Doctrine and

Practice in the
Early Church
STUART G. HALL
 ROGER J. GREEK

DOCTRINE AND PRACTICE

IN THE
EARLY CHURCH
 Stuart G Hall

DOCTRINE AND PRACTICE

IN THE
EARLY CHURCH

William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company

Grand Rapids, Michigan
 Copyright © 1991 by Stuart G. Hall

First published 1991 in Great Britain by SPCK,

Holy Trinity Church
Marylebone Road
London NW1 4DU

This edition first published 1992

through special arrangement with SPCK by
Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.,
255 Jefferson Ave. SE, Grand Rapids, MI 49503

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America
Reprinted 1994

ISBN 0-8028-0629-5
 CONTENTS

PREFACE ix
1 GOD AND THE GODS 1
Religion in the Roman Empire - Critiques of the gods -
Society and government - The Empire and Christianity
2 COMMUNITY AND MORALITY 16
Conversion and preparation - Coming to baptism - The
eucharistic offering
3 THE MESSAGE AND THE MESSENGERS 25
The canon of Scripture - Interpreting Scripture - Church
leaders: Didache; Clement of Rome, Ignatius, Irenaeus
4 PROLIFERATION AND EXCESS 36
Heresy and schism - Mar cion - Gnosticism - Eastern
Christianity - Montanism
5 DEFENCE AND DEFINITION: EARLY
APOLOGISTS 48
Apologists and apologetic - Charge and counter-charge -
God and his Word - Holy Spirit and Trinity
6 TRADITION AND TRUTH: IRENAEUS OF LYONS 57
Lyons and Irenaeus - Apostolic succession - The Rule of
Truth - God and Christ - Mankind and redemption
7 LATIN THEOLOGY LAUNCHED: TERTULLIAN 67
Tertullian the Christian - Tertullian the churchman -
Tertullian the theologian
8 SECTARIAN RELIGION AND EPISCOPAL
AUTHORITY 74
Dionysius of Corinth, Serapion and Demetrius - The church
in Rome under Victor - Doctrinal disputes: Hippolytus -
Discipline and order: Callistus - Reconciliation and renewed
persecution
9 ONE CHURCH, ONE BAPTISM: CYPRIAN 85
Persecution and the problem of the lapsed - Schism and
unity - Cyprian on defaulting bishops and on baptism
 vi Contents

10 THE ALEXANDRIAN HERITAGE: CLEMENT 95

Alexandria and Clement - Clement the teacher - The
knowledge of God

11 ORIGEN THE THEOLOGIAN 100

Origen - The system and the Scriptures - Scripture and
allegory - God and the Trinity - Creation, flesh and the
humanity of Christ - The influence of Origen: Dionysius and
Paul

12 THE RISE OF CONSTANTINE 112

Persecution - Donatism - Church and Empire

13 ARIUS AND THE COUNCIL OF NICAEA 121

Arius - Constantine intervenes - The Council of Antioch,
325 - Marcellus of Ancyra - The Council and Creed of
Nicaea - The outcome and aftermath of Nicaea

14 COUNCILS AND CONTROVERSIES: 327-361 137

The Eusebian supremacy - The division of East and West -
The Eastern dominance

4 15 TOWARDS SYNTHESIS: 361-378 148

The reign of Julian, 361-3 - The Spirit-fighters -
Apollinarianism - The Cappadocian Fathers - The
Cappadocian Fathers on the Trinity - The Cappadocian
Fathers on Christ and salvation

16 THEODOSIUS I AND THE COUNCIL OF

CONSTANTINOPLE 161
Theodosius and the Western theology - Nicenes divided in
the East - The Council of Constantinople: Canons - The
Council of Constantinople: the Creed - The West

17 NEW SPIRITUALITY: THE MONASTIC

MOVEMENT 173
Monastic beginnings - Pachomius and life together -
Syrian movements - Basil’s contribution - Evagrius of
Pontus - Western developments

18 ORIGENISM, JEROME AND JOHN CHRYSOSTOM 183

Origenism and Jerome - Origenism in Palestine; Rufinus -
John Chrysostom

19 AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO 191

Career and Confessions', Youth in Africa; Manichaeism -
Ambrose and Neoplatonism - Monastic call and
conversion - Augustine on the Trinity - Donatism
and the Church - Pelagianism - The City of God
 Contents

20 CYRIL, NESTORIUS AND THE COUNCIL OF

EPHESUS
Cyril and the rise of Nestorius - Theotokos - Cyril’s
Second Letter to Nestorius - Cyril’s Third letter to
Nestorius - Nestorius condemned - The Formula of
reunion

21 EUTYCHES, LEO AND THE COUNCIL OF

CHALCEDON
New personalities - Leo - Theodoret - Eutyches - The
Tome of Leo -The Council of Ephesus, 449 - The Council
of Chalcedon, 451 - The Chalcedonian Definition - The
value of the Definition

22 THE HERITAGE OF ANCIENT THEOLOGY

The imperial Church - Doctrinal development - The
biblical basis

FURTHER READING
INDEX
 PREFACE

This book owes much to various people. It was stimulated by my

friends at SPCK who invited it. It was conceived in consultation
with colleagues who taught historical theology to London
University students as I did, Richard Price and, especially, Anthony
Meredith. The latter was originally going to share the work, and,
after I became sole author, he generously left me free to use
material which he had prepared: some words, phrases and
sentences of his have probably got into the text, as have certainly
some of his ideas. For his kindness, courtesy and cooperation I am
enormously grateful. I am grateful too for those generations of
lovable students of theology at Nottingham University and King’s
College London who have been sounding boards for my ideas, and
who constantly stimulated thought and clarification by what they
failed to understand as well as by what they understood only too
well. If the book in turn stimulates some students of theology and
of antiquity to appreciate better the achievement of the creative
times it describes, I shall be satisfied. King’s College provided me
with more than one period of sabbatical leave, and some of that
time was dedicated to this work. But beyond that, the contribution
of colleagues at King’s has over twelve years past been persistent,
subtle and benevolent in encouraging theological endeavour and
communication. Long may it thrive.
As pious persons of the past in wills bequeathed their souls to
Almighty God, I dedicate this book to him whose Word is the
substance of all true theology; for how can we speak of him unless
he gives us the Word? But as the same pious testators bequeathed
their earthly goods to their best and dearest, I dedicate this book
above all earthly prizes to my dear wife Brenda Mary. Her steady
encouragement and advice enabled me to recognize my academic
vocation and has sustained my enthusiasm for this present writing;

IX
 x Preface

her contribution is crowned by her professional skill in indexing it,

for which I am immensely grateful.

Stuart George Hall

16 December 1990

O Wisdom, proceeding from the mouth of the Highest, you reach

from one end to the other, mightily and sweetly ordering all things:
Come and teach us the way to live rightly.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE
This volume makes frequent reference to two companion volumes of
early church documents also published by SPCK. Both are standard
collections of documents originally edited by J. Stevenson, now availa¬
ble in revised editions edited by W H. C. Frend. They are A New
Eusebius: Documents Illustrating the History of the Church to A.D. 33 7
(1987), and its sequel, Creeds, Councils and Controversies: Documents
Illustrating the History of the Church AD. 337-461 (1989). Both are
available in North America from Abingdon Press, Nashville, Tennessee.

The parenthetical citations of these volumes use the abbreviations NE

and CCC. The numbers refer to the pages in the volumes, not to
numbered items.
 1
GOD AND THE GODS

Religion in the Roman Empire

The gospel of Christ spread in a religious world. Each ancient city-

state depended upon its patron deity for prosperity and defence:
Athens had Pallas Athene, Rome had Jupiter Optimus Maximus,
Ephesus had Artemis. But no god or goddess had a monopoly, and
everywhere they multiplied, especially as the Roman Empire
expanded.
The focus of cult was usually a particular image of the god,
artistically made and adorned with precious metals, which was
kept in a shrine or temple. Most of the time the heavy doors would
be firmly shut to protect from theft and sacrilege. But at
appropriate times, for the god’s annual festival, to celebrate a
victory or the end of a plague, or to seek help against disaster or
adversity, the responsible officers or priests would open the temple
in the presence of many people. These would gather in and around
the sacred precinct, the reserved grove or garden in which the
temple stood. Appropriate ceremonies would follow: often a
procession, usually a sacrifice on the altar-stone which stood
before the door, appropriate feastings, plays, sports or dancing.
Important civic events took place at temples: annual magistrates
were inaugurated, war was declared, peace treaties solemnized.
Sports, theatres, military life were shot through with religious
ceremonial. If the god was not for some reason displeased, he or
she prospered what was done in his name.
Gods and goddesses were not ofen jealous as the God of Israel
was (Exod. 20.5), and the presiding deity of a city could tolerate
the cult of others. Mythology connected gods to each other, and
depicted them as a kind of extended family resident on Mount
Olympus, discussing, often with passion, the destinies of the
human beings below, whom they would help or punish in co¬
operation or competition with each other. There were several
earthly reasons for multiplying deities.

1
2 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

1. First, some were cherished because of their special functions.

Juno was useful at Rome; as consort of Jupiter she made
marriages prosper. The Greek Asclepios (Latin Aesculapius)
was widely popular in the Roman Empire, because of his healing
gifts. Demeter was needed in parts of Greece to secure harvests,
and Poseidon must be appeased to keep off earthquakes and
protect from shipwreck.

2. Secondly wealthy individuals displayed their civic loyalty by

erecting temples to gods at their own expense; this was often as
the result of a miraculous deliverance, or to fulfil a vow, or as
the result of a message from or apparition of the divinity. A
good example is the temple of Apollo which the emperor
Augustus erected in Rome to rival that of Jupiter; at the battle of
Actium in 31 BC he had encamped by a shrine of Apollo, and
attributed his victory over Antony and Cleopatra to that god.

3. Thirdly the enlargement of empire promoted the transfer of

gods from one place to another. There had always been some
* community of interest between Greek cities. There were oracular
shrines like that at Delphi which served people from all over
Greece and beyond, and attracted dedications, some bombastic,
others as devout thankofferings for blessings or guidance
received. Roman officials and merchants would start paying
respects to gods they met in other countries, and might take the
cult back home. There was in any case a process of assimilation,
so that gods who came from Greece or other parts of the East
were identified with Italian gods whom they resemble: Artemis
with Diana, Ares with Mars and so forth. Gods could also be
physically imported as plunder or works of art, but the
sacredness attaching to their figures might linger and grow
again in their new home. It was not unusual for a temple
precinct to contain minor shrines to gods other than the principal
one.

4. Fourthly cults of a more private kind attracted followers and

spread from land to land, a process promoted by the good
communications in the Roman Empire. Among the more popular
were the wine-god Dionysos and the multipurpose goddess
from Egypt, Isis. In Christian times Mithras from Persia was
spreading especially among the military. In these cases a process
 God and the Gods 3

of initiation into the mysteries was involved, but such devotions

in no way prevented their adherents from following the public
cults.

5. Finally there was a deliberate development of state cults to

match the growth of empires. The successors of Alexander’s
general Ptolemy in Egypt deliberately cultivated a comparatively
minor god called Sarapis, who was portrayed with features of
the high god Zeus and the healer Asclepios, and was held to be
responsible for the seasonal rising of the Nile on which Egypt
depended; papyrus letters prove that he was very successful
and popular. Augustus, the founder of the Roman Empire, not
only promoted familiar gods and deified his official father Julius
Caesar, but widely encouraged the cult of ‘Rome and Augustus’.
This was the dedication (for instance) of an altar and national
festival at Lugdunum (Lyons) for the Gallic provinces.

6. Besides the major temples, minor shrines and cult-figures

were everywhere apparent in town and village, at road-sides, in
gardens, on shopfronts. Minor deities, often referred to as
‘divinities’ (Greek, daimones), lived in woods, hills, springs and
rivers; some of these were sinister, evil powers which lurked
especially at cross-roads and places of execution. Others might
be agreeable or mischievous spirits of wells and woods.

Gods were pervasive as well as numerous. Ordinary people would

pray to the gods for help in all kinds of human enterprises, would
appease with sacrificial gifts and prayers their malignity or
temporary disfavour, and would reward them for services rendered
with anything from a bunch of flowers to a large temple. They
looked for divine guidance not only through astrology, but through
skilled interpreters of the flight of birds, of the arrangement of
entrails in slaughtered animals, and in the oracles mysteriously
produced by prophets in the depths of the greater oracular shrines.
They celebrated family events with feasts at temples where the
priest for a fee would slaughter and cook the animal flesh; it might
be the ordinary place for the slaughter of beasts for the market.
Women visited Juno or Venus before a wedding, or if threatened
with divorce might make offerings to an unnamed goddess who
placated husbands, Dea viriplaca. Temple precincts accumulated
gods and religious furniture, the streets of cities displayed their
 4 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

statues, and stories constantly circulated of the appearances,

actions, judgements and favours of such gods. As you passed their
figures or temples, especially of those you feared or loved, you
would kiss your hand in hope of good. It was not only the men of
Athens whom a visitor like Paul would see as ‘very religious’ (Acts
17.22: he was complimenting, not criticizing). Many people in the
Empire were in fact genuinely religious, believing that they could
improve their prospects in this world by behaving well towards
the gods, and hoping for some kind of agreeable after-life. Many
others may have been more sceptical, but perceived that social
cohesion, the rule of law and the authority of the emperor depended
on a proper regard for the traditional gods. Peace with the gods, or
the peace of the gods (pax deorum) must therefore be a goal of
public policy.

Critiques of the gods

With this religion of many gods, this polytheism, the God of Israel
s was naturally at war. His people were forbidden all other gods
beside him, and all idols of gods and goddesses. Their sacred
books recorded the fearful punishments which had repeatedly
fallen on them for idolatry. ‘All the gods of the nations are demons;
it is the Lord that made the heavens’ (Ps. 96(95).5). The Greek
word for a ‘divinity’, daimon, daimonion, has become a sinister
word for the malignant forces whose grip upon the world persists
by God’s permission, or as a punishment of mankind. Men and
women are now called upon to turn ‘to God from idols, to serve a
living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he
raised from the dead, Jesus who delivers us from the wrath to
come’ (1 Thess. 1.10); ‘We ought not to think that the Deity is like
gold, or silver, or stone, a representation by the art and imagination
of man. The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he
commands all men everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a
day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man
whom he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance to all
men by raising him from the dead’ (Acts 17.29-31).
This message contained the difficult feature of the resurrection
of Jesus, and the disquieting or ridiculous one of the impending
judgement of the whole world by the God of Israel who sent him.
But the primary notion of one only or supreme Deity could ring
 God and the Gods 5
true to thoughtful Greeks and Romans; philosophers had often
questioned the truth of polytheism. Most thinkers held there was
one overarching providence (Gk pronoia) directing the world. The
disciples of Epicurus (4th-3rd century BC) denied it, holding the
gods to exist but to be indifferent to the world, which is a fortuitous
concourse of atoms. But they were not in favour, and ‘Epicurean’
is a term of abuse among respectable philosophers in early
Christian times; to deny providence is to question the foundation
of morality.
Greek and Roman theology combined elements of the three
chief philosophical streams of the day:

1. From Plato (428/427-348/347 BC) it derived a strong sense

that only the transcendent realm of pure intellect or spirit is
stable and permanent. In that realm, everything in this changeable
world of transient material beings has its fixed archetype or
model (called its ‘form’ or ‘idea’). The intellectual element in the
human soul recognizes material things as copies of ‘ideas’ already
innate (inborn), and therefore must have learned those ideas in
some previous spiritual existence. That part of the soul must
therefore already belong to the unchanging deathless realm, and
be immortal. In one much-quoted dialogue, Timaeus, Plato
describes a Craftsman or Demiurge (Gk demiurgos) copying the
eternal ideas to make the world. On his own showing this is
mythology rather than strict theology, but the Craftsman
sufficiently resembled the biblical Creator to provide a bridge to
Christianity. Plato also insisted that any true God must share
the changelessness of the realm of ideas, and poured scorn on
the mythical activities, passions and metamorphoses attributed
to the gods by poets.

2. Aristotle (384-322 BC), the second major influence on

thoughtful theology, took up this point, and postulated a God
absolutely unmoved and occupied with contemplation of his
own perfection (since he could not contemplate anything less).
Everything else moves and exists out of desire for him, and there
is no immaterial realm of ideas transcending the material world.

3. Finally the Stoics, founded by Zeno (c. 336-264 BC),

identified God with the ordering principle of the universe. He is
its rational principle {logos), its soul {psyche), the refined vapour
6 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

(pneuma or aither) which pervades all things; but whatever his

name, he is material (soma), which holds the universe in being
and will ultimately destroy it as fire. It is man’s chief good in
Stoicism to be wise by affirming the wise government of the
world by this immanent providence of God.

By the time of Christ and the early Fathers it was possible for
Greek and Latin philosophers to combine features of these
philosophies and to arrive at a form of monotheism: a slightly
more active version of Aristotle’s God, or a more transcendent
version of the Stoic God, might do very well; or else a transcendent
Supreme with a secondary assistant directing and creating, called
Demiurge or world-soul or logos (that is, ‘mind’ or ‘rational
principle’). Such monotheisms were compatible with practical
observance of ordinary religion, though it was often quietly
reinterpreted: sacrifice was offered, not because the gods need it,
but as a token of the just man’s prayer; the poetic myths of the
gods’ conduct and misconduct are allegorical fictions which are
really about human psychology and morals. Such ideas not only
formed a point of contact to which the Christian preacher might
appeal, as St Paul does in the speech attributed to him in Athens
(he quotes monotheistic sentiments from two Greek writers at
Acts 17.28); they would also shape the expression of biblical truth
as it was elaborated by Christian thinkers schooled in the classics
of Greece and Rome.
A note is perhaps required about education. In spite of the
puritan criticisms of such philosophers as Plato, the Greek classical
poets, especially Homer and the great tragic poets, continued to
constitute a large part of the education of literate minds. For the
Latins Vergil and Terence fulfilled the same role. With them
would go some reading in philosophical and especially oratorical
books, and some history would be studied: Cicero and Sallust
were especially popular. Greek education, and even more Latin,
while it included grammar, arithmetic, music and astronomy, laid
great emphasis on rhetoric, the art of presenting a case, of praising,
or criticizing, of accusing and defending. Such skills were essential
for anyone engaged in public life, and constantly shaped the forms
of expression used by philosophers. There was no other medium
of education available. This was why, in spite of the polytheistic
beliefs implied, Christians had their children educated in the
 God and the Gods 7

classics, and continued to function as teachers of this traditional

material. When the Emperor Julian (‘the Apostate’) in 362 banned
Christians from teaching classics, the effect on the Churches
threatened to be disastrous; it was his most effective measure in
his attempt to bring back pagan religion. One way and another
Christians tried to vindicate the classical writers, in order to
justify their continued use in education: so Clement of Alexandria
tried to show the relevance of Greek culture to the meaning of
Christianity, and from Constantine onwards Vergil was promoted
as one who had (in Eclogue 4) predicted the birth and kingdom of
Christ. Most Christian theologians were well trained in rhetoric.
This often accounts for the way they interpret biblical texts, and
for the forms their arguments take; it certainly accounts for the
uncharitable vituperation they use about their opponents, which
was a skill taught to schoolboys.

Society and government

The society in which the Church spread affected it greatly. The

fundamental unit was the family or household (Lat. familia, Gk
oikos/oikia), which affected every person. Most cities were
constituted by a number of large households, belonging to persons
of distinction who also possessed country houses (villas) as centres
of cultivated estates. In such a household the father usually ruled
(though we do hear of households apparently headed by women,
like Lydia in Acts 16.12-15). His wife and free-born children
constituted the kernel of the family. They had privileges and
wealth, but also obligations. Their names would be on a municipal
list, which required them to perform public functions like repairing
buildings and aqueducts or providing a public show with actors
and gladiators. There were also land taxes to be met, which would
mean exacting money from tenant farmers. To the household
would be attached a number of free-born persons with no standing
to enable them to constitute a household themselves, though they
might in our sense live in families in flats or small houses. These
would depend on the wealthier patron for social security and for
such things as the education of their sons, and would in return
give service of one kind and another when called upon. But the
household would largely be run by slaves, and the work on the
estates from which the wealth of the family derived was usually
 8 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

done by slaves. The slaves had formally no rights, though they

were occasionally protected from harshest abuse by legislation.
But owners gained from keeping slaves happy and healthy; all else
apart, contented slaves would breed and supply a new generation
of home-bom servants and labourers. Some slaves progressed
educationally, still working for their masters. But many also were
allowed to earn money for themselves and buy their liberty: formal
legal process existed, based on the temples, for manumission
(setting free) of slaves. The manumitted slave usually continued as
a member of the family, working for his old owner as a ‘freedman’.
But treatment varied enormously, and a slave might grow up well
treated as one of the family, or might be a recent prisoner of war
forced to do unhealthy and disagreeable work under harsh
conditions till he died. A poor man’s slave was perhaps in the
worst predicament, since there was no support if he were ill or too
old to work.
The city was the focus of civilized living. It was where the
economic resources of the countryside were served by the technical
4 skills of craftsmen, and it was the place for the social and political
business of law, commerce, education, religion, theatre, sports
and that indefinable human intercourse which made the central
square or forum of an ancient city its vital heart. Cities could be
free and independent, and there were free cities within the Roman
Empire which preserved some elements of self-government, with a
council and a budget. Emperors could call upon cities for financial
support for the court and the army, particularly when they were
passing through or faced with grave emergencies. This in turn led
to exactions upon the householders of the city, which were passed
down the social chain to become severe hardship for the poor.
While many rich persons stumped up, and some even rejoiced to
lavish gifts on public statues and buildings to give themselves an
everlasting name, there was usually competition to win exemptions
from public liabilities. During the early Christian period the rich
got richer and the poor poorer most of the time.
The Empire of Rome was huge, extending in most of the early
Christian period from north Britain to southern Egypt, from
Mauretania (Morocco) to Mesopotamia, and included Asia Minor
(most of modern Turkey) and all Europe south and west of the
Rhine and Danube, and some beyond. It was in essence a vast
military dictatorship. The republican institutions of the ancient
 God and the Gods 9
city-state of Rome had finally broken under the strain of coping
with an increasing dominion. The great generals defied and
manipulated its legalities, and finally fought to possess power and
protect their own interests. From the deluge of civil wars the
adopted son of Julius Caesar, known as Octavian or Caesar, and
ultimately given the title Augustus, emerged as sole ruler and
restorer of the fatherland. He reigned alone from 31 BC to AD 14,
and is regarded as founder of the Empire, having introduced a new
constitution in 27 BC. As Imperator or Emperor (a military title
meaning ‘Commander’) he was head of the military and directly
governor of a number of provinces, ruling them through members
of his own household. Other provinces in principle continued to be
governed by members of the Roman Senate elected to magistracies
and then sent abroad; but here also the Emperor’s will prevailed,
since as Chief Citizen (Princeps) he could not be defied. In the
Latin world the title King (Rex) was not used, but Caesar’s power
was absolute, his commands amounting to law, and after death (if
he were not damned as a tyrant and all his acts repealed) he was
officially deified, and a priesthood and cult set up in his memory.
But among the Greek speakers, who predominated especially in
the East, he was called King (Gk Basileus) as the great rulers of
Persia and Macedon had been, and received the divine adulation
customary in the past for Hellenistic kings and princes, and for
Roman governors of the old republican days. After AD 14 the
succession remained within the family of Augustus and his wife,
with various complications and misfortunes, until the reign of
Nero, 54-68. He was assassinated and regarded as a bad thing,
and military chiefs competed for the throne. After him a new
dynasty began with Vespasian (68-79).
Two aspects of the system which impinged heavily upon
everyday life were the military and the bureaucracy. The military
could impose themselves upon ordinary citizens with impunity,
officially or unofficially. Passers-by could be forced to carry
luggage, cities to provide accommodation. Usually the soldiers
lived in separate camps and on retirement were settled in ‘colonies’,
where veterans with land and a civic organization of their own
could still be useful in a military emergency. Some important cities
were garrison towns, like Caesarea Maritima in Palestine, the
chief city of that country. In the third century AD the military were
able to make and break emperors too easily, with successful
 10 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

generals from the frontiers being proclaimed by their troops and

overthrowing the emperor who had sent them out. Reforms put in
hand by Diocletian (284-305) restored stability by dividing power,
but the succession continued to be settled by the officer corps,
often with some bloodshed. The bureaucracy began ostensibly as
a military administration, and certainly served at times to choke
the wheels of government. Emperors would repeatedly decree the
same thing, because nothing happened, as persons already in local
power prevented changes which might affect their position. Such
persons also had a way of enriching themselves by using what
power they had in response to bribes: there was a great deal of
graft, which came to be recognized as normal.

The Empire and Christianity

Roman society coped with other gods quite easily. Philosophers

could question the existence or function of the traditional gods;
travellers, soldiers and all sorts of others could introduce new
* cults. The Jews and Samaritans could stay with their ancestral
cults without direct interference. In all cases riot, fraud or rebellion
could of course provoke the state; but it was not religious
persecution as such. With Christianity it was different. For most
of its first three hundred years it appears to have been in some
sense illegal (see below), and people were at times severely
punished for being Christians. But the basis of this before 249 is
uncertain, and the pressure varied greatly from place to place and
from time to time.
During the first century we have evidence of occasional
persecution, but detail is scarce. The sources include some of the
earliest New Testament material: 1 Thess. 1.14-16; Rom. 8.35-6;
Mark 13.9-13 par.; Acts 6.8-8.1; 12.1-3; Rev. 2.13. With this
should be taken the case of James the brother of Jesus, known
from Josephus, Ant. 20.9.1 (NEl), and from apocryphal Christian
sources. Like some of the New Testament material, this blames
persecution on Jews. There may be truth in that, especially while
the context is Palestine. But it was probably exaggerated by
defenders of Christianity; to blame the Jews for causing
disturbances and attacking Christians is one way of pleading that
Christians themselves should be acquitted by the Roman
authorities. Such a tendency is already present throughout Acts,
 God and the Gods 11

where Jews cause persecution and Romans (when honest) prevent

it: see for instance Acts 18.12-17.
We have slight evidence from Suetonius of imperial action
against Christians about 49 and 64 (Claudius 25.4; Nero 16.2
[NE 1-3]. More interesting is the account by Tacitus of the
persecution under Nero (Ann. 15.44.2-8 [NE 2-3]). This reveals
more about the attitudes of Tacitus, an educated official of high
birth, than about what actually happened. He says that, after a
fire which cleared a large area of Rome for Nero’s building schemes,
the emperor diverted the blame onto the Christians, and describes
the hideous cruelties he inflicted, which shocked the public, even
though the Christians were ‘hated for their abominations’ and
deserved punishment. Tacitus is clear that they were convicted of
arson: first a few, then an ‘immense multitude’ informed on by the
few. But he says that they were convicted ‘not so much of arson as
of hatred of the human race’. From this two important points
emerge: (1) Nero’s persecution provided no legal precedent for
persecution, as is often supposed, because it was punishment for a
specific crime of arson in Rome (quite apart from the likelihood
that Nero’s legal acts were invalidated when his memory was
damned after his death); (2) an intelligent and serious Roman like
Tacitus about 115 believed that Christians hated their fellows and
were guilty of ‘abominations’. Colour is added to his account from
the Christian side by 1 Clement 5-6 (NE 4), and the deaths of
Peter and Paul in Rome are reported by Eusebius HE 2.25.5-8
(NE 5); but neither illuminates the causes of persecution.
The most useful documents for this are Pliny’s letter 10.96 from
Bithynia of about 112 to the emperor Trajan, and Trajan’s reply
(NE 18-21). Pliny seeks clarification of his duty as governor in the
matter of Christians. Never having investigated Christianity before,
he does not know whether all persons are to be treated alike (or
only ringleaders punished), whether to pardon those who stop
being Christian, and whether it is the name, or only the ‘secret
crimes connected with the name’, that are punished. He had
executed people for persistent, obstinate Christianity. He had
released accused persons prepared to prove they were not
Christians by sacrificing to the gods, supplicating the emperor’s
statue with incense and wine, and cursing Christ, ‘things which
(so it is said) those who are really Christians cannot be made to
do’. He then goes on to describe his investigation of the secret
12 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

crimes, which he has done by questioning ex-Christians and by

torturing ‘two maid-servants who were called deaconesses’
(presumably supposing these would give way easily). He found
that when they met they took oaths to behave well, sang a hymn to
Christ, and took ‘ordinary and harmless food’; he found nothing
worse than ‘a perverse and extravagant superstition’. We know
that one of the popular beliefs about Christians was that they ate
human flesh (‘Thyestean banquets’; see Eusebius HE 5.1.14 [NE
36]; Athenagoras Leg. 3 [NE 67]); doubtless this was the crime
Pliny was looking for. In his reply Trajan approves Pliny’s action,
but says that no official hunt for Christians should be conducted,
and anonymous accusations should be ignored. This means that
he approved Pliny’s action in executing obstinate Christians ‘for
the name’, and releasing those prepared to deny their faith and
prove their denial on test. Christianity is therefore itself punishable
by death, but not to be prosecuted too vigorously. Perhaps the
presence of ex-Christians showed that the superstition might perish
of its own accord. Certainly Pliny’s investigations reveal that the
alleged abominations lacked evidence. If it had not, ex-Christians
could not have been acquitted. The allegations perhaps arose
because the Christians were secretive and self-isolating, and
preached the impending destruction of non-believers by their God;
popular resentment would fix rumours of cannibalism and incest
upon them, as well as the ‘atheism’ which led them to repudiate
the gods. It becomes a steady theme of Christian apologetic that
Christians should not be punished for the mere name, but judged
by the quality of their lives.
Various theories have been advanced to account for the apparent
illegality of Christianity. The idea that Nero about 64 made a
decree against Christianity has little to commend it, popular though
it might have been among Christian apologists, who could claim
that persecution was begun by that most notorious tyrant. It has
been suggested that the punishment was purely for contumacity
before the magistrate - contempt of court - partly on the strength
of Pliny’s remarks about punishing ‘obstinacy and unbending
perversity’; but although occasionally a Christian provoked a
magistrate, usually he would need to be accused of something
before the contempt could arise. It could be treason. But the case
of the Scillitan martyr is a rare one, who, on being asked to ‘swear
by the genius of our lord the emperor’, replied, ‘I do not recognize
 God and the Gods 13
the empire of this world’ (Pass. Scill. = NE 44). It is nearer the
mark to observe that popular dislike of Christians could flare up,
especially in times of disaster, stress or danger, and a riot might
develop unless the authorities intervened to punish the offenders.
This happened because Christians by definition had repudiated
the gods, on whom prosperity and peace depended; they were also
supposedly guilty of enormities like cannibalism and incest which
offended the same gods. Public disaster was a sign that the
heavens were displeased, and the Christians were thought to be to
blame: ‘If the Tiber reaches the walls, if the Nile does not rise to
the fields, if the sky does not move [drought] or the earth does
[earthquake], if there is famine, if there is plague, the cry is at
once, “The Christians to the lion!’” (Tertullian, Apol. 40.2 [NE
158]). Even educated men like Tacitus and Fronto (see Minicius
Felix, Oct. 9.6; 31.2 [NE 131]) believed in the abominations, but
those who did not might still believe that Christianity was
fundamentally destructive of a society which depended ultimately
on the ‘peace of the gods’. Christians were not like Jews, who
could be excused for following their ancestral tradition and not
taking part in other people’s religion. Christians repudiated the
gods they belonged to, and sometimes advertised the fact; it would
lead them to refuse offerings and oaths if they were tested with
them as Pliny tested those who claimed not to be Christians. They
might be ignored if inconspicuous; but at the least sign of disorder,
or if an accusation were made for private reasons (Justin Apol. 2.2
[NE 30-31]), they could find themselves before a magistrate
having their loyalty and obedience tested, often with fatal outcome.
We must consider how people came to adopt this way of life, and
how they prepared for it.
 2
COMMUNITY AND MORALITY

Conversion and preparation

Many people changed from other religions to Christianity, but as

in other ages there is no clear general reason for conversion. Justin
could claim about 150 AD that the constancy, patience and business
integrity of Christians persuaded others to change their ways and
join them (Apol. 1.16 [NE 59]). There is little reason to doubt
that this was so; and the worse the reputation of Christians, the
greater the impact of genuine goodness when it was discerned.
Tertullian argued that the courage of Christian martyrs caused the
conversion of spectators (Apol. 50.12-16), an idea already in
Justin (Dial. 110.3-4 [NE 59]), and confirmed by incidents
recorded in martyr-stories. Justin traced his own conversion as the
end of an intellectual exploration which led him from other
philosophies to Platonism and then to the Scriptures, where the
fulfilment of the ancient prophecies was the decisive argument.
This account is probably in part fictitious, and such an intellectual
pilgrimage has never been a common cause of conversions. Celsus,
a serious critic of Christianity of the late second century, is critical
of the way badly educated Christians won over women and
especially children in defiance of their husbands, fathers and
schoolmasters, encouraging them to ‘go along with the women and
little children who are their playfellows to the wooldresser’s shop,
or to the cobbler’s or washerwoman’s shop, that they may learn
perfection. And by saying this they persuade them’ (Origen,
Against Cels. 3.55 [NE 135]). This is a sore point with him, and
reflects reality. Women were often converted first (like the wife in
the martyr-story, Justin Apol. 2.2 [NE 30-31]), and tried to bring
up their children to believe (like Monnica the mother of Augustine).
Some would be converted as the result of an act of charity or a
miraculous cure attributed to the God of the Christians. But if
anything made an impact on scoffers and unbelievers, it was the
fearful warning of judgement. The Christians taught that the

14
 Community and Morality 15
whole system of false religion and its adherents were shortly to be
swept away by the God of Israel. As the companions of Perpetua
were marched into the arena for torture and death they made signs
to the judges which unmistakably meant, ‘You, us; God, you’ (Acts
of Perpetua 18). The verb to be supplied might be ‘watch’ or it
might be ‘kill’: either way, the message was unmistakable, and in
such circumstances the courage of the martyrs would certainly
move some to admiration and fear.
But suppose a non-Christian is seriously interested in the
message, whatever the motive, what happens? A better-informed
enquirer might attend a ‘school’ run by a Christian teacher, like
that of Justin in Rome (Martyrdom of Justin 3 [NE 32-33]).
Sooner or later he would be regarded as reliable enough to be
taken to the place where the Christians assembled: often this
could not be done immediately, in case he was an informer. He
would then be formally registered as a ‘hearer’ (auditor) or
‘catechumen’ (= ‘under instruction’), and his name recorded with
that of his sponsor. Men, women and children would be treated
alike, except that little children were obviously dependent on
parents or guardians. The enquirer would then be admitted to
some kinds of assembly. Practice certainly varied from place to
place. In earliest times baptism might follow very rapidly on
conversion and repentance, whether of Jews (Acts 2.41, though it
does not actually say that the water-baptism was the same day) or
of Gentiles (Acts 8.35-8; 16.30-3). But these cases are not easy to
parallel after apostolic times, and in any case it is clear that even
Apostles passed on rules about conduct to their converts, as Paul
did at Thessalonica (1 Thess. 4.1-3). All the evidence after the
New Testament suggests a substantial - usually a long - period
of instruction before one might be admitted to the fellowship. But
it should be said that the catechumen was regarded as a Christian,
and was expected to live a good life, even to the point of martyrdom,
which would count as his baptism if it should come about.
The catechumen would be expected to attend for instruction.
The catechumen in Didache had to learn the Two ways, a moral
code which begins, ‘There are two ways, one of life and one of
death, and there is a great difference between the two ways.’ Most
of what follows describes the way of life, beginning with a
command to love God and one’s neighbour, including snippets
from the Sermon on the Mount and an expanded version of the
 16 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

last five of the Ten Commandments; the way of death is a long list
of vices of every kind. It is this moral instruction which must be
‘recited’ before a person may be presented for baptism at the
beginning of Did. 7 (NE 9). This moral instruction is notable for
its lack of specific doctrinal content. It should be compared with
passages on Christian behaviour in the New Testament, like Matt.
5 — 7 (to which Didache shows close parallels) and Rom. 12.3-21.
It is notable that the same document of the Two ways appears
embedded in the Epistle of Barnabas 18-20 as the ways of light
and darkness, and in some other Christian documents, and that
enough features appear in the document known as The rule (or
The manual of discipline; IQS 3.13-4.26) to show that the Two
ways derives from Jewish proselyte-instruction. This document
comes from the Jewish baptizing sect which had a monastery at
Qumran, whose library partly survives in the Dead Sea Scrolls.
No doctrinal teaching is mentioned in the baptismal preparation
described by Didache-. the test of readiness for baptism is the
upright life, and knowing its rules. But the use of the three names
*at baptism, and the prayers which are recommended for daily and
eucharistic use, imply some such knowledge {Did. 7-10 [NE 10]).
Though practice varied greatly, one common feature was a
division of catechumens into those registered and under instruction
in a general way, and those under immediate preparation for
baptism. Origen early in the third century implies such an
arrangement {Cels. 3.51 [NE 209-210]). For two or three years a
convert would be expected to attend regularly, learning the rules of
Christian behaviour, and then would be prepared with advanced
instruction and subjected to scrutinies during the months
immediately preceding baptism.
The first part of this course would certainly include moral
instructions, rather as outlined in the Didache, but with more
detail. Matters of conduct occupy a surprisingly large proportion
of Christian literature in the first three centuries, as witness the
Paidagogos of Clement of Alexandria and the numerous
disciplinary works of Tertullian; this reflects the amount of moral
training which went on. It was far more than a matter of a
generally good and loving attitude, though that was strongly
urged. Some things were completely banned by God’s law. Killing
human beings in any way was forbidden, including all kinds of
abortion, the exposure of babies (then a regular substitute for
 Community and Morality 17
birth control), taking part in the bloody sports of the arena even as
a spectator, and killing on military service. Fornication and
adultery were grave offences, including homosexual and pederastic
practices and all extra-marital sexual activity, with some variety of
views about whether the baptized were required or recommended
to stay celibate, and whether sexual intercourse in marriage was
permissible only in order to conceive children. Idolatry was banned
in any form, which included attendance at sports, theatres and
public occasions when gods were invoked; it also meant excluding
professions like acting and plastic arts (the standard sculptures
mostly representing gods). Integrity with money, and the giving of
alms, were essential, and probably commended the faith in a
world full of bribery. The elementary instruction included training
in regular prayer (the Lord’s Prayer three times a day in the
Didache) and the observance of light fasts each Wednesday and
Friday.
But there was always a theological back-drop to this training. It
was undertaken because God, the God of Scripture, had stated his
will and declared his impending judgement. It thus formed part of
the elementary training to hear the words of Scripture and to have
them expounded. The ordinary catechumen would hear these
readings and expositions Sunday by Sunday at the church meeting
or synaxis. After what could be a long session of texts and
sermons, the catechumens would be blessed and dismissed before
the main work of the eucharistic offering began; with them would
go some others, such as baptized persons being disciplined for
grave sins, and energumens, the mentally sick, who were thought
to be demon-possessed. City churches, like those in Alexandria,
were able to offer weekday teaching. The Scripture would be
systematically expounded; Origen as catechist there appears to
have begun a cycle of Old Testament homilies intended to last two
or three years. Such instruction begins with Genesis, the decisive
point where the one Creator and Lawgiver taught by Christians
was declared in the face of polytheistic religion and Greek
philosophy. It is no surprise to find that the first few chapters are
the most discussed and argued-over of the whole Bible, and that
exegetes of all schools find there the essential clues to every
doctrinal system.
 18 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Coming to baptism

After learning morality and the essentials of the Bible, and proving
acceptable in conduct, a catechumen might make a request for
baptism. We have a description of what happened from a Roman
theologian called Hippolytus about AD 200. The candidates are
examined individually to see ‘whether they lived piously while
catechumens, whether they honoured the widows [that is,
contributed to charity], whether they visited the sick, whether they
fulfilled every good work’; if so they may ‘hear the gospel’,
apparently not previously allowed in this church, and must attend
for daily exorcism (for this and what follows, see Hippolytus,
Apostolic Tradition 20-1). In other churches other tests might be
applied. It now seems fairly certain that in much of the Syriac¬
speaking East candidates for baptism would be expected to commit
themselves to celibacy; if already married, they must live continent
with their partners after baptism. This practice came to be treated
as ‘Encratite heresy’ by most of the Church, and inevitably where
*it operated most Christians lived as catechumens, probably getting
baptized at the end of their lives.
Hippolytus writes of daily exorcism. Exorcism is casting out evil
spirits. Readers of the first three gospels know that possession by
evil spirits or demons was widespread. Their presence was felt by
all kinds of people. Most acutely it was felt by Christians, for
whom all the heathen gods were demons; the protectors, saviours,
sponsors of the society they lived in were all malignant spirits who
applied pressure through the state, through families, through
education, through all the things most people accepted as part of
life. Exorcism was performed by directly challenging the demon in
the name of Christ to depart, often with some ceremony like
blowing on the face or laying on hands. This is probably the ‘sign
that they have been purified’ mentioned by Origen (.Against Cels.
3.51 [NE 209]). Exorcism could be performed by a senior minister,
a presbyter or bishop; but most churches had junior officers called
exorcists, who might have special gifts for managing the mentally
sick or deficient, but were probably in most cases merely competent
in the minor ritual of exorcising catechumens.
Most baptisms took place at the Easter Vigil; this practice was
not universal, since other festivals and occasions were used. It
probably originated as much in the practical educational
 Community and Morality 19
requirements in larger churches as in the symbolism soon attached
to it, since baptism meant participating in the death and rising
again of Christ which Easter celebrates. The period of exorcism
and instruction became Lent. An intense preparation began with a
wash and a fast for two days. ‘Before the baptism let the baptizer
and him that is baptized fast, and such others as can; and you
shall bid the person to be baptized to fast for one or two days
before’ (Did. 7.4 [NE 10]). For Easter baptisms two days’ fasting
coincided with the paschal fast, which lasted through the Friday
and Saturday, and was observed by the whole church. On the
Saturday Rome had a final exorcism by the bishop: he warned off
the spirits, laid hands on the kneeling candidates and ‘sealed’
forehead, ear and nose. The paschal night of Saturday was spent
in vigil and readings. At cock-crow the water was blessed (a
flowing fountain was always preferred), and the candidates
stripped; there was usually some provision for modesty, chiefly
the conduct of baptism in a private room or baptistery apart from
the main meeting house of the church; but the oiling and washing
were done naked, and one of the recorded functions of deaconesses
is assisting at the baptism of women. Children were baptized, that
is ‘bathed’ first, then men, then women (who must put off their
jewellery). Our records of full-scale Western baptisms from about
200 agree with Hippolytus, recording that each candidate was
first oiled, then bathed three times, then oiled again (see NE 141-3).
This process resembled that in the public baths so familiar in the
Roman world, where a coarser oil was used for cleansing, then the
body was washed with hot and cold plunges, and finally refined
and scented oil was applied and clean clothes put on. Similarly the
church used two oils, one for exorcism used before the washing,
and one for thanksgiving afterwards, the washing itself consisting
of three complete plunges; and clean festal clothes were put on. In
Hippolytus, the candidates were then brought (presumably from
the baptistery) to the bishop in the presence of the people, where
they received a further token unction with the oil of thanksgiving,
and the laying on of hands, and were then admitted to the
eucharistic prayer and communion for the first time. Not all this
was followed everywhere. The Syrian churches laid more emphasis
on the oil, which was applied only once and before the baptism.
And in the West, infants were soon being baptized veiy young,
just as the sick and dying might be, in their homes; they might be
20 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

brought to the bishop for the final ceremonies later, a circumstance

which is related to the origin of confirmation.
With the oil of exorcism the candidate makes one very serious
statement: ‘I renounce thee, Satan, and all thy servants, and all
thy works.’ The believer has turned away from the old world,
never to be compromised again. The great weight laid on moral
testings and on exorcisms throughout reflects the sharp break
being made with the social environment: the Church was a people
apart, and its members must be unbending. This was what was so
shocking to their critics, and made the name of ‘Christian’ decisive
for persecutor and matryr alike.
There are questions attached to the three washings. Before each
dipping the candidate says ‘I believe’ to a question, and the
questions in Hippolytus together constitute one of the earliest
creeds we know, but in interrogative form:

1. ‘Do you believe in God, the Father Almighty?’

2. ‘Do you believe in Christ Jesus, the Son of God, who was
born by the Holy Spirit of the Virgin Mary, and was crucified
under Pontius Pilate, and was dead and buried, and rose again
the third day, alive from the dead, and ascended into heaven,
and sat at the right hand of the Father, and will come to judge
the living and the dead?’

3. ‘Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, in the holy Church, and in
the resurrection of the flesh?’

The obvious feature of this is that it is trinitarian, in the sense that

the candidate acknowledges God the Father, Christ Jesus the Son
of God, and the Holy Spirit. It conforms to the prescription found
in two early texts, Matt. 28.19 and Didache 7.1-3 (AT?9-10), that
baptisms should be ‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and
of the Holy Spirit’, although those words were not used, as they
later are, as a formula. Not all baptisms fitted this rule. The
Marcosians, whose mission in Gaul prompted Irenaeus to write
his Against Heresies about 180, are alleged to have used the
formula: ‘Into the unknown Father of the universe, into truth the
mother of all things [= Holy Spirit?!, into him who descended on
Jesus [= Christ?], into union and redemption and communion
with the powers’ (Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 1.21.3 [NE 91]. More
common and perhaps more ancient was the simple, ‘In the name
 Community and Morality 21
of the Lord Jesus [or, Jesus ChristJ’. This practice was known
among Marcionites and orthodox; it is certainly the subject of
controversy in Rome and Africa about 254, as the anonymous
tract De rebaptismate (‘On rebaptism’) shows. It is implied by
Acts 10.46-8; 19.5. The last passage is especially interesting,
since its context is ‘John’s baptism’, ‘the baptism of repentance’.
This is regarded as insufficient, and it is baptism ‘in the name of
the Lord Jesus’ which is associated with the gift of Holy Spirit.
Plainly the name of Jesus, and the reference to Holy Spirit, are in
this case what make a baptism true and apostolic; so even with the
shorter formula the trinitarian thought is implied. In this as well
as in the longer Hippolytan baptismal creed the shape of Christian
confession is already implied: one God, one Lord Jesus Christ, one
Spirit. Finally, we may suppose that the words recorded in
Hippolytus have been developed: the references in the third limb
to ‘the holy Church and the resurrection of the flesh’ may reflect
the desire to establish the true Church against heretical groups,
and to assert the doctrine of bodily resurrection against the
(Platonic) belief in some Christian circles in the immortal soul.
Some of the words about Jesus Christ may also have been
developed to counteract heresy.
When the presbyter anoints the candidate immediately after
washing he says, ‘I anoint you with holy oil in the name of Jesus
Christ’ (the bishop later uses a trinitarian formula). This is
significant because the title ‘Christ’ itself means ‘Anointed’, and
for some Christians it is anointing (‘chrism’) which makes a
Christian. Since Christians are also anointed with Holy Spirit,
this ceremony can be seen as representing or imparting the gift of
the Spirit. The Gospel of Philip insists that not water but anointing
makes a Christian (NHC ii.3; see especially NHLE 139 = A® 70).
But it is never clear whether that (gnostic?) document is
distinguishing from water-baptism a spiritual gift, the true
knowledge of ‘real Christians’, or a ceremony of chrismation.
After the bishop’s anointing of candidates, they are allowed for
the first time to pray with the faithful; until this point that was not
allowed. Praying together was limited in this way, because the
prayers of the faithful, who are in tune with God’s will, are
especially potent (see for example Tertullian, Apol. 30.5 [NE161]).
After the prayers, which might be at some length, a kiss is
exchanged, the kiss of peace. Again the catechumens were not
 22 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

allowed to kiss the faithful before baptism, because they were not
pure (Hippolytus, Apostolic Tradition 18.3; Justin, Apol. 1.65 [NE
63-64]). One function of the kiss was security: the faithful were
members of a family and knew each other like a cluster of
Mediterranean people today saluting their uncles, aunts and
cousins; a stranger would not be recognized. Clement of Alexandria
worried about the scandal the kiss might cause if salaciously
abused (Paed. III.xL81.2-3 [NE 183]).

The eucharistic offering

Then came the ‘oblation’. Hippolytus emphasized that those coming

for baptism were not allowed to bring anything with them except
their eucharistic offering. This might be bread and wine, but
apparently could include all sorts of other produce, as it did for all
the faithful. By the middle of the third century the oblation seems
to have been limited to bread and wine, and occasionally other
4 things for liturgical use such as oil. But in 200 there was still
sufficient memory of an earlier phase of offering when the principal
corporate act of Christians was a meal (as in 1 Cor. 11.17-34 and
probably Did. 9-10 [NE 10]). And the point of this meal was that
each brought what he had and shared it with the others; that made
it the ‘Lord’s supper’, since Christ did the same with the bread and
wine on the night when he was given up to death, and his passion
itself was a similar sacrifice, a giving for others. Before long the
bread was seen as representing Christ’s Body and the cup (usually
of wine) as representing the Blood, a connection he had himself
made in New Testament texts; the meal and other offerings
consequently came to be treated as the less important or less
serious part of the rite. The faithful of Didache 13 were expected
to make over a tenth of all produce to their clergy to sustain them
and provide opportunity for corporate charity; such gifts would be
offered at the assembly, and would be the subject of a thanksgiving
(Gk eucharistia), and would be shared as the leader decreed.
Perhaps originally it was just this kind of giving which constituted
the ‘Body of Christ’, that is the Church as a corporate society,
rather than specifically the bread by itself. Certainly the offering
had to be pure; the unbaptized and the excommunicate were not
allowed to offer.
At the oblation the newly baptized would put in their own
 Community and Morality 23
offering with the others, and the bishop would offer the
thanksgiving (eucharistia), a prayer which might be quite short, or
might range widely and include various intercessions. Early
accounts are available in Didache 9-10 (NE 9-10), Justin Apol.
1.65 (NE 63-64) and Hippolytus Ap. Trad. 4-6 (this includes a
blessing of oil, cheese and olives, but is a special text for the
ordination of a bishop). The prayer gives thanks for the privileges
of the gospel, and prays for the protection and consummation of
the universal Church. In the early days there was great freedom
for prophets and bishops, but custom and the power of the written
text came to prevail from the fourth century onwards. Once the
gifts had been ‘eucharistized’ by the thanksgiving, they were
distributed to those present, and some was carried by appointed
ministers (‘deacons’) to the sick and other absentees. The newly
baptized in some churches had special symbolic drinks of milk
and honey (for the promised land) and water (for inner cleansing);
but these died out as the Eucharist itself became more uniform.
As the Eucharist became limited to the bread and wine as
Christ’s sacrificial Body and Blood, features of the original
Eucharist were developed in other ways. Common meals without
the bread and wine sacrificially offered were held, and especially
were arranged as an act of charity by richer members of the
church. Such a meal was called an agape (‘a charity’), and could be
quite formal. At the same time the church developed its common
purse for charitable purposes, and this had a significant influence
on the way it was organized (see Tertullian’s defensive comments
in Apol. 39.5-6 [NE 163-64]). In fact the local church was in
many ways a charitable society. The vulnerable members of
society, such as widows, orphans, surplus babies and elderly
slaves, could be sure of a livelihood if they belonged to the church.
There the needy had a family which would see that they were not
destitute. In 251 a bishop of Rome could boast that his church
included not only 162 clergy and servants, but ‘above fifteen
hundred widows and persons in distress, all of whom are
supported by the grace and loving kindness of the Master’
(Eusebius HE 6.43.11 [NE 232]); this means that the gifts of the
faithful provided for them all. Similarly Cyprian advised that a
converted actor could not be allowed to continue in his profession,
but should be found other employment; otherwise the church
concerned must give him a pension. In the world where both
24 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

poverty and riches were increasing, membership therefore had

material advantages for many. This had several important
consequences: it made the penalty of being deprived of membership
(excommunication) a very severe one; it gave great power to those
who controlled membership; and it set a high premium on financial
integrity as a qualification for office, since any taint of the
corruption affecting society at large was intolerable among the
saints.
 3
THE MESSAGE AND THE MESSENGERS

The canon of Scripture

Christianity was the religion of a book. The training of new

Christians and the life of the Community centred on the reading of
holy texts. But the Bible was not a single book readily available in
bookshops. Its name means ‘the books’ (Gk ta biblia), and it was a
collection of different books, commonly referred to as ‘the writings’
or ‘Scriptures’ (hai graphai). But what books?
When the apostles began preaching Christ their first hearers
were Jews, whether in Palestine, where perhaps one in seven of the
Jewish population of the Empire lived, or in the much more
numerous ‘Dispersion’, among the Greek-speaking populations of
the Empire. Jews occupied a separate quarter of the greatest city of
the East, Alexandria, had a shanty-town outside Rome, and were
in places considerable country landowners or urban craftsmen.
Christian preaching would begin in their synagogues, and from
the Scriptures read there. The object of the Christian preacher was
to prove that the promised Messiah [= Christ] was Jesus, as in the
scene portrayed in Acts 13.14-42 (compare 9.20-2). The
synagogue would have the Law, that is the books of Moses (the
Pentateuch, the first five books of the present Bible) reverently
preserved and honoured. What it had beyond that varied, but
would consist of the Prophets (the historical books and prophets
as now known), and the Writings, which included the Psalms
and books of wisdom like Proverbs. But in these latter categories
much variation was possible. The Sadducees who ran the
Jerusalem temple acknowledged only Moses, as did the Samaritans
at their shrine. The synagogue-teachers such as the Pharisees used
the Prophets and Writings too. Some time after the Christian
preaching began, and after the fall of Jerusalem in AD 70, the
rabbis established a list or ‘canon’ (that is a ‘rule’ or ‘delimitation’)
of the books now regularly seen as the core of the Christian Old
Testament canon. This list excluded a number of books and

25
26 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

chapters widely used in synagogues before, such books as

Ecclesiasticus and the books of Maccabees, and chapters like
Susanna and Bel and the dragon attached to Daniel, a number of
which survive as the Christian Apocrypha or Deuterocanonical
books. In some cases, as in the long additions to Esther, the
additions existed only in Greek and not in the Hebrew original.
But this raises a further question of biblical language.
In Palestine, Syria and Babylonia Christians moved among
people who spoke some dialect of Aramaic (later Syriac), and in
synagogues the Hebrew Scriptures were explained or read in a free
translation called Targum. But everywhere else, and to some
extent in those places too, Greek was the language of preaching. In
many parts a translation of the Law into Greek was in use. It was
in existence before 200 BC. Because of a legend that it was
miraculously translated at Alexandria by seventy elders it was
called ‘The seventy’ or Septuagint, and is represented by the Latin
number LXX (septuaginta). Other books existed in Greek versions;
^Christians came to regard a complete set of these as Septuagint,
though the original legend affected only the books of Moses. These
versions varied greatly in closeness to the Hebrew original: Moses
and the Psalms were closest; some books like Proverbs, Job and
Esther were in part freely rewritten; in some places they were
based on Hebrew readings superseded by the official Massoretic
text of later Judaism. Even the closer versions reflected
sophisticated Greek religious ideas in places. Where God states
his name to Moses in somewhat obscure Hebrew as ‘I am who I
am’ (Exod. 3.14) the Greek translator rendered, ‘I am he who is’
(ho on), reflecting the philosophical concept of ‘What is’ (to on),
that which truly and permanently exists as distinct from the
becoming and changeable. Where human beings are said to ‘see’
God, the Greek makes them ‘appear before him’ (Exod. 24.10 and
elsewhere).
These Greek versions had become the foundation of religion in
the synagogues, and had inspired a considerable literature. Notably
the Alexandrian scholar Philo (c.20 BC-AD 50) had written detailed
expositions of the books of the Law, in which he made Moses the
teacher of an ultimate philosophic way of life. Ideas, especially
ideas about God, unacceptable to Greek philosophy, inaccurate
histories and impossible laws, were all explained in terms of
spiritual allegories (in the same way as Stoic philosophers had
 The Message and the Messengers 27

interpreted unworthy activities of gods in Homer). The rabbis

however laid the foundations of modern Judaism on the Hebrew
text after the fall of Jerusalem in AD 70, and the old Greek versions
were discarded for formal synagogue use. But since most Jews
spoke Greek and not Hebrew, some translations were needed; in
the early centuries of Christianity three new versions were in
circulation, bearing the names of Theodotion, Symmachus and
Aquila, which were more accurate. Christians meanwhile stuck to
the old text, and sometimes found in it renderings which helped
their argument. They were in fact responsible for its preservation,
as also of the Jewish Greek writers like Philo and Josephus, whose
books were for various reasons useful to Christian scholars and
exegetes.
The earliest Christian preaching then usually began in a
synagogue with a Greek Bible. If the whole synagogue accepted
the message, as may sometimes have happened, it became a
church, books and all. Usually individuals would be converted,
and would join converts from the state gods to form a new
congregation. Such a group might have a problem getting hold of
texts to read and teach from. They would probably get copies
made from another church. This might be a haphazard process,
and the new congregation would be dependent on the authority of
the originating church as to what was and was not ‘Scripture’; in
this way from the start principal churches in great centres like
Antioch and Rome exercised enormous influence over their lesser
neighbours.
Sooner or later learned men would embark on research to
identify the true text and the true canon. The earliest example we
know is Melito of Sardis in Asia Minor, who was active about 170.
Seeking precise information ‘about the ancient books, both as to
their number and as to their arrangement’, he went back to the
East, and ‘to the place where it was proclaimed and done’, and he
got a list of ‘the books of the old covenant’ (Fragment 4 =
Eusebius HE4.26.13-14). The list he gives agrees with the shorter
Hebrew canon recently established by the rabbis, a fact which
confirms the truth of his claim to have visited Palestine.
Approximately the same list (with variations of order) was known
to Origen later, who was concerned to use in controversy with
Jews only those books which the Jews themselves accept (Eusebius
HE 6.25.1-2). However, he certainly accepted other works from
28 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

the Greek Bible as a divine authority, like Wisdom and the

additions to Daniel, which seem not to have been doubted in the
Church till they were challenged by the Jews. This question
continued to divide churchmen. The Eastern fathers generally
continued to use the larger canon, but from Athanasius onwards
(.Festal letter 39) made a distinction when discussing canonical
questions between those books which strictly belonged and those
used in a secondary way; exceptionally the great Antiochenes like
John Chrysostom and Theodoret made no such discrimination.
The Westerns, dominated by Augustine and councils associated
with him (Hippo 393; Carthage 397), generally regarded all the
books as of equal authority; it was the scholarly work of Jerome,
devoted to the restoration of the Hebrew original as the standard,
that established the difference between canonical and deutero-
canonical (that is, secondary to the main list), and opened the way
for the later Protestant rejection of the Apocrypha.

