Chapter Thirty-One: The Reign of Hormuz II and the Fluctuation of the Status of Christians in Rome

Introduction

The death of Narseh in 302 AD brought to a close a turbulent phase in Sasanian–Roman relations. His successor, Hormuz II, ascended the throne of an empire still reeling from a humiliating setback. As detailed in an earlier chapter, the Eastern Roman Caesar Galerius, acting under the supreme authority of Emperor Diocletian, had inflicted a stinging defeat on Narseh—culminating in a surprise raid on the royal encampment in Greater Armenia that resulted in the capture of the king’s family and several high-ranking Iranian nobles. This deeply personal and politically damaging loss forced Narseh, under the pressure of having his kin held hostage, to conclude the Treaty of Nisibis in 299 CE—a settlement that, though temporary, marked a significant strategic triumph for Rome.

The political and territorial costs of the treaty appeared rather substantial for the Iranians. Under its terms, the region of Greater Armenia, a critical buffer state, was re-established as a Roman client kingdom under Tiridates III, an Arsacid king loyal to Rome. The treaty did not involve Lesser Armenia, which was already a Roman province. Additionally, five strategically important satrapies (provinces) beyond the Tigris River, which had been under Sasanian control, were ceded to Rome. These concessions were a major blow to Sasanian prestige and had the potential to extend Roman influence deep into a region that had been an Iranian sphere.

For Roman propagandists, the Treaty of Nisibis was heralded as a resounding triumph—one that secured Rome’s eastern frontier, enhanced its strategic depth in Armenia and Mesopotamia, and conferred great prestige upon Diocletian’s tetrarchic system. Yet this Roman-centric interpretation obscures the inherently provisional nature of the victory. From the Iranian perspective, the defeat was undoubtedly humiliating, but far from catastrophic. It represented a temporary reversal—painful to royal prestige and politically costly, yet leaving the structural power of the Iranian state intact. Rather than breaking Sassanian resolve, it instilled a simmering desire for retribution, a determination that would bear fruit under Shapur II only a few decades later. The treaty’s primary consequence was thus to tip the balance of power momentarily in Rome’s favor, not to effect any permanent reconfiguration of the imperial frontier.

Armenian historians view this period through a different lens, focusing on the Christianization of Armenia under Tiridates III, which they see as a foundational moment in their national identity. This act, while politically aligned with Rome, gave Armenia a unique cultural and religious path distinct from its Zoroastrian Sasanian neighbors.

Yet Rome’s apparent diplomatic and territorial gains masked a profound internal fragility. Economically, the empire was staggering under the weight of supply shocks and disrupted trade networks. The severance of stable commercial exchange with Iran deprived Rome of key eastern imports—luxury textiles, metals, precious stones, lumber, and dried fruits—while also destabilizing price structures across the empire. Diocletian’s response was the infamous Edict on Maximum Prices, which sought to impose a ceiling on the price of goods. From an economic standpoint, this intervention was deeply flawed: sellers, unable to recover production costs under artificially low price caps, resorted to hoarding or withdrawing goods from the market entirely. Predictably, a thriving black market emerged, further exacerbating scarcity and eroding public confidence in imperial economic management.

Compounding these economic stresses was the simmering ideological and religious tension between the empire’s large and growing Christian population and the staunchly Mithraic military elite. Diocletian, convinced that Christian soldiers had undermined Roman military discipline and even contributed to recent defeats against Iran, moved decisively against them. His decree mandated that all officers and aristocrats perform sacrifices in the Mithraea—the sacred temples of Mithras—or face the loss of rank and privilege. Christians in the army and public service who refused compliance faced persecution, imprisonment, or worse.

The timing of this edict was not incidental. It came during the height of the Iranian conflict, after a string of costly engagements in which Narseh had at one point dealt Rome severe battlefield reverses. In a particularly humiliating episode, Galerius himself narrowly escaped being captured in his sleep—a stark demonstration of Iranian tactical prowess.

Meanwhile  the dynamics shifted rapidly after Narseh ransomed Galerius and the other captives at a considerable price. The sheer scale of this ransom, coupled with Rome’s awareness of Narseh’s capability to strike deep into Roman territory, induced a strategic recalibration in Rome’s internal policy. In an effort to restore unity within the ranks and promote domestic stability, the persecution of Christians was dramatically curtailed. Christians began to occupy prominent positions in both the civil administration and the military command structure. Over time, their numbers within the bureaucracy and officer corps swelled, and Christianity began to acquire an unprecedented degree of institutional acceptance.

Eusebius of Caesarea, a contemporary Christian historian, testified to this transformation:

“It is difficult to say how much our religion is respected and how extensive the freedom we enjoy is. The emperors (Diocletian and Galerius) have given the believers the governorship of many provinces without requiring them to sacrifice to their gods. They have openly allowed their officers to perform our religious duties, together with their wives, children, and slaves, even in the presence of the emperors themselves. Bishops are honored and churches are built in all cities.”

