Diocletian initiates a great persecution of the Christians, and his reformed Roman empire undergoes the ultimate test as the time for succession arrives.

This is the Chi Rho symbol. It’s formed by putting the first two letters of Christ’s name in Greek – Χριστός – over one another.

Image from Wikimedia Commons user Dylan Lake.

Here you can see a coin with Constantine’s face on one side and, on the other, the Chi Rho symbol set atop his battle standard spearing a serpent.

Image from Wikimedia Commons, shared with permission from the Classical Numismatic Group.

Transcript

Hello and welcome to A history of Romania.

Season 1, Episode 18: Let the gods decide

In the previous chapter of our story, we followed Diocletian as he transformed the Roman empire. Besides many other administrative, military, and religious reforms, he divided the state into four regions and assigned an emperor to each. He himself oversaw the eastern provinces while his heir, Galerius, ruled the Danubian district. Diocletian’s colleague Maximian governed the Mediterranean sector while his heir, Constantius, administered the western provinces. To have a clearer picture in your mind, I suggest checking out last episode’s map. Bringing Diocletian’s story to an end requires bringing in a bunch of other characters as well, and having a solid understanding of the stage will help you enjoy the elaborate drama that is about to unfold.

As you know, Diocletian rested his legitimacy on the divine, arguing that the gods had chosen the emperors as their representatives on Earth. The problem was that a religious group called the Christians didn’t believe in the pantheon, but in a single and supreme god. As such, they threatened the legitimacy of the emperors by rejecting their divine right to rule, and what’s worse, they were organized in communities with their own leaders beyond the control of officials. The Christians also risked displeasing the traditional gods. You see, Diocletian believed that the Roman people had been so successful because their ancestral divinities had rewarded their devotion and piety, but now that the empire harbored unbelievers, that relationship was in danger. For the Romans to maintain the favour of the gods, the Christians needed to recant.

Diocletian’s heir, Galerius, held an even stronger stance. His mother was a priestess and had seen the Christians snub her ceremonies repeatedly, which infuriated her and might’ve influenced her son’s views on religion. As an interesting sidenote, she was born in the original province of Dacia north of the Danube and fled south during the crisis years, where she gave birth to her son. This son believed the Christians were infatuated with a new faith that rejected their ancestors’ proven beliefs and morals. For the present stability of the empire and its future unity, they needed to conform to the customs of the ancient Romans, and if they wouldn’t do so willingly, they should be forced.

As such, Galerius counselled Diocletian to root out the Christian religion from the state, and the senior emperor agreed. In 299, Diocletian ordered all members of the administration and the army to perform a sacrifice, or be discharged. This was directed at the Christians since they didn’t offer sacrifices to the gods, and it got many of them thinking. “How much do I really care about my God, and how much do I care about keeping my position, my career, my salary?”

The purge would take time to implement among all the functionaries and servants of the state, but Diocletian believed that removing the Christians from the army and administration would be enough to please the gods. Galerius, however, thought they needed to be removed from the population itself – meaning that if they didn’t recant, they should be killed. The two men argued about the best way to proceed and, unable to convince one another, they asked the oracle of Apollo to mediate. However, the god was unable to speak; his oracle said that the impiety of the Christians blocked his divine conduit to the world. There could be no clearer sign that more drastic measures were needed.

In the spring of 303, Diocletian expelled the Christians remaining in the army and administration, and forbade them from going to the courts or worshipping in public. He further ordered their churches to be destroyed, their sacred writings burned, and their wealth seized. By the summer, probably at Galerius’ suggestion, Diocletian went further by ordering all deacons, presbyters, and bishops to be imprisoned, unless they made a sacrifice to the traditional gods. The following year, yet another edict was passed, telling all men, women, and children in the empire to offer a sacrifice in a public place where everyone could see them; if they refused, they were to be killed.

These were extremely harsh orders, but not all emperors applied them to the same extent. In the western provinces, for instance, Constantius didn’t have strong feelings about the Christians and saw it as a waste of time and resources to go after them. He was focused on fighting the Franks on the Rhine, and so made little effort to enact the edicts; he demolished a few churches but otherwise left the Christians in peace. As long as they paid their taxes, he didn’t really care who they worshiped.