Interpreting Scripture

Having a copy of the old Scriptures was one thing, using it was
another. The initial impact of Christian preaching in the synagogue
was to fix on a limited string of texts, and to argue that ‘the
Scriptures are fulfilled’ in Jesus Christ and the events surrounding
him: Paul summarizes the original gospel as, ‘Christ died for our
sins in accordance with the Scriptures and was buried, and rose
again the third day in accordance with the Scriptures’ (1 Cor.
15.3-4). It is easy to spot from the New Testament itself an
original core of passages which provided material for controversial
argument, like Psalm 110(109) in Mark 12.35-7 and Heb. 5 and
7. The travelling preacher might have carried a small dossier of
such extracts with him; he could not have carried a Bible, which
would have been far too bulky. Such collections of proof-texts or
Testimonia (‘evidences’) were later written up formally; one
collection is attributed to Cyprian, for instance. Scholars got to
work trying to enlarge the area of text from which testimonies to
Christ could be deduced; this is already happening in Hebrews,
and there is much argument of this kind in Justin’s Dialogue with
Trypho the Jew from the middle of the second century. But though
this was the characteristically Christian use, there was plenty
more to be got from the text, of a kind the Jews already found
 The Message and the Messengers 29
there. The Bible stories provided examples of good life; the
warnings and pleas to serve God and not follow idols, to be
faithful and moral, were constantly emphasized. 1 Clement is full
of this sort of thing, urging obedience to the precepts and law of
God; notably in that letter even where words are cited as of Jesus
Christ, the source is usually the Old Testament (e.g. 1 Clem. 22).
Biblical interpretation starts and continues in controversy. It
starts in dispute with Jews about the meaning of the prophecies,
and whether the OT text means that Jesus is the Christ (‘Messiah’).
Such was the disputation of Apollos at Ephesus (Acts 18.27-8)
and the whole pattern of Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho the Jew.
To see Christ in the Scriptures is itself a gift of the Holy Spirit;
when someone turns to the Lord the Spirit removes the ‘veil’ which
prevents Jews from understanding Moses correctly (2 Cor. 3.12-
18). It therefore requires both learning and inspiration, beyond the
ability of ordinary believers, to understand and expound God’s
words. Those so blessed emerged as leaders. To understand how
doctrine developed from the Bible, this process must be understood
too.

Church leaders: Didache

The first leaders were the apostles (rarely called ‘evangelists’,

bringers of good news) who brought the message from God to
each place. The original sense of ‘apostle’ (Gk apostolos) is
uncertain, but it apparently means ‘one sent’, that is a
‘commissioner’ or ‘missionary’; the first apostles were sent by
Christ personally, but the word could be used more loosely of
agents sent by churches to each other or to new places. The gifts of
the Spirit which came upon those who believed produced other
leaders and officers with different functions. We meet especially
prophets and teachers. The early handbook of church order called
Didache has important guidance about apostles, prophets and
teachers {Did. 11-13 [NE 11-12]). In this one church at least,
these were the traditional chief officers, as they seem to have been
in St Paul’s Corinth (1 Cor. 12.28). Didache tries to distinguish
true apostles, prophets and teachers from false, and it is clear that
the true have a right to be helped with money and food. The
apostle is a travelling agent: if he stays more than two nights he is
discredited, as he is if he asks for money (11.4-6); the name ‘false
 30 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

prophet’ in this context merely means ‘fraud’. The prophet speaks

in the Spirit, and is not to be judged: yet there are false prophets,
especially those who do not live according to their own teaching. A
prophet may order a ‘table’ (that is, a meal) while in the Spirit, but
if he eats what is produced in response to his inspired message, he
is a false prophet; similarly if he asks for money (11.7-12).
Prophets are not mere visitors (as apostles are), but settled
permanent leaders, entitled to ‘first fruits’ (probably a tenth part)
of all produce, ‘for they are your high priests’ (13.3). In addition to
moral leadership, ordering charitable meals and so forth, the
prophet was the inspired leader of prayer: at the eucharistic meal,
‘suffer the prophets to give thanks as [or, as much as] they will’
(10.7). Similar provision is made for teachers (13.2), who were
perhaps entrusted with the tradition, and were rather repetiteurs
and catechists, teaching converts the kind of thing they needed to
know before baptism, rather than speaking from inspiration and
originally; they taught the sort of things which Didache, The
4 Teaching of the Twelve Apostles, is about. The tests in this book
are chiefly to protect the church and its treasury from frauds like
the Peregrinus colourfully depicted by the pagan satirist Lucian
(Peregr. 11-16 [NE128-30]). Elsewhere the activities of prophets
are subjected to doctrinal control: in 1 John 4.1-3 the prophet who
affirms that Jesus Christ came in the flesh is of God, the one who
denies it is antichrist. Such passages indicate why prophecy lost
its place, even while some of its functions remained in other
church officers. The last book of the Bible, the Revelation to John,
is perhaps a typical New Testament prophecy (for the terminology,
see Rev. 22.6-10). While fundamentally an orthodox exercise
interpreting many Old Testament prophecies in the light of Christ
crucified, it is a difficult but powerful work which could easily be
misunderstood; and soon persons were claiming inspiration for all
sorts of tracts and secret books similar in kind but different in
doctrine. Hence as the travelling apostles disappeared and the
directly inspired prophets lost their authority, other figures
emerged to take command of the churches.
The text of Didache already indicates this. It is a compilation,
altered and adapted at various periods. Although the main part
envisages a church in which apostles, prophets and teachers lead,
towards the end we read a direction of another kind. The readers
are directed to break bread with thanksgiving every Sunday, after
 The Message and the Messengers 31
reconciliation of disputes, and ‘elect therefore for yourselves
bishops and deacons worthy of the Lord, men meek and not
covetous, and true and approved; for they also minister unto you
the ministry of the prophets and teachers’ (14-15.1 [NE 12]).
Regular gatherings (not just when the prophet commands) demand
a more regular ministry, not chosen by a prophetic gift but by
approved behaviour, and known to be honest with money (‘not
covetous’). Didache thus represents a transition to a form of
government we meet elsewhere: ‘bishops and deacons’ figure in
one epistle of Paul (Phil. 1.1), are implied by 1 Tim. 3.1-13, and
are claimed to be a scriptural institution and appointed by God in
1 Clem. 42.4-5 (NES). These texts are usually taken to imply that
in a church governed in this way there was a board of elders
(presbyters), who could also be called bishops, and one or more
deacons, who helped the presbyter/bishops chiefly in practical
ways. But before discussing that, the terminology should be
explained.
The word ‘elder’ or ‘presbyter’ represents the Greek preshyteros,
‘an older man’. It can be used of any senior person, but already
denoted in Jewish synagogues the older males who formed a
governing body. This use is already present in the NT: elders are
said to share with apostles the government of the Jerusalem
church (Acts 15.6) and to be appointed by Paul in gentile churches
(Acts 14.23). But the term seems to be used interchangeably with
‘bishop’, as at Acts 20.17,28 and Titus 1.5,7. This is so also in 1
Clement, where the deposed ‘elders’ are apparently bishops (or
bishops and deacons). The term ‘elder’ goes on being used of
bishops even when they have taken on a more important and
distinct role (so Irenaeus of the bishops of Rome in Eusebius HE
5.24.14-16 [NE 140]). Later the title ‘presbyter’ is reserved for the
subordinate ministers who assist the bishop, and later still turned
into the English word ‘priest’.
‘Bishop’ is the English form of episkopos, which seems to mean
‘overseer’ or perhaps ‘inspector’. We do not know how it came to
be used of a Christian ministry, but it is natural enough either for
a member of a team entrusted with care of others, or of the one in
charge by himself of the whole congregation. The possible meaning
‘inspector’ should not be overlooked. Clement emphasizes
inspecting sacrifice as a biblical function of ministry: the good
bishop has ‘in blameless and holy wise offered the gifts’ (1 Clem.
32 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

41.2; 44.4 [NE 8-91). One might think of this as meaning simply
that he is liturgically sound, or personally pure. But if the sacrifice
of the Christian were thought of in terms of giving one’s goods into
the central pool, to be offered with the thanksgiving of Christ, the
bishop is the ‘inspector’ who makes sure that the sacrifice offered
is acceptable to God. In other words, he decides who is qualified to
take part in the eucharistic offering and receiving. Beginning as an
activity of a presbyter, prophet, apostle or teacher, this role was so
important that only the best existing officer could be appointed to
it. The power to decide who was fit to offer and receive involved
ultimate control over all the congregation’s possessions as well as
the admission and discipline of members. He determined who
should pray and who should preach; as doctrinal disputes
increased he might alone do both. Since he would decide whether
a visitor was to be admitted, correspondence with other churches
was also his responsibility.- None of this is incompatible with the
other likely meaning of episkopos, ‘overseer’.
1 ‘Deacon’ (Gk diakonos) means ‘minister’ or ‘servant’. The story
of Acts 6.1-6 was told to explain the origin of the office, though in
the early days it may have indicated anyone working as an assistant
to one of the other ministries. The deacon is soon associated
particularly with the bishop as his assistant both in liturgical
matters, and particularly in such tasks as distributing the
eucharistic gifts and carrying portions to the sick and others
unable to be present (Justin 1 Apol. 65 [NE 63-64]). Though in
principle serving a secondary, even menial, role, the deacon was
close to the bishop, and shared the rise in importance of the
bishop. The model of Acts 6 suggests that their administration of
charity was intended to free the bishops (here represented by the
Twelve) for their preaching and teaching role. But such a diaconate
would itself be a powerful position, since the day-to-day letter¬
writing and administration of money might fall to him; and it
seems not at all odd to the writer of Acts that two of his ‘deacons’
(Stephen and Philip) become very active as preachers too.

Church leaders: Clement of Rome, Ignatius and Irenaeus

In addition to Didache we have important evidence, though still

slight and fragmentary, from Clement of Rome and Ignatius of
Antioch. Clement, probably writing at the end of the first century,
 The Message and the Messengers 33
deals with a dispute at Corinth, where ‘the young’ have rebelled
against ‘the elders’ and deposed them. His argument is that the
Church functions by mutual charity as a single body, the members
submitting to the will of God and to each other. He produces
arguments from Scripture to show both that the offices of bishop
and deacon were predicted in the OT, and that the principle of a
divinely ordered ministry, where functions are divided, was
established in the law of Moses and by Jesus Christ through the
apostles: his conclusion is that to depose well-behaved bishops is a
grave sin (see especially 1 Clem. 40-4 [NE 7-9]). He clearly
enunciates a doctrine of apostolic succession: the apostles,
commanded by Christ, both appointed the first bishops and gave
rules for the succession to be carried on. This is a principle which
became the norm in Catholic Christianity; but whatever truth it
has in it, it seems to have begun as a history discovered from
Scripture to fit the known spiritual authority of a traditional
ministry. One should note that there is no indication that either in
Rome or in Corinth there was a single presiding bishop rather
than a board of elders.
The idea of a single bishop in a church is clearly advocated by
Ignatius of Antioch in the seven authentic letters which survive
from not later than AD 115. His own position appears to have
been that of the only or principal bishop in Syrian Antioch, the
great centre of the mission to the Gentiles in the Acts of the
Apostles. The only earlier figure we know of who might qualify as
such a bishop is James, the brother of the Lord, who plays a
leading role in the Jerusalem church, even though not an apostle in
the sense that Peter or Paul was (Acts 12.17 etc.; 1 Cor. 15.7; Gal.
2.9 etc.). Ignatius writes to various churches in the province of
Asia (that is, western Asia Minor), and to Rome, as he is being
taken to Rome for trial and execution. He has met various leaders
of the churches concerned, and urges them each to overcome their
pressing divisions and doctrinal disputes by gathering round the
bishop. The errors he opposes are judaizing practices {Magn. 8-10
[NE 13-14]), and denying the fleshly reality of Jesus Christ (like
the false prophets of 1 John 4.1-6; Trail. 9-10 [NE 14-15]). He
pictures each church gathered round its bishop, who is one like
God himself, honouring its presbyters who are like the apostolic
band, and reverencing the deacons ‘as the commandment of God’
(that is, as appointed by God; Smyrn. 8 [NE 15]). Without the
34 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

bishop, or at least the bishop’s authority, no Eucharist, baptism or

other spiritual act is valid. It is noticeable that when Ignatius
writes to a church he either mentions or addresses its bishop, in
every case except Rome. There may be a special reason for this;
but the attitude of Clement, and the evidence of the book called
The Shepherd of Hermas, suggest that the congregations there
were governed by boards of elders, who included prophets and
teachers, and might be called bishops. Ignatius in fact seems to be
writing at a time when divisions in the churches, and especially
conflicts over doctrine, make the need for a single bishop as the
focus of unity apparent. We shall consider some of these in the
next chapter.
Meanwhile it is worth noticing that the principles enunciated by
Ignatius and Clement seem rapidly to have prevailed. Whatever
we may think of the list of early bishops in Rome, first given by
Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 3.3.1-2 {NE 114-15), there can be little
doubt it is correct from the ‘sixth’ bishop Sixtus; on another
Occasion, writing to Victor the Bishop of Rome about 190, Irenaeus
listed Victor’s predecessors, but went no further back than Sixtus
(using the Greek form of his name, Xystus; Eusebius HE 5.24.14
[NE 140]). We do not know Sixtus’ dates, but he could well have
followed the martyrdom of Ignatius in Rome, an act which would
have profoundly affected the attitude of Christians to the cause
which he advocated. Irenaeus about 180 was to argue that
everywhere bishops were appointed by apostles, and that the
pedigree of the bishops of his time could be traced back to the
apostolic founders of churches (see ch. 6). This is a strong form of
Clement’s doctrine, presupposing with Ignatius that there is one
bishop in each church. Irenaeus would also suppose that in each
bishop resided a special gift which preserved in him the apostolic
truth, and that the succession guaranteed this tradition. An
important figure in this process was undoubtedly Polycarp, Bishop
of Smyrna, who received personally one of the letters of Ignatius,
and was responsible for collecting them and transmitting them to
at least one other church (Polycarp, Ep. 13 [NE 16-17]). He also
died a martyr, probably in 156, and Irenaeus claimed that he had
learned from him as a boy, and that Polycarp was himself trained
by apostles {Adv. Haer. 3.3.4 [NE 115-16]). So it is reasonable to
suppose that the idea of each church gathered round its bishop,
who could be easily recognized by his own people and by other
 The Message and the Messengers 35
bishops, was promoted by such persons as Ignatius, Polycarp and
Irenaeus, and proved its worth. We shall see that it was such
action which pulled the Catholic Church into a recognizable shape.
It meant that each church had a leading figure responsible for the
doctrine as well as the discipline of the community, since he would
judge between claims to interpret the Bible correctly. Irenaeus in
fact elaborated a theory of the unanimity of bishops in a ‘Rule of
Faith’ derived from the apostles, which enabled the whole truth of
God’s Word to be correctly perceived.
 4
PROLIFERATION AND EXCESS

Heresy and schism

In the second century parties and splits in the Church multiplied.

As formal orthodoxy became clearer and established by a world¬
wide organization, it became customary to regard any party as
false: there was the Catholic Church, and there were parties,
‘heresies’ (Gk hairesis, ‘party’). So heresy becomes the label for
false doctrine. Other divisions in the churches, usually due to
disputes over possession of office or over discipline, were called
‘schisms’ (from schisma, a ‘split’). Catholic theory, beginning with
* Irenaeus and Tertullian, regards heresy as due to the introduction
of novelty. The original gospel was pure and complete as Jesus
gave it to his apostles. Error results from changing things. This
view still has its defenders. But modern students of the history of
doctrine are more impressed by the fact that doctrine develops, as
does so much else about the Church: fourth-century orthodoxy is
not the same as what Peter and Paul believed, any more than
modern Roman Catholicism or Anglicanism is. The modern
believer may wish to claim that he or she believes the same as
Christ’s first disciples, or tries to; but what makes it the same will
not be the explicit words and formulae used to express the faith.
This is not a new truth, but one which great theological minds
have tried to deal with in the past: two very different examples
from a large number one could name are John Henry Newman and
Adolf Harnack in the nineteenth century. But the importance of
the question for the earliest period was brought out by the work of
Walter Bauer.
Bauer argued that heresy precedes orthodoxy, in the sense that
from the beginning we meet a great many different kinds of
Christianity, with different and often competing organizations and
doctrines. In some places like Edessa on the eastern frontier, or
Alexandria, Antioch and Ephesus, the original Christianity was of
a form later labelled heretical by the great Church, as it began to

36
 Proliferation and Excess 37
clarify its belief and to impose norms of orthodoxy. Bauer (who
was a Protestant) also held that it was the church in Rome which
gradually imposed its own principles on the more numerous and
miscellaneous churches of the East, thus producing what came to
be recognized as orthodoxy. His view has been criticized in detail on
various grounds, especially that he underestimates the strength of
features later judged orthodox, and that he ignored Judaeo-
Christianity. It could be added that Rome itself was afflicted with
just as much doctrinal dispute and schism as any other great
church, and it emerged to a more coherent and unified view at the
same time as others did, in the period between 180 and 250. But
to understand the process which Bauer is trying to interpret, one
must look at some of the ‘heresies’.

Marcion

Marcion of Pontus (see generally NE 92-8) was active in Rome

about 140, where story had it that the church there rejected him
(Tertullian, Prescription 30 [NE 93]). But the time of his chief
activity is not certain, nor is his relation to the ‘gnostic’ groups to
be discussed later. He had a considerable following by 150, and
his church lasted for some centuries. Marcion did not, as commonly
said, reject the Old Testament. On the contrary, he accepts it as a
divine revelation, and insists it be taken literally. It is the work of
the God who created the physical world and gave the Law to
Moses and sent the prophets, who did and predicted the various
things there attributed to him, and who intended to send his
Christ (Messiah) to destroy the wicked and set up his kingdom on
earth. But for Marcion such a God cannot be the God and Father
of Jesus Christ, who is absolutely good. Jesus says that a good tree
cannot produce evil fruit (Luke 6.43-4), and that people are not to
judge, but to be merciful as their Father is merciful (Luke 6.36).
The behaviour of the Creator is incompatible with these principles,
since he does evil to those he hates, and condemns and judges
those who break his laws and displease him. Besides, his creation
is imperfect, including harmful insects, fierce beasts, and sex; his
behaviour is erratic, since he sometimes changes his mind (in a
manner incompatible with the Greek ideal of the unchanging
deity); and he falsely believes himself to be the only God, when
there is in fact another. Marcion held that this other God, the
38 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Unknown, who is pure goodness and love, took pity on the

unfortunate victims of their unpleasant Creator, and sent (or came
as) Jesus to put matters right. At first stupidly mistaking Jesus for
his own Christ, the Creator finally learned his error and came to
terms with him, exchanging the souls of all those he had
condemned by the Law for the death of Jesus. Thus began the
original gospel of free forgiveness of all the sins done against the
Law, and the abolition of the limitations of the Law; the Gentiles
rallied to the good news. Jesus could not be held by the Creator in
death; rather he used his death to release all the dead prisoners in
Hades. But, said Marcion, the Creator had not finished. Frustrated
in other ways, he managed to deceive the apostles of Jesus, so that
they confused his message with the message of the Creator’s
Messiah (part of the history of this process is described in Paul’s
criticisms of Peter and James in Galatians 2.11-14). Hence the
books of our New Testament are a false amalgam of Jesus’ gospel
with the principles of the Creator. Marcion held that only the
original letters of Paul and a short version of the Gospel of Luke
genuinely represented the gospel. Even these had to be ‘corrected’
so as to eliminate corruptions introduced by judaizing enemies. So
Marcion’s Gospel has no narrative of the birth of Jesus (which
would implicate him in the processes of sex and creation), but
starts with the year’s date (Luke 3.1) and Jesus appearing fully
adult in the synagogue (Luke 4.31), when he ‘came down to
Capernaum’.
This system had strong pathetic appeal: an absolutely loving
and infinitely forgiving God who saves creatures to whom he has
no responsibility; a simple and complete escape from the rigours
of the Law and the undoubted moral, literary and historical
difficulties of the Old Testament; and a message of release from
the hardships of this present life into a serene one above for those
who believe. It might also appeal to those whose Platonic
philosophy committed them to the absolute goodness of God, and
who saw this world as needing an inferior Demiurge as its creator,
limited by the material he had to work with. Many chose to follow
Marcion’s challenging message, adopting sexual continence, sparse
diet, and commitment to martyrdom in the face of persecution, as
they did battle against the Law and the Flesh in the name of pure
Spirit. But Marcion was repudiated by other Christians on various
grounds. The concept of two gods was flawed: Marcionites could
 Proliferation and Excess 39
give no coherent account of the providence holding the universe
together (see the attack on Apelles in Eusebius HE 5.13.2-7 [NE
96-7]); two gods amounted to no God, since one cannot be good
and indiscriminate (Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 3.25.3; Tertullian,
Against Marcion 1.27 [NE 94-5]); and just as the Marcionites
cannot live in this world without constantly using the Creator’s
materials, so they had to deny that the flesh or the world would be
saved. As a consequence Marcion is generally held also to have
been a docetist in Christology: he is alleged to have held that
Christ had a body only in appearance (Gk to dokein or dokeser,
similarly Tertullian, Against Marcion 3.8 [NE 95-6]). But no
actual text of Marcion says this, and it may be a mere inference
(though perhaps a reasonable one) from what he did say. If his
was the first system to set a superior God above the Creator, it is
possible that he had simply not thought out the precise
implications. Like the connection between the Creator and the
Unknown, the nature of Christ was something which later Gnostics
filled in while adopting the main features of his system. If this is
correct, Marcion may have been active already while the NT books
were still unfinished and Ignatius was writing against docetism.
Alternatively Marcion could have worked later, responding to
gnostic systems as well as to the more ‘orthodox’ tradition. If so,
he was producing what he felt to be a simple, straightforward
interpretation of the OT Scriptures and of Christian history in the
face of the enormities of gnostic speculation and the fudging and
uncertainty of those who clung to the Creator while rejecting
Judaism. Where he fits in is still debated.

Gnosticism

Many teachers and groups are usually classed under the umbrella-
term ‘gnostic’ (see NE 68-91). In the second century this term was
used of one particular group, also known as Ophites; but Irenaeus
used it more widely to include two other schools, Valentinians and
Carpocratians, as well. The word gnostikos means ‘having or
claiming knowledge’, the Greek for ‘knowledge’ being gnosis. It
should be said that there is nothing obviously wrong with claiming
to know spiritual things, or in aspiring to know God. It is a
biblical idea (as in Jer. 31.34 = Heb. 8.11; John 17.3), and some
great writers in the early Church used the word freely of their
40 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

spiritual ideal (Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 4.22.135-138;

6.13.105-106; 6.14.114 [NE 184-6]; similarly Origen, Evagrius
Ponticus). But in modern times it was first extended to label
together a wider group of ‘heresies’, including with those named
the early followers of men like Simon Magus, Saturninus, and
Cerinthus, and major schools like the Sethians and the followers
of Basilides. It was still thought of as a form of deviant Christianity,
both by traditionalists who thought it a heresy, and by modernists
who thought of it as a radical development: Hamack about the
turn of the twentieth century saw it quite sympathetically as ‘the
acute hellenization of Christianity’, a sort of primitive modernism.
But in our century a wholly new development occurred, when the
German ‘Religious-history School’ led by Richard Reitzenstein
and Wilhelm Bousset claimed that important elements common to
Gnosticism and Christianity were older than Christianity. These
features derived from the dualistic (‘two-god’) Zoroastrian religion
of Iran; its shape was powerfully expressed in the doctrine of Mani
(Manichaeus; some information is in NE 264-8), who was active
AD 242-77 in Persia, but already clearly expressed in various
New Testament documents. Many modern exponents of the New
Testament, notably Rudolf Bultmann, therefore found Gnosticism
there, particularly in Paul and John. On this showing Gnosis or
Gnosticism is a religious movement embracing pre-christian sects,
early Christianity, the various gnostic sects (in varying degrees
Christian) of the second century, Manicheism, and various later
movements of dualism like medieval Catharism and some modern
cults. While this view still has strong support in some quarters,
other scholars reject it firmly, denying that Gnosticism existed
early enough to affect Christian origins. Statements about
Gnosticism or Gnosis must be read with a clear idea of the sense
in which the word is being used, and with an awareness that many
things about it are controversial, especially whether it existed
early enough to influence the earliest New Testament writings
such as Paul’s letters and ‘Q’. Here we are setting that controversy
aside, and concerning ourselves with the impact of heresies,
whether labelled ‘gnostic’ or not, which afflicted the churches in
the second century.
There are many different gnostic groups. Irenaeus compared
Gnosticism to the mythological Hydra: cut off one head and two
new ones grow. The library of books from Nag Hammadi in
 Proliferation and Excess 41

Egypt, first discovered in 1945 and published slowly over the next
decades, shows that serious Gnostics could use various different
forms of teaching as spiritual resources; they are syncretists,
blending elements of philosophy and pagan religions with
Christianity (and perhaps also Judaism). But despite the many
differences, Gnosticism usually exhibits certain family features:

1. There is an ultimate spiritual being, variously named Father,

or Man (father of the Son of Man), or Great Invisible Spirit, or
Abyss (so for instance Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 1.1.1 [A® 79-80]).
In Basilides he is the nameless and non-existent God; non¬
existent in the sense that to say he exists is to say more than one
can know (Hippolytus, Refutation 7.21-22 [NE 73]). This
being is superior to the physical universe and its creator, who is
often called the Craftsman (Demiurge), (Great) Ruler, or God,
and may have a Hebrew-sounding name like Ialdabaoth or
Saklas. The creator is ignorant of the superior world, until
enlightenment comes, usually as part of the process of salvation,
when he may learn and repent. The physical world and the god
and angels associated with it are at best inferior to the spiritual,
if not absolutely evil. Flesh also is evil.

2. Human beings, or some of them, have an element in them

derived from the higher realm of spirit, which needs to be
aroused by knowledge (gnosis). The elect person is essentially
spiritual, and by knowing that escapes from the oppression of
the flesh. He knows ‘who we were, what we have become,
where we were, where we were placed, whither we hasten, from
what we are redeemed, what birth is, what rebirth’ (Clement,
Excerpts from Theodotus 78.2 [NE 68]; compare Book of
Thomas the contender, NHLE 188-9 = NE 69). This means
living a new kind of life now, usually one of sexual and dietary
abstinence, and it promises a destiny of returning to the realm
of spirit after the body is discarded.

3. The doctrines of Gnosticism are chiefly attempts to explain

how things came to be as they are. Hence the mythologies. In
various versions Sophia or Achamoth (both names mean
‘Wisdom’) is one of the pure spiritual beings (aeons, ‘worlds’ or
‘eternities’) who constitute the Fulness or Entirety (Pleroma).
She desires too much knowledge of the ultimate Spirit, and
42 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

from her passion conceives a shapeless abortion, which is

excluded from the Pleroma as mere passion, and this becomes
the material basis of the creation; exegetically it is the formless
void of Gen. 1.2, which awaits the Spirit to give it shape. Sophia
and the other aeons appeal to the Father. From her abortion she
is enabled to generate one who becomes the creator, and he
receives enough spirit to give form to the abortion (so in the
Apocryphon of John, NHLE103-4, and Valentinus in Irenaeus,
Adv. Haer. 1.2.2-3; NE 68-9, 80-2). Somehow Sophia
manages to endow his human creatures with some wisdom.
Basilides has a triple sonship emerging from a seed of the Non¬
existent God, and the god of this world is produced at the lowest
level, ignorant of all above him (Hippolytus, Refutation 7.22.3-
27.12 [Mi 73-6]).

4. Christian Gnosticism (or Jewish, if it ever existed indepen¬

dently) expresses itself in terms of the Scriptures, and bases its
doctrine on them. Usually fundamental is an exposition of the
early part of Genesis, but in one case (The Apocalypse of Adam)
it sweeps on through substantial parts of Old Testament history,
seen as the history of a secret remnant constantly persecuted by
the Creator. There are often complicated exegetical theories:
different names for God may be taken to indicate distinct
beings, almost invariably including the principal deity of the
Old Testament. This God is ignorant or malevolent, and
especially in the Ophite or Naassene teaching which centres on
the snake, the serpent who tempts Eve is her rescuer, imparting
knowledge (gnosis) which the creator tries to prevent. The
schools of Valentinus and Basilides use very careful exegesis of
a whole range of Scripture and New Testament writings, and
we have a good schematic account of one method in a pamphlet
called The Letter of Ptolemy to Flora (NE 85-9). Ptolemy
argues that the Law is threefold, part compiled by the elders,
part by Moses, and part by God; but that God is the God of
Justice or Craftsman (Demiurge), not the Father of Jesus Christ,
who is superior to all law. They are therefore operating in a
context where the authority of the Old Testament and much of
the New is taken for granted, and the text interpreted with care.
In fact the earliest known commentary on a New Testament
 Proliferation and Excess 43
book is that on John’s Gospel by the Valentinian Heracleon,
who constantly finds in it spiritual rather than historical
meanings.

5. Salvation is knowledge, which comes from the great Spirit.

The first to hear may be Ialdabaoth or the Archon. In Basilides’
system the gospel first reaches the Great Ruler of the heavenly
spheres, then the lesser Ruler who governs this realm below the
moon, and only after these gods have been illuminated does the
message reach the Sonship still imprisoned in the seed and
waiting to be formed, in other words the true Gnostics. In
Basilides, as in Valentinus and others, the one who brings the
Good News is Jesus Christ, who awakens spiritual persons to
their true nature, and sets them on the way to perfect knowledge;
though at the same time he initiates a distinction of kinds, so
that the lower orders of being accept their ignorant places
contentedly. Other saviour/illuminator figures also occur: Seth
(the third son of Adam who is also an angelic being) in the many
Sethian documents, who may also be the one who comes in
Jesus; or Hermes in some non-Christian gnostic documents,
which are called Hermetic texts for this reason.

6. There were differences about the destiny of mankind. A

common formula resembled that used by the Valentinians,
which classed men in three categories (see The Treatise on the
three natures, citedNE72; Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 1.6.1 [ATT83]).
The spiritual will certainly be saved; they are the elect, the
Gnostics. The carnal or fleshly being material will certainly
perish. The ‘psychic’ or ‘soulish’ (Gk psychikos, sometimes
translated ‘animal’ in the sense of ‘having life or soul’, but
‘natural’ in older versions of 1 Cor. 15.44-6, the text from
which Valentinus got the idea) may be trained through life in
the flesh and ultimately attain salvation, though of a modified
kind and not like the spirituals. Ordinary Christians were
usually regarded as in this twilight category. The three categories
corresponded to features of the mythology: the creator
(Ialdabaoth or the Demiurge) was usually psychic, and attained
the same modified salvation as those like him, outside the
Pleroma. The idea of three kinds of people repeated itself in the
early Church outside gnostic circles, for example in Origen,
44 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Tertullian, and various aspects of the monastic movement; and

to this day many try to distinguish ‘real’ or ‘born-again’
Christians from others. Some of the Gnostics took a sharper
view of the fate of those who did not share their beliefs, especially
when they suffered any kind of correction or persecution from
the main body of the Church.

7. The Gnostics made serious efforts to account for the person

and work of Christ. Often they distinguished between a created
man, miraculously produced and virtuous, and a heavenly Christ
who descends upon him or is joined with him. Earlier doctrines
make the baptism of Jesus the occasion of this. The spiritual
Saviour suffers no fleshly birth and no mortality: he leaves Jesus
at the crucifixion (interpreting ‘My God, my God, why hast thou
forsaken me?’ as the man Jesus addressing the spiritual Saviour).
Irenaeus attributes one version of this story to Basilides, perhaps
falsely (Adv. Haer. 1.24.3-7 [.NE76-8]). Among the Valentinians
a very complicated theory of the person of Christ involves
various stages and beings, and indeed occurs with important
variations in different Valentinian schools. The human Jesus
formed in the Virgin is the son both of the Creator and of Holy
Spirit (who operates outside the purely spiritual realm in gnostic
systems); he is thus both ‘psychic’ and spiritual. To this human
Jesus is joined the Word (Logos) descending at the Father’s
behest from the Pleroma, who becomes man by identifying with
these two elements, a process which does not require
enfleshment or incarnation in the strict sense. The incarnation
is merely putting on a robe of flesh, which is discarded once the
sacrifice of the cross has been made. Spiritual men are saved
through the spirit of Jesus and the psychics through his psychic
nature. The flesh is not saved, and matter needs no salvation:
the goal is eternal life in the spiritual realm, the life of true
knowledge.

While in retrospect it is easy to dismiss gnostic meditations as

mythic fancies, they arose from attempts to sort out the New
Testament Scriptures in the light of the dualistic framework.
Their interpretation allowed the Old Testament to stand, while
pointing to a purer intellectual or spiritual realm more compatible
with current philosophy. There is no doubt that much serious
devotion and theology went into the theory and practice of such
 Proliferation and Excess 45

Gnosis, and won a wide following which persisted even after the
Catholic Church had been established as the religion of the Empire.
The response of writers like Irenaeus and Tertullian was to insist
upon one God, who is both Supreme and Creator, and one Jesus
Christ, who is both flesh and spirit. They also insisted upon the
unity of the Church which holds that faith, and tried to give it
concrete identification. Origen was to find a spirituality which
attached the best features of Gnosticism to the One God and his
One Word.

Eastern Christianity

The teachings of Marcion, and of Valentinus, Basilides and the

other Gnostics spread widely in Egypt and the East, and were
known in Rome and Gaul. How far their adherents were separated
from or included within congregations of Christians who did not
share their ideas probably varied greatly. So did reactions to them.
In the Syriac-speaking East a powerful movement of ascetic
Christianity was present, often associated with the name of the
apostle Thomas (or Judas Thomas). Here it was common for
baptism to be administered only to those committed to sexual
abstinence: the unmarried would stay unmarried, the married
would live together in continence, and the majority of Christians
remained unbaptized catechumens. It came to be called the
‘Encratite’ heresy (from Gk enkrateia, ‘continence’). Some
expressions of this movement embody ideas which are apparently
gnostic: such are the Acts of Thomas and the Book of Thomas the
contender and the Gospel of Thomas (cf. NE69, 99-100). But the
work of Tatian (poorly reported by Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 1.28.1 [NE
100-1]) was based squarely on the four Gospels. He compiled his
famous Diatessaron (Eusebius HE 4.29.6-7 [NE 125-6]), a
harmonized version of all four, which became the standard Gospel-
book for nearly three centuries in eastern Syria. Tatian wrote
theology similar to that of Justin Martyr (whom we shall discuss
later), whose pupil he apparently was. While the Greek and Latin
churches about 200 were sorting out the theological issues raised
by Marcion and Gnosticism in their own way, a notable figure in
eastern Syria called Bardaisan (Bardesanes) refuted Marcion and
developed accounts of the origin of the world and of human
religion independently; inevitably he was regarded as a heretic
46 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

further west (extracts in NE154-6). The same area would produce

in the third century a most powerful amalgam of Christian, gnostic-
dualist and ascetic ideas in the missionary theology of Mani
(Manichaeus) (cf. NE 265-8), which was to influence Augustine.
This all illustrates the startling variety of Christianity in the
second century, and the context in which theology was to develop.
Syriac Christianity grew in ways which the main Church in the
Empire eventually rejected, and later theology in these oriental
regions is overlaid with ideas and principles from the Greek¬
speaking churches. It nevertheless survived with rich and
illuminating ideas of its own, which we are unable to deal with
adequately in this book. Western and Greek theologians ought to
take more account of these traditions than we do. See Robert
Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom (Cambridge 1975), and
The Syriac Fathers on prayer and the spiritual life, edited by
Sebastian Brock (Kalamazoo, and Oxford, Mowbrays, 1987).

Montanism

Besides Gnosticism and Marcion, another vigorous movement

caused turmoil and trouble in the churches. The most strongly
Christian area of the Empire in the second century was Asia
Minor, and there the churches were split in the 170s by Montanism,
known to the Greeks as the Phrygian or Kataphrygian heresy
because it arose and prospered in Phrygia. The accounts in
Eusebius (HE 5.16-18 [NE 102-8]) were based on hostile sources
recounting hearsay. These portray a revival of ecstatic prophecy,
particularly among women in which jibberish accompanies
strange actions and miraculous signs, all attributed by its
opponents to a demon, and condemned as such by meetings of
bishops (called ‘presbyters’ HE7.16.5 [NE 106]). The Montanists
in fact imposed a more rigorous standard of conduct than others,
as even their scurrilous critic recognizes (HE 5.16.9 [NE 102],
‘shrewd and plausible rebukes’), were able to boast martyrs among
their number (HE 5.16-22 [NE 104]), and were stricter than others
about fasting, second marriages of widows and widowers,
forgiveness for grave sin after baptism, and flight from persecution.
They believed that in these ways the Paraclete, promised in such
verses as John 14.26, had now come to bring in a stricter discipline
than that allowed by Jesus; this was their chief unorthodoxy.
 Proliferation and Excess 47

Prophecy was still recognized, though the practice was declining,

among the main body of Christians; and their apocalyptic
expectation that the end was imminent, and might come in Pepuza
in Phrygia, was little different from what many Christians believed
(both Justin and Irenaeus expected an earthly reign of Christ to
come soon). The nub of the matter was their sharper discipline, as
is apparent from comparing the writings of Tertullian before and
after he attached himself to the ‘new prophecy’ about 200 in
Africa. He became much stricter about second marriages, flight in
persecution, fasting, and the forgiveness of grave sins committed
by the baptized. The movement was therefore one of strict
discipline based upon prophetic revelations. It may have had
social roots in the local loyalty of the Phrygian population, engaging
in a kind of mass movement of ardent Christianity. It may reflect
resentment about the compromises of city churches growing more
worldly, or with the intellectual presumptions of church teachers
like the gnostic leaders and Justin; we do not know. It certainly led
to formal decisions by councils of neighbouring bishops to
denounce the whole movement as demonic, and to refuse to
recognize Montanist baptisms. It therefore raised large problems
for the rest of the Church.
 5
DEFENCE AND DEFINITION:
EARLY APOLOGISTS

Apologists and apologetic

From the inner turmoil and outer perils of second-century

Christianity some documents survive which are usually called
‘apologies’; they are classed as ‘apologetic literature’, and their
authors are known as ‘apologists’. The modern use of the words
‘apology’ and ‘apologize’ gives a wrong impression of the meaning.
In this and later theological literature the idea of an apology is not
to admit you are wrong and ask for pardon; on the contrary, it is a
defence of yourself and your actions against accusations. An
apology is an argument to show that you are right. The earliest
example is Plato’s Apology, which he wrote after the execution of
Socrates; it takes the form of a speech by Socrates at his trial, in
which he defends his teaching and conduct against charges of
introducing strange gods and corrupting the young. Similarly the
Christian apologist argues the case for Christianity, negatively by
rebutting false charges, positively by arguing its truth and refuting
other beliefs. In the case of Plato, the defence is partly fictitious: it
is not a real record of what Socrates said, but Plato’s argument for
Socrates presented in this literary form. Similarly the Christian
apologetic of the second century is in the form of an open letter to
an inquirer (so Letter To Diognetus and Theophilus’ To Autolycus),
or an address to an emperor (Justin, Athenagoras and Melito). It is
very unlikely that those addressed to emperors ever reached them,
and they may not have been sent; the form is a literary convention.
Most Christian literature of the second century is lost. By the
time the last papyrus and parchment copies were wearing out, the
theology in them was at best out of date, and usually looked
heretical to contemporary readers. No one thought them worth
copying. The most important apologist, Justin Martyr, has left us
three works, two Apologies addressed to the emperors, and the
Dialogue with Trypho the Jew, we owe them to one manuscript,
itself destroyed by war in modern times. He wrote between 140

48
 Defence and Definition: Early Apologists 49

and 163. Of Athenagoras (about 170) and the anonymous author

of the Letter To Diognetus (date uncertain) we possess one ancient
copy each. The earliest apologist, Quadratus, is known only from
Eusebius’ report and fragment (HE 4.3 [NE 58]). Aristides,
somewhat later and writing about 140, is lost in the original
Greek, and survives in an expanded Syriac translation, though
parts of the Greek were copied into the seventh-century legend of
Barlaam and Joasaph (for a sample see NE 52-5). The apology of
Melito of Sardis (NE 65-6), written about 175, is lost apart from
Eusebius’ quotation, though what we have may be most of it.
Besides these, the chief apologies are three books of Theophilus of
Antioch To Autolycus and Tatian’s Against the Greeks, both
written about 180. All these writers together are known as ‘the
Greek apologists of the second century’. About the end of the
century, and into the next, works in Latin began to appear. The
most notable are Tertullian (NE 157-64) and Minucius Felix (NE
177-8; 131). In Greek were written the great introductory book of
Clement of Alexandria (Protreptikos; NE 180-2), and the
accomplished polemic of Origen Against Celsus (NE 208-12;
compare 131-5). These are not included here, though they picked
up many of the arguments of their predecessors.

Charge and counter-charge

One regular theme is protest about the unfair persecution of
Christians. They are good and loyal subjects, it is said. Melito
protests about ‘new decrees’ which have exposed Christians to
barbaric looting; there is a political background to these measures
under Marcus Aurelius which we do not fully understand (NE65).
A common complaint is against persecution merely ‘for the name’
of ‘Christian’; the whole burden of the story of Ptolemy and Lucius
in Justin’s Apology 2.2 (NE 30-1) is summed up in Lucius’
protest:

Why have you punished this man, not as an adulterer, nor

fornicator, nor murderer, nor thief, nor robber, nor convicted of
any crime at all, but who has only confessed that he is called by
the name of Christian? This judgment of yours, O Urbicus, does
not become the Emperor Pius [i.e. Marcus Aurelius], nor the
philosopher, the son of Caesar [the co-emperor and heir-apparent
Commodus], nor the sacred Senate.
50 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Consequently the apologists write a good deal about Christian

moral principles. Theophilus writes on the ten commandments.
Aristides (14-15 [NE 52-5]) and the anonymous Letter to
Diognetus (5-7 [NE 55-7]) give eloquent descriptions of Christian
practical morality and community life, the virtuous ‘soul of the
world’. Apologists specifically repudiate charges of abominations
such as cannibalism (‘Thyestean feasts’) and incestuous orgies
(‘Oedipodean intercourse’), which they point out are the stuff of
Greek fable, not Christian belief. Here in Justin, as in Athenagoras
and Melito, there is an appeal to the justice and (moral) philosophy
of the ruling powers: let Christians be lawfully and honestly
examined, and their innocence will appear (see Athenagoras,
Embassy 1-3 [NE66-7]). Justin goes so far as to describe in some
detail the practices of Christians at baptism and the Eucharist,
chiefly in order to repudiate false notions of what goes on in their
meetings. The secrecy which normally surrounded these ceremonies
had clearly contributed to suspicions about their behaviour.
The apologists began to claim that Greek culture pointed to and
was consummated in the Christian message, just as the Old
Testament was. This process was done most thoroughly in the
synthesis of Clement of Alexandria. It can be done in several
ways. You can rake through Greek literature, and find (especially
in the oldest seers and poets) references to ‘God’ which are more
compatible with monotheism than with polytheism (so at length
Athenagoras). You can work out a common chronology between
the legends of prehistoric (Homeric) Greece and the biblical record
(so Theophilus). You can adapt a piece of pre-Christian Jewish
apologetic, which claimed that Plato and other Greek philosophers
got their best ideas indirectly from the teaching of Moses in the
Bible, which was much earlier. This theory combines the advantage
of making out the Greeks to be plagiarists (and therefore second-
rate or criminal), while claiming that they support Christianity by
their arguments at least some of the time. Especially this applied
to the question of God.
Much apologetic consists of a critique of non-Christian religion,
sometimes savagely attacking Greek literature (a good example is
Tatian). The attack is especially directed against the myths and
religious cults of polytheism. In Homer’s poetry and the classical
dramas of Athens the gods were often involved in the actions of
human history. Their stories were the principal reading in the
 Defence and Definition: Early Apologists 51
schools. Long ago Socrates (as reported by Plato in the Republic)
had attacked the reading of immoral stories, especially those
which implied that gods could do things unworthy of the
changeless, perfect and transcendent being of God. Before
Socrates, first Xenophanes of Colophon (about 530 BC) and others
had argued that ultimate Being must be unique, simple, self-
moved and omnipresent, and Theagenes of Megara shortly
afterwards had tried to justify the Homeric literature by finding
that the stories of many gods were allegories, hiding deep
philosophical and moral truths in story form. Both historic views
had numerous followers down the centuries, and provided plenty
of material for Christian philosophers like Justin, who finds in
Socrates a natural ally (.Apology 1.46 [A/E61]). Where contemporary
cult was concerned, it was not denied that gods appear and
perform miracles, as they were generally thought to do, especially
at their shrines and oracles; Justin and others attribute this to evil
demons, deceiving people and feeding on their gifts (Apology 1.6
[NE 60]).
At this point we reach the most serious of the charges against
Christians, that of atheism, or godlessness. Christians were not
Jews, following their ancestral custom of worshipping the one God
of the Bible. The great majority were converted from Greco-
Roman religion: they had rejected the gods, and they knew it. As
we have seen, repudiating the demons was central to the baptismal
commitment. The defence is predictable: The gods we repudiate
are false gods and demons, and we do it in the name of the one
true God. A good example is Justin, Apology 1.5-6 (NE 60),
where he claims that persecution comes from the evil daimones,
who deceive people into thinking they are gods. Socrates died as a
result of their manipulations, and so do Christians. The same
logos which led Socrates to criticize these false gods was manifest
in Jesus Christ and his followers, who are punished as atheists for
repudiating them. Justin now falls back on something not unlike a
baptismal confession:

We confess that we are atheists, as far as gods of this sort are

concerned, but not with respect to the most true God, the Father
of righteousness and temperance and the other virtues, who is
free from all impurity. But both him, and the Son who came
forth from him and taught us these things, and the host of the
52 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

other good angels who follow and are made like to him, and the
prophetic Spirit we worship and adore, knowing them in reason
and truth.

The virtues connected with the Father contrast him with the
malignant demons (gods). The angels associated with the Son
reflect the desire of Justin to make it plain that Christians have
their ‘pantheon’ too, and it reflects the strong sense of being
surrounded with spiritual agents, good and bad, which early
Christianity manifested. Its doctrinal import is discussed later.

God and his Word

Justin’s ‘creed’, as we saw, spoke of a transcendent God and

Father, of his Son (with the angels), and of the Spirit of prophecy.
This triple confession is in line with what we know of the baptismal
confession. But when we look at the theology of the apologists, we
find that generally their thought is ‘binitarian’ rather than
‘trinitarian’: it speaks of God and his Word, rather than of Father,
Son and Holy Spirit. The term ‘Trinity’ was not yet in use in the
Church. Theophilus is the first to use the Greek word for Trinity
(trias, triad), when he takes the first three days of creation as
signifying the trinity of ‘God and his Word and his Wisdom’ (To
Autolycus 2.15), and Tertullian soon after 200 was using the
Latin trinitas of God.
If we suppose that the baptismal confession and central
Christian belief was in a threefold form, we have to account for the
binitarian thought of Justin and those like him. The most obvious
explanation is that their apologetic is directed towards Greek
thought. They began from what appeared to be common ground.
Among the Greeks a familiar notion was the thought of an
utterly transcendent, perfect, unmoving God, and of a second,
mediating, active being responsible for the created order, whether
as its superior governor or as its immanent soul. Such a theology
was being propounded, for instance, by the Platonist Albinos in
Asia Minor at the same time that Justin was himself there, before
he moved to Rome. If Jesus Christ was the Word of God, in
addition to the scriptural backgrounds, the idea supplied a pattern
for philosophy. God is, as Justin likes to say, superior to any
name, immoveable, indescribable, not to be confined to any place,
 Defence and Definition: Early Apologists 53
and absolutely good (Apol. 1.10, 1.61 [WE63], 2.6); This echoes
Plato’s Timaeus 28-9, a very popular passage with later
philosophers. God is ‘that which is in all respects always the same
as itself’ (Dial. 3, echoing Plato, Phaedo 78d). Yet he is also
depicted in Scripture as active in the world, and particularly in its
creation and enlightenment. He therefore identifies the Word as an
intervening, active principle, who can appear on earth, for instance
as the God who confronted Moses at the burning bush, but who is
the whole source of order in creation, who is the Reason or
Wisdom enlightening all the great men of the past, Socrates as
well as Abraham, and who himself took shape and became a man
in Jesus Christ, to make known the whole truth perfectly.
The apologists knew well that logos had various meanings.
Elementary Stoic logic distinguished the word immanent (Gk
logos endiathetos) from the word expressed (Gk logos prophorikos).
When logos refers to the inner faculty of thought or reason (as
when you think of a word before you say it), that is the immanent
word. Once spoken, it is expressed; but it remains rational,
articulate, otherwise it would not be logos, but the kind of noise
made by irrational beasts (Gk aloga zoa). Once the idea had
occurred that Christ or the Son of God could be called God’s Word,
logos, this distinction could be very useful. Justin implies it, and
Theophilus states it plainly. God always has logos, because he is
always wise and rational. At the creation he speaks, saying ‘Let
there be light’, and his logos becomes Word, ‘another beside
himself with whom the Father could converse’ (Justin, Dial. 62.4).
This uttering of the logos also reflects Platonic thought, since things
consist of form and matter, and it is the form which the mind
grasps in understanding them. Creation is therefore seen in
Platonism as the imposing of rational form on shapeless pre¬
existent matter; it is precisely what the Demiurge does in Timaeus.
Justin is happy to regard the opening verses of Genesis as making
the same point: The earth is ‘without form and void’ until God
speaks and his logos shapes it. He goes so far as to claim that
Plato plagiarized the thought from Moses (Apol. 1.10, 1.59; Plato,
Timaeus 51a). When God says, ‘Let us [plural] make man in our
own image’, it is to his logos that he speaks (Dial. 61.4). This
Word is also the ordering principle of creation. At the burning
bush, it is ‘another god’, and not the Father (who has neither name
nor location), who appears to Moses (Dial. 60). Justin uses a Stoic
 54 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

expression, ‘generative [or, seminal] reason’ (Gk spermatikos logos)

to account for the truth in non-Christian philosophy. The universe
was controlled and ordered by its own rational principle, and so
were people when they were wise; but the philosophers had only
part of the truth. To Christians the Word ‘who is from the
unbegotten and ineffable God’ was given in his fulness, because
‘he became man for our sakes, that, becoming partaker of our
sufferings, he might also bring us healing’; he is therefore
worshipped and loved, ‘next to God’ (Apol. 2.13 [NE 62]). So they
understand the creative principle of the universe in its complete¬
ness, and that includes being rescued from ignorance and suffering
by his presence in Jesus Christ. The same ‘rational power’ or ‘glory
of the Lord’, begotten by God before all things, appears repeatedly
in the Old Testament Scripture under various names and guises:
‘sometimes he calls himself Son, sometimes Wisdom, sometimes
,4 Angel, sometimes God, sometimes Lord and Word, sometimes
Captain’ (Dial. 61.1).

Holy Spirit and Trinity

We have noted that the worshipping tradition of the church to

which Justin belongs has a threefold idea of God and his actions.
Unlike some other writers, Justin boldly describes what Christians
do at their meetings, and the formulae show through. His purpose
is to prove that Christians are innocent of the abominations
attributed to them, and at certain points to draw comparisons
with non-Christian religious practices which were regarded as
acceptable among non-Christians. He describes baptism, and twice
refers to the threefold name:

In the name of God, the Father and Lord of the universe, and of
our Saviour Jesus Christ, and of the Holy Spirit, they then
receive the washing with water . . . there is pronounced in the
water over him the name of God the Father and Lord of the
universe;.. . and in the name of Jesus Christ, who was crucified
under Pontius Pilate, and in the name of the Holy Ghost, who
through the prophets foretold all things about Jesus, he who is
illuminated is washed. (Apol. 1.61 [AfE63])

When the president at the Eucharist takes the bread and cup, he
‘offers up praise and glory to the Father of the universe, through
 Defence and Definition: Early Apologists 55
the name of the Son and of the Holy Ghost’ (Apol. 1.65 [NE 64]).
With these descriptions goes the declaration we cited about the
objects of Christian worship: ‘the most true God, the Father of
righteousness and temperance and the other virtues, who is free
from all impurity . . . and the Son who came forth from him and
taught us these things, and the host of the other good angels who
follow and are made like to him, and the prophetic Spirit’ [Apol.
1.5 [NE 60]).
In these passages Christ is described in biblical language, not in
terms of the logos which Justin uses to explain the faith to the
outsiders. The reference to the angels is intriguing, but angelology
is not an exact science, and it should be noted:

1. Often in the stories of Scripture angels are not, as depicted in

art, quasi-human creatures separate from God, but actual
manifestations of God himself (so for example Gen. 22.11-12);
sacrifice to the angel of the Lord is therefore in order (Judg.
13.15-23).

2. Jesus Christ may be regarded as himself the angel in such

manifestations, as Justin understood the God who spoke to
Moses in the bush to be the Word (logos) and not the
transcendent Father. He is often represented as one of the
angels - though vastly their superior - in early Christian texts
associated with Jewish traditions (see Danielou, The Theology
of Jewish Christianity, ch. 4).

3. Jesus Christ’s own self-manifestation to a prophet may be

called an angel (Rev. 1.1).

4. The idea of Christ coming with a host of angels is certainly

scriptural (Matt. 16.27; 2 Thess. 1.7). In the second century it
was developed in Christian speculation. Valentinus associated a
host of angels with the heavenly Christ at his coming, each
angel being the heavenly bridegroom of an elect soul. The idea
that one angel belongs to each of the elect is also present in the
New Testament (Matt. 18.10).

