In the 4th Century it was common practise for Christians to face persecution for their belief in Christ. Many existed on the fringes of society, or otherwise faced torture, imprisonment or death as a result of following the Christian faith. Nicholas of Myra was one of these people; he was allegedly imprisoned under what is known as the Diocletianic persecution. In 303 AD, the emperors Diocletian, Maximian, Galerius, and Constantius issued a number of decrees which formally revoked the rights of Christians. They were also required to align with traditional religious practises which was Roman Paganism, diverse in nature, with a polytheistic system of beliefs and practices, centred on honouring numerous gods that centred the ego. This worsened, and “[l]ater edicts targeted the clergy and demanded universal sacrifice, ordering all inhabitants to sacrifice to the Roman gods (Jews were exempt).”1
Nicholas of Myra, better known as Saint Nicholas, a 4th-century Christian bishop associated with Myra (modern day Turkey) was released from prison under Constantine I, placing him directly in the orbit of imperial religious policy. Constantine had a greater tolerance for Christians, and bishops increasingly became public, regionally networked figures (able to travel, correspond, and sometimes engage in empire-wide church disputes). In 311, Emperor Galerius issued an edict ending the Great Persecution and allowing Christians to exist legally, and Constantine came into power one year later. What made Constantine different to leaders before him is that he sought to unify the empire, after years of civil war which was weakening Rome. War is expensive, and it makes it difficult to govern— and expand, for that matter. Letting Christians worship openly reduced unrest and brought a fast-growing, well-organised community into the public order.
History tells us that Constantine embodied the ‘keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’ sentiment, as he acknowledged that Christians had strong networks (cities, clergy, welfare). Tolerating them could win loyalty and administrative/social stability, which faired useful for a ruler consolidating control. It is safe to say he took a different governing style, but Romans were seen as being very superstitious. He was known to explicitly worry that a divided church could bring divine anger onto the empire, so he pushed for consensus. He was also under pressure, as Rome had come close to collapse in the 3rd-century, and they were feeling the fallout from that into the 4th-century. And with the empire administratively divided among multiple rulers because it was “too great for one man to administer”, it was harder to conduct order across the entirety of the empire; meaning Constantine had to take new measures to ensure his reign was a success, and to preserve Rome.
In 325 AD, a meeting of Christian bishops convened by Emperor Constantine I at Nicaea (İznik, in modern Turkey) to settle major disputes threatening church unity. The plans were for the meeting to take place in Constantinople, but it was under construction at the time of the initial council. Early Christianity consisted of followers disputing over doctrine, and many had their own way of governance within the faith; ultimately it was divided. Constantine acknowledged the lack of spiritual cohesion in Rome at the time and didn’t see this diversity as a positive. In fact, he saw it as a barrier for greater governance of his people. Naturally, his aim was to unify his subjects under one monolithic religion, with the aims of the council making this abundantly clear. The main aims included:
Define who Jesus is in relation to God the Father (settle the Arian dispute)
Consolidate a shared statement of belief everyone could sign onto (a unifying creed)
Standardise key practice across churches, especially when to celebrate Easter
Sort out church order and disputes (rules/canons)
Christians from across the empire were invited to the council, with records showing some from Turkey, Egypt, Libya, Palestine, Persia, Scythia (Romania/Bulgaria region) Lebanon, Syria, Tunisia and parts of Western Europe were in attendance; with Constantine present in an imperial role. Many made this great pilgrimage to attend, with some accounts noting that some of the Christians were known to be limping into the council as a result of the continuation of their persecution despite the ruling to end to the violence against them. Nonetheless, the council commenced, and much of it was spent debating theological positions, especially those associated with Arius and his opponents. In short, Arius believed that God the Father created Jesus first, so Jesus is below God in status (Homoean - ‘father-like’). Whereas, others, led by Constantine, argued that Jesus is fully God, not created. The Son has always existed, just like the Father, and shares the same divine substance (Homoousios - ‘same substance’).
Constantine had little patience for the disputes, seeing them as nothing more than counterproductive to his overall goal to unify everyone under the faith. Arius and people that shared his beliefs continued in their argument, and records from numerous members in attendance and future sources state that Nicholas of Myra struck Arius inside of the council because of the rising tensions caused by the dispute. Arius’ argument was simple, that Jesus was a prophet sent by God, and therefore not God. It poses the question, why did Constantine oppose this idea, and what would co-signing that Jesus is God mean for the Roman Empire?