On the other hand, Galerius was the most fervent supporter of the persecution. In his realm along the Danube, he ordered his officials to imprison Christians at the slightest provocation, and to torture and burn those who resisted. Prisons overflowed and wardens actually had to release some criminals to make room for Christians. But though some of Galerius’ subordinates revelled in the power they were given, the pain they caused, and the wealth they stole, others weren’t enthusiastic about carrying out his purge. Some soldiers didn’t enjoy seeing people burn alive, and some prison guards didn’t understand why they were freeing people who had stolen and murdered to make room for people who gave food to the poor and help to the sick. And so, some officials sent to arrest Christians gave them plenty of time to flee, while others lied to their superiors, telling them that, yes, their captives had performed the required sacrifices.

Undoubtedly, the trade links between the people south of the Danube and those north of it helped many Christians escape. In episode six, we’ve seen how Roman deserters in the first century fled to Decebal’s independent Dacian kingdom. If dissenters back then were willing to head into barbarian lands, dissenters now were even likelier to head north knowing that there were Roman communities there that could welcome them. If you, as a Christian, made it to one of the cities on the Danube, you’d have a chance to hide in the crowds of the marketplace and, with the help of sympathetic Romans who had come south to trade, you could escape north beyond the reach of imperial agents. There, you could live among people who spoke the same language as you but who had no incentive to imprison or murder you; you’d be able to worship your god in peace as long as you contributed to your community.

By 304, hundreds of churches had been destroyed and tens of thousands of Christians had been imprisoned or killed. Diocletian’s purges were going well, but he was now entering his 60s, and when he contracted an illness, his health worsened so quickly that he was confined to his palace, unable to stand. Rumours swirled about his imminent death, and the emperor realized that he might not have long to live. The time had come to enact his riskiest reform yet: abdication.

Diocletian had been thinking about this move for years, since succession was the ultimate test of his system. The state had two senior emperors called Augusti and two junior emperors called Caesars. Diocletian needed to show that, after the Augusti – meaning him and Maximian – were gone, the Caesars – Galerius and Constantius – would take their place, and two new men would be chosen to fill the junior positions. As such, the college of four emperors would be renewed and the transition of power would occur peacefully. This was the first planned abdication in Roman history and it was an extremely delicate moment. Diocletian wanted to be alive to guide events, so instead of waiting until he died, he convinced Maximian that they should relinquish power at the same time.

The big question was who would be chosen as the two new junior emperors. Maximian and Constantius argued that their sons should be made Caesars, since they had been around the imperial office all their lives and had learned how emperors wielded power. For his part, Galerius put forth two of his closest supporters, a man named Severus and another named Daza. This was one of the most consequential decisions of Diocletian’s reign, and the senior emperor deliberated until the last moment.

On May 1, 305 CE, Diocletian met the crowds outside his palace in Nicomedia and told them he was abdicating, while simultaneously, Maximian did the same in Milan almost 1,800 kilometres away. During the ceremony, Diocletian announced that Galerius and Constantius would become Augusti, and that Severus and Daza would become Caesars. He then retired to a villa on the coast of the Adriatic Sea, and Maximian did likewise in the south of Italy. After twenty years of endless responsibilities, Diocletian laid aside the burden of state and looked forward to tending a vegetable garden during his retirement.

Galerius was now the senior emperor. It’s true, both he and Constantius were equal Augusti, but he had convinced Diocletian to appoint his men to the role of Caesar. With Severus and Daza loyally following him, the balance of power in the imperial college was clearly on Galerius’ side.

His colleague Constantius was isolated and unhappy that his son had been denied what seemed like his birthright. We don’t know what he planned to do about it, because a year later while campaigning in Britannia, he fell gravely ill. His condition quickly worsened, and he realized the end was near, but there was one move he could still make. As he lay dying, Constantius told his army to acclaim his son as emperor. If Galerius wanted to stack the game against him, he would disregard the rules entirely.

