[Evangelion]

Prologue

During the years AD 318 and 319, a Libyan presbyter was found to profess a controversial definition of the pre-existent Christ and his relation to God the Father. His name was Arius, a Libyan priest whose theological formation had been obtained not at the school of Alexandria but in Syrian Antioch, under the Antiochene priest Lucian. While Arius’ ideas met with immediate opposition by contemporary theologians, he did succeed in obtaining a considerable following among laity and clergy alike. Indeed, it is estimated that at one point Arianism was confessed by at least thirty percent of the church.

Contrary to popular belief, the ensuing debate was not the result of an official position being challenged (for the church of Arius’ day had no definitive doctrine of Christ); instead, it was the result of an older Christology fighting to keep itself alive against the innovative thinking of powerful and influential churchmen.

In AD 325, the emperor Constantine presided over the Council of Nicaea, at which Arianism was rejected and an authoritative Christological creed (known today as the Nicene Creed) agreed upon by the majority. But this was not the end of the controversy, nor even the beginning of the end; it was merely the end of the beginning. In the years which followed, Arianism continued to spread. It was still alive in AD 381, when the Council of Constantinople attempted to plug the theological gaps which Nicaea had left open, and would remain the normative belief among the Gothic tribes for several centuries to come.

In the words of Henry Chadwick:

It was the misfortune of the fourth-century church that it became engrossed in a theological controversy at the same time as it was working out its institutional organisation. The doctrinal disagreements quickly became inextricably associated with matters of order, discipline, and authority. Above all, they became bound up with the gradually growing tension between the Greek East and the Latin West.

During the first half of the century the Arian leaders in the East were able to use this tension to build a considerable united front among the Greek churches, and they had the support of a tolerant emperor, first Constantius II (337-61) and then Valens (364-78). Moreover, the manner in which Arianism was finally overcome in the East was as such to ensure that even after the controversy was over the tension between East and West was continued.

How this came about will be clear from the story. [1]

The Arian controversy is important on two levels: the theological and the historical. Theological because it reveals the increasingly formal processes under which doctrine was formulated in the post-Apostolic era and explains why so much of this doctrine was patently unBiblical; political because it helps us to understand how (and why) the church changed so radically after the conversion of Constantine.

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Arianism

It is not easy to determine the precise nature of Arius' heresy. Stuart G. Hall explains why:

The true nature of the original issue is clouded. Modern theologians have read into Arianism whatever views they themselves particularly abominate. Our ancient sources reveal other problems. First, what we have of Arius' own writing is meagre, and even these documents are preserved by his critics, and selected to be damaging, if not actually misquoted or misconstrued.

Secondly, his critics often attribute to him views which he never stated: the most famous is, "There was once when he [the Son] was not." There can be no doubt that if he had ever written that, he would have been quoted direct.

Thirdly, the dispute about Arius led to divisions between churchmen over many other issues, both ecclesiastical (such as the alleged episcopal tyranny of Athanasius) and theological (such as whether the Son is like the Father or unlike him), and much of this is called the "Arian controversy", even though Arius had nothing directly to do with the issues. Arius is not Arianism, as generally understood.

His surviving letters, and the poem called Thalia, show that he thought of himself as a conservative, treading in the footsteps of pious teachers, and following the doctrine of his bishop. He held that there is...

"one God, alone unbegotten, alone everlasting, alone unbegun..." (Letter to Alexander, New Eusebius 326)

...and that the Son of God makes his father known by being different:

"We call him [the Father] Unbegotten because of the one in nature begotten; we raise hymns to him as Unbegun because of the one born in time." (Thalia, II 3-5 [New Eusebius 330.] [2]

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Hall's analysis is confirmed by another Christian professor; Dr. John C. McDowell. In an otherwise cogently argued dissertation, McDowell struggles (with limited success) to clarify the Arian position:

Over a century ago Newman innovatively argued that Arius stood in a tradition stretching back to Paul of Samosata through Lucian of Antioch. Arius was thus an adoptionist, as indeed he was accused of being by several 4th century critics, entertaining a ‘low view’ of a Christ "exalted into a God", and reading the title ‘son of God’ in the Old Testament sense of one specially chosen by God to perform some task.

[...]

By virtue of an obedient life, lived by grace, Jesus, as the proto-typical human being and or representative creature, received divine grace and favour, and was thus exalted at his resurrection, becoming a Son. The Son was one with the Father, then, not in essence but in will. Hence Christ was ontologically a creature and not God, and it was for this reason that the Arians stressed his mutability. When Arius and his companions spoke of the Christ, they thought of a being called into existence by the divine will, a creature finite in knowledge and morally changeable.

[...]

This was no blatant adoptionism, however, for Arius taught a pre-existent Logos. [3]

McDowell’s use of the term “adoptionism” is unjustified for two reasons:

(a) Adoptionism requires that Jesus’ Sonship is purely symbolic, being no longer predicated upon a special act of creation (as Arius actually believed) or a miraculous conception (as the Bible teaches.)

(b) Adoptionism was categorically rejected by a vital clause in the 6th Arian Creed of AD 351:

(27.) And in accurate delineation of the idea of Christianity we say this again; Whosoever shall not say that Christ is God, Son of God, as being before ages, and having subserved the Father in the framing of the Universe, but that from the time that He was born of Mary, from thence He was called Christ and Son, and took an origin of being God, be he anathema. [4]

According to the Arians, then, Christ is God’s Son by virtue of the fact that he was begotten “before all ages”; he is “God, Son of God” because he has his being directly from the Father. Those who reject this idea (claiming instead that Christ’s Sonship began with his birth by Mary, or at some later date) are uncompromisingly anathematised.