It is nevertheless true that the Holy Spirit is here apparently

subordinated to the Son as a kind of special angel, and that may
reflect Justin’s particular views. In two of the passages just cited
he names the work of the Spirit as prophetic, inspiring the
 56 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

prophecies which point to Jesus. Even that is a work which

elsewhere is that of the logos, who makes wise the antecedents of
Christ in the Old Testament. So we look in vain for a deeper
doctrine of the Trinity or the Spirit.
It is also notable that when Justin expounds the passage in Luke
(1.35) where the angel promises that the Holy Spirit will come
upon Mary, and the Power of the Most High will overshadow her,
he takes the Holy Spirit to be the Word who became incarnate in
her (Apol. 1.33.6). This became the customary interpretation in
the West, figuring even in the influential Tome of Leo in 449. The
credal statements, that Christ was born ‘of Holy Spirit and the
Virgin Mary’ and the like, are to be taken as referring to the Son or
Word as a divine Being or Spirit, not to Holy Spirit as a distinct
person of the Trinity.
On the life of Christ generally, it should be noted that the
, apologists are generally reticent. Theophilus and Atenagoras never
refer to Jesus Christ, but defend Christian beliefs about God and
the world, and Christian behaviour. Their reticence is consistent
with the practice of initiating Christian catechumens in the Old
Testament, and only reading the Gospel to them in the weeks just
before baptism. God’s deeper purposes are not to be bandied
about. Justin is more forthcoming than others, as he is about
Christian worship. It was possibly in response to Justin that the
pagan Celsus launched his devastating critique of Christian
superstition, and ridiculed faith in Jesus as the Word enfleshed
(NE131-5).
 6
TRADITION AND TRUTH:
IRENAEUS OF LYONS

Lyons and Irenaeus

In AD 177 or soon after, the churches in Vienne and Lyons in

southern Gaul wrote a triumphant letter ‘to the brethren in Asia
and Phrygia’, reporting a short but savage persecution. Eusebius
preserves much of this letter (HE 5.1-2; see NE 34-44 and 46).
There had first been disorderly harassment of Christians, then
arrests and public hearings at which some Christians apostatized.
The authorities tried especially to get evidence that Christians
were guilty of cannibalism, and the terrified testimony of some
slaves seemed to confirm it. The final judgement was deferred to
the national festival of the ‘three Gauls’ at the beginning of August,
so that the Emperor’s judgement could be given on whether those
who renounced Christianity were still to be punished as cannibals,
and on those with the privilege of Roman citizenship. In the
interim, most of those who had denied the faith at the first hearing
were won back to the faith, and at the later hearing refused to
renounce or take advantage of the emperor’s proffered clemency.
Altogether more than forty Christians died, some after atrocious
tortures. Some of these died in the arena, others in prison, among
them the aged bishops of Lyons, Pothinus (or Photinus), who had
been beaten up by the police at his trial.
After the persecution the new bishop was Irenaeus. He had
played a significant part in what happened, and a letter is preserved
in which the martyrs commend Irenaeus to Eleutherus, Bishop of
Rome, as a worthy presbyter (Eusebius, HE 5.3-4). Eusebius’
report is however confused and unreliable - he even says that the
letter included a list of the martyrs and the way they had died. But
he does include it in a discussion of Montanism (see pp. 46-7). It is
possible that Irenaeus was an envoy of the church in Lyons, which
was sustaining its judgement on the Montanism of Phrygia and
Asia with the authority of the martyrs; or perhaps ‘presbyter’ is
used in its old meaning of ‘bishop’, a usage we find in Irenaeus’

57
58 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

own writings, and the letter was meant to commend him - and his
views on Montanism - to Eleutherus. The other letter, which
recounts the story of the martyrs of 177, contained doctrinal or
polemical passages which Eusebius omitted. These may have been
about the Montanist dispute; certainly the idea that those who
first renounced the faith were reconciled on the authority of those
who had stood firm, and went on themselves to become martyrs,
is hostile to Montanism as we see it in Tertullian (see pp. 67-8).
Some writers have taken the opposite view, and have seen the
references in it to the Paraclete and the impending judgement of
God as indicating support for Montanist ideas; but these were
commonplace Christian notions in the second century, and this
view is probably wrong.
Whatever the case, Irenaeus became bishop of the most
important city of Roman Gaul when the persecution subsided. He
is the most important theologian of the second century who has
remained in the orthodox tradition (otherwise Marcion and
Valentinus might be thought to rival him). Even Irenaeus’ original
works have been lost, apart from a few fragments and extracts.
One reason was probably that he adopted the view that Christ
would return to reign for a thousand years on earth (the
millennium), a doctrine rejected by most Eastern theologians from
Origen onwards: Eusebius makes excuses for Irenaeus’ error at
HE3.39.11-13 (NE48), saying that he was misled by a primitive
writer called Papias. For whatever reason, the original Greek of
Irenaeus’ two surviving books is largely lost. They are the five
books Against Heresies (usually known by their Latin title,
Adversus Haereses, or Adv. Haer. for short, or Greek Elenchos,
Refutation) and a short handbook or catechism, The Demon¬
stration of the apostolic preaching (known as Demonstration or
Epideixis). Both books survive in late Armenian versions, and
Against Heresies in an early Latin translation; on the latter it
should be noted that Latin theologians retained their faith in the
millennium for some centuries after the Greeks largely dropped it,
and were never as doubtful as the Greeks were about the apostolic
authority of John’s Revelation (from which the doctrine comes:
Rev. 20.1-8).
There is no reason to doubt that Irenaeus originated in Asia, nor
his claim that as a boy he heard the old bishop there, Polycarp
{Adv. Haer. 3.3.4; Eusebius, HE 5.20.4-8 [NE 115-16, 121]).
 Tradition and Truth: Irenaeus of Lyons 59
Like most Western Christians he spoke and wrote in Greek, and
like him most of the Christians in the Lyons persecutions had
connections with Asia and Phrygia. Irenaeus was clearly an active
bishop. He had read some Greek philosophy as well as Christian
writers, and he claims that he had learned to speak to the Gallic
barbarians in their own language.
Irenaeus is important to us, first because of the way he tried to
identify and stabilize true Christianity and to distinguish it from
heresy, and because of the rich theology he developed in the
process.

Apostolic succession

Irenaeus’ longer surviving work was provoked by the success of a

Valentinian movement in Gaul, led by one Markos (Marcus). His
followers are called ‘Marcosians’ (a brief fragment about their
baptism is NE 91). The movement seems to have had some
success in drawing away some members of Irenaeus’ own church.
He therefore wrote his five books, outlining the beliefs of the
Valentinians and ‘other Gnostics’; this remains a valuable source
of information to us (there are ten pieces of Irenaeus on gnostic
and Marcionite teaching in A/E76-96). To him these doctrines are
the ‘knowledge falsely so called’ of 1 Tim. 6.20. They have come
about through defection from the original truth received by the
apostles from Jesus Christ himself.
Marcion, Valentinus and Basilides, and all the gnostic sects
who saw themselves as Christian, claimed to present the apostolic
doctrine, that is the truth as Jesus Christ gave it to his apostles.
Marcion claimed that he had restored again the truth specially
revealed to Paul, after the Twelve had defected. Valentinus was
said by his disciples to have been taught by Theudas, a disciple of
Paul; Basilides was claimed as a disciple of Glaucias, amanuensis
of Peter; and the Apocryphon of John makes John the recipient of
special revelations of the great Barbelo. With this went the claim
to report a higher, more spiritual, truth than that held by ordinary
Christians, the secret knowledge of the elect. A principal feature of
Irenaeus’ doctrine is worked out in refutation of those claims. It is
worth studying closely, Adv. Haer. 3.3-4 (NE 114—17).
Irenaeus argues that, if the apostles had any such secret
knowledge to impart, they would certainly have entrusted it to
60 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

those they left in charge of the churches, who were the bishops.
So it is very important to Irenaeus that the ‘ancestry’ of existing
bishops can be traced back to apostolic times. He may not have
originated this argument, since the idea of succession-lists appears
also in the fragments of the anti-gnostic writer Hegesippus some
years before (Eusebius, HE4.22.2-3 [NE109]). But he elaborates
it for us most fully, giving the Roman church, and Polycarp of
Smyrna, as his two specific examples. In order to refute all those
who meet in ‘unauthorized meetings’ it is enough (1) to indicate
the traditions derived from the apostles of one great church, that
of Rome. That church, he says, was founded by Peter and Paul
(this is actually false, since there were organized Christians there
before either of the apostles). And (2) one may consult the faith
preached there in succession to the apostles by means of the
succession of bishops.
There follows an expression of the representative authority of
the Roman church, which is exceedingly difficult to interpret, and
has been highly controversial: ‘It is necessary that every church,
that is, the faithful everywhere, should resort to [? agree with] this
Church, on account of its pre-eminent authority, in which the
apostolical tradition has been preserved continuously by those
who exist everywhere’ (3.3.1). This does not mean that the Roman
church dictates doctrine to others. Rather Irenaeus is keen to
suggest that the same apostolic faith exists throughout the entire
world (see the opening sentence of Adv. Haer. 3.3.1), and the very
ancient Roman church, with its assured succession from pre¬
eminent apostles, and with its constant contacts with other
churches (‘those who exist everywhere’) is a sure place to find that
faith.
Irenaeus then gives the Roman succession list {Adv. Haer.
3.3.2-3). This has become the foundation of all other such lists.
The list is probably valid from Sixtus (also called Xystos) onwards.
When he wrote to Victor of Rome about 190, Irenaeus would start
his list with Sixtus, naming none earlier. Sixtus could have been
the first ‘monarchical’ bishop appointed after Ignatius sealed his
testimony to that system with his martyrdom (see pp. 33-5). To
satisfy his own theory of succession, Irenaeus needed some more
names, and worked out the list (or perhaps borrowed it from
someone else before him, like Hegesippus). Since ‘Sixtus’ means
‘sixth’ it was obvious that he had five predecessors; he was ‘sixth
 Tradition and Truth: Irenaeus of Lyons 61
from the apostles’. Linus was the last named male person in Paul’s
last martyr-letter (2 Tim. 4.21, a reference Irenaeus was aware of),
and a few verses down the same page of the New Testament are
the words, ‘the bishop must be irreproachable’ (Gk anenkletos =
Anacletus; Titus 1.7). The apostles’ successors were thus easily
deduced, and Clement, who had exercised clear episcopal functions
(so Irenaeus thinks) in writing his famous letter, was regarded as
the Clement of Phil. 4.3. Where the fourth and fifth names came
from, we cannot tell. Such inventive manipulation, if it happened,
would be regarded as spiritual and prophetic, rather than as
dishonest: compare the arguments used by Irenaeus to prove that
there must be four and only four Gospels (Adv. Haer. 3.11.8 = NE
117-18); they have nothing to do with historical information.
Besides this Roman succession list, Irenaeus had a special link
with apostolic times. Polycarp of Smyrna provided Irenaeus not
only with evidence of a champion of orthodoxy and martyr, who
had ostensibly consorted with John and Philip and other apostles
of Jesus, but with one who had been heard by Irenaeus himself.
Inasmuch therefore as Irenaeus claims a succession of true teachers
in the Church, entrusted with the churches in their appointment
as bishops. Polycarp provides him personally with a direct, and
almost immediate, link with the apostles. Irenaeus’ own gospel,
and the idea of episcopal tradition which goes with it, is thus
especially verified within his own theory (see Adv. Haer. 3.3.4; HE
5.20.4-8 [NE 115-16; 121]).
In all this Irenaeus is concerned with the succession of true
doctrine, and its transmission in the public teaching of the bishops.
‘Apostolic succession’ may have included for him some idea of a
sacramental grace exclusively passed to bishops from apostles;
but if so, he never refers to it. That is in fact a later idea.

The Rule of Truth

Three times Irenaeus summarizes the universal teaching of the

churches, derived from the apostles. It is often called ‘The Rule of
Faith’, an expression used by Tertullian (regula fidei). Irenaeus'
own word for it is ‘Rule of Truth’, but he can use other words, like
‘The preaching’ or ‘The faith’ (see Adv. Haer. 1.2-3 [NE 111-12]).
It contains broadly the same ideas as most creeds: One God the
Creator, Jesus Christ and his coming, the Holy Spirit, the Church,
 62 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

and the future judgement. Irenaeus and other writers who mention
such a Rule (Tertullian, Hippolytus, Origen) invariably word it
differently every time, which suggests that each is a summary of a
known set of ideas and not a fixed form of words.
Irenaeus asserts that the whole meaning of the gospel is summed
up in this Rule. Barbarians who cannot yet read or hear the
Scriptures are saved by it (Adv. Haer. 3.15.1; cf. 3.4.1). In the face
of heretical interpretations, it tests the true meaning of Scripture.
Heretics use the Bible to produce grotesque ideas, like someone
taking apart a mosaic picture of the emperor and using the bits to
make the picture of a dog or fox (Adv. Haer. 1.1.15). This Rule is
not a supplement to the biblical truth derived from the apostles
and prophets, nor a tradition of independent material, but a key to
interpret the Scriptures which is compatible with the Scriptures as
a whole. It is fair therefore to call Irenaeus’ work a ‘biblical
* theology’, in the sense that it aims to interpret Scripture by
Scripture itself.
This is a good idea, but needs qualification or comment. First,
the limits of Scripture were not yet clearly fixed. We have already
said (pp. 23-8) that the list of Old Testament books was not agreed.
The same is even more true of the New Testament. Marcion relied
on a shortened Luke and corrected Paul; Sethians, Valentinians,
Thomas Christians, Basilideans, multiplied texts. Various spurious
documents were popular among orthodox Christians (the Gospel
of Peter, the Letter of Barnabas). The writings of John (Gospel and
Revelation) were favoured by heretics, but suspect in the churches.
Irenaeus stood firmly by something like our New Testament, with
four and only four Gospels as its foundation (Adv. Haer. 3.11.8
[NE 117-18]). Although he believed these to be the genuine
apostolic documents, his reasons, as can be seen, were not
historical ones. He argued from the four winds (in Greek ‘spirits’),
which inspire and vivify the Church on every hand, and the four
symbolic cherubim of Ezekiel and Revelation. Irenaeus’ Rule works
only if there is an agreed set of Scriptures.
Secondly, later Fathers from Origen onwards were to pursue
the principle of interpreting Scripture by Scripture. They would
assiduously collect uses of a word, and apply their discoveries to
the text under discussion. This was often illuminating, but more
often made it impossible to determine the historic meaning and
 Tradition and Truth: Irenaeus of Lyons 63
nature of each particular biblical document. Irenaeus, like his
distinguished successors, in fact brings other ideas, religious and
philosophical, to his understanding of the text. We all do.

God and Christ

In opposition to the heresies, Irenaeus lays weight on the unity of
God. The first and most important point, he writes (Adv. Haer.
2.1.1), is that the Creator is the one and only God, maker of
heaven and earth, and those who postulate a higher god are
blaspheming him. Prophets, apostles, and the words of Christ
himself attest this. But Irenaeus follows the threefold Rule, and
confesses the Son and the Spirit as God’s Word and Wisdom, the
‘hands’ by which he created and adorned the universe. God is
never without his Word (Logos, Reason) and Wisdom. The origin
of the Word is mysterious; ‘His generation who can tell?’ (Isaiah
53.8) is applied to this question.
How precisely the one God relates to his Son and Word, Jesus
Christ, is also obscure. The Word created the universe, and the
Spirit adorned it. But Irenaeus specifically rejects some of the
notions favoured by his predecessors the apologists; he had
certainly read Justin and Theophilus. He rejects the idea of the
Word as first immanent, then expressed, on the ground that God
is always complete in self-expression. He rejects the idea of ‘another
god’, which had been used by the apologists of the Word appearing
to Moses and others (Adv. Haer. 2.28.4-5). He rejects the idea of
the Word as one light kindled from another, ‘light from light’,
which had been begun by the apologists and retained popularity
later, even in the Nicene Creed (Adv. Haer. 2.17.4). He plainly
feels that such Logos-speculation, like the two gods of Marcion
and the junior Demiurge of the Gnostics, undermines the absolute
unity of God.
In the case of Jesus Christ, he also emphasizes unity: he
repeatedly used the expression, ‘one and the same’. Christ is both
God as Word of God, and Man. The gnostic myths often comprise
a dualistic or adoptionist element: the human Jesus is distinct
from the heavenly Christ-spirit, who descends on the man at
baptism. Alternatively, other ideas are used to evade the
contamination of the divine Spirit with flesh, usually saying that
 64 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Christ was a purely spiritual being who merely appeared as a man

(examples in NE 76-7; 85; 95-6). For Irenaeus it is vital that
Jesus Christ was both God and Man. As one and the same person,
both Son of God and Son of Man, he lived, suffered and died: the
suggestion that the divine Word remained impassible (untouched
by suffering), while the humanity suffered death, an idea which
commended itself to Antiochene theologians later, was rejected as
divisive heresy. If he were not Man, humanity would not be saved
in him; if he were not God, he would not have power to save. To
understand this, one needs to understand Irenaeus’ thought about
man (in the sense of ‘human’ not ‘male’) and his destiny.
Irenaeus developed the thought that God created man in his
own image and likeness (Gen. 1.26-7). The earthiness of his
argument, especially in Adv. Haer. 5.6.1, is often overlooked. God
shaped man in his image and likeness (Gen. 2.7), conforming
» what he shaped to the image of his Son (Rom. 8.29). What he
made was not part of man, so not just soul or spirit, but body and
soul. So the complete man, and the true image and likeness of God
is ‘the mingling and union of the soul which receives the Spirit of
the Father, and which is mixed with that flesh which was moulded
in the image of God’. All three elements, body, soul and Spirit, are
needed for the perfect man in the likeness of God. Since the sin of
Adam, the Spirit was lost, and the image incomplete, imperfect. It
could not be restored, as long as the Word remained invisible. ‘But
when the Word of God was made flesh, he affirmed both [image
and likeness]: he revealed the true image, becoming himself what
was in his image; and he established firmly the likeness, making
man like the invisible Father through the visible Word’ {Adv.
Haer. 5.16.2). It is thus precisely in his incarnate state that the
Word makes plain the image of God, and in the flesh that man is
complete.
The heretics of Irenaeus’ day, and most Christian thinkers from
Origen onwards, have rejected the idea that the human body is in
the likeness of God (Augustine himself could not accept
Christianity till he had rejected it). Some modern theological
books evade it, even while commending Irenaeus’ ideas in general.
But the cutting edge of Irenaeus’ thought was precisely to defeat
the view that mankind is saved spiritually by escape from the
body. To him that was false. For the same reason, he was deeply
committed to the view that at the second coming of Christ the
 Tradition and Truth: Irenaeus of Lyons 65
dead would rise physically from their graves, and the righteous
would reign on earth in a rich kingdom centring on a restored
earthly Jerusalem. When God is all in all, some of the elect live in
heaven, others on earth enjoying the lush fruits, others in the new
Jerusalem; but it will be a new world, where death is no more.
That hope flowed directly from Irenaeus’ vision of God the Creator
of this world, who would be vindicated in it - and his reading of
the prophets and the Revelation to John. But between the creation
and the glorious end there is another process.

Mankind and redemption

In contrast to the gnostic doctrines of the fall, illumination and

restoration of the fallen spirits, Irenaeus teaches the biblical story
of mankind: creation, transgression, redemption, judgement and
final glory. Unfortunately we must piece together his total system
from bits of argument aimed usually to explain particular biblical
texts which the Gnostics misinterpret. God created man to be in
his own image and likeness, a copy of his Son the Word. He was
made a living soul, and remains such until spiritual death. But he
was not endowed with Spirit unless he kept free of fleshly lusts,
that is, used the absolute freedom he received to seek the vision of
God; for to see God and to be like him are the same. But from the
start man was juvenile, easily deceived. His disobedience over the
tree in Eden was little more than an accident, unlike the deliberate,
compounded crimes of his son Cain; but it lost him his childlike
innocence. Adam immediately feared God, and put on the fig-leaf
as a sign of repentance, saying: ‘Since I have lost by disobedience
the robe of holiness which I got from the Spirit, I now acknowledge
that I deserve such a garment as gives no pleasure, but chafes and
pricks the body’ {Adv. Haer. 5.12.2). The likeness to God had
been lost.
Although Irenaeus believes the story of Adam and Eve to be
historical, he also writes of Adam as a cosmic person: his
disobedience is that of all mankind. Of all human beings it is true
that ‘the first Adam was made by the Lord into a living soul, the
second Adam into a lifegiving spirit’ (Adv. Haer. 5.12.2, quoting
1 Cor. 15.45): ‘So just as the one made into a living soul turned to
the worse and lost life, so the same one will himself return to the
better, receive the lifegiving Spirit, and find life.’ This cannot
66 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

happen however without a new initiative from God. While the

Word remained invisible, he provided ways to train and prepare
mankind, but there could be no complete fulfilment of the divine
design. The Word, who had always existed with the Spirit as the
agent of creation, also appeared enfleshed in Jesus Christ.
Using a term borrowed from Paul (anakephalaiosasthai, Eph.
1.10), Irenaeus says repeatedly that Jesus Christ recapitulated
(‘summed up afresh’) the career of Adam (see Dem. 32-4 [NE
120]). He did this by coming in the flesh like Adam, and living
through the years of a human life, triumphant always over the
temptations of Satan. So he goes over the ground again, does well
what was badly done before, and sums up the whole purpose of
mankind’s existence. Those who now believe in him receive his
Spirit. Individually and corporately they are thus restored to the
completeness for which they were designed, in the image and
Jikeness of the Word, body, soul and spirit. In him and like him,
they can now see God and live for ever.
If Irenaeus leaves many questions unanswered and even
unasked, he left a powerful, thorough and reasonably complete
picture of the world under God, which many moderns still find
compelling. In the last chapter of Against Heresies he writes of
‘the same God the Father, who formed man . . . one Son, who
completed the will of the Father, and one human race, in which the
mysteries of God are fulfilled’. All things in heaven and earth are
united in the salvation of mankind.
 7
LATIN THEOLOGY LAUNCHED:
TERTULLIAN

Tertullian the Christian

By the end of the second century the gospel had established itself
in Roman North Africa, chiefly in the area of the city of Carthage.
Some Greek was spoken among the commercial and educated
classes, and probably more among Christians than most, since
their connections were, like those of Lyons, with Asia Minor and
Greek-speaking Rome. There were relics of the old Carthaginian
or Punic tongue, and of the native Numidian dialects. But the
prevailing culture was Latin. The first translations into Latin of
the Scriptures and the liturgy probably originated in Africa, and it
seems to have happened before Tertullian started writing around
190. Apart from the Old Latin Bible, only the account of the
martyrs of Scilli (NE 44-5) is Christian Latin earlier than
Tertullian.
Tertullian (c. 160-c. 220) was well educated in Latin rhetoric,
well read, and deeply imbued both with Stoic philosophy and
Christian Scripture. He has a powerful argumentative style, and
ever since Jerome in the fourth century it has been asserted that he
was a professional lawyer. But there is no sure evidence. He seems
to have been an adult convert to Christianity. From the start he
was concerned about the behaviour of Christians, and constantly
wrote on practical subjects such as repentance, prayer, baptism,
fasting, behaviour in persecution, and advice to his wife about
what to do after his own death. He strongly urged absolute
obedience to the revealed will of God, a continual, penitent striving
after holiness. Like many Latins after him, he referred to the
gospel message, the Christian Scriptures, or Christian belief as a
whole, as ‘the law’ or ‘our law’. It was conduct that marked out
those who belonged to Christ from the evil world.
In keeping with this character he became a Montanist. That he
broke from the main church in Carthage and joined or led a

67
68 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

schism is now disputed. But his later works show an increasing

tendency to support the ‘new prophecy’ (see pp. 46-7) against the
main church, the ‘spirituals’ against the ‘natural men’ (psychici =
‘soulish’ or unspiritual; see 1 Cor. 2.14). And it is difficult to
interpret a statement like this without assuming a split amounting
to schism: ‘I for my part was subsequently separated from the
natural men by my acknowledgement and defence of the Paraclete’
(Prax. 1 [NE 168]). He understood the prophetic claims of the
Montanists perfectly well. He wanted difficult disciplinary
questions to be resolved by a board of prophets, and seriously put
forward the vision of a prophetess to resolve a metaphysical
question (On the soul 9 [NE 175-6]). But he chiefly saw the
difference as one of strict obedience to God in a holy church,
which the ‘natural men’ compromised, both by breaking with
tradition (on adultery) and by failing to innovate with the new
prophecy on whether little girls needed veils in church. In a
pamphlet On modesty he attacks as outrageous some bishop’s
announcement that he would grant remission of sin to those guilty
of adultery and fornication (see NE 176-7). The bishop may have
been a Roman one, extending his jurisdiction to Africa in a
remarkable fashion; more likely it was a bishop of Carthage, who
is given the secular title ‘sovereign pontiff’ as a sarcastic joke. But
whoever it was, Tertullian is clearly departing, as a narrow¬
minded Montanist, from the position he had urged upon erring
Christians in his earlier On repentance; there repentance and
reconciliation were available for any sin, however grave (see
Repent. 7, 9 [NE 174-5]).
Besides practical works, Tertullian wrote notable apologies, in
which persecution is criticized with powerful sarcasm as immoral,
unlawful, and futile (see NE 157-63). The number of Christians
in Africa is said, no doubt with exaggeration, to be enormous
(Apol. 37 [NE 162-3]). He includes a fascinating account of
Christians at prayer and their finances (Apol. 30-3, 39 [NE 161-2
163-4]).

Tertullian the churchman

Before he defected to the New Prophecy, Tertullian had already

become a vigorous defender of Catholic truth against heresy. The
 Latin Theology launched: Tertullian 69

position he adopted was a version of that of Irenaeus (see pp. 59-

63). Apostolic churches are dispersed throughout the world: not
only Rome, ‘from which the authority of the apostles is at hand for
us [Africans]’, but Corinth, Philippi, and Ephesus in the leading
Greek areas; and by now the potency of Rome has been further
strengthened by the legend that the apostle John was tortured
there, as well as the executions of Peter and Paul (Praescr. 36 [NE
164]). He also knows well the ‘Rule of faith’. This summarizes
faith in God the creator, who sent the Word his Son to be the God
who appears in the Old Testament, and with the Holy Spirit
brought down the Word to be enfleshed in Mary. After his mission
and passion Jesus Christ ascended and sent the Spirit on believers,
and will return to raise the dead, to take the saints to glory and
condemn the wicked to everlasting fire. ‘This rule . . . was taught
by Christ, and raises among ourselves no question except those
which heresies introduce, and which make men heretics’ (Praescr.
13 [NE 165]). Like Irenaeus and Hippolytus, he blames heresy
on philosophy. Like philosophy, heresy asks questions, and argues
about fundamental things. This leads him to a famous denunciation
of philosophy: ‘What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem?
What has the Academy to do with the Church? What have heretics
to do with Christians?’ (Praescr. 7 [NE 166-7]). But it would be a
mistake to think that Tertullian has no philosophy. His work is
shot through with philosophical arguments, mostly of Stoic origin,
and some creative and acute. Like most bigots, however, he
pretends successfully to himself that he just gives the simple
original gospel.
Tertullian’s argumentative posturing is nowhere more apparent
than when he denies the heretics any right to appeal to the
Scriptures for arguments. They are not Christians, and to use the
church books is trespassing on other people’s land, inherited by
sure title-deeds from the apostles (Praescr. 37 [NE 169]). He has
not the slightest awareness that the debate was about the nature
of the original revelation. To him, what he had received was the
one and only truth, and everything else was a diabolic perversion
of it. Innovation was heresy, and the whole faith and practice of
the Church had been delivered to the apostles, and by them to the
churches they founded (Praescr. 21 [NE 166]). It is a paradox that
one who could defend even the last details of church practice as
 70 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

apostolic, even when not written in Scripture (Cor. 3-4 [NE 171 —
2]), could also fervently support the New Prophecy when it arose.
He always argued the case intensely from where he stood, and
must be treated with appropriate caution.

Tertullian the theologian

A most conspicuous case of philosophical influence is the concept

of God’s nature as material (corpus). To the Stoics both God (the
world-soul) and the human soul were spirit, but spirit itself was a
fine fluid or gaseous element, not (as in Platonism) intangible and
independent of space and time. So the words ‘God is spirit’ mean
to Tertullian that God is material, and he argues the same for the
soul (cf. De Anima 9 = NE 175-6). Tertullian’s most elaborate
doctrine of God and Christ is stated in response to Praxeas, a
. heretic otherwise unknown to us; since his name means ‘fixer’ or
-4

‘fraud’, it may be a nickname Tertullian invented; it is not even out

of the question that Irenaeus is the person concerned, since
Tertullian is in his book Against Praxeas trying to attach heresy to
a known opponent of Montanism. ‘Praxeas at Rome managed two
pieces of the Devil’s business: he drove out prophecy and
introduced heresy; he put to flight the Paraclete and crucified the
Father’ (Prax. 1 = NE 168). Tertullian alleges that Praxeas
dissuaded a bishop of Rome some time ago from recognizing
Montanus and Prisca (= Priscilla) as prophets and receiving their
churches into communion, and that he went on to teach a
pernicious doctrine, which amounted to crucifying the Father.
The rest of his book is about the heresy. Praxeas asserts the
‘monarchy’ of God: God is single, and so Father, Son and Spirit are
‘one and the same’, but he rejects the ‘economy’ or ‘dispensation’.
The term ‘economy’ (Gk oikonomia, Lat. dispensatio) sums up
Tertullian’s idea. The term needs care. Originally referring to
household administration or ‘stewardship’, it came to be used in
ancient theology to refer to God’s dispensations for creating and
saving the world; among the Greeks in particular ‘the oikonomia1
by itself often meant the saving work of Christ in the flesh - what
moderns often refer to broadly as ‘the incarnation’. In modern
theology ‘economic trinitarianism’ is a doctrine of the Trinity in
which God is three in his works, but one in his being; it means
 Latin Theology launched: Tertullian 71

that to us he operates in a threefold way, but may in himself be

one and simple. It contrasts with ‘immanent’ or ‘essential’
trinitarianism, where the being of God in himself has a threefold
quality. That is not what Tertullian, or any ancient writer means
by oikonomia, though it can be debated whether Justin, Irenaeus
or Tertullian is an economic trinitarian in the modem sense.
Justin probably is: in eternity the Father is one, and his logos
becomes another beside him for and in creation. Irenaeus is not
(though sometimes said to be), because he repudiates the
‘economic’ models used by Justin, even though he regards the
inner being of God as beyond our knowledge and is not strictly an
essentialist either. Origen we shall find (p. 106) to be an essentialist:
God, his Son and his Spirit are co-eternal and eternally distinct.
Tertullian uses the figure of the Word being put forth at creation
just as the apologists do: the immanent reason {ratio) of God is
always with him, and that already meant that God was not alone,
but had as it were another beside himself even before the creation
of the world (Prax. 5); still the ‘complete birth of the Word’ was
when he ‘came forth from God’ with the sound, ‘Let there be light’
{Prax. 7). He is perhaps an ‘economic trinitarian’ trying to be an
‘essentialist’. But when he actually uses the word oikonomia
against Praxeas it has a special and different meaning.
Tertullian has two chief models of this ‘economy’: imperial
administration, and biological or natural organism. The emperor
is a monarch whose sole rule is not impaired when he bestows
part of his functions on his son: the ‘economy’ is an administrative
arrangement of his own sole rule, which is not thereby disrupted.
Again, the Greeks used the word of the arrangement of parts in a
plant or animal body, and Tertullian appears to exploit that
meaning. Father, Son and Spirit are one in the same way that a
tree has a stem and a fruit, but they are not separated from the
root. Two other images work similarly: the sun, the ray of light,
and the point where the light falls; or the spring, the river from it
and the irrigation canal which the river feeds (a familiar picture in
Roman Africa). In each case there is only one tree, one light, one
water, determined by the single source, which is the root, the sun
or the spring. So God and his Word (sermo) and his Spirit are
three stages of one Being. Two things about this are noteworthy:
the Stoic idea of God as material makes these organic models for
 72 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

God easier to understand; and Tertullian resembles Irenaeus rather

than Justin in the steady place he gives to the Holy Spirit in his
scheme.
Tertullian invented the customary Latin terms for God as
Trinity. ‘Trinity’ (trinitas) means ‘threeness’, and is defended
against those monarchians who insist on ‘simple unity’ (simplex
unitas). The threeness consists of the Father, the Son and the
Spirit, each of whom is a ‘person’ {persona). These three are
distinct, but not divided. They share, or rather are, a single
‘substance’ or ‘being’ {substantia). At one time Harnack’s idea had
some currency, that ‘person’ and ‘substance’ were being used in a
technical legal sense, meaning ‘one with legal rights’ and ‘property’.
But this is to be rejected: Tertullian is using logical or philosophical
terminology. ‘Substance’ can mean ‘existence’, or it can mean
‘substance’ in the regular English sense of the stuff or material
* which things are made of; but in this context Tertullian seems to
use it to mean ‘a being’. It is what makes God one, though
distributed in three persons.
An important consequence of Tertullian’s language is that it
fixed Western terminology in referring to God as ‘one being’, while
in the East, following Origen, the idea of ‘three beings’ (Gk ousiai,
hypostaseis) prevailed. This led to confusion and dispute later,
even though both Origen and Tertullian were arguing against the
same kind of monarchianism.
Tertullian is consciously trinitarian and gives the Spirit full
weight (as a Montanist should). But much of his argument concerns
the personal distinctness of Father and Son. The crime of Praxeas
is that he ‘crucified the Father’ by denying the personal distinction:
texts like, ‘I am God and beside me there is none’ (Isa. 45.5), and ‘I
and the Father are one’ (John 10.30) were taken to prove that
Father and Son were one person, so that in Christ the Father
suffered, or at least ‘co-suffered’ {compatitur) as the invisible or
spiritual part of Christ. Tertullian deploys many Scripture texts to
prove that the two or three persons are distinct from each other,
with simultaneous roles, and he insists that the divine suffers only
in the Son. The Father remains untouched by the Son’s experiences,
as the fountain-spring is not clouded when the stream from it is
polluted; the Spirit also remains in his own person untouched, just
as he inspires Christian martyrs and enables them to make the
good confession, without himself suffering in them {Prax. 29).
 Latin Theology launched: Tertullian 73

This idea is important, since the passion of Christ could be used to

prove that the Son is inferior to the unchanging, impassible Father.
Tertullian’s opponents had tried to argue that Christ was
twofold, the Son, flesh, man, Jesus, and the Father, Spirit, God,
Christ. Such duality he repudiates as Valentinian, and offers an
alternative (see Prax. 27). Using technical Stoic vocabulary, he
rejects the idea that the Word was changed into flesh, and
particularly the idea that there was a sort of alloy of God and man
as electrum is an alloy of gold and silver. Jesus Christ has both
‘substances’, Word (also called Spirit) and flesh, God and man,
but they are combined, not fused together. In his one person there
is a double quality (status). The consequence is important for later
Christology:

To such a degree did there remain unimpaired the proper being

of each substance, that in him the Spirit carried out its own
acts, that is powers and works and signs, while the flesh
accomplished its own passions, hungering in company of the
devil, thirsting in company of the Samaritan woman, weeping
for Lazarus, sore troubled unto death - and at length it also
died.

It is not easy to like Tertullian. But he has much powerful and

ingenious theology to offer. He left his mark, particularly on the
ethos of African Christianity.
 8
SECTARIAN RELIGION AND
EPISCOPAL AUTHORITY

As the second century closed and the third began, there are signs
that leading bishops tried to strengthen the organization and
administration of the churches. The chief officer of a large city
congregation was likely to be abler and better served administra¬
tively than his counterpart in a small village. Since large cities had
considerable areas dependent upon them for civil and economic
purposes, the church in that city was looked up to by those in the
* surrounding areas. So the bishop of a large city exercised
leadership and (perhaps more important) jurisdiction over the
adjacent churches. This probably begins as appellate jurisdiction,
in other words, when a dispute occurred the weaker party might
appeal to the senior church and its bishop.

Dionysius of Corinth, Serapion, and Demetrius

Some such situation lies behind the correspondence of Dionysius

of Corinth recorded by Eusebius; but since the texts are not
preserved, we are obliged to guess at what was going on. As
bishop of the metropolis of Achaea (southern Greece) it is no
surprise to find Dionysius about 170 writing pacifying letters to
Lacedaemon (Sparta) and Athens (HE4.23.2-3), which are in the
same civil jurisdiction. Persecution had hit Greece under Marcus
Aurelius (161-80), and the Bishop of Athens, one Publius, was
martyred; this led the Athenians to ‘apostatize from the Word’
until the new bishop Quadratus pulled them together. Whatever
that crisis was at Athens, in Crete Dionysius apparently supports
one bishop, Philip of Gortyna, against another, Pinytus of Cnossus,
with whom he has a difference of view about the necessity for
sexual chastity (4.23.5/7-8). The same topics occur when he
writes to churches even further away: Nicomedia (4.23.4) and
Amastris (4.23.6); in the last case he writes to the church about its
bishop Palmas, perhaps supporting Palmas’ critics. Pierre Nautin

74
 Sectarian Religion and Episcopal Authority 75

is probably right to assume that in each case the powerful bishop

Dionysius had been approached and asked to intervene in other
churches. If so, his letter to Soter of Rome (4.23.9-12), in which
he praises Soter and complains that his letters have been textually
misused, is his own defence against appeal to an even stronger
bishop by those he had rebuked. This illustrates the exercise of
leadership over more immediately adjacent churches, but also the
building up of a pattern of a universal Church of the kind which
Irenaeus interpreted theologically.
Serapion was Bishop of Antioch about 190-209. He knew
enough to write against Montanism. But he is chiefly interesting
for advising the Christians of nearby Rhossus that he had changed
his mind about the propriety of using the Gospel of Peter since his
visit to them; and for appointing Palut as Bishop of Edessa, which
became a great centre of Syrian Christianity. Christianity at Edessa
had been developed on unusual lines by followers of Marcion and
Bardaisan (Bardesanes) and Tatian. None of these used the
conventional four-Gospel canon, all were notable for their ascetic
(encratite) principles, and all were reckoned heretical by more
Westerly Christians. Serapion’s action can be seen as an attempt
to impose Catholic faith and order where they had not previously
existed (NE 126-7, 154).
Demetrius, Bishop of Alexandria 189-232, is alleged to have
been the first bishop of that place to appoint bishops in other
cities; presumably some more casual organization prevailed before.
With his successors Heraclas and Dionysius the old system
whereby the new bishop was appointed by the presbyters of
Alexandria ceased, other bishops now being responsible (Jerome,
Ep. 146.1). Demetrius shepherded his flock through the Severan
persecutions, and tried to suppress the ‘heresy’ of Origen.

The church in Rome under Victor

In the same decades a series of active bishops began to bring

uniformity to the churches in Rome: Victor (about 189-99),
Zephyrinus (about 199-217), and Callistus (about 217-22). The
church seems to have been pluriform in the same way that,
according to Bauer, the main Eastern centres were. The first
congregations arose from an already divided Jewish community.
Hermas shows that the organization was loose, and the first sole
76 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

bishop was probably Sixtus I (Xystos), about 120. Victor tried to

impose uniform practice about keeping Easter. Jews observed the
Passover as the yearly spring festival, even after the fall of the
temple made it impossible to keep the sacrifice as prescribed in the
law of Moses. Christians in the main stream carried on the
observance of the Passover as a commemoration of the passion
and resurrection of Jesus, which happened at Passover time. The
Christians of the Roman province of Asia (i.e. western Asia
Minor) traditionally observed the Pascha (Passover) by breaking
their Paschal fast on the day when the Jews ‘put away the leaven’,
that is the fourteenth of the Jewish month Nisan. They were later
nicknamed ‘Quartodecimans’ (‘Fourteenthers’). Rome and most of
the churches kept the fast till the Sunday following, a practice
which perhaps originated in the desire of Jerusalem Christians to
distinguish themselves from the Jews. Victor came into conflict
with Polycrates of Ephesus on this issue (Eusebius, HE 5.23-4
[NE138-9]), but it seems to have started with an attempt to correct
the Asian immigrants in Rome itself; otherwise it is impossible to
understand how the past bishops ‘sent the Eucharist to members
of those communities who observed [the fourteenth day]’ (5.24.15
[NE 140]). The narratives of Eusebius may be based entirely on a
letter of Irenaeus, of which he quotes puzzling fragments. Irenaeus,
torn between his respect for the Asiatic tradition, including the
pillar of orthodoxy Polycarp, and Rome which he held to be the
great example of apostolic tradition, was plainly embarrassed (see
pp. 59-61). He claims that ‘the difference about the fast enhances
the unity of our faith’ (5.24.13 [NE 140]), which is very hard to
believe. The Sunday Easter and Victor prevailed; but a local
Roman Quartodeciman group led by Blastus continued for a time.
Victor’s standing is indicated by the story that he was able
through the emperor Commodus’ mistress Marcia to get Christian
prisoners released from the Sardinian mines, one of them the
rising young Callistus, whom he sent with a pension to Antium, no
doubt in some ministerial capacity (Hippolytus, Adv. Haer.
9.12.10-13 [NE 148]).
Victor is said to have taken first steps against a heresy from
Asia Minor attributed to Theodotus the Cobbler (leatherworker),
which we know only from fragmentary and hostile accounts
(especially in Eusebius, HE5.28 [NE 143-5]). Modern writers call
his doctrine ‘dynamic monarchian’, on the ground that it saved the
 Sectarian Religion and Episcopal Authority 77
unity (Gk monarchia) of God by making the divinity of Christ an
impersonal power (Gk dynamis). This name was not given it in
ancient times, where ‘monarchian’ referred to the modalist position
described below. The Theodotian teachers were also called
‘psilanthropists’, because they were alleged to teach that Christ
was a ‘mere man’ (Gk psilos anthropos), and their doctrine
‘Artemonite’ after a later third-century exponent Artemon. The
Theodotians were sophisticated; they are reproached for using
Aristotle and the medical writer Galen, for practising textual
criticism on the Bible, and for arguing that their own doctrine was
traditional in the Church before Victor’s day. There were certainly
other leaders: another Theodotus, called ‘the Banker’ (to whom a
speculative doctrine based on the Melchizedek model for Christ is
attributed: NE 145), Asclepiodotus, and notably one Natalius, a
confessor who joined the group and became its bishop in Rome.

Doctrinal disputes: Hippolytus

The christological problems became more serious under Victor’s

successor Zephyrinus. In his time a Roman presbyter called Caius
(Gaius) wrote against the Montanist theologian Proclus, who also
worked in Rome. In the process Caius challenged the apostolic
authenticity of John’s Gospel and Revelation (Hippolytus in NE
153). The fourfold Gospel canon was already defended by Irenaeus,
and presupposed earlier by Tatian in his Diatessaron. Caius
appears to have been in other respects orthodox, though we know
little about him; he used philological arguments, and especially
pointed to the discrepancies between the Synoptics and John,
which he attributed to the Judaeo-gnostic Cerinthus. Caius in turn
was attacked, and the Gospel and Revelation defended, by another
Roman presbyter called Hippolytus, the leading Roman theologian
of the day.
To Hippolytus are attributed various works. He wrote a pungent
pamphlet Against Noetus (see NE 145-6). Noetus was the earliest
serious representative of those called ‘Monarchians’, one of whom,
nicknamed Praxeas, stimulated Tertullian’s important work,
Against Praxeas (NE 167-9). These identified Jesus Christ as God,
denying any personal distinction. Because they see the Father and
the Son (and the Spirit if he is mentioned) as different modes of
operation of the one person who is God, some moderns class them
78 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

as ‘modalist’ or ‘modalist Monarchian’, and the term ‘Sabellian’ is

used in the same sense (see below). To outsiders Christians looked
like a group who worshipped Christ as a cult-god (Pliny, Ep.
10.96.7 [NE 19]), and many felt like it to themselves; in the
popular Acts of John (early third centuiy?) Christ is repeatedly
spoken of as the (only) God and worshipped accordingly. The
chief point of the gospel was monotheism, belief in one God,
creator, lawgiver and judge. Since Christ performed all these
functions, one feels no need to look further.
Melito of Sardis, who is among those praised by the critic of
Theodotus (Eusebius HE 5.28.5 [NE 144]), in his On Pascha
attributes to Jesus Christ all the works of God from creation to
judgement, who is also the object of doxologies. The concerns lead¬
ing to monarchianism are various: Gnostics and Marcionites divided
the Creator and Lawgiver from an alleged superior God;
Theodotians denied Christ’s personal deity; the apologists asserted
that Christ was a ‘second God’ beside the Father, an intermediate
Logos who did not share the Father’s utter transcendence, and
they had been rebuked for it even by Irenaeus. ‘What evil am I
doing in glorifying Christ?’, asks Noetus. But the ‘presbyters’
(probably Asian bishops) who condemned him stuck to assertions
of one God and the suffering Son: ‘We too know in truth one God;
we know Christ; we know that the Son suffered even as he
suffered, and died even as he died, and rose again on the third day,
and is at the right hand of the Father, and comes to judge the
living and the dead’, they said (Hippolytus, Noet. 1 [NE 145-6]).
Tertullian’s heretic Praxeas also visited Rome at an unknown
time, and so probably did Noetus; Hippolytus names the successors
in his ‘school’ - a separate church organization - as Epigonus and
Cleomenes, and alleges that the latter bribed Zephyrinus to tolerate
him. This brings us to the fiercest dispute in Rome of the period.
We know the career of Zephyrinus’ successor Callistus (Calixtus
I) through the fierce onslaught in the long Refutation of all heresies.
If, as is usually held, its author is Hippolytus, then on the death of
Zephyrinus that learned presbyter reckoned himself bishop, and
himself alleges that the heretic Callistus ‘established a school
against the Church’, that is, he set himself up as bishop against
Hippolytus with a congregation which claimed to be the ‘Catholic
Church’ (Ref. 9.12.20, 25 [NE 151-2]). The Refutation was
written after Callistus died. It surveys heresies past and present,
 Sectarian Religion and Episcopal Authority 79

with long quotations proving (perversely) that each derives from a

pagan philosophy; Callistus is its climax, and his heresy
compounds the faults of all. After a damning account of Callistus’
fraudulent and disorderly early career, and the trick by which he
got the name of ‘martyr’ (he spent time in the mines of Sardinia
with other Christian prisoners), Victor sent him to the sea-port
Antium (9.12.1-13 [NE 146-9]). He was recalled by Zephyrinus
and put in charge of the Roman cemetery, an important piece of
property with underground galleries where the increasing Christian
cult of the dead was performed. Callistus led the stupid Zephyrinus
to make contradictory pronouncements: ‘I know one God, Jesus
Christ, nor except him do I know any other that is begotten and
susceptible to suffering’; ‘The Father did not die, but the Son.’
Callistus’ own view was held to be compounded from the
contradictions of Heraclitus and the heresies of Noetus and
Theodotus. He had condemned Hippolytus as a ditheist, and held
that Logos and Spirit were not distinct from the Father; the Spirit
incarnate in Jesus was the Father, the visible flesh was the Son, so
Father and Son are one Person (Gk prosopon) and the Father
suffered with (Gk sympeponthenai) the Son (9.12.15-19 [NE
150-1]). The doctrine is like that which Tertullian attacks: ‘The
Son is flesh, that is, Man, that is, Jesus; the Father is Spirit, that
is, God, that is, Christ’, ‘The Son suffers, the Father co-suffers
(Lat. compatitur)’ (Prax. 27, 29). Reading between the lines of the
malicious report, Callistus was cautiously and conservatively
steering a course, resembling that of Irenaeus, between Hippolytus
and Sabellius.
We know little of Sabellius, who came from Libya (where
doctrinal enthusiasms were always strong) and must have worked
in Rome. His teaching is impossible to isolate from better-known
heretics of the next century'with whom he was constantly
compared (especially Marcellus of Ancyra), but it was a
sophisticated form of Modalism. God was huiopator (a coinage
meaning ‘Sonfather’ or ‘Sonfathering’), and the Son and the Spirit
are projected for redemption and sanctification at the appropriate
time like rays of warmth and light projected from the sun. There is
no reason to doubt that Callistus excommunicated Sabellius,
though Hippolytus tries to blame him for Sabellius’ heresy and
says he was thus inconsistent. The name ‘Sabellian’ came to be
used conventionally for any doctrine which speaks of Father and
80 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Son, or of Father, Son and Spirit, as one person in different guises.

Hippolytus outlines true doctrine in the last book of the
Refutation (10.32-4) in terms not identical with those in Against
Noetus. One God in foreknowledge of all things formed the
elements and every being first in thought. This inner thought or
deliberation was Logos, his firstborn Son. This Logos when spoken
gave the thought substance, and the created world came into
existence; so he is mediator of creation. In the incarnation he
recapitulated the stages of human life, to the point of suffering and
death, and became the firstfruits of redemption by his resurrection.
Man as the lord of creation must learn to know himself (a classic
Platonic thought) as God’s image. Despite Hippolytus’ onslaughts
on philosophy, this scheme uses ideas typical of middle Platonism.
In Against Noetus 10-11 Hippolytus presents a God who ‘while
single was many’, having within him Word, Wisdom, Power and
Counsel. Thus God’s being is complex even before creation. There
are not however two Gods: Power issues from the All like light
from light, water from a spring, a ray from the sun. When made
visible in the ‘sent one’, i.e. Jesus Christ, the Logos becomes Son.
While the Word forms the universe, Wisdom adorns it, and is thus
apparently identified (as by Irenaeus) with Holy Spirit. The Holy
Spirit is formally named, but not in this context. Similarly in Ref.
10.32-4 the Spirit is not named, but appears to be identified with
the Truth of the prophetic Scriptures. While Hippolytus’ two
accounts are not wholly reconcilable, there is enough similarity to
perceive a coherent picture, and to leave the impression of a
serious and learned theology.

Discipline and order: Callistus

As ‘bishop’ Hippolytus compiled a liturgical handbook called The

Apostolic Tradition. Unfortunately lost in its original Greek, it has
to be reconstructed from a close Latin version of part of it, from
expanded editions in Coptic and Ethiopic, and from extracts
incorporated in later documents in Greek. Though the recon¬
struction is at times uncertain, it provides precious information
about the ordination of the clergy, baptismal preparation and
practice, and the daily discipline and worship of individuals.
Purporting to record ancient practice, it may provide evidence of
second-century life in the Roman church. The bishop is thought of
 Sectarian Religion and Episcopal Authority 81

as a ‘high priest’ whose main function is to offer prayer and

sacrifice. Hippolytus’ liturgy for the bishop’s Eucharist is the
oldest eucharistic anaphora (thanksgiving prayer) to survive apart
from those in Didache, and has been used as a model for various
twentieth-century liturgical rites. His baptismal rite (NE141-3) is
discussed elsewhere (see pp. 18-22).
Hippolytus’ attack on Callistus did not stop at the charges of
mean birth, fraud and heresy: the upstart had also wrecked
church discipline (Ref. 9.12.20-6 [NE 151-3]). He had said that
bishops should remain in office, even if guilty of mortal sin (21).
He had permitted men who had married more than once to be
ordained as bishops, presbyters and deacons, and did not treat it
as a sin when one already ordained got married (22). He connived
at unions between women of senatorial rank and low-born men,
which Hippolytus calls ‘adultery’ (as in Roman law it was), and
claims that it leads also to murderous abortions (24-5). The
incidental value of this information is considerable: the Bishop of
Rome’s influence over other bishops (perhaps only in Italy, we do
not know), disputes over clerical morals and clerical marriage, and
the problem of a church in which there were more high-born
women than high-born men for them to marry. But the first and
most significant charge is that Callistus ‘first invented the device
of conniving with men as to their pleasures, saying that sins were
forgiven to everyone by himself’ (20). This particularly affected
those called Christians who belonged to other congregations,
including various heresies and Hippolytus’ own group (‘the
Church’). If they were expelled by others for sins, Callistus allowed
them in, and his ‘school’ was thronged and claimed the name of
‘Catholic Church’ (20-1; 25). This admixture of sinners was
justified by misused Scripture texts like, ‘Let tares grow up along
with the wheat’ (Matt. 13.30), and led to the enormity of second
baptism (22;26). It should be noted however that even Hippolytus
cannot say that Callistus practised second baptism, only that it
happened in his time; it was associated with the movement of the
Judeo-Christian Elxai, whose agents reached Rome at this period;
they perhaps practised repeated ritual washings It is best to see
Callistus’ policy, like Stephen’s later, as one of admitting baptized
members of all sects by a rite for reconciling penitents (presumably
the laying-on of hands). It was a policy, apparently successful, of
unifying as many Christians as possible under his authority by
82 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

acknowledging their existing baptismal commitment. The Church

was not so tightly defined as to exclude those of other
congregations, and perhaps even the clerical status of their leaders
could be acknowledged. This was all hateful to Hippolytus, the
vindicator of orthodoxy, who saw all heresies, including Callistus’
own, as founded upon non-Christian philosophy and utterly false.
It should be said that Callistus’ acts are often interpreted
differently. He is identified with the bishop attacked by Tertullian
in On modesty 1 (NE 176), who had decreed that baptized persons
who had fallen into adultery and fornication might be reconciled
after due penance. If this identification were right, it is a remarkable
case of a Roman bishop laying down a rule and trying to impose it
in another province (North Africa). But such ‘papal’ activity is
probably an anachronism; there is nothing in Tertullian’s book to
prove that he is attacking a Roman bishop (certainly not the title
papa (‘pope’), which is used at this period of bishops of Carthage,
not of Rome); and above all the allegations are quite different from
those made by Hippolytus.
Hippolytus is probably the ‘presbyter’ who was condemned
with Bishop Pontianus of Rome (230-5) to labour in the Sardinian
mines in 235, where both died. Hippolytus wrote his Refutation
after Callistus’ death, and cannot have been reconciled immediately
with Bishop Urban (222-30). Perhaps the joint martyrdom led to
the reconciliation of their two congregations; we do not know.
Someone, perhaps a wealthy admirer, put a new male head on a
statue of a female figure, still preserved, and carved on its base a
list of Hippolytus’ books. One must assume that his Refutation
was preserved because of its curious and damning account of so
many heresies, and that its readers did not know that Callistus
was among the honourably recorded bishops of Rome. Both he
and Hippolytus were involved in disputes touching vital matters of
Faith and Church. Callistus would not allow the distinction which
Hippolytus drew between the Father and his Word or Son, and
was pilloried as a heretic for it. Hippolytus followed the apologists
and resembled Tertullian, while Callistus was closer to Irenaeus.
At the same time Callistus used generous rules to enlarge his
communion, while Hippolytus pursued the rigorous line one comes
to expect of able theologians (like Tertullian and Origen). Some of
the same issues were to emerge again as the third century reached
its crisis.
 Sectarian Religion and Episcopal Authority 83

Reconciliation and renewed persecution

The persecution of 235-8 was singular in that it was clearly

political. Alexander Severus, emperor 222-35, allowed Christianity
to be tolerated; his successor Maximin Thrax (235-8) destroyed
leading persons associated with Alexander, and that included
Christian leaders like Pontianus and Hippolytus. After 238 the
churches enjoyed some peace, especially under Philip the Arabian
(244-9). Rome had an able bishop, Fabian (236-50), to whom
tradition attributed a division of his church between seven
congregations, led by deacons and presbyters. It also produced a
theologian, who was to come to the fore in the crisis of 250, the
presbyter Novatian. We know little of Novatian’s earlier career,
but at some time he wrote a book On the Trinity, which by a quirk
of later history survives: it proved useful in some debates a
century later. It is a skilful work of polemic against the heresies
which divided the Roman church: he demonstrates that the Son is
distinct from the Father, and at the same time strongly argues that
this does not imply a doctrine of two gods. His response thus
embodies principles enunciated by both Hippolytus and Callistus.
The Father spoke his Word, not as a mere sound, but as a real
being (in substantia). Following Tertullian, he speaks of a
community of substance between Father and Son, and calls him ‘a
second person (persona) after the Father’. Novatian extends the
traditional use of Old Testament theophanies to prove that there is
a duality: wherever God is said to intervene on earth in a visible or
local manner, the divine person is the Son. So the God who
descends to confound the tongues at the tower of Babel is neither
the Father (who is never spatially limited) nor an angel (because in
Deuteronomy it is God who allocates nations to angels), but the
Son (Trin. 17). Novatian envisages a Son who existed as an
individual being (in substantia) before time; even if the Father in a
sense ‘precedes’ him, he was in the Father before he was with the
Father. This approaches Origen’s doctrine of ‘eternal generation’:
God is in himself a Father with a Son, and the Son is not simply a
function of God’s actions in time (‘economic trinitarianism'), but
belongs to his own being. Though the book is known as On the
Trinity, the status of the Spirit is not discussed, only his function
as the inspiring and sanctifying power of prophets and Church: he
must be presumed to be one of the creatures of the Son; in this
84 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

respect Novatian resembles Hippolytus rather than Tertullian.