And so, in July of 306, Constantius died and his army acclaimed his son, Constantine, as emperor and Augustus, in effect granting him the position his father had held. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The system clearly stated that the Caesars would become Augusti and that the ruling emperors would choose who could join their ranks; the army wasn’t supposed to name emperors anymore. But though Diocletian had managed to institute a rational system of succession, he hadn’t managed to change the Roman people’s worldview, and they reverted to doing what they had done for generations – that is, letting the soldiers choose their rulers.

Constantine knew this was a serious provocation, so he sent a messenger to Galerius saying that his army had forced him to accept the nomination, and that he humbly sought the senior Augustus’ recognition that he was the heir to his father’s throne. Galerius was of course furious. How could Constantine be so insolent as to declare himself Augustus – his equal? He was ready to go to war, but his advisors counselled him against it; a civil war would embroil the empire in chaos, and he couldn’t be sure of victory. Instead, Galerius chose to show his authority by confirming Constantine – but as Caesar under his man Severus who was made Augustus of the West. This decision actually pleased Constantine since it legitimised his elevation and allowed him to peacefully secure his hold on power in his own realm.

Seeing that Constantius’ son had declared himself emperor and gotten away with it, Maximian’s son decided to do the same. In October of that same year, Maxentius declared himself emperor in the city of Rome and he too sought recognition from Galerius. But this was too much. Galerius couldn’t legitimise everyone who called himself emperor, otherwise every general in the empire would try his chance. No, this insubordination had to be crushed, so Galerius ordered his man in the West, Severus, to squash this rebel and show the world that the new order was not up for negotiation.

Severus duly marched on Rome with his army in the spring of 307, but there was a problem. Maxentius’ father, Maximian, had joined his son’s side, and most of Severus’ army had served under him for the past twenty years, so when they approached Rome, they defected to their old commander. Seeing his army disintegrating, Severus fled north but was soon trapped and captured by the father and son duo.

Galerius was now forced to deal with these rebels himself and mustered his troops to march on Italy. Maxentius and Maximian didn’t want to fight on two fronts, so they contacted Constantine to make sure that he’d stay neutral in the coming conflict. The two parties talked and reached an agreement: Constantine agreed to stay in his realm in the western provinces and, in exchange, he would marry Maximian’s daughter. The deal worked for both sides: it allowed the rebels to focus on the incoming invasion force, while it made Constantine the son-in-law of one of the two original Augusti, which gave him further legitimacy and some leverage if he would ever need it.

When Galerius entered Italy in the summer of 307, the rebels put Severus to death, fearing that he’d be freed from captivity. This only further infuriated Galerius, but he couldn’t do much about it; as he marched on Rome, he found every settlement fortified, and the city itself impregnable. Realizing that he wouldn’t be able to win through force, Galerius sent ambassadors to Maxentius to discuss a deal that could possibly legitimise him; after all, Severus was dead and the imperial college now had an opening. But Maxentius saw that he was winning and he wasn’t going to stop there, so he refused to talk and instead sent bribes to the opposing soldiers to entice them to his side. Sensing that he was losing support, Galerius was forced to withdraw, and as he left Italy in anger, he let his soldiers pillage the countryside. It must’ve felt good to take out his frustrations, but this cruel act only served to mark him as a tyrant.

Maxentius and Maximian had won a great victory, but all was not well between son and father. Maximian had never been enthusiastic about abdicating and now thought: “Why am I playing a supporting role here? I was one of the original Augusti. I should be the senior emperor of the whole empire.” So, as the rebel army celebrated its victory, Maximian told the soldiers that his son was unfit to rule and then ripped the imperial toga off of him. Unfortunately for Maximian, his son had paid the soldiers very well and they weren’t disposed to turning their backs on their stream of income, so they instead turned their backs on the old man and expelled him from Rome.

At the same time, Galerius was still looking to solve this rebel problem, and he begged Diocletian to come out of retirement and use his authority to resolve the issue. After seeing his beloved empire endure two years of civil war, Diocletian reluctantly agreed to a conference between himself, Maximian and Galerius. The original members of the imperial college – minus Constantius who was dead – were going to put the empire back on track.

