, of course, the chi-rho symbol indicating the first two letters of the word "Christ" in Greek. Here Lactantius is describing the theophany experienced by Constantine and this account is certainly the earliest to record the event. It should be noted that this telling of the story is less detailed than the account of Eusebius of Constantine's vision of a cross in the heavens. However, the accounts do not conflict. Eusebius also records the dream, saying that Constantine experienced the dream on the night following the vision and that the dream served to explain what he had seen in the heavens—a cross with the words, “By this sign, thou wilt conquer.” 

Lactantius describes what happened next:

The enemies advanced but without their emperor [Maxentius], and they crossed the bridge. The armies met and fought with the utmost exertions of valor, “neither this side or that marked by flight.”

In the meantime a sedition arose at Rome and Maxentius was reviled as one who had abandoned all concern for the safety of the commonweal. And suddenly, while he exhibited the Circensian games on the anniversary of his reign, the people cried with one voice, “ Constantine cannot be overcome!” Dismayed at this, Maxentius burst from the assembly, and having called some senators together, ordered the Sibylline books to be searched. In them it was found that:

“On the same day the enemy of the Romans should perish.”

Led by this response to the hopes of victory, he went to the field. The bridge in his rear was broken down. At sight of that the battle grew hotter. The hand of the Lord prevailed, and the forces of Maxentius were routed. He fled towards the broken bridge, but the multitude pressing on him, he was driven headlong into the Tiber.

Drawing from earlier sources, Zosimus provides some additional details, claiming that Maxentius had erected a pontoon bridge over the Tiber which was divided into two parts held together by pins. This structure was purposely built as part of a stratagem to lure the Constantinian army over the bridge, as the pins were meant to be withdrawn once the enemy was on the bridge, precipitating the whole into the river. Both Aurelius Victor and Eusebius confirm that this stratagem had been put into place in the hopes of destroying all or part of Constantine’s army. However, the “engine of destruction” ended up being turned on Maxentius when Constantine refused to cross the pontoon bridge and offered battle on the far side of the Tiber.

Zosimus also mentions a most peculiar prodigy that took place before the battle, saying that Constantine’s decision to hold his ground was made because a great flock of owls had suddenly descended upon the walls of Rome. Seeing that Constantine refused to cross the river, Maxentius advanced and set his army in ranks to give battle. But his formations had hardly been arranged when Constantine’s cavalry attacked and a furious fight ensued. At this moment, Zosimus says that the morale of Maxentius’s troops failed because few among them were willing to risk their lives for a man they considered a tyrant. (See Zosimus, New History, Book II, Chapter 16.)

Lactantius concludes his account as follows:

This destructive war being ended, Constantine was acknowledged as emperor with great rejoicings by the senate and people of Rome. And now he came to know the perfidy of [Maximin] Daia, for he found the letters written to Maxentius and saw the statues and portraits of the two associates which had been set up together. The senate, in reward of the valor of Constantine, decreed to him the title of Maximus (the Greatest), a title which Daia had always arrogated to himself.

We can reconstruct some of what happened in Rome after the defeat of Maxentius from other sources. The anonymous panegyricist mentioned above says that the body of Maxentius was retrieved from the Tiber and hacked to pieces, his head placed on a spear and paraded around the city. Constantine then made a triumphal procession through Rome, concluding with a visit to the imperial palace and a speech in which he restored to the Senate their former privileges. Eusebius tells us that Constantine embellished Rome with monuments and inscriptions celebrating his victory, including a statue of himself with the cross beneath his hand which bore an inscription in Latin, saying: 

“By virtue of this salutary sign, which is the true symbol of valor, I have preserved and liberated your city from the yoke of tyranny. I have also set at liberty the Roman senate and people, and restored them to their ancient greatness and splendor.” [see Eusebius: Life of the Blessed Emperor Constantine, Book I, Chapter 40]

One can imagine that for the people of Rome, jaded by centuries of imperial superlatives making similar claims of liberation, change, glorious restoration and perpetual felicity, these words may have rung somewhat hollow. But for Rome and the Romans, the events of October 28, AD 312 were truly revolutionary. Nothing would ever be the same again.

