For many people today, non-Christians and (low church) Christians alike, when they hear the word “Catholic”, certain images spring to mind: the Pope, the rosery, Catholic school, big old churches buildings, choirboys, maybe monks or statues of Mary even; and sadly more recently, sex abuse scandals.
But, generally speaking, all of these are actually aspects of Roman Catholicism — a particular branch of Christianity, and not what the word “catholic” truly means as we’ll see when examining how the early church used the word and what the original Greek word means.
The Greek word where we get the English word “catholic” from is καθολικός (katholikos) meaning “universal”, which comes from the Greek phrase καθόλου (katholou), meaning “on the whole”, “according to the whole” or “in general” (catholicus in Latin). In non-ecclesiastical use, it still retained its root meaning in English in some literature from the 1800s, though that usage has fallen out of common use in modern times.
The first Biblical[1] reference to the word is found in Acts 9:31 when speaking about “the church throughout [all] Judea, Galilee, and Samaria…”. The words “throughout” and “all” are καθ (κατά) and ὅλης (ὅλος) respectively in Greek, which together come to form the word καθολικός.
The earliest historical use of the word, in the context of the Church, is found in one of the letters of Ignatius to the Smyrnaeans, written around A.D. 107, where he writes:
Wherever the bishop shall appear, there let the multitude [of the people] also be; even as, wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church.
From here on we begin to see that the word “catholic” was used in reference to mean “orthodoxy” (the word “orthodox” means “right belief”) as opposed to the non-orthodox heretics who were then by definition not catholic as they were not ‘according to the whole’ which was, as Jude wrote, “the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 1:3). The Catholic Church, in its original and Apostolic sense, would have meant the entirety of the Body of Christ across the world, i.e., all the believers wherever they may be, rather than it being “universal” in the physical sense that the institution of “church” should be all encompassing (like as an official, global institution that all must attend). The difference may be subtle, but it’s an important one.
The development of doctrine about Jesus after Paul’s death, with all its commonalities and unifying features, is seen as an early form of “Catholicism” by modern scholars, which really begins in Ignatius (outside of the New Testament) and continues to grow and spread as time goes on, with the definition becoming more refined.
As we saw above, Ignatius was the earliest Christian writer we have who applied the word katholikos to the Church. Some people object to using Ignatius as evidence of this, as some of the letters attributed to him are considered spurious (not authentic), though scholarly opinion on this is fairly universal in which are genuine letters, as neither Eusebius nor Jerome makes any reference to the eight spurious epistles.
Justo L. Gonzalez explains in his book, The Story of Christianity: Volume 1: The Early Church to the Reformation, Volume One:
The original meaning of Catholic church referred to this episcopal collegiality, as well as with the multiform witness to the gospel in several canonical gospels. … It was the church “according to the whole,” that is, according to the total witness of all the apostles and all the evangelists. The various Gnostic groups were not “Catholic” because they could not claim this broad foundation. … Only the Church Catholic, the church “according to the whole,” could lay claim to the entire apostolic witness. (pp.81,82).
The other early uses that appear after Ignatius are in the Martyrdom of Polycarp (around AD 150), “…and to all the congregations of the Holy and Catholic Church in every place…”, and then also in the earliest New Testament list from around the second century,[2] the Muratorian fragment the phrase is found three times: “…in the esteem of the Church catholic …. received into the catholic Church … used in the catholic Church …”.
From here on we see the phrase occurring in more and more writers from the second century onward, such as Tertullian A.D. 200 (The Prescription Against Heretics XXX), Clement of Alexandria A.D. 202 (The Stromata 7:17), Cyril of Jerusalem A.D. 315–386 (Catechetical Lectures, XVIII, 26), Jerome A.D. 418 (writing to Augustine), and Augustine of Hippo A.D. 354–430 (Against the Epistle of Manichaeus called Fundamental, ch. IV). Then we have Vincent of Lérins, who famously wrote in A.D. 434:
…in the Catholic Church itself, all possible care must be taken, that we hold that faith which has been believed everywhere, always, by all. For that is truly and in the strictest sense Catholic, which, as the name itself and the reason of the thing declare, comprehends all universally. (Commonitorium, ch. II)
Another interesting use of term appears in the Edict of Thessalonica, Theodosian Code XVI.i.2 (A.D. 380), where Theodosius I, emperor from 379 to 395, declared “Catholic” Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire for those who “believe in the one Deity of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, in equal majesty and in a holy Trinity” and that they should “assume the title Catholic Christians”. All others will be “branded with the ignominious name of heretics”.
Overall, from the earliest writers to the emperor in the fourth century, the phrase “church catholic” referred only to those Christians and Churches who held to the ancient traditions passed on by the Apostles and evangelists (Gospels), and to those doctrines which were known as having apostolic origin. This view was more formally solidified by the words added to the end of the original Nicene Creed of A.D. 325 (“And whosoever shall say that there was a time when the Son of God was not … the Catholic and Apostolic Church anathematizes them.”) and also its revision in the Nicene-Constantinople Creed of A.D. 381 (“And we believe in one, holy, catholic and Apostolic Church.”), where you could call Nicene Christianity the “catholic faith”.
During the fourth century, a controversy appeared bringing schism with it in Carthage, when two bishops appeared, one in competition and opposition to the other. The Donatists, named after Donatus, were unlike any other group or heresy which had come before, as their error was not in the nature of Christ or some other aspect of Christology, but rather about ecclesiology.[3] Donatists claimed to represent the true Church and took for themselves the title of “catholic”. This struck against the historical, orthodox Church, which had been universally known as “the catholic church” (ἡ καθολική ἐκκλησία). The Donatists set about to create marks upon which catholicity could be tested—marks that were obviously only found within their congregations (such as the integrity of the believers, and purity and holiness of the community). This forced the historic Church to respond and find an answer to the question “What and where is the one Church?”. Optatus, the legitimate bishop of Carthage, refuted Donatus, interestingly, by using as his defence the fact that their churches were all in communion with the See of Rome. The Donatists were confined to a small area of North Africa and not in communion with Rome, which meant a breakaway from the chair of Peter and therefore unable to claim the name “catholic” as they were anything but. After this, Augustine came on the scene and was a relentless critic of the Donatists, building upon Optatus’ refutations, explaining that the true Church is the one Vine, whose branches are over all the earth. Eventually, this all lead to the schism being quashed in 410.
In contemporary usage, the phrase “Catholic Church” (usually capitalised) brings to mind, for many, the Roman Catholic Church specifically. How did this perception shift from meaning the whole Church body to one particular branch of Christianity?
In the early days of Christianity, “Catholicism” was a broad term which encompassed both the Eastern and Western empire of the Greeks and Latins, respectively. The Western Church had its capital in Rome, while the Eastern in Constantinople, and the whole body of believers had the five main Bishops of the following regions, who were known as Patriarchs, overseeing them: Jerusalem, Antioch, Alexandria, Rome, and Constantinople. Despite disagreements, catholicity, or unity, was somewhat kept across both Eastern and Western churches until rising tensions beginning around the 9th century finally came to a head in the 11th century resulting in what is now known as The Great Schism, traditionally dated A.D. 1054[4] (sometimes called the East-West Schism).
There were a variety of doctrinal factors leading up to this point mainly consisting of: the procession of the Holy Spirit (also known as the filioque controversy), if leavened or unleavened bread should be used in the Eucharist, the prominence of the See of Constantinople in the “Pentarchy”[5] and, a major sticking point, the claim to universal jurisdiction by the Bishop of Rome. Out of the five Patriarchs (or “sees”[6]), Rome was considered “first among equals” for the prominence and pre-eminence of Rome both within the Empire and within Christianity as a place of the Apostle Peter’s bishopric.
After the Great Schism, both Eastern and Western churches regarded themselves as “catholic”, but the West recognised only the Pope in Rome as their sole leader, whereas the East continued with their historically recognised Patriarchs, and both sides thought of the other as “not catholic” or “schismatics” for various theological reasons mostly related to the Filioque.
Due to the split, the two sides of the Church came to be known under different names to differentiate them: the Roman Catholic Church (as its centre was now officially only in Rome), and the Orthodox Catholic Church which is more commonly known as the Eastern Orthodox Church. Both claiming to be “catholic” and the true lineage of the ancient Apostolic Church (usually in conjunction with Apostolic Succession[7]), yet both rejecting the others claims and doctrine and having no universal unity at all, which the name “Catholic” should imply.
Although, historically, a fair bit out of the scope of the title of this paper, it bears mentioning some modern usages to bring this case to a close with a more satisfying sense of completion. After the Protestant Reformation in the 16th Century when groups of churches, monks and bishops across Europe broke away from the church in Rome, some of the resulting groups have reclaimed the name “catholic”. Lutherans, Anglicans, and some Methodists claim to be “catholic” in the ancient sense, believing themselves to be in continuity with the original Apostolic and universal church and in keeping with the faith as defined by the Nicene Creed, yet despite this, the phrase “Catholic Church” has been pervasive in the minds of the general populace as meaning only the Roman or Western church and nothing more.
As we can see, the word and meaning of “Catholic” is not so simple or straight-forward. It has a very wide history with a lot of nuances, and although the Roman Church has laid claim to the name, it is certainly not it’s only meaning or definition. Some qualification of terms is often needed (or should be) when speaking to Christians of various denominational backgrounds, in order to help people to see the wider, and more historical context, of the “one holy, catholic and apostolic Church”.
[1] The Greek words which make up our English word “universal” in this sense, had been around as a concept in Greek long before Christianity. Aristotle (d. 322 B.C.) wrote in this On Interpretation, 17a: “I call universal (καθόλου) that which is by its nature predicated of a number of things, and particular (καθ᾿ ἕκαστον) that which is not; man, for instance, is a universal, Callias a particular”
[2] The traditional second century date still holds the biggest following amongst scholars, though there are some who propose a fourth century date, claiming it would be more suited to that period when NT lists were quite common, which is appears to parallel. Still, others argue that the fragment isn’t a canon list at all, but an introduction to the New Testament, similar to the Marcionite prologues, which would suit the second century date better. The debate is still unsettled on this matter. (The Biblical Canon Lists from Early Christianity, pp.175-177)
[3] The Donatists refused to accept the sacraments and spiritual authority of the priests and bishops who had fallen away from the faith during the Diocletian persecution (A.D. 303–305).
[4] Even though there was a long period of time when the Eastern and Western churches had a resentful relationship, the date of 1054 is commonly taken as the beginning of the schism, as it is when Pope Leo IX and Michael Cerularius had major disagreements resulting in their mutual excommunication. The Crusades, eventual capture of Constantinople in 1204, and the establishment of a Latin Patriarchate replacing the Eastern Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarchate, rendered all later efforts of unity between East and West by the Church Councils of Lyons (1274) and Florence (1439), of no effect.
[5] Pentarchy, in early Byzantine Christianity, the proposed government of universal Christendom by five patriarchal sees under the auspices of a single universal empire. (Britannica, Pentarchy)
[6] A diocese or territory over which a bishop rules. (Catholic Dictionary)
[7] The Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Old Catholic, Swedish Lutheran, and Anglican churches accept the doctrine of apostolic succession and believe that the only valid ministry is based on bishops whose office has descended from the Apostles. (Britannica, Apostolic succession)
Find this article on Academia.edu too: (PDF) The origins and meaning of the word "catholic" in early Christianity | Luke J . Wilson - Academia.edu
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Luke J. Wilson | 05th May 2025 | Politics
When we think about David and Saul, we often focus on David’s rise to kingship or his battle with Goliath. But hidden within that story is a deep lesson for today’s generation about leadership, resistance, and the power of revolutionary love. At a recent youth training event (thanks to South West Youth Ministries), I was asked how I would present the story of David and Saul to a Christian teenage youth group. My mind turned to the politics of their relationship, and how David accepted Saul’s leadership, even when Saul had gone badly astray. David recognised that Saul was still God’s anointed king — placed there by God Himself — and that it was not David’s place to violently remove him. Gen-Z are more politically aware and engaged than previous generations, and are growing up in a world where politics, leadership, and social issues seem impossible to escape. We live in a world where political leaders — whether Trump, Putin, Starmer, or others — are often seen as examples of failed leadership. It’s easy to slip into bitterness, cynicism, or violent rhetoric. These kids are immersed in a culture of activism and outrage. As Christians, we’re called to care deeply about truth and justice and approach leadership differently from the world around us (Hosea 6:6; Isaiah 1:17; Micah 6:8). The story of David and Saul offers pertinent lessons for our modern lives. Respect Without Endorsement David’s respect for Saul was not blind loyalty. He did not agree with Saul’s actions, nor did he ignore Saul’s evil. David fled from Saul’s violence; he challenged Saul’s paranoia; he even cut the corner of Saul’s robe to prove he had the chance to kill him but chose not to. Yet throughout, David refused to take matters into his own hands by force. Why? Because David understood that even flawed authority ultimately rested in God’s hands, he trusted that God would remove Saul at the right time. This is echoed later in the New Testament when Paul writes in Romans 13 that “there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God”, something even Jesus reminded Pilate of during his trial (John 19:10–11). In other words, even flawed leadership can be part of God’s bigger plan, whether for blessing or discipline. Even when leaders go bad, our call as believers is to maintain integrity, respect the position, and resist evil through righteousness — not rebellion. David and Saul: A Lesson in Respect and Restraint Saul was Israel’s first king — anointed by God but later corrupted by pride, fear, and violence. David, chosen to succeed him, spent years running for his life from Saul’s jealous rage. One day, David found Saul alone and vulnerable in a cave. His men urged him to strike Saul down and end the conflict. But David refused: “I will not raise my hand against my lord; for he is the Lord’s anointed.” (1 Samuel 24:10) Instead of killing Saul, David cut off a piece of his robe to prove he could have harmed him, but didn’t. In doing so, he demonstrated a real form of nonviolent resistance. He stood firm against Saul’s injustice without resorting to injustice himself, and acted in a way that could try to humble Saul instead. Peacemaking Is Not Passivity There is a modern misconception that peacemaking means doing nothing and just letting injustice roll all over us. But true biblical peacemaking is not passive; it actively resists evil without becoming evil. Interestingly, David’s actions toward Saul also foreshadow the type of nonviolent resistance Jesus later taught. When Jesus commanded His followers to turn the other cheek, go the extra mile, and love their enemies, he was not calling for passive submission but offering what scholar Walter Wink describes as a “third way” — a bold, peaceful form of resistance that uses what he calls “moral jiu-jitsu” to expose injustice without resorting to violenc...
Luke J. Wilson | 21st April 2025 | Easter
Over the years, I’ve encountered many Christians who’ve quoted from Alexander Hislop’s The Two Babylons as if it were a solid historical resource. The book claims that the Roman Catholic Church is not truly Christian but rather a continuation of ancient Babylonian religion. It’s self-assured and sweeping, and for many people, it seems to explain everything, from Marian devotion to Lent and Easter, to Christmas, as rooted in paganism. But is it accurate? In short: no, it really isn’t. Hislop’s work is a classic example of 19th-century pseudohistory — a polemical piece, written to prove a point, not to explore any historical truth. Flawed Methods and Wild Claims Hislop argues that most Catholic practices — from the Mass and clerical robes to festivals like Christmas and Easter — were somehow borrowed from Babylonian religion. The problem being that Hislop doesn’t rely on primary sources or credible historical data. Instead, he draws connections based on word similarities (like Easter and Ishtar) or visual resemblances (like Mary and child compared with mother-goddess statues from ancient cultures). But phonetic resemblance isn’t evidence, and neither is visual similarity. For example, if I say “sun” and “son” in English, they may sound alike, but they aren’t the same thing. That’s the level of reasoning at work in much of The Two Babylons. Hislop often lumps together completely different ancient figures — Isis, Semiramis, Ishtar, Aphrodite — as if they were all just variations of the same deity. He then tries to say Mary is just the Christian version of this pagan goddess figure. But there’s no credible evidence for that at all. Mary is understood through the lens of Scripture and Christian theology, not through pagan myth. The earliest depictions of Mary and the Christ-child date back to the second century and do not resemble any of the pagan idols. But, again, the common accusations are based on superficial similarities of a woman nursing a child. That’s going to look the same no matter who or what does that! Oldest depiction of Mary. Dura-Europos Church, Syria, 2nd century What About Lent and Tammuz? One of Hislop’s more popular claims is that Lent comes from a Babylonian mourning ritual for the god Tammuz, mentioned in Ezekiel 8:14. He argues that early Christians borrowed the 40-day mourning period and just rebranded it. But this doesn’t line up with the evidence. Lent developed as a time of fasting and repentance leading up to Easter — especially for new believers preparing for baptism. The number forty comes from Scripture: Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness, Moses’ fast on Sinai, and Elijah’s journey to Horeb. Church Fathers like Irenaeus and Athanasius saw it as a time for self-denial and spiritual renewal — not mourning a pagan god. Yes, there are pagan festivals that involve seasonal death and rebirth stories. But similarity does not mean origin. If that logic held, then even Jesus’ resurrection would be suspect because pagan cultures also told resurrection-like stories. Yet the gospel stands apart — not because of myth but because of history and revelation. Why Hislop’s Work Persists Even though The Two Babylons is poor scholarship, it’s unfortunately had a long shelf life. That’s partly because it appeals to a certain kind of suspicion. If you’re already sceptical about the Catholic Church, Hislop offers an easy explanation: “It’s all pagan!”. But history isn’t ever that simple. And theology — especially the theology handed down through the ages by the faithful— isn’t built on conspiracy and apparent obscure connections, but on Christ and the truth of the Scriptures. Interestingly, even Ralph Woodrow, a minister who once wrote a book defending Hislop’s ideas, later retracted his views after digging deeper into the evidence. He eventually wrote a book called The Babylon Connect...
Darwin to Jesus | 16th April 2025 | Atheism
Guest post by Darwin to Jesus Dostoevsky famously said, “If there is no God, then everything is permitted.” For years, as an atheist, I couldn’t understand what he meant, but now I do… Here’s a simple analogy that shows why only theism can make sense of morality: Imagine you just got hired at a company. You show up, set up your desk, and decide to use two large monitors. No big deal, right? But then some random guy walks up to you and says: “Hey, you’re not allowed to do that.” You ask, “What do you mean?” They say, “You’re not permitted* to use monitors that big.” In this situation, the correct response would be: “Says who?” We’ll now explore the different kinds of answers you might hear — each one representing a popular moral theory without God — and why none of them actually work. Subjective Morality The random guy says, “Well, I personally just happen to not like big monitors. I find them annoying.” Notice that’s not a reason for you to change your setup. Their personal preferences don’t impose obligations on you. This is what subjective morality looks like. It reduces morality to private taste. If this were the answer, you’d be correct to ignore this person and get back to work — big monitors are still permitted. Cultural Relativism Instead, they say, “It’s not just me — most people here don’t use big monitors. It’s not our culture.” That’s cultural relativism: right and wrong are just social customs, what is normal behavior. But notice customs aren’t obligations. If the culture were different, the moral rule would be different, which means it isn’t really moral at all. You might not fit in. You might not be liked. But you’re still permitted to use big monitors. Emotivism Here after being asked “says who?” the person just blurts out, “Boo, big monitors!” You reply, “Hurrah, big monitors!” That’s the entire conversation. This is emotivism. On this moral theory when we talk about right and wrong we’re actually just expressing our personal feelings towards actions, I boo rape, you hurrah rape. But shouting “boo!” at someone doesn’t create real obligations. You’re still permitted to use large monitors. Utilitarianism Here, the person says, “Your big monitors lower the overall productivity of the office. You’re not permitted to use them because they lead to worse consequences.” This is utilitarianism: morality is based on producing the greatest happiness for the greatest number. But even if that’s true — so what? Who says you’re obligated to maximize group productivity? And what if your monitors actually help you work better? Utilitarianism might tell you what leads to better outcomes, but it doesn’t tell you why you’re morally obligated to follow that path — especially if it comes at your own expense. You’re still permitted to use large monitors. Virtue Ethics Here they say, “Using big monitors just doesn’t reflect the virtues we admire here — simplicity, humility, restraint.” This is virtue ethics. Morality is about becoming the right kind of person. But who defines those virtues? And why are you obligated to follow them? What if your idea of a virtuous worker includes productivity and confidence? Without a transcendent standard, virtues are just cultural preferences dressed up in moral language. If you don’t care about virtue or their arbitrary standards, then you have no obligation. You’re still permitted to use large monitors. Atheist Moral Realism But what if they say, “Listen, there’s a rule. It’s always been here. It says you can’t use monitors that large.” You ask, “Who made the rule?” They say, “No one.” You ask, “Who owns this company?” They say, “No one owns it. The company just exists.” You look around and ask, “Where is the rule?” They say, “You won’t find it w...
Luke J. Wilson | 09th April 2025 | History
We often hear that Jesus was “about 33 years old” when he was crucified and only had a three-year ministry. But have you ever wondered how precise that number is, or why we assume that was his age, especially when Scripture doesn’t specify? Table of Contents The Gospel of Luke: “About Thirty” Early Church Testimony: Irenaeus and the Longer Ministry Historical Anchors: Birth, Pilate, and the Crucifixion Window The Death of Herod Cross-referencing with Pilate, Caiaphas, and Jesus When Did Tiberius Begin to Reign? 1. From his co-regency with Augustus (AD 11–12) 2. From the death of Augustus (AD 14) How Does This Affect Jesus’ Age and Ministry Start? Astronomy and the Timing of Passover Estimated Lengths of Jesus’ Ministry Why This Matters In Summary Further Reading I’ve long wondered about this, especially when the Pharisees accused Jesus of not being close to fifty, which seems odd if he was only in his early 30s. Then I later discovered Irenaeus also had similar thoughts in the second century, and the plot thickened! I’ve had this rumbling around in the back of my mind for a few years now and slowly chewed it over. So now I’m going to try and present the evidence, rather than rely solely on tradition and assumptions, and piece together what the Gospels, early Church Fathers, historical data, and even astronomy can tell us about the potential age of Jesus and the length of his ministry. What follows is a deeper, richer look at the life and death of Jesus and what we can learn by following the evidence. The Gospel of Luke: “About Thirty” Luke 3:23 tells us plainly: Jesus was about thirty years old when he began his work. This statement has historically been the anchor point for dating Jesus’ ministry. Most take this to mean he was around 30 at his baptism, which marked the beginning of his public ministry. Something to bear in mind here is that Luke isn’t exact and only says “about thirty”, so he could have been slightly younger or older at the time. But being around the age of 30 would align with the requirements of priests, which Jesus was also fulfilling the role of (Hebrews 2:17; Numbers 4:1–4; Numbers 8:23–25). But from there, it’s traditionally assumed that Jesus ministered for just three years before his death, mainly based on the Gospel of John, which mentions three Passovers (John 2:13, 6:4, 11:55). However, John also says at the end of his Gospel in John 21:25: But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. This is a clear reminder, even if John is being hyperbolic here: not everything was recorded. Considering that the Synoptic Gospels only mention one Passover, the number of Passovers we read about in John may not reflect the total number Jesus experienced during his ministry. They may also serve a theological point (three being a prominent number in Scripture) rather than a chronological one. Early Church Testimony: Irenaeus and the Longer Ministry In the second century, Irenaeus, bishop of Lyon and disciple of Polycarp (who had also known the Apostle John and was likely his disciple), made an interesting claim about the age of Jesus — and backed it up by saying it was verified by the Apostle John himself! In Against Heresies (2.22.4–6), Irenaeus wrote: …our Lord possessed [old age] while He still fulfilled the office of a Teacher, even as the Gospel and all the elders testify, those who were conversant in Asia with John, the disciple of the Lord, [affirming] that John conveyed to them that information. … Some of them, moreover, saw not only John but the other apostles also, and heard the same account from them, and bear testimony to this statement. He argued that the line in John 8:57: Then the Jews said to him, ‘You are not yet fifty years old, and have you seen Abraha...
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