Behind this temporary thaw, however, imperial politics were in flux. Galerius, though still officially the junior Caesar of the East, had ambitions far beyond his subordinate station. His aspirations to supplant Diocletian as Augustus were only partially restrained by the political counterweight of the Western emperor Maximian and his own Caesar, Constantius Chlorus, both of whom remained loyal to Diocletian’s leadership. Thus, for the moment, Galerius was forced to bide his time—consolidating his military and political networks while awaiting an opportune moment to advance his claim to supreme authority.

Religious Politics Across Empires: The Christian Question in Roman and Sasanian Strategy

Galerius understood that suppressing Christianity would not be as straightforward as eliminating the Manichaeans. Unlike the relatively decentralized Manichaean movement, Christians were highly organized, possessed strong communal structures, and had successfully infiltrated many of the empire’s administrative and military institutions. His distrust of them was vividly expressed in his Edict of 311 AD, where his deep-seated hostility—and his theological framing of the conflict—were made plain. To Galerius, Christians were not an entirely new sect, but a splinter group of “apostate Jews” who had abandoned the God of their ancestors, elevated Jesus Christ to divine status in His place, and pursued an agenda hostile to Rome’s traditional order. In his own words:

“Who are you? A band of riotous Jews who have denied the God of your fathers and now wage war against the gods of the empire. You make laws for yourselves as you please and gather in destructive assemblies.”

This perception found a striking parallel in the Sasanian religious establishment. The Zoroastrian priesthood regarded such a characterization of Christians as not only accurate, but entirely consistent with their own suspicions of religious minorities. Many mōbeds expected the new king, Hormuzd II, to adopt the same strict stance toward non-Zoroastrian faiths within Ērānshahr.

Hormuzd’s path to the throne is not extensively documented, but the available evidence suggests that his accession was relatively smooth and uncontested—a sign of both dynastic legitimacy and political preparation during Narseh’s reign. As the apparent heir, he was likely endorsed by the royal court and recognized by the nobility without the protracted succession struggles that had marked earlier transitions. This swift elevation, combined with his familiarity with Roman policy and Sasanian military traditions, positioned him to consolidate power quickly and contemplate the reversal of the humiliating Treaty of Nisibis (298 CE).

Historical evidence indicates, however, that Hormuzd—much like his father—pursued a policy of relative tolerance toward both Mithraic and Christian communities in Iran. This moderation was a source of discontent among the Zoroastrian clergy, whose expectations for doctrinal uniformity had grown since the reigns of Bahram I and Bahram II. It may be for this reason that the Khodāy-Nāmag (Book of Kings) passes over the reigns of Narseh and Hormuzd II in silence, and why Ferdowsi, drawing on this tradition in the Shāhnāmeh, describes Narseh as childless and omits any account of Hormuzd’s reign—much as the Arsacid era is marginalized in the epic tradition.

The Sasanian Christian community, however, took advantage of this climate. In 300 CE—two years before Narseh’s death, and at the height of Rome’s Christian persecutions—Bishop Papa (r. ca. 267–329 CE), operating from the twin capitals of Ctesiphon and Seleucia, used the royal leniency to petition the Archbishop of Antioch to formally organize the Persian Church under his authority. This ambitious plan, however, was resisted by many bishops who feared excessive centralization.

According to the History of the Bishops of Adiabene by Meshikha-Zeka (“Christ the Victorious”), Christianity in Iran had roots reaching back to the early 2nd century. The text claims that in 104 CE a Zoroastrian priest named Peqida, enslaved in Adiabene and Assyria, encountered Mar Adai—one of the early Christian apostles—who converted him. After five years of discipleship, Adai ordained Peqida as a priest before his death. Another of Adai’s disciples, Mari, is said to have journeyed to Khuzestan, where he laid foundations for the Christian community later overseen by Bishop Papa in Ctesiphon.

While modern scholars debate the historicity of Peqida and Mari—many considering these accounts legendary products of sectarian rivalry and Christian self-legitimation—there is little doubt that by the reigns of Narseh and Hormuzd II, the Persian Church was well established. Between thirty and forty bishops of varying doctrinal allegiances, including the Nestorians, are recorded as active in Iran during this period.

In this religiously pluralistic environment, Hormuzd II assumed power with speed and confidence, ready to reclaim Sasanian honor and overturn the unpopular settlement of 298 CE. Rome, expecting a more compliant ruler shaped by the treaty’s humiliation, soon realized its misjudgment. Narseh had almost certainly groomed his son for renewed confrontation with Rome. Yet, while Hormuzd sought to maintain good relations with the increasingly influential mōbeds, he resisted their more extreme demands for religious uniformity. The priesthood, wary of another wave of rapid religious expansion like the spread of Manichaeism under Narseh, used Rome’s own policy of imperial religious consolidation as an argument for tighter control within Ērānshahr. Still, despite their growing prestige, the priests found Hormuzd’s approach—pragmatic, tolerant, and unwilling to launch wholesale persecution—less aligned with their vision of an ideologically homogeneous empire.