At this conference in 308, they decided that, in the East, Galerius would remain Augustus while his man Daza would remain Caesar. Meanwhile, in the West, one of Galerius’ longtime supporters, Licinius, would become Augustus, while Constantine would remain Caesar. Maximian was to retire and his son Maxentius was to step down. In effect, this deal sought to return the situation to what it had been before Maxentius had rebelled, without changing anything. With matters neatly settled, Diocletian returned to his villa, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

But no one was happy with this arrangement, which once again favoured Galerius above all. The various contenders had powerful armies behind them and they weren’t about to put down their weapons because a retired old man had told them to; no, they were going to fight for what they believed was theirs.

After the conference, Maximian went to Constantine, who was the only man who’d still accept him at his court. He was given an army to guard the border with Italy, but he still wanted to be the leading man, so he spread a rumour that Constantine had died in battle against the Franks, and so he had to take over. The soldiers under his command were skeptical though, and when it became clear that Constantine wasn’t dead, Maximian was forced to flee yet again. He was soon captured, but Constantine couldn’t just kill him; remember, Maximian was his father-in-law. Instead, Constantine suggested that, to make matters easier for everyone, he should end things himself. And so, in July of 310, Maximian hanged himself, dying a disgraced man.

Around this time, Galerius began suffering from a terrible illness, either bowel cancer or gangrene. There was a real possibility that he would soon die, and, once again, the prospect of death made yet another man question his ways. By this point, the persecution of the Christians had been ongoing for more than a decade, but Galerius realized they had endured and continued to practice their religion despite everything. So, in 311, he admitted defeat and issued an edict stating that “we have decided to extend our most speedy indulgence …  so that Christians may once more establish their own meeting places, so long as they do not act in a disorderly way.” It went on to say that “they ought to pray to their God for our safety, for that of the republic, and for their own.”

In effect, Galerius was telling the Christians they would no longer be imprisoned, tortured, and killed – and if they could pray to their god for his health, that would be very much appreciated. Unfortunately for Galerius, his health continued to decline and he died a few months after issuing that edict.

Meanwhile, Diocletian had struggled with his own illness ever since returning from the conference. That same year, in 311, he died in his villa as winter began, with some suggesting that he committed suicide in despair at seeing his life’s work fall apart while being unable to do anything to stop it.

Okay, that was a whirlwind. To recap, we are now in 312, seven years after Diocletian’s abdication, and all original members of the imperial college are dead. Yet the empire still had four emperors: there was Constantine in the western provinces, Maxentius in Italy, Licinius along the Danube, and Daza in the eastern provinces. None of these men liked each other, and each of them wanted to become sole ruler. The question was, how were they going to do it?

Constantine was the first to act. To secure one front, he offered his sister’s hand in marriage to Licinius, and then invaded Italy to gain full control of the West. Maxentius had seen this play out twice before: both Severus and Galerius had marched on Rome, and both men had been repulsed. So Maxentius could use the same tactic – stay inside the walls and wear down the enemy – but his soothsayers assured him that, if he offered battle, “the enemies of Rome would be defeated,” and so he marched his army outside the walls beyond the Tiber to meet Constantine on the field.

His opponent had also had some advice from the divine. You see, when Constantine came to power, he continued his father’s policy of not persecuting the Christians, and his realm became a safe haven for them. Over the following years, Constantine also began associating himself with the sun god Sol Invictus, and elevating that divinity above all others in the pantheon. The story goes that, as he was marching on Rome, Constantine saw a cross of light above the sun with the words: “In this sign, you will conquer.” He was understandably confused until Jesus Christ appeared to him in a dream and told him that he had to use that symbol against his enemies. That sign was the Chi Rho, which is formed by putting the first two Greek letters of Christ’s name – “Christos” – over one another; it looks like a capital P with an X in the middle of its tail. I’ve put a link to a picture in this episode’s description.

And so, in October of 312, Maxentius lined up his soldiers outside the city of Rome, certain that the gods were on his side, while Constantine stood opposite him with the Chi Rho symbol painted on his standard. The ensuing battle was brutal, and in the end Constantine’s forces pushed back their opponents, forcing them into the Tiber, where Maxentius drowned as he fled. It was a great victory for Constantine, and it was a clear sign that the god of the Christians favoured those who followed him.