McDowell concedes that the Arian Christ was pre-existent, but attempts to mitigate the fact by insisting that

…this was more out of necessity since it played no important theological role.

Yet the Arians conceived of Christ as a sublime creature born outside time, who was – by the Father’s delegation – responsible for the creation of all that exists, including time itself.

Contrary to McDowell’s claim, therefore, the pre-existence of Christ was an absolute necessity for the Arian school of thought and played a major theological role. For, like Philo, Justin, Irenaeus and many others, the Arians required a Christian equivalent of the Hellenic Demiurge in order that the Supreme Being might be kept at a comfortable distance from His creation.

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The precise definition of Arianism has been further obscured by a rather unhelpful argument from Jaroslav Pelikan, who claims that the Arians literally worshipped Christ (just as their opponents did.) The implications of his argument necessitate a temporary digression, which now follows.

Pelikan asserts:

The Arians found prayer to the Logos an unavoidable element of Christian worship.

[...]

From the attacks of orthodox writers like Ambrose it is clear that the Arians refused to abandon the practice of worshiping Christ; 'else, if they do not worship the Son, let them admit it, and the case is settled, so that they do not deceive anyone by their professions of religion.' [5]

But this is not sufficient to prove Pelikan's point. In fact, the ambiguity of the situation is clearly demonstrated by the quote from Ambrose, who questions whether they worship the Son or not. Such scant evidence can hardly be advanced in support of the theory that the Arians worshipped Christ as God.

This becomes even more obvious when we examine Ambrose’ words in context:

69. But if the Arians believe Him to be a strange God, why do they worship Him, when it is written: "Thou shall worship no strange God"?

Else, if they do not worship the Son, let them confess thereto, and the case is at an end,--that they deceive no one by their professions of religion.

This, then, we see, is the witness of the Scriptures. If you have any others to produce, it will be your business to do so. [6]

Ambrose is clearly struggling to define the Arian position. He thinks that they might worship the Son, but he cannot be sure. Thus, he requests that they clarify the point.

His primary concern

Else, if they do not worship the Son, let them confess thereto, and the case is at an end--that they deceive no one by their professions of religion.

is that they have not actually confessed to worshipping the Son. (Hence his keen desire for an answer.) Ambrose has no solid evidence that they worship the Son – all he has at this stage is their “professions of religion”, which (by his own admission) tell him little.

In a later section he writes:

103. But in any case let our private judgment pass: let us enquire of Paul, who, filled with the Spirit of God, and so foreseeing these questionings, hath given sentence against pagans in general and Arians in particular, saying that they were by God's judgment condemned, who served the creature rather than the Creator.

Thus, in fact, you may read: "God gave them over to the lusts of their own heart, that they might one with another dishonour their bodies, they who changed God's truth into a lie, and worshipped and served the thing created rather than the Creator, Who is God, blessed for ever."

104. Thus Paul forbids me to worship a creature, and admonishes me of my duty to serve Christ. It follows, then, that Christ is not a created being. [7] The Apostle calls himself "Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ," and this good servant, who acknowledges his Lord, will likewise have us not worship that which is created.

How, then, could he have been himself a servant of Christ, if he thought that Christ was a created person? Let these heretics, then, cease either to worship Him Whom they call a created being, or to call Him a creature, Whom they feign to worship, lest under colour of being worshippers they fall into worse impiety. For a domestic is worse than a foreign foe, and that these men should use the Name of Christ to Christ's dishonour increaseth their guilt. [8]

Here again we see Ambrose’ confusion as he attempts to define the Arian position. Do they believe that Christ is a creature? Apparently so. Do they worship him? That is less clear.

It would seem that some Arians did (or at least, allowed others to believe that they did so; probably for the sake of avoiding excommunication) but Ambrose is highly sceptical, dismissing their alleged worship as “feigned.”

What he wants to see is open, unashamed worship of the Son as Deity – and yet, that is precisely what the Arians are not doing.

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It is also interesting to note that although Ambrose frequently compares the Arians with pagans (implying that they are really polytheists and not Christians at all), he has no concrete evidence for such a claim, and so does not press it. Indeed, when Arius was first excommunicated, he was condemned as an “atheist” and not as a polytheist (a charge which would certainly have been laid if he and his fellows had actually worshipped Christ).

Remember also that second- or third-hand accounts of various religious practices by those who did not subscribe to those practices, are frequently inaccurate. Pliny, for example, wrote that the early Christians “sang hymns to Christ as to a god” – but this was merely his interpretation of events, and not an accurate description of what transpired at Christian meetings. In like manner, Tertullian records that many pagans of his day believed the Christians to be sun-worshippers because they met on Sunday and prayed towards the east.

Lacking a substantial argument, therefore, Ambrose employs the simple expedient of ridiculing Arius with misquoted Scripture. His childish misappropriation of Romans 1:25 (“…and worshipped and served the thing created rather than the Creator”) is a shocking abuse of context, because the verse was originally written against the pagan practices of animism and idol-worship, as verse 23 clearly establishes:

And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things.

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The Christology for which Arius was so vehemently criticised, therefore, may be summarised in the following points:

• Jesus is created by God via an incomprehensible generation; while he exists as a magnificent, superlative divine being, he is definitely not God Himself.
  
  
  
• As a created being (though still not a “creature” as such) Jesus is not worshipped; nevertheless he may be revered as the pinnacle of God's creation.
  
  
  
• Jesus is immortal, but not eternal; he exists by the will of the Father, and (while on Earth, as a man) was subject to the weaknesses of mortal men.

Though known today as “Arianism”, we shall see that this heretical belief had actually been expressed in various forms by early church fathers of good repute using similar and (in some cases) identical language.