This accomplished theology, rooted in careful and learned exegesis
of Scripture, must have been persuasive in its time. When the
disaster of 250 hit the churches, there is no trace of the theological
disputes which divided Hippolytus from Callistus. The resolution
of issues may have been due to Novatian.
 9
ONE CHURCH, ONE BAPTISM: CYPRIAN

Persecution and the problem of the lapsed

After 235 the Empire was afflicted with repeated barbarian

invasions and plagues, the economy was in poor shape, and
legions on the frontier repeatedly installed their commanders as
emperors. This is what happened in 248 in Pannonia, where the
victorious troops proclaimed Decius, and he led them back to Italy
to overthrow his friend Philip the Arabian in 249. Decius took
over, and strove to consolidate his power; this process included
bargains with various power-brokers, including some in Egypt
who were decidedly anti-Christian. The expansion of the Church,
its progress among the educated classes, the economic collapse
which affected pagan religion as well as everything else, had led
some to blame Christianity for the evils. In Egypt Christians were
already in 248 subjected to informal harassment and lynching.
Decius publicly declared himself a restorer of ancient values and
morality; he may have sincerely believed he had such a mission.
Beginning with his own offering to Jupiter in Rome on 3 January
250, he required the same to be done throughout the Empire. So
began the first systematic, and the most successful, imperial
attack on the churches. Leaders were cut down: Fabian of Rome
and Babylas, Bishop of Antioch, died among the first in January
250. Then all persons were required to sacrifice, and a commission
was set up in each city to supervise the sacrifice, and to give
countersigned certificates (for examples see NE 214-15). Euctemon
of Smyrna was probably not the only bishop to lead all his
congregation to the pagan altars. Dionysius of Alexandria was
rescued from his captors (unwillingly, he says) by some revellers;
Cyprian of Carthage went into hiding. To these two bishops we
owe our firsthand records of the effects. In the great cities where
the imperial edict first took effect, people flocked to fulfil the
command. Dionysius and Cyprian describe the urgency with which
Christian populations, unused to persecution and anxious to be

85
86 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

safe, crowded round to make their sacrifice and get their piece of
paper (Eusebius HE6.41.9-13 [Mi 213]; Cyprian, Laps. 8-9 [NE
216-17]). A few fled, a few suffered imprisonment and torture
before yielding, a very few died.
Within a year the persecution itself collapsed, Decius had
embarked on a rash northern campaign in which he was killed in
251, and exiles like Cyprian were free to return. But the churches
had suffered a stunning blow. Most of the lapsed still saw
themselves as Christians. Perhaps they relied upon the system of
restoration already known to the young Tertullian. By this grave
sin could be forgiven and a Christian could be formally reconciled
after a period of good behaviour under supervision in which some
of the catechumen’s restrictions were reimposed. But now the
numbers, and the lapse and decimation of the clergy, made such
process seem impossible to implement. Standards dropped, and
new forces intervened. They might turn to any remaining clergy.
Some of these simply restored on their own authority those who
had committed idolatry. This happened in Carthage. But their
hand was greatly strengthened by the confessors. The term
‘confessor’ refers to confessing the faith before the world, especially
in court or by suffering torture and imprisonment. Originally the
meaning is the same as ‘martyr’ (Gk martys, ‘witness’), but the
terms came to be used differently: the martyr had died for his
confession, the confessor had survived. But special qualities still
attach to the confessor. He has received the inspiration promised
by Jesus to confessors (Matt. 10.19-20). Hippolytus (Ap. Trad.
10.1-2) allows a confessor who has been imprisoned to become a
deacon or presbyter without further ordination; it was normal for
confessors to sit with the presbyters, even if not exercising the
office. More significant, during the persecution at Lyons in 177,
those held in prison exercised the right to reconcile lapsed persons
held in prison with them and God had vindicated their judgement
when both confessors and reconciled achieved martyrdom in the
arena (Eusebius, HE 5.1, especially 1.45-9 [NE 40-1]). In
Carthage in 251 the confessors began to play a large part in
authorizing the reconciliation of the lapsed. Beginning with
individuals they knew, some of those who had been imprisoned
began signing documents (libelli pads, ‘certificates of recon¬
ciliation’) giving the clergy authority to restore sinners to
communion, and even demanding this. Cyprian was particularly
 One Church, One Baptism: Cyprian 87
shocked by a letter informing him that ‘we have granted peace to
all with whose behaviour, since the commission of the crime, you
are satisfied’, and inviting him to notify his fellow-bishops (Ep. 23,
27 [NE 217-18]). To understand Cyprian’s reaction, we must
appreciate the kind of man he was.
Cyprian was not brought up a Christian. He was typical of
those well-to-do and well-informed persons who were joining the
churches in the West as well as the East. He was trained in the
literary skills needed for official work, but grew to despise and
hate the self-seeking of the world he lived in. Sickened by his own
sinfulness, he rejoiced to learn the gospel and felt great relief as he
was spiritually renewed in baptism about 246. It is typical of him
that on his election to the bishopric two years later he sold his
property to give alms - even though some of it was bought back
for him by friends - and that he forsook every trace of secular
literature in his Christian writings, where no other writer is
alluded to but only the Scripture. His thinking was modelled on
the sharp distinctions characteristic of Tertullian, who was to him
‘the Master’. Such a man took the office of bishop with utter
seriousness, and though he did not see it as his duty to expose
himself to arrest and death (as he did afterwards in 258), he was
appalled at the mass apostasy. The persecution was God’s
judgement on a slack and worldly church (Laps. 5-6 [NE 215-
16]), the act of sacrifice was a fatal betrayal of God and his law.
From hiding Cyprian tried to build up a team of loyal clergy, and
urged there should be no restoration till the bishops were in a
position to take decisions (Ep. 17.1 [NE 219]). Once returned he
set about repairing the disaster. He vigorously opposed lax
restoration to communion, whether or not it had confessors’
support. He wrote a book On the lapsed in which the horror of
apostasy is described, with cautionary tales of God’s judgements
on those who presumed on his mercy while still unclean. Even an
infant who had been fed sacrificial meat unknown to its parents
became ill and vomited when fed the eucharistic elements (Laps.
25). The tone is so stern that some interpreters think that he
considered no remission to be possible, as Tertullian held in his
later years. But in the last chapter it becomes clear that God can
and will forgive; where there is true repentance, demonstrated in
devotion and good works, God can note what the confessors
recommend and the bishops judge to be right. That illustrates a
88 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

significant feature of Cyprian’s view: the only proper earthly judge

of such matters is the bishop. It took effect insofar as the book On
the lapsed was probably presented at a council in Carthage in 251.
The bishops there assembled agreed a moderate policy: penitents
were to be individually examined, and subjected to different grades
of penalty according to the gravity of the offence. In the first place
this merely distinguished those who had obtained certificates,
presumably by bribery or influence, without sacrificing (who were
to be readmitted to the Church) and those who had sacrificed
(who were to be restored to communion only on the point of
death). Soon a more detailed agreement would be reached with
Rome, and later councils were to make more subtle distinctions;
when persecution once more threatened, the opportunity for
reconciliation was extended to all. Thus at Carthage Cyprian’s
view prevailed at his council. But the dissidents, who could claim
to have stayed on when the bishop fled, and to have the charismatic
authority of confessors on their side, continued as a separate
congregation led by a deacon; in the face of Cyprian’s steady
campaign against them they later appointed as bishop one
Fortunatus (Cyprian, Ep. 59 [NE226-8]). As respect for Cyprian
grew, so did his policy of moderate discipline in the hands of the
bishops prevail.
The Roman church meanwhile was also gravely split. There
mass apostasy had followed the death of Fabian. No meeting to
elect a new bishop was possible. Some church business continued,
and from exchanges of letters with Cyprian we know that the
presbyter Novatian took a leading role. What divided the Roman
church in 251 was the rigour of Novatian towards the lapsed. His
high-minded repudiation of those who had broken their baptismal
seal during the persecution led the church to prefer the indifferent
Cornelius to the brilliant Novatian when it finally dared appoint a
new bishop. Novatian’s supporters included bishops and confessors,
and these behaved as though Cornelius were not ordained, and
made Novatian bishop. The leaders of churches everywhere
received letters or deputations from both claimants to the office.
Dionysius in Alexandria preferred Cornelius (see Eusebius HE
6.45; 7.8 [NE 232-3]); Fabius of Antioch sided with Novatian,
though he died soon after. Cyprian wavered, having been close to
Novatian, but being satisfied that Cornelius was ordained first,
supported him firmly but without enthusiasm (Ep. 55.8 commends
 One Church, One Baptism: Cyprian 89
him for mediocrity; see NE 225). Cyprian was to have difficulty
bringing all the churches of Africa round to his position. Cornelius’
letter against Novatian was crude and abusive, but it did include
an impressive list of the clergy and pensioners whom the Roman
church supported (Eusebius HE 6.43.7-12 [Ml 230-2]), and who
must be supposed to support Cornelius. The Roman confessors
soon forsook Novatian, but his dissident church grew and
prospered, and he himself outlived Cornelius and several of his
successors. The influx of half-converted multitudes in the imperial
church of the next century was to favour the growth of a puritan
group which came to withdraw all the penitential machinery for
lapsed Christians, whom it left exclusively to the judgement of
God. Novatian’s church preserved purity of doctrine as its founder
had defined it, and the threefold washing of baptism was
unchanged. But it instituted one thing previously unheard of in
Rome: it refused to recognize any baptisms other than its own.
Lapsed and heretical Christians of all denominations were treated
no differently from pagans, and were exorcized and baptized
accordingly. The consequences were to be fateful.

Schism and unity

The schisms (splits) in the churches drew from Cyprian an

important tract On the unity of the catholic Church; the word
‘unity’ means ‘uniqueness’ and not merely ‘undividedness’. He
does not specify whether his assault on schismatics is directed at
his dissidents in Carthage or at the Novatianists in Rome and
Africa; they would apply to both. Those who forsake the one true
Church, he argued, are like the biblical rebels Korah, Dathan and
Abiram, who took the priesthood unlawfully and were burned and
swallowed up by the earth. Nothing can excuse or make up for this
sin of division: even one who gives his body to be burnt is no
martyr; since he lacks love his sacrifice is worthless. But where is
unity found? In the single universal Church throughout the world
(see Un. 4-6 [NE 228-30]). It has many members, but it is one,
just as the sun is one but has many rays, the tree has many
branches but one root, many irrigation channels are fed by a single
spring (5). Cut off from source or root, the ray disappears, the
branch dies, the channel dries up. Such are the schismatics. The
believer knows he is part of the Church because his bishop is part
90 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

of the unity which forms the whole. The crucial part of Cyprian’s
understanding of unity is the role of the bishops world-wide. They
are the glue which holds the universal Church together. In this
conception the insights of Clement of Rome and Irenaeus about
apostolic succession and unanimity of bishops in the doctrine of
the apostles are strengthened by several new features:

1. The world-wide (‘catholic’) Church identifies itself by the

mutual recognition of the bishops. The rule that three bishops
are needed to make a new one is already established at this time
(Eusebius HE 6.43.8 [NE 231]); and a new bishop in a major
see would make himself known to the others, and would know
and guarantee those in his area with whom he was in
communion. Thus a bureaucracy parallel to that by which the
Empire was run, managing dossiers of letters and documents,
had grown up, and for Cyprian only those recognized in the
system belonged to it. His own training in public affairs made
him take this for granted.

2. The privileges of confessors were now firmly set aside, though

not without protest. It is notable that the chief dissident body
both in Carthage and Rome is based upon a group of confessors;
this perhaps accounts for the otherwise inexplicable career of
Novatus (not to be confused with Novatian), who was involved
both in the group which promoted indulgence to the lapsed in
Carthage, and with the appointment of the rigorist Novatian at
Rome. For Cyprian the inspired recommendations of confessors
could only be effective on the bishop’s decision.

3. The charismatic prophets had already lost their liturgical

role to the bishops. Preaching and teaching were shared by
bishops, presbyters and (increasingly uneasily) lay teachers
with outstanding gifts. Now the priestly function came to the
fore. Already Hippolytus had identified the episcopate as a high
priesthood, evoking the sacrificial and liturgical role of the
biblical (Aaronic) model. To Cyprian this biblical authorization
is vital; the schismatics are like those who rebelled against the
Moses who had selected exclusively the family of Aaron. The
bishop was an authorized priest offering prayer and sacrifice
acceptable to God. His usual word for a bishop is sacerdos.,
‘priest’, which is not yet generally used to designate a presbyter.
One result was that the eucharistic offering of gifts with
 One Church, One Baptism: Cyprian 91
thanksgiving and intercession is increasingly seen as a sacrificial
cult, the lawful fulfilment of the Old Testament prescriptions,
but also the Christian equivalent of current pagan rites. Another
result was that Cyprian felt obliged to insist that bishops
carried in them a spiritual status; it was like that formerly
associated with prophets. Just as in earlier times the test of a
true prophet was whether he lived up to his words, so now
Cyprian held that a bishop must be pure in every way, or God
would not hear his prayer and accept the sacrifice he offered. A
sinful bishop had ceased to be one, as Hippolytus had implied in
his criticism of Callistus.

The tract On the unity of the catholic Church contains a

contested passage which has never been wholly and finally
explained (see NE 228-30). The manuscripts of chapters 4 and 5
have various versions, which on analysis reduce to two, usually
called the ‘Received text’ (or ‘Hartel text’) and the ‘Primacy text’.
Both present reasons from Scripture why the Church is only one,
and both begin with Matt. 16.18-19, where Christ calls Simon
the Rock (Peter) on which the Church is built, and gives him the
keys of the kingdom of heaven. The Received text uses the
uniqueness of Peter to exemplify the one Church, whereas the
Primacy text speaks of his primacy (primatus), and of the danger
of forsaking the ‘chair of Peter on whom the Church is built’. It is
easy to see why later writers, concerned with disputes over papal
primacy, have claimed one or other of these as original. An
attractive explanation is that of M. Bevenot, who argued that both
versions originated with Cyprian, but at different stages in the
debate: originally he wrote the Primacy words, but these were
later used against him when he fell out with Rome, and he then
revised his work to produce the Received text. Bevenot holds
however that the primacy had in Cyprian’s original meaning no
reference to Rome; if anything, the chair of Peter is the bishop in
each place, whose unity figures forth the unity of the whole
Church. But it is one hypothesis among others.

Cyprian on defaulting bishops and on baptism

Cyprian began to disagree with Rome after Cornelius died in exile

and his successor Lucius died a few months later in 254. Stephen
(254-7) was to cause Cyprian difficulties on two issues, both of
92 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

which were related to basic questions of the nature of the Church

and its bishops: sinful bishops, and the baptisms of heretics.
Cyprian’s letters reveal the first issue, provoked by an important
bishop in Gaul who sided with Novatian, Marcian of Arles. His
fellow-bishops wanted to depose him, but they got no support
from Stephen, and they could not securely act without him.
Cyprian wrote to urge him to support Marcian’s removal and the
election of a replacement (Ep. 68 [NE 233-4]). In Spain two
bishops were accused of various offences involving (fairly minor)
matters of pagan religion. Their opponents removed them, but
they were able to rally some local support, and importantly that of
Stephen of Rome. The replacement bishops and their supporters
appealed to Cyprian, who held a council and vindicated them
against those they had deposed {Ep. 67 [NE 235-7]). Both these
cases show how Cyprian saw the bishopric as a spiritual gift, so
that any vice or defect disqualified a person from the office, even if
validly appointed. Christ’s Spirit could not be where Christ’s law
was broken, and God would not hear the prayer of a guilty priest.
Stephen, like Callistus before him, upholds the bishop’s lawful
role even where there is doubt about his correct behaviour;
Augustine would later clarify the distinction between office and
person, validity and effectiveness, when the same issues were
raised more sharply by the Donatists.
The second question, often misunderstood and misstated in
modern times, was about baptism. Cyprian inherited a tradition,
apparently settled by councils in Carthage and Asia Minor, that
those baptized by schismatics and heretics were not treated as
Christians at all, but were prepared for baptism and baptized like
other candidates (Cyprian, Ep. 73.3 [A® 240]; Eusebius HE7.5.5;
7.7.5). It was not rebaptism, and had nothing directly to do with
lapse or post-baptismal sin. Everyone believed there was only one
baptism. But Cyprian and those like him, notably Firmilian the
Bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia, held that to mean that there
was no baptism except in the one Catholic Church. Their
opponents saw the one baptism as what the individual undertook,
no matter who officiated in whatever church, and regarded
Cyprian’s practice as rebaptism. The matter was precipitated by a
statement of Stephen, the meaning of which is in part obscure,
quoted indignantly by Cyprian: ‘If any come to you from any
heresy whatsoever, let there be no innovation beyond what has
 One Church, One Baptism: Cyprian 93
been handed down, namely that hands be laid on such to
repentance, since those who are properly heretics do not baptize
such as come to them from one another, but only admit them to
communion’ (Cyprian Ep. 74.1 [NE 238]).
From this three points are clear: Stephen argues for a traditional
position against innovation; the subject is heretical, not (or not
only) schismatical baptism; and he appeals to general Christian
practice extending to heresies outside his own communion. We
know that other issues did arise. Some clergy distinguished
baptisms done in the name of the Trinity (the threefold washing)
from other formulae, like that simply in the name of Jesus Christ:
the anonymous tract On rebaptism argues that all are valid;
Cyprian argues that even Novatianist baptisms are invalid, in
spite of the names of the Trinity {Ep. 69.7 [NE 237]). It is not
certain how the dispute arose. But it is known that Novatian had
adopted the policy, perhaps learned from associates in Africa, of
recognizing no baptisms but those of his own church. The tradition
which Stephen affirms against him appears already in what
Hippolytus alleged about Callistus, that he accepted renegades
from all kinds of Christian denominations. Even Stephen’s astonish¬
ing appeal to heretical practice relates to the long-standing Christian
conviction, older than the formal system of Catholic episcopacy,
that baptism above all else registers the individual’s rejection of the
world and commitment to God in Jesus Christ, and cannot be
repeated. The dispute led Stephen to excommunicate his opponents
in Asia Minor and Africa, or at least to threaten excommunication.
That in turn struck at the heart of Cyprian’s cherished doctrine of
the unanimity of bishops, whose harmony holds the whole Church
together. We therefore find, at the same time as Cyprian
consolidated support for his own position among the churches of
North Africa, attempts to salvage the position. At a council in
Carthage in 256, for instance, he asserted that each bishop was
free to decide for himself, and renounced any claim to dictate to
others, as by implication Stephen was doing (Seventh Council of
Carthage, CSEL III. 1 435-6 [NE 243-4]). The rift between
Rome and Cappadocia seems not to have lasted, as the Eastern
churches went their own way on the question of heretical baptism.
But that between Rome and nearby Africa remained, and it became
a major cause of division in the next century.
Cyprian was arrested in 257, as the emperor Valerian came
94 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

under the influence of the same Egyptian pagan leaders as had

Decius, and began persecuting church leaders. His dignity at his
public execution the following year could only strengthen the
resolve of his partisans.
The crisis of the 250s left the churches considerably changed.
The idea that all individual baptized Christians were holy could
hardly be sustained. The penitential system had to be developed to
deal with unprecedented numbers of lapsed. Some able and
dedicated Christians would not tolerate this, and in the Novatianist
schism they defected; that in turn precipitated divisions over
baptism which were to persist. The dispute about the lapsed first
strengthened the hand of the bishops against alternative sources
of authority, then other disputes called in question assumptions
about their holiness and unanimity, by which Irenaeus had sought
to stabilize doctrine and by which Cyprian set such store. These
problems may have deflected the churches from further disputes
over doctrine. Whether that is so or not, we find that argument
over Sabellianism and its contraries flared up about 260 between
Dionysius the bishop of Alexandria and some of his flock, and that
the bishop of Rome, also called Dionysius, was in a strong enough
position to reprove or question the position taken by his powerful
and able colleague. The writings of the Dionysii show that Rome
had reached a clear idea of the divine Trinity, but with a strong
sense of the unity of Word and Spirit in the supreme God, sharply
distinguishing the Son from the creation. Dionysius of Alexandria
had been accused of denying that Christ is of one substance
(homoousios) with the Father, and had been rather anxious to
assert (as Origen had) the distinction of the Son from the Father
(as vine from vinedresser). He clarifies his view to Dionysius of
Rome, where a firm moderate view prevails (Athanasius, Deer.
26; Sent. Dionysii 18 [NE 252-5]). So while authority and unity
were under threat, fundamental doctrine was stable in the West.
Men like Cyprian, when not involved in controversies of the kind
described, could devote themselves earnestly to matters of true
applied divinity like writing small books On the benefit of patience
and On the Lord’s Prayer.
 10
THE ALEXANDRIAN HERITAGE: CLEMENT

Alexandria and Clement

Alexandria, the greatest city of the East, was a centre of Greek

learning with a fine library, and also a centre of Greek-speaking
Judaism (see pp. 26-7). Here the Bible was turned into Greek, and
Philo presented the Scriptures as containing a hidden mystical
philosophy, and Jewish synagogues as schools of this high system.
Here also the impact of Christianity was to generate a great
ferment of thought, and leaders of the Valentinian and Basilidean
schools, as well as other Gnostics, flourished. We know little
precisely about the origin of the church there (the story of St Mark
founding it is pious legend). But in Clement of Alexandria we meet
a fascinating kind of Christian teaching, plainly more like what
later orthodoxy held than most Alexandrian Christianity was, yet
very different from what we have seen in Tertullian.
Clement was apparently a professional teacher of the kind who
in all parts dispensed the ideas of philosophers and the skills of
rhetoric, but who from the start played a large part in developing
and transmitting Christian ideas, like St Paul in the school of
Tyrannus (Acts 19.9). In one of his books Clement describes the
sources of his learning, summarizing what he learned from
distinguished teachers in Greece, southern Italy, Palestine and
finally Egypt. These included an Ionian, and teachers from Coele-
Syria, Egypt and Assyria, one of Hebrew birth, and finally a
‘Sicilian bee’ whom he met in Egypt. Following a coy convention,
he names none of these (Str. 1.1.11.1 —3 [NE 180]). The last is
almost certainly Pantaenus, whom he names as his teacher
elsewhere. Eusebius probably got the information about the much-
travelled Pantaenus, himself a convert from Stoicism, from what
he read in Clement (HE 5.10.1-3 [NE 179]). Clement taught in
Alexandria, and may well have taught Origen (though neither
mentions the other). In what capacity he taught is uncertain. It has
been claimed that he was a presbyter, and trained catechumens in

95
96 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

the church; Eusebius says that he ran the ‘catechetical school’, but
is not to be relied upon. More likely he was, like his own tutors, an
independent teacher with a school of his own. Whatever the case,
he apparently left the city during the persecutions of 202/203, and
spent time in Jerusalem, a friend and counsellor of bishop
Alexander, and died there, probably in 215-16 or in 221.

Clement the teacher

Clement wrote a great deal, and much of it survives. His

Protreptikos is an apologetic work refuting pagan religion and
urging conversion to Christianity (specimens in NE 180-2). It
leads into Paidagogos, a ‘paraenetic’ work exhorting to good
behaviour. The Word himself is the true ‘pedagogue’, which in
Greek referred not to the schoolmaster, but to the slave who trains
the boy in morals and manners (see 1.12.99-100 [NE 182-3]).
All sorts of practical questions, about food, drink, entertainment,
prayer, are covered: the advice on the kiss of peace (3.11.81.2-3
[NE 183]) is typical. The third work, Stromateis (‘patchwork
coverlets’; also called Stromata, ‘bedding’), is a miscellany, which
is difficult to interpret. While Protreptikos suggests that further
teaching is to come, Stromateis seems to be about advanced
ethics: there are books or chapters on the relation of philosophy to
Christianity, on belief, repentance, eschatology, sexual continence,
martyrdom and asceticism. Perhaps more advanced ‘spiritual’
teaching was in the lost parts of Stromateis, which is incomplete,
or the entirely lost Hypotyposeis. If so it would be entirely in line
with the threefold division of spirituality which Origen promoted
later. But even as is stands, Stromateis points to the superior
spirituality of the true ‘Gnostic’ (see NE 184-8, discussed below).
Two other works survive. One is a booklet on the salvation of the
worldly-rich, usually known by its Latin title Quis dives salvetur?\
its existence, and its argument, show that Clement wrote for a
church with well-to-do and well-educated members (NE 188-9).
The other, attached to Stromateis in one manuscript, is the
mysterious Excerpts from Theodotus, a collection of passages
from a Valentinian writer with comments by Clement, not
uniformly hostile to Theodotus.
The ethos of teaching schools at Alexandria may be deduced
 The Alexandrian Heritage: Clement 97
from Eusebius’ account of the young Origen, orphaned perhaps in
the self-same persecution which drove out Clement, earning his
living under the patronage of a rich lady. But she also patronized
an older, popular teacher called Paul of Antioch, who was
apparently a Valentinian (HE6.2.13-14 [NE190]). Origen had to
defend himself later against the implication of heresy in himself,
and he is the source of Eusebius’ information.
A tradition of independent teachers holding authority in the
Church alongside the institutional ministry remained strong, in
spite of the bad name which many teachers got as heretical
leaders. Clement seems firmly set in this tradition. He knew and
admired the work of Irenaeus, but his notion of apostolic tradition
is quite different. In the passage about his teachers (Str. 1.1.11.1-
3 [NE 180]) he says that the six he named, ‘preserving the true
tradition of the blessed teaching straight from the holy apostles
Peter and James, John and Paul, as son inheriting from father
(howbeit few sons are like their fathers), came under God even to
our own time, to deposit those seeds of their ancestors the apostles’.
He met these men in various parts of the world and they themselves
travelled from other places. They thus represent for him all that
Irenaeus saw in the apostolic sees: a tradition derived from the
apostles and spread throughout the world. But Clement hardly
mentions bishops and presbyters anywhere, and certainly not
here. For him the catholic and apostolic faith was what his
excellent teachers got from their apostolic predecessors. Orthodox
Christianity operates like a Greek philosophical school, just as
Valentinianism does. The truly spiritual person, the ‘Gnostic’ who
lives according to the gospel, is the true presbyter and deacon,
though he lacks ecclesiastical office (Str. 6.13.106 [NE 186]).
Clement is hostile to heresy, and particularly objects to its being
made an excuse for rejecting Christianity itself (Str. 7.15.90-1
[NE 187-8]). But what exactly he means by the ‘rule of the
Church’ or ‘the apostolic tradition’ is not easy to determine. Richard
Hanson argued that it means ultimately the allegorical inter¬
pretation of the Old Testament: if the Scripture is read spiritually,
it points to Christ. It is broken up and its authority impugned
when mistaken and misused by Marcion and the heretics (see
Origen’s doctrine of tradition, pp. 56ff.). Clement does not
summarize the ‘rule of faith’ as Irenaeus, Tertullian and others do.
98 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

But the ‘confession’ he refers to is also apparently the baptismal

creed, which would presumably include the names of Father, Son
and Holy Spirit. These three undoubtedly play a significant role in
his theology.

The knowledge of God

Clement saw God as the source of all good things, and that
included Greek philosophy. It was good for Christians now, though
secondary to Scripture, and in the past had prepared the Greeks
for Christ ‘as the law did the Hebrews’ (Str. 1.5.28 [NE 183-4]).
The goal of philosophy, as of the gospel, is knowledge, gnosis, and
the one who reaches it is the true Gnostic. On this Clement writes
a great deal; some of it is indirect, since the knowledge of God is
something which cannot be directly described, but only approached
by parables and illustrations. Lower forms of virtue, like refraining
from evil, or doing good through fear of God or in hope of an
earthly or heavenly reward, fall short of knowledge. The Gnostic
loves the knowledge of God for its own sake (see Str. 4.22.135-8
[NE 184-5]).
Clement’s account of this knowledge uses concepts from Greek
philosophy. A difficulty for Christians arose from the high value
they set upon ‘faith’ (Gk pistis), teaching people only to believe,
irrationally (see the attacks of Celsus in Origen Against Celsus 1.9
and of Galen [NE 134 and 136]). Clement certainly regards faith
as a first stage, a learning of the essentials which enables one to
change from heathen practice to virtue, and knowledge as the
developed, rationally sustained expression of that faith (Str.
7.10.57.3-5 [NE 186-7]). But faith is for him the proper way in
which fundamental truths are apprehended. As in Aristotle’s
epistemology, the fundamentals in the nature of the case cannot be
demonstrated; they must be accepted before any proofs and
argument can be begun. Faith is thus not irrational belief on
someone’s say-so, but the true foundation of rational knowledge.
God for Clement is absolute Unity (Gk monas). His Son the
Logos is the means by which he communicates being to all others,
and the one who makes known truth in a multitude of ways to
mankind. The incarnation in Jesus Christ is real, and final,
revelation of the truth. The Holy Spirit plays a definite, but
subordinate, part, chiefly as communicating the truths of Scripture
 The Alexandrian Heritage: Clement 99
and inwardly teaching the believer. But in none of this do we find
precision, which would not. be compatible with the way Clement
thinks about the nature and the knowledge of God.
The same concern for the knowledge of God leads to a
spiritualized eschatology: Clement is not interested in the physical
resurrection and the restoration of earth, and sayings about that
are taken to refer to heavenly events and destinies. He is however
interested in angels and demons and their origin.
His ideas were to be developed by Origen.
 11
ORIGEN THE THEOLOGIAN

Origen

Origen was born in Alexandria about 185, and became a teacher

in Alexandria while still young. Originally a private teacher, he
appears to have been entrusted with the catechetical teaching by
Bishop Demetrius perhaps as early as 203. The persecution at
that time was directed particularly at converts, and the catechetical
work was particularly dangerous for teacher and pupil alike.
4 Origen’s own father had been executed, and was probably a
convert; he had given Origen his pagan name. The promising lad
was helped and housed by a wealthy patroness, whose support for
a Valentinian teacher was later to embarrass Origen. As instructor
of those preparing for baptism Origen is said to have sold his
secular books, and to have lived a harshly ascetic life. Eusebius’
account of these things is compiled from word-of-mouth stories
still circulating among Origen’s partisans about a century later,
and from snippets from letters in which Origen defended his own
career against critics in the Church (HE 6.2-3 [NE 190-1]). The
tales included unverifiable accounts of his juvenile precociousness,
and of his making himself a eunuch to protect his chastity. He is
said to have attended lectures of the Platonist philosopher
Ammonius Saccas, who also taught Plotinus, the chief originator
of Neoplatonism; certainly Origen’s thought resembles that of
Plotinus in some respects (see HE 6.19.6 [NE 207]).
Origen fell out with Demetrius, the powerful bishop of
Alexandria. Travelling abroad about 215 in order to avoid political
turmoil in Alexandria, Origen was welcomed, as Clement had
been, by the bishops of Aelia (Jerusalem) and Caesarea, and
preached there, though unordained. Demetrius objected, and
Origen afterwards (perhaps as a result) resumed his role as a
private teacher. Travelling further afield, Origen apparently visited
Cappadocia, Athens and Rome. He was finally ordained presbyter
in 231-2 by the bishops in Palestine, who used him as a teacher

100
 Origen the Theologian 101
and theological consultant. Demetrius was, however, gravely
offended, and had him synodically condemned not only in
Alexandria but in most other churches (see Origen’s remarks in
Comm, on John 6.2.8-12 [NE 194]). Finally settling at Caesarea
in Palestine, Origen was a private teacher, whose methods are
perhaps fairly described by Eusebius (HE6.18 [NE 192]). But he
also continued his scholarly work with the aid of a wealthy public
servant called Ambrosius, whom he had converted from Valentin-
ianism, and who supplied him with materials and scribes. As a
philosopher of note he was summoned to speak before an empress
(Eusebius, HE 6.21.3-4 [NE 195]). Tortured during Deems’
persecution in 250, he died two or three years later.
Origen’s works were numerous, and though the greater part is
lost, much survives, either in the original or in Latin translation.
He composed many commentaries and homilies on Scripture,
including important works on Genesis, Psalms, Song of Songs,
and the Gospels of Matthew and John. In response to the attack on
Christianity by Celsus he wrote Against Celsus (Contra Celsum).
Smaller works of special interest are On prayer and Exhortation to
martyrdom. An Origenist library from the fourth century recovered
during the second World War includes the illuminating Dialogue
with Heraclides and On Pascha. But perhaps his most famous
work is On first principles.

The system and the Scriptures

Quite early in his career Origen wrote his work of systematic

theology, On first principles (Gk pert archon, Lat. De principiis).
Most of it is known to us only in a controversial Latin translation:
in the course of a later dispute (see Chapter 18) Rufinus, believing
the texts to have been tampered with to make Origen appear
heretical, ‘corrected’ them accordingly. So we cannot rely upon his
Latin version. Some parts survive in Greek in a selection from
Origen’s works called Philocalia, and that helps. The work may
have originated as a result of Origen’s instructions to the
catechumens, whose diet would begin with the reading of Genesis.
It would explain why much of his work is concerned with the
meaning of the creation story, and with principles of scriptural
interpretation. If this is right, Origen was already defending his
102 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

interpretation and methods when he wrote On first principles. But

it is certainly as much a constructive as an argumentative work.
In the Preface (2-10 [NE 198-201]) Origen lays down clearly
the basis of his argument. Others may differ on fundamental
doctrines, but he begins from the teaching, ‘handed down in
unbroken succession from the apostles and existing to this day in
the churches ... that only is to be believed as the truth which in no
way conflicts with the tradition of the Church and the apostles’
{pref. 2). This truth is stated in plainest terms for all to understand.
But the apostles left unexplained ‘the ground of their statements’.
This was quite deliberate, to give room for the exercise of spiritual
gifts by the more diligent of those coming after (pref. 3). He then
sets out a version of the Rule of Faith, which is not in itself
unusual. It is trinitarian, and emphasizes the continuity of the God
and revelation of the Old Testament with that of the New. But
Origen draws attention to points left obscure: whether the Holy
Spirit is to be thought of as begotten or unbegotten, and whether
he is a son of God or not; whether the soul is transmitted ‘with the
seed’ at conception, or whether it has another origin outside the
body; what the devil and his angels are, and how they came to
exist; when angels were created, and what their nature is. Anyone
seeking to construct ‘a connected body of doctrine’ has to start
with the clear points, and use the holy Scriptures and logical
method to deal with the things not made clear (pref. 10). Thus in
creating his own system, Origen sees himself as beginning from
the apostolic tradition, and arriving at other doctrines by exploring
their rational (philosophical) basis, and reading the Scriptures in
the light of reason. The method differs little from Clement’s
conception of knowledge. The idea of a system already exists not
only among pagan philosophers, but among the Gnostics; it is the
orthodox apostolic tradition that distinguishes Origen.

Scripture and allegory

Few theologians have known the Scripture as well as Origen did.

He constantly drew in texts from all over the Bible to prove his
point, to demonstrate the meaning of another text, or to overcome
a difficulty. The whole Scripture of the Greek Bible, every word
down to the last dot, came from the Holy Spirit - even variant
readings. But it was not to be read simply literally. Just as a
 Origen the Theologian 103
human being is body, soul and spirit, so the Scripture is threefold.
It has ‘flesh’, the simple literal meaning, which helps some people;
it has ‘soul’, which when he identifies it is a kind of moral lesson to
be drawn from it; and there is the ‘spiritual law’, where allegory
often prevails, and where the meaning is usually quite different
from the literal (Princ. 4.2.4 [NE 205]). He rarely elaborates all
three: though the recently-discovered tract ‘On Pascha’ has the
first two running together, and a separate section of spiritual
exegesis of the same text at the end. He is also quite clear that
difficulties and impossibilities in the text are there to force us to
look for a more spiritual meaning (Princ. 4.3.1 [NE 205-6]). Most
of these passages are in the Old Testament, and even there are
outnumbered by those where the simple meaning is historically
correct; but it can occur even in the New Testament, as with the
impossible mountain where Christ was shown all the nations of
earth.
The allegorical method is inherited from Philo and Clement, and
from the Stoic interpreters of Homer before them. It emerges
however also by a natural progression from the New Testament,
where Paul can use a complicated allegory (Gal. 4.21 — 5.1), and
can deny the literal meaning of an ancient law (1 Cor. 9.9-10),
and where it is asserted that the whole meaning of the Old
Testament is Jesus Christ (e.g. John 5.39). It is in principle implied
by Irenaeus’ belief that the Rule of Truth applied to every part of
the Bible and summarized its meaning. All ancient Christians
found types (‘models’) of Jesus Christ in many parts of the Old
Testament. Some however, in ancient times and modern, find the
allegorical method wrong, because it cuts off the text from historical
reality: the spiritual meaning corresponds not to the historical
events or persons the text describes (as in typology), nor to the
laws which it originally laid down, but is got merely out of the
words. So the allegorical interpretation of the story of the Garden
of Eden is the sixth of the heads cited by Jerome against Origen
about 396 (Adv. Joann. 7 [CCC 192]). Origen certainly is rather
weak on historical reality: for him it is the universal spiritual truth
which counts, and he has no interest in the different circumstances
in which the biblical books took their origin. Nowadays we are
able to overcome many divergences and contradictions, the legal
and theological oddities, with the aid of historical criticism, which
was simply not available to Origen. But who shall say that the
104 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

story of Adam and Eve is meant to be taken literally? Or who

would claim that Origen read the Song of Songs wrongly, when he
found in it love-poems about the union of the soul with Christ? It
was unconventional in his day, when Jewish and Christian
interpreters already found in it the union between God and his
people, or Christ and his Church. Origen’s creative addition has
down the centuries been the prevailing interpretation of what were
originally love-songs for a wedding, even among Origen’s sharpest
critics like Jerome. His allegorical readings of the Old Testament
have in all kinds of ways affected the liturgy of the churches too.
Origen was an able and careful scholar. With sponsorship from
Ambrosius he employed clerks to compile a synopsis of the existing
Greek versions of the Old Testament. This work, lost apart from a
couple of pages and quotations from individual columns, consisted
originally of four translations in parallel:

Aquila, a very literal and unreadable Jewish version;

Symmachus, another Jewish or Judaeo-Christian version;

The Septuagint (see p. 26);

Theodotion, an older Jewish version.

According to Eusebius (HE 6.16 [NE 197]) this synopsis

constituted the Tetrapla or ‘Fourfold’. In addition, he discovered a
fifth and sixth, and seventh for parts of the Bible; but chiefly he
added two to the Tetrapla and set six versions side by side; this
was the Hexapla or ‘Sixfold’. The six versions were set out in short
clauses beside the Hebrew, which was written in Greek letters.
Eusebius’ account is not altogether clear, but this description of
the two synopses fits the odd page of Hexapla which survives.
Late in the fourth century Epiphanius misread Eusebius and
asserted that the Hexapla included a column in Hebrew letters,
which with the Greek transliteration of the Hebrew and the four
versions of the Tetrapla made up the six. Jerome popularized this
explanation, and it is often held today; but it is probably false.
Since the Septuagint came third in the Tetrapla, and pride of place
went to Aquila, it is likely that Origen based his work on a pre¬
existing Jewish synopsis. Although what is left of this scholarly
activity is of immense interest to textual scholars of the Old
Testament, its purpose was probably that to which Origen’s
 Origen the Theologian 105
successors and disciples put it: he intended the other versions to
throw light on the meaning of the one text he regarded as
sacrosanct, the Septuagint; it was an interpreter’s tool.

God and the Trinity

Origen held God to be transcendent in a manner combining

Platonic and Aristotelian notions. God is pure spirit, without body
or parts. This contradicts Tertullian’s Stoic view, and also the
notion of Irenaeus, that God is the ultimate model for human
bodily shape as well as soul and spirit. Origen argues that God is
pure mind, and any similarity to creatures is in their rationality,
their logos. In his essential self he is indescribable, unknowable.
He is the absolute Unity, in contrast to the multiplicity of creation:
‘Altogether solitary (monas) and, so to speak, unitary (henas)'
{Princ. 1.1.6). This divine character is sustained even through
apparent contradictions in the revealed tradition, as we shall see.
Such a transcendent God can be thought of and known only
through another, and that other is his Wisdom, Word or Son. All
rational beings, all minds, reflect the thought of this primary
Logos; they derive their being through him, since (being another
beside God) he is the principle of multiplicity: ‘in him all things
consist’, as St Paul says (Col. 1.17). The divine Logos is the means
whereby God creates and communicates with his creation. Without
him God could only remain unique, absolute, motionless,
uncommunicated. In generating the Son, the Father in principle
generates everything else.
God was however always Father: he could not change from one
condition (not-Father) to another (Father). So the Son exists in
God’s timeless eternity. When popular christological texts speak
of the Son being begotten by the Father (as in Ps. 2.7), or of the
Word being ‘uttered’ (Ps. 45.1), it does not as for Justin imply an
act or event. For Origen the Father constantly begets the Son by
what modem theologians call ‘eternal generation’. A favourite text
is Heb. 1.3, where the Son is called ‘the effulgence of his [God’s]
glory’, with Wisdom 7.26, where Wisdom (= the Word/Son) is
‘the effulgence of eternal light’. God cannot be without his glory,
and so everlastingly possesses the Son {Horn, in Jer. 9.4 and Princ.
1.2.2 [NE 204]). He asserts against modalists and ‘economic
trinitarians’, that ‘there is not when he was not’ {Princ. 4.4.28).
106 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

At the same time the Son exists as a distinct being (hypostasis)

beside the Father. Father, Son and Spirit are three in hypostasis
and hypokeimenon, all terms for ‘being’ in the objective sense, that
is, each is a being. It is no surprise to find him involved in
theological debate with a learned bishop who still rested in more
traditional ‘economic’ doctrine (Eusebius, HE 6.33.1-3 [NE 195-
6]). Beryllus of Bostra is reported to have said that ‘our Saviour
and Lord did not pre-exist in an individual existence of his own
before his coming to reside among men, nor had he a divinity of
his own, but only the Father’s residing in him.’ While Eusebius is
wrong to assert that Origen’s is the original and apostolic view,
and that Beryllus had originally held it, the gist of the account is
likely to be right. In a recently-recovered book, Origen is called in
to persuade a bishop called Heraclides that he should confess that
beside the Father ‘there was a God, the Son of God, the only
begotten of God, the firstborn of all creation, and . . . that in one
sense there are two Gods, while in another there is one God’ {Dial,
with Heraclides 122: Alexandrian Christianity, p. 438). Just as
man and wife are in Scripture one flesh, and the righteous and
Christ are one spirit, so the Saviour and his Father are one God
{Dial, with Heraclides 124-6, p. 439). In a long discussion of the
nature of the Son as Word and Wisdom, Origen makes it clear
that the Son is God by derivation, not intrinsically and self-
sufficiently like the Father: the gospel calls the Father ‘God’ in an
absolute sense (Gk ho theos, autotheos), while the Son is merely
‘god’ as predicate (‘the Word was god [theos]', not ‘God was the
Word’). In this and other respects the Son is less than the Father.
The Father is superior to everything existing (including the Son),
and the source of all other being; the Son is superior to all rational
creatures (including the Holy Spirit); the Holy Spirit is superior to
the ‘saints’ (that is, holy beings, including angels and sanctified
humans) {Princ. 1.3.5 [NE 202]). This subordination caused
Origen later to be regarded as a precursor of Arianism, and he was
attacked for it (see the first of Jerome’s cavils, CCC 192). But
though his subordinationism, and the sharp distinction of the pre¬
existent Son from the Father, look like what Arius taught, his
strong doctrine of eternal generation was exactly what Alexander
upheld against Arius.
Like the apologists, Origen says more about the Son than about
the Spirit. The Father and Son, he holds, are known by reason
 Ongen the Theologian 107
even without the aid of Scripture. The Holy Spirit is known from
the Scriptures alone, and indeed is especially closely related to the
biblical revelation. Not only is he its author, but he also inspires
with spiritual gifts its true interpreters.

Creation, flesh and the humanity of Christ

The most remarkable feature of Origen’s thought is his account of

creation, and the Christology which depends upon it. Before this
world existed there was a prior creation of rational spirits or
‘minds’. God was never without his creation, and created just so
many minds as his providence could manage. They were pure,
unembodied intelligences, and remained so as long as they were
content with the contemplation of God. But they were free, and
they exercised their freedom by turning from him: the devil resisted
God, and the others turned with him. Their turning is inexplicable;
perhaps they were ‘sated’. But this inexplicable choice against God
is the cause of the existence of the whole universe we know. Even
the archangels sinned, though slightly. The demons sinned gravely,
and particularly plot to ruin other creatures. Some spirits sinned
less than the demons, but more than the angels, and for them God
provided this world, and human bodies, as a punishment (Princ.
1.8.1 [A® 201]). But punishment for Origen (as for his Alexandrian
predecessors) is beneficial, educational, medicine for sick souls.
So every person coming into the world has a different spiritual
past, which accounts for the inequality of birth and experience.
There is only one life in this world; contrary to what his enemies
alleged, Origen does not teach the transmigration of souls to other
bodies. But the ultimate destiny, after the retraining process in
this world and others {Princ. 2.8.3 [NE202]), is to become like the
Son of God, pure Mind or Logos. Free will which wrought the fall
(a term which can now be correctly used in Christian theology)
can bring about the restoration.
Logically all spirits may be restored in the apokatastasis, the
‘restoration of all’ (Acts 3.21). Origen allowed himself to speculate
about the possible salvation of demons and evil human beings
{Princ. 1.6.3 [NE 203-4]). His enemies made much of this, and
turned his suggestion into a positive statement (see Jerome, Adv.
Joann. 7 [CCC 192]). They also objected to the pre-existence of
souls in eternity. But truly more serious for the Christian tradition
108 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

was the part which they largely swallowed: that human destiny is
to escape the body and to adore God in a purely spiritual or
intellectual existence. This was a thought derived from Platonic
and Pythagorean philosophy, favoured by the Valentinians and
Gnostics, but quite incompatible with the earthy creationism of
primitive Christianity, with its hope of bodily resurrection and
millennium. The world and the body are to Origen essentially the
consequence of sin, and when the souls are cured of sin, they will
not be needed.
God’s curative effort was disrupted by the intrusion of the
demons into the physical creation. Human beings lost the image
and likeness of God, and could not find or know him. Hence the
incarnation of the Son of God, the Logos, in Jesus Christ. At this
point Origen scores his greatest theological triumph, drawn from
him by the formidable attack of Celsus. Along with various other
arguments (specimens in NE 131-6) Celsus poured scorn on the
notion of the coming of the Son of God to earth; it made nonsense
of the concept of divinity. Origen certainly insists that Jesus Christ
is both God and man, ‘a composite thing’ (Gk syntheton ti chrema),
with a human nature and a divine nature; there is a union or
combination, not merely an association of the two. Yet the divine
Word ‘remains unchanged in being’, while descending to take part
in human affairs. To account for this Origen postulates a created
spirit as the subject of the visible, tangible Jesus, who can grow
and suffer. One only of all the originally created minds never
turned from perfect adherence to God, and did not fall. This
created mind was uniquely united with the Son of God; the union
was like that of iron red-hot in fire: it becomes indistinguishable
from the fire. In the incarnation,

We say that this [divine] Logos dwelt in the soul of Jesus and
was united with it in a closer union than that of any other soul,
because it alone has been able perfectly to receive the highest
participation in him who is the very Logos and the very Wisdom,
and the very Righteousness himself. (Against Cels. 5.39 [NE
202])

So it comes about that the Logos, in himself the transcendent

creator who cannot be seen or suffer, in Jesus wept like a little
child. He is the absolute controlling power, since the created mind
had become ‘one spirit with him’ (a favourite text from 1 Cor.
 Origen the Theologian 109
6.17). Yet the created mind, able to suffer the circumstances,
pains and mental distresses of a human being, is sufficiently
distinct for the Word to remain unimpaired in divinity.
Origen grasped clearly the problems which the Logos-doctrine
caused for Christology, and in his own terms resolved them.
Several features were to become normative in orthodox thought:
the two natures, and the distinct created soul as subject of the
human dealings and sufferings. His work was not accepted as
authoritative, however, because it presupposed the pre-existent
created spirits, and that doctrine was rejected.
The function of the incarnation is debated. It has been suggested
that for Origen it is the heavenly Logos or Wisdom that counts,
rather than the fleshly Christ, and that ultimately salvation is a
matter of revelation and knowledge, rather than the effect of
the historic incarnation and passion of Jesus Christ. One feature
of this is the teaching on ‘aspects’ of his person. The heavenly
Word is the principle of multiplicity, and his own being has
many aspects (Gk epinoiai): Wisdom, Word, Life, Truth, etc.
The higher aspects belong to his eternal being, the lower (like
Shepherd, Priest) to his incarnation. Human beings apprehend
him first in the lower aspects, but may rise ever higher, until as
pure spirits they contemplate God purely, and themselves become
gods (in the sense implied by John 10.34-5). Such a doctrine
might suggest that the human Jesus was merely an illustration, the
elementary lesson, which the spiritual person rises above as he
ascends the ladder of the epinoiai. These ‘aspects’ also affect the
appearance of the human Jesus: the occasions when he is not
recognized, or when events are reported differently by different
evangelists, are due to different people seeing him differently; his
body, though real, had a god-like or ethereal quality, especially
after the resurrection. But whatever Origen held about the higher
destiny of the soul, the atoning sacrifice of the cross is repeatedly
emphasized. Without it human beings cannot be turned from their
sinfulness, they remain under the wrath of God and separated
from him; the death of Jesus removes sin, and makes peace with
God possible. It is not of course God who needs appeasing: he is
the one who gives the victim for sacrifice. But there is no higher
spirituality until people are brought to repentance, and their sin
taken away.
110 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

The influence of Origen: Dionysius and Paul

Origen’s influence was wide but controversial. His views on biblical

interpretation, on the Trinity, on the nature and destiny of the
soul, and on the devil, were all attacked. One notable critic was
Methodius of Olympus, an ascetic writer who died probably in
311, and asserted against Origenism that the physical body is
raised from the dead. Eusebius’ teacher, Pamphilus of Caesarea in
Palestine, cherished the dead scholar’s library and collected
material to defend his memory, which Eusebius himself published
as a Defence of Origen soon after 300.
Two personalities have been especially associated with Origenism,
positively or negatively. One is Dionysius, the great Bishop of
Alexandria 247-64. Eusebius quotes him especially for his views
on the Revelation of John, which he attributed to another besides
the Apostle, and which he held should be interpreted allegorically
and not literally, thus avoiding the earthly millennium apparently
envisaged in Rev. 20.1-6 (HE 7.25 [NE 255-7]). He was also
opposed to ‘Sabellianism’, and asserted in strong biblical images
the distinction of the Son from the Father. This drew criticism
from the other Dionysius, Bishop of Rome 259-68, who referred
to those who divide the Monarchy of God into ‘three powers and
separated substances (hypostaseis), and who say that ‘the Son is a
work’ created by the Father (Athanasius, Deer. 26 [NE 252-3]).
Dionysius replied that he allowed the Father and Son to be
consubstantial (homoousios) like the plant with its seed or root,
and the river with its source, but that in those cases, and with the
generation of human children, that did not destroy the distinctions
(Athanasius, Sent. Dion. 18 [NE 254-5]). These passages came
into prominence when ‘consubstantial’ was in debate a century
later. Although Dionysius is not now regarded as generally an
Origenist, his views here seem to tally with those of Origen.
Late in life Dionysius declined to attend a synod which tried for
heresy the Bishop of Antioch called Paul of Samosata. A colourful
personality, he was apparently in favour with queen Zenobia, who
set up the rebel kingdom of Palmyra in 261, and could only be
removed from his church when the emperor Aurelian overthrew
her in 372. Possibly for political reasons, other bishops in the East
pinned upon him accusations of heresy, and he was condemned by
a synod in 268 (see Eusebius, HE7.30 and extracts from the trial
 Origen the Theologian Ill
proceedings in NE 258-62). The group of bishops who reported
the trial were associated with Origen (like Gregory Thaumaturgus
and Firmilian of Caesarea in Cappadocia), but it is not clear that it
was an Origenistic cabal. Eusebius cites the more scandalous
parts of their letter on Paul’s arrogant misconduct, and we must
divine the heresy from that and from the dubious Syriac record of
the trial. Paul apparently asserted that ‘Jesus Christ is from
below’: ‘Christ’ means ‘anointed’, and ‘a human being is anointed,
the Word is not anointed ... for the Word is greater than the
anointed one’ (Acts S 26, p. 153 [NE 261]). The letter Eusebius cites
suggests that Paul denied the deity of Christ: ‘He is not willing to
acknowledge with us that the Son of God came down from heaven’
(HE 7.30.11 [NE 259]). The matter was so serious the Eastern
churches regarded the baptisms of his followers as invalid on
doctrinal grounds: their faith was not sound. It is sometimes
supposed that with this christological denial, dividing the Christ
into the ‘man from below’ and the ‘Word from above’ rather as in
the case of the prophets, went a form of Sabellian or Unitarian
belief. This arises because in the controversy of the next century
opponents of the word ‘consubstantial’ (homoousios) claimed that
Paul’s critics had synodically condemned that word. Its defenders
Athanasius, Hilary and Basil found ingenious explanations as to
how this came about (NE 263). If Paul used the word, and if his
opponents attacked it, it is probably because, like Beryllus and
Heraclides, he questioned the permanent distinction between
Father and Son, and saw the Word as part of the Father. But we
do not know; it is better to assume that the christological heresy
was the chief point, in that he asserted Jesus Christ from below
and the Word of the Father descending upon him. If that is so, his
opponents reveal little explicit Origenism. In fact, they assert that
the Word or Wisdom, that is the divine Son from heaven,
functioned in Christ’s body rather as the soul does with the flesh
in a human being (S 36, p. 158 [NE261-2]). If that is so, they not
only did not use Origen’s most characteristic christological
principle, the created human soul of Jesus; they adopted a
Christology which left no room for it, but suggested the kind of
thought which was to be associated in the next century with
Arianism and Apollinaris: in Jesus the only rational soul was the
Son of God himself.
 12
THE RISE OF CONSTANTINE

The Great Persecution

During most of the third century the Roman Empire was afflicted
with difficulties. Foreign enemies, plagues, and economic exhaustion
were exacerbated by constant changes of regime, as successful
generals overthrew their predecessors every few years. The
emperor Decius’ attempt to stop the rot included an assault on
5 Christianity in 250. This was repeated under Valerian in 257-8,
when Cyprian of Carthage was among those executed (NE 247-
51). Valerian was disastrously defeated by the Persians in 260,
and died in captivity. His son Gallienus restored property and
peace to the churches {NE 251), and we know of no further formal
persecution until 303 (though a few Christians were executed for
military insubordination). Renewed persecution came about under
what was called the Tetrarchy, the rule of four emperors. This
system came about as follows.
Civil war and external pressure continued until the rise of
Diocletian in 284. He associated with his rule Maximian in 285,
and in 293 enlarged the imperial house by associating two further
commanders, so that Constantius as ‘Caesar’ supported Maximian
as ‘Augustus’ in the West, while Galerius as ‘Caesar’ supported
Diocletian as ‘Augustus’ in the East. In this Tetrarchy power was
decentralized and balanced, and no individual could easily stage a
coup; the commanders were already emperors. Other reforms
included raising the efficiency of taxation and increasing the
solemnity of court ritual, and matters of religion. The syncretistic
gnostic religion of the Manichees was spreading, especially in
Kgypt and Africa; it was attacked vigorously in 302 (a more
probable date than 297), ostensibly because it disturbed moral
standards, but with reference also to its Persian (and therefore
hostile) origins {NE 267-8). Similar principles probably caused
the launch of a series of persecuting edicts in 303-4 {NE 271-3,
275). Christianity was seen as socially and morally disruptive, but

112
 The rise of Constantine 113
had also been made the established religion in the territory of the
Armenian kings, who were independent of Rome and Persia.
Many Armenians lived inside the Empire, and their loyalty might
come into question.
The direct reason for the ‘Great Persecution’ is obscured by
Christian legend. It seemed to have been sponsored in the East
chiefly by the Caesar Galerius, whether for military or for personal
reasons. But it was also associated with the rise of pagan
Neoplatonism, which began in the third century and went on
through the fourth. Though this was in origin a learned, spiritual
and ascetic philosophy akin to Christianity as practised by those
like Origen, its popularizer Porphyry was hostile to Christianity,
and promoted a kind of monotheism which left room for pagan
observance. His refutation of Christianity was published in the
period just before the persecution, and the intellectual assault on
Christianity also included the publication of hostile versions of the
passion of Jesus (Acts of Pilate), and provocative oracles from the
shrines of Apollo (NE 269-72). There was apparently a systematic
attempt to restore public morality and reinforce the reform of
government by ridding the Empire of a creed and organization
which eroded its religious foundations. The persecution led to the
destruction of church buildings and books, and to much torture,
forced labour and execution, but it was applied unevenly, and was
already petering out when Galerius (now the senior Augustus of
the East) ended it in 311 (NE 280). A further burst of killing
occurred in the dominions of the Eastern Caesar Maximin over the
next two years, for political reasons (NE 281), but thereafter
generally ceased.
As in 250, the assault divided the churches. In Egypt, the
principal bishop, Peter of Alexandria, was for a long time
imprisoned before his death in 311. Those bishops who were not
taken were often suspected of compromise with the pagan
authorities, and Peter (even while in prison himself) was blamed
for softness towards defaulting clergy. On this and other pretexts
a leading Coptic bishop, Melitius (Meletius) of Lycopolis, began
ordaining bishops, presbyters and deacons to supply pastoral care
where, rightly or wrongly, he deemed it lacking. This provoked
other bishops, and Peter himself, to stern rebuke (NE 275-8). But
Melitius had support among the Coptic churches, and especially
among the rapidly increasing numbers of monks. The outcome
114 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

was mutual excommunication, and the Melitians formed a ‘Church

of the Martyrs’, which kept itself apart from Peter’s supporters
even in the prisons and mines where they suffered together. After
Peter’s death the division persisted, and the solution agreed at the
Council of Nicaea in 325 was not immediately implemented.