For more posts on the reign of Constantine, see:

• Constantine — Military Hero and Christian Emperor
• Constantine's Vision of the Cross ~ Early Accounts and Backstory
• September 18, AD 324 -- Constantine defeats Licinius at the Battle of Chrysopolis
• Maxentius and His Ill-Fated Reign ~ The last pagan emperor to rule from Rome or a usurper and "inhuman beast"?

The Sudden Collapse of Greco-Roman Paganism and Rise of Christianity during the 4th century AD ~ Some Stark Clues Courtesy of Julian the Apostate

Fresco of Jesus approaching the tomb of Lazarus, from the Catacombs
of the Via Latina in Rome, 4th century AD.

In the years following the victory of Constantine the Great over Maxentius at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge outside Rome in AD 312, something unprecedented in human history happened. A religion embraced by a small, despised, unwarlike minority cult became the dominant faith of the mighty Roman Empire. How this happened has been the subject of endless scholarly debate ever after. Did the ascendant Christians impose their faith on the multitude of pagans by brute force? Did examples of miraculous events or prophecies play a role? Or did the Christian emperors simply make it so advantageous to become a Christian, as a matter of law, that the vast majority of pagans knuckled under? 

None of these solutions by itself is satisfying. Nor does the combination of all of the above provide a complete answer for why the bulk of the Empire’s population began embracing a religious creed which had been suspected, oppressed, and brutally persecuted for three centuries before. Indeed, the pagan emperors had attempted to make it advantageous to abjure Christianity. They also claimed that the pagan divinities had granted oracles saying that the gods would smile upon the Empire if those who rejected them were extirpated. And finally, pagan emperors used brute force to compel Christians to abjure. But none of these strategies proved effective in crushing Christianity.

So why, then, did Roman paganism collapse in the 4th century AD, and why did so many Roman pagans eventually flock to Christianity? 

Some evidence may be gleaned from the surviving writings of Christian apologists who had been pagan intellectuals such as Aristides of Athens, Justin Martyr, Clement of Alexandria, and others. The common rationale offered by these converts is that the pagan world had become so morally corrupt that they could no longer abide a hypocritical philosophy that praised virtue and glory but practiced the most debased vices and brutally killed poor souls in horrible ways for the most trifling of crimes.

More evidence may be found, ironically, in the works of Julian the Apostate. The reader will recall that Julian was a sign of contradiction in his day – a Christian apostate and revert to Classical paganism who became Roman emperor and attempted to undo forty years of Christian ascendancy within the Empire. Julian himself was an enigma, as we have seen in previous posts. He specifically spared the Christians the harshest forms of persecution, not out of compassion but because he had learned from history that such tactics didn’t work to suppress Christianity. In his own words, he says: 

A gold solidus of Julian as Caesar under
Constantius II (ca. AD 355-360), lacking at
this time his trademark philosopher's beard.

I affirm by the gods that I do not wish the Galilaeans [that is, Christians] to be either put to death or unjustly beaten, or to suffer any other injury; but nevertheless I do assert absolutely that the god-fearing must be preferred to them. For through the folly of the Galilaeans almost everything has been overturned, whereas through the grace of the gods are we all preserved. Wherefore we ought to honor the gods and the god-fearing, both men and cities. [Julian's letter to Atarbius, AD 362]

Considering he was a Christian himself (indeed, he was the nephew of Constantine the Great) who reverted to paganism, Julian is able to offer some unique insights into what the average Roman found so attractive in Christianity, and why paganism seemed so moribund by comparison. In his letter to Arascius, pagan high-priest of Galatia, written in AD 362, Julian offers advice on how to revive pagan practices, while inadvertently revealing some of the weaknesses inherent in paganism and the contrasting strengths of Christianity:

The Hellenic religion [that is, paganism] does not yet prosper as I desire, and it is the fault of those who profess it; for the worship of the gods is on a splendid and magnificent scale, surpassing every prayer and every hope. May Adrasteia [a pagan goddess] pardon my words, for indeed no one, a little while ago, would have ventured even to pray for a change of such a sort or so complete within so short a time. Why, then, do we think that this is enough, why do we not observe that it is their benevolence to strangers, their care for the graves of the dead and the pretended holiness of their lives that have done most to increase atheism?”