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Arius and Origenism

Born in Libya around AD 250, Arius had studied at the feet of Lucian, presbyter of Antioch, who was later martyred for his faith. Lucian himself had studied under Paul of Samosata at one time, but had not embraced his Christology. Instead he followed in the footsteps of Justin Martyr and Origen, seeing the Son of God as a superlative divine being, yet something less than God Himself.

The following citation will prove instructive. While the narrative is Origen’s (it comes from his exchange with Heraclides, a prominent bishop who had rejected the pre-existence and deity of Christ until persuaded by Origen), the thoughts are essentially no different to those which Lucian would have professed:

Origen: Is the Father God?

Heraclides: Assuredly.

Origen: Is the Son distinct from the Father?

Heraclides: Of course. How can he be Son if he is also Father?

Origen: While being distinct from the Father, is the Son also God?

Heraclides: He himself is also God.

Origen: And do two Gods become a unity?

Heraclides: Yes.

Origen: Do we confess two Gods?

Heraclides: Yes. The power is one. [10]

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The significance of Origen as a forerunner of Arius cannot be overlooked. Almost a century before the Council of Nicaea, the great Alexandrian had written:

For if the Son do, in like manner, all these things which the Father doth, then, in virtue of the Son doing all things like the Father, is the image of the Father formed in the Son, who is born of Him, like an act of His will proceeding from the mind.

And I am therefore of the opinion that the will of the Father alone ought to be sufficient for the existence of that which He wishes to exist. For in the exercise of His will He employs no other way than that which is made known by the council of His will. And thus also the existence of the Son is generated by Him. [11]

In the 3rd Century Origen penned these words with total impunity; in the 4th Century Arius would be excommunicated for repeating their substance, so far had Christology travelled in so short a time.

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Though decried as heretical today, Origen’s view was common to many of the early fathers, as a prominent Catholic scholar has shown:

The Christian writers of the second and third centuries considered the Logos as the eternal reason of the Father, but as having at first no distinct existence from eternity; he received this only when the Father generated him from within his own being and sent him to create the world and rule over the world.

The act of generation then was not considered as an eternal and necessary life-act but as one which had a beginning in time, which meant that the Son was not equal to the Father, but subordinate to Him. Irenaeus, Justin, Hippolytus and Methodius share this view called Subordinationism. [12]

Lucian, then, was a subordinationist of this type, considering himself an “Origenist” (as did most of his Eastern friends) because his Christology was derived almost entirely from the teachings of Origen.

Arius had inherited Lucian’s Christology (which was not a controversial position at the time) but courted disaster by refining it with increasingly specific details (a rash decision from which even Origen had sensibly abstained.) The implications of this Christological development were earth-shattering.

For as long as the precise nature of the relationship between Father and Son was left to the believer’s imagination, 3rd- and 4th-Century Christians could flatter themselves with the naïve assumption that they all believed much the same thing. But what if that relationship was clearly delineated by a series of theological propositions?

What if the language of Christology was officially formalised? What if the current, heterodox terminology was subdivided by necessity into “heretical terms” and “orthodox terms”? What if the basic principles of 3rd Century Christology were taken to their logical conclusions?

What would all of this mean for people’s understanding of Christ – and what would they do if they suddenly discovered that their apparent theological unity had been largely superficial?

In short: what would happen if somebody decided that Christianity had been papering over the cracks of a problematic Christology for more than a century, and set about replacing the paper with plaster?

For decades these questions had lurked in the minds of many. Now – perhaps for the first time in more than a hundred years – they would be brought to the fore.

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Arius the Presbyter

Arius was not a contentious man, and there is no indication that he was looking for a debate when his views first came into question. He lived a quiet, simple life in Alexandria, confessing a typically Alexandrian Christology. He mixed easily with clergy and laity alike and lived his life by the principles of a strict spiritual asceticism which he nevertheless refrained from imposing upon others.

He was also a man of tremendous faith and courage; during the Great Persecution under Diocletian he had remained in Alexandria even after its bishop (Peter) had fled. [13] At considerable personal risk to himself, Arius offered succour to the Christian prisoners and spiritual guidance to those few who remained free.

Peter’s cowardice was disappointing to many Christians, but Melitius of Lycopolis (an Egyptian bishop who also functioned as metropolitan of the Thebaid) found it positively offensive. Alexandria was a great city and its bishop was partly responsible for several churches in Libya and Egypt, who clearly required guidance and support at this difficult time. Accordingly, Melitius left his own see, commandeered the position of Peter in Alexandria, consecrated two additional bishops to share the load and continued to perform ecclesiastical duties as if he had always been there.

From the safety of his hiding place Peter condemned Melitius with volume and vigour, ordering him to leave the city and forbidding the local clergy to obey him. But it was all to no avail. Melitius responded by coolly ignoring the absent bishop (which, with so much distance between them, he found quite easy to do) and his fellow clergymen, who saw nothing wrong with Melitius or his actions, followed suit.

In time, however, the persecution subsided and Peter returned to his see. Summoning a local council of like-minded churchmen, he excommunicated Melitius on the charge of abusing his authority. Shortly afterwards, Melitius was arrested by the Romans during a resurgence of the previous persecution, and sent to work in the mines of Palestine. There he served with courage and distinction as a prison priest for several years, eventually returning to Egypt as a free man.

Arius’ enemies would later claim that he had co-operated with Melitius during the rogue bishop’s brief rule in Alexandria; in fact, this was not true. Arius had been careful to remain aloof from the Melitian schism, a fact which Peter openly and gratefully acknowledged at the resumption of his bishopric. Bishop Achillas (Peter’s short-lived successor) even went so far as to make Arius a presbyter – a generous promotion which would not even have been contemplated if he had been a Melitian sympathiser.