Donatism

More serious still was the division in Africa, usually called the
‘Donatist schism’ after Donatus, appointed Bishop of Carthage by
the dissident majority about 313. The bolder spirits in Africa and
Numidia considered it treason for the clergy to hand anything to
the authorities. ‘One who handed over’ was a traditor, a word
which also means ‘betrayer’ or ‘traitor’. In the East Scriptures
seem to have been surrendered without the sense that a grave
crime was committed. But in Africa the spirit of Tertullian and
Cyprian prevailed, and bishops who compromised in this way
were regarded as tainted and no longer lawful priests. The
interrogation of bishops at Cirta in 305 (NE 297-8) may not be
historical, coming from a very hostile source; but it reveals how
Secundus of Tigisis, the leading Numidian bishop, regarded the
surrender of anything, even medical texts, as disqualifying a
bishop from acting spiritually at an ordination. Mensurius, Bishop
of Carthage until 312, had surrendered what he claimed were
heretical books; since they presumably came from his episcopal
library, they may simply have been old-fashioned theology. This
act perhaps divided the two chief bishops. Some members of the
church in Carthage adopted partisan positions. Caecilian the
deacon would not allow support for a group of forty-seven
confessors from Abitene, themselves a rigorist collection who had
defied their bishop, a traditor, as well as the Roman authorities.
His objection to unauthorized martyrs also offended a wealthy
churchwoman called Lucilla. When Mensurius died, Caecilian
sensed the weakness of his position, and got himself rapidly
elected and ordained as bishop. The Numidians were affronted,
since they and their primate were usually consulted before such
elections, and they allied with dissidents in Carthage to appoint
Lucilla’s chaplain Majorinus instead. Caecilian was no bishop,
they said, because he had prevented support for the martyrs, and
because one of the three bishops ordaining him was a traditor:
 The rise of Constantine 115
Felix of Aptungi was alleged to have handed over Scriptures for
burning. It did not matter that in subsequent investigations it
became clear that the evidence against Felix had been forged (NE
307): the battle had been joined, and the majority of bishops and
people were with Majorinus and against Caecilian, and Caecilian’s
supporters put it about that most of Majorinus’ consecrators were
themselves traditores and villains (see NE 297-301). Caecilian
found support in Rome, and from the start appears to have
adopted the Roman line on baptism, accepting all baptisms as
valid no matter who conducted them. His opponents, loyal to
Cyprian’s principles in this too, denied any baptisms but those of
the Catholic communion, which meant their own. They are called
‘Donatists’ after Donatus, their second Bishop of Carthage, who
succeeded on the death of Majorinus. When the rest of the world
came to support Rome and Caecilian, they accepted the implication
that they were themselves the only Christians. But before that a
wholly new factor entered upon the scene: the attitude of the
Western emperor Constantine to the churches.
Constantine was the son of that Constantius I, later called
Chlorus, who was Caesar of the West under the Tetrarchy. In 305
Diocletian and Maximian retired, under pressure from Galerius. A
new Tetrarchy was formed, with Constantius and Galerius
promoted to Augustus, and two new Caesars, Severus and
Maximin (sumamed Daza), both Galerius’ cronies; the sons of
Maximian and Constantius, that is Maxentius and Constantine,
were passed over. Constantine, who had spent his youth as trainee
and hostage in the Eastern court, joined his father, and was with
him when he died at York in 306. The troops proclaimed
Constantine emperor (in terms of the Tetrarchy an act of rebellion),
and he inherited Britain, Gaul and Spain. Maxentius seized Italy
and Africa, and was supported by his father. Constantine was
reconciled to the Tetrarchs: he allied himself with Maximian by
marriage, and watched while Maxentius repulsed attempts by
Severus (the nominal Caesar) and Galerius to remove him in 307.
By 310, however, Maxentius and his father had quarrelled, and
Constantine in the first of his family purges forced Maximian to
suicide after a plot. In 312 Constantine invaded Italy, and after
some fierce battles in the north defeated a superior enemy force
outside Rome, where Maxentius drowned in the Tiber near the
Milvian Bridge. The West was in Constantine’s hands.
116 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Both Maxentius and Constantine had stopped the persecution

of Christianity. Constantine had formed an alliance with Licinius,
the Augustus who held the Balkan provinces. At Milan in 313
Licinius married Constantine’s sister, and a programme of religious
liberty for Christians was agreed. As Licinius defeated the last
persecutor Maximin Daza in 313 and took over the Eastern
provinces, he published it (see the so-called Edict of Milan in
Lactantius, Mort. 48 [NE284-6]). It gave generous legal basis for
restitution of property and civic rights lost under the Tetrarchs. If
all men were free to pray in their own way, the Divinity would be
favourable to the emperors and those under them. But Constantine
went further than Licinius. He began a programme of building and
endowing churches in Rome itself. And in North Africa (the only
place from which records survive) he gave grants for payments to
the clergy and exempted them from the money contributions
required of those of curial rank, that is the owners of property who
were chiefly responsible for tax payments in cities. He addressed
himself to Caecilian of Carthage, with dark hints about ‘disturbers
of the peace’, and to Anulinus the governor, referring to ‘the
Catholic Church over which Caecilian presides’ (Eusebius, HE
10.5.15— 10.7 [NE 286-9]). He had the Donatists in mind.
Constantine was apparently guided by the Bishop of Rome,
treating the dissidents as unimportant. Anulinus was soon
otherwise informed. He received a weighty Statement of charges
against Caecilian, delivered by the party of Majorinus, which he
duly passed on to Constantine (Augustine, Ep. 88.2 [TVE’301-2]).
It asked Constantine to order impartial judgement of the issues by
bishops from Gaul (Optatus, On the Schism of the Donatists 1.22
[NE 302]). There was plainly resentment that the state should
be subsidizing a condemned minority church (Caecilian’s); and
from later documents it is clear that in some cities, perhaps many,
the local authorities exempted Donatist clergy from taxes while
imposing them on Caecilianists. So Constantine found himself not
only deciding who should be subsidized, but asked to arrange
adjudication of an ecclesiastical dispute. However far the Donatists
might later repudiate the Christian Empire, at this stage they were
as anxious to use the emperor and exploit his benefits as were
their opponents. Constantine first asked Miltiades, Bishop of
Rome, to convene a court and settle the matter, with ten bishops of
each party present to support Caecilian and Majorinus and three
 The rise of Constantine 117
Gallic bishops (whom Constantine himself commanded to attend);
fifteen bishops from Italy were also there (Eusebius, HE 10.5.18
[NE 302-3 and note]). They found in favour of Caecilian. But his
opponents were not satisfied, and pestered Constantine with
petitions. The result was the Council of Arles in 314. Thirty-three
bishops, their travel publicly funded, there considered the claims
of the two parties, and found for Caecilian against the ‘troublesome
men of undisciplined mind’ who accused him (Turner, Ecclesiae
Occidentalis Monumenta Ivris Antiquissima 1,376-8; 381-95
[NE303-7]). They also produced a series of canons on disciplinary
matters in the light of ‘the present state of tranquillity’ (Hefele-
Leclerq, Histoire des Conciles 1.1.275-98 [NE 293-6]). These
included a ruling which made it clear that clergy who had betrayed
Scriptures or communion vessels or the names of fellow-Christians
were to be deposed, but that their acts of ordination were not
invalidated (canon 14[ 13]). They also ruled on ‘the African practice
of rebaptizing’, that a heretic must be asked about the creed, and
that ‘if he has been baptized into the Father, the Son and the Holy
Spirit, hands shall be laid upon him and no more’ (canon 9[8]).
The Roman position was thus sustained against that of Cyprian,
though heretical baptisms which named only Jesus Christ, or
which did not name the members of the Trinity, were now clearly
excluded; this agreed broadly with the practice of the East, where
the validity of baptisms came to depend on whether the doctrine
affirmed was orthodox.
In the century ahead the division was to harden. Constantine
personally heard a further appeal by the Donatists, in the midst of
other grave administrative and military preoccupations, and
condemned them (NE 308-9). For a time he was out of patience
and tried to force them into submission. But they were passionately
serious Christians, with a majority following in many parts of
Africa. Not relishing the role of persecutor of the martyrs’ God,
Constantine decided to leave them to the judgement of God (see
A® 309, 311). Subsequent emperors had no more success, and it
remained for the colleagues of Augustine of Hippo to get Donatism
proscribed by law and to deal theologically with the issues which
Cyprian had raised about the purity of the church’s ministers.
Even so, though reduced, Donatism survived until all the
Christianity of North Africa was swept away by Islam.
118 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Church and Empire

In the short run it was not the questions of ministry and sacrament
that were most important, but the place of the emperor in the
Church. Earlier emperors may have taken some note of church
affairs, and in 272 Aurelian appears to have removed Paul of
Samosata from his church in Antioch at the behest of the Italian
bishops (Eusebius, HE 7.30.19 \NE 263-4]). But Constantine
encouraged the idea at least among Christians that he served their
God, and was his agent not only for ending persecution, but for
liberating and converting the Empire. How far Constantine is
rightly called a Christian (and some scholars defend the traditional
view of him as a saint and quasi-apostle), and how far he was a
cunning autocrat cynically manipulating the rising religious
enthusiasm to improve the cohesion and strength of his dominion,
has been long disputed among scholars; the truth is likely to lie
between these extremes. His letters, now generally regarded as
genuine, reveal a Roman deeply concerned that God should be
appeased by right worship and true religion. In principle this was
also the public policy of the persecutors, but with different gods.
Constantine was moved by the Christian argument that the way to
peace and prosperity was through friendship with the one true
God, and that polytheism led to wrath and disaster; the miserable
deaths of one persecutor after another, with their friends and
associates, served to confirm this opinion. So did his own invariable
good fortune in battle. Not long after the victory at the Milvian
bridge in 312, the story was put about by Lactantius, a Christian
scholar close to Constantine, that the Emperor had been directed
in a dream to put a form of cross or chi-rho on his soldiers’ shields
(Mort. 44.3-6 [NE 283]). Many years later a similar tale was told
to Eusebius at Constantinople, with the addition of a cross of light
seen in the sky about noon as the model of a new military standard
(Eusebius, Vit. Const. 1.26-9 [NE283-4]). It is probable that the
emblem originally represented something different, the cult of Sol
Invictus, the Unconquered Sun, a god who figured large in the
propaganda and coinage of Constantine from the time of
Maximian’s death in 310 (see NE 282). From the point of view of
Lactantius and Eusebius, however, and of subsequent emperors
and bishops, the army now fought under the emblem of the cross
of Christ.
 The rise of Constantine 119
Constantine’s personal theology reveals a sense of vocation:
God had called him from the western fringe to liberate and restore
the Empire, and prospered his way. Victory in new wars with
Licinius led to the conquest of the Eastern empire by Constantine
in 324. He celebrated his success by marking the foundations of
his ‘New Rome’, the Byzantium or Constantinople which would
for long become the centre of the Christian Empire; it was dedicated
in 330. Statues plundered from pagan shrines were used to adorn
its squares and buildings, thus being secularized or even given a
Christian interpretation. Constantine would have here a new court
and senate, without the ancient paganism still prevailing in Rome.
Here he would harangue his courtiers on moral and religious
themes, and require his garrison to parade for Sunday worship of
the (conveniently unnamed) God of Victory. Meanwhile his
programme of Christianization went on apace. A letter to the
Eastern provinces in 324 made it plain that he wanted all men to
worship the one true God, and only forbade compulsory con¬
version; he denies the rumour that he was forbidding sacrifice in
the temples, but admits that he would like to. At the same time he
offered public funds to be used for repairing, extending and
building new churches to house the inflow of converts, and
splendid buildings arose at Tyre, Nicomedia and Jerusalem, as
well as Antioch, Constantinople and Rome. Christ was funded as
the gods of the old pantheon had been. But the Empire was thus
drawn into the Church as well as the Church into the Empire.
The Church was a ready instrument. In its struggle to identify
itself against schismatics and heretics, the Body of Christ had
come to recognize itself in terms of the communion of individual
Christians with their local bishop. The bishops in turn com¬
municated with each other in a bureaucratic system parallel to
that of the Empire. Each province had its principal bishop, who
presided at meetings and ordinations of other bishops, and who
corresponded both with them and with all the other principal
bishops. These recognized each other, and formed a universal
‘Catholic’ communion. Thinkers like Irenaeus and Cyprian had
contributed a theological dimension: the bishops were God’s
appointed means of ensuring truth and lawful validity. Followers
of Novatian or Paul of Samosata claimed to have the truth, as did
older sects such as Marcionites and Valentinians; but none could
match the Catholic organization. So Constantine made his grants
120 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

to and through bishops of the ‘Catholic’ Church such as Caecilian

of Carthage and Eusebius of Caesarea. But their organization
provided ready means to adjudicate. Locally Christians accepted
conciliation by bishops: conciliation and judgement of claims to
Christian status were precisely their task. Constantine gave to
episcopal judgements secular legal status. But Donatism obliged
him to set up courts of bishops to consider ecclesiastical disputes.
There was precedent in the Church for councils (also called
‘synods’); after a few mentions in earlier times, many councils
were held after the Decian persecution. Cyprian repeatedly
assembled bishops to consider problems, and the meetings of such
holy men were regarded as divinely guided. Constantine now
summoned bishops, first to Rome and then to Arles, with
instructions to judge between Caecilian and his accusers. Like the
Donatists themselves, he seems to have expected a spiritual
decision which all spiritual persons would accept. When the
conciliar decisions failed, he heard the matter himself: the emperor
was the final court of appeal in spiritual as in secular matters.
Thereafter he tried enforcing the decision, which was both
episcopal and imperial, but gave up, hoping that the numerically
superior Eastern churches would resolve the issue; but he was to
find the Easterns themselves still worse divided, and in need of a
yet greater council.
 13
ARIUS AND THE COUNCIL OF NICAEA

Arius

The widest dispute and the most important single council in the
ancient Church were precipitated because of Arius. He was a
Libyan, probably from one of the five cities of Cyrenaica. The
notion that he studied in Antioch is based on the fact that he calls
Eusebius of Nicomedia a ‘fellow-Lucianist’, Lucian being an
Antiochene scholar; nothing else confirms this interpretation of a
literary whimsy. Some ancient sources connect his early eccles¬
iastical career in Alexandria with the Melitian troubles (e.g.
Sozomen, HE 1.15.2 [NE 321-2]), but the best opinion is now
that these are confusions, due partly to the desire to malign the
heretic’s whole career. He certainly became the presbyter in charge
of the Baukalis church, one of the district churches of Alexandria,
of which nine were listed later in the century. That was an
important and influential position, because the Alexandrian
presbyters were like bishops in their own congregations, and
indeed played a major role in electing the bishop of Alexandria
when there was a vacancy. Such was his status when he quarrelled
with Alexander his bishop. It is not certain whether Arius’
audacious theology provoked the bishop finally to move against
him, as in the account of Sozomen (HE 1.15.3 [NE 322]), or
whether it was Alexander’s apparently ‘Sabellian’ propositions
which provoked Arius to protest, as Socrates implies (HE 1.5 [NE
321]). The latter looks more probable, especially in the light of
Constantine’s letter, which attributes a rash question first to
Alexander (Eusebius, Vit. Const. 2.69 [NE333]). The complications
of Alexander’s relations with other presbyters such as the dissident
and anti-Arian Colluthos may also have played a part (see
Theodoret, HE 1.4.3 [A® 328], probably to be dated 321 or 322).
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

121
122 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

other problems. First, what we have of Anus’ 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, NE 326), and that the Son of
God makes his Father known by being different: ‘We call him
Unbegotten because of the one in nature begotten; we raise hymns
to him as Unbegun because of him who has beginning; we adore
him as Eternal because of the one born in time’ (Thalia II.3-5 [NE
330]). It is precisely because the Son is limited in these respects
that he can communicate to men, who share his limitations, about
God who is absolutely ineffable; it is impossible for the Son or
anyone else to describe the Father comprehensively, for he is
unutterable even to himself (Thalia II.33-4 [NE 331]). This
unlimited and indescribable God is, he claims, the God of
Scripture, and he fathered (begot, or gave birth to) ‘an Onlybegotten
Son before eternal times, through whom he has made the ages and
the universe; and he begot him not in semblance, but in truth’
{Letter to Alexander). Here Arius uses the old device, familiar
since the apologists, of guarding the transcendent divinity of the
Father by attributing creative activity to the Son, who makes time
and worlds. But other features of the Son are striking. A favourite
term used by Arius is ‘Only-begotten’ (Gk monogenes), and his
teaching leans heavily on John 1.18: ‘No one has seen God at any
time; the only-begotten Son who is in the bosom of the Father, he
explained him’ (some New Testament texts read ‘only-begotten
God’ instead of ‘only-begotten Son’, a formula also used by Arius
 Arius and the Council of Nicaea 123
('Thalia 11.23 [NE 331]). The term ‘Only-begotten’ makes it clear
that the Son does not share the Father’s essential nature as
Unbegotten, but at the same time is vastly superior to all others:
‘Only-begotten’ also means ‘unique’: ‘perfect creature of God, but
not as one of the creatures; offspring (Gk gennetos), but not as one
of the generated things (Gk gegennemena) (Letter to Alexander
[NE 326]). The same kind of formula applies to the Son’s beginning
and eternity. Two things are asserted: he has a ‘beginning’ or
‘source’ (Gk arche), in the Father himself; and he himself is the
creator of the ages, so there is no time before. Thus he is not
eternal in the same sense that the Father is ‘alone everlasting’; he
was ‘born in time’, probably referring to his generation before
creation. Further features of Arius’ programme follow: the Son
is different, separate and distinct from the Father, inasmuch as he
does not share the Father’s essential character as Unbegotten and
Eternal. He must also be called a ‘creature’ (a ‘created thing’),
inasmuch as he was generated from non-existence; in any case
Scripture clearly states (in the Greek Bible) that the Lord created
Wisdom as the beginning of his way, the first of his works (Prov.
8.22). At the same time he is wholly superior to all other beings, as
their creator: ‘a creature, but not as one of the creatures’. This
means that he alone is directly produced from the Father in the
sense that he exists solely by the Father’s will; all else (including
presumably the Spirit) exists through the Son. The Father has by
this simple act of will showered glories upon him, and in begetting
him has gone to the limit of his powers: ‘One equal to the Son the
Father is able to beget; but more excellent, superior or greater he
cannot’ (Thalia 11.28—9 [NE 331]). The two names for Christ
favoured by Arius are ‘Son’ and ‘God’. He seems to avoid ‘Logos’,
‘Wisdom’ and ‘Power’, except as titles bestowed upon him, because
they might confuse the begotten Son with the eternal attributes of
the Father: ‘Wise is God, since he is himself Wisdom’s teacher’
('Thalia II. 10 [NE 331]); God is already wise, and the standing of
the Son as creative and revelatory Wisdom is derived from the
Father’s prior wisdom. Some of Arius’ friends said that it was an
imprecise use to give these titles to the Son. His critics were to
claim that the titles Word, Wisdom and Power imply that the Son
shares the Father’s being and eternity, since God was always
rational, wise and powerful. Arius might have qualified ‘God’ in
the same way as he qualifies Logos and Wisdom, but in fact he
124 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

does so differently: the Son is truly God, but as Son is ‘Only-

begotten God’.
The key formulae betray important ambiguities. If the Son
comes from the Father, he cannot be anarchos, ‘without beginning,
unbegun’. That may mean that he derives from the Father as
source, a doctrine which Origen and Arius’ opponents held while
at the same time asserting that he was eternally generated; or it
may mean that one must envisage an eternal existence of God
alone without the Son, before the Son existed. Arius’ enemies
attributed to him the belief that, ‘There was once when he was not’
(Gk en pote hote ouk en), and some lines of Thalia (11.20—3 [NE
331]) appear to justify this: ‘. . . the Unity was, but the Duality
was not, before he existed. So straight away, when there is no Son,
the Father is God. Thus the Son who was not, but existed at the
paternal will, is only-begotten God.’ If time did not exist, what can
that ‘before’ mean? Arius seems merely to assert the paradox: ‘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 found before ages, was not before his generation’
(Letter to Alexander [NE 327]). Alexander’s formal letter of
condemnation (dated by Williams 325) fixes on this as the first
item of heresy: ‘God was not always a father, but there was when
he was not a father; the Word of God was not from eternity, but
was made out of nothing; for the ever-existing God has made him
who did not previously exist, out of the non-existent’ (Socrates, HE
1.6.9 [A® 323]). The most sensitive issue was thus the eternity of
the Son.
The views of Arius and his opponents were all partly shaped by
continuing debates among philosophers, whose writings were
known to some of the Christian theologians, about the eternity of
the world and the relation between form and matter. Does the
world have a beginning? Did God exist without a created universe?
Can intelligible form exist apart from the material which embodies
it? Origen had envisaged a world of created rational spirits
coeternal with God (which corresponded to the Platonic realm of
ideas or forms), and transient physical worlds in which they are
embodied. So for him the eternity of the Son, as Logos, went with
an eternal created universe of pure intelligence which could inform
matter. Like Origen’s Christian critic Methodius, Arius cannot
accept a created order sharing God’s eternity. The universe and its
 Arius and the Council of Nicaea 125
time-spans exist only in the Son, who is brought into being
absolutely as God wills: ‘Wisdom existed as Wisdom at the will of a
wise God’ (Thalia 11.24 [7VE331]); ‘He made him to subsist at his
own will’ (Letter to Alexander [NE 326]). So for Arius what
subsists before the Son and the creation is only the timeless God,
whose will produces the Son, and with him all time and creation.
Alexander made much of the error of the Arians in saying Christ
is ‘changeable’ or ‘mutable’ (Socrates, HE 1.6.10-12 NE 323]).
Arius’ own letters flatly contradict this (To Eusebius, in Theodoret,
HE 1.5.3 [NE 325]; Letter to Alexander [NE 326]). 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 anathema¬
tized ‘those who say he is immutable by his own act of will, . . .
and deny he is immutable in the way the Father is’ (NE 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.

Constantine intervenes

When Constantine defeated Licinius and was establishing his

authority in the East in 324-5, he found the churches divided.
Scholars disagree about the date of the formal condemnation by
the Alexandrian synod of six presbyters, six deacons and two
Libyan bishops, which may not have been till early 325 (NE322-
4). But there is no doubt that an earlier attempt had been made to
get rid of Arius and his supporters, and that they had set up a sort
of church in exile in Palestine. Both Arius and Alexander had
corresponded with bishops in other provinces. The most influential
Eastern bishop was Eusebius, Bishop of the Eastern capital
Nicomedia, and he was supporting Arius. So were several bishops
in Palestine and Syria, the most important being Eusebius of
Caesarea, the great scholar and historian, who is also called
Eusebius Pamphili because of his tutor the Origenist Pamphilus.
Constantine tried to resolve the crisis by addressing a joint
126 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

letter to the principal persons, Alexander and Arius, probably late

in 324 (Eusebius, Vit. Const. 2.63-72 [NE 332-4]). 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 laid aside. Whether or not that was psycho¬
logically practical advice, the formal synodical condemnation had
already taken place, and it was not possible in ecclesiastical terms
to restore the status quo ante; if Arius and his colleagues were to
be restored, it would have to be as laymen. If it were now to take
place, it must be on the authority of the Emperor their ‘fellow-
servant’. While the effort does Constantine much credit, as
Eusebius of Caesarea points out in his biography of the Emperor,
it failed to resolve the dispute.

The Council of Antioch, 325

In the spring of 325 a council met at Antioch, the second city of the
East, probably to appoint a bishop. Since the local bishops were in
dispute, Arianism was discussed. The majority found for
Alexander, and the bishop they appointed, Eustathius, became a
leading anti-Arian till he was deposed between 326 and 330. The
Council is known only by a synodical letter (NE 334-7). This first
states that the Council supports Alexander’s condemnation, then
sets out a statement of faith, and finally describes its condemnation
of three dissenting bishops. The statement of faith is longer than
that of Nicaea, and deals directly with the issues. It asserts that
‘One God, Father almighty, incomprehensible, immutable and
unchangeable’ is Creator and Lawgiver. Jesus Christ his only-
begotten Son is begotten in a way different from the creation of all
other beings, a mysterious way known only to Father and Son.
The key to his relation to the Father is ‘Image’ (Gk eikon): since he
replicates the Father he also is immutable and unchangeable, and
cannot be thought of as Son by volition or adoption, or as ever
non-existent. The birth and passion of Christ in the flesh are also
stated, and his resurrection and future judgement.
Specifically denounced are the views that Christ is a creature, or
that there was when he was not, and that his immutability is ‘by
 Arius and the Council of Nicaea 127
his own act of will’; ‘For just as our Saviour is the image of the
Father in all things, so in this respect particularly he has been
proclaimed the Father’s image.’ In all this the Council seems to
follow the concerns of Alexander, fixing on the co-eternity of the
Son with the Father, his status as begotten not created, and his
immutability, where the subtlety of distinguishing kinds of
changelessness overcomes the contradictory statements of Arius
and Alexander. Only in the predominating theme, linking all to the
Image of God by scriptural texts, do we depart from Alexander’s
expressed ideas. This is a move associated with Antiochene
traditions, as we shall see.
The final part of the letter records the dissent of Theodotus of
Laodicea, Narcissus of Neronias, and Eusebius of Caesarea; they
are provisionally excommunicated, but a final opportunity is
allowed them at ‘the great and priestly synod at Ancyra’ to repent
and recognize the truth. That opens a new topic.

Marcellus of Ancyra

We do not know who planned the episcopal (‘priestly’) synod at

Ancyra; it may have been Constantine’s scheme after the failure of
his letter. Others, led by Marcellus the Bishop of Ancyra, may
have proposed it with his approval. Marcellus helps explain why
so many in the East favoured a position resembling Arianism. His
view became clear in later years, but was certainly not like that
adopted at Antioch (see the polemics of his letter to Julius of Rome
in CCC 6-8). The Son shared the Father’s characteristics because
he was Word, Wisdom and Power of the Father, and thus existed
in the Father’s one Being (substance, hypostasis) from eternity.
The notion that there were three distinct hypostases in or of God
was quite unacceptable.
What Marcellus’ Eastern colleagues found most offensive was
his habit of interpreting passages from the Old Testament, which
traditionally were used to prove that Christ was another divine
being beside the Father, so as to refer to his incarnate life on earth.
So ‘The Lord created me the beginning of his way, the first of his
works’ (Prov. 8.22, as the Greek Bible read it) refers not to the
generation of the Son before the world existed (as both Alexander
and Arius would assert), but to the birth in the flesh, which was
the beginning of the ‘new creation’. In fact he thought of God as in
128 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

eternity a single being (monad), with immanent Word and Spirit,

which emerge at appropriate historical points to form the duality
and trinity (dyad and triad), only to be reabsorbed when the
creation is rolled up.
Marcellus was also criticized for his use of 1 Cor. 15.24-8 to
mean that, after his second coming in judgement, Christ’s reign
would come to an end when he submits himself to the Father, ‘so
that God may be all in all’. In the end the Godhead reverts to its
original monad. Marcellus insisted that all reference to the Son’s
action distinct from the Father belonged to a temporal sequence,
from the conception in Mary to the final Kingdom on earth; apart
from that he exists and reigns as the Logos and Mind of the
Father. Marcellus’ critics appealed to Luke 1.33, ‘of his kingdom
there shall be no end’, and believed that it implied an eternal,
distinct personal hypostasis. But the detail of that debate belongs
to the years after Nicaea, when Marcellus wrote against the Arian
philosopher Asterius and was lambasted by Eusebius of Caesarea.
We must return to 325.

The Council and Creed of Nicaea

With Marcellus as bishop presiding, a meeting at Ancyra would

favour Arius’ bitterest enemies. Perhaps as a consequence
Constantine moved the location to Nicaea, ostensibly because it
was easier for Western delegations to reach it, because the air was
good, and so that Constantine himself could attend (letter in NE
338). One must also suspect the advice of Eusebius of Nicomedia,
since he was near the Emperor, and Nicaea had as bishop his
own friend Theognis. Assisted by public transport, bishops
travelled in from all over the world, though predominantly from
the East. 230 were probably there when Constantine solemnly
opened proceedings on 20 May 325 (though larger numbers are
given in some sources). Unfortunately no minutes of the meetings
survive, and we must understand what happened from fragment¬
ary and biased recollections of participants and from a few formal
letters of the time. Central to understanding the doctrinal decision
is Eusebius of Caesarea, so recently condemned at Antioch. We
may suppose that he went to meet Constantine armed with a
version of his Ecclesiastical History, in which the old ending,
celebrating the joint victory of Constantine and Licinius, had been
 Arius and the Council of Nicaea 129
hastily revised to record Licinius’ crimes against the Church, and
the reunification of the Empire under God’s chosen, Constantine.
His enemy Athanasius for his own purposes later recorded a letter
which Eusebius sent to his church of Caesarea during or after the
Council (De decretis 33 = Socrates, HE 1.8 [NE344-7]).
Eusebius writes to explain two creeds, one presented by himself,
and one drafted at the Council which he had after persuasion
agreed to. His formal statement claims that he put forward the
creed he had learned for his baptism and had always taught as
presbyter and bishop; it is therefore commonly called the
‘Caesarean Creed’:

We believe in one God, Father almighty, the Maker of all things

visible and invisible.

And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Word of God, God from God,
Light from Light, Life from Life, Only-begotten Son, firstborn of
all creation, before all ages begotten from the Father, by whom
also all things were made; who for our salvation was incarnate,
and lived among men, and suffered, and rose again the third
day, and ascended to the Father, and will come again in glory to
judge living and dead.

And we believe in one Holy Spirit.

It sounds inoffensive, and may well have grown up at Caesarea

before the controversy raised by Arius. Eusebius added that he
believed each of the three to be and to exist, ‘The Father truly
Father, and the Son truly Son, and the Holy Spirit truly Holy
Spirit’, citing Matt. 28.19 for the teaching of the Trinity. Like Arius
when he insisted that the Son was begotten ‘not in semblance but in
truth’, Eusebius saw his creed as opposed to the view that the Son
existed only as the Wisdom or Word inherent in the Father.
Eusebius claims that this statement was incontrovertible (but
not that no one contested it), and that the Emperor Constantine
attested its orthodoxy, said he agreed with it, and advised that it
should be generally adopted, with the addition of the one word
‘consubstantial’ (Gk homoousios, and usually so spelled in English,
though some books prefer homousios). We may take this account
as partisan but substantially true. Eusebius’ bitter enemy,
Eustathius of Antioch, told the story differently: Eusebius (he does
not say whether of Caesarea or of Nicomedia) presented a creed
130 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

which shocked those present into tearing it up, and they drafted a
new one instead; we cannot be sure, but this may be another
version of the same events. Constantine apparently commented on
the meaning of homoousios, dealing with objections. Then
Eusebius reports that ‘they, on the pretext of [not ‘because of’ as in
NE 345] the addition of Consubstantial, drew up the following
formula’:

We believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of all things

visible and invisible.

And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, begotten of the
Father, Only-begotten, that is, from the substance [ousia] of the
Father; God from God, Light from Light, true God from true
God, begotten not made, consubstantial with the Father, by
whom all things were made; who for us men and for our
salvation came down and was incarnate, was made man,
suffered, and rose again the third day, ascended into heaven,
and is coming to judge living and dead.

And in the Holy Spirit.

And those who say, ‘There was when he was not’, and ‘Before
his generation he was not’, and ‘he came to be from nothing’, or
those who pretend that the Son of God is of other reality
[hypostasis] or being [ousia; some texts add ‘or created’,
probably not original] or alterable or mutable, the Catholic and
Apostolic Church anathematizes.

This is the original Nicene Creed, as agreed at Nicaea; the one

which now usually bears that name belongs to the Council of
Constantinople of 381.
Where did this creed come from? It used to be supposed that
Eusebius had put his creed forward for adoption, and that the
Nicene Creed (called ‘N’ for short) was based upon it. That was
before the only record of the Council of Antioch of 325 was
discovered and published in 1905, with the information that
Eusebius was provisionally excommunicate, pending appeal to
Ancyra. Now the ‘priestly synod’ had been moved to Nicaea, we
may assume that Eusebius proposed his creed to clear himself;
hence the Emperor’s testimony that it was ‘most orthodox’ was a
judgement admitting Eusebius to the assembly. The minor
 Arius and the Council of Nicaea 131
differences of wording between the two creeds are so great, even in
non-controversial points, that one must assume that the drafting
committee started afresh. Eusebius implies that it differed
considerably, both by his introductory words and by his insistence
that he questioned its wording in detail. Some differences are
worth noting:

1. The anathema at the end attacks a series of statements

believed to be Arian. In fact Arius could evade most of them.
There is no evidence he actually wrote, ‘There was when he was
not.’ He would certainly deny ‘alterable or mutable’ as we have
seen. He appears to have written ‘before he was begotten, he
was not’, and, ‘he is from nothing’ (Letter to Eusebius, Theodoret,
HE 1.5.4 [NE 325]); but even there ‘from nothing’ may be what
he is accused of and not what he admits to asserting (note what
follows, ‘this we do say, that he is neither part of God nor of any
lower essence’). ‘Created’ he did say, but it is not in the'original
text of N. Eusebius of Nicomedia and Theognis later claimed,
‘We subscribed to the creed; we did not subscribe to the
anathematizing; not as objecting to the creed, but as disbelieving
the party accused to be such as was represented’ (Socrates, HE
1.14.3 [NE 354]). This probably means that they accepted the
whole creed, including the anathema at the end, but did not
accept that it applied to Arius.

2. Both creeds feature ‘Only-begotten’, but very differently. In

Eusebius it comes later in the description of the one Lord Jesus
Christ, after ‘God from God, Light from Light’, and is followed
immediately by reference to the creation and the ages. He is
unique (= only-begotten) in the sense that he is ‘firstborn of all
creation’; these words from Col. 1.15 are taken by the Arians to
mean that Christ is head of all created things. Similarly he is
‘before all ages begotten from the Father’; he is unique as
generated from the Father alone and before time. The drafters of
N would have found that unacceptable: bishops like Marcellus
and Eustathius could not accept ‘only-begotten’ in that sense,
since they took Col. 1.15 of Christ’s manhood, the ‘new creation’.
‘Begotten from the Father, only-begotten’ meant that Christ
originates ‘from the being (ousia, ‘substance’ or ‘essence’) of the
Father’. In Marcellus’ thought Christ is the means of creation
inasmuch as he is the immanent Logos, Wisdom and Power of
132 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

the Father himself; it is perhaps no accident that ‘by whom all

things were made’ follows ‘consubstantial with the Father’ in N,
whereas in Eusebius it follows ‘begotten . . . before all ages’. N
allows for a position in which God is a single being (ousia), who
operates singly by his own unique Wisdom to make the world,
and becomes two only in the incarnation.

3. One distinction is made clear, which Arians did not make

and which Eusebius did not require: ‘begotten, not made’.

4. Instead of, ‘was incarnate and lived among men’, we read,

‘was incarnate, was made man’. Eustathius emphasized that
Christ’s humanity was complete with a rational spirit or mind;
Arians thought in terms of the divine Son with a body, as did
their Alexandrian opponents.

Eusebius found N difficult to accept. ‘Consubstantial’ could

imply that Christ was generated out of the Father rather as a
human son is sexually generated by his human parent, ‘according
to bodily affections’; or it could imply that some part of the Father
was separated off by ‘division’ or ‘severance’, a view which had led
Arius to repudiate the word homoousios as Manichaean (twice in
his letter to Alexander, and in Thalia II.9 [NE 326, 327, 331]).
Eusebius accepted reassurances on this point for the sake of peace
(Letter, 5 [NE 345-6]), and positively interpreted the word as
meaning ‘that the Son of God bears no resemblance to the
originated creatures, but that to his Father who begat him he is in
every way assimilated, and that he is not of any other hypostasis
or ousia, but from the Father’ (Letter, 7). Thus he uses the idea
used against him at Antioch: the Son is exactly like the Father,
and has no other source. The Western tradition had spoken of one
being or substance (una substantia) of Father, Son and Spirit;
Eustathius and others took homoousios in that sense. It is plain
that Eusebius (and many others like him) accepted the word, but
in a very different meaning. This flexibility is perhaps the reason
why homoousios was adopted in the first place. Eusebius
ingeniously interpreted other clauses of the creed to suit his
preferred meaning. One could anathematize ‘before his generation
he was not’ by referring it to the human birth of Christ, before
which he undoubtedly existed (Letter, 9): its proponents took it
to refer to the Father’s eternity which the Son did not share.
 Arius and the Council of Nicaea 133
Homoousios means ‘same in being’, and is therefore ambiguous.
‘Same’ can mean ‘identical’, ‘one and the same’ (as two words are
on the same page), or ‘exactly like’ (as when one word is the same
as the other). ‘Being’ is also ambiguous. We speak of ‘a being’ as a
concrete individual, as an angel is a spiritual being and a child a
human being; but we might also say that the angel has spiritual
being (essence, existence or nature), and the child has a human
one. Eusebius’ interpretation of N represents a position which
many Eastern bishops shared, in which homoousios means ‘exactly
like in being’, not ‘one and the same being’ as some would
understand it. It is doubtful whether Arius’ original critics would
have found the positive parts of N congenial. The anathema
certainly represents what Alexander opposed. But when Arius
rejected homoousios in his letter to Alexander, he was claiming to
agree with Alexander’s habitual teaching. The bishop in his own
letters (NE322-4; 328-9) was concerned to state that the Son was
coeternal, immutable, and not a creature, a position which the
Council of Antioch had endorsed with none of the quasi-Marcellian
features of N. The later Creed of Constantinople, as we shall see,
was to retain homoousios, but avoided the other characteristic
features of N.

The outcome and aftermath of Nicaea

The Council of Nicaea was almost unanimous. The Council

reported its decisions to the churches concerned. To the
Alexandrian church and to all the brethren in Egypt and Libya
(see Socrates, HE 1.9.1-14 [NE 347-50]) it reported the
condemnation of Arius for his views, and that the two Libyan
bishops, Theonas of Marmarica and Secundus of Ptolemais, were
also judged condemned; they had refused the creed. It then reported
the other two issues settled. One concerned the Melitians, whose
schism separated the Egyptian churches into two camps. Melitius
was to be deprived of all powers and retain only a nominal dignity;
those ordained by him might exercise their office but only as
subordinate to bishops of Alexander’s communion, and might
succeed to episcopates, subject to the veto of the bishop of
Alexandria himself. These humiliating terms of reconciliation did
not in fact work. The other issue chiefly concerned the Antiochenes:
134 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Easter was to be kept, not with the Jews, but according to the
ancient practice of Rome and Alexandria. The Syrian churches
appear to have kept the paschal fast (‘Holy Week’ in modern
terminology) to coincide with the Jewish Passover, breaking their
fast on the following Sunday, their Pascha (our Easter). The
Alexandrians calculated for themselves the first full moon after
the spring equinox, and reckoned Easter the Sunday after that.
The Roman system was more complicated, and ensured that the
fast finished no later than 21 April, when the City celebrated its
foundation day. But usually it coincided with Alexandria.
Constantine himself wrote to the Syrians, urging them to accept
the Council’s judgements. The Syrians soon abandoned their
Easter rule.
Twenty canons were also produced at Nicaea (see NE 338-47).
These touch on none of the three primary pieces of business, but
appear to be genuine. They deal with several matters arising from
the persecutions and the universal settlement, establishing uniform
discipline for various classes of clerics and laity. Notably they
recognize the provincial authority of Alexandria, Rome and
Antioch over certain neighbouring churches (Canon 6), and
ambiguously accord honour to Aelia (Jerusalem) without prejudice
to its Metropolitan (Caesarea) (7). These decrees recognize the
actual state reached in the churches. Novatianists were to be
reconciled on very favourable terms, their whole clergy fully
recognized provided only they will comply with Catholic penitential
law (8). Those of the denomination of Paul of Samosata have to be
baptized, but their clergy may then be ordained to office (19). This
rule follows the general Eastern principle that the doctrine in
which one is baptized determines validity: Paul’s teaching, like
that of the Montanists, is deemed corrupt and his baptisms
consequently ineffectual.
The bishops dispersed in 325 after wining and dining with the
Emperor to celebrate the twentieth year of his reign. But some
constituted either a continuing committee or a more local
ecclesiastical court. They may have been responsible for the twenty
canons. They were certainly involved in grave affairs after the
main Council. Before the end of the year Constantine had removed
Eusebius of Nicomedia and Theognis of Nicaea, with or without
support of a synod. These eminent bishops had apparently given
communion to Arians condemned by the Council; Constantine
 Arius and the Council of Nicaea 135
accuses Eusebius of theological and political treason (Gelasius,
HE 3 app. 1 [NE 351-3]). But Arius’ supporters in Alexandria
were not appeased, and Constantine received a statement of faith
in which Arius affirmed his creed and swore that he believed ‘as
the whole Catholic Church and the Scriptures teach’ (Socrates,
HE 1.26.2-7 [NE 353-4]); the Creed of Nicaea was clearly not
being used as a fixed doctrinal test, and his appeal was accepted
by the Emperor and by the synod. Eusebius and Theognis appealed
to the same court, pointing out that they had subscribed to N, and
were restored too. The ecclesiastical court which permitted this
may or may not be rightly called the ‘second council’ of Nicaea,
and dated 327 or 328; scholarly opinion is divided. It is certain
however that it marked the beginning of the dominance of Eusebius
of Nicomedia and his party in Eastern church affairs, a dominance
which persisted for over thirty years. Meanwhile the bishops of
Alexandria, Alexander and his successor in 328 Athanasius, were
not disposed to accept back Arius as a presbyter, when he had
been formally deposed for heresy, and seeds of continuing dispute
were thus sown.
It may be that behind the dispute about the time or eternity of
the Son’s origin there lay an issue as yet only obscurely seen. Arius
felt that the only way to secure the deity of Christ was to set him
on the step immediately below the Father, who remained beyond
all comprehension. Arius is sometimes thought to be (like the
Neoplatonist philosophers and perhaps Origen) ultimately a
‘monist’, who saw reality as a single graded continuum. The
transcendence was made tolerable, since all reality was a series of
steps from creatures to the Creator. Arius’ enemies certainly
attacked him as if he took this view, emphasizing that the divide
between Creator and creature was ultimately significant, and that
Christ is Creator, not creature. As the debate progressed, the
topics which at first were less central than time and eternity,
about whether the Son shared the divine ‘substance’ or was
‘created’, were to loom larger, and to make the issue clearer. Both
parties understood the face of God as graciously revealed in Jesus
Christ. Arius however was not really a monist; he did not perceive
a smooth and almost natural transition from the transcendent One
through the Son to the creation. In fact he saw himself as sharply
opposed to such a view, as he shows by his strictures on those
who see the Son as an ‘emanation’ or as an extension of the
136 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Father’s being, and posited a great difference between the Son and
the beings he engendered. Instead he rested all upon the mere will
of the Father, who is by definition incomprehensible and beyond
description. At best the will which commanded the Son to be was
mysterious; at worst merely arbitrary. For Alexander and
Athanasius a miracle of condescension brought creating grace and
saving pity down from an ultimate height of Godhead, where
Father and Son dwelt in perfect communion. It was a richer
gospel, even if they gave Arius less credit than he deserved.
 14
COUNCILS AND CONTROVERSIES: 327-361

The Eusebian supremacy

For the remainder of Constantine’s reign the party round Eusebius,

many of whom had supported Arius against Alexander, grew in
power. At an early but uncertain date (328?) Eustathius was
forced out of the bishopric at Antioch, and the attempt to find a
successor was accompanied by riotous disorder. Eustathius’ crime
was ostensibly an affront to the Augusta Helena, Constantine’s
mother, who was on a journey of imperial duties in Syria and
Palestine. His real offence was perhaps theological: Eusebius of
Caesarea, the greatest living scholar of the Church, an Origenist
and a supporter of the dominant party, was bitterly opposed to his
theology of ‘one hypostasis' (Athanasius, Hist. Ar. 4 [NE359-61]).
The victors tried to make Eusebius himself bishop, but he declined
to breach the Nicene canon against bishops changing their sees,
and a series of less distinguished bishops occupied Antioch. The
little body of loyal Eustathians, led by the presbyter Paulinus,
were to cause much trouble later.
Athanasius was appointed Bishop of Alexandria in 328, possibly
in controversial circumstances. He was soon quarrelling with the
Melitians. On his own testimony they were formally reconciled as
Nicaea had decreed shortly before Alexander’s death, and a list of
the reconciled clergy was in his office. But the Melitians accused
Athanasius of rough and unfair treatment, and they soon called
for support from Eusebius of Nicomedia and the wider Church
(Athanasius, Apol. sec. 59, 71 [NE 357-8]). The ex-Melitians, led
by one John Arcaph, alleged that Athanasius had campaigned
against a bishop Callinicus and a presbyter Ischyras; his agents
had committed sacrilege to an altar and a sacramental chalice, and
he had put a deposed presbyter in charge of a church, and caused
various imprisonments and beatings. He had obtained the
episcopate by perjured testimony to his innocence of other alleged
crimes, and the ex-Melitians could not conscientiously regard him

137
138 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church
as bishop. Some more spectacular crimes of cutting off a man’s
arm for magic purposes and suborning a woman for sexual
purposes were easy to refute, and Athanasius cleared himself of
these when it came to the point, as he himself is pleased to report
(see Sozomen, HE 2.25.3-12 [NE 362-3]). The use of force,
intimidation and imprisonment by bishops of Alexandria is quite
common from this time onwards, and is confirmed in Athanasius’
case by original papyrus letters recovered in modern times (an
example in NE 359); while difficult to understand in detail, they
undoubtedly attest the imprisonment and the terror which
Athanasius induced in his opponents.
Constantine was involved in vain attempts to reconcile in Egypt.
Eventually he decided that the peace of the churches must be
restored in time for the dedication of his great new Church of the
Resurrection (the Anastasis) in Jerusalem, the remains of which
form part of the existing Church of the Holy Sepulchre. His
mother Helena, visiting and restoring holy sites, had been present
when the Hadrianic temple over the alleged site of the resurrection
was excavated, and the actual tomb of Christ exposed. In the
oldest account (Eusebius, Vit. Const. 3.25-40) nothing is said of
the simultaneous discovery of the wood of the true cross of Christ,
which figured very large in the cult of this church in Jerusalem
from the middle of the century; it is uncertain whether Eusebius
did not know this story in 338 when he wrote, or deliberately
suppressed it. The dedication was to be a gathering of bishops
from all parts at Jerusalem in his own thirtieth year, 335, as part
of Constantine’s Tricennalia festivities. But unity must first be
restored, and the upshot was a trial of the charges against
Athanasius at a council in Tyre.
Athanasius knew he would be convicted. Whatever the truth of
the allegations of episcopal tyranny, many of the councillors who
would judge him were those who had backed Arius against
Alexander; he himself still resisted the restoration of Arius. He
tried to avoid attending, but finally went. He refuted what
accusations he could, but left when the judges (scrupulously, one
might think), decided to send a commission to investigate the
charges on the spot in Egypt. Athanasius played the imperial card,
and presented himself before Constantine at Constantinople, and
Constantine sent for the leading bishops to come and explain
themselves (Constantine in Athanasius, Apol. sec. 36 [A® 363-4]).
 Councils and Controversies: 327-361 139

Athanasius alleges that they then said he had threatened to stop

the grain ships from Egypt to Constantinople, and for this he was
exiled (Socrates, HE 1.35.1-4 [NE 364-5]). Eusebius and
company hardly needed such an unlikely tale to persuade the
Emperor that while Athanasius remained there could be no peace.
He was banished to Trier in Gaul, and the Anastasis was
consecrated with joyful magnificence.
From Trier Athanasius established links with Latin churchmen,
sustained contact with his numerous supporters in Egypt, and
probably wrote a two-volume book, Against the pagans and On
the incarnation, a sort of theological manifesto. The idea that these
were written about 318 before the Arian controversy is now
generally discarded. If Arianism is not mentioned, it is because it
was now a dead issue. Soon Athanasius would revive it, to claim
that his condemnation by the Eastern churches was a conspiracy
of Arian heretics and Melitian schismatics. But while Constantine
lived, he was discreet. It was not his theology, but violence, that he
was banished for.
About the same time another bishop fell, tried for heresy at
Constantinople, and banished. Marcellus of Ancyra was stung by
the hostile preaching in Syria of a layman called Asterius, and
issued a comprehensive rebuttal. Asterius is regarded as ‘Arian’,
and is notorious for making the point that the term ‘power of God’,
applied to Christ in 1 Cor. 1.24, is also applied to caterpillars and
locusts in Joel 2.25 (‘my great power’). His point was that the mere
title did not mean that Christ was, as Marcellus held, internal to
the Father; but it supplied a ready handle to Asterius’ critics.
Marcellus’ refutation itself shocked the moderates in the East. We
have already described his teaching (pp. 127-8). Marcellus, not
Arius, was for the Eusebian party the great Christ-denying heretic;
to Athanasius he was a fellow-sufferer and campaigner for the truth.

The division of East and West

Constantine died at Pentecost 337, as he prepared for a Persian

war. First, however, he was baptized by his leading bishop,
Eusebius of Nicomedia, and, after courtly ritual, was laid to rest
with Christian rites in a specially constructed Church of the
Apostles. He left the Empire divided between his three sons and
two nephews. A military putsch disposed of the nephews and their
140 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

kindred, and left the three sons, Constantine II in the West,

Constans in the centre, and Constantius II in the East. While
Constantius was busy fighting the Persians in a war that was to
drag on till 350, his brothers quarrelled, and Constantine II was
killed. That left Constans with two thirds of the Empire, and
Constantius comparatively weak. In ecclesiastical matters,
Constans persistently pressed the claims of Rome and the
Westerns, while Constantius kept to his Eusebian policy. When
Paul, Bishop of Constantinople since 336, was deposed in 338,
Eusebius was translated from Nicomedia, and was bishop of the
capital till his death in 341, his dominance publicly confirmed.
Athanasius returned to Alexandria in 337 under a kind of
amnesty (Socrates, HE 2.3 [CCC 1-2]). But there was local
opposition, and soon the Eusebians elected a new bishop, Gregory,
who was installed with military support; Athanasius fled to Rome.
He and Marcellus appealed to the new bishop of Rome, Julius
(337-52), who reviewed their cases and quashed their convictions
at a council in 340 (see Julius’ letter in Athanasius, Apol. sec. 35
[CCC 5-6], and Marcellus’ cunning theological appeal, Epiphanius,
Haer. 72.2-3 [CCC 6-8]). It was questionable, however, whether
the Bishop of Rome could overrule the decisions of properly
constituted synods in the East; the Easterns did not think so.
Thirty-seven bishops assembled at Antioch in 341, to dedicate the
new ‘golden church’, whence the name ‘Dedication Council’ is
used. The credal statements of this Council (CCC 8-11) deserve
special study, especially the second, which was regarded by many
as the definitive credal foundation for the Eastern churches.
In circumstances we do not know much about, the bishops at
Antioch in 341 published in letters two creeds. Antioch 1 (CCC
8-9) is a defensive document. Athanasius and Marcellus have put
it about at Rome and elsewhere that they are Arian heretics, so
they begin by disowning such an idea: ‘How should we who are
bishops follow a presbyter?’ But the mud has stuck. In fact even
today most modern literature labels the church of Constantius
‘Arian’. That is to accept the label their enemies gave them.
Hanson in The search for the Christian doctrine of God makes a
determined effort to escape the scholarly tradition, and avoid
labelling the whole dispute ‘the Arian controversy’; but even he
relapses into the conventional terminology. The bishops at Antioch
were simply representative of the Eastern church. We should
 Councils and Controversies: 327-361 141
accept their disclaimer on Arianism, particularly (as we shall see)
as their basic position was similar to that of the anti-Arian council
of Antioch in 325 (see pp. 126-7). The other point of interest in an
innocuous creed is their emphasis on ‘one only-begotten Son of
God before all ages, subsisting and co-existing with the Father
who begat him’. This idea, suppressed by the Creed of Nicaea and
rejected by Marcellus, is one the Easterns constantly champion.
Antioch 2 (CCC 9-10) is more important, expressing more fully
their positive faith, and intended for that position as a foundation
for orthodoxy which the Nicene Creed eventually attained. It is
sometimes called the ‘Lucianic Creed’, because in some traditions
it is associated with the martyr Lucian. But the idea that it went
back to him is probably false; more probably this idea arose
because it was the basic creed of those for whom Lucian, buried at
Helenopolis near Nicomedia, was the patron saint. It is typical of
the Eastern position, which defines the deity of Christ in terms of
his exact likeness to the Father: ‘begotten before the ages from the
Father, God from God, whole from whole, sole from sole, perfect
from perfect. King from King, Lord from Lord, . . . exact Image of
the Godhead, substance (ousia), will, power and gloiy of the
Father . . .’. It should be noted that the italics in CCC, ‘exact Image
of the Godhead’, are misleading, since not a single word is the
same as the biblical reference given, Heb. 1.3, though the thought
may be there. The words are nearly those of Col. 1.14, ‘image of
the unseen God’; see also 2 Cor. 4.4. The term ‘exact image’
(aparallaktos eikon) was actually used by Alexander of Alexandria,
and was regarded as orthodox by Athanasius. It was not exactly
Origenistic; Origen knew the Son as Image of the Father, but the
precise or exact similarity lay in the will. Here it is not only will,
but godhead and being which are the same in each, Father and
Son. Clearly Origenist, however, is the list of aspects of the Son’s
being which intervenes between the parts of the quotation above:
‘living Word, living wisdom, true light, way, truth, resurrection,
shepherd, door, both unalterable and unchangeable . . .’. It should
be noted that the term ‘living’ opposes the idea of a Word or
Wisdom merely immanent in the Father, and not a distinct being.
The last two words make him unchangeable in the same way the
Father is, thus distinguishing their position from that of Arius (see
p. 125). Furthermore, they are at pains to insist on the Holy Spirit
as a third, distinct hypostasis, and to insist on the real distinctions
142 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

in the Trinity: ‘three in subsistence, and in agreement one’, just as

Origen had said. Finally they denounce a number of propositions
associated with Arianism, which are basically two: that there was
time before the Son existed, or that he is a creature like other
creatures. This Creed clearly asserted the deity of Christ in terms
of his exact likeness to the Father, and expressed well the beliefs
later held by the party labelled ‘homoiousian’ (see p. 146).
Antioch 4 (CCC 10-11) was a negotiating position, not a creed
of the whole council; it differs from others in condemning explicitly,
‘that the Son is from nothing, or from another hypostasis and not
from God, and that there was a time when he was not’. These
anathemas bring them close to those of the Creed of Nicaea. Other
parts of the document however seem to have more to do with the
error of Marcellus: Christ is ‘begotten from the Father before all
ages’, and ‘will be sitting on the Father’s right not only in this age
but also in the coming one’. Even their expanded words on the
Holy Spirit as Paraclete, sent after Christ’s ascension, can be seen
as opposed to Marcellus’ tendency to identify the deity of Christ
personally with the Holy Spirit.
In 343 or perhaps 342 a general reconciliation was attempted,
at the instigation of Constans. The reluctant Easterns gathered at
Sardica (modem Sofia), in Constans’ territory, to meet more
numerous Western colleagues. Ossius of Cordova presided,
assisted by Protogenes of Sardica. They never sat down together,
because the Easterns objected to the presence of the deposed
bishops Athanasius and Marcellus, with whom were now Paul of
Constantinople and Asclepas of Gaza. They withdrew across the
frontier to Philippopolis in Thrace, and there decreed the deposition
of all the supporters of Marcellus and Athanasius, including the
leaders of the council. Meanwhile at Sardica the Westerns did the
same, taking the trouble to examine the teachings of Marcellus
before declaring him orthodox, reinstating all their allies in the
East and deposing all their opponents (Socrates, HE 2.20.7-11
[CCC 11-12]). But with some copies of their circular letter is
preserved a statement of faith, apparently drafted to deal with a
document from Ursacius of Singidunum and Valens of Mursa,
Latins who were the recognized rising stars of the Eastern party.
Unfortunately the text of this document is corrupt, and the English
version in CCC 13-14 misleading (new translation and exposition
in S. G. Hall, ‘The Creed of Sardica’, Studia patristica 19 [1989]
 Councils and Controversies: 327-361 143

173-84). Its drift is however clear. God is one hypostasis (= sub¬

stantia in the original Latin), and Valens and Ursacius are heretics
in maintaining that the Father, Son and Spirit are distinct
hypostases; the hypostasis of the Son is exactly that of the Father.
The English of CCC 13-14 fails to make clear that the Creed
seems also to repudiate the idea of the begetting of the Son before
the ages, and to identify the Holy Spirit with the Logos, though it
is clear at the end that the Holy Spirit is identified with the divine
person in Christ. Both parties slammed the door on each other
doctrinally, but the Westerns especially damned the Origenist
tradition. They also passed some canons, which were soon thought
to derive from Nicaea; the most interesting is the third (CCC 15-
16) which asserts the right of condemned clerics to appeal to
Rome over the heads of the local hierarchy, reflecting the position
of Athanasius, Marcellus and others like them, who had been
condemned in the East.
Pressure for reconciliation continued, however, and the Easterns
sent a further deputation to Rome, armed with lengthy defence of
their position, the ‘Creed of the long lines’ of 345 (Athanasius,
Syn. 26 [CCC 18-21]). While this did not achieve its purpose, it
again made clear the Eastern fears of Marcellus’ thought. Its first
two propositions abjure the ‘Arian’ propositions that the Son is
from nothing, and that there was when he was not. Much of the
rest defends the concept of the Trinity of three real persons, and
especially in propositions 4-8 they reject the idea that before the
incarnation the Son somehow lacked personal being distinct from
the Father, and was immanent within him. All this resists the
Marcellian and Sardican pressure. Two biblical citations figure
illuminatingly: Gen. 1.26 in section 18, which is taken to mean
that God said to the Son, ‘Let us make man in our own image’, a
position generally held since Justin but repudiated by Marcellus;
and in section 22, Prov. 8.22, ‘The Lord created me the beginning
of his ways for his works’, which Marcellus and Athanasius
applied to the humanity only of Christ, is still applied to the
generation of the Son from the Father, though not as making him
like other creatures. Though peace was not made, Constantius
and his bishops yielded to pressure: Athanasius returned to
Alexandria in triumph in 346 on the death of Gregory.
144 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