By “atheism”, Julian here is referring to Christianity, whose adherents he collectively scorns as "Galilaeans." Interestingly, he faults paganism for lacking the virtues that were taught to him as being a key facet of Christian life. He goes on to chide the high-priest, suggesting that his brother pagans should adopt Christian-like piety, honor the gods with the same type of zeal, engage in ascetical practices, and refrain from dishonorable trades: 

I believe that we ought really and truly to practice every one of these virtues. And it is not enough for you alone to practice them, but so must all the priests in Galatia, without exception. Either shame or persuade them into righteousness or else remove them from their priestly office, if they do not, together with their wives, children and servants, attend the worship of the gods but allow their servants or sons or wives to show impiety towards the gods and honor atheism more than piety. In the second place, admonish them that no priest may enter a theater or drink in a tavern or control any craft or trade that is base and not respectable. Honor those who obey you, but those who disobey, expel from office. 

Finally, we see Julian revealing one of the aspects of Christianity that average Romans must have found very compelling—charity to the poor. The Christian zeal for the care of widows, orphans and the impoverished must have contrasted very favorably with standard pagan practices. Here we see Julian enjoining the high-priest to adopt more Christian attitudes, even providing a subsidy from the Imperial fisc: 

In every city establish frequent hostels in order that strangers may profit by our benevolence; I do not mean for our own people only, but for others also who are in need of money. I have but now made a plan by which you may be well provided for this; for I have given directions that 30,000 modii of corn shall be assigned every year for the whole of Galatia, and 60,000 pints 3 of wine. I order that one-fifth of this be used for the poor who serve the priests, and the remainder be distributed by us to strangers and beggars. For it is disgraceful that, when no Jew ever has to beg, and the impious Galilaeans support not only their own poor but ours as well, all men see that our people lack aid from us. Teach those of the Hellenic faith to contribute to public service of this sort, and the Hellenic villages to offer their first fruits to the gods; and accustom those who love the Hellenic religion to these good works by teaching them that this was our practice of old….Let us not, by allowing others to outdo us in good works, disgrace by such remissness, or rather, utterly abandon, the reverence due to the gods.” [The above three quotes are all taken from Julian's Letter to Arascius, High-Priest of Galatia].

In another work, the satirical essay entitled Misopogon or “Beard-hater”, Julian strikes a similar note. In chastising the pagan citizens of Antioch for their neglect of the sacrifices, Julian compares the public parsimony of the leading pagan men when it comes to the rites of the gods, to the liberality of their wives who shower their goods on the Christian churches for the care of the poor:

Yet every one of you delights to spend money privately on dinners and feasts; and I know very well that many of you squandered very large sums of money on dinners during the May festival. Nevertheless, on your own behalf and on behalf of the city's welfare not one of the citizens offers a private sacrifice, nor does the city offer a public sacrifice, but only this priest! Yet I think that it would have been more just for him to go home carrying portions from the multitude of beasts offered by you to the god. For the duty assigned by the gods to priests is to do them honor by their nobility of character and by the practice of virtue, and also to perform to them the service that is due;  but it befits the city, I think, to offer both private and public sacrifice. But as it is, every one of you allows his wife to carry everything out of his house to the Galilaeans, and when your wives feed the poor at your expense they inspire a great admiration for godlessness in those who are in need of such bounty - and of such sort are, I think, the great majority of mankind, - while as for yourselves you think that you are doing nothing out of the way when in the first place you are careless of the honors due to the gods, and not one of those in need goes near the temples - for there is nothing there, I think, to feed them with - and yet when any one of you gives a birthday feast he provides a dinner and a breakfast without stint and welcomes his friends to a costly table; when, however, the annual festival arrived no one furnished olive oil for a lamp for the god, or a libation, or a beast for sacrifice, or incense.” [Julian's Misopogon]

