It’s not often you get to walk where a Roman Emperor walked, eat where he ate, even pray where he prayed. My wife and I recently did all this and more.
Diocletian (244-311) was Emperor from 284-305, one of the few Emperors who did not die (or was assassinated) in office. After giving up his throne, he built a lavish retirement palace overlooking the Adriatic Sea in Split, a city along the Dalmatian coast in Croatia we recently visited.
As the world’s most complete remains of a Roman palace, we wandered in the massive cellars beneath it, people-watched in the public square at its heart and prayed in Diocletian’s mausoleum in the center of the three-football-field sized complex. In addition to Diocletian and his family, the palace housed 9,000 servants and military.
Many of us know about Christians being thrown to lions. Diocletian was the guy who did it.
Diocletian’s persecution (303–311) was the empire’s last, largest, and bloodiest official persecution of Christianity. He ordered the destruction of Christian scriptures and places of worship across the empire, and prohibited Christians from assembling for worship. He enforced pagan worship as a test of loyalty to the empire, including worship of himself as a god. Failure to do so often meant death.
Ironically, the elegant octagonal mausoleum Diocletian constructed as his final resting place is now The Cathedral of Saint Domnius, consecrated at the turn of the 7th century. It is the oldest Catholic cathedral in the world still occupying its original structure.
This building, still surrounded by Roman columns as completed in 305, is one of the most unique churches I’ve ever seen. The quite small octagonal space (indeed—the smallest cathedral in the world) has an impressive dome, columns and capitals, and fine carved reliefs. Diocletian’s sarcophagus was installed in its center, an enduring testament to his power and grandeur.
Now, however, not only is the sarcophagus absent, but the emperor’s remains are lost to history. Instead, there are not one but two altars (one ancient, one modern) celebrating the life and preserving relics of St. Domnius, a martyr from the local area Diocletian put to the sword. Domnius became the patron saint of the city of Split that grew up around Diocletian’s palace.
As I ran my hands along the ancient stones and then sat in the hushed cathedral, I marveled at how God controls the vagaries and vanities of men. What an irony! Intended to be a lasting memorial to Diocletian, this space has for over 1,000 years instead gathered the very Christians he wished to sweep off the face of the earth and honors their leader he killed.
The 3rd century theologian Tertullian famously said that “the blood of martyrs is the seed of the church.” Certainly, Diocletian and Domnius are one example of the “great reversal” in early Christian history—the more it was persecuted, the more the church thrived.
That’s the irony. But here’s the paradox.
Diocletian’s successor was Constantine the Great who, in the Edict of Milan (313), overturned Diocletian’s anti-Christian edicts and went on to become a great patron and supporter of the church. In 380, Christianity was declared the official religion of the Roman empire.
As I said, some have seen the dramatic swing from Diocletian to Constantine as the “great reversal” of Christian history—Roman Emperors see-sawed from church persecutor to church protector in a generation.
However, other historians see Christianity’s acceptance as the Roman state religion as a mixed blessing, if not a tragedy. A state religion meant politics, more than piety, determined much of how the church was run and led. Interweaving church and state meant watered down spiritual commitment and political manipulation by both church and state.
Diocletian stands at one extreme of this paradox—to suffer persecution and lack worldly prestige and influence is the normal lot of Christians; frequent New Testament verses tell us it inevitably will cost us to follow Jesus.
Constantine stands at the other extreme—Diocletian’s tomb became a place to honor his victims and spread their faith; but this seeming worldly victory runs the great risk of the church losing its integrity in watered-down commitment.
Thinking Christians are caught somewhere within the paradoxical tension between Diocletian and Constantine—not wishing persecution on ourselves or our brothers and sisters, but always mindful that pulling the levers of worldly power (with all its trappings) is in every way contrary to the Jesus we meet in the Gospels.
We may, and hopefully will, find different ways to remain faithful to Jesus within this tension.
One thing is sure, however. The type of Christian nationalism that defines “being American” with being (white) Christian must be rejected.
It is both futile and harmful to ever stake Christian success and influence on access to worldly power, especially when—as Diocletian demonstrates—the early church most thrived without it.
Question: What’s your take on living within this paradox?
