In the first few centuries of the Common Era, Christians were the targets of sporadic persecutions by the Roman authorities. The imperial persecutions of Decius, Valerian, and Diocletian were interspersed with more localized outbreaks of violence, as Christians’ refusal to pay homage to the traditional Roman gods made them convenient scapegoats whenever things went wrong.
Those Christians who were killed became central figures in the communal memory of Christians. Beginning at least in the late second century, Christians kept records of these martyrs’ deaths. Some of the earliest martyr accounts are little more than court transcripts. Others, particularly into the third and fourth centuries, take the shape of narratives that are increasingly complex. The martyrs are often depicted within the texts as athletes or gladiators, waging battle not with the Roman authorities but against the devil himself. The tortures they endured are described in sometimes uncomfortable detail, and the martyrs are praised for being able to endure such pain. In this context, death is treated not as a defeat but as a victory.
One of the most extraordinary early Christian martyr texts is the Passion of Perpetua. The Passion of Perpetua contains a diary written by a woman named Perpetua, a 22-year-old wife and mother who, along with several Christian companions, is imprisoned and executed in 203 CE. Not only does this provide a rare glimpse into the mindset of a martyr-to-be, but it is also one of only a handful of early Christian texts written by a woman. Although the text certainly underwent some editing—it is given a narrative framework by an anonymous redactor and also includes descriptions of the experiences of some of the other martyrs with her—we can be reasonably sure that some of the sentiments and experiences expressed are authentic to Perpetua.
One of the unique aspects of Perpetua’s narrative is the focus on her family, in particular her son and father. She is shown as struggling to emotionally and physically separate herself from both of them, as they are hindrances to her ultimate goal of becoming a martyr. She is given multiple opportunities to recant her position and save herself from execution, but in all cases, she resists and insists that the only identity that matters to her is “Christian”.
Perpetua’s motherhood is intimately connected with breast-feeding. In a time when baby formula didn’t exist, breastfeeding was literally a matter of life and death. Perpetua’s separation from her infant son then was not just emotionally fraught, but potentially dangerous. For example, Perpetua’s main concern when she is transferred from house arrest to the prison is for her son, who is described as weak from hunger. When she is reunited with him (as a result of bribery from the deacons), the first thing she does is nurse him. She reports that both she and her son are comforted immediately, saying, “my prison had suddenly become a palace!” (Passion of Perpetua 3).
However, a few days later, Perpetua’s father confronts her at a hearing and uses her son to try to convince her to change her mind and renounce her Christianity. He begs Perpetua to “think of your child, who will not be able to live once you are gone” (Passion of Perpetua 5).
Later, as Perpetua continues to refuse to recant, her father tries one last desperate attempt to convince her by refusing to allow her to continue to have her son with her in prison. However, God steps in and ensures that neither Perpetua nor her son will suffer further; she says, “But as God willed, the baby had no further desire for the breast, nor did I suffer any inflammation; and so I was relieved of any anxiety for my child and of any discomfort in my breasts” (Passion of Perpetua 6). This divine gift made it possible for Perpetua to complete her transformation into a martyr by stopping her maternal concerns. She no longer needs to worry for her son; this connection to her family broken, she is able to focus only on God.
At the same time, by rejecting her son, Perpetua also rejects her father and her identity as daughter. Throughout her narrative, Perpetua’s father tries to convince her to renounce her Christianity. He appeals to her identity as a daughter, speaking of his love for her and of the anguish her arrest causes him. Perpetua grieves her father’s pain, but she does not waver in her commitment: “I cannot be called anything other than what I am, a Christian” (Passion of Perpetua 1). Eventually, Perpetua’s father recognizes that Perpetua’s insistence on claiming the identity of Christian means that she cannot also be a daughter: “With tears in his eyes he no longer addressed me as his daughter but as ‘Lady’” (Passion of Perpetua 5).
In antiquity, Perpetua was celebrated as an ideal martyr. Before her arrest, she had achieved the ultimate goals of a Roman woman: marriage (though her husband doesn’t appear in the narrative) and motherhood (especially as the mother of a son). Until this point, she had also been the ideal daughter. Ancient theologians like Augustine of Hippo preferred to focus on these aspects of Perpetua’s identity, noting that only the extraordinary circumstances of martyrdom permitted the equally extraordinary rejection of the typical expectations of obedience and family loyalty. In a sermon given on Perpetua’s feast day, he notes, “What she hated in [her father] was his folly, not his nature; his unbelief, not her roots. Thus she earned all the greater glory by resolutely rejecting the bad advice of such a beloved father, considering that she could not see him thrashed without feeling the pain herself” (Sermon 281.2).
Perpetua’s story is a powerful reminder of the complicated nature of family dynamics. Perpetua’s father acts out of love for her, but she must still reject him because he is standing between her and her devotion to God. She must also reject her motherhood identity in favour of martyrdom, but is only able to do so fully once God intervenes to ensure that her infant is taken care of. Though we will hopefully never face something as extreme as the Roman persecutions, Perpetua’s confidence in herself and her refusal to compromise her values in the face of intense pressure (even from those she loves) can still provide inspiration to us nearly 2000 years later.