In another fragmentary letter to a pagan priest, Julian again hammers home his point, urging his correspondent very strongly not only to adopt charity as a regular practice, but also offering advice on the appointment of priests. Julian exhorts that only men of the highest character who possess a genuine sympathy for their fellow man be appointed as priests of the gods. This indicates, perhaps, that this was often not the case and that the character of the pagan priests likely compared very unfavorably to the priests of the “miserable Galilaeans.” Note also that Julian shows himself to be something of a pagan moralist, calling out the damage that filthy pantomime performances had done to Roman society — to the point that he would have them banned if he could:

No priest must anywhere be present at the licentious theatrical shows of the present day, nor introduce one into his own house; for that is altogether unfitting. Indeed if it were possible to banish such shows absolutely from the theaters so as to restore to Dionysus those theatres pure as of old, I should certainly have endeavored with all my heart to bring this about; but as it is, since I thought that this is impossible, and that even if it should prove to be possible it would not on other accounts be expedient, I forebore entirely from this ambition. But I do demand that priests should withdraw themselves from the licentiousness of the theaters and leave them to the crowd. Therefore let no priest enter a theater or have an actor or a chariot-driver for his friend; and let no dancer or mime even approach his door. And as for the sacred games, I permit anyone who will to attend those only in which women are forbidden not only to compete but even to be spectators. With regard to the hunting shows with dogs which are performed in the cities inside the theaters, need I say that not only priests but even the sons of priests must keep away from them?

… I say that the most upright men in every city, by preference those who show most love for the gods, and next those who show most love for their fellow men, must be appointed, whether they be poor or rich. And in this matter let there be no distinction whatever whether they are unknown or well known. For the man who by reason of his gentleness has not won notice ought not to be barred by reason of his want of fame. Even though he be poor and a man of the people, if he possess within himself these two things, love for God and love for his fellow men, let him be appointed priest. And a proof of his love for God is his inducing his own people to show reverence to the gods; a proof of his love for his fellows is his sharing cheerfully, even from a small store, with those in need, and his giving willingly thereof, and trying to do good to as many men as he is able.

We must pay especial attention to this point, and by this means effect a cure. For when it came about that the poor were neglected and overlooked by the priests, then I think the impious Galilaeans observed this fact and devoted themselves to philanthropy. And they have gained ascendancy in the worst of their deeds through the credit they win for such practices. [Fragment of Julian's letter to a priest]

In sum, we see in these passages Julian’s attempt to transplant living Christian practices into the expiring corpse of paganism in a futile effort at revivification. We should be thankful that Julian’s unique contributions to our understanding of the movement of the mid-4th century Zeitgeist have been preserved in such a remarkable way, largely through the offices of a few Church Fathers who included his writings within their own. Hermias Sozomen, for example, recorded Julian's Letter to Arascius above in his 5th century Ecclesiastical History, saying further: 

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On reflecting that one main support of the Christian religion was the life and behavior of its professors, he [Julian] determined to introduce into the pagan temples the order and discipline of Christianity, to institute various orders and degrees of ministry, to appoint teachers and readers to give instruction in pagan doctrines and exhortations, and to command that prayers should be offered on certain days at stated hours. He moreover resolved to found monasteries for the accommodation of men and women who desired to live in philosophical retirement, as likewise hospitals for the relief of strangers and of the poor and for other philanthropical purposes. He wished to introduce among the pagans the Christian system of penance for voluntary and involuntary transgressions; but the point of ecclesiastical discipline which he chiefly admired, and desired to establish among the pagans, was the custom among the bishops to give letters of recommendation to those who traveled to foreign lands, wherein they commended them to the hospitality and kindness of other bishops, in all places, and under all contingencies. In this way did Julian strive to ingraft the customs of Christianity upon paganism. [Sozomen, Ecclesiastical History, Book V, Chapter 16].

Much more could be written on this topic, but this post has already become more verbose than I had intended.

"It was a sport and pastime to humble those exalted heads." ~ The Damnatio Memoriae and the relatively commonplace destruction of monuments during the Roman Empire.

The Darkening Age tells only a small part of the story.