The Suppression and Massacre of Christians in Rome

As Hormuzd II ascended the throne of Ērānshahr, the Roman Empire launched its most systematic and brutal campaign yet against Christianity. Diocletian, having spent the years between 299 and 302 AD stationed in the eastern border provinces preparing for renewed Iranian conflict, returned to his capital at Nicomedia following the death of Narseh. With the Sasanian throne now occupied by a less experienced monarch, Diocletian's anxieties about Iranian retaliation subsided. In his view, Hormuzd was neither a seasoned general nor an adept ruler. He believed the young king would require time to learn the art of governance and to consolidate his hold on power before turning to matters of war. Sensing an opportunity, Diocletian chose to unleash Galerius, his zealous Caesar and a fierce adherent of the Mithraic religion, to deal decisively with the internal "threat" of Christianity.

Galerius, the son of a Dacian slave, had a fanatical commitment to traditional Roman religion, particularly the solar cult of Mithras, which dominated the military and senatorial elite. He had long viewed Christianity as corrosive to Roman traditions, undermining the military's discipline and threatening imperial unity. Galerius saw himself as a defender of the ancestral gods and the Roman way of life, and he persuaded the aging Diocletian to take a final stand against what they considered a dangerous and divisive sect. To Galerius, Christianity and Manichaeism alike were subversive foreign imports — destabilizing and un-Roman.

Thus, the winter of 303 AD was spent in intense deliberation within Diocletian's palace. According to Lactantius, the emperor initially wished only to purge Christians from his army and court. Galerius, however, demanded harsher action, seeing any leniency as a fatal weakness. Seeking divine sanction, Diocletian turned to the oracle at the temple of Apollo in Didyma, whose priests returned the expected verdict: “These people are enemies of the gods and must be destroyed.”

On February 23, 303 — the feast of Terminalia, sacred to the god of boundaries — the first blow was struck. At dawn, the imperial guard, backed by Roman officers and soldiers, descended upon the church in Nicomedia, forced entry, and set it ablaze. Diocletian reportedly watched from a nearby window. Alarmed that the fire might spread to adjacent buildings, he ordered the structure razed completely. The next day, the emperor issued his infamous edict: all churches throughout the empire were to be destroyed, Christian scriptures burned, sacred spaces desecrated, and believers stripped of legal rights and public office unless they sacrificed to the Roman gods. Although not as overtly bloody as earlier persecutions under Valerian, the edict nevertheless signaled a sweeping effort to extinguish Christianity through systemic degradation and terror.

Christian resistance was immediate. One defiant believer publicly tore the emperor’s edict to shreds — a transgression so grave he was burned alive. Shortly afterward, fires broke out within the imperial palace, including one dangerously close to Diocletian’s own quarters. Lactantius claims Galerius himself orchestrated the fires to push Diocletian into even more extreme measures. Eusebius, on the other hand, records that Constantine later told the church fathers at Nicaea that the fires were caused by a bolt of divine lightning — retribution from God.

Some modern historians argue that the fires were lit by enraged Christian soldiers, unwilling to continue serving a regime that desecrated their churches. Regardless of the source, the effect was profound. Galerius, fearing retaliation, fled Nicomedia. Diocletian, shaken and isolated, responded with paranoid intensity. He ordered an inquisition of the entire palace; all courtiers were interrogated and forced to sacrifice. His wife and daughter, both secret Christians, complied under duress. Slaves, eunuchs, and attendants who refused were tortured and executed — accused of complicity in the fires. Soon, the terror spilled into the city itself. The bishop of Nicomedia was publicly beheaded, and scores of citizens were burned alive or drowned in the sea.

The persecution intensified across the empire. Christians were accused of rebellion and sedition. Uprisings broke out in Antioch and Melitene, fueled by fury at the destruction of churches and mass arrests. In Melitene, recently converted Armenian Christians under Gregory the Illuminator — son of Anak, the assassin of the Parthian King Khosrow — joined the revolt in support of Tiridates III, Rome’s client-king in Armenia. In Antioch, Christian soldiers proclaimed one of their own as emperor. Their revolt was swiftly crushed, and many Antiochenes were executed.

Diocletian, interpreting the unrest as an organized conspiracy to overthrow imperial rule, issued a second, far more brutal edict. According to Eusebius, Diocletian claimed the goal of the Christian movement was to seize control of the empire. That this belief was not entirely unfounded is evident — for within just eight years, the unthinkable happened: Constantine, a Christian emperor, would ascend to supreme power, and the imperial order Diocletian sought to preserve would begin to collapse.

Hormuzd II’s Vengeance: Faith, Retaliation, and the Shadow of Nisibis

Meanwhile, in the East, Hormuzd II and his court closely followed Rome’s turmoil. In 305 AD, after observing Rome’s internal chaos and Diocletian’s faltering grip on power, Hormuzd and his advisors concluded that the time had come to avenge the humiliating defeat inflicted upon Narseh and to challenge the Treaty of Nisibis imposed under duress. While Zoroastrian clergy — emboldened by Rome’s persecution of Christians — favored internal religious consolidation over external war, Hormuzd remained unmoved by their caution. As described in the Chronicle of Seert, a Nestorian Christian source written in Arabic in the eleventh century, Hormuzd emerges as a bold, self-assured monarch who disregarded the demands of the priesthood and marched to war against Rome in defense of dynastic honor.