The Eastern dominance

In 350 Constans was murdered by a group of officers, and the

Western Empire was usurped by Magnentius. Constantius
advanced to avenge his brother. The most important, though not
the last, battle of the bloody campaign was fought in 351 at Mursa
in Pannonia, the seat of one of the leading bishops of the Eastern
party, Valens (see CCC 29-30). Magnentius finally perished in
353, and Constantius was sole Emperor. Until his death in 361 he
strove, rather as his father had done, to cajole the bishops into
accepting a common standard of faith. While prepared to use both
bribery and exile to achieve his results, he was not wicked or
violent towards the clergy, even when they wrote and spoke
bitterly of him. It was because they believed his policies to be
doctrinally destructive that bishops like Athanasius, Hilary of
Poitiers and Lucifer of Calaris would call him Antichrist and
Persecutor of the Church. Advised by such men as Valens,
Ursacius of Singidunum and Macedonius, who was Bishop of
Constantinople 351-60, Constantius generally tried to impose a
broad framework of belief which almost anyone could subscribe
to. Unfortunately for him, a large body of Western opinion would
not abandon Athanasius, and shared his attachment to the
principles of Sardica and the Creed of Nicaea. New questions
were also to arise in the East, especially ‘Neo-arianism’, which
alarmed many of the moderate churchmen there.
At a council at Arles in 353 Constantius secured the agreement
of most of the bishops of Gaul to the deposition of Athanasius.
Trying to widen the assent by a meeting at Milan in 355, the
Emperor’s bishops faced the resistance of Paulinus of Trier and a
few others. Among them was Eusebius of Vercellae. He produced
the Creed of Nicaea, and suggested that they should all sign it first
and then condemn Athanasius. Valens prevented this being done,
and the dissidents (Eusebius, Lucifer and others) were themselves
condemned (see Hilary, Ad Constantium 1.3 [CCC 31-2]). The
significance of this is that the Creed of Nicaea was thus clearly
raised as a rallying-standard. While ratified by the Western Council
of Sardica (see pp. 142-3), it had been until 355 merely an historic
formula by which Arius had been condemned. It now became a
point of principle for those who wanted to state that the Father
and Son share the same divinity; and alternative formulae, however
 Councils and Controversies: 327-361 145

well-meant and innocuous in themselves, were rejected as refusing

the principles of Nicaea and therefore ‘Arian’. Constantius did
obtain some success, however, and important figures who in 355
still resisted his policies (Liberius of Rome and Ossius of Cordoba)
had by 357 yielded to persuasion (see CCC 33-7; 39-40. Ossius
was officially responsible for the ‘Blasphemy of Sirmium’.).
With the verdict of Milan against him, Athanasius went into
hiding. From his hiding place he continued his literary campaign,
tirelessly attacking Arianism as he understood it. Arius and the
Eastern bishops who supported his views made the Son a creature
just like other men, separated him from the Father, and deprived
him of divine being and saving power. In Athanasius’ doctrine,
which increasingly came to reflect on and develop the words of the
Nicene Creed, the Son was the Father’s ‘own’ Son in a way no
others are. He has his being ‘from’ the Father, and not from
nothing or from any other source. He therefore shares every aspect
of the Father’s nature, and communicates true divinity to mankind
by the incarnation. Once the political difficulties could be set
aside, and he himself was prepared to make the necessary
accommodations and qualifications to avoid misunderstandings,
the power of his doctrine asserted itself. But other serious problems
first emerged.
In 357 Eudoxius, Bishop of Germanicia, was promoted to be
Bishop of Antioch. He was prepared to countenance quite extreme
views, and promoted among his clergy two sharp young
theologians, Aetius who was already a deacon, and Eunomius
whom he ordained. These two were to elaborate a set of doctrines
which caused great offence, and was nicknamed ‘anomoian’ (often
spelled ‘anomoean’; from the Greek anomoios, ‘unlike’). They
insisted in Aristotelian fashion that the words used of the divinity,
and especially ‘unbegotten’ and ‘(only-)begotten’, are precise
descriptions of the essence or nature of the Father and the Son.
They differed from Arius, who had a mystical conviction of the
unknowability of God, in this belief that God could be clearly and
accurately understood. But they drew from it conclusions like his,
only sharper, and are consequently called ‘Neo-arians’. If Father
and Son are designated chiefly by the terms ‘unbegotten’ and
‘begotten’, then these essences are contrary at their most significant
point. They are therefore unlike each other. Any likeness can only
be in their outward works or activities, not in their own nature.
146 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

What is said of the Son is even truer of the Spirit. It will be seen
that such a doctrine contradicts not only the Athanasian and
Western idea that the Father and Son share the same being, but
also the main Eastern doctrine that the Son is divine by being like
the Father in being, will, power and glory (as in the Second Creed
of Antioch, see pp. 141-2).
The Eastern majority reacted strongly. Led by Basil, Bishop of
Ancyra (not to be confused with the younger and more famous
Basil of Caesarea), they gathered at Ancyra in 358 and agreed to
send a deputation to the Emperor, asking him to support the view
that the Son was like the Father in being (Gk homoios kat’ousian)
(see CCC 41-2); they were consequently named ‘homoiousians’
(or ‘homoeousians’) as supporters of the doctrine of homoiousios
(Gk homoiousios, ‘like in being’). It is important to note that this
differs from the homoousios (‘same in being’) of the Creed of
Nicaea only by one letter, iota. At first the deputation had some
success with the Emperor, and was supported by the respected
and longstanding Bishop of Constantinople, Macedonius. But
Constantius’ advisers rallied to resist, and eventually won.
The official position, argued by Valens and Ursacius (see p.
144), was represented by the Second Creed of Sirmium (CCC 39-
40). It is often referred to as ‘homoian’ (or ‘homoean’; from the Gk
homoios ‘like’), as holding that the Son is merely like the Father.
This expression did not actually come into public use till after 358.
It seems innocuous, but as a partisan term it went with the
rejection of any terms about essence or substance: this Creed
rejects both homoousios and homoiousios. The court party of
Ursacius and Valens arranged for the whole to be settled by two
large councils, a Western one at Ariminum (Rimini) and an Eastern
at Seleucia. A creed was brought from the court to both councils,
the Fourth Creed of Sirmium or ‘Dated Creed’ of 22 May 359
(CCC 45-6); this respectfully rejected the use of ousia or ‘essence’
to refer to God, and said that the Son was ‘like the Father who
begat him, according to the Scriptures’. In both respects it
contradicted the position of Eunomius and the anomoians. But
although it gathered some support in the East, it did not satisfy the
majority. Those at Seleucia wanted it clear that the Son was like
the Father ‘in being’ (ousia), or ‘in all things’ (Gk kata panta),
which included ‘being’; their opponents saw that this would exclude
the Eunomians, and resisted it. After struggling for the older
 Councils and Controversies: 327-361 147

Antiochene formula, the Easterners eventually yielded, and those

who remained at the council subscribed to a version of the Dated
Creed. The resistance of the Westerners at Ariminum, who wanted
the Creed of Nicaea, crumbled even more quickly. So as AD 360
began the Dated Creed and the homoian doctrine it enshrined
became the official faith of the Empire with the approval of the
greatest gatherings of bishops and was to remain so for much of
the following twenty years.
The official doctrine was not Arian. It was intended to be all-
embracing. But it was taken as a surrender to ‘Arianism’ not only
by the Western and Nicene supporters, who held that the Son was
of the same essence or being as the Father, but also by the Eastern
majority, who favoured ‘like in essence’ and the Second Creed of
Antioch 341. ‘The whole world groaned and was astonished to
find itself Arian’, wrote Jerome in a famous remark (see CCC 46).
Many churchmen agreed with the Emperor, or yielded to the
pressure. Some stood firm and were exiled, including Macedonius
of Constantinople, into whose place Eudoxius moved from Antioch,
his pre-eminence sealing his party’s victory. But imperial events
soon overtook the bishops.
 15
TOWARDS SYNTHESIS: 361-380

The reign of Julian, 361—3

The last emperor of the house of Constantine was Julian, known

as ‘the Apostate’. He rose to power as a colleague of his cousin
Constantius with responsibilities in Gaul from 355. In 360 his
army drove him to rebellion, but Constantius died in 361 before it
came to war. As sole emperor Julian revealed that he had turned in
4 his youth against Christianity, and he tried to reinstate the old
pagan religion by various means (details in CCC 52-68).
As part of his policy Julian allowed exiled bishops back to their
sees, apparently believing that the resulting disputes would damage
the faith he was attacking. In fact he precipitated some remarkable
reconciliations; the threat of persecution made some doctrinal
arguments seem suddenly less important. The most significant of
the many church activities which followed was a council held at
Alexandria in 362, presided over by Athanasius. Its synodical
letter deserves close study: see CCC 80-3.
The object of the Council was to reconcile two parties at Antioch.
One was the old dissident Nicene congregation, loyal to the memory
of Eustathius (see p. 137) and led by Paulinus; to them Athanasius
addressed the synodical letter. The other was the main congregation,
described as ‘those who assemble in the old town’, who were led
by Meletius, and also willing to subscribe to the Creed of Nicaea.
Meletius (who has no connection with the earlier Melitian schism
in Egypt) had been appointed in the last year of Constantius to
replace Eudoxius, but shocked the authorities by commending the
homoousios doctrine; he was exiled the same year, and replaced
by Euzoius, a genuine Arian of the old school, who had shared
Arius’ exile. Meletius recovered the main church once Constantius
was dead, but his congregation and leadership were not accepted
by the Eustathian congregation, partly because Meletius had been
appointed under the ‘Arian’ regime, and ordained by bishops out
of communion with the true churches, and partly because of

148
 Towards Synthesis: 361-380 149
different theological formulae. The theological issues in debate
were two: whether it is right to speak of God as one hypostasis or
three, and whether Christ had a human soul. Representatives of
various groups from Antioch were in attendance, and so were two
Western bishops, exiled to the East for their Nicene loyalties,
Eusebius of Vercellae and Lucifer of Calaris.
The first matter to be settled was the terms on which those
tainted with heresy were to be accepted by the party of Athanasius
and Paulinus. In this the synod’s decision was generous by the
standards of the day. On older canonical principles, lay persons
could be received back into orthodox communion as penitents,
or, if their baptism was thought doctrinally unsound, as candidates
for baptism. Clergy might be accepted as clergy only where there
was no doctrinal error, as Nicaea did with the Novatianists and
the Melitian schismatics of Egypt. Where the mortal sin of heresy
was involved, they were treated as laymen. Whole communities of
the Eastern church were, however, regarded as ‘Arian’, and could
not be accepted simply by subscribing to orthodox doctrine now.
That was one reason why the Paulinians refused to recognize the
Meletian party at Antioch. But now the Council of Alexandria laid
down only three conditions for acceptance of laity, clergy and
whole communities:

to anathematize the Arian heresy

and to confess the faith confessed by the holy fathers at Nicaea

and to anathematize also those who say that the Holy Spirit is a
creature and separate from the essence of Christ (Athanasius,
Tom. ad Ant. 3 [CCC 80]).

The first two conditions are obvious enough. The third reflects a
new issue which had recently come to the fore, on which the
parties were not apparently Tvided: the heresy of the Pneumato-
machi or ‘Spirit-fighters’; see below pp. 153-4. At Alexandria it
was agreed that to make the Spirit a creature was a form of Arian-
ism. The Meletians were invited to restored communion on these
terms alone (Tom. ad Ant. 4), a generosity some thought scandalous.
Lucifer of Calaris was so incensed that he went to Antioch and
consecrated Paulinus as bishop, to make sure that his congregation
could not simply be incorporated into that of Meletius. His ploy
150 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

was wholly successful, and the schism among the Nicene

supporters at Antioch lasted till 388 (CCC 268).
The first doctrinal issue was that of God’s hypostasis or
substance. The Eustathian tradition held that God was one
substance or being, in agreement with the Western terminology
since Tertullian, which spoke of ‘one substance’. The Creed of
Nicaea (‘N’) seems to take this position, denying that the Son is ‘of
another hypostasis or ousia' than the Father, and it was certainly
interpreted so in the Creed of Sardica (pp. 142-3 and CCC 13-14).
Here Athanasius denies that such a creed was approved at Sardica
(Tom. ad Ant. 5), and claims that the Creed was an informal
attempt turned down by that council. Athanasius may be lying. He
is certainly now in the position of wanting to insist on the Nicene
Creed and no other, and of wanting to be allowed ‘three
hypostases’, which Sardica had rejected. Those who spoke of
‘three hypostases’ were questioned as to whether they meant quite
separate beings, like the Arians, or three separate gods or
beginnings. The Meletians made it plain that they used this
traditional Eastern terminology ‘because they believed in a Holy
Trinity, not a trinity in name only, but existing and subsisting in
truth’, so that each of the three exists and subsists distinct from
the others: that the Son is co-essential (homoousios) with the
Father, and that the Spirit is proper to and inseparable from the
ousia of the Father and Son, they also acknowledged. This
terminology suggests a deliberate, and rather new, distinction
between the essence (ousia) common to Father, Son and Spirit,
and their individual or personal existence (hypostasis).
The same distinction emerges in the questioning of those who
assert ‘one hypostasis', that is the Paulinians. Their position was
not to be understood as that attributed to Sabellius, implying that
God is a single person, but in the sense of the single divine essence
(ousia), Godhead or nature (physis) present alike in Father, Son
and Holy Spirit. On this basis the two parties anathematized
various well-known heretics, and agreed with each other. For
theological purposes this agreement overcame the division of the
main body of Easterns, who were allowed to speak of three beings
or subsistences (hypostases) in an Origenistic way, and the
Eustathian/Nicene party who had always insisted on a single
divine being or essence (ousia). The problem of translation into
Latin would still trouble some, especially Westerns: three
 Towards Synthesis: 361-380 151
hypostases still seems to contradict ‘one substance’. But from
now on this distinction of hypostasis from ousia would form the
basis of the Eastern theological vocabulary.
The second theological issue concerned the soul of Christ. Like
that over the Holy Spirit, this question was emerging as a new
source of contention. Scholars disagree about the cause of the
issue at Alexandria: was it the beginning of the heresy of
Apollinaris of Laodicea (see pp. 154-6)? Was it Arianism, which
some held to be implied by the other’s position? It is also not clear
that the matter was resolved: rather it was fudged, as we shall see.
The idea that in Christ there is a created and rational human
soul was not new. It was held by Tertullian and by Origen. The
alternative was to hold, in one way or another, that in Christ the
functions of the soul are performed by the divine Word. The latter
position was held by the Arians, though not directly attested for
Arius himself, and became the chief point of the heresy of
Apollinaris. But it appears also to have been held by Athanasius
and all the other opponents of Arianism, except one: Eustathius of
Antioch alone pitted the idea of a created human soul in Jesus
Christ against the Arian argument. Whereas the Arians proceeded
on the assumption that Christ was the Word with his flesh
(Logos-sarx Christology), Eustathius developed the thought that
Christ was the Word with his man (or, more accurately, with his
human person; the Logos-anthropos Christology). So the suffer¬
ings, ignorance, and sorrow of Christ, and his advancement to
glory, are not to be attributed to the Word, who shares the
impassible divine essence, but to the man he dwelt in. The followers
of Eustathius would see the denial of Christ’s created human soul
as a surrender to Arianism.
The party round Meletius, however, had an eminent biblical
theologian in Diodore of Tarsus, who took a rather different view.
Like Eustathius, he came to distinguish sharply between the
divine and the human in Jesus: the Word of God cannot be called
‘Son of David’, as Christ is. He used the distinction of two
essences (ousiai) in Christ to resist, among others, the emperor
Julian himself, who poured scorn on the Christian idea that Jesus
could be the divine Logos. Nevertheless, ‘Diodore, at least for a
long period, built up his “divisive” theology within the “Logos-
sarx” framework’ (Grillmeier, 358). He does not argue for a
created souL, but writes of the Word dwelling in his flesh. Diodore’s
152 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

position, and the publicity of his controversy with the emperor,

make it reasonable to assume that this topic was a bone of
contention between the Meletians and Paulinians whom Athanasius
tried to reconcile in 362. It is not necessary to assume that the
argument involves (very early) Apollinarianism, or is merely
directed against Arians.
The synodical letter from Alexandria achieved a compromise
(Athanasius, Tom. ad Ant. 7 [CCC 82-3]). It was so successful a
piece of theological ambiguity that modern scholars differ widely
in their assessment of its ‘real’ meaning. That may be because it
was a fudge, deliberately designed to mean different things to
different people. The ‘Economy of the Saviour in the flesh’ (i.e.
what modern writers refer to loosely as ‘the incarnation’) is not
like the case of a prophet, a mere man indwelt by the Word of
God. The Word himself ‘from Mary after the flesh became man for
us’. That might satisfy the Meletians, who would suspect the
Paulinians of teaching an inspired prophet. The second point
would be on the other side: ‘they confessed also that the Saviour
had not a body without a soul, nor without sense or intelligence
(Gk ou soma apsychon oud’ anaistheton oud’ anoeton)’. That
appears to say that Christ has a human soul and mind, and has
been used by some to prove that Athanasius denied the main tenet
of the Apollinarians (see p. 155). But it is not really so, since the
text continues: ‘For it was not possible, when the Lord himself had
become man for us, that his body should be without intelligence:
nor was the salvation effected in the Word himself a salvation of
body only, but of soul also.’ This gloss says first, ‘Christ was not
without intelligence, because he was God become man’; it can be
accepted by those who think that the Word replaces the created
intelligence in Jesus, which is exactly what Apollinaris would later
hold. It says secondly, that the presence of the divine Lord in the
man Jesus ensures that the human soul is saved. That is wholly
ambiguous, not just about what sort of soul, since animals and
even vegetables have ‘soul’ (psyche) in some sense, or they would
not be alive; it is also ambiguous about whether the Lord
constitutes the soul or life-principle in Jesus, or possesses such a
soul. Christology had progressed, but was still relatively
unsophisticated. It seems likely that both the principal parties,
and perhaps some of their quarrelling members, found that they
 Towards Synthesis: 361-380 153
could subscribe to the formula. It is also not surprising that the
controversy over the soul of Jesus was not laid to rest.

The Spirit-fighters

After Constantius died in 361, some members of the party of Basil

of Ancyra (see p. 146) began to be active in promoting a new
solution to the vexed trinitarian question. They were prepared to
accept the deity of the Son and the Creed of Nicaea, but denied
that the Holy Spirit belonged to the divine Being. The Creed
merely said, ‘We believe . . . also in the Holy Spirit’; it made no
more specific statement. By 364 or 365 a deputation reached
Rome, led by Eustathius of Sebaste, and persuaded the bishop
Liberius that they represented a hope of reconciling the Easterns
to the Nicene doctrine. They were well received, and for a time had
some success in the East. Later writers were to associate them
with the name of Macedonius, the Bishop of Constantinople who
was exiled in 360, and they are hence called ‘Macedonians’. Their
own contemporary critics called them Pneumatomachi, or ‘Spirit-
fighters’, since they opposed the Holy Spirit.
It was not difficult to find biblical texts which supported the
idea that the Holy Spirit was a creature, like the created angelic
spirits, only superior. If all things were made through the Son, it
could be argued, so was the Spirit. But the Pneumatomachi were
attacked on two fronts. By 365 the new Eastern emperor Valens
was sustaining the official position reached under Constantius,
the so-called Homoian doctrine of Eudoxius and those like him
(see pp. 146-7). Eudoxius would never tolerate the Nicene Creed.
On the other side the main body of moderates had always been
committed to the idea of a divine trinity or triad, which the
Pneumatomachi seemed not to recognize, and the Nicene
Athanasius was deeply offended. By 360 he had written to his
friend Serapion at some length on the subject, treating the whole
movement as implicitly Arian: the godhead is indivisible (Ep. ad
Serap. 1.1 [CCC 79-80]). The doctrines and arguments faced by
Athanasius in the party he nicknames tropici (‘allegorizers’) are no
different from those of Eustathius’ group (in spite of the note on
CCC 79). We have already seen the Antiochenes and Athanasius
154 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

unanimous against those who denied the Spirit’s divinity at the

Council of Alexandria in 362.
The Pneumatomachi survived, and were to cause much division
in the decade before 381, when they seem to have struck a
compromise with the government and dominated large areas of
Asia Minor about 375. The doctrine that the Spirit is truly God
would soon be developed by the Cappadocian Fathers. But first
we must consider the other issue, Christology.

Apollinarianism

To understand the issues involved in the heresy of Apollinaris (or,

Apollinarius) of Laodicea, it is helpful to read the credal argument
of a typical Homoian (or ‘Arian’). Probably while he was still at
Antioch (before 360) Eudoxius stated his Arian faith to take
account of christological issues in the narrow sense, that is, the
question of the relation of godhead and humanity in Jesus Christ:

We believe in one the only true God, the only Nature unbegotten
and fatherless,... and in one Lord the Son, religious because he
worships the Father, . . . made flesh, not made human (Gk
sarkothenta ouk enanthropesanta); for he has not taken a human
soul, but has become flesh, so that through the flesh, as through
a veil, he might deal with us human beings as God; not two
natures, since he was not a complete man, but instead of the
soul God in the flesh; altogether one composite nature; able to
suffer by condescension (Gk di’oikonomian), for he could not
save the world by a soul or a body which suffered.

Eudoxius goes on immediately to draw a trenchantly ‘Arian’

conclusion: ‘Let them tell us, then, how the suffering and dying
one can be consubstantial with the God who is superior to these
things, transcending suffering and death’ (text in Hahn, 261-2;
see also Grillmeier 264-5). All the debates of current Christology
are exposed: Is the divine Son made flesh or made human (the
Creed of Nicaea said, ‘made flesh and made man’)? Has he a
human soul, or does the divine Son replace the soul? Should we
speak of two natures or of one? - the word ‘nature’ (Gk physis)
can in Greek mean ‘being’, just like ousia. Eudoxius goes for ‘one
composite nature’, because only so can the death of Jesus have
saving value.
 Towards Synthesis: 361-380 155
Both the chief Nicene groups in Antioch, those of Paulinus and
Meletius (see above pp. 148-52), took a different position. The
Paulinians asserted the soul of Jesus; the Meletian theologian
Diodore strongly asserted the two natures - he wrote of two ‘beings’
(ousiai), and discerned in Jesus both the Son of God and the Son of
David. Both groups acknowledged ‘made flesh, made human’ with
the Creed of Nicaea. By attributing all the weaknesses, suffering
and death of Christ to his humanity and not to his divine nature,
these Nicenes evaded the force of the Arian and Eudoxian argument,
which was also used in his campaign against Christianity by the
Emperor Julian himself. But in so doing they caused distress to
one of the ablest of the old Nicene theologians.
Apollinaris was Bishop of the Syrian seaport of Laodicea. From
early in the post-Nicaea disputes he had given strong support to
Athanasius, enduring hardship and excommunication on his
account. Athanasius even consulted him on Christology, and
although some works against Apollinaris are attributed to
Athanasius, it is generally held that Athanasius shared his views,
though not in their precise elaboration. By his concise and lucid
presentation of the consubstantial Trinity Apollinaris seems to
have converted Basil of Caesarea, the chief of the Cappadocian
Fathers, to Nicene orthodoxy. Yet in 375 this pillar of rectitude
was to confuse and shock the Nicene camp by ordaining one of his
own associates, Vitalis, as bishop in Antioch, as though Meletius
and Paulinus did not exist, let alone their official Homoian rival
Euzoius. His reason was a simple doctrinal one. The Arians were
wrong about the deity of Christ, and both the other two parties
were wrong about the humanity.
Apollinaris could not allow that there was any mind in Jesus
Christ except the divine mind of the Son of God: he is ‘God
enfleshed’ (Gk theos ensarkos). Apollinaris constantly writes of
the ‘incarnation’ or ‘enfleshment’. Any created human soul was
inevitably changeable, ‘enslaved to filthy thoughts’, whereas the
divine Mind is immune to passion, and untouched by death. So
through all the human activity of Jesus, the divine Word was
absolutely and wholly in control, adjusting the body to the
conditions appropriate to a human being, but not an actual human
being. He was complete (or ‘perfect’) as man, but with a divine,
not a human, completeness. He cannot possibly be described as
‘two persons’ or ‘two natures (beings)’. In short, he is ‘one incarnate
156 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

nature of God the word’ (for these propositions, see CCC 87-8).
It is fair to say that Apollinaris held what many Christians
down the centuries have in practice believed: that Jesus was not a
man, but God the Son with a human body. ‘Veiled in flesh the
Godhead see, Hail the incarnate Deity!’ sums it up perfectly. Yet
although ideas of Apollinaris were to be promoted by his disciples
after his condemnation, and his writings circulated under false but
respectable names, and although Cyril of Alexandria in the next
century would constantly use these Apollinarian writings as if
they were orthodox, the Church condemned him. First, some
Easterns, reacting to the outrageous uncanonical appointment of
Vitalis, then a Roman council in 377 (CCC 94-5), and comprehen¬
sively the Council of Constantinople in 381 and the imperial
government of Theodosius I (CCC 119). The grounds for this
condemnation were to be elaborated by the Cappadocian Fathers.

The Cappadocian Fathers

Cappadocia constantly produced church leaders in the fourth

century, involved in different theological parties. Those known as
‘the Cappadocian Fathers’ are chiefly three, Basil of Caesarea
(c. 329-79), his younger brother Gregory of Nyssa (died about
395), and his older friend Gregory of Nazianzus (died 390). Their
theological background was that of the Eastern majority, who
emphasized in Origenist fashion the distinctions between the three
persons of the Trinity, and based their concept of Christ’s deity on
the idea of ‘image’ - he is like his Father in all things, including
being and eternity. Their position is often called ‘Neo-Nicene’ (or
‘new Nicene’), being an adaptation of the doctrine of the Creed of
Nicaea to these Eastern emphases.
Basil was from a Christian family, educated in the classics in
Constantinople and Athens, converted in his youth to Christian
asceticism, and a life-long promoter of monasticism (see pp. 179-
80). Ordained Bishop of Cappadocian Caesarea, he was the Metro¬
politan, in other words had ecclesiastical jurisdiction over the
whole province. He spent much time and effort resisting Eunomian
doctrine, rallying support for the Nicene cause on a basis that the
Creed expressed the traditional Eastern doctrine, and trying to
win over those attracted by the Spirit-fighters. He organized his
province strenuously in defence of his cause, and in a famous
 Towards Synthesis: 361-380 157
episode was believed to have faced down the emperor Valens
himself (Theodoret, HE4.19(16).l-6 [CCC 100-1]). He backed
Meletius of Antioch strongly; and the position of Paulinus, with
Western and Athanasian support, was a major stumbling-block
which he could not overcome (Basil, Ep. 214.2; 239.2 [CCC 102-
3]). He did, however, begin a movement, developed by the two
Gregories, which led to the victory of Neo-Nicene theology at
Constantinople in 381.
Gregory of Nazianzus, the oldest of the three, was the son of a
bishop. He studied in Palestine, Alexandria amd Athens, where he
met Basil. After co-operating with Basil in monastic experiments
in Pontus, and compiling with Bail a florilegium of Origen’s
writings of great value to us, he was made Bishop of a village
called Sasima in 372 to strengthen Basil’s clergy against the
Homoian government and other disputes. After his uncomfortable
mission at Constantinople (see pp. 165-7) he retired to Cappadocia
and spent his last years in monastic quiet, producing a vast
literary output on theological subjects in prose and verse.
Gregory of Nyssa seems to have learned rhetoric from his
brother Basil in Caesarea. A married man and a professional
teacher, he too was promoted to a bishopric in 372 as part of
Basil’s campaign for orthodoxy. His writing is fluent and stylish,
and besides carrying on Basil’s campaigns against Eunomius and
Pneumatomachi he wrote a splendid Catechetical Oration as a
handbook of doctrine for teachers.

The Cappadocian Fathers on the Trinity

In resisting Eunomian doctrine, the Cappadocians first attacked

the view that the essence of God can be perfectly known. Eunomius
held that in theology words mean what they say: God is unbegotten
because by definition he has no originator; since that is not true of
the Son, he is essentially distinct and different. For Basil, ‘We
know the greatness of God, his power, his goodness, his providence
over us, and the justice of his judgement; but not his very essence
. .. we know our God from his operations, but do not undertake to
approach near to his essence’ (Ep. 234 [CCC 106]). This mystical
approach (curiously resembling the attitude to the divine mystery
of Arius) is sometimes called apophatic, denying that God’s being
can be known and defined; that of the Eunomians is called
158 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

cataphatic, asserting that God can be described or defined exactly.

Basil’s approach is developed in a favourite idea of Gregory of
Nyssa: God’s being is infinite, and so the more that the finite mind
knows of him the more it becomes aware of its ignorance. Those
who seek him therefore strive ever more eagerly to know him
more, and to know and enjoy him is to want him more.
Within the transcendent divine being (ousia) there are three
persons (prosopa) each existing as a concrete individual with its
own hypostasis. This is an adjustment of the Nicene emphasis on
one ousia to the Origenist principle of three individuals. To identify
hypostasis with ousia is a mistake (see Basil, Ep. 210.5; 236.6
[CCC 104-5]). In nature and being the three are absolutely the
same, coetemal and infinite, and utterly distinct from created
being, which is finite and exists in time. But they are distinguished
from each other by the characteristics of each: the Father is
distinguished as the Cause, the Son by being only-begotten, the
Spirit by proceeding from the Father. They can use the model
(originally put to Basil by Apollinaris) of Adam, Eve and Seth:
they are distinct persons of one (human) nature consubstantial
with each other, in which Eve and Seth are derived from Adam (cf.
Gregory of Nazianzus, Orat. 5.9-11 [CCC 84-5]). So although
the works and nature of the three persons are indistinguishable,
they have distinct functions in relation to each other, and the
Father has a certain priority.
This classic idea of the consubstantial Trinity obviously entails
the deity of the Holy Spirit, of the same substance as Father and
Son. This was apparently an advance on what had been defined
before, even at Nicaea, and was recognized as in a sense a
development of doctrine (Gregory of Nazianzus, Orat. 31.27 [CCC
85-6]). But it was necessary to persuade many who felt it went
too far. Eustathius of Sebaste, an early friend of Basil and associate
in his monastic enterprise, was Metropolitan of the neighbouring
province; but he was a leader, perhaps the leader, of the
Pneumatomachi, and Basil tried hard to contain him and his like
within the orthodox camp.- It is therefore notable that, while
adopting formulae and language which plainly imply the con¬
substantial Trinity, Basil does not write of the Holy Spirit as ‘God’
or as ‘consubstantial with the Father’. So in a letter asserting the
one essence, he concludes, ‘God the Father’ and ‘God the Son’ (Gk
theon huion), but ‘the divine Holy Spirit’ (Gk to theion pneuma to
 Towards Synthesis: 361-380 159
hagion). He does not want to expose his case to the retort that it
adds unbiblical titles to the Spirit, though there can be no doubt
about what he believes.
This classic understanding of God as Trinity, embodying the
essential insights both of Athanasius and of the Eastern Origenist
tradition, won the day at Constantinople in 381, and has never
been seriously questioned in the East. Rapidly taken up in Milan
by Ambrose, it prevailed in the West also. Augustine was to put a
particular gloss upon it which has caused complication and dispute
since. Its great claim on Christian faith and imagination is that it
relates the works of God in time - creation, revelation and salvation
- to the divine being itself. God does not appear in Jesus Christ
and in the working of the Spirit as something other than he is in
himself. The ‘economic Trinity’ (God as we perceive him in his
works) is no other than the ‘essential Trinity’ (God as he is in
himself); the infinity which puts knowledge of his essence beyond
our grasp is an infinity of generous, creative and redeeming love.

The Cappadocian Fathers on Christ and salvation

In the midst of their other battles the Cappadocians had to cope

with the perplexity of Apollinarianism, forced to the fore in 375
when their fortunes were lowest. Basil had to find grounds against
his old mentor, because he had to defend Meletius against the new
threat; but his awareness of the christological issue was slight. It
was Gregory of Nazianzus who elaborated most strongly and
clearly the arguments for the complete humanity of Jesus, for
example in his Letter 101 to Cledonius (CCC 88-92). His famous
sentence sums it up: ‘That which he has not assumed, he has not
healed; but that which is united to his Godhead, is also saved’
(181C [CCC 90]). His actual wording of the first phrase is more
concise. ‘The untaken is unhealed’ (Gk to aproslepton atherapeuton).
He works it out especially in connection with the idea that the
created mind or spirit of human beings is corrupt. Far from
making it impossible for Christ to have a human mind, it is
precisely in the mind that sin lodges, corrupting the will; it is what
most needs redeeming, not just the body or the lower, animal soul.
The biblical verse, ‘The Word became flesh’, does not imply that
Christ was the Word with only a fleshly body, because ‘flesh’ in
Scripture can be used to mean ‘human being’ (189A [CCC 92]).
160 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

The two natures of Christ are not two persons; but just as the
Trinity has three distinct persons in one essence, so Christ is two
elements in one person (180AB [CCC 89]).
This ‘soteriological argument’ - an argument based on the saving
effect of Christ’s work - is generally regarded as decisive, and it is
certainly potent. But soteriological arguments were used on the
other side both by Eudoxius and by Apollinaris, as we have seen.
What must be noted with critical care is the distance theology has
travelled since St Paul. It has in fact shifted into a Platonic vein,
where salvation for humanity as a whole is achieved by the union
in the body of Jesus Christ of divine being with human being.
Humanity, which we tend to view as abstract, was to the Gregories
a reality more concrete than any individual human being. With
that, godhead unites itself in Jesus Christ, and so the whole of
humanity is infused with the characteristics of divine life, including
immortality. This is heady medicine:

It seems that the perishable nature is recreated by commixture

into the divine, since the divine prevails over it; and thus it
partakes in the power of the Godhead; as if one should say that
a drop of vinegar mixed in the ocean is turned into sea by that
mixture, since the natural qualities of the liquid do not remain
in the infinity of the prevailing element. (Gregory of Nyssa,
c.Eun. 5.5 [III.68.Jaeger] [CCC 93])

The death of Christ crucified is not rejected, nor entirely neglected;

but somehow a different perspective prevails, and incarnation (in
this sense) is the decisive act of salvation, rather than the death
and rising of the Messiah.
 16
THEODOSIUS I AND THE
COUNCIL OF CONSTANTINOPLE

Theodosius and the Western theology

On 9 August 378 invading Goths overthrew a powerful Roman

force at Adrianople (in what is now Bulgaria), and the Eastern
Emperor Valens died in battle. Gratian, who with his infant son
held power in the West, sent a promising soldier from Spain to
rescue the East. He came to be known as Theodosius the Great,
and was a military success. But his reign also marked changes in
the relation of the Empire both to Christianity and to other
religions. He identified Christianity with the Empire in an
unprecedented way, presided over much destruction of temples,
and tried to settle and enforce orthodoxy by anti-heretical laws
and action.
The classic example of Theodosius’ policy is the edict Cunctos
populos of 380 (CCC 150), in which he expresses his deter¬
mination, ‘that all the peoples who are ruled by the administration
of our Clemency shall practise that religion which the divine Peter
the Apostle transmitted to the Romans’. Peter’s martyrdom in
Rome has been transformed into a formal communication of
divine truth by the prince of the apostles to the Empire as a whole;
his fellow-martyr Paul is of no consequence. Theodosius goes on
to define that religion as he knew it: ‘It is evident that this is the
religion that is followed by the Pontiff Damasus and by Peter,
Bishop of Alexandria, a man of apostolic sanctity.’ At this point
Theodosius adopts a typically Western view of the divisions of the
Church. The orthodox communion is that of Damasus, the
powerful political Bishop of Rome, who had succeeded Liberius
amid scenes of strife and carnage in 366 (Ammianus Marcellinus,
Res gestae 27.3.12-15 [CCC 71]). His position was ostentatiously
Nicene and trinitarian, against rivals in Rome and those Latin
bishops, especially in the Balkans, who stood by the decrees of
Rimini-Seleuceia and the ‘Arian’ policies of Constantius II and
Valens. Peter of Alexandria had succeeded to Athanasius’ policies

161
162 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

and see in 373, but had immediately been exiled in favour of

Lucius, a government supporter; Peter returned to his throne on
Valens’ death. Damasus and Peter thus represented a Nicene
alliance. Theodosius goes on to express the content of this faith:
‘That is, according to the apostolic discipline and the evangelic
doctrine, we shall believe in the single Deity of the Father, the Son
and the Holy Spirit, under the concept of equal majesty and holy
Trinity’ (CCC 150). Damasus had presided over a Council at
Rome in 377, which had condemned Apollinaris’ Christology, and
expressed loyalty to the faith of Nicaea with the affirmation: ‘We
do not separate the Holy Spirit, but together with the Father and
the Son we offer him a joint worship as complete in everything, in
power, honour, majesty, and Godhead’ (Ep. 2 frg. 2 = CCC 94-5).
Peter also, as heir to the later position of Athanasius, expressed at
Alexandria in 362, confessed the consubstantiality of the Spirit.

Nicenes divided, in the East

Theodosius soon found that his understanding of churchmanship

needed some development in the East. In the West the Nicene
party had, since Constantius died in 361, a comparatively easy
time. Bishoprics might be in the hands of government sympathizers,
but Valentinian I was indifferent to their replacement by Nicenes,
as happened at Milan when Auxentius died and Ambrose
succeeded him in 373 (Ammianus Marcellinus, Res gestae 30.9.5;
Paulinus, Life of Ambrose 6; see CCC 70, 120). In the East the
opponents of the government orthodoxy suffered badly under
Valens, when the decrees of Seleucia 359 were urgently enforced.
Among the heroes of the opposition were Basil of Caesarea (see
Theodoret, /7E4.19 = CCC 100-1), recently dead, and the twice-
exiled Meletius (Melitius) of Antioch (see CCC 49-50). Round
Meletius now gathered the Eastern majority, expecting the new
regime to change the official ecclesiastical policy. Meletius’
supporters included the great exegete Diodore of Tarsus and the
Cappadocians Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory of Nazianzus. The
last in 379 accepted an invitation to begin ministering in a
suburban church at Constantinople, with a view to being enthroned
as bishop (Socrates, HE5.7.1-2 = CCC 111).
The Cappadocian version of trinitarian theology prevailed in
this Eastern majority, asserting the one substance of Father, Son
 Theodosius / and the Council of Constantinople 163
and Holy Spirit, but speaking of three personally distinct
hypostases. There was opposition to this in Antioch itself. The old
Nicene group, led by Eustathius’ faithful lieutenant Paulinus,
asserted ‘one hypostasis’ in a way which chimed in with the
Western tradition of ‘one substance’, but was hard to reconcile
with the doctrine that Christ was an eternal person distinct from
the Father in any of its forms; they regarded the Meletian/Cappado-
cian Neo-Nicenes as Arian. In 362 Athanasius in the Synod of
Alexandria had tried in vain to reconcile the Antiochene parties.
The Tomus ad Antiochenos 3-6 (see pp. 149-51) declared that both
parties agreed that ‘one hypostasis’ could refer to the single deity
of the three persons, and that ‘three hypostases’ did not entail
separating the persons into three Gods or making the Son and
Spirit mere creatures. On that understanding all those who
condemned Arianism, confessed the Nicene faith, and rejected the
doctrine that the Holy Spirit was a creature, could be united. Since
363 Paulinus, ordained bishop by Lucifer of Calaris in order to
prevent this reconciliation with those he regarded as Antichrist,
had been steadily supported by Rome, and Athanasius had been
unable to recognize Meletius (see Basil’s frustrated protest in Ep.
214.2 = CCC 102). The division of the ‘Nicene’ parties made
reconciliation with other groups more difficult, whether they were
the Pneumatomachi, who professed the Nicene Creed but held the
Holy Spirit to be a creature of the Son and outside the divine
being, or the ‘Arians’ like Demophilus of Constantinople, or the
Anomoeans like Eunomius.
But there was another group to contend with. The Apollinarians
were seen as orthodox on the Trinity, but bitterly opposed by the
other parties at Antioch. Diodore in fact had used the formula ‘two
beings’ (Gk ousiai) in distinguishing the deity of Christ from his
humanity, and this was one of the expressions which provoked the
protest of Apollinaris. The Paulinians also opposed Apollinaris;
their hero Eustathius had been the first to use the idea of the
human soul of Jesus in his anti-Arian arguments. In 362 these
Christologies were already a cause of division, and Athanasius
had attempted an ambiguous compromise in the Tomus ad
Antiochenos 7. The issues had been pressed to schism in 375,
when Apollinaris concluded that none of the existing bishops
(Paulinus, Meletius and Euzoius the Arian) was sound, and
ordained his colleague Vitalis as bishop of Antioch. After that, the
164 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

others were all out for his blood, and found various ways to vilify
his doctrines.
To Damasus’ credit, the Council at Rome in 377 reached
judicious statements both on Christology and on the Trinity {PL
13.352-3 = CCC 94-5). Complaints from the East about
Apollinaris’ schism led to a studied condemnation of those who
say that Christ ‘took from the Virgin Mary human nature
incomplete’. On the Trinity, the Council affirmed Nicaea, and
denied that it separates the Holy Spirit; Rome had in the past
given some support to the Macedonian Pneumatomachi, who
affirmed the Nicene faith while denying the deity of the Spirit. But
further, the Council sided with those who attribute distinct
personal being to the Son before his action in the world:

We believe that God the Word in his fulness, not put forth but
born, and not immanent in the Father so as to have no real
existence, but subsisting from eternity to eternity, took and
saved human nature complete.

The Marcellian and Eustathian insistence on ‘one hypostasis’ is

thus significantly modified in a direction compatible with the
Meletian and Cappadocian view: the Son is not immanent in the
Father, but subsists from eternity to eternity. This position was
apparently communicated to the Antiochenes along with Theo¬
dosius’ edict, designating Damasus a criterion of orthodoxy. We
have a story, highly partisan and not to be taken as literal history,
to the effect that Paulinians, Apollinarians and Meletius’ friend
the presbyter Flavian all claimed to be in compliance with the
edict, which was required if they were to be allowed to keep their
church buildings (Theodoret, HE5.3.9-15 [CCC 103-4]). Flavian
rebuts Paulinus on the ground that Damasus ‘openly preaches
three hypostases’, and Apollinaris on the ground that ‘Damasus
maintains our nature to have been taken in perfection by the Word
of God’. Each of the non-Meletian parties was thus disqualified.
The story goes on with an understanding between Meletius and
Paulinus that their congregations would unite on the death of
either one of them.
Deep hostility in fact remained. The Meletians generally resented
the way in which the Eastern majority had for a long time been
treated as Arian, and Rome had stubbornly supported the Paulinus
faction. Matters were made worse in the ensuing months.
 Theodosius I and the Council of Constantinople 165

Theodosius, now a baptized Christian since a critical illness at

Thessalonica, had moved to reorder affairs. Demophilus of
Constantinople, a loyal and popular defender of Valens’ church
policies, refused to conform to Theodosius’ decree and was
removed from his see. But replacing him was complicated by an
intervention from Alexandria. Gregoiy of Nazianzus in the suburban
church of Anastasia had been preparing the ground for restoring
Nicene orthodoxy. There he welcomed the support of a converted
Alexandrian philosopher, known as Maximus the Cynic, who
arrived and joined his congregation. To Gregory’s consternation,
this man was suddenly ordained Bishop of Constantinople by a
group of bishops with the connivance of Peter of Alexandria, with
a view to acquiring control of the capital for the Alexandrian
party; Maximus was to retain the support of Alexandria, Rome
and Milan for some time. Theodosius now led the churches towards
a comprehensive settlement by calling a general ecclesiastical
council in Constantinople. This met in 381, and after 451 this
came to be recognized as the ‘Second Ecumenical Council’.

The Council of Constantinople: Canons

Unfortunately there is no accurate record of the proceedings. 150

bishops were present, all from the East. There was undoubtedly a
concerted attempt to be comprehensive, and to win the assent of
as large a body as possible. In effect it barely succeeded in uniting
the two chief parties, the Meletians and the Alexandrian Nicenes;
though it laid the basis for a settlement once some loose ends were
tied up. The most important documents we have are a set of
Canons (Hefele-Leclerq, Histoire des Conciles II. 1 pp. 18-35
[CCC 115-18]) and a Creed of great ecumenical consequence but
uncertain history (CCC 114-15). The preamble and the first
Canon ratify ‘the faith of the 318 Fathers who assembled at
Nicaea’, and put under anathema all heresies, and specifically,
‘that of the Eunomians or Anomoeans, and that of the Arians or
Eudoxians, and that of the Semiarians or Pneumatomachi, and
that of the Sabellians and Marcellians, and that of the Photinians,
and that of the Apollinarians’. Despite reference to ‘some short
definitions’ in the preamble, there is nothing which suggests a new
version of the creed other than that of Nicaea 325. The second
Canon authorized more precisely than Nicaea had done the
166 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

jurisdiction of the great sees of the East, pointedly confining the

Bishop of Alexandria to ‘the affairs of Egypt only’; his intervention
in the case of Maximus had perhaps reflected an Alexandrian
claim to primacy in the whole East. The third Canon stated: ‘The
bishop of Constantinople shall have the primacy of honour after
the bishop of Rome, because Constantinople is new Rome.’ This
gave ecclesiastical precedence to the capital on grounds of state. It
could be seen as offending the traditional precedence of Alexandria,
and even more seriously as implying that Rome too derived its
primacy from its civil rank as capital, and not from its divinely
ordered foundation by the chief apostle. Not surprisingly it was a
part of the proceedings which neither of the offended sees accepted.
The fourth Canon declares that Maximus the Cynic ‘neither was
nor is the Bishop’ of Constantinople, and any ordinations of his
are deemed invalid. The fifth Canon acknowledges ‘the tome of the
Western bishops’, which appears to report or be based on
Damasus’ Roman council; the bishops accept ‘those in Antioch
who confess the one Divinity of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit’,
probably referring to the Paulinian party. The sixth regulates
accusations brought against bishops, which have been numerous
in the disordered times recently past.
It is clear that these Canons reflect overwhelmingly the interest
of the Meletian group. That is not surprising, even if things did not
go entirely their way. Meletius himself presided. When he died in
the course of the Council, the presidency was taken over by
Gregory of Nazianzus, who had by then been imposed upon the
see of Constantinople by the Emperor. Controversies ensued over
both bishoprics, Antioch and Constantinople. The bishops from
Egypt and Macedonia, close to the Western view on controversial
matters, impugned Gregory’s standing. He was already Bishop of
Sasima in Cappadocia, and the Nicene Canons ruled that bishops
could not move from one see to another. Gregory eventually gave
in and resigned (see Socrates, HE5.7.1-2; Sozomen, HE7.7.6-9;
Gregory, Or. 42.24-7 [CCC 111-13]). He was a literary theologian,
with little stomach for politics, and scarcely fitted for the task of
presiding over the greatest see of the East. He was also disgusted
at his own party’s unforgiving attitude to the problem at Antioch.
There Flavian was made bishop by the Meletian majority, who
would not implement the understanding that the congregations
should unite under Paulinus if Meletius died. The schism in fact
 Theodosius I and the Council of Constantinople 167

trailed on for seven years. The immediate effect of Gregory’s

withdrawal was, however, that Constantinople was without a
bishop. A venerable senator called Nectarius, unbaptized and
committed to no party, was duly nominated, baptized and installed
as bishop. He doubtless performed his task thereafter to the
satisfaction of city and Emperor.

The Council of Constantinople: the Creed

We are left with the problem of the Creed. In 451 at the Council of
Chalcedon the government party produced ‘the Creed of the 150
assembled at Constantinople’, and used it to justify their own new
formulary (see CCC 350-2). The fathers of Constantinople, they
said, had published the new Creed, ‘not as though they were
supplying some omission of their predecessors, but distinctly
declaring by written testimony their own understanding concerning
the Holy Spirit, against those who were endeavouring to set aside
his Sovereignty’. This explanation is plausible. Whereas the Creed
of Nicaea (designated N) goes on from ‘and in the Holy Spirit’ to
curse various supposedly Arian doctrines, the creed attributed to
Constantinople (commonly designated C; CCC 114-15) has none
of the anti-Arian anathemas, but enlarges instead upon the Holy
Spirit: ‘And in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who
proceeds from the Father, who with the Father and the Son is
together worshipped and together glorified, who spoke through
the prophets.’ Having thus affirmed the Person of the Spirit, C
then adds clauses of a kind which was common in baptismal
creeds, but which could also be regarded as affirming the effects of
the Spirit’s working: ‘In one holy catholic and apostolic Church;
we acknowledge one baptism for the remission of sins; we look
forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to
come. Amen.’ This substitution of detail about the Holy Spirit for
the out-of-date anathemas is not however enough to justify the
theory asserted in the Chalcedonian Definition. Difficulties abound.
If the Chalcedonian theory were true, one would expect the
remainder of C to be more or less identical with N. The bishops at
Chalcedon, and some of the scribes who copied the proceedings
later, were quite conscious of this. To make N and C look more
alike, N was presented with a number of additional words, here
italicized (these words are bracketed in the Chalcedonian version
168 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

of N at CCC 350-1): came down from heaven', from the Holy

Spirit and the virgin Mary; and was crucified for us under Pontius
Pilate; suffered and was buried; rose again the third day according
to the scriptures; whose kingdom shall have no end; the Holy
Spirit the Lord, the giver of life. The Chalcedonian version of N
also lacks ‘the things in heaven and things on earth’, which stood
in the original after ‘by whom all things were made’. These
changes alone make the Chalcedonian theory suspect. But they do
not exhaust the list of differences. In addition to those adjusted in
the Chalcedonian text, C has other additions: it adds to the clause
on the Father, ‘Maker of heaven and earth and of all things visible
and invisible’; it omits ‘God from God’. It also arranges differently
the clauses about the Lord Jesus Christ, omitting ‘that is, from the
substance of the Father’ and substituting, ‘from the Father before
all ages’.
For some of these differences one can perceive a plausible
theological purpose. If that were true of them all, one might
suppose that the Chalcedonian theory was basically correct, but
that a few other alterations were made to update the theology in
the light of Marcellian and Apollinarian doctrine: ‘of his kingdom
there will be no end’ (from Luke 1.33) was certainly used against
Marcellus, and ‘from the Holy Spirit and the virgin Mary’ has been
thought to be anti-Apollinarian. An account can also be given of
the new statement of the Person of Christ, as we shall see. But for
too many of the variations of C from N, including minor points of
wording not listed here, there is no perceptible theological
significance. It is therefore to be assumed that C is a different
creed from the original N, though it includes a number of
expressions and ideas derived from N (notably of course
homoousios, ‘of one substance’).
There is a further problem. If, as Chalcedon asserted, C was
authorized in 381 at Constantinople, how does it come about that
no reference is made to this creed until 451? There are one or two
references to the doctrinal statement or position of the Council
which imply that they went further than the mere ratification of N.
But since in their Canons they condemned the Pneumatomachi,
Marcellians and Apollinarians, all of whom accepted N, it is plain
that they affirmed N with important interpretative qualifications.
The text of C does occur in the manuscript tradition of a work of
Epiphanius of Salamis, written before the Council, the Ancoratus.
 Theodosius I and the Council of Constantinople 169

But it is now demonstrable that originally Epiphanius’ text had N

and not C. One must therefore face the possibility that C had
nothing to do with the Council of 381, but was a different
baptismal creed falsely represented at Chalcedon as from the
Council of 381. C was so important at Chalcedon however, that
scholars have found it difficult to believe that the bishops there
would have accepted an absolute fiction. They have therefore
sought to explain how the Council of 381 could assert the authority
of N, but also be responsible for C. It was suggested, for instance,
that it was the baptismal creed used for the baptism of Nectarius,
the new bishop. But that is purely speculative.
J. N. D. Kelly suggested that an expression like ‘the faith of the
fathers of Nicaea’ could be used with reference to any creed with
basically Nicene content, and could have been so used of C in the
preamble and first Canon of Constantinople in 381. Later Kelly
adopted the theory propounded by A. M. Ritter, that C was
authorized by the Council, but as part of its negotiations with the
Pneumatomachi, and not as its own formal conclusion. That is
certainly credible. A body of those supporting the position of the
Pneumatomachi was originally present, but they were unable to
agree with the dominant party and withdrew to hold a council of
their own. C could have been an ‘olive branch’, a proposed basis of
union between those who affirmed that the Holy Spirit was
inseparable from the divine essence of the Father and the Son, and
those who held him to be created.
The terminology used of the Spirit has the same ambiguity
found in the trinitarian writings of Basil of Caesarea, who always
had an eye to winning over former friends, like Eustathius of
Sebaste, who denied the deity of the Spirit. He never called the
Spirit ‘God’, nor said he was homoousios with the Father or the
Son. C avoids any but biblical terminology: the Spirit is Lord (2
Cor. 3.17) and Lifegiver (2 Cor. 3.6); he proceeds from the Father
(John 15.26). The statement that he is jointly worshipped and
glorified with the Father and Son, while perhaps reflecting the
decree of Damasus’ Council of Rome 377 (CCC 94-5), can be
justified on the basis of the traditional doxologies of the Church
and the New Testament verses where Father, Son and Holy Spirit
are mentioned co-ordinately (Matt. 28.19; 2 Cor. 13.14). That the
Holy Spirit speaks through the prophets is a commonplace of
Scripture (e.g. Acts 28.25), yet implies that his action in revelation
170 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

is divine. Each clause can be taken as affirming the Spirit’s

consubstantial deity in one way or another, while, being purely
scriptural, it can be subscribed to by those who resist such
terminology and doctrine. This is perhaps the best historical
explanation of C’s status at the Council of 381. It does not,
however, explain everything. Unlike N it is suitable for liturgical
use in baptism, and it later became a baptismal and a eucharistic
creed. It may have originated in Constantinople for just such use;
whether or not connected directly with the proceedings of the
Council of 381, it could have come into use about that time, and
its capacity to make things easy for persons of Pneumatomachian
background could be useful. More significantly, it modifies the
ideas enshrined in N.
The churches which accept the authority of the Council of
Chalcedon - and that includes the majority of Christians in East
and West - are committed both to N and to C, which is sometimes
called ‘the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed’. The theological
differences of C from N thus represent an important modification
or explanation of N’s doctrine, even if the history is not quite as
Chalcedon stated it. We should observe what the modifications
are:

1. The person and work of the Holy Spirit are set out, as we
have noticed, in terms of their biblical foundation. The trinitarian
faith is thus expressed without controversial words. From the
point of view of church unity, it is sad that the Western churches
from the sixth century began using an altered version of the
Creed by introducing the Augustinian (and strictly unscriptural)
development, ‘who proceeds from the Father and the Son.
Whatever theological merits this idea has, the change in an
ecumenical Creed divided the churches over a document which
is still the most promising foundation for doctrinal unity.

2. The position of the Son is stated differently, in ways which

avoid the Marcellian tone of N, which had been made explicit by
the Creed of Sardica in 342/3. Christ is now described as ‘the
Only-begotten Son of God, begotten from the Father before all
ages’. Thus ‘Only-begotten’ is interpreted in the old Eastern
way, as Eusebius did in his creed at Nicaea, to refer to the birth
of the Son from the Father before time and the world began: he
exists as a distinct person beside the Father and derived from
 Theodosius I and the Council of Constantinople 171

him. N had spoken differently: ‘the Son of God, begotten of the

Father, Only-begotten, that is, from the substance of the Father’;
in conformity with the prevailing Marcellian influence in N,
‘Only-begotten’ is referred to the common divine being of Father
and Son, ‘before all ages’ is suppressed, and the idea that the
begetting is the same as the incarnation is implicitly allowed. C
gives the necessary corrective, implying the Cappadocian
principle of the distinct eternal hypostases of whom the Father
is the cause. This was the principle which Rome had already
adopted in 377, when the Council there spoke of ‘God the Word
in his fulness, not put forth but born, and not immanent in the
Father so as to have no real existence, but subsisting from
eternity to eternity’. Other adjustments also correct the
Marcellian aspects of N. The anathema which could be taken to
deny that the Son was a distinct hypostasis beside the Father
has also disappeared.

3. We have already noticed that ‘Of his kingdom there shall be

no end’ quotes a biblical text thought to refute Marcellus, who
held the Kingdom of Christ to be earthly and temporary until he
yields it up to the Father, ‘that God may be all in all’ (cf. 1 Cor.
15.23-8). Apollinaris of Laodicea also believed in the earthly
Kingdom of Christ before the end of time, and may also have
been in mind. If the addition, ‘incarnate from Holy Spirit and
the virgin Mary\ is theologically significant at all (which is
doubtful), it could subtly lay a foundation to oppose Apollinaris:
Christ is of two natures, one divine (called Holy Spirit in
Scripture [cf. Luke 1.34-5], but regularly understood by the
Fathers to refer to the godhead of the Son or Word) and one
human. Apollinaris held firmly to ‘one incarnate nature of God
the Word’ (see Ad Jov. 1 [CCC 88]).