Early the next year, Constantine met his ally Licinius in Milan to discuss the future. He now controlled the entire western half of the empire; it was Licinius’ turn to defeat Daza and take the eastern part. Daza was an enthusiastic supporter of the purges against the Christians, so, to force him to react, Constantine and Licinius passed an edict to “grant to Christians and to everybody the free power to follow the religion of their choice, in order that all that is divine in the heavens may be favourable and propitious towards all who are placed under our authority.” More than that, the edict said that authorities had to restore to the Christians the property that had been confiscated from them.

As such, Constantine and Licinius not only ensured freedom of religion for all inhabitants of the empire, they also gave special treatment to the Christians. This decision went directly against Daza’s authority, since one of the main pillars of his reign was the persecution of the Christians. If he accepted the Edict of Milan, he would concede that Constantine and Licinius were the senior emperors and that they set the agenda; if he refused, those two men would have a reason to attack a disobeying subordinate. Well, Daza refused, and instead of waiting to be attacked, he struck first. Unfortunately for him, Licinius’ army was better, and he lost the war and his life that very same year.

Now in the year 314, Constantine and Licinius were the only emperors left in the empire. The two men were technically allies since Licinius was married to Constantine’s sister, but neither one was happy with the situation; they’d eliminated all other rivals to power, and they weren’t going to stop now.

So, Constantine invaded the East under the pretext that one of Licinius’ associates had tried to kill him. In the ensuing war, Licinius lost two battles but managed to retreat in an orderly fashion both times. As he was being chased to the Bosphorus, he hid his army in the mountains, let Constantine pass, and then came at him from behind. He didn’t have the forces to win a battle, but he was able to cut off his enemy from supplies. The war thus reached a stalemate and the two men were forced to negotiate; the result was that Constantine took everything west of Thrace, and Licinius, everything east of it.

This was not a permanent solution, and both men knew it. Licinius made his headquarters at Nicomedia while Constantine stayed in Sirmium on the Danube to be close to his rival. For the next few years, he campaigned north of the river, attacking the Iazyges and Goths on the lands of the original province of Dacia. The goal was to wait for Licinius to be engaged elsewhere and strike him while he was vulnerable.

During these years, Constantine fully embraced the god of the Christians. While Licinius seems to have supported the Edict of Milan to advance his political aims, Constantine seems to have combined political aims with religious conviction. He believed the Christian god was the supreme god, and by 320, he was openly championing his faith. Licinius was afraid that the Christians in his realm would be sympathetic to his rival, so he restarted the persecutions; he didn’t kill them, but he did expulse them from the army and administration, and took their property.

As this was going on, Constantine was prodding Licinius’ borders. He campaigned across the Danube and, with the excuse that he was chasing fleeing barbarians, he crossed back south into Licinius’ territory. When the eastern emperor told him to get off his land, Constantine got just what he wanted. Not only was Licinius persecuting the good people of his realm, but he was now telling his brother emperor to leave the frontier undefended. Clearly, he was unfit to rule and the empire deserved better.

And so, in 324, Constantine gathered a huge army and marched it into Thrace. He defeated Licinius in battle and chased him across the Bosphorus, where the eastern emperor mustered all the soldiers he could for a last stand. By this point, the Christian Chi Rho symbol was a familiar sight amidst Constantine’s army; it was the symbol of the god that had brought him so many victories; it inspired his soldiers and dismayed his enemies. The Chi Rho had become such a powerful sign that Licinius ordered his men not to attack it, and even not to look at it. The coming clash was portrayed by both sides as a fight between the forces of the Christian god and those of the traditional pantheon. When the day of battle came, Licinius was defeated and, finally, captured. Constantine’s sister, who was his wife, pleaded with her brother to spare his life. Constantine reluctantly accepted and imprisoned his rival in Greece, but, a year later, he had him executed since Licinius had allegedly attempted to revolt – yeah, like we believe that.

But no one could argue with Constantine. After almost twenty years of negotiations and battles, he had finally defeated all other contenders to the throne. He had achieved his lifelong ambition to be the sole ruler of the empire, and next episode, we’ll see what he does with all that power, and what his reign means for the people beyond the Danube.