It must be stated that Constantine’s ultimate goal was to unify the church. He served as a forceful political facilitator for unity, and not necessarily as the guy doing the theology. Though settling the dispute would gain him: one official “default” version of Christianity the empire can rally around, an enforcement tool allowing him to treat any sort of refusal as disobedience that threatens order, and solidarity of church and state and the legitimacy of imperial patronage in church affairs. Rather than this being a decision made to benefit the church and those within it, this served as a tactical move to grant Rome more power permitted by the church.
Little more is known about Nicholas of Myra, than what we know of him striking Arius across the face in the council in the heat of the moment. It’s hard to get your head round that the man that trespasses into our houses, takes our food and drink, rides a sleigh (probably to get round paying road tax and ULEZ), and is the face of a beverage brand, once containing cocaine, that operates from occupied Palestine, possesses a past of violence and imprisonment — a really impressive rebrand.
As for Arius, he was condemned as a heretic and sent into exile by Constantine to Illyricum (late-Roman label for the western Balkans / Danube region). And his texts burnt, to destroy any living memory of his reflections on the Christian faith. Because as we know, anything that might compromise the empire must be destroyed. Arius spent time in Alexandria prior, and they wanted him far away from what was considered the ‘fight centre’. Though he continued to spread the gospel, and bishops in the Balkans like Ursacius of Singidunum and Valens of Mursa learnt from Arius himself about the word of God. The homoean doctrine spread across parts of Europe, and influencing the Germanic people in the Bavaria.
1000 years later, in the 1300s, we see a late-medieval English reform movement. They were people of the church inspired by John Wycliffe, a philosopher and Christian reformist. “Wycliffe has been characterised as the “evening star” of scholasticism and as the “morning star” or stella matutina of the English Reformation.”2 The essence of their arguments came down to power within the Catholic church. They disputed the legitimacy of popes and church tradition, arguing that the Bible should be considered top authority; they campaigned for the democratisation of reading scripture, including in English/vernacular; they argued against transubstantiation (the Catholic claim that the bread/wine become Christ’s body and blood in substance); they attacked church wealth and worldliness, calling the church back to a more apostolic/evangelical poverty; along with condemning simony (the sin of buying/selling church things), and undermining the institution in lots of other ways.
In the 1380 Objections to Friars, Wycliffe accuses monks as being ‘pests of society’, and believed their preaching to be neither scriptural nor sincere, but motivated by “temporal gain”. Wycliffite thought challenged the ideas of the church as an institution. It condemned the disproportionate power of church figures, advocating for reformation to return back to what Christians once were. At the time, half of Britain’s population had been killed from the plague, and workers lived under serfdom— life was tough for ordinary people and members of the church were immune to these conditions due to the privileges that came with their ranking. And Wycliffe and his followers simply highlighted this disparity, and wanted to democratise scripture to the average man.
Both Arianism and Wycliffite ideas contest the orthdoxy of Christianity, pointing out where teachings had drifted from true teachings. And both raise the question, who gets to decide Christian truth? The bishops and the council in the 4th C were given the right to define doctrine, and no less than 1000 years later the papacy holds more authority than the bible itself. It all comes down to a question of power and control. At the bottom of my Mum’s street, Rosary Road, sits a really old pub onlooking the river Yare. It’s one of those medieval leaning buildings that embellish Norwich city so beautifully. It’s called Lollards Pit, the site of a place of execution for heretics and other offenders in the 16th C. I used to resent the time I spent in Norfolk. To a teenager it’s boring and culturally sterile, in a modern sense of the word. All of the cool shops were in London, and upon my visits to the capital I would save my pocket money to buy Dazed Magazines to take back a piece of the excitement with me to my quiet, still corner of the country. Though, it can often be easier to appreciate something in retrospect, I think that’s our human tendency to romanticise what once was. Since reading in more depth the histories associated with Norfolk, I have to say it shaped me more than I knew. At school I was in Kett house, named after Robert Kett, who led the Kett Rebellion (1549), an uprising of peasants fighting against landowners. And I read about the many resistance groups that sought refuge in Norfolk. Kett fought for the justice of serfs and ordinary workers and the Lollards fought for justice within the church. I make politics my business because I too care about justice. Birds of a feather and all that.