If you follow Roman history interest groups on various social media platforms, you are guaranteed to encounter posts bemoaning the supposed destruction of Classical Greco-Roman civilization by Christians. These posts are normally as sensationalistic as they are lacking in any kind of historical context. They nearly always feature shout-outs to journalist Catherine Nixey’s 2017 polemic entitled The Darkening Age: The Christian Destruction of the Classical World. 

The comments following such posts are predictable—semi-literate laments about the vast unknown knowledge lost when Christians [sic] burned the Library at Alexandria; bitter tears for all the wonderful art that was destroyed by barbaric Christian mobs rampaging through the cities of the empire; and of course, angry denunciations of the murder of Hypatia of Alexandria – who has been raised to the secular altars as a proto-martyr of feminist scientism thanks to the propaganda film, Agora. This act is presented as the ultimate evidence of Christianity’s brutal, gritty embrace of wholesale ignorance.

Anyone who reads this blog regularly already knows that the above narrative is false and is fairly easily contradicted by the actual primary sources from antiquity. All that is needed to dispel the above slanders is context. Alexandria was historically a very violent city, and mob violence was perpetrated by every faction of her citizens at one time or another, whether they be pagans, Christians or Jews. Numerous Christians of various stripes were victims of pagan mobs, including George, the Arian bishop of Alexandria, who was beaten to death by a pagan mob in the city. The difference was that the Christian recorders of history deplored such violence and often condemned their co-religionists when they were responsible for it. Julian the Apostate, on the other hand, tended to excuse such excesses when committed by his favored factions, while at the same time coveting George's extensive library. 

If there are instances when Christians burned pagan literature, they did no worse than the pagan emperors who sponsored the wholesale destruction of Christian literature throughout the Empire. And indeed, it appears that the great persecutor of Christians, Diocletian himself, was responsible not only for the burning of Christian books, but for the utter annihilation of works on chemistry (alchemy) in Alexandria. 

Though presenting itself as history, Nixey's book is in reality a litany of carefully curated and manicured factoids. Taken as a whole, it is a naked, partisan attack on Christianity, which cherry-picks evidence in favor of its thesis while ignoring evidence to the contrary. The Acton Institute review by Josh Herring slammed the book, calling it “a love letter for paganism." As Herring further opines: "Nixey condemns Late Antique Christianity for not practicing twenty-first century cultural relativism….Her book does not increase understanding, but instead reveals the difficulty with which a twenty-first century secularist examines a faith-filled past.” The review concludes with the caveat that although The Darkening Age “is sold under the guise of popular history, treat it as an insight into how a secular journalist views Christianity in the year of our Lord 2017.”

An even more damning critique of The Darkening Age may be found on the blog of Roger Pearse, that tireless curator of the hugely useful website, Tertullian.org. In this post, Mr. Pearse provides a helpful translation of a review originally written in German by Prof. Dr. Roland Kany of Ludwig-Maximilians Universität, München that appeared in Frankfurt Allgemeine Zeitung. Prof. Kany concluded his critical review by saying that Nixey’s book lacks “factual competence, a sense of proportion, an effort for appropriate representation and contextualization. Nixey…ignores what does not fit into the junk, putting together true, half-true, and false claims into a construct that is not just one-sided, but an excessive falsehood.”

But rather than simply compile a list of the negative scholarly reviews of this work—and there are many—let's investigate the commonly-heard claim that Christians were somehow unique or excessive in destroying or vandalizing works of art from the Classical period. The cover of The Darkening Age features a statue of the pagan goddess Aphrodite sporting a cross on her forehead (see image at the top of this post). This is one of many statues, we are told, which have been defaced in this way by iconoclastic Christians intent on blotting out the Classical pagan past. In fact, the number of statues defaced in this way is vanishingly small – a tiny percentage of the total number of statues which have survived antiquity. According to Prof. Steven Fine of Yeshiva University, the carving of a cross into the statue may have served to Christianize it, indicating that the subject had been “neutralized” or baptized into Christianity, thus helping to preserve a work that might otherwise have been destroyed. [See Fine: The Menorah and the Cross: Historiographical reflections on a recent discovery from Laodicea on the Lycus, page 36, note 14]