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Following the death of Achillas, the see of Alexandria was granted to Bishop Alexander: the man who would later take such exception to Arius’ Christological views.

Alexander had divided the city into four quarters, over which he appointed four presbyters. Of the four places available, Arius somehow ended up with the worst: he was made presbyter of the Baucalis or wharf quarter, a seedy locale in the roughest part of the city.

In the words of one commentator:

It was filled with sailors, dock hands, merchants, small shopkeepers, vagabonds, whores, etc. Many, perhaps the majority, were pagans and, therefore, polytheists, and most were anything but paragons of moral virtue. Arius had his work cut out for him.

His strategy was to concentrate on two central Christian themes: first, morality and spirituality and, second, monotheism. He could not have chosen to preach two themes more relevant and appropriate to the situation which he found in the Baucalis.

Arius' Christology and soteriology, in turn, were articulated to give a theoretical foundation and justification for his preaching of morality/spirituality and monotheism as the key Christian doctrines relevant to the inhabitants of his parish. [14]

Arius was an ideal candidate for this challenging role. His age and wisdom commanded respect, his grey hair and slim build lent an air of distinction and his scrupulous personal morality (a somewhat irregular virtue in 4th Century presbyters) was much admired. Standing well above the height of the average man, he was also immune to physical intimidation and enjoyed an arresting presence tempered by extraordinary charisma.

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Notwithstanding these exceptional qualities, the new incumbent understood that he would make no progress with the inhabitants of the Baucalis unless he could reach them on a personal level. The only question was: how?

Generic sermons expressed in a typically formal manner were obviously out of the question – but what else might he use? The solution was as controversial as it was ingenious: Arius set his sermons to music and chanted them to the congregation.

His latest offering (entitled Thalia, or “The Banquet”) was written in a rhythmic meter and sung to the tune of a popular ballad, as many of his previous sermons had been.

It was an immediate success.

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The full text of Arius’ hymn is lost to history, but a crucial fragment remains:

The Unbegun made the Son a beginning of things made and advanced him as His Son by adoption.
Understand that the Monad was, but the Dyad was not, before it came to exist.
Thus there is the Triad, but not in equal glories. Not intermingling with each other are their substances.
One equal to the Son, the Superior is able to beget, but one more excellent or superior or greater, He is not able.
At God’s will the Son is what and whatsoever he is.
God is incomprehensible to His Son. He is what He is to Himself: Unspeakable.
The Father knows the Son, but the Son does not know himself. [15]

Today – nearly a thousand years after they were written – it is perhaps difficult for the modern reader to appreciate the tremendous impact of these words upon their original audience. Arius’ language is complicated, his terminology impenetrable and his meaning obscure, to say the least. The sentences are brief, but laden with significance. The overall effect is to give the audience a sense of participation in a unique, divine mystery of the highest order – which to Arius, it most certainly was.

From its humble origins as a thoughtful sermon, Thalia became a local sensation. It swept through the Baucalis like wildfire, spreading Arius' Christology wherever it went amid popular approval.

Until it reached the ears of Bishop Alexander.

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Alexander

The Bishop of Alexandria was a man accustomed to getting his way.

It is easy to see why:

Alexander supervised the city’s only effective network of social services, arbitrated major disputes between Christians (and often between Gentiles), and was consulted by the civil authorities on a wide range of local issues. He managed the Church’s burgeoning properties and finances, employed hordes of minor officials, builders, craftsmen, artists and labourers, and supervised the affairs of several thousand priests, monks, and virgins dedicated to religious service. Perhaps most important, he played a vital mediating role between imperial authority and its subjects.

Were people suffering because of food shortages? They looked to their “Papa” to bring greedy speculators to heel and make sure that the free grain provided by the emperor was distributed to the poor. Did the emperor require more soldiers and supplies for the army? He depended upon the bishop to help convince unwilling subjects to cooperate with the authorities. [16]

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Alexander took his job very seriously, but he was not unreasonable.

When news of Arius’ heresy reached his ears, he took it in his stride as a minor affair of purely local significance, to be resolved swiftly, efficiently and diplomatically.

Had Arius’ studies had led him to some regrettably unorthodox conclusions? He would not be the first, or even the last.

Was a difficult passage of Scripture giving him trouble? Then the bishop's wisdom would shed light upon the subject.

Were Arius' followers being led astray by his otherwise praiseworthy enthusiasm? No matter; under the guiding hand of Alexander, they would surely return to the fold.

For these reasons, Alexander not did not consider the matter as cause for alarm but believed that Arius’ teachings should be examined in a formal discussion which would allow his detractors the opportunity of an official response.

Thus, in the presence of Alexander, Arius is alleged to have stated:

Before he [Christ] was begotten, he was not.

By this (if indeed he said it at all, which is doubtful) Arius would have meant that Jesus Christ was the Word, or Logos; a created being which God called into existence before the creation of the world, in order to create all else through him.

Therefore, even if these words are falsely attributed, the essential predicate of Arius’ Christology remains the same: Jesus himself is not truly God but stands on the side of creation as a unique product of the Father, mysteriously “begotten” by some incomprehensible process and therefore not actually “created” per se. (The distinction is maddeningly semantic.)

This meant that this “sonship” could be interpreted as literal (since he was in one sense created by the Father), metaphorical (since the precise nature of his origin remains unclear) or both (since the two propositions cannot be shown to contradict each other directly.)

The benefit of this view was its tremendously accommodating breadth; one could confess the Christ as God’s literal Son without opposing those who affirmed that his Sonship was merely symbolic (and vice versa.) It was also heterodox (but no more so than any other belief of the day) and therefore highly attractive to those who favoured ecclesiastical unity over theological precision.