Though this campaign appears to have ended in military failure, the timing casts doubt on Diocletian's capacity to resist effectively. The emperor, by this time gravely ill and demoralized, was beset by rebellions and court conspiracies. According to Lactantius, Galerius ultimately pressured him to abdicate — a resignation made, it is said, with “tearful eyes.” Claims of voluntary abdication, Lactantius insists, are false. Diocletian's departure paved the way for Galerius and Severus to assume greater power.

The Chronicle of Hormuzd, though fragmentary, records this series of transitions: that Bahram son of Bahram ruled briefly and died childless; that Narseh reigned wisely for nine years, fought Rome and Armenia, but was defeated; and that Hormuzd, ruling for just over seven years, resisted clerical influence, waged war on Rome, and allowed Christianity to survive in peace. Notably, the chronicle affirms that Christians were not persecuted under Hormuzd II — a striking contrast to the events unfolding in the West.

In the Chronicle of Arbela, Elder Zak offers a vivid, even apocalyptic portrayal of the Roman persecution and the Iranian response. He writes of the chaos unleashed by Diocletian’s decree — of a world so fractured by bloodshed that familial bonds disintegrated, fathers turned on sons, and society collapsed. Against this backdrop, Zak describes Hormuzd’s retaliation in powerful biblical terms:

“He [Hormuzd] rushed to Rome with a great army and plundered many of the cities of Rome, and God saw all this disgrace; ‘He arose, and all his enemies were scattered, and those who hated him fled before him; they were scattered like smoke, and melted like wax.’ (Psalm 68:1).”

Such a dramatic account may contain exaggeration, but Zak’s narrative is grounded in a conviction widely shared by eastern Christians: that Hormuzd’s campaign was not mere imperial adventurism, but an act of righteous vengeance for his father's humiliation and a defense of his subjects against Roman aggression.

Moreover, the opposition Hormuzd faced at home likely contributed to his limited success. The Zoroastrian clergy, though pleased by the Roman crackdown on Christians, were wary of a war that might destabilize the realm or distract from their own religious agenda. Hormuzd’s defiance of their advice perhaps led to a lack of full internal support — a factor that could explain his military setbacks.

Yet despite these defeats, Hormuzd II remains a figure of complexity and defiance: a king who upheld royal honor, rejected the coercive power of the priesthood, and maintained religious tolerance within his empire at a time when Rome descended into spiritual tyranny.

Hormuzd II's  Military Victories and Religious Upheaval

The military campaigns of Hormuzd II against Rome's Arab allies represent a significant chapter in the complex geopolitical landscape of the early fourth century CE. Contemporary sources, most notably the Balamian history, provide compelling evidence of Hormuzd's strategic expansion into Syrian territories. The Iranian king's decision to deploy troops to Syria demonstrated both his military ambitions and his understanding of the region's strategic importance in the broader contest between the Sasanian and Roman empires.

During this critical period, the Ghassanid emir found himself in an increasingly precarious position. Facing mounting pressure from Hormuzd's advancing forces, he desperately appealed to Rome for military assistance. However, this plea for aid came at perhaps the most inopportune moment in Roman history, when the empire was grappling with severe internal crises that rendered effective military intervention virtually impossible.

Why Galerius Could Not Aid the Ghassanids

The Roman Empire's inability to assist the Ghassanid emir stemmed from a confluence of political and personal crises that had paralyzed imperial decision-making. The most significant factor was the deteriorating health of Emperor Diocletian, whose incapacitation had created a power vacuum at the heart of the empire. According to the detailed account provided by Lactantius, a contemporary Christian author who served as tutor to Constantine's son, Diocletian's decline began in earnest in 304 CE.

The emperor's illness manifested dramatically after his return from Rome, where he had ceremoniously celebrated the twentieth anniversary of his reign—a milestone that should have marked the apex of his imperial success. Instead, while traveling along the Danube frontier, Diocletian was struck by a severe malady that would fundamentally alter the trajectory of both his reign and the empire itself. Upon returning to his capital at Nicomedia, his condition deteriorated so rapidly that court officials feared for his life.

Lactantius provides a vivid and disturbing portrait of the emperor's condition during this period. From 304 to March 305 CE, Diocletian was so gravely ill that he could not appear before his subjects, creating unprecedented uncertainty about imperial succession and governance. When he finally did recover sufficiently to resume public appearances, the emperor who emerged was fundamentally changed. Lactantius describes him as having become "demens enim factus est"—essentially mad—with his mental state fluctuating unpredictably between periods of lucidity and episodes of complete irrationality ("at certain times he would become insane, at certain times he would become resipisceret").

This psychological instability rendered Diocletian incapable of providing the decisive leadership that the Ghassanid crisis demanded. The emperor who had once reorganized the entire imperial system and successfully managed multiple simultaneous threats was now a shadow of his former self, unable to formulate coherent policy responses to external challenges. In this context, the Ghassanid emir's request for assistance fell on deaf ears—not due to lack of strategic interest, but because the Roman leadership was simply incapable of effective action.

The tragic culmination of this failure came when the Ghassanid emir, abandoned by his Roman allies and facing the full might of Hormuzd's forces, fell in battle. This defeat represented not merely a tactical loss but a strategic catastrophe that would have lasting implications for Roman influence in the Arab borderlands.

The Complex Web of Arab Alliances with Rome and Iran

The death of the Ghassanid emir must be understood within the broader context of shifting Arab tribal allegiances that had been reshaping the political landscape since the establishment of the Sasanian Empire. According to the comprehensive historical analysis provided by Tabari, the rise of Sasanian power fundamentally altered the relationship between the Iranian state and the Arab tribes that had previously enjoyed considerable autonomy under Parthian rule.

The transition from Parthian to Sasanian governance represented more than a mere dynastic change; it constituted a fundamental shift in imperial philosophy and administrative practice. The Parthian system had been characterized by a relatively loose federal structure that allowed considerable autonomy to vassal kingdoms and tribal confederations. Local rulers maintained significant independence in their internal affairs while acknowledging Parthian suzerainty and providing military support when required.

The Sasanian Centralization Policy

The Sasanians, however, brought with them a radically different vision of imperial governance. Ardashir I, the founder of the dynasty, and his successors were committed to establishing a highly centralized state that would brook no independent centers of power. This new imperial ideology viewed autonomous tribal monarchies not as useful allies but as potential threats to royal authority that needed to be either fully integrated into the imperial system or eliminated entirely.

This philosophical shift had immediate and profound consequences for the Arab tribes of Mesopotamia and the Syrian borderlands. Many tribal leaders, recognizing that their traditional autonomy was incompatible with Sasanian administrative principles, began to explore alternative arrangements that might preserve their independence. Rome, locked in perpetual competition with Iran for influence in these strategically crucial regions, represented an attractive alternative patron.

The city of Hatra provides perhaps the most illustrative example of this dynamic. This important commercial and religious center, which had previously maintained a relatively comfortable relationship with Parthian overlords, found itself unable to accommodate Sasanian demands for complete submission. Consequently, Hatra concluded a formal alliance with Rome, hoping that Roman protection would preserve its autonomy against Sasanian encroachment.

The Lakhmid Alliance Strategy

Recognizing the dangerous precedent that widespread Arab defection might set, Ardashir developed a sophisticated counter-strategy based on co-opting key tribal leaders rather than simply suppressing all autonomous tendencies. The cornerstone of this policy was the cultivation of a special relationship with Amr ibn Uday, the chief of the Lakhmid confederation. This alliance represented a masterful diplomatic maneuver that would have lasting consequences for the balance of power in the region.

According to Tabari's detailed account, the partnership between the Sasanians and the Lakhmids was formalized during the reign of Shapur I, who appointed Amr al-Qays, the son of Amr ibn Uday, to serve as the primary Iranian agent for controlling Arab tribal affairs throughout Mesopotamia. This appointment was far more than a mere administrative convenience; it represented the creation of a crucial institutional mechanism for projecting Iranian influence throughout the Arab world while maintaining the fiction of local autonomy.

Tabari provides a fascinating portrait of this arrangement's evolution over time:

After the death of Amr ibn Uday, one of his sons, Nasr ibn Rabi'a, who was called Amr al-Qais al-Bad, was at that time one of the governors of Shapur, then Hormuz I and Bahram I, who ruled the border lands of the Arabs of Rabi'a, Mudar and other tribes living in the deserts of Iraq, the Hijaz and Mesopotamia. He was one of the first kings of the Nasr ibn Rabi'a dynasty and governors of the king of Iran to convert to Christianity.

This passage reveals several crucial aspects of the Lakhmid-Persian relationship. First, it demonstrates the remarkable longevity of the arrangement—Amr al-Qays served successive Iranian monarchs for approximately eighty years (though Tabari's figure of 114 years appears to be a copyist's error). Second, it shows how the Lakhmids managed to maintain their distinctive identity even while serving Iranian interests, as evidenced by Amr al-Qays's conversion to Christianity—a decision that would have been impossible under a more rigidly controlled administrative system.

The Namara Inscription: A Window into Arab Politics

The most remarkable archaeological evidence for understanding Amr al-Qays and his complex political maneuvering comes from the famous Namara inscription, discovered by R. Dussaud and F. Macler in 1901 in Jordan. This bilingual inscription, written in both Nabataean script and Arabic, provides unique insight into how this Arab ruler navigated the treacherous waters of Iranian-Roman competition.

James A. Bellamy's 1985 reading of the inscription, generally considered the most accurate interpretation, presents a fascinating portrait of Amr al-Qays's achievements and political orientation:

This is the tomb of Amr al-Qays, son of Amir, king of the Arabs, and his title was Amir al-Asad and al-Madhij. He overcame the Asadites, and they were defeated along with their king. And he then put the Madhijites to flight and drove them to the gates of Najran and the city of Shamar, and he suppressed the Ma'adites, and he treated the elders and tribes leniently and appointed them governors, and they became supporters of the Romans, and no king equaled him in his achievements. Then he died in the year 223 on the seventh day of Kaslul. May fortune be with those who were his friends.

This inscription reveals the remarkable complexity of Amr al-Qays's political position. While serving as a Iranian governor and maintaining loyalty to successive Sasanian monarchs, he simultaneously cultivated relationships with Rome and eventually positioned himself and his tribal confederation as Roman allies. This political transformation appears to have occurred during the troubled reign of Narseh, who came to power through the support of nobles opposed to Bahram III.

According to the analysis of Dignas and Winter, Amr al-Qays's shift toward Rome may have been connected to the broader political upheavals that accompanied Narseh's accession. Alternatively, it may have been a direct consequence of the Treaty of 298 CE, through which Narseh ceded significant territories to Rome, potentially including regions under Lakhmid influence.

Hormuzd II's Response and the Ghassanid Campaign

It was in this context of shifting tribal allegiances and competing imperial influences that Hormuzd II launched his decisive campaign against the Ghassanids. Having recognized that the Lakhmid alliance with Rome represented a serious threat to Iranian interests in the borderlands, Hormuzd moved quickly to reassert Sasanian control over the Lakhmid confederation and eliminate the competing Ghassanid power structure that had aligned itself with Roman interests.

The success of this campaign, culminating in the death of the Ghassanid emir, represented a significant strategic victory for Hormuzd II. By eliminating the Ghassanid leadership and forcing the Lakhmids back into the Iranian sphere of influence, he had effectively neutralized a major source of Roman power projection in the Arab world. The memory of this triumph was subsequently commemorated in the royal inscription at Naqsh-e Rustam, where Hormuzd II's victory over the Ghassanid emir was celebrated as one of the defining achievements of his reign.

The Broader Imperial Crisis and Diocletian's Abdication

The implications of Hormuzd II's victories extended far beyond the immediate military and diplomatic spheres, contributing to a broader crisis of confidence within the Roman imperial system. The persistent military pressure exerted by the revitalized Sasanian state, combined with Rome's demonstrated inability to protect its allies and interests in the eastern borderlands, appears to have played a crucial role in convincing Galerius that fundamental changes in imperial leadership were necessary.

According to several contemporary sources, it was Galerius who ultimately pressured Diocletian to abdicate his imperial responsibilities. While multiple factors contributed to this unprecedented decision, the military setbacks inflicted by Hormuzd II's campaigns undoubtedly played a significant role in convincing the caesar that the aging Augustus was no longer capable of effective leadership.

The timing of Diocletian's abdication in 305 CE, coming so soon after the Ghassanid debacle and Hormuzd's other military successes, suggests a direct causal relationship between Iranian victories and Roman political upheaval. However, the removal of Diocletian from power did not resolve Rome's fundamental problems but rather inaugurated a new period of instability and internal conflict.

The chaos that engulfed the Roman Empire following Diocletian's abdication persisted until Galerius's death in 311 CE, occurring just two years after Hormuzd II's own mysterious demise in 309 CE. According to Aurelius Victor, one of Diocletian's primary motivations for stepping down was "his foresight of the difficulties that were to come"—difficulties that undoubtedly included both the external military pressure from Hormuzd's revitalized Iranian state and the internal religious and social tensions that were simultaneously tearing at the fabric of Roman society.

Christian Upheaval and Military Discipline

Parallel to the external military pressures created by Hormuzd II's campaigns, the Roman Empire was grappling with an equally serious internal crisis involving the growing Christian population and their increasingly problematic relationship with traditional Roman military and civic obligations. The writings of Eusebius, the influential Christian historian and bishop, provide compelling evidence that Christian communities during this period were engaged in widespread civil disobedience, religious violence, and systematic rejection of established social customs and beliefs.

This Christian insurgency represented far more than mere religious dissent; it constituted a fundamental challenge to the ideological and practical foundations of Roman imperial governance. For Galerius, who was acutely aware of the Iranian interest in exploiting Christian sympathies, the timing of this religious crisis could not have been worse.

The Tertullianist Movement and Military Resistance

Among the most radical Christian groups during this period were the followers of Tertullian, a rigorist theologian who had developed an elaborate theological framework that explicitly rejected any accommodation with Roman imperial institutions. The Tertullianists, as they came to be known, represented the most extreme expression of Christian separatism, viewing themselves as soldiers in a cosmic battle between the forces of light and darkness.

Tertullian's theological writings provided a sophisticated intellectual foundation for Christian resistance to military service and civic participation. In his treatise "De Corona," he articulated a dualistic worldview that divided reality into two irreconcilable camps: the "camp of light" (castra lucis) representing Christian communities, and the "camp of darkness" (castra tenebrarum) representing all secular institutions, particularly the Roman military with its Mithraic religious practices.

According to J. Helgeland's analysis in "Christians and the Roman Army from Marcus Aurelius to Constantine," Tertullian's conceptual framework created a direct theological challenge to Roman military service:

When Tertullian speaks of the camp of light and the camp of darkness, in his view this is a comparison between the church, which meets in familiar and ordinary places... [and] the cult of Mithras, which often meets in underground and therefore dark catacombs.

This theological distinction had immediate practical implications for Christian participation in Roman military institutions. Tertullian explicitly rejected the legitimacy of any earthly oath of allegiance that might compete with a Christian's primary loyalty to Christ. His famous rhetorical question encapsulates this position perfectly: "Credimusne humanum sacramentum divino superduci licere?" (Is an oath to a man superior to an oath to God?)

The technical terminology employed by Tertullian reveals the sophisticated nature of his theological argument. The "sacramentum humanum" referred specifically to the military oath of allegiance that bound Roman soldiers to their commanders and ultimately to the emperor. This oath was considered sacred and inviolable within Roman legal and religious tradition. Tertullian's "sacramentum divinum," by contrast, referred to the baptismal promises that bound Christians to their divine Lord, Jesus Christ.

Documented Cases of Christian Military Resistance

The practical consequences of Tertullianist theology became increasingly apparent through numerous documented cases of Christian soldiers refusing to fulfill their military obligations. The bishop of Caesarea, capital of Cappadocia, recorded several particularly illustrative examples of such defiance that demonstrate both the extent and the systematic nature of Christian military resistance.

One of the most detailed accounts involves a young man named Maximilian from Theveste, whose case provides a window into the complex social and religious dynamics underlying Christian military resistance. Maximilian's father, a local landowner, was required to provide soldiers for the Roman army as part of his tax obligations to the state. Rather than hire a substitute, he sent his own son to fulfill this requirement—a decision that would have tragic consequences.

When Maximilian reported for military service, the standard administrative procedures immediately revealed the depth of his religious convictions. As commanding officers attempted to measure his height in accordance with military regulations—a routine step in the enlistment process—Maximilian made a declaration that would seal his fate: "Because I am a Christian, I cannot be a soldier."

The military authorities' response to this declaration reveals their growing frustration with Christian resistance. Rather than immediately dismissing Maximilian or seeking alternative arrangements, the commanding officer proceeded with the enlistment process, apparently hoping that the young man might reconsider his position. After completing the height measurement, they hung the traditional lead identification badge around his neck—a badge that contained his physical characteristics and military assignment.

Maximilian's response to this procedural step demonstrated the uncompromising nature of his religious convictions: "I will break this badge because I will not wear any badge around my neck except the badge of my God Jesus Christ." This statement was far more than mere religious preference; it represented a direct challenge to the fundamental symbols and procedures of Roman military authority.

The commanding officer made one final attempt to resolve the situation through persuasion rather than coercion. He explained to Maximilian that many other soldiers wore similar badges without compromising their religious beliefs, and that military service was perfectly compatible with Christian faith. This pragmatic approach had likely been successful in previous cases where Christian soldiers had been willing to compartmentalize their religious and military obligations.

However, Maximilian belonged to the Montanist sect, a rigorist Christian movement that shared many theological positions with the Tertullianists. His uncompromising stance left military authorities with no alternative but to impose the death penalty—a decision that transformed Maximilian into a Christian martyr and provided inspiration for other potential resisters.

The Spread of Christian Military Resistance

The case of Maximilian was unfortunately far from unique. Throughout the African provinces, where Tertullian's influence was particularly strong, Roman military authorities encountered increasing numbers of Christian soldiers who were willing to risk death rather than fulfill their military obligations. Another documented case involves a soldier named Marcellus, whose dramatic public rejection of military service occurred during an official celebration of the emperor's birthday.

During this ceremonial occasion, when all soldiers were expected to demonstrate their loyalty and enthusiasm for imperial authority, Marcellus instead chose to make a powerful symbolic gesture of defiance. In full view of his fellow soldiers and commanding officers, he threw down his arms and military belt while declaring: "I no longer obey your emperors, and I abhor your gods of wood and stone."

This public renunciation of military service was particularly shocking because it occurred during what should have been a moment of unified imperial celebration. Marcellus's reference to the "gods of wood and stone" was a direct attack on traditional Roman religious practices, including the military standards and imperial cult ceremonies that were integral to army discipline and morale.

The Scale of Christian Desertion

According to Eusebius, the problem of Christian military resistance extended far beyond isolated individual cases to encompass what appears to have been a systematic pattern of desertion and insubordination. His account, while undoubtedly influenced by his desire to portray Christians in a favorable light, nevertheless provides evidence of the serious challenges facing Roman military authorities:

A general had given his soldiers the choice of either giving up their religion or their military ranks. They thought it better to call on the name of Jesus and renounce worldly privileges.

While Eusebius's propaganda motivations require careful consideration, independent evidence suggests that his account captures a genuine crisis in military discipline. The fact that Roman commanders were forced to present such ultimatums indicates that Christian resistance had reached levels that threatened operational effectiveness and unit cohesion.

Civilian Christian Resistance and Urban Sabotage

The crisis extended beyond purely military spheres to encompass civilian institutions and urban infrastructure. Followers of Tertullian had developed a comprehensive theology of separation that rejected not only military service but also civic participation more generally. Tertullian's own writings provide the theological foundation for this broader resistance: "Nec ulla magis res aliena quam publica" (No subject is more foreign to us than that which concerns citizens).

This principle of civic non-participation had profound implications for Roman urban administration and infrastructure maintenance. Christian communities that embraced Tertullianist theology effectively removed themselves from the civic life that was essential to imperial governance. Even more seriously, some Christian groups appear to have engaged in what can only be described as sabotage of urban infrastructure and civilian institutions.

The extent of this civilian resistance was such that it attracted the attention of political philosophers centuries later. Hannah Arendt frequently quoted Tertullian's rejection of civic responsibility to illustrate the tensions between religious commitment and political participation that would continue to challenge Christian communities throughout history.

Internal Christian Conflicts and Institutional Breakdown

The challenges posed by Christian resistance were compounded by increasingly bitter conflicts within Christian communities themselves. The Council of Cirta in 305 CE, which should have been an occasion for Christian unity and spiritual reflection, instead became a venue for violent disputes and personal attacks among Christian bishops. These internal conflicts were a precursor to the emergence of the Donatist movement, led by Donatus Magnus, which would create even greater problems for Roman authorities in subsequent decades.

The Donatist controversy originated from disputes over how to treat Christians who had collaborated with Diocletian's persecution by surrendering religious texts for burning. Felix of Aptunga, acting on imperial orders, had provided such texts to Roman authorities, leading to fierce debates about whether Christians who had compromised their faith in this way could continue to serve as religious leaders.

The Donatists, who insisted that only morally pure individuals could serve as authentic Christian leaders, eventually became so disruptive that they effectively destroyed Roman administrative control over several African provinces. Their theological rigidity, combined with their willingness to use violence against both Roman authorities and fellow Christians who disagreed with them, created a volatile situation that would persist for generations.

Eusebius, writing with evident embarrassment about these internal Christian conflicts, provides a vivid portrait of the chaos that Christian factional disputes had created:

The freedom that was so pleasant to us caused us to lose our self-discipline. And war broke out among us with violent language. Bishop against bishop, and people against people. When Satanism reached its peak, the divine hand of God was raised to punish us... our religious leaders, hating the command of God, bitterly quarreled with each other, and challenged each other to the highest rank.

The intensity of these conflicts reached such levels that Eusebius felt compelled to acknowledge the shameful behavior of Christian martyrs themselves:

I will say nothing of the ambition of some, of their haste in blasphemous disputes, and of the differences and disputes of the martyrs themselves, which drove many of the followers out, and yet they themselves remained in the church.

The Mysterious Death of Hormuzd II and Its Aftermath

Against this backdrop of Roman internal chaos and Christian insurgency, Hormuzd II continued his military campaigns and diplomatic initiatives with considerable success. However, his reign came to an abrupt and mysterious end in 309 CE, under circumstances that suggest internal Iranian political intrigue rather than external military pressure.

The sudden death of Hormuzd II, occurring at the height of his military success and during a period when Roman resistance appeared to be collapsing, has led many historians to suspect that he fell victim to a palace conspiracy. The most likely perpetrators were members of the Zoroastrian priestly hierarchy, who may have been concerned about Hormuzd's policies toward religious minorities or his apparent willingness to exploit Christian sympathies for political advantage.

The Succession Crisis and Zoroastrian Counter-Revolution

The aftermath of Hormuzd II's death reveals the extent of internal opposition to his policies. His immediate successor, his son Adur Narseh, managed to hold power for only a few months before he too was killed by what contemporary sources describe as "the priests and their assistants." This rapid succession of violent deaths suggests a systematic campaign by Zoroastrian religious authorities to eliminate the entire royal line and install a more compliant ruler.

The thoroughness of this purge was remarkable. According to contemporary accounts, all of Hormuzd II's children were systematically hunted down and killed, with only one son managing to escape by fleeing to Rome. This survivor's refuge in Roman territory is itself significant, as it suggests that Hormuzd II's policies had indeed created sufficient goodwill with Christian communities and Roman authorities to make such sanctuary possible.

The dramatic conclusion to this succession crisis came with an extraordinary decision that underscores the desperation of the Zoroastrian establishment to maintain control while preserving the legitimacy of the Sasanian dynasty. According to Hamza of Isfahan, the crown of the kingdom was ceremonially hung over the bed of Hormuzd II's pregnant wife, symbolically placing the unborn child—who would become Shapur II—on the throne before his birth.

This unprecedented arrangement, which created the unique historical situation of a king who began his reign before his birth, demonstrates both the ingenuity and the desperation of the Zoroastrian priests who orchestrated the coup. By eliminating all existing male heirs while simultaneously preserving dynastic continuity through the unborn Shapur II, they managed to maintain the fiction of legitimate succession while ensuring that the new king would be completely dependent on their guidance and support during his minority.

The reign of Hormuzd II thus ended not with military defeat or natural death, but with a religious counter-revolution that eliminated a king whose policies had proved too successful for the comfort of traditional Zoroastrian elites. His victories against Rome and his sophisticated manipulation of Christian sympathies had created opportunities for Iranian expansion that the priestly hierarchy found threatening to their own power and influence.

The irony of this situation is profound. At the very moment when Roman internal chaos and Christian insurgency had created unprecedented opportunities for Itanian expansion, internal religious politics eliminated the one Iranian ruler who had demonstrated the vision and capability to exploit these opportunities effectively. The death of Hormuzd II thus represents one of history's great missed opportunities—a moment when the balance of power between the Roman and Iranian empires might have shifted decisively in favor of the Sasanians, had internal political considerations not intervened to prevent such an outcome.