Serendipity to me is magic. And magic, to me, is a euphemism for God. On the evening of my birthday we were walking from Temple Station towards Haymarket. We took the side streets and it brought us to the Savoy Tap, an old inn a stones throw away from the Savoy. On it was a plaque that commemorated the Peasant Rebellion of 1381, and how they stormed London and destroyed the houses of noblemen — including Savoy Palace, at the time considered the grandest townhouse of medieval London. Wat Tyler rallied peasants in Canterbury and stormed London, demanding the following:
To end serfdom
Abolish the restrictive poll tax
Reduce land rent
Remove corrupt royal officials
Straightforward asks, simply to make life for ordinary folk easier during a time of great hardship. It is said that between 60,000 to 100,000 people were part of the revolt, which included peasants, artisans, incarcerated people who were broken free, and some local officials. Wat Tyler was a local tiler, and he was voted democratically as leader by the people. One of the many freed from prison was John Ball, a priest who was outspoken about the church (often associated with the Lollards, and coincidently also spent time in Norwich). The rebellion gathered at Blackheath and John Ball gave a sermon:
“When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman? From the beginning all men by nature were created alike, and our bondage or servitude came in by the unjust oppression of naughty men. For if God would have had any bondmen from the beginning, He would have appointed who should be bond, and who free. And therefore I exhort you to consider that now the time is come, appointed to us by God, in which ye may (if ye will) cast off the yoke of bondage, and recover liberty.”2
Ball believed that God was just. He believed that servitude was an entirely man made system, and thus the peasants must recover their rightful liberty. How can it be that a faith based on social justice can be so disconnected from a suffering world? A theology that seems morally indifferent cannot possibly be following the orders of a just God? The world is just, but man has made it not. Many are suffering and we accept this as human nature. It’s taken me some time to come to this conclusion. I’m on a pursuit to understand why the world is the way it is. When I’d say ‘it’s not fair’ to my parents as a child, they’d respond saying ‘life’s not fair’. But I refuse to believe that life is so harsh without reason. I want to know what is human nature, and what is not, essentially to understand where along our human journey is it that we strayed. I started by looking at the behaviours of early humans, and how we treated one another, what we fought for, what we died for, why we moved around from place to place, how we treated animals, how we treated the earth. And then fast forward and I began to interrogate faith— something that is undeniably part of human nature, I’m trying to understand what role faith has played in where we are today (it’s safe to say that it has played a major role).
“Strive first for the reign of God and God’s justice.” (Matthew 6:33)
“For centuries, personal salvation theology has obscured the deepest meanings of Jesus. Our traditional focus has been on personal salvation, not on individual or social transformation. The church has focused on individual redemption, not on the redemption of the social order. We have focused on maintaining and expanding the church, but not on building the reign of God.”3
God saw how the Hebrews were being treated by Pharaoh so he sent Moses to liberate his people. He saw how the Romans were behaving so he sent Jesus. He saw what was happening in Arabia so he sent Muhammad. The World Inequality Report of 2026 says the top 10% own about 75% of the global wealth. God has persecuted people for much less. It is clear that there has been a deviation from the social gospel of God’s word. Christianity disassociated its doctrines from politics a long time ago, arguably at the time of Constantine’s rule— which I have to say is confusing for a religion that follows a God that “loves justice[ ]” (Psalm 37:28). And in removing politics, the self has been placed at the centre. This pursuit of personal salvation so conveniently complements the individualist nature of our modern world. I wonder how one can pray for abundant wealth and riches, to a God that orders for “no poor among you.” (Deuteronomy 15:4-5). Or how we can justify usury, for that matter; I digress. The tolerance for empire and government to involve itself in the church, and vice versa, is to tolerate the deviation from the word of God. As someone that understands the world through logic and reason, I have had to put this obvious logical fallacy down to selfishness and greed, and the intention to serve the self above all else. Empire hails God in its speeches and policies that condemn the foreigner and the poor. Empire believes that they are continuing God’s mission. In September 2025 the world predicted the Rapture, the second coming of Jesus, and I think it is safe to say that the world wouldn’t even know the Rapture was happening because they’d be convinced that it is AI.
I’ll finish on some words by William Sloane Coffin that I like:
“That God is against the status quo is one of the hardest things to believe if you are a Christian who happens to profit by the status quo.”4
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diocletianic_Persecution