The West

Neither the Council nor the Creed affected the West much. At this
time Ambrose of Milan established Cappadocian-type orthodoxy
by his own teaching, and, in a series of ecclesiastical negotiations
in the Western provinces near enough to Milan for his will to
prevail, he got rid of the enemies of Nicene orthodoxy (for the
Council of Aquileia 381, see CCC 124-5). Ambrose resisted
172 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

attempts by the Roman aristocracy to reverse the Christianization

of the West, and had great success in open confrontations with the
emperors (CCC 126-32, 135-40). These important affairs did
not seriously affect the development of doctrine, for Ambrose was
an excellent communicator and administrator, but not an original
thinker.
Theodosius ultimately prevailed not only over the East, but
against the enemies of the established power in the West, and
especially the forces of the pagan revival. His reign saw great
progress in the suppression of paganism (law of 391; CCC 151),
and the imposition of unprecedented constraints on heretics, once
they had been clearly defined by the Council of 381 and given the
opportunity to conform. The policy went back to the original
decree, Cunctos populos:

We command that those persons who follow this rule [of

trinitarian faith] shall embrace the name of Catholic Christians.
The rest, however, whom we adjudge demented and insane,
shall sustain the infamy of heretical dogmas, their meeting
places shall not receive the name of churches, and they shall be
smitten first by divine vengeance and secondly by the retribution
of our own initiative, which we shall assume in accordance with
the divine judgement. (CCC 150)

It was Theodosius’ laws against heresy which Augustine and his

colleagues were to call upon to suppress Donatism, with some
success.
 17
NEW SPIRITUALITY:
THE MONASTIC MOVEMENT

Monastic beginnings

The fourth century was marked by an enormous growth of the

monastic movement. This had its anticipations and counterparts in
pre-Christian times. There were Cynic philosophers among the
Greeks, who lived in studied poverty and preached indifference to
material goods. The learned ascetics of the Qumran community in
the desert by the Dead Sea and their counterparts (called
Therapeutae) in Egypt, attempted a rigorous observance of the
Law of Moses, which they held to be incorrectly followed by the
Jerusalem authorities. Some Christian circles, especially in the
Syriac-speaking East, required the baptized all to be sexually
celibate; the majority of the Christian adherents lived as unbaptized
catechumens, an arrangement which prevailed among the more
serious gnostic sects, as well as Marcionites and Manichees. Even
where doctrine was otherwise orthodox, this form of sexual
discipline was dubbed ‘Encratite’ heresy by others in the Church;
enkrateia means ‘continence’ or ‘holding in’. But the monastic
movement as generally understood began just as the age of
persecution was about to reach its final climax. Men and women
tried to live out the gospel message by separating themselves from
the society around them and from the increasingly worldly
churches, and turned to do battle alone with the devil in tombs,
cells and deserts.
The famous Life of Antony, written about 357 shortly after his
death, and attributed to Athanasius, illustrates the kind of life
which some monastics envisaged and more or less successfully
lived. About 270 Antony heard the call of Christ, ‘If thou wilt be
perfect, go, sell all that you have, and give it to the poor, and come
follow me, and you shall have treasure in heaven.’ He sold his
estates, except enough for his sister; later he heard the word, ‘Be
not anxious for the morrow’, and gave that away too, sending his
sister to a nunnery.

173
174 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

We must come to terms with the fact that very little information
survives about early women’s monasticism. Some reports indicate
that in some places it was on a larger scale than that of males. But
our literature is almost all written by males, for males and about
males. Women could not be pioneers because of their social
dependence upon men: Antony’s sister became a nun because
Antony felt obliged to put her in a safe place so as to be free for his
own spiritual adventure. One or two women of wealth, like Melania
and Paula of Rome, disciples of a Rufinus or Jerome, became
ascetics and used their wealth to build and endow monasteries in
Jerusalem and Bethelehem, and to set up houses for women.
Gregory of Nyssa praises his sister Macrina for her spiritual
leadership, and knows the spiritual sisters who lived with her in
the family house. Later rules are made for women as well as men,
as by Augustine and by Caesarius of Arles. But for monks generally
women represent a threat to their own chastity, or at their best
manage heroically to live down the misfortune of their weak and
dependent nature.
Antony began like others, we are told, learning ascetic ways
from an older man in a nearby village. He was a pioneer in going
further afield, and especially into the desert. Here there is a
difference between the account of Antony which emerges from the
Apophthegmata patrurn or Sayings of the Fathers (extracts in
CCC 170-2), and the Athanasian Life. In the former, which is
probably more reliable, the purpose of the retreat is to find solitude.
That was why his sister was an embarrassment to him, as would
be all the other worldly encumbrances which go with marriage,
possessions and family. In the Life the same escape is needed, but
it is to do battle with the powers of evil. He is depicted from the
standpoint of the observer in the town or village, who knows the
desert only as the abode of evil demons. So we read of Antony
being attacked by demons, who tried various devices to distract
him from the holy life. He therefore went and lived in a tomb (or
cell) for many years, where he was fed occasionally by a friend;
there, after still fiercer demonic attack, a divine light came to him.
Later he crossed the Nile, and went into the mountain, the devils’
own domain, where he lived for twenty years, to return fit and
healthy in body, and glowing with a kind of divinity within him,
like an initiate emerging from a shrine’. He now had gifts of
healing and prophecy. For twenty more years he travelled,
 New Spirituality: The Monastic Movement 175
promoting asceticism and helping people. To escape pressure, he
withdrew again to the inner mountain. Even there he was pursued
by disciples, who settled near him, each in his own cell, pursuing
his own battle with the devil and his fleshly implements. Antony
came out of the desert to make himself available for martyrdom in
311, and again in 338 to support Athanasius against his ‘Arian’
enemies in terms which read suspiciously like Athanasius’ personal
propaganda. The story is full of visions, miracles and demonic
assaults; his holiness attracts the admiration of pagans, and leads
emperors to consult him. The Life of Antony may be more a
programme for monastic life in co-operation with the bishops than
a strictly historical account. But it was none the less effective for
that, and rapidly circulated in both East and West; it played a
significant part in the conversion of Augustine in 386.
Antony may be regarded as typical of the great leaders of
Egyptian and Alexandrian monasticism. The Sayings of the Fathers
(see CCC 170-1) name him as one of several great leaders of the
early anachoresis (‘withdrawal’ or ‘retreat’, from which comes the
word ‘anchorite’). Soon thousands of monks populated the deserts
near the Nile delta, and though their ideal remained essentially
individual, this was promoted by elements of necessary industrial
and commercial organization: if basic needs were met, spiritual
single-mindedness was promoted. The movement spread rapidly in
Palestine and Syria. A little later tighter organizations originated
with Pachomius in upper Egypt, and were developed in Asia
Minor by such enthusiasts as Basil of Caesarea.
In the early days the monks, shutting themselves in isolated
places or enclosed cells, possessed nothing and could have nothing
to read. Their prayers were repetitive, and Scripture was heard
rather than read, and in some cases recited by heart as a religious
duty, rather than studied for its meaning. An attempt was made to
live by what the Bible prescribed, but to some extent ignorance
was regarded as a virtue in the face of biblical mysteries (cf.
Apophth. patr. 15.1-4 [CCC 171]). For guidance in their spiritual
journey the young monks learned to treasure the wisdom of
experts in the monastic way. Visitors to famous monks sought a
word, which was often reluctantly given by an old man who had
made silence a virtue. Sayings of the wise were remembered,
taught, and finally written in collections (such as those quoted in
CCC 170-2), which survive in various forms, as they constantly
176 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

accrued new material and were repeatedly edited. Round famous

teachers, like Amun, Pambo, Macarius of Egypt, Macarius of
Alexandria, and Antony himself, circles of disciples would gather,
each pursuing holiness in his own cell. Of Antony we read, ‘When
the persecution ceased, ... he went back to his solitary cell; and
there he was a daily martyr of his conscience, ever fighting the
battles of the faith’ (Life 47). The ideal of this life is described too:

He fasted continually, his clothing was hair on the inside, while

the outside was skin, and this he kept to his dying day. He never
bathed his body in water to remove filth, nor did he as much as
wash his feet or even allow himself to put them in water without
necessity. No one ever saw him undressed, nor did anyone look
upon his bare body till he died and was buried. (Life 47)

Another one of the early heroes of this war with the flesh,
Macarius of Alexandria, was noted for his feats of asceticism,
living on a diet made deliberately sparse, and attempting to conquer
sleep until his brain became fuddled (Palladius, Hist. laus. 18.1-3
[CCC 169-70]). This attitude to the flesh also affected the attitude
of monks to prayer. Whereas in the great Church generally the
apostolic command to ‘pray without ceasing’ (1 Thess. 5.17) was
taken to mean that prayer was offered at set hours three or four
times a day, the monk saw stopping for food or sleep as a
concession to the flesh; his object was a life like the angels, where
such things were not needed.
The monks of northern Egypt (Wadi Natroun [Nitria], Kellia,
Sketis) lived nominally as solitaries, but by the time Palladius
visited them in 390 (Hist, laus 7 [CCC 168-9]) there were about
2000 near Alexandria and 5000 in Nitria alone, besides 600
further out in the desert, but fed from their bakeries. They had
buildings and a good church. There were meetings for worship on
Saturdays and Sundays, and there was co-operative baking and
industry. The sick might be visited by a nearby brother. Some
discipline was imposed: visitors were shown three palm-trees
outside the church, where transgressors were flogged, one for
monks, one for robbers, and one for visitors. Virtue and vocation
however lay with the individual in his cell. Even the word ‘monk’
(Gk monachos) means ‘solitary’, and only by development has
come to refer to a member of an ordered community.
 New Spirituality: The Monastic Movement 177

Pachomius and life together

Further south at the bend in the Nile lived the first monks to
follow a Rule. Their founder was Pachomius, a soldier converted
to Christianity, who at first lived with an older ascetic, and then
gathered a group of brothers. His movement caught on and spread:
the mother house at Tabennisi is reported to have had 1300
monks in Pachomius’ lifetime, and about 7000 spread through
other monasteries throughout Egypt (Sozomen, HE 3.14.16-17
[CCC 164]). Pachomius’ Rule plainly spread among those who
had already committed themselves to the solitary life in general.
Each settlement had an Abbot (‘Father’) in charge. Monks lived
three to a cell, but with cells grouped in houses, with a high wall
enclosing them all. Each house had a trade, mat-making, weaving,
laundering and so forth, and the houses would take it in turns to
fulfil the duties of cooking, care for the sick and dealing with
visitors, novices and traders (see Jerome’s Preface to his version of
the Rule [CCC 165-6]). The house was the focus of worship twice
daily, with psalms, prayers and scripture readings, and meals
(where conversation was discouraged). Sunday washing was
allowed, and Sundays (perhaps Saturdays too) saw a general
meeting for instruction under the Abbot, and a eucharistic
celebration. Life was hard, but not cruel. They slept on hard
couches, not the floor, and beating was used only for serious
offences. Aspirants were kept in the visitors’ lodging to learn basic
prayers and psalms, and admitted only after careful screening.
Some of these Pachomian practices became general in monasticism;
they were learned in Egypt by John Cassian, and promoted by him
in the West (see Cassian, Inst. 4.3 [CCC 164-5]). Jerome’s Latin
version of the Rule is the earliest extant version; Pachomian
Coptic monasteries still survive today, but their versions of the
Rule have developed and changed over the centuries.

Syrian movements

While Egypt saw progression towards orderly monasticism, both

through episcopal interest and Pachomian organization, Syria was
noted for extreme individualism. Jerome is a defective witness to
the misdeeds of those he disliked; his praises of the coenobites
(those who lived a corporate life on the Pachomian style) and his
 178 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

fulminations against the Remoboth, always quarrelling, boasting

and visiting virgins, are equally exaggerated (Ep. 22.34-5 [CCC
166-7]). He rebukes those who engage in sweeping doctrinal
condemnations:

I blush to say it, but from the caves which serve us for cells we
monks of the desert condemn the world. Rolling in sack-cloth
and ashes, we pass sentence on bishops. What use is the robe of
a penitent if it covers the pride of a king? Chains, squalor, and
long hair are by right tokens of sorrow, and not ensigns of
royalty. {Ep. 17.2 [CCC 174])

Needless to say, these were monks he disagreed with. So were

those who lived with women in what purported to be a purely
spiritual and continent marriage {Ep. 22.14 [CCC 184-5]); Jerome,
highly sexed himself, found their continence impossible to believe.
To John Chrysostom in Antioch shortly after, the Syrian monks
coming in from the desert were heavenly visitants at church
festivals. When we get to the Religious history of Theodoret of
Cyrus about 440, we find him praising the exploits of saints so
heavily loaded with chains they cannot stand up, or living shut in
a cylinder of laths and suspended from a gallows, or standing for
days or weeks on end on bare mountain-tops. Symeon the Stylite
(‘pillar-man’) left his monastery in 412 for a mountain cell, spent
three successive Lents walled in, chained himself for a period to a
mountain-top, and finally began living on rocks and pillars; he
stayed on his last pillar, 18m. high and about 4m. square on top,
for 30 years. He continuously abased himself in prayer, and
became very famous for his holiness. There he was consulted by
emperors and bishops, and visited by savages seeking conversion.
Theodoret’s history is full of miracles worked by the saints, often
modelled on biblical events. We should not pour scorn either on
the rigorous exploits of the monks, or on the credulity of those who
wrote of their spiritual gifts. Theodoret was a thoroughly welh
educated and worldly-wise scholar, as were the author of Antony’s
Life and Sulpicius Severus, who wrote similarly of Martin of
Tours. To them it was not incredible that God worked miracles
again for those who put their whole selves in his hands, as he had
in biblical times, and it was certainly regarded as virtuous to
believe it.
Syria also produced the ‘singing monks’, founded about 400 by
 New Spirituality: The Monastic Movement 179

one Alexander. He tried to find them a place at Palmyra, then at

Antioch and Constantinople, but they were treated with hostility
or suspicion. They finally settled on the Bosporus, and as the
Acoemetae (unsleeping ones) they survived many centuries,
becoming quite influential in Byzantine religion. 490 times a day
they sang, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men
of good pleasure.’ They took it in turns to rest from this perpetual
prayer.
Another movement was officially condemned, but remained
influential. The Messalians or Euchites (‘Praying ones’) tried to
pray continuously, believed in absolute dependence on God,
studiously took no thought for the morrow, and lived rough in
streets and byways on what people gave them. Some of the
practices condemned by the Synod of Gangra (Canons in CCC
2-3) have been associated with Messalianism, as has the name of
Eustathius, Bishop of Sebaste (Sebasteia) in Armeina, a leader of
the Pneumatomachi; but in fact the movement arose in Syria and
at a rather later date. At Ephesus in 431 they were directly
condemned on doctrinal grounds. But the material used at that
Council shows that Messalian works written by a little-known
Symeon are in fact the same as various writings which have come
down to us attributed to Macarius the Egyptian. These homilies
and other writings are spiritually interesting. The Messalians were
condemned for asserting that the devil continues to reside in the
baptized, and that by prayer perfection is possible. But the writings
of Macarius/Symeon give a different picture: sin continues deep
rooted even in the baptized, and against it only God’s Spirit can
prevail; any claim to perfection reflects an unjustifiable pride. It is
for the believer to pray continuously for the divine deliverance.
This pessimistic but ardent spirituality is an Eastern equivalent of
Augustine’s conception of continual confession in the face of
persistent sin. Not surprisingly, graced with the pseudonym of one
of the great founders of Egyptian monasticism, Macarius, Symeon’s
work has continued to be widely read in Greek monastic circles.

Basil’s contribution
The strongest influence, however, in Greek monasticism is Basil
of Caesarea. Friend and fellow-enthusiast of Eustathius of Sebaste,
Basil parted from him, not only on the question of the deity of the
 180 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Holy Spirit, but on monastic life. While Eustathius was criticized

for promoting extreme ascetic views, and was posthumously
associated with the recklessness of the Messalians, Basil insisted
on control, organization, service and social life. Basil’s conversion
to ‘philosophy’, that is, to the life of an ascetic, is attributed by
Gregory of Nyssa to his elder sister Macrina (CCC 96). After a
pilgrimage to the holy places in Egypt with Eustathius, Basil tried
to set up monastic life with friends in Pontus. Then as bishop he
wrote rules for his monks, who were associated closely with the
bishop and his congregation. They were not to meet or worship
except in the bishop’s church and under his authority. This meant
that the church’s life would be adapted to monastic ideals. From
this time onwards we find more extended and frequent hours of
worship developing in cathedral (episcopal) churches, with
monastic choirs. At the same time the monks are brought under
firm episcopal control, and their goals shaped by less individualistic
ideals. Among the church buildings a hospital was set up where
Basil and his associates could serve the community (Basil, Ep. 94;
Gregory of Nazianzus, Or at. 43.61 [CCC 96-8]). But the most
important feature of his spirituality was the doctrine that corporate
life was not merely a help towards individual perfection, but
essential if Christ was to be obeyed (see Reg. fus. 7 [CCC 98-
100]). Life must include work in order to have the means to be
charitable. And if the Lord set the example of love and humility by
washing the feet of the disciples, ‘Whose feet will you wash?
Whom will you care for? In comparison with whom will you be
last, if you live by yourself?’ Hermits and anchorites did not cease
to exist; but now a plain call to evangelical maturity bound monks
again to the Church Catholic.

Evagrius of Pontus

Among the circle of Basil’s Cappadocian associates was Evagrius

of Pontus (345-99). He was made deacon by Basil’s close colleague
Gregory of Nazianzus at Constantinople in 379, but soon left
public church life to pursue monasticism. He stayed briefly in
Jerusalem, at the monastery of Rufinus and Melania on the Mount
of Olives. The rest of his life was spent in Egypt, first in Nitria and
then in the Kellia of the Nitrian desert, a close disciple of Macarius
of Egypt; he figures in the Sayings of the Fathers 1.4-5[3-4] (CCC
 New Spirituality: The Monastic Movement 181
170). Whereas Basil was a great administrator and organizer,
Evagrius’ contribution was in scholarship, expressing the primitive
monastic spirituality in a systematic and learned manner. He was
not alone in this, since the exegete Didymus, known as ‘the Blind’,
worked near Alexandria and shared Evagrius’ commitment to
Origenism. Together with Didymus and their spiritual forefather
Origen, Evagrius was condemned at the time of the second Council
of Constantinople in 553. His works were consequently destroyed.
But they had already been widely translated into Latin and Syriac,
and some survive in Greek under the names of other authors. In
line with the tradition of the desert fathers he wrote Antirrhetikos.
This is a survey of the eight evil thoughts or demons (he uses both
terms) which attack monks: gluttony, sexual indulgence, love of
money, grief, wrath, sloth (or accidie), vainglory, arrogance. In
dealing with these he offers a series of sayings from Sctipture, to
be used (as Jesus used scriptural sentences when tempted) to
defeat the demon. Through the work of Evagrius’ friend and
admirer John Cassian, these were to become basic to the Latin
spirituality of the West (see his Inst. 10 [CCC 172-4] on sloth)
and engendered the traditional ‘seven deadly sins’ in the work of
Gregory the Great. The demons figure also in Praktikos, which
deals with the same spiritual stage. But Evagrius had more to offer
than simple biblical and moral ascesis, and that is where the
trouble began. He saw such practical obedience (Gk praktike) as
only the beginning, leading to control of the passions of the soul.
For this the Stoic term ‘passionlessness’ (Gk apatheia, ‘apathy’) is
used; it goes with a loving and true awareness of the nature of the
world. Once the passions are conquered, true prayer becomes
possible, the ‘continual intercourse of the spirit with God’, as he
says in his most popular book On prayer. It corresponds to the
Sabbath of the Kingdom of Heaven, the new creation, the second
stage of the spirit seized by love and true understanding of the
world (Gk theoria). Beyond ... lies the realm of the knowledge of
God (Gk theologia), not to be achieved in this creation, but the
goal of the true intellectual (Gk gnostikos, Gnostic). Like Origen,
he saw the spirit of man as eternal, fallen by deviation from God,
and being trained for ultimate restoration to absolute contemplation
of God who is pure Spirit.
182 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Western developments

Evagrius was a captivating writer. He captivated John Cassian, a

visitor to Nitria from the West, who wrote the influential
Conferences and Institutes for the guidance of Gallic monks. The
Conferences are ostensibly discussions with desert fathers, and
contain much Evagrian teaching on sin and salvation: he notably
substitutes for Evagrius’ Stoic term passionlessness the biblical
virtue of purity of heart. His Institutes are more concerned with
the organization of a monastery, and reflect Pachomian influence.
Looser forms of monasticism had already reached Gaul, notably in
the career of Martin of Tours. The date of Martin’s birth is widely
disputed, but by 360 he was founding a monastery at Liguge, and
about 370 became Bishop in Tours. He became the subject of
hagiographic writing by Sulpicius Severus, and both in his lifetime
and afterwards was the inspiration both for the spread of
Christianity and for the planting of monasteries (extracts from
Life of Martin, Chronicle, and Dialogues in CCC 158-63). In his
time he offended the worldly bishops of Gaul and Spain by
continuing to live the impoverished life of a monk even as a
bishop, and by supporting the passionate asceticism of the
Priscillianists, whose leaders were executed on trumped-up charges
in 385. Meanwhile orderly monasticism developed from the south.
The settlement at Lerins, founded in 410, provided a series of
monk-bishops, of whom Caesarius of Arles (502-42) was perhaps
the most notable for the theory and practice of the ascetic life in
conjunction with the episcopal church.
Before we assess the contribution of the early monastic
movement to the life of the Church, we must consider some
remarkable events in Egypt, Palestine and Constantinople in which
Jerome and John Chrysostom were involved.
 18
ORIGENISM, JEROME AND JOHN CHRYSOSTOM

Origenism and Jerome

In the East an unpleasant controversy caused much destruction

among the monks of Egypt. The learning of Evagrius and those
like him did not appeal to those who made ignorance and simplicity
a virtue. The majority of the monks rose up to destroy ‘Origenism’.
Those opposed to Origenism are usually dubbed ‘Anthropomor-
phite’. This reflects their view of God as having a human form. It
is based not only on Gen. 1.26-7, but on the incarnation: God
incarnate is man-shaped. Origen, and Christian thinkers like
Augustine who followed the same Platonic way, placed the ljkeness
in man’s rationality (Gk logos, nous). So of course did Evagrius
and his friends. The wily Bishop Theophilus of Alexandria at first
sided with the Origenists, but found it tactically wiser to switch to
the majority. In 399 the Origenists were forcefully driven out by
their enemies, their monasteries pillaged, their books destroyed.
One precious dossier of books by Origen and Didymus was
hidden in an old tomb at Toura, to be rediscovered when the
British army used the same tomb to store ammunition in 1941.
The refugees fled abroad, and with them Origenism and
controversy. By then the dispute had already split the Latin-led
monks of Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Jerome (c.347-c.420) and
Rufinus (d. 410) were long-standing friends. Both were well-
educated Latins; both came from the Adriatic area, and were
fellow-students in Rome.
Jerome is known to us chiefly through his own tendentious
letters (see CCC 178-90). After travels in the West to Trier and
Aquileia, he studied and was baptized in Rome before visiting the
East in 372. He narrates a dream in which Christ accused him of
being a Ciceronian rather than a Christian {Ep. 22.30 [CCC 180-
1]), whereat he parted with his secular library. If this is a true
account, he did not keep his vow absolutely, and continued to
acknowledge the benefits of discreetly used secular learning; but

183
184 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

the episode is probably coloured in retrospect. It belongs to his

early time in Antioch (373?), or as a monk in the Syrian Chalcis
(374-8). He was ordained priest in Antioch by the dissident old
Nicene Paulinus, who had the support of Damasus of Rome (see,
but do not trust, Ep. 15.1-4 [CCC 181-2] for his difficulties with
the trinitarian disputes there). He composed the Life of Paul, a
fictitious romance about a monk even earlier than Antony, written
(like so much else by Jerome) more with an eye to elegance and
edification than to historic truth. But he also began more serious
theological polemic, and the engagement with exegesis in
translating Origen. By 382 he was in Rome, where in addition to
advancing the study of the text, Latin translation and interpretation
of Scripture, he promoted asceticism, conspicuously among ladies
of wealth, the widows Marcella and Paula, and Paula’s daughter
Eustochium (for Jerome’s letter to Eustochium, and letters about
Marcella and Fabiola, see CCC 185-6, 195-200). He also made
enemies among the clergy, of whose foppish behaviour he was
critical. In defending the perpetual virginity of Mary against
Helvidius he went too far by asserting the superiority of virginity
to marriage, as he was to do later in his attack on Jovinian (CCC
195). The nature of his relations with Damasus the Bishop of
Rome is not certain, since we know it only from his own letters,
which were possibly improved, or even written, for publication
after Damasus’ death in 384. Being highly gifted as a speaker and
writer, he may well have expected to be elected Bishop of Rome.
But perhaps because of his sharp arguments about the superiority
of the ascetic life, he had made enemies. Siricius was preferred,
and Jerome found himself obliged to leave Italy, bitter about the
imputations against his character, the unfairness of which can be
readily parallelled in the savage things he often wrote about others
(see his complaints in Ep. 45 [CCC 187-8]).
Jerome went to the East again with his brother Paulinian and
some other aspiring monks, and teamed up with Paula and
Eustochium in Palestine. After a visit to the monks in Egypt, they
settled at Bethlehem, where monastery and convent for nuns
flourished together, sustained by Paula’s vast wealth. Jerome was
able to devote the rest of his long life until 419 to writing, and his
output was enormous. Not only did he find time to write many
letters of spiritual advice and consolation, but he translated most
 Origenism, Jerome and John Chrysostom 185

of the Bible afresh into Latin, revising or replacing the old versions.
He based his Old Testament work directly on the Hebrew, instead
of the Greek Bible which had been the basis of the existing ‘Old
Latin’ version, and his work became the basis of what is called the
‘Vulgate’, the official Bible of the Roman Catholic Church to this
day. His principle, that truth lies in the Hebrew (‘Hebraica veritas'),
was to become the basis of the later Protestant Bibles, which
bypassed the official Vulgate to translate afresh from the ‘original
tongues’. This principle of discarding the Septuagint was to cause
offence and anxiety to many, however, including Augustine, who
disapproved of removing in this radical way the landmarks planted
by the Fathers. Jerome also produced detailed commentaries on
many biblical books, and these were widely read and appreciated
for their learning. But here we come to a point of controversy.
Jerome confessed his admiration for Origen as man and scholar
(Ep. 32.4 [CCC 190-1]), and translated commentaries of his into
Latin, thus enabling them to survive. Throughout his career Jerome
continued to use Origen’s work as the basis for his own, often
unacknowledged, especially after he became a bitter anti-Origenist.
One modern scholar (P. Nautin) holds that Jerome’s claims to have
learned Hebrew are fictitious, and that he owed all his information
about the Hebrew Bible and its meaning to lost works of Origen;
but this view of him is not widely held.

Origenism in Palestine; Rufinus

The dispute about Origen was already brewing up in 393, and had
reached Palestine. A venerable patron of monks called Epiphanius,
Bishop of Salamis in Cyprus, visited Palestine in 394. He had
been an ardent supporter of Paulinus, the old Nicene Bishop of
Antioch, as Jerome had also been. In 374-7 Epiphanius had
written two books, Ancoratus and Panarion, in which he had
elaborated a system of heresies, eighty in all plus subdivisions,
with morbid enthusiasm for detail. Among them, not surprisingly
in view of his hostility to the Eastern (Cappadocian) doctrine of
the Trinity, he had included Origen. Origen was charged with a
number of vicious errors: he had denied that the Son could see the
Father, postulated that souls exist as rational spirits before being
imprisoned in the body, predicted the repentance of the devil and
186 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

demons, held ‘the coats of skins’ put on by Adam and Eve after
their fall to mean their physical bodies, denied the resurrection of
the flesh, and allegorized Paradise so as to deny its historicity (see
Jerome, Adv. Joan. Hier. 7 [CCC 192]). These charges had some
foundation in Origen’s views or speculations; though most of us
might share Socrates’ opinion that the general attack was
outrageous (HE 6.13 [CCC 193-4]). The rumblings of dispute
about Origen were already present especially among the monks. In
Palestine, Epiphanius did two more improper things. First, he
used a sermon in the cathedral church at Jerusalem to preach
against Origen, knowing that the Bishop John was an Origenist:
Jerome sided with Epiphanius (Adv. Joan. Hier. 2 [CCC 191-2]).
Secondly Epiphanius ordained Jerome’s brother Paulinian as
presbyter, to cater for the needs of the monastery at Bethlehem, an
uncanonical act (Jerome, Ep. 51.1-2 [CCC 188-9]). Thereafter
Jerome became a fervent anti-Origenist, and this led to his quarrel
with his friend of student days, Rufinus.
After a career in monasticism and scholarship Rufinus of
Aquileia had settled in a monastery at Jerusalem, where like
Jerome he had a wealthy patroness, one Melania. Rufinus was a
great translator, responsible among other things for a Latin edition
of Eusebius’ famous Ecclesiastical history. But his great work in
this field was a version of Origen’s On first principles, the only
complete copy to survive. Jerome and Rufinus let off furious
polemical works against each other. Jerome gleefully pointed out
the many ways in which Rufinus improved the theology of Origen
by smoothing over his more provocative speculations, and himself
produced a more accurate - and more ‘heretical’ - version. Rufinus’
friends campaigned on behalf of Origen in the West. But Jerome
and Theophilus of Alexandria ultimately prevailed at Rome, and a
condemnation was issued there of ‘everything written in former
days by Origen that is contrary to our faith’, a delicate
compromising formula which does not appear to condemn Origen
outright (Anastasius of Rome in Jerome, Ep. 95 [CCC 193]).
Jerome was perhaps reconciled to Bishop John, but not to Rufinus.
One ancient lover of monasticism took a more favourable view of
Rufinus than of Jerome (see Palladius’ remarks in his Lausiac
History 36.6-7; 46.5 [CCC 205]). Later in life Jerome found other
victims to lash with his ferocious pen, such as Pelagius. But he
 Origenism, Jerome and John Chrysostom 187

also left a huge legacy of careful biblical scholarship, in which the

influence of the great Origen pervades, not only in erudite learning,
but in allegorical interpretation. Jerome himself thus became one
of the principal purveyors of the spiritual exegesis of Origen to the
West, where his influence as a biblical interpreter came to prevail.
Western saints like Gregory the Great and Bernard, who read the
Song of Songs as a love affair between the soul and its Saviour,
had learnt their spirituality through the commentary of Origen
that Jerome made available.

John Chrysostom

One other monastic career was seared by the controversy over

Origen. John, posthumously surnamed Chrysostomos (‘golden-
mouth’), was bom about 350 and died in 407. After baptism in
372 he pursued biblical and ascetic studies. After starting an
ecclesiastical career John withdrew to a monastery, where his self-
imposed regime was so harsh that it damaged his health. Reverting
to a public career he was made deacon in Antioch by Meletius in
381, and presbyter by Flavian in 386. By then he had already
composed his famous book On priesthood, in which the merits of
monasticism and ministerial priesthood are set out together. The
privileges of the priest, whose ministry lifts him into heaven, are
clear; and perfection is achieved not in solitary strife, but in loving
service to the neighbour. John’s gifts as a preacher were soon
apparent, and he began a ministry which fills many volumes of
modern collections with his sermons and biblical commentaries.
He cannot be considered an original theologian; his principles
must be gleaned from works written with other, often practical,
goals. He accepts the authority of the councils, the coequal Trinity,
and the divine Christ whole in his manhood. God’s condescension
is a constant theme. This is revealed in the Scriptures, which
express the divine will, exhorting and chiding in terms appropriate
to the condition of the ignorant and erring, rather than to God’s
own perfection and glory. The text is read for the most part
practically and literally, though allegory and typology certainly
appear. Jesus Christ was (as might be expected for a disciple of
Diodore of Tarsus) clearly twofold: John does not hesitate to
depict him as sometimes speaking with the voice of a man,
188 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

expressing want, distress or ignorance, and sometimes with the

voice of God, in commanding miracles and affirming his authority.
There is strong emphasis on human freedom to respond to the
laws of God: conscience is the inner tribunal which judges us.
From the Scriptures emerges a pattern of Christian perfection
which every Christian must aspire to. His characteristic theme is
the duty of those with wealth to give to the poor: true wealth is not
possessing, but giving. But he spoke on a multitude of subjects,
reassuring and rebuking in time of public anxiety (as in his
sermons after the Antioch riots of 387, CCC 264-8), attacking
heresy, Judaism, and horseracing, promoting Christian education
on a biblical basis, and many more. His fame grew, and in 398 he
was taken off to be ordained Bishop of Constantinople.
From the start it was a more perilous ascent than he perceived.
Theophilus of Alexandria had hoped to promote his own presbyter
Isidore to Constantinople. But a court official had incriminating
papers to blackmail him with, and the tough Alexandrian had to
consecrate John as bishop himself. John’s rigour and sanctity
won admiration from some; his sermons offered divine pity to the
poor, while chiding the rich, and the people loved him. But the
monastic fare set before visiting ecclesiastics, the absence of
episcopal banquets, his deposing of two deacons for serious
offences, and the nagging of the rich of the imperial city about
luxury, soon made enemies. He offended the empress Eudoxia
with the implication that she had conspired in a palace murder
and with a reference to Jezebel. He responded in the ‘Home Synod’
at Constantinople to appeals from Asia, where Antoninus of
Ephesus was accused of shocking corruption. John went to
Ephesus, and finding Antoninus had died, held a council of bishops
from the neighbouring regions. This not only elected a replacement
for Antoninus, but deposed six bishops for simony (Palladius, Life
of St John Chrysostom 14-15 [CCC 269-70]). Not very culpable;
but Constantinople had no formal authority over Thrace and Asia
Minor until it was established by the Canons of Chalcedon in 451,
and the tale of John’s enemies grew accordingly.
Finally, John received in his city the Tall Brothers, a group of
monks who had fled from Theophilus and the Anthropomorphites
as they overthrew the Origenist monasteries near Alexandria. He
gave them hospitality but not communion, and consulted
 Origenism, Jerome and John Chrysostom 189

Theophilus (Palladius, Life of St John Chrysostom 7-8 [CCC

271-2]). John was no Origenist himself. His biblical training was
in the Antiochene school, quite opposed to Origen’s spiritual
exegesis; his spirituality was essentially practical, and he did not
aspire to realms above praxis as Evagrius did. He responded to the
Tall Brothers, as some of the imperial court responded, because
they seemed honest, learned and devout. Theophilus was
summoned to answer charges. But John’s tactlessness and
Theophilus’ bribes took their toll, and it was finally John himself
who stood trial at the Synod of the Oak in 403, and was
condemned and exiled (see John’s own account in CCC 273-6).
But the people rose in protest, and John returned triumphant.
Once again, however, his principles got the better of him. A
silver statue of the Empress was erected amid scenes of jubilation
outside the church of St Sophia. She was likened by the Bishop to
Herodias (Socrates, HE 6.18.1-5 [CCC 276-7]); in June 404 he
was exiled. At first he continued to teach and preach at Cucusos,
and exercised a ministry by letter in the capital; to this period
belongs his correspondence with Olympias, a lady who had
followed his teaching, liberated her slaves and given away her
wealth. He died in 407 on the way to a remoter exile.
Monasticism had begun with men escaping to serve God
perfectly in solitude. Some achieved heroic feats of self-imposed
spiritual martyrdom in their cells and on their mountain-tops.
Even there they were sought out as inspired guides, as counsellors
who would know the mind of God, as examples to others of God’s
sanctifying power in the world. But most learned from Pachomius
that to achieve perfection they needed the help of others. Basil
taught them that to achieve perfection one needed someone else to
help, a neighbour to love. In their strife with sin they learned like
the Messalians the persistent need for divine grace sought in
prayer. From Origen descended the exploration of the inner realm
of spirit through the Bible, aspiring to realms above this world. In
their different ways Didymus, Evagrius and the Cappadocian
Fathers helped this process. Directly through Rufinus and Jerome,
indirectly through John Cassian, Ambrose of Milan and Augustine,
Origenism became pervasive also in the West. It broke the
friendship of Jerome and Rufinus, and unjustly toppled John
Chrysostom from his throne. Alongside the movement went the
190 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

determined efforts of bishops to harness monks to the cause of the

larger Church, as Athanasius deployed the Life of Antony, and
Theophilus connived with the Anthropomorphites, and Basil built
his hospital and rallied his team. But some might suppose that
under the clumsy arrogance of John Chrysostom, so out of place in
the imperial city, lay a purer testimony to the Kingdom of God and
its judgements than all the rest.
 19
AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO

Career and Confessions

The greatest single contributor to the thought of the Church in the

early period was Augustine of Hippo (so called to distinguish him
from Augustine of Canterbury, who was named after him). Born
in 354 at Tagaste in Numidia of a devout Christian mother,
Monnica, and an unconverted father, he was sent to Carthage in
370 for higher education, through the munificence of a rich patron.
Brilliant at Latin, he became a teacher of grammar, first at Tagaste,
then at Carthage, and in 383 at the age of twenty-nine he tried his
fortune in Rome. Problems with students (and perhaps with
himself) led him to seek a move, and he was recommended by
admirers for a public appointment as professor of rhetoric at
Milan, then virtually the capital of the West. At Milan in 386 he
underwent a conversion, and for a few months lived and wrote in
philosophic retreat. Baptized the next Easter, he returned to Africa,
where he tried again to live in monastic seclusion. He was
reluctantly dragged into the ministry of the Church when Valerius,
Bishop of the sea-port Hippo, needed a teacher and preacher in his
old age. As presbyter (391) Augustine began this work, which he
continued first as coadjutor and then bishop in 395. As bishop he
helped the African church through various crises and controversies.
He died in 430 while his city was besieged by the Vandal armies
which had invaded Africa from Spain.
We know a great deal about Augustine’s earlier life from his
Confessions, an original book of meditations on his early life and
present spiritual state, which he began in 397 and completed over
two or three years. It takes the form of an address to God, but is
aimed to communicate with the growing company of intellectuals
attempting the spiritual and monastic life, those he calls ‘the
spirituals’ (spiritales). There are thirteen ‘books’. Eight trace and
muse upon the years before his baptism, and the ninth recounts
his baptism and the last days with his mother on the way back to

191
192 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Africa. The tenth book recounts his present state of mind. The last
three books begin an exposition of Genesis, dwelling strongly on
the nature of time and God’s relation to it. He speeds up towards
the end, but only covers the first chapter of the Bible.
Confessions is thus not autobiography, though it contains
autobiographical material. It is a theological meditation chiefly
about himself and God’s dealings with him. This means that it
reflects strongly Augustine’s concerns and attitudes when he wrote
it. Critical opinion at one time disparaged the historical value of
the accounts it contains. In particular, it has been held that in 386
he was not seriously Christian in his beliefs and attitudes, but
held a more optimistic Neoplatonic philosophy revealed in the
‘Cassiciacum dialogues’, a set of philosophical works written in
his retreat in Italy during 386 and 387. When he wrote Confessions
he was anxious to make himself appear more Christian than he
was, and much of the work, including the famous scene of
conversion (8.12.28-30 [CCC 213-14]) is a fiction. Scholarly
opinion is now more positive. While the work reflects the pastoral
and controversial concerns of the bishop of 397 and his
commitment to the monastic movement, and while he has come to
a more pessimistic view of human nature as the result of his
experiences, there is a central desire to be honest before God. His
representations of early attempts to understand God, as a
philosopher and as a Manichee, and his improper opinions about
the Scriptures (as in 3.5.9 [CCC 207]) are an unparalleled
confession of his own disgrace. They do not fit the theory of
deliberate fabrication. Nor do features like the frank preference for
the speaking style of Faustus the Manichee over that of Ambrose,
the distinguished Bishop of Milan who helped convert Augustine
and baptized him (5.13.23 [CCC 208]).
Confession in the biblical texts (especially Psalms) is praise,
confessing to God his greatness and merits, or of sin, confessing
what has been done wrong, whether in hope of reconciliation or
not. Augustine’s Confessions certainly include these. But in
Christian terms confession is also confession of faith, like the
profession of those being baptized, confessing God as Father and
creator, as Son and Lord in his saving work, and as Holy Spirit;
this kind of confession may be found in the later, more directly
theological, books. Augustine’s model may be the confession which
the convert was expected to make. In a small book, On catechizing
 Augustine of Hippo 193
beginners {Cat. rud. 5.9), Augustine recommends a junior
clergyman to begin by asking the convert what led to the desire for
baptism; if he or she answers in terms of divine miracles or
judgements, the convert is to be taught not to rely on such signs,
but on the invisible miracle of the Scriptures, which are then to be
taught beginning with Genesis. So his books recount the wonderful
works of God which drove him to baptism, and then turn to
Genesis to begin the systematic account of the whole Scripture. If
this was his plan, we should be relieved that he stopped after
Genesis 1 and got on with other things.

Youth in Africa; Manicheism

Within Confessions we may trace both an intellectual and a moral

development of the young Augustine, which set the scene for much
of his later theology. He begins with a background of African
Catholicism. He was registered as catechumen in infancy, but not
baptized (1.11.17). He wonders whether his mother did right in
deferring baptism (1.11.18). Baptism was held in strong religious
awe, as the behaviour of one of his wild friends showed; he
changed his attitude to life when he heard he had been baptized
while unconscious and thought to be dying (4.4.7-8). Church
people enjoyed picnic parties at martyr-shrines, as Monnica
started doing at Milan, but Bishop Ambrose forbade them (6.2.2).
They also held boozy anniversary parties for the saints in the
churches themselves; Augustine was to find it difficult to abolish
these at Hippo (CCC 214-16). Astrology was widespread, and
Augustine was attracted by it, until argued out of it (4.3.4-5;
7.6.8-10). With Old Testament passages taken literally, God was
regarded as of human shape and corporeal. As a Christian bishop
Augustine regards such interpretations of God’s body and voice as
childish (12.27.37). But as a young man he had no answer to the
Manichean heretics, when they objected to the Old Testament
statement that humanity is created ‘after the image of God’: ‘Is
God bounded by a bodily shape, and has he hair and nails?’
(3.7.12 [CCC 207-8]). Thus the Scriptures literally interpreted
by the Manichees killed him spiritually (5.14.24 [CCC 208-9]);
he found none to undeceive him until he was in Milan (6.3.4).
With this simple-minded reading of the Old Testament went a
view of God as personally the source of evil as well as good,
194 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

something incompatible with the rational philosophies of the day,

and of great personal concern to Augustine, who repeatedly reverts
to the problem of where evil comes from (so 5.10.19-20; 7.3.4-5).
Early in his time as a student he began to think seriously about
the philosophic life of virtue. He read Hortensius, a lost work of
the Roman rhetorician and philosopher Cicero, which led him to
aspire to truth; but he found it unsatisfying, because it lacked the
name of Jesus, which he had learned to love ‘with my mother’s
milk’. Cicero’s polish, however, made the ungainly Latin of the
current Old Testament quite distasteful, and he did not know the
New Testament at all (3.3.6-5.9 [CCC 206-7]).
The Manichees were a different matter. Not only did they deal
comprehensively with the difficulties of the Old Testament by
rejecting its authority; they offered an explanation for evil, as
originating in a separate power alongside the Kingdom of Light
where God reigned, and impinging upon it. They also encouraged
rational discussion, whereas the churches demanded intellectual
submission (at least as it appeared in Africa), and had beautiful
works of art, books, music, poetry and oratory; and though as a
Catholic bishop Augustine would find grounds to criticize the
conduct of the Manichees, we may suppose that many of their
‘elect’ lived chastely as monks just like many Christians. Their
mythology was complicated, like that of other dualistic gnostic
sects (see Chapter 4), but it went with some fundamentally
attractive ideas.
Mani was born in AD 216 in Babylonia, and brought up in the
religion of Elkesai, a Jewish-Christian sect. After two conversion
experiences he parted from them and composed a universal religion
based on the traditional dualism of Persian Zoroastrianism. He
travelled widely, preaching his faith and building up schools of
followers and missionaries. Like Muhammad later, he had
enormous success in his own lifetime. During a period of military
success by the Persians against their Roman rivals in the Middle
East, however, there was a resurgence of state Zoroastrianism,
which led to a persecution, in which Mani was himself arrested,
and died in prison a martyr for his cause (277; the date 272 given
in NE 265 is a mistake). Mani consciously named the Buddha,
Zoroaster and Jesus among earlier revelations of the Light {NE
265), but claimed that the one accorded to him was not local, but
for all the world, as was the church he founded {NE 266). In fact
 Augustine of Hippo 195

Manichees assimilated to the religions around them, resembling

Buddhists in the East and looking like a Christian sect in the West.
Mani taught that beside the good God, who is Light, there was a
realm of darkness, which had managed to invade the realm of light
and seize particles of it. This world is the result of that malevolent
event, and of subsequent actions by the realm of light to preserve
and recover the lost portions, and by the agents of darkness to
counter those efforts. Two practices in particular kept the Light
imprisoned: flesh-eating and sexual reproduction. The Paraclete
promised by Jesus, the heavenly Twin (of Jesus rather than Mani),
had communicated to him the detail of pre-mundane history, and
of the heavenly machinery (like the phases of the moon) by which
light-particles were recovered from the damaging mixture. The
heart of the message was knowledge (gnosis) that the spirit in
humanity is superior to the matter in which it is imprisoned.
Those chosen to know this truth (‘elect’) were released from the
evil passions which suppress the spirit in others: they sang
jubilantly of their release in words taught by Mani (NE 266-7),
and lived celibate and vegetarian, eating especially luminous fruits
like melons and cucumbers, in order to accumulate light in
themselves before their spirits returned to the realm of Light. Most
adherents were not elect, and lived more normal lives; in fact the
Manichean communities, especially in the East, resembled oriental
societies centred on Buddhist monasteries.
Augustine was attracted by this creed partly because he was a
man of taste: the poetry was pathetically moving, the language,
music and books were beautiful, the lives of the elect pure.
Theologically it offered a God he could understand, of Light in
physical particles like Tertullian’s God, but one who (unlike the
God of Scripture) was free from imputations of human shape or
evil. The Manichean God was infinite except on the one side which
faced Darkness. Sin and suffering had another source, from which
the God of Light delivered those to whom his knowledge came.
There was no moral judgement, only salvation. Jesus was
constantly spoken of, since he too had revealed the Light. His
suffering was that of the Light everywhere imprisoned by the
power of darkness: he is crucified on every tree. Later Augustine
reproached himself for docetic Christology as a Manichee (for all
this, see especially Conf. 5.10.20).
Augustine remained a Manichee, and intended to become an
196 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

elect, until disillusion set in. He had problems with Mani’s

astronomy. Christians could be wrong about astronomy: for
Manichees, the mistakes were in the holy books of revelation, and
disastrous. He waited for the promised expert, the Manichee
Bishop Faustus, to visit Carthage, expecting him to clear up the
difficulties. Faustus, though Augustine loved and respected him,
failed, and so the rational appeal of the religion lessened (5.3.3-
5.6.11). Augustine remained with the Manichees for his period in
Rome, and was indeed sponsored by some of them for the chair in
Milan. But by then he had turned philosophically sceptical,
doubting Mani but not believing anything else. He was ready for
something new. He found it at Milan.

Ambrose and Neoplatonism

Attending the sermons of Ambrose the Bishop, Augustine met the

allegorical exposition of Scripture. Ambrose knew the Origen
tradition well, both directly and, more particularly, through the
Origenistic theology he borrowed from the Cappadocian Fathers.
In addition to laying to rest particular problems, moral and
historical, of the Old Testament taken literally, this untied one
particular knot: man was made in the image of God, not in a literal
sense as Augustine had supposed was meant by Genesis 1.26-7,
but spiritually (see 3.7.12 and 5.14.24 [CCC 207-9]). We know
from Ambrose’s surviving sermons that he interpreted this image
as referring to ‘power of mind’ (Ambrose, Hexaemeron 1.8.31). In
the same sermon he attacked the Manichees on another theme near
Augustine’s heart: freedom of the will. The Manichees believed
that the elect were mysteriously predestined, and that sin was the
effect of forces outside human control. Ambrose argued that we
are in command of ourselves, not subject to such external
constraint in moral choices. Augustine has such teaching in mind
when he writes, ‘I directed my attention to understand what I now
was told, that free will is the cause of our doing evil and that thy
just judgement is the cause of our having to suffer from its
consequences’ (7.3.5). Both these ideas of Ambrose were expressed
in terms partly derived from Neoplatonic philosophy, a system
which Augustine was to meet from another source.
The Christian intellectuals of Milan, like many of their pagan
contemporaries, read philosophy in the light of the mystical
 Augustine of Hippo 197
Platonism of Plotinus (about 204-70), especially as popularized
by Porphyry (about 232-304) and Iamblichus (died about 326).
One of these intellectuals introduced Augustine to what he calls
‘Platonic books’, probably the writings of Plotinus himself.
Augustine found these very illuminating. The ‘Academic’ or
sceptical Platonists argued that there could be no real knowledge,
only probable opinions; in his doubts about Manicheism this was
the position Augustine had adopted. The Plotinian school however
claimed that it was possible for the mind to rise above the crowded
pressure of matter and its transient images to a purely mental or
spiritual reality beyond. Above and beyond the World-soul was
Mind {nous), in which inhered the Forms or Ideas familiar in
Platonism (see p. 5), and beyond Mind in utter transcendence
the One or Good. The Forms impose themselves upon matter, in
itself a characterless abstraction not truly conceivable without
form. This relation is elaborated by Augustine in Conf. 12.7-13.
Such notions had already infiltrated Christian thought, as in
Origen’s system, and among the Cappadocians. It was peculiarly
relevant to Augustine’s predicament at Milan, because Plotinus is
strong against the Stoics for saying that fundamental spiritual
reality is material; against the sceptics who asserted that it is
unknowable; and against gnostic dualists who point to no one
original source. Neoplatonism also resolved Augustine’s problems
over evil: all that exists is as a totality perfect, but as a series of
graded beings. It is for individuals to determine their place in this
totality by their own free choice.
Augustine thus suffered a conversion, and in a spiritual ecstasy
was caught up to a vision of God as Truth:

Being admonished by these [Platonic] books to return into

myself, I entered into my inward soul, guided by thee . . . And I
entered, and with the eye of my soul - such as it was - saw
above the same eye of my soul and above my mind the
Immutable Light ... He who knows Truth knows that Light,
and he who knows it knows Eternity . . . And thou didst beat
back the weakness of my sight, shining forth upon me thy
dazzling beams of light, and I trembled with love and fear ... I
realized that I was far away from thee in a land of unlikeness, as
if I heard thy voice from on high, ‘... grow and you shall feed on
me; . . . you shall be changed into my likeness’. {Conf. 7.10.16)
 198 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

This conviction that there is an ultimate Reality, and that it is

man’s proper destiny to become like it, is deeply Neoplatonic, but
is also at the heart of the spirituality Augustine now read in
Scripture, where humanity is created in God’s image and likeness,
designed to see and enjoy him.

Monastic call and conversion

Augustine now accepted much of Christian doctrine. He did not

sustain the spiritual ecstasy, because of the sins of the flesh, and
especially sexual desire. Back in Carthage he had taken a wife or
concubine (he never tells her name), who gave him a son. In Milan
he sent away the woman, because his mother was scheming for
him to make a marriage in a family which would improve his
■4 career. But the new bride was too young to marry, and he was
unable to live without sexual activity, and took a mistress. Both
the worldly marriage and the mistress seemed to offer insuperable
obstacles to the one who sought to know only God: ‘I was
transported to thee by thy beauty, and then presently tom away
from thee by my own weight, sinking with grief into carnal habit’
(7.17.23). He still thought of Jesus as a man of pre-eminent
wisdom, and therein lay the key that would unlock the door for
him (7.17.24-18.25). He started taking counsel from a wise
presbyter called Simplicianus, who had himself taught Ambrose
and was to succeed Ambrose as Bishop of Milan.
Simplicianus congratulated him on reading the Platonists, and
probably urged him to make the comparison between those works
and the apostolic writings, which are graphically presented in
7.9.13-15. He found the teaching identical in substance, but
always the apostles offered that bit more which referred to the
grace of Jesus Christ. All of the Prologue of John 1 he found in the
Platonists, but not that the Word ‘came unto his own, . . . and as
many as received him, to them he gave power to become the sons
of God’, nor that ‘the Word became flesh and dwelt among us’. But
Simplicianus did more, and deliberately told him the story of
Victorinus, the philosopher who had embraced Christianity, and
had insisted on professing his conversion by public ceremonies
after his baptism (8.2.4-5 [CCC 210-11]). This tore at
Augustine’s conscience, since he was already a believer. Soon
other pressures came upon him. It was, he recognized, a matter of
 Augustine of Hippo 199

will, he knew what was right, but could not do it (8.5.10-12). To

his house, where he was resting because of a chest complaint
(perhaps a psychosomatic asthma), an old friend told Augustine
and Alypius about the monastic movement, and how two young
men at Trier had forsaken political advancement and marriage to
become monks, after reading the Life of Antony (8.6.14-15 [CCC
211-12]). He vividly describes the conflict this precipitated. He
went out into the garden of the house, tom between the appeal of
his old fleshly loves and the voice of continence, ‘not barren, but a
fruitful mother of children’, who spoke of the men and maidens
who had followed the monastic way (8.11.25-7). In a storm of
passion he fled from Alypius and flung himself down in floods of
tears under what he calls a ‘tree of fig’, an unusual phrase reflecting
the biblical account of the fig-leaves which his the sexual shame of
Adam and Eve after their sin in Genesis 3.7. This passionate grief
he describes as a prayer like that of the Psalmist: ‘How long, O
Lord, wilt thou be angry for ever? Remember not our former
iniquities’ - in fact a prayer of confession. The divine response is
immediate: ‘I heard from a neighbouring house a voice, as of a boy
or girl, I do not know, often repeating in a sing-song, “Take up and
read; take up and read.’” Obeying this mysterious voice (not
human, but as of a child), he took up the New Testament to read
where it should open, and saw about forsaking fleshly sin, and
putting on Jesus Christ (Romans 13.13-14); with those words,
his burden was lifted, and serenity replaced hesitation. Together
with Alypius, he consecrated himself to the celibate life, and
prepared for baptism the next Easter (8.12.28-30 [CCC 213-14]).
Unquestionably Augustine saw himself as lifted by the grace of
Christ from passions he could not control: he had understood
Paul. Equally he saw the process not as perfected: this release was
into a life of continual mortification and confession. But perhaps
above all it was to a life of monastic or ‘spiritual’ celibacy, in which
marriage and those cares of this world that went with property
and family were firmly excluded. By identifying the grace of Christ
with release from sexuality Augustine set out on a road which was
to prove unhealthy for theology and the Church. All else apart,
conversion comes to be identified with entering the monastic life,
and not with baptism, for the medieval Church, with consequences
most Christians have never escaped from. We shall see it in
Augustine’s conclusions about original sin.
 200 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Augustine on the Trinity

Augustine’s mind and heart were fixed upon God. He thought of

God as absolute spiritual being, beyond description. If we know
God it is because he stoops to us in the grace of Jesus Christ, and
makes himself known. Consequently Augustine’s book On the
Trinity, which appeared in 414, is not an attempt to demonstrate
the truth about God. He takes for granted the one being and three
persons of God, and tries to elucidate the meaning. He does so in a
way which embodies features of the Western theological tradition,
as it had come down since Tertullian and especially in the work of
Hilary of Poitiers, ‘the Athanasius of the West’, who had written
important treatises mediating between the old Nicene position and
the thought of the Eastern majority. Augustine probably ignored,
4 if he knew it, the rather personal trinitarian philosophy of Marius
Victorinus, the writer who had translated Plotinus into Latin and
whose conversion story had once so affected him.
For Augustine, God is the Trinity. As with Origen and the
Cappadocian theology he met through Ambrose, he combines
biblical with Platonic thought. God belongs to the intelligible
realm, and is immutable. And God is the Trinity: Father, Son and
Spirit are the single source of all being (5.15). Whatever can be
said of the divine being, that is of God as God, belongs to all three:
each is God, each is Lord, each is almighty, but there is only one
God, one Lord, one Almighty. He uses the kind of formulae which
later were put into the credal hymn which is called ‘The Athanasian
Creed’ or Quicunque vult: so he writes, ‘The Father is almighty
(omnipotens), the Son almighty, the Holy Spirit almighty; yet not
three almighties, but one Almighty’ (5.8.9). One of the effects of
this equalization is to distort biblical texts. The same passage
continues, ‘from whom are all things, through whom are all
things, in whom are all things; to him be glory’. One might
contrast this with 1 Cor. 8.6, where all things are ‘through’ the
Son, and ‘from’ the Father, or Eph. 4.6, where the subject is the
Father. He similarly turns the point of Luke 18.19, where Jesus
declares that only God is good, by insisting that ‘good’ applies to
all three persons of the Trinity alike, as belonging to the nature of
God. One of the more remarkable features of his book is that
Augustine turns round many of the ‘theophany’ passages which
theologians had used to demonstrate that the Son or Word existed
 Augustine of Hippo 201

and operated in the Old Testament, and claims them as

manifestations of God the Trinity (see 2.12-31).
As to trinitarian terminology, Augustine understands and
accepts much of the Cappadocian resolution of the conflicts
precipitated by Arianism. He quotes "mtan ousian treis hypostaseis’
(‘one ousia, three hypostases'), and its Latin equivalent (‘one
essence, three substances’); but he notes that the Latin tradition is
to speak of ‘one substance, three persons’ (5.8.9). All of this he
regards as a word-play in an area where human speech is defective:
‘When it is asked, “Three what?”, human speech labours under
great difficulty. Nevertheless “Three persons” has been said, not
in order to say just that, but to avoid saying nothing’ (5.9.9). So he
sees the Latin tradition, una substantia, tres personae, which goes
back to Tertullian (see p. 72) as not contradicting the Greeks.
Augustine made a technical logical advance by writing of what
are called ‘real or subsistent relations’. This is a modification of
the theory of distinguishing characteristics of the persons, which
the Cappadocians had used. They taught that the Father is
distinguished by fatherhood or unbegottenness, the Son by sonship
or begottenness, the Spirit by sanctification or proceeding. Current
logic, exploited by the Neo-Arians, -reasoned that any attribute
(like ‘being a son’) applied either to the essence of a thing, or was
an ‘accident’, not essential to it. In the case of God, who is eternal,
nothing can be ‘accidental’ (or as we might say, ‘incidental’).
Hence the Eunomian argument: a son has a source (‘begotten’); if
that is ‘accidental’ he cannot be God, since there are no ‘accidents’
in God; if it is ‘essential’ it contradicts the essence of God, who has
no source or origin (‘unbegotten’); therefore to be Son is not to be
God. Augustine defines the differences of the persons as neither
essential nor accidental, but relational: all are equally God and
equally eternal, but they are related to each other in a certain way.
So the Son is Son because that is his relation to the Father, and the
Father is Father solely by his relationship to the Son (see 5.2.3-
5.7.8). Hence the expression, ‘real or subsistent relations’ in some
books.
A similar argument applies also to the Spirit, the Spirit being
‘given’ by the Father and the Son and so related as ‘gift’; but he is
given by them coequally, not by the Father alone (5.14.15). The
Spirit is also sometimes identified with the love that binds Father
and Son together, and is the essence of God himself: God is Spirit,
202 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

and God is Love, and the Spirit is the Spirit of both Father and
Son. Such meditation leads Augustine to teach that the Spirit
proceeds from both the Father and the Son, as from a single
source. Only rarely does he refer to the Father as holding any
priority in the relationships, in contrast to the Cappadocians for
whom the Father is the ‘cause’ of the Trinity. The consequence is
the doctrine of ‘double procession’, that the Holy Spirit ‘proceeds
from the Father and the Son. This doctrine was later clearly
asserted in the ‘Athanasian Creed’, and in 589 was added to the
Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed by the Council of Toledo in
Spain. The Eastern churches came to repudiate it, and whether the
Spirit proceeds from the Father only, or from Father and Son,
divides the Churches to this day. Augustine was clearly- responsible
for the Western doctrine.
The most remarkable contribution of Augustine to trinitarian
thinking was yet another point. He devotes much space to
psychological analogies: God’s being as Trinity is modelled by the
human mind. Undoubtedly he was driven to this by his Neoplatonic
assumption that God is pure intellect and that the human mind is
a replica of God. If therefore the Church’s revelation stipulates a
coequal Trinity in God, it must be replicated in the human mind.
In working this out, Augustine produces brilliant philosophical
analysis of how the mind works, which we cannot consider in
detail. Augustine has prolonged analyses based on:

Mind, self-awareness and self-love (9.2.2-9.5.8);

Memory, understanding and will (or love) (10.11.17-10.12.19).