Beyond this, let’s add a some context. Christians in Late Antiquity existed within a culture that had a long history of destroying images of individuals who had fallen into disrepute. Much like modern activists who have taken upon themselves the destruction of all images depicting Christopher Columbus, politicized Romans often had a visceral reaction to the fall of defeated generals, politicians, emperors and members of the imperial family that frequently involved the destruction of statues, the defacing of coins, and the erasure of inscriptions. Furthermore, it sometimes became a matter of imperial policy for newly-elevated emperors to call for the annihilation of all images of their opponents, the melting of imperial coinage bearing the likeness of the disgraced, and even making the utterance of the disgraced person's name a crime worthy of severe punishment. This is known by the more modern term damnatio memoriae, and it was a reasonably common feature of Roman political life. Though the phrase itself was not used in antiquity, damnatio memoriae has come to encompass the variety of censures that a disgraced individual might posthumously suffer.

In an article entitled “Portraits, Plots and Politics: Damnatio Memoriae and the Images of Imperial Women,” Eric R. Varner notes that images of those figures who had been formally condemned usually show the same characteristics. “Intentional defacement…is almost always concentrated on the sensory organs, destroying the eyes, nose, mouth, and sometimes the ears, but leaving the rest of the image intact and still legible.”

Here are just a few examples from the ancient historical sources of how damnatio memoriae was put into practice, both informally and formally, after the fall of a particularly hated person. This list was compiled quickly and is in no way comprehensive. Note well that none of these events described below were religious in nature. All were political:

• After the Battle of Actium, Octavian chased Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra (30 BC) back to Alexandria where they both perished by suicide. Plutarch records that when Antonius died, his monuments and Cleopatra's suffered differing fates: "Antony was fifty-six years of age, according to some, according to others, fifty-three. Now, the statues of Antony were torn down, but those of Cleopatra were left standing, because Archibius, one of her friends, gave Caesar two thousand talents, in order that they might not suffer the same fate as Antony's." [Plutarch, Parallel Lives: Antony, Chapter 86] In his Life of Cicero, Plutarch also records that Antonius received the following censures voted by the Senate at Rome: "It was in his [Cicero's son] consulship that the senate took down the statues of Antony, made void the other honors that had been paid him, and decreed besides that no Antony should have the name of Marcus." [Plutarch, Parallel Lives: Cicero, Chapter 49]. Interestingly, Antony would eventually be rehabilitated by future emperors including his grandson, Claudius, who became emperor in AD 41.

• 

  Bust of Caligula recut to
  resemble his successor,
  Claudius.

  Following the assassination of Gaius Caligula (AD 41) Cassius Dio relates: “Now he was spat upon by those who had been accustomed to do him reverence even when he was absent; and he became a sacrificial victim at the hands of those who were wont to speak and write of him as “Jupiter” and “god.” His statues and his images were dragged from their pedestals, for the people in particular remembered the distress they had endured.” [Cassius Dio, Roman History, Book LIX, Chapter 30]

• 

  Defaced bronze as of Nero. 

  From the Octavia, a play by pseudo-Seneca written shortly after the death of Nero in AD 68, there is the following scene of the Roman populace attacking the statues of Poppaea, the wife of Nero: “This excessive uncontrollable fury springs out of the indignation, to which these nuptials have given rise, and it is that, which is urging them on with headlong rashness, into this display of madness. Whatever statue of Poppaea, sculptured out of the purest marble stood in their way, or whatever brazen monument was shining forth and revealed the likeness of Poppaea, was ruthlessly dashed to the ground by the infuriated hands of the populace, and lies there broken up, by means of hammers wielded by savage arms; they then dragged the pieces of the statues, which had been pulled down from their standing place, trailed them along the streets, with cords, and after kicking them about for some time in an angry fashion, they would plaster them all over with filthy mud! And the swearing, and cursing, that went on, and their obscene language was quite in keeping with their acts, and which was so bad that I should be afraid to repeat it; they are, now preparing to surround, the Palace with flames, unless Nero surrenders this new wife of his…” [Octavia, Act IV]

• 

  Damaged bust of Domitian.

  Pliny the Younger in his Panegyricus to Trajan, describes the destruction of the images of Domitian who was assassinated in AD 96: “Of your [Trajan's] statues therefore we see but one or two, and those of mean brass, placed outside the Capitol, whereas but a little while since, every passage, every ascent, every corner of the Temple was decked, or rather defiled, with cast gold and silver, when the shrines of the gods were debauched with the intermixed statues of an incestuous prince [Domitian]. However, your few brazen ones stand inviolate, and will so remain as long as the Temple itself endures, while theirs of gold and such like precious metals are, all the legions of them, rudely battered down, and made a sacrifice to public joy. It was a sport and pastime to humble those exalted heads, to make them prostrate and kiss the ground, to maul them with hammers, to hew them with hatchets, as if at every stroke blood and pain might follow. None was so moderate in the venting of his raptures, none so sober in his overflowing joys, but that he thought it a luscious piece of revenge to see their mangled limbs, their severed joints, and finally their grim and ghastly images devested of all their borrowed majesty and thrown into the flames to be melted down into better use and service.” [Pliny’s Panegyricus as translated by White Kennett]

• 

  Defaced medallion of Commodus.

  The Roman people vented their rage on the images of Commodus following his assassination and the elevation of Pertinax (AD 193), as per the account of Cassius Dio: “In this way Pertinax was declared emperor and Commodus a public enemy, after both the senate and the populace had joined in shouting many bitter words against the latter. They wanted to drag off his body and tear it from limb to limb, as they did do, in fact, with his statues; but when Pertinax informed them that the corpse had already been interred, they spared his remains, but glutted their rage against him in other ways, calling him all sorts of names. [Cassius Dio, Roman History, Book LXXIV, Chapter 2]

• 

  Roundel showing the family of Septimius
  Severus. Caracalla is at bottom right.
  Geta's face has been erased at bottom left. 

  Cassius Dio further describes Antoninus Caracalla’s vengeance upon his brother Geta’s memory (AD 211), whom he had slain with is own hands: “He exhibited his hatred for his dead brother by abolishing the observance of his birthday, and he vented his anger upon the stones that had supported his statues, and melted down the coinage that displayed his features. And not content with even this, he now more than ever practiced unholy rites, and would force others to share his pollution, by making a kind of annual offering to his brother's Manes.” [Cassius Dio, Roman History, Book LXXVIII, Chapter 12]

• Rome riots when a rumor is spread that the hated emperor Maximinus Thrax (AD 238) had been assassinated on the frontier, according to the historian Herodian: “When these reports became known, the people milled about as if possessed. The fact is that all peoples are eager for a change of government, but the Roman mob, because of its tremendous size and diverse elements, is unusually prone to instability and vacillation. Therefore the statues, paintings, and all of Maximinus' emblems of honor were destroyed, and the hatred which fear had hitherto suppressed now poured forth without hindrance, freely and fearlessly. The senators met before they received accurate information concerning Maximinus and, placing their trust for the future in the present situation, proclaimed Gordian Augustus, together with his son, and destroyed Maximinus' emblems of honor.” [Herodian, History of the Roman Empire, Book VII, Chapter 7]

• 

  Damaged bust of Maximian.

  Lactantius, in his work On the Deaths of the Persecutors, describes how Diocletian (AD 311) lived to see his own statues destroyed: “At this time, by the command of Constantine, the statues of Maximian Herculius were thrown down and the portraits removed. And, as the two old emperors were generally delineated in one piece, the portraits of both were removed at the same time. Thus Diocletian lived to see a disgrace which no former emperor had ever seen and under the double load of vexation of spirit and bodily maladies, he resolved to die.” [Lactantius, On the Deaths of the Persecutors, Chapter XLII]

Put into this context, the vandalism so breathlessly portrayed in The Darkening Age as somehow an unavoidable and unique aspect of ignorant and barbarous Christianity, looks instead like a simple extension of a traditional political behavior of Classical pagan Romans emulated by later Christian Romans who were, by and large, recent converts from paganism themselves.

So much for the facile thesis offered in The Darkening Age, which should not be confused with a serious work of history by anyone.