By stark contrast, Arius’ opponents affirmed the consubstantiality and eternity of the Son with the Father (meaning that they existed together as one, eternal and inseparable.) In this they were utterly uncompromising.

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Division

After some consideration, Bishop Alexander announced that he accepted the latter view, and ordered Arius never to propound his opinion again. This was unacceptable to the priest, who adamantly refused to comply and was subsequently excommunicated, along with his clerical adherents.

Given the initial tact with which the bishop approached this issue, it may seem strange that his final judgement was so harsh – but to Alexander, the problem was more than just doctrinal. Arius’ supporters were now quite numerous, and comprised a significant proportion of the clergy. The bishop appears to have believed that the peace of the church of Alexandria was at stake, and so did his best to eliminate the discord at its source.

However, his plan misfired.

Ideally, the act of excommunication should have guaranteed that Arius and his following were now condemned to the role of a small and insignificant sect, with no power base from which to re-enter the political arena of the Church. But it seems that Alexander greatly underestimated the complexity of the problem.

Arius was fully aware that the definition of “Jesus the Son” which had been supported by the church of Alexandria was by no means accepted universally as a canonical statement. Questions concerning the nature of the Godhead and its constituents were legion, and outside Egypt there was no unanimous opinion on the matter. Thus, in the same way that he had refused to retract his original arguments, Arius simply refused to recognise his excommunication and sent a letter of protest to Bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia, detailing his confrontation with Alexandria.

It was an adroit political manoeuvre, instantly depriving the conflict of its local limitations and ensuring that its impact would spread throughout the Church. The decision forced Bishop Alexander to take more decisive action.

He immediately summoned a synod of all Egypt, at which some one thousand bishops renounced the “Arian Heresy”, and re-affirmed the excommunication of Arius and all his defenders in the Egyptian and Libyan clergy.

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The resulting encyclical consisted of a concise account of Arius’ false doctrine, an extensive refutation on behalf of the synod, and a stinging reference to Eusebius of Nicomedia, as payback for his passive support of the errant priest. But by AD 320, it was clear that no amount of intimidation would cause Arius to recant. He had moved back to Nicomedia where he drew up a profession of faith, signed by himself and all those who had been excommunicated with him.

It asserted that the faith which they held was that which they had heard Alexander proclaim within the Church of Alexandria; namely, that only the Father is eternal – He alone is without beginning – and the Son, God’s perfect creature, does not possess his being with the Father, since the Father existed before the Son. In the meantime, Eusebius continued to propagate the Arian doctrine through his own subtle but effective personal channels.

During the same year, Arius convoked a Bithynian synod which sent a circular to all bishops, calling for the restoration of ecclesiastical communion with those who had been excommunicated by Bishop of Alexander.

He protested that, since they were orthodox, pressure should be placed on the bishop to receive them back – and his AD 320 profession of faith, with its multiple signatures, added considerable weight to this argument.

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Alexander was now feeling pressure from many sides, and for the purpose of ecclesiastical harmony it appeared that the time was coming for him to revise his judgement on Arius. Until such a decision became imperative, however, the bishop still felt obliged to warn others of the inherent dangers contained in Arius’ teachings.

Accordingly, he embarked on a massive correspondence campaign. Letters were sent to the bishops of the East, and obtained the support of those in Egypt, Palestine, Asia Minor, Greece and the Balkan Peninsula. The Bishop of Rome (Silvester I) was informed of the recent events in Alexandria, including the excommunication of the Alexandrian clerics.

It was not long before full-scale literary warfare had broken out between the Arian and Alexandrian factions. Mutual distortions of the teaching and viewpoint of the one side were alleged by the other, and crude accusations of a most personal nature were advanced from both parties.

Inevitably, the split in Eastern Christianity came to the attention of the Emperor Constantine.

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Constantine

When I stopped recently in Nicomedia, my plan was to press on to the East at once. But while I was hurrying towards you and was already past the great part of the journey, the news of this business reversed my plans, so that I might not be forced to see with my eyes what I did not think possible ever to reach my hearing!

Such was the opening paragraph of Constantine's reply to Alexander - a worrying start, or so it seemed from the bishop's perspective.

Baus (1980) notes that Constantine’s initial response to the controversy betrays his failure to recognise its greater significance; for while his bishops were already treating it as a life or death matter, the Emperor clearly saw the problem in a different light. His letter to Alexander and Arius goes on to represent the doctrinal division as analogous to a disagreement by two philosophers regarding superficial issues on which there could be private, differing views.

In the words of Hall:

His letter gives an account of the origins of the dispute, and describes a pointless and useless question by Alexander about a passage from the ‘Law’ (i.e. the Scripture), and a rash and improper answer. Neither was edifying to the people, or even within human rational capacity. Both question and answer should be withdrawn, and the public dissension set aside. [17]

Constantine, with breathtaking optimism, requested that the two opponents become reconciled and restore peace and unity in the Church so that general harmony, his political goal, could be assured in the Empire. The fact that this was a long-standing dispute over a fundamental question of Christian theology, had totally escaped him.

But this should not surprise us, for although Constantine was a brilliant administrator and a superb general, he was no theologian. Christianity had undoubtedly changed his life – and would continue to do so – but its inner workings were a complete mystery to him.

Constantine’s faith was a simple one; he required nothing more sophisticated than that which he had already confessed.

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Hosius

Bishop Hosius of Córdoba, whose unenviable task it had been to deliver the Imperial letter, realised on his arrival in Alexandria that it would take more than a cessation of public discussion for the controversy to be resolved.

Alexander quickly succeeded in convincing Hosius that the theological implications of the “Arian heresy” were of the utmost significance to the Church’s stability, and it soon became apparent that the only possible chance of restoring peace was to summon the entire episcopate of the Church to a great synod, in order to establish a binding decision.

But Arius was in no mood for reconciliation with Alexander, and for the most part absented himself from the Egyptian capital altogether during Hosius’ visit.

The outcome was predictable; eventually, having achieved nothing more than a series of sympathetic discussions with Alexander, Hosius returned to Nicomedia and grimly admitted the failure of his mission to Constantine.

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Interlude

We now depart from the historical record for a moment, in order to take stock of the theological debate.

Bishop Alexander presents a concise summary of Arian Christology in his own Deposition of Arius:

2. Now those who became apostates are these, Arius, Achilles, Aeithales, Carpones, another Arius, and Sarmates, sometime Presbyters: Euzoius, Lucius, Julius, Menas, Helladius, and Gaius, sometime Deacons: and with them Secundus and Theonas, sometime called Bishops.

And the novelties they have invented and put forth contrary to the Scriptures are these following:-

God was not always a Father, but there was a time when God was not a Father.

The Word of God was not always, but originated from things that were not; for God that is, has made him that was not, of that which was not; wherefore there was a time when He was not; for the Son is a creature and a work.

Neither is He like in essence to the Father; neither is He the true and natural Word of the Father; neither is He His true Wisdom; but He is one of the things made and created, and is called the Word and Wisdom by an abuse of terms, since He Himself originated by the proper Word of God, and by the Wisdom that is in God, by which God has made not only all other things but Him also.

Wherefore He is by nature subject to change and variation as are all rational creatures.

And the Word is foreign from the essence of the Father, and is alien and separated therefrom.

And the Father cannot be described by the Son, for the Word does not know the Father perfectly and accurately, neither can He see Him perfectly.

Moreover, the Son knows not His own essence as it really is; for He is made for us, that God might create us by Him, as by an instrument; and He would not have existed, had not God wished to create us.

Accordingly, when some one asked them, whether the Word of God can possibly change as the devil changed, they were not afraid to say that He can; for being something made and created, His nature is subject to change.

Most scholars accept that these are the words of Alexander himself - though Cardinal Newman believed that this letter was actually written on his behalf by Athanasius (which would help to explain why it ascribes to Arius certain statements that nobody can prove he ever made) and includes it in his Select Treatises of St. Athanasius, Volume 1.

Nevertheless, for the sake of the argument, I shall accept the greater body of academic opinion and treat it as Alexander's work.

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Alexander’s response is more significant than he knows, for it provides us with the following gem:

And the novelties they have invented and put forth contrary to the Scriptures are these following:-

God was not always a Father, but there was a time when God was not a Father.

Did the Arians ever actually say this? Hall does not believe so. Chadwick is silent on the matter. Nevertheless, Alexander places it in the mouths of his opponents and decries it as a “novelty” and “invention” of the Arians.

But it was neither.

In fact, it had been emphatically stated by Tertullian in a lengthy epistle against a leading heretic of his day:

God has not always been the Father. For He could not have been the Father previous to the Son. There was a time when the Son did not exist. [18]

Had they chosen to do so, the Arians could have fabricated a powerful argument for their claims to orthodoxy (however outdated) by appealing to Tertullian’s confession that “God was not always a Father” and his description of the Son’s mystical “begettal.”

Indeed, McDowell observes that the Arians did actually attempt a defence of this sort – though not from the works of Tertullian:

By the 340s there existed a small dossier of extracts purporting to be from the works of Dionysius of Alexandria which the Arians were using in support of their position.

Dionysius insisted that the Son was a creature and agenēton, a thing made and generated, not ‘proper’ (idion) to the nature of God but “alien in substance” as the vine-dresser is different from the vine and the shipwright from the boat: “and … he did not exist before he was generated.”

Dionysius of Rome, implicitly referring to his Alexandrian namesake, denounced those who in their eagerness to avoid Sabellianism spoke of 3 separate hypostases or “divinities”.

However Dionysius may have refined his later theology it is impossible to avoid seeing some influence upon Arius being exerted. The damning passage from his Letter to Euphranos and Ammonius is altogether too like Arian doctrine for one to regard it as insignificant. [19]

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Athanasius (Alexander's right hand man) follows the bishop's example in chapter 2 of his first Discourse Against the Arians, quoting Thalia in order that Arius might be condemned out of his own mouth. He also provides us with what he believes to be the logical conclusion of Arius’ propositions.

I have highlighted the citations attributed to Arius:

And by nature, as all others, so the Word Himself is alterable, and remains good by His own free will, while He chooseth; when, however, He wills, He can alter as we can, as being of an alterable nature.

For ’therefore,’ saith he, ’as foreknowing that He would be good, did God by anticipation bestow on Him this glory, which afterwards, as man, He attained from virtue. Thus in consequence of His works fore-known, did God bring it to pass that He being such, should come to be.’

6. Moreover he has dared to say, that ’the Word is not the very God;’ ‘though He is called God, yet He is not very God,’ but ’by participation of grace, He, as others, is God only in name.’

And, whereas all beings are foreign and different from God in essence, so too is ’the Word alien and unlike in all things to the Father's essence and propriety,’ but belongs to things originated and created, and is one of these.

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Last but not least, we have the Arians themselves, who put their case in a joint letter to Alexander:

To Our Blessed Pope and Bishop, Alexander, the Presbyters and Deacons send health in the Lord.

Our faith from our forefathers, which also we have learned from thee, Blessed Pope, is this:--

We acknowledge One God, alone Ingenerate, alone Everlasting, alone Unbegun, alone True, alone having Immortality, alone Wise, alone Good, alone Sovereign; Judge, Governor, and Providence of all, unalterable and unchangeable, just and good, God of Law and Prophets and New Testament;

who begat an Only-begotten Son before eternal times, through whom He has made both the ages and the universe; and begat Him, not in semblance, but in truth; and that He made Him subsist at His own will, unalterable and unchangeable; perfect creature of God, but not as one of the creatures; offspring, but not as one of things begotten;

nor as Valentinus pronounced that the offspring of the Father was an issue;

nor as Manichaeus taught that the offspring was a portion of the Father, one in essence;

or as Sabellius, dividing the Monad, speaks of a Son-and-Father;

nor as Hieracas, of one torch from another, or as a lamp divided into two;

nor that He who was before, was afterwards generated or new-created into a Son, as thou too thyself, Blessed Pope, in the midst of the Church and in session hast often condemned;

but, as we say, at the will of God, created before times and before ages, and gaining life and being from the Father, who gave subsistence to His glories together with Him.

For the Father did not, in giving to Him the inheritance of all things, deprive Himself of what He has ingenerately in Himself; for He is the Fountain of all things. Thus there are Three Subsistences.

And God, being the cause of all things, is Unbegun and altogether Sole, but the Son being begotten apart from time by the Father, and being created and founded before ages, was not before His generation, but being begotten apart from time before all things, alone was made to subsist by the Father.

For He is not eternal or co-eternal or co-unoriginate with the Father, nor has He His being together with the Father, as some speak of relations, introducing two ingenerate beginnings, but God is before all things as being Monad and Beginning of all.

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We see from their letter that it is God who created Christ (according to the Arians) and that Christ did not exist “of himself”; nor is he co-eternal or co-unregenerate; nor is he auto-theos. [20] Notice also that this public declaration denies that Christ has existence of himself, using language that is too clear to be misunderstood.

The Arians affirm that God…

…made Him [Christ] subsist at His [God’s] own will, unalterable and unchangeable; perfect creature of God, but not as one of the creatures; offspring, but not as one of things begotten;

And again…

…but being begotten apart from time before all things, alone was made to subsist by the Father.

…thereby seeming to contradict Arius’ own words in his letter to Eusebius, when he wrote:

…we say and believe, and have taught, and do teach, that the Son is not unbegotten; and that He does not derive his subsistence from any matter; but that by His own will and counsel He has subsisted before time.

The significance of this discrepancy is much debated, but Hall resolves it with his customary finesse:

Alexander made much of the error of the Arians in saying Christ is “changeable” or “mutable (Socrates, HE 1.6 10-12 [New Eusebius, 323.]) Mutability implied the possibility of change for the worse, which in Platonic terms is by definition impossible for God.

The truth is that Arius held the Son to be changeless in a less absolute sense; it is at the Father’s will he is unchangeable, and so could have been changeable. The anti-Arian Council of Antioch in 325 anathematized “those who say he is immutable by his own act of will, … and deny he is immutable in the way the Father is” (New Eusebius 336.)

Some modern writers (especially Gregg and Groh) regard the freedom of the Son to change by improvement, or to resist temptation by moral effort, as essential characteristics of Arian spirituality. This does not seem to match Arius’ efforts to assert that the Son is unchangeable and vastly superior to all his creatures. [21]

So the Arians’ letter is a highly sophisticated diplomatic appeal. It makes careful use of acceptable terminology and is unashamedly outspoken against language and beliefs which were considered heretical at the time.

For, while their primary purpose is to elaborate their views on the nature of Christ, the Arians also need to be on record as having rejected various unorthodox views about the relationship of the Father to the Son.

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One item is of particular interest:

…nor as Hieracas, of one torch from another, or as a lamp divided into two

Astute readers will immediately notice that the very language which is here eschewed as heretical, had been used previously by Justin Martyr and would be used again (years later) in the Nicene Creed.

Therein lies a paradox: during the earliest days of the Arian controversy, phrases such as “one torch from another” could not be employed without incurring the wrath of the theological establishment; much later, they would play an essential part in the crucial clause of the Nicene Creed. While we might smile at the irony, how do we explain this?

The answer is complicated.

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Both the Arians and the Nicenes were agreed that previous Christological heresies were strictly verboten. This is seen by the Arians’ obvious need to legitimise themselves by repudiating the standard heresies of the day.

But what about generally approved writings from an earlier time, which had failed to keep pace with the development of doctrine?

The church of the early 4th Century had no official position on these, although strident attacks on Origen and “Origenism” would not be long in coming. For the time being at least, there was some doctrinal latitude.

It was, after all, a confusingly heterodox period.

McDowell (cited earlier) correctly identifies this fact as the most significant aspect of the Christological debate:

In A.D. 318 there was no universally recognised orthodox answer as to the question of how divine Christ is (e.g., Origen and Tertullian). The frontiers of orthodoxy were not so rigidly demarcated as they later became, and important currents of thought flowed outside the main channel.

This is one of the reasons why the controversy lasted for so long.

Of course certain positions were declared untenable, for example Sabellianism, and adoptionism. But within these very broad limits no doctrine could properly be said to be heretical (Arius’ views were regarded as no more than a radical version of an acceptable theological tradition by Eusebius of Caesarea, for example).

This was a far cry from the true apostolic Christianity of the 1st Century AD, as more than one commentator has observed:

What is perhaps most striking about second and third century Catholicism in contrast to what we know about late Jewish Christianity, Gnostic Christianity, and Marcionite Christianity is that it was so non-exclusive and assimilative in its theological approach that it naturally stimulated serious internal or intramural differences of opinion within itself, particularly as the third century progressed. [22]

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Notwithstanding this, the Nicenes were clearly troubled by many theological difficulties arising from primitive Christological models espoused by earlier Church fathers (such as Justin, Irenaeus and Tertullian) whose work was (for the most part) still considered orthodox.

It had happened before, of course. Justin’s own Christology had distinguished the Father from the Son to such an extent that Irenaeus’ Christology (a possible reaction to it) seems dangerously Modalistic by comparison. Tertullian followed with a Christology which swung so far in the opposite direction that he was accused of teaching tritheism (Monarchian tendencies being still very much en vogue at the time) and wrote a lengthy discourse (Adversus Praxean) which some have seen as a direct attack on Irenaeus himself.

In fact, the Arians were not so far removed from Irenaeus’ Christology, for they, like him, were reluctant to speculate about the nature of Christ’s begettal. Ambrose openly mocked them for it – but what would he have done if they had answered with the words of Irenaeus…?

If anyone asks us, "How then was the Son produced by the Father?" we reply to him, that no man understands that production, or generation, or calling, or revelation – or by whatever other name one may describe his generation. For it is in fact altogether indescribable. [23]

This response was considered acceptable not only by Irenaeus’ contemporaries, but by those who immediately followed him. Nor is there any reason to believe that it would have been rendered unacceptable if invoked by the Arians themselves, for it was not their work but the work of an older, greater man.

“If Irenaeus wrote such things and was still considered orthodox,” the Arians might have argued, “how can we – who merely repeat them – be accused of heresy?”

How indeed?

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The bottom line is that earlier terms of reference could be considered quite ambiguous – and even heretical – when placed in the context of a later discussion. This was even more likely if they had been closely identified with a specific idea, or set of ideas, which was now considered unorthodox. Alternatively, a new heresy could be wrapped in the language of an older, acceptable orthodoxy and thereby rendered palatable to the church.

The theological implications of an argument formulated by “proof-texting” from the early fathers were not lost on the Nicenes – but in practical terms, what exactly could they do about it? A Modalist could lend a veneer of respectability by expressing himself in the words of Irenaeus; a tritheist could benefit from association with Tertullian’s terminology – and even (in the face of criticism) argue that he was simply “misunderstood” in the way that Tertullian had been!

In short, it would take little effort to express one’s heresy in the language of an acceptable church father and claim that you were saying nothing which had not already been said by respectable men of old.

Herein lay a crucial aspect of the rationale which had led to the condemnation of phrases such as “of one torch from another, or as a lamp divided into two.” Another aspect (perhaps even more significant) was the shocking realisation that the original source of this language (none other than the great Justin Martyr) was now vulnerable to legitimate accusations of heresy - and with him, all those who deferred to his work as a touchstone of orthodoxy.

Writing in his History of the Church, Henry Chadwick is refreshingly candid about the mechanics of this conceptual shift:

In arguing against Hellenized Jews who held that the divine Logos is distinct from God only in the refined sense in which one can distinguish in thought between sun and sunlight, Justin had urged that the analogy of one torch lit from another was a much more satisfactory picture because it did justice to the independence (later theology, from Origen onwards, would have used the technical term hypostasis) of the Logos. Such language was disturbing.

One of the central issues in the conflict with Gnosticism had been the question whether of there is more than one ultimate first principle. The orthodox had insisted that there is no first principle other than God the Creator, no coequal devil, no coeternal matter, but a single monarchia.

Justin's language appeared to prejudice this affirmation and to be insufficiently protected against the accusation of ditheism.

In the (relatively) calm Binitarian era of Justin and his contemporaries, such language had been perfectly orthodox; in the warmer theological climate of Arianism and fledgling Trinitarianism, it implied a level of separation between Father and Son which was unacceptable to both sides of the debate. No longer identified solely with Justin Martyr, it had become infamous for its association with Hieracas the Manichæan - a heretic who (aside from Arius) was at this point considered the greatest enemy of Athanasius.

Through their condemnation of Hieracas' language, the Arians hoped to establish enough common ground with the Nicenes (particularly Athanasius) to avert full-scale theological war.

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In this they were clearly unsuccessful.

Why? Because by AD 325, a subtle shift had taken place in the minds of the men who opposed them.

The Nicenes were no longer wary of Justin’s language, for the Arians had not commandeered it for their own purposes, as we might have expected. Instead they had constructed a formula of their own: partly from Arius’ lyrical sermons (famously sung to his adoring congregation) and partly from their own philosophical speculations (apparently influenced by Tertullian) but mostly from a collection of Biblical proof texts such as Proverbs 8:22:

The Lord created me as the beginning of his way, before his works of old.

There was nothing innovative about the Arians’ use of this passage; Tertullian had employed it for the same purpose more than a century earlier in his own description of the Son’s “generation” by the Father. He had even gone so far as to specify that the Son was created in a certain moment – not “eternally generated” (as Origen and others would have it) but in the instant which immediately preceded the rest of creation:

Then, therefore, does the Word also Himself assume His own form and glorious garb, sound and vocal utterance, when God says, “Let there be light.” This is the perfect nativity of the Word, when He proceeds forth from God, formed by Him first to devise and think out, and afterwards begotten to carry all into effect --

‘When He prepared the heaven, I was present with Him.’

Thus does He make Him equal to Him: for by proceeding from Himself He became His first-begotten Son, because begotten before all things; and His only-begotten also, because alone begotten of God, in a way peculiar to Himself, from the womb of His own heart -- even as the Father Himself testifies: “My heart,” says He, “has emitted my most excellent Word.”

The father took pleasure evermore in Him, who equally rejoiced with a reciprocal gladness in the Father's presence: “You art my Son, today have I begotten You; even before the morning star did I beget You.”

The Son likewise acknowledges the Father, speaking in His own person, under the name of Wisdom:

‘The Lord formed Me as the beginning of His ways, with a view to His own works; before all the hills did He beget Me.’”