This last is the more fruitful: for the mind to remember, understand
and love God is wisdom; to remember, understand and love itself
is foolishness (see especially 14.12.15-16). This fits with his
notion that a person’s place in God’s design is determined by
whether he looks up to God or down to self.
Brilliant and influential though it is, Augustine’s work on the
Trinity is flawed. The distinctions which Scripture makes between
the persons of the Trinity are lost in the conviction that the Trinity
always operates together. In the New Testament, for instance,
‘God’ normally refers to the Father, not to the Trinity. Furthermore,
the psychological analogies point to a God who is one Mind and
one Person, as Augustine himself recognizes. It is true that such
 Augustine of Hippo 203
models are intrinsically imperfect, but this seems to be too
fundamental to be allowed. The general process of equalization, or
homogenizing the persons, is one of the reasons for the doctrine of
double procession of the Spirit, which has been so divisive.

Donatism and the Church

Donatism (see pp. 114-17) still prevailed in North Africa. Despite

some internal splits, even over the bishopric of Carthage (CCC
217-18), it was in many places the chief church, and had able
leaders. As a bishop Augustine campaigned against it, using all
kinds of methods, especially public disputations (Possidius, S.
Aug. vita 9 [CCC 216-17]).
Augustine proceeds on the basis that God has established the
Catholic Church throughout all the world, that is, the Roman
Empire, and the Donatists belonged solely to Africa (though they
appear to have had an expatriate congregation in Rome with a
bishop; Optatus, De schism. Don. 2.3-4 [CCC 225-6]), and
could not be the universal or Catholic Church. ‘The verdict of the
whole world is certain’, writes Augustine (‘securus iudicat orbis
terrarum, c. Ep. Parm. 3.4.24, sometimes mistranslated).
Augustine would take the arguments of the Donatists and use
documents and rhetoric to refute them. The arguments he so
identified are well illustrated by the letters of Petilian, Donatist
bishop of Constantine, which Augustine refuted point by point in
a book (Petilian’s arguments in CCC 222-5). Notably it begins
with baptism, which was at the heart of the original dispute.
Following Cyprian’s logic (see pp. 92-4) they baptized other
Christians who came to them, reckoning their former baptism
demonic and invalid. They were a persecuted minority church
with martyrs; their enemies relied on secular, not spiritual power,
which was the source of persecution. Augustine took the contrary
view of the sacraments, and reckoned the baptisms and ordinations
of the Donatists valid, like their ascetic commitment and faith in
the Trinity; but he reckoned them to be of no effect without charity
(love), quoting 1 Corinthians 13.3 {Ep. 61.2 [CCC 218-19]). It
was in this connection that Augustine could claim to be truer to
Cyprian than his opponents, since Cyprian used precisely the
argument from charity in attacking schismatics. Donatists, said
Augustine, excommunicated far-distant churches; they tried to
 204 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

anticipate the divine judgement, when wheat and weeds would be

separated at the last day.
From Augustine’s arguments both about baptism and about
ordination the main lines of Western sacramental theory were to
develop. The Donatists argued that it was the spiritual state of the
officiant at a baptism which determined its validity (so Petilian,
CCC 222). For Augustine it was the command and word of
Christ. Similarly a sinful priest remained a priest, and however
scandalous and improper his behaviour, those baptized or ordained
by him were validly appointed.
Augustine invoked the civil power to support his campaign. An
unsuccessful rebellion by an African magnate called Gildo in 397-
8 attracted some Donatist support, and they could be portrayed as
rebels. In 404 a council of bishops asked for imperial protection
■4 for Catholics against Donatist violence, and for Theodosius’ anti-
heretical law of 392 to be implemented against them (CCC 219-
20). The government responded positively, but the measures were
patchy and only partly successful; at the same time the
Cirumcelliones, some kind of terrorist organization sympathetic to
Donatism, became very active. In May 411 Augustine’s work bore
fruit in a conference of bishops at which the imperial tribune
Marcellinus presided over equal representatives of Donatists and
Catholics. Judgement was given for the Catholics, and the next
year Donatism was banned and severe repressive measures were
used. Though he counselled moderation in punishing those found
guilty (Ep. 133.2 [CCC 226-7]), Augustine favoured state
compulsion. He argued from Scripture texts (‘Compel them to
come in’, Luke 14.23, among others), from the violence and terror
used by the Donatists themselves, and from the successes with
genuine conversion which compulsion achieved; he also claims
that he had originally not believed in force, but had been driven to
it by experience (Ep. 93.5,17-18 [CCC 220-1]). Scholars disagree
about how honest he is: some suggest that he always believed in
repression, and made a virtue of not using it only so long as the
state would not intervene. Others point to his increasing pessimism
over human nature, as he met frustrations as pastor and preacher
in trying to persuade people to love God. This pessimism
contributed to the particular self-analysis of the Confessions, and
was to come to a head in the Pelagian dispute. Whatever accounted
 Augustine of Hippo 205

for it in Augustine’s lifetime, it had the unfortunate effect of giving

theological authority for all kinds of vicious repression in the
Middle Ages and the sixteenth century, and to some extent since.

Pelagianism

Pelagius, probably British, was a revivalist who preached for

many years in Rome. He left, like many others, when it fell to the
Goths under Alaric in 410. But before that he had succeeded in
persuading many people, not only in Rome, that it was possible to
fulfil Christ’s command, ‘Be perfect, as your heavenly father is
perfect’ (Matt. 5.48); God would not have commanded it if it were
not possible. The power of his words in encouraging people to take
the Bible seriously can be seen from his letter to Demetrias, a
wealthy heiress who in 414 gave up wealth and impending
marriage to devote her life to God (extract in CCC 233-4).
Demetrias’ spectacular renunciation called forth letters also from
Jerome and Augustine, aimed perhaps more at the public than at
the lady herself.
Augustine attributes the dispute to Pelagius, who criticized
words used repeatedly by Augustine in Confessions: ‘Give what
you command, and command what you will’ (Conf. 10.29.40 and
Don. pers. 53 [CCC 230]). Pelagius’ difficulty is understandable,
since he held that God never commands what people cannot per¬
form. The possibility is always there, because God makes it
possible: the will and the action have to come from human beings
(see quotation in Augustine, Grat. Christi. 5 [CCC 232-3]). It
was not true (as is commonly said) that Pelagius denied the grace
of God - Jerome even accuses Pelagians of resting too much upon
it. On the contrary, Pelagius believed that mankind is created with
the ultimate grace of freedom, and to it is added the grace of the
divine commands in Scripture teaching us what we should do and
sacramental release from past guilt in baptism. He sustained his
argument by close exegesis of Paul’s letters, on which he wrote
commentaries, and by quotations from revered theologians like
Hilary, Ambrose, Jerome and John Chrysostom, and even the early
Augustine, whose book On free will had been written against the
Manichees, whose fatalism was one of Pelagius’ chief targets.
That was the point at which Augustine’s involvement became
 206 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

serious, since it called in question his own more recent position.

A disciple of Pelagius called Celestius, fleeing from Rome in
410, applied for ordination in Carthage. Faced with doctrinal
questions he stirred up a hornet’s nest by bald assertions based on
his master’s principles: Adam was created mortal; Eve’s sin
affected only Eve, and all babies are born sinless; law and gospel
equally prepare men for eternal life, and some of the Old Testament
characters were sinless; the rich must give their wealth to the poor
to be saved. Celestius was condemned. Augustine responded with
a book, On the letter and the spirit, in which he works out the
Pauline contrast between law and gospel. The law prescribed
what must be done, but only the Spirit working in the heart to
generate love can enable one to do it.
In the next few years Augustine issued many books and sermons
* on topics related to Pelagianism: infant baptism, nature and grace,
the interpretation of Romans 7 and 8, and Pelagius’ activities.
Pelagius himself travelled in the East, where he was welcomed by
John of Jerusalem and accused by Jerome of Origenism (see pp.
183-5), which was plausible because free will held a decisive place
in Origen’s system (see p. 107), and of Stoicism, which was not
true. A Spanish priest called Orosius brought charges against
Pelagius, and after various proceedings he was examined by
twenty-four bishops at Diospolis in December 415. Pelagius denied
all the doctrines for which Celestius had been specifically
condemned, and explained his own position in favourable terms.
Afterwards he claimed that ‘the doctrine that man can voluntarily
and easily live in justice had received approbation of twenty-four
bishops’. The Africans were appalled, and Councils at Milevis and
Carthage in 316 appealed to the Pope Innocent (402-17). His
positive reply led Augustine to affirm that ‘the case is closed’, and
to encourage active heretic-hunting (Innocent, Ep. 29 and
Augustine, Serm. 131.10 [CCC 234-5]). But Celestius appealed
to Innocent’s successor Zosimus (417-18), and was at first
successful. Pressure from a further council at Carthage, however,
and Augustine’s campaign of letters not only to eminent bishops
but to members of the imperial government, led to a reversal.
Pelagianism was condemned in the West by imperial edict in 418,
and by the Council of Ephesus in 431 (see p. 219). The case was,
however, not truly ended; features of Augustine’s teaching were
 Augustine of Hippo 207

themselves only partly accepted, and ‘Semi-pelagianism’ continued

for some time.
The issues are summed up by Augustine in De haeresibus 88
(CCC 239-41), which is accurate despite Augustine’s heavy
commitment. The propositions condemned as unacceptable by the
Council of Carthage in 317 are those attributed to Pelagians, and
are also a useful summary (CCC 237). Pelagians saw grace as
aiding the good choices made by free will; the grace without which
human beings can do nothing good is the gift of free will itself. To
Augustine that was not enough. His own experience was of
knowing the good and being unable to do it, until the divine grace
released him from the flesh. Similarly, he argued that Pelagianism
made nonsense of praying for the conversion of unbelievers and
heretics; remembering the part played by Monnica’s prayers in the
Confessions one understands his point. Augustine took seriously
Phil. 2.13, ‘It is God who works in you both to will and to work for
what pleases him.’ The will itself is corrupt, and must first be
cured before good works could please God. If most people did not
repent and believe, and if they were consequently destined to burn
in hell (a view which he shared with his contemporaries), that
must be because God had so decided in his mysterious wisdom.
They deserved it; the divine pity had determined to save a few
‘vessels of mercy’ (Nat. et grat. 3.3-5 [CCC 238-9]). These were
perhaps enough to replace the fallen angels, but not so many that
it might suggest that God’s bliss was disturbed by the loss of all
the rest. That God wishes all people to be saved and come to the
knowledge of his truth (1 Tim. 2.4) cannot be strictly true; it must
refer to all the elect. This doctrine of predestination was to be
stated again by the Reformer John Calvin. Before Calvin it was
accepted in the medieval Church with one important modification:
the divine choice depended on merits which God could foresee in
his eternal wisdom, and so was not absolutely arbitrary.
Apart from free will and predestination, Augustine developed
the idea of original sin, which means the sin people are bom with.
It arose especially in connection with baptism. Africa had long
practised infant baptism, and regarded it as essential if a little
child was to be saved. Augustine rightly interprets this as implying
that the child belongs to a lump of humanity which is all under
God’s condemnation: the child is born stained, and must be
208 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

washed clean. Each is therefore born guilty. What they are guilty
of is Adam’s sin. That was particularly heinous, since it was
committed freely and by one capable of doing otherwise. All those
since Adam have lost that freedom not to sin, which is restored in
the grace of Jesus Christ. Adam’s sin is sexually tinged: Adam and
Eve perceived that they were naked immediately after (Gen. 3.6-7).
Adam’s guilt is transmitted to all his progeny, who were ‘in his
loins’ when he sinned (as Levi was in Abraham’s when he paid
tithes, Heb. 7.9-10); and that transmission occurs through sexual
reproduction. Augustine uses various arguments:

Scripture teaches it: two special texts are Ps. 51.5, ‘In sin did
my mother conceive me’, and Romans 5.12, ‘one man [Adam]...
in whom all sinned’. The latter text was misrepresented in the
Latin Bible Augustine used (see CCC 230-1).

Earlier Fathers had taught it, and the traditional ceremonies of

exorcism and renunciation used at infant baptisms imply it.

In sexual intercourse even lawfully married Christians act with

fleshly desire (concupiscence) overcoming rational control
(specifically, the male has no muscular control over the erection
of the penis).

Thus Adam’s monstrous sin makes all children born by sexual

reproduction guilty and deserving punishment. Adults who have
added actual sin make hell a bit worse for themselves.
Augustine had one special problem, on which he sought Jerome’s
advice: the argument only works, and the baby only deserves
punishment, if the soul, like the body, is passed on from generation
to generation - the ‘traducian’ doctrine held in the past by
Tertullian. If souls arejereated new for each person, there has to be
a clean start. He seems finally to have adopted the view that the
taint occurs when the new-created soul joins the body in the
foetus.
Augustine continued till his death in an increasingly rancorous
debate with the Pelagians, particularly the well-educated exile,
Julian of Eclanum. Julian saw much of Augustine’s position as
Manichean: the denial of free will, the unmerited election, the
corrupting entail of sexuality. Not all Julian’s criticisms were valid.
Even if the biblical and metaphysical detail of Augustine’s scheme
is too much to bear, he understood mankind’s desperate condition
 Augustine of Hippo 209
and the graciousness of God in salvation better than his opponents.
He knew the mind’s deviousness and self-deception, and the
impotence of mere intellect in the face of powerful passions. But
the idea of infants being guilty at birth and deserving damnation is
repulsive, and leads to an improperly superstitious view of the
necessity to baptize infants. And the close bonding of sexuality
with guilt has more to do with Augustine’s past, and the complex
of problems accompanying his conversion, than with the positive
sexuality of the Bible.

The City of God

The fall of Rome in 410 was a crisis for Christians. Emperors had
accepted the assurance of the Church that if God were honoured,
their Empire would be secure. The Church had sanctified the
notion of ‘eternal Rome’ by associating it with the chief apostles,
Paul and Peter. Even if its military importance had diminished,
the city of Rome could not fall and be plundered without minds
being disturbed (see Jerome, Ep. 127.11-12 [CCC 201]).
Augustine took up his pen to rebut the charge that Rome had
fallen because of Christianity, and his massive The City of God
appeared in instalments from 412 to 426. The first ten books are a
destructive critique of Roman society and religion. The remaining
eleven books analyse the present condition of the world. This is
seen as one more stage in an agelong conflict between the divine
city and the earthly city (samples in CCC 228-9).
The two cities are not to be identified as the physical and the
spiritual realms, though the terminology might suggest it. Nor are
they Church and State simply. Rather they are principles of human
society: Augustine finally writes of them as that wherein reigns
the love of God to contempt of self, and that wherein reigns the
love of self to the contempt of God. In a sense they are Platonic
ideas, with imperfect visible manifestations. The earthly city is
represented by all the evil societies of the past: Scripture is full of
them, Egypt, Babylon, Nineveh, Tyre, Jerusalem in some of its
guises, and Rome - each of these is the earthly city, but none
complete. The heavenly Jerusalem of Psalm 87.2-3, Gal. 4.26,
Heb. 12.22 and Rev. 21 has also'its earthly manifestations, and one
of them is the Catholic Church. But even the outward Church is
infected with sin, and this leads Augustine to his idea of an
210 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

invisible true Church not identical with the visible Church,

consisting only of the elect; this idea has been taken up in
Protestantism.
In these terms the collapse of the Roman Empire is not the end
of the world, even though Augustine respected the Empire and
used its powers for ecclesiastical ends. Apart from the justice
exercised within it, the Empire was no better than organized
brigandage. But there was an end ahead, when the kingdom of
this world would become the Kingdom of God. Augustine’s work
may appear too vast and rambling, or to resemble journalism rather
than systematic theology. He certainly manages to work into his
thesis not only apologetic, but fundamental philosophy both of
humanity and of history, and as usual provides immense material
for others to use, imitate and criticize. But he does achieve a vision
which carried the Church through the next great crisis of its
history. Having won the Roman Empire, it had to find a way of
surviving its collapse. He directed people to a city which could not
be shaken, when Rome fell.
 20
CYRIL, NESTORIUS, AND THE
COUNCIL OF EPHESUS

Cyril and the rise of Nestorius

Cyril became Bishop of Alexandria in 412,*succeeding his uncle

Theophilus. He had probably been trained in Theophilus’ household,
and certainly attended him at the Synod of the Oak in 403, which
found John Chrysostom guilty. He brought to his episcopal
throne an experience of higher imperial and ecclesiastical politics
which made him a formidable enemy. He showed this at the start
of his episcopate, when he held on in the face of opposition from a
rival episcopal candidate and the imperial government, and riots
in the streets. A number of other disorders followed, as Cyril had
schismatic churches suppressed and Jews expelled. He was blamed
when people claiming to support him were involved in various
riots, and in 415 lynched the philosopher Hypatia. But Cyril
established himself, and for much of his long reign (till his death
in 444) knew how to secure his base of domestic authority. His
concerns were not, however, purely practical. He produced a
steady stream of writing, including biblical commentaries,
Dialogues on the Trinity, and an annual festal letter announcing
the date of the next Easter and setting out his views on important
contemporary issues. Before 428 he had at least begun a great
work of apologetic, Against Julian, in which the arguments of the
apostate Emperor are systematically refuted. He had inherited a
longstanding, intellectually rich Christian tradition, in which
Athanasius played a significant part; his confidence in attacking
all its rivals, Jews, Pagans and heretics, was unbounded.
In 428 a new bishop was appointed to Constantinople,
Nestorius, a monk of Antioch. Like John Chrysostom, now
reinstated in official recognition even by Cyril, Nestorius was an
ardent monk and a brilliant speaker. Honoured for his monastic
life, and urgent in preaching serious religion (see the sermon on
Heb. 3.1, quoted CCC 290-1), he came to see with even less
experience of public affairs than John had, and with rather sharper

211
212 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

theological convictions. He was apt to find heresy or deceit in

others, and thus to offend honest souls, embarrass his friends, and
give ammunition to his enemies. In his contest with Cyril he
started with the considerable advantages of the episcopate in the
capital and the Emperor’s clear favour; Cyril defeated him by
experience, diplomacy, and an unscrupulous determination.
From the start Nestorius attacked heresy. ‘Give me the earth
purged of heresy’, he said in his first sermon to the Emperor, ‘and I
will give you heaven as recompense. Assist me in destroying
heretics, and I will assist you in vanquishing the Persians’, and he
was nicknamed ‘Firebrand’ after an Arian church building which
he was seizing caught fire (Socrates, HE7.29 [CCC 287-8]). That
he attacked Arians is interesting. While condemned for making
Christ a mere man, Nestorius always saw himself as the defender
of the deity of Christ against its Arian detractors and Apollinarian
corrupters. He supported one of his clergy in criticizing the use of
the title Theotokos to honour the Blessed Virgin Mary, and himself
publicly rebuked its use by a distinguished preacher in Constantin¬
ople, one Proclus, who had been his rival in the election and later
became bishop there'. This began his downfall.

Theotokos

The Greek word theotokos literally means ‘Godbearing’; not quite

the same as ‘Mother of God’, but very nearly. Nestorius had been
trained by the greatest of the Antiochene biblical theologians,
Theodore of Mopsuestia, and it was from him that he had learned
the objections to this title. It might suit the growing cult of Mary to
be able to address her so, but it was not technically correct. The
one born of Mary, said Theodore, was Christ, who was both God
and Man. Maiy was thus accurately called ‘Christbearer’ (Gk
christotokos). If the title ‘Godbearer’ was used, it must be balanced
with ‘Manbearer’ (Gk anthropotokos); or else she might be
honoured as ‘Godreceiver’ (Gk theodochos), since the Word
enfleshed dwelt in her. Theodore had in mind chiefly the peril of
the Arian argument: the sort of God who suffers birth and death
cannot be of the same order of being (substance) as the
transcendent Father, but is a distinct kind of generated being; so if
you simply call Maiy ‘Godbearer’, you imply that his godhead is
variable, inferior to the Father, not strictly speaking God at all.
 Cyril, Nestorius, and the Council of Ephesus 213
One must attribute every aspect of the human weakness of the
Word to the man Christ Jesus, who could be properly referred to
as a man, ‘the man assumed’ by ‘the Word assuming’; in other
words, the divine Word takes to himself a complete human being,
and the sufferings of Christ do not strictly speaking affect the
Word himself.
The same concern led Nestorius to condemn the term Theotokos,
but at first without the saving qualifications or positive features of
Theodore’s discussion. The result was that Nestorius was seen as
making Christ a mere man, as Paul of Samosata and the older
adoptionists were held to have done. Better informed persons
noted that Theotokos had been used in the past by respectable
writers of various opinions (Socrates, HE7.32 [CCC 288-90]). If
Socrates mentioned only Origen and Eusebius of Caesarea, he
might have added Gregory of Nazianzus, who had used it against
Apollinaris (Letter 101 to Cledonius [CCC 89]). Gregory seems to
have thought that it entailed that Christ was ‘at once divinely and
humanly formed in her (divinely, because without intervention of
a man, humanly, because in accordance with the laws of
gestation)’. That interpretation was not far from the Christology
which both Theodore and Nestorius attempted to defend. But the
circumstances and sharpness of Nestorius’ campaign made him
easy to misrepresent; some eminent scholars to this day hold that
the popular sense was right, and the Nestorian Christ no more
than an inspired man, so far personally distinct from the divine
Word that he cannot be called God at all.
Nestorius had need of friends, and had them in the Emperor
and the Antiochene bishops. But he offended others. Like John
before him, he offended princesses by preaching against luxury.
Ele conducted his campaign against heresy in areas well within the
political sphere of influence of Constantinople, but transgressing
traditional lines of independent church jurisdiction. Thrace and
Asia knew no rights of the wil foundation of Constantinople like
those which made Italy depend on Rome or Egypt on Alexandria.
More seriously, he took up the cases of persons condemned by
Cyril of Alexandria for various crimes, acting as if he had appellate
jurisdiction superior to Alexandria, and inflaming the old wound
of rivalry between the traditional ecclesiastical primacy of
Alexandria and the claims of the new Christian capital. And this
coincided with the appeal to Cyril of the defenders of Theotokos in
 214 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Constantinople. Cyril could not avoid seeing his own position as

under threat, since the word was known and loved already in his
own provinces, and it fitted the traditional Alexandrian Christology.
He might find himself subverted by the Emperor’s bishop both for
tyranny and for heresy, rather as Athanasius had been. Cyril
became very active. He wrote to his local monks to justify
Theotokos from Scripture, and he wrote letters to the Emperor
and various influential persons at the court, including the royal
princesses. He wrote also to Nestorius, first briefly, then at greater
length to expound the truth of God in Christ. This second letter of
Cyril to Nestorius {Ep. 4 [CCC 295-8]), sent early in 430, is one of
the most important christological documents of the early Church.

Cyril’s Second Letter to Nestorius

Cyril’s Second Letter to Nestorius represents his moderate, well-

thought-out position. It well illustrates not only the basis of the
current conflict, but Cyril’s fundamental way of thinking. He asks
Nestorius to avoid offending the flock with error, and to base his
teaching on the Creed of Nicaea 325. That speaks of the Only-
begotten Son, true God from true God, who ‘came down, was
incarnate, and was made man, suffered, rose again the third day,
and ascended into heaven’. This means, not that the Word changed,
or was transformed into a human being, but that ‘the Word,
having in an ineffable and inconceivable manner personally united
to himself flesh animated with a living soul, became man and is
called Son of Man’. So the union is indescribable, but personal (or
hypostatic; Gk kath ’ hypostasin); he means that the humanity of
Jesus Christ belongs to the person of the Word, and is not another
person distinct from or alongside him. Apollinarianism is
ostensibly excluded, since the humanity is complete, flesh with
soul. All the features of a man are there, an entire manhood; but
there is not an individual human person, since the Person is
divine. Above all, the Creed itself is seen as presenting a heavenly
Person who remains identically the same in his incarnation. The
conditions of the union are then spelled out. ‘Not of mere will or
favour’, reacting to a strong feature of Antiochene Christology:
Theodore had held that the union of God and Man in Christ was
‘voluntary’, represented by the divine ‘favour’ or ‘good pleasure’
 Cyril, Nestorius, and the Council of Ephesus 215
(Gk eudokia), like that bestowed on the saints, but specially
applying to the Son, as announced at the baptism and trans¬
figuration of Christ. So God becomes man freely, and not by
essence or activity, and Man serves God freely, sustained and
directed by the divine indwelling, but not puppet-like preserved
from fallibility by the divine core of his personality (see Theodore,
On the incarnation 7 [CCC 291-5]). Cyril rejects such a voluntary
union as intolerable. All that Christ is and does has God the Word
as its subject: the conception is his, the birth is his, the passion,
death and resurrection are his, though in his fleshly capacity; they
do not impair his divine nature. He does not have a ‘voluntary’
association with his body, any more than any man does; it is his
own. Again, Nestorius made much of the ‘outward appearance’ or
‘role’ of the God-Man, expressed by the Greek prosopon, and this
is repudiated, ‘nor again as if by the assumption of a mere role’
(CCC 296 mistranslates ‘by the simple assumption to himself of a
human person’). There is a ‘true unity’, and only one ‘Christ and
Son’. Since the natures are diverse, it is miraculous and
inexplicable, ‘unutterable and unspeakable’. But the selfsame Jesus
Christ exists first as begotten before all worlds from the Father,
and as man is bom of the Virgin: on this account the Fathers had
called Mary Theotokos. The letter also discusses the passion,
death and resurrection of Christ, which are attributed to the Word
in his incarnate state, because it is his body, his flesh, which are
injured and raised; as Word he remains invulnerable and immortal.
This Second Letter to Nestorius was to become one of the
documents annexed to the Chalcedonian Formula, and thus a
credal document of the principal churches to this day. A copy was
immediately despatched to Caelestine, the Bishop of Rome,
together with a Latin version; Caelestine had also received some
specimens of Nestorius’ preaching (possibly not entirely authentic).
He was already irritated with Nestorius. Not only had Nestorius
given hospitality to Pelagian refugee bishops expelled from their
dioceses in the West; he had sent Caelestine a high-handed letter
demanding to know why they were excommunicate. After a careful
scrutiny of Cyril’s letter in a synod, Caelestine sent back just the
sort of reply which Cyril wanted. Cyril was to initiate action to get
Nestorius to recant or be faced with excommunication: he was to
have only ten days from the receipt of Cyril’s letter, an unrealistic
216 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

deadline which Cyril was too sensible to try to implement.

Meanwhile Nestorius replied to Cyril’s second letter in terms
which were to prove fateful for them both (CCC 298-300).
Nestorius greets Cyril politely but superciliously, and proceeds
to rebuke him for misinterpreting the Creed of Nicaea. With
characteristic rashness, Nestorius seems to have worked with a
copy which diverged slightly from N (the original) in the direction
of C (the version of Constantinople 381; see Chapter 16). But it is
the interpretation which is strikingly different from Cyril’s, and
characteristic of the Antiochene Christology. The Fathers, he says,
begin their account of Christ by using the titles common to the
divine and human natures: Lord, Jesus, Christ, Son, Only-begotten.
It is on this basis that they proceeded to give an account of his
incarnation and becoming man, his passion and other human
experiences. So they prevent any misunderstanding that the visible,
human events might be attributed to his deity, and his godhead be
thought to suffer or die. Scripture texts from Phil. 2 and John 2
enforce the point: in the form of God he is superior to human
things, in the form of a servant he goes to the cross; as divine
Word he says, ‘Destroy this body and in three days I will raise it
up’, not, ‘Destroy my godhead and in three days it will rise.’ These
arguments are typical of the Antiochene method: first the One
Christ, then the divine nature and the human nature which both
operate in him. Things which Christ does and says on earth
sometimes reveal one nature, sometimes the other, sometimes
both; both operate in him fully and freely. We shall meet this
Antiochene method again in the Formula of Reunion agreed in
433, and in the Chalcedonian Formula itself. Now it was pressed
against Cyril with a clear note of warning: As in 2 Sam. 3.1 the
house of David grew stronger and stronger, and the house of Saul
grew weaker and weaker, so matters were prospering in the court
and Church.

Cyril’s Third Letter to Nestorius

The Emperor Theodosius II now took a hand, and in November

430 summoned Cyril to a council in Ephesus at Pentecost 431.
Viewed from Constantinople, it was Cyril who was to be on trial.
But he was not cowed. He redoubled his efforts, and composed the
letter that was to turn defence into attack, his third to Nestorius
 Cyril, Nestorius, and the Council of Ephesus 217
(Ep. 18 [CCC 301-9]). This was to carry out Caelestine’s
commission by forcing him to either retract or be deposed. It
condemned the characteristic features of Antiochene Christology
in uncompromising terms, and was intended to humiliate, not
reconcile. He states his duty not to ignore damage done to the
Church by false teaching, the support of the Roman synod, and
the scandal that Nestorius has deposed upholders of the truth.
Then comes a momentous step: it is not enough for Nestorius to
assent to the Creed of Nicaea; he must abjure his false interpretation
of it. That means that Cyril is asking for another doctrinal test
besides the Creed of Nicaea, something which the Church generally
was very reluctant to allow. It had happened before. The Eastern
churches had repeatedly tried to enshrine a supplement or alter¬
native. Even Athanasius, while repudiating the extreme document
from Sardica, had required an affirmation about the Holy Spirit at
Alexandria in 362; and the Council of Constantinople had by its
anathemas and apparently by its Creed achieved a similar goal,
though its decisions were not all recognized by the Alexandrians.
But the theoretical position remained, and would be reasserted in
Canon 7 of Ephesus in 431, that the Creed of Nicaea alone should
be used to define orthodoxy. Cyril proceeds, after his theological
statements, to sum up his points in twelve anathemas, renunciations
of doctrines to which Nestorius must subscribe (CCC 306-8).
All the Twelve Anathemas express sharply the Alexandrian
position, and appear to leave no room for the characteristic
Antiochene approach, even though it should be said that Cyril
makes them at once offensive and defensible. The first is against
those who deny Emmanuel to be true God: even in his humanity
the Lord is personally divine, and thus the Virgin is Theotokos.
The second insists, ‘that the Word which is of God has been
personally united (Gk kath’ hypostasin henomenon) to flesh, and
is one Christ with his own flesh’, setting out the usual Alexandrian
starting-point, the heavenly Word as the subject of the human
flesh. The third denies division after the union, and might be taken
to deny any distinction, since it states a ‘union of natures’ (Gk
henosis physike). Cyril elsewhere acknowledges a continuing
distinction, but here he exposes himself to the later interpretation
of Eutyches, ‘after the union, one nature’; he could also be read as
meaning that the union was ‘natural’ in the sense that it was not
voluntary, but was part of the ‘nature’ of the divine Word.
 218 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

The fourth anathema caused particular offence, since it seemed

to forbid a familiar and nearly universal method of dealing with
Scripture: the lowly things done and said by Christ (birth, growth,
fatigue, sorrow, ignorance, death) are attributed to his human
nature, while the glorious things (pre-existence, feeding multitudes,
union with the Father, omniscience, raising himself) belong to his
godhead. From Tertullian to Ambrose in the West, from Origen to
Gregory of Nazianzus in the East, this method had precedents. It
was very familiar among Antiochenes, notably John Chrysostom,
and was a hall-mark of Nestorius’ recent letter to Cyril. It enabled
the lowly words to be taken seriously. From a modern perspective
the idea of a Christ who switches from one capacity to another,
speaking at one moment as God and another as Man, seems an
unhelpful way of understanding the mystery of his person. Even
4 so, it might be thought one degree better than Cyril’s treatment of
the same passages. Cyril implies and sometimes states that, if
Christ says that he does not know the time of the end, it is a
pretence, devised by the Word to show the apostles how humans
should behave. For Cyril, as for Apollinaris, the Word restrains
his powers voluntarily to the measures of humanity; even in his
suffering he remains impassible. As he says in this letter (8), ‘To
one person must be attributed all the expressions used in the
Gospels, the one incarnate hypostasis of the Word.’ So the
anathema runs, ‘If anyone distributes to two persons (prosopa) or
subsistences (hypostases) the expressions used in the Gospels and
Epistles, or used of Christ by the saints, or by him of himself,
attributing some to a man conceived of separately, apart from the
Word which is of God, and attributing others, as befitting God,
exclusively to the Word which is of God the Father, let him be
anathema.’ This seems to condemn the whole tradition, putting
Cyril as far wrong as Nestorius in rejecting the traditional piety of
Theotokos', even if he could defend it as directed only at those who
attribute the words to the natures ‘separately’ or ‘exclusively’, and
claim that the texts of humiliation belong to the Word as incarnate,
the immediate damage was done.
Other anathemas reject ‘conjunction’ and other Antiochene
theological ideas and arguments, and conclude with a statement
about the passion: ‘If anyone does not confess that the Word of
God suffered in the flesh, and was crucified in the flesh, and
tasted death in the flesh, and became the firstborn from the dead,
 Cyril, Nestorius, and the Council of Ephesus 219
even as he is both Life and Lifegiving as God, let him be anathema.’
That summarizes the whole Cyrilline understanding of salvation
through Christ’s death. In his letter, he insists that the Word
remained unchanged ‘impassibly appropriating and making his
own the sufferings of his own flesh’. The theme is characteristic
Alexandrian thought, from Athanasius onward. The sharpness of
the anathema is injudicious.

Nestorius condemned

Nestorius saw to it that these shocking anathemas were read by

all his friends, chiefly John of Antioch and his dependent bishops.
They were duly shocked. But they failed to reach Ephesus on time,
as did the Roman delegates. The Emperor’s deputy tried to defer
proceedings, but Cyril had the support of numerous monks
imported from Egypt, who terrorized opponents, and of Bishop
Memnon of Ephesus, and he opened the council. A deputation
was sent to fetch Nestorius with a dossier of charges, including
the third letter and its anathemas. The door was not opened.
Nestorius was judged to be in contempt, and declared deposed.
The second more moderate letter of Cyril was formally read and
approved, and thus became a document of the ecumenical faith. A
fortnight later the Antiochene party arrived, and held a smaller
council, which in turn condemned and deposed Cyril and Memnon
for their irregular proceedings (CCC 309). The Romans arrived and
backed Cyril, whose council reassembled and condemned Nestorius’
supporters; in addition various canons were passed, which among
other things condemned Pelagianism, and forbade the use of any
creed but the Nicene for doctrinal purposes (CCC 310-12). The
government, frustrated and puzzled by the deadlock, after six
weeks produced an imperial letter rebuking the bishops, and
upholding the depositions of Nestorius, Cyril and Memnon. There
then began a period of negotiations, leading to a settlement in 433.
Nestorius himself seems to have cracked under the strain, or
simply lacked the nerve and resources to stand his ground or
negotiate a compromise. He withdrew to Antioch, and ultimately
to the Egyptian desert, where among other things he wrote a self-
defence, known by its later disguise-title, The book of Heracleides
(brief polemical extract in CCC 312-13). The discovery of this
book in modern times has led to a renewed interest in and
220 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

appreciation of Nestorius’ thought. With few exceptions, scholars

this century, Roman Catholic, Protestant and in some cases
Orthodox, acknowledge that he was orthodox in his thinking by
the standards of Chalcedon, and not a ‘Nestorian’ in the conventional
sense: he clearly did not hold that the man Jesus and the divine
Word were two distinct persons, ‘adding a fourth to the blessed
Trinity’, or that Christ was a ‘mere man’. His fundamental
christological concept is the prosopon of unity, in which the two
natures, essences, concrete realities of God and man were joined.
He invents or adapts a philosophical vocabulary, in which each
nature (physis) or essence (ousia) exists in its own individual reality
(hypostasis), but whereas other beings each have their own
outward manifestation {prosopon), in Christ the two natures have
only one; rather as body and soul in a human being have only one
outward manifestation. Within the logic of this ‘prosopic union’
the divine Word generates and indwells the one Person of the man
Christ Jesus, whose birth, growth and sufferings are thus salvific.
But allowing that Nestorius thought in a way compatible with the
orthodoxy of his day and later is one thing; that he expressed the
complications of his logic obscurely and at times abrasively is
another. He remains controversial: some of those modern writers
who see him as orthodox, still prefer Cyril’s approach to
Christology.

The Formula of Reunion

Nestorius was replaced by Maximian, a candidate acceptable to

the Alexandrian. Cyril and Memnon went back to their dioceses,
not waiting for the imperial permission which followed them.
Cyril put much effort, enormous sums of money, and some of his
theological reputation into a reconciliation. The basis of the
reconciliation between Cyril and John, the Bishop of Antioch, was
the Formula of Reunion. This was a document which the
Antiochene group at Ephesus had submitted to the Emperor,
and was spelled out and accepted with a slight adjustment and
his own interpretation by Cyril in 433, in a letter to John of
Antioch (Cyril, Ep. 39 [CCC 313-17]). This letter was quoted in
the Chalcedonian Formula, and has authority where that Formula
is accepted. In the Formula of Reunion the Antiochenes first state
their Christology in characteristic style: one Lord Jesus Christ,
 Cyril, Nestorius, and the Council of Ephesus 221
perfect (i.e. complete) God and perfect Man; begotten of his Father
before the worlds as touching his Godhead, bom of the Virgin
Mary as touching his manhood; consubstantial with his Father in
Godhead, and with us in his manhood. And ‘of these two natures a
union has been made. For this cause we confess one Christ, one
Son, one Lord. The movement is thus what Nestorius proposed,
and what Chalcedon would follow: one person, understood in two
distinct natures which combine in the one Christ. It is not Cyril’s
one heavenly Christ, with his flesh. But nevertheless they justify
the use of Theotokos on the basis of ‘this unconfused union’ in the
first of two conclusions drawn. The other conclusion is about the
exegesis of New Testament texts: ‘We are aware that theologians
understand some as common, as relating to one Person; others
they distinguish, as relating to two natures, explaining those that
befit the divine nature according to the Godhead of Christ, and
those of humble sort according to his manhood.’ The main
Antiochene body had not rejected Theotokos in the first place, so
this irenic statement involved no serious concessions. For Cyril it
was different.
Cyril possessed and used texts written by Apollinaris, but
circulating under other more respectable names such as Julius of
Rome and Athanasius. From these he had learned the Apollinarian
formula, ‘One incarnate nature of the divine Word’ (Gk mia physis
tou theou logou sesarkomene), and this undoubtedly represented
his own view of incarnation: the unity of Christ rested in the
divine Word who added flesh (that is a complete humanity with
rational soul) to his own being. In that sense the union was
‘natural’ or ‘hypostatic’. The Greek physis, in addition to the
meaning of ‘nature’ which we understand in ‘human nature’, can
also represent a concrete individual, as we might say ‘being’ in ‘a
human being’. If sometimes, as in his Second Letter to Nestorius,
Cyril allowed himself to talk of the human nature, and even of its
diversity from the divine nature in the union, still he does so in
order to assert that the divine Word is the subject of the whole
operation. In accepting the Formula of Reunion he subscribes to
something which adopts the Antiochene pattern, the one Christ
who is both God and Man; and with it, he accepts the language of
‘two natures’, and allows the biblical texts to be distributed, at
least in some cases, between them, thus retreating from the
ostensible position of Anathema 4. His supportive letter in no way
222 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

softens these developments; he is more concerned to make it clear

that this is not an addition to the Creed of Nicaea (which like the
Twelve Anathemas it manifestly is), and that he is not guilty of the
allegations that he taught that Christ’s body came down out of
heaven, or of confusing the Word and the Flesh.
Once peace was made between Alexandria and Antioch, the
settlement was ratified by Maximian at Constantinople and by
Sixtus III, who had succeeded Caelestine at Rome. But both John
at Antioch and Cyril had dissident supporters. Some Nestorian
loyalists withdrew from communion, and from their base in eastern
Syria began the remarkable movement which led to a very
widespread Nestorian Church, powerful in Persia and with
settlements all over Asia until it was largely destroyed by Islam.
Within the Empire John’s best theologian, Theodoret of Cyrus
4
(Cyrrhus), continued to campaign against the heretic Cyril, and
like Ibas at Edessa was not reconciled till Chalcedon in 451. Cyril
himself had to deal with those who said he had yielded to
Nestorianism in conceding ‘two natures’ and not insisting upon
‘one nature of the divine Word enfleshed’. In letters to his objectors
Cyril defended himself. In a long letter to Acacius of Melitene he
explains that the Formulary did not divide Christ as Nestorius had
done, that the Antiochenes had denounced Nestorius and
Nestorianism, and had asserted the Theotokos, and that he had
not (as his Antiochene critics had demanded) withdrawn anything
of what he had previously written. He thus implied, with some
justification, that his past writings had allowed the two-natures
formulation while asserting the one nature and the natural or
hypostatic union. The careful and precise expression of his views
here, as in the Second Letter to Nestorius, leaves little doubt that,
given an intellectual and ecclesiastical climate free from the
pressure to reduce Nestorius and Constantinople and to save his
own position, Cyril could understand and come to terms with the
Antiochene tradition. But characteristically at the same time he
began a campaign to blacken the memory of theological heroes of
Antioch, Diodore of Tarsus and Theodore of Mopsuestia, a
campaign which would finally succeed in Justinian’s Council of
Constantinople of 553. For the time being it succeeded only in
provoking the Antiochenes, though they did not break communion;
but it did appease the dissidents on his own side. After his death
open war was to break out anew.
 21
EUTYCHES, LEO AND THE
COUNCIL OF CHALCEDON

New personalities

The death of Cyril in 444 brought a new faction to power in

Alexandria. Dioscorus (Dioscuros) succeeded him, sustained by
letters from leading bishops offering congratulations and advice.
Even Theodoret seems to have hoped Dioscorus would share his
own animosity to Cyril {Ep. 180 [CCC 319-21]). But though the
new Bishop of Alexandria quarrelled with Cyril’s family, he was
to depart from his policy in a direction quite unfavourable to the
Antiochenes. He campaigned to suppress ‘Nestorianism’, and in
the process adopted a position represented by Cyril’s earlier and
sharper views: ‘After the union, one.’
But first we must set the scene. Nestorius’ successors at
Constantinople had been disposed to a Cyrilline theology,
especially Proclus (434-46). The Emperor was still the weak
Theodosius II (408-50), now under the thumb of the eunuch
Chrysaphius, behind whom in turn lay the influence of Eutyches,
a venerable archimandrite (abbot) with deep anti-Nestorian
prejudices. He was to cause the downfall of the new Bishop of
Constantinople, Flavian (446-9), who succeeded Proclus. Antioch
had a vacillating bishop Domnus (441-9), who leaned heavily on
Theodoret. But the position of Rome was to be decisive.

Leo

Rome had a powerful bishop in Leo I (440-61), justly called ‘the

Great’, who elevated the papacy both in theory and in practice to
something like that awesome eminence which it has since enjoyed.
The Western Empire was being progressively overrrun by northern
barbarians. Some of these were heathen, more were Gothic ‘Arian’
Christians, whose Christianity went back to the evangelistic
policies of Eusebius of Nicomedia under Constantius II, when at
the end of his life he had occupied the see of Constantinople. The

223
224 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Gothic kingdoms stretched through the provinces of Gaul and

Spain; North Africa fell to the Vandals between 429 and 439;
Britain was lost. There was room for a strong pope, and it is no
surprise that in 451 or 452 Leo himself negotiated with Attila the
Hun, and is credited with diverting him from an attack on Rome.
But before that other things had happened.
In Gaul, worldliness and feuding marred the life of the churches,
while new monastically-based disciplines spread among the more
serious. Hilary of Arles took it upon himself to carry out a campaign
of reform, calling councils, deposing and replacing bishops, and
carrying out other super-episcopal functions. Whether he knew
that traditionally the bishop of Rome was consulted about Gallic
matters, or was in close enough communication with Italy to do
so, we cannot be sure. It certainly appears that some citizens
refused to yield to Hilary’s pressure; they had appealed to Rome,
alleging that he was using force to impose unwanted clergy. In the
event Leo got from the Western Emperor Valentinian III (425-55)
a remarkable Constitutio (quoted in Leo, Ep. 11 [CCC 328-9]).
This asserted that it was improper for any to go against the authority
of the Roman see, ‘inasmuch as the primacy of the apostolic see is
assured by the merit of St Peter, prince of the episcopal order, by
the rank of the city of Rome, and also by the authority of a sacred
synod’. Rome’s authority is thus based both on the primacy of
Peter and on its civil rank. The ‘sacred synod’ may mean Nicaea,
or Sardica, whose canons were in the West confused with Nicaea.
But everywhere, ‘we decree by this perpetual edict that it shall not
be lawful for the bishops of Gaul or of the other provinces,
contrary to ancient custom, to do aught without the authority of
the venerable Pope of the Eternal City; and whatever the authority
of the apostolic see has enacted, or may hereafter enact, shall be
the law for all.’ Hilary was confined to his see, which he was
allowed to retain by grace and favour. But that was insignificant
beside what Leo had achieved for the papacy.
In addition to such practical and imperial developments, Leo
was to elaborate, especially in sermons on his own anniversaries
and on the feasts of St Peter (or Peter and Paul), the theory that
Peter had not only gone to Rome, the centre of a divinely-ordained
empire, as primate of the apostles, but had bequeathed his specific
powers to his episcopal successors there. So in Leo, as in every
other bishop of Rome, Peter spoke again; and the bishop of Rome
 Eutyches, Leo and the Council of Chalcedon 225
enjoyed the same primacy among other bishops as Peter had
among the apostles. Previous bishops might have held parts of
this theory; none had put it together so compellingly, or in such
sonorous rhetoric. The Eastern churches were to feel the effect of
Leo’s expectations in the events that Dioscorus provoked, and
Dioscorus himself would feel the weight.

Theodore t

In the Antiochene sphere of influence the government and

Dioscorus both began efforts to check the advance of Theodoret’s
policies, by which supporters of Cyril were being harassed and
removed. Ibas, Bishop of Edessa on the eastern frontier, had
conducted a strenuous campaign against Cyril’s theology ever
since he succeeded the well-loved Cyrilline, Rabbula, in 435. Now
he was charged with blasphemy, and though acquitted in 449,
had constant riotous complaints against him in his city. Irenaeus,
Bishop of Tyre, an old enemy of Cyril promoted by Domnus of
Antioch, was deposed and replaced, to the humiliation of Domnus.
Theodoret was threatened by complaints to Dioscuros against his
doctrinal preaching, and he found it necessary to defend himself in
447 (letter in CCC 333-4). The next year he was inhibited by the
government from conducting councils, and was confined to his
diocese.
This controversy drew from him a neglected masterpiece of
witty but scholarly christological polemic called Eranistes or
‘Collector’, because the Cyrilline opponent gathers all kinds of
doctrinal rubbish. Theodoret’s argument is in three dialogues:
Immutable (Gk atreptos), in which ‘Orthodoxos’ proves to
‘Eranistes’ that the divine Word does not change in becoming
flesh, but takes human nature upon him; Unconfused (Gk
asynchytos), in which he shows that the two natures of Christ
remain distinct; and Impassible (Gk apathes), where he argues
that the godhead of Christ remains unaffected by his suffering and
death. All these principles are negated by the sharply Cyrilline
doctrines of his opponent, which are like those to emerge in the
controversy with Eutyches. Two of the three principles would
appear at a crucial place in the Chalcedonian formula. To his
logical and biblical arguments Theodoret adds strings of patristic
quotations, many of them otherwise unknown to us, but all from
226 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

writers he thought would be congenial to his adversary; it is

interesting to find him able to quote Apollinaris in his support.
But Theodoret needed more than good arguments.

Eutyches

The case of Eutyches brought matters to a head. He was accused

of heresy before Bishop Flavian of Constantinople by the Bishop of
Dorylaeum, one Eusebius, who as a lay scholar had been active
in the proceedings against Nestorius himself. Neither could be
seriously considered a Nestorian sympathizer; but they may have
begun to grow alarmed at the increasing influence of the
Alexandrian party both theologically and ecclesiastically. The
precise doctrines of Eutyches are obscure, but certain features
stand out. He quotes Cyril’s (Apollinarian) formula, ‘One nature
of the divine word’, but without the word ‘incarnate’. Two natures
he acknowledged before the union, but one after. The flesh of
Christ was not consubstantial with ours, but with God the Word.
The last point set him at variance with the Formula of Reunion;
but that document he repudiated, on the ground that only the
Creed of Nicaea could stand. This would unsettle what had been
painfully achieved after Ephesus, and was calculated to offend
Rome, as it did. He was held (as Apollinaris had been) to believe
that Christ brought his humanity with him from heaven, but that
is not clear.
The ‘Home Synod’ met and in November 448 deposed him.
Eutyches (who had previous connections there) appealed to Leo at
Rome, as well as to the bishops of Alexandria and Jerusalem.
Flavian also reported his troubles to Leo, who was to rebuke him
for taking so long to do it. The emperor, Theodosius II, still
advised by Chrysaphius, and angered by reports of troubles at
Edessa which were blamed on the ‘Nestorian’ Ibas, commanded a
council of bishops to meet at Ephesus on 1 August 449 to review
the case of Eutyches. Ibas had been deposed, Theodoret was not to
attend. With full imperial support, Dioscuros prepared to repeat
the triumph of Cyril. Like Cyril, he would have the support of
Memnon of Ephesus and the Asian bishops who resented
Constantinople’s encroachments, and his own body of monks and
helpers. But even with the Emperor behind him, he had one fatal
weakness: he had not convinced Leo of Rome.
 Eutyches, Leo and the Council of Chalcedon 227

The Tome of Leo

Leo took his time to appreciate the situation. Only when summoned
to the council at Ephesus did he finally write. His letter to Flavian
is generally known as The Tome of Leo; ‘tome’ (Gk tomos) merely
means ‘book’, or in this case ‘booklet’ (CCC 336-44). It is in
characteristically beautiful prose and confident judgement. It
condemns Eutyches in uncompromising terms. Leo has perused
the record of Eutyches’ trial, he writes, and judges him ‘very rash
and extremely ill-informed’. If he could not read the Scriptures, he
might at least have observed the universal confession, that is, the
Creed (CCC 337). Leo then goes on to quote what is plainly the
old Roman version of the creed (related to the so-called Apostles’
Creed), not the Nicene; that in itself indicates his self-assurance as
the heir of the prince of the apostles. The Creed makes it plain by
the words, ‘bom of the Holy Ghost and the Virgin Mary’, that he
‘took our nature and made it his own’; otherwise he could not
overcome our enemies, sin and death. In the following exposition,
texts are listed which reveal the human descent of Christ from
David and Abraham. In the conception of Jesus, the miracle of
Mary’s virginity in no way diminishes his fleshly reality: ‘The Holy
Spirit gave fruitfulness to the Virgin, but the reality of the body
was received from her body.’
Leo explicitly states that Eutyches attributes to Christ ‘the form
of man but . . . not the reality of his mother’s body’. The saving
effect of the divine action depends on the coming together, by a
divine act, of distinct natures:

The distinctive character of each nature and substance remaining

therefore unimpaired, and coming together into one person,
humility was assumed by majesty, weakness by power, mortality
by eternity; and in order to pay the debt of our condition, an
inviolable nature was united to a nature capable of suffering; so
that as a remedy suitable to our healing one and the same
Mediator between God and men, the man Jesus Christ, was
capable of death in one nature, and incapable of death in the
other. (CCC 338-9)

The old doctrine of Irenaeus that Christ fights Adam’s battle again
as Man, and conquers as God, is applied to the new christological
question, and the result is an uncompromising two-nature analysis.
228 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Nestorius read it in his Egyptian retreat and thanked God (CCC

349). It follows that the human nature is whole and perfect,
‘complete in what belongs to him, complete in what belongs to us’,
the manhood enhanced, not diminished, by the deity. So the Son
of God stooped from invisible, eternal glory to exist visible in time.
The union is real: ‘Each form, in communion with the other,
performs the function that is proper to it: that is, the Word
performing what belongs to the Word, and the flesh carrying out
what belongs to the flesh. The one sparkles with miracles, the
other succumbs to injuries’ (CCC 340). This plainly distributes the
acts and words of Christ between the two natures, and it is
followed by a sonorous series of biblical antitheses of exactly the
kind which Cyril had appeared once to. repudiate:

The birth of the flesh is a manifestation of human nature, the

childbearing of a virgin a token of divine power. The infancy of
the babe is shown by its lowly cradle, the greatness of the Most
High is declared by the voice of angels ... To hunger, to thirst,
to be weary and to sleep is obviously human; but with five
loaves to satisfy five thousand people, and to bestow on the
woman of Samaria that living water, a draught of which will
cause the drinker to thirst no more ... is without question
divine. (CCC 340)

It is a different nature which says, ‘I and the Father are one’, and
which says, ‘My Father is greater than I’. Although in Christ God
and Man are one Person, yet, ‘The source of the shame that is
common to both is one thing; the source of the glory that is
common to both is another.’ Various further scriptural passages
follow, conspicuously Matt. 16.13-17, where Peter by divine
inspiration identifies the Son of Man as the Son of God. In a last
argument (ch. 6) Leo expresses surprise that Eutyches was not
rebuked for asserting two natures before the incarnation, and one
after; rather it was the other way about (one divine nature before,
two when the manhood was taken). Leo proposes that Eutyches
should yet have opportunity to repent, and names his own deputies,
a bishop, a presbyter, and the able deacon Hilary of Rome, to
attend on his behalf. It was a clear and emphatic judgement; but
by the time Flavian got it, it was too late to save him.
 Eutyches, Leo and the Council of Chalcedon 229

The Council of Ephesus, 449

Dioscorus arrived in Ephesus and began the Council’s work

promptly. After the imperial letters of authorization were read,
attention was at once turned to the proceedings of the trial of
Eutyches at the Home Synod. Flavian and his supporters were not
allowed to speak in their own defence. Eutyches himself was
examined; he produced various patristic documents in his favour,
some later revealed to be inauthentic, and testified that he believed
that Christ took flesh from the Virgin. ‘Two natures before the
union, one afterwards’, said Dioscorus, ‘is it not what we all
believe?’ The bishops thought so, and approved the reinstatement
of Eutyches. But there was more to follow. Assisted by Cyril’s old
ally, Juvenal of Jerusalem, Dioscorus deduced from what had been
read that the judge of Eutyches, Flavian, and his accuser, Eusebius
of Dorylaeum, had broken the decree of Cyril’s Council of Ephesus:
they had introduced another doctrinal standard different from
that of Nicaea. They had unsettled everything, and become a
scandal to the churches. They would therefore be deposed, and the
Emperors duly notified (see the Acta cited in CCC 345). This was
a frontal attack on the Formula of Reunion; but Dioscorus was
playing for high stakes, and seemed to have all on his side. Flavian
protested; Hilary the Roman deacon cried, ‘Contradicitur’ (meaning,
‘No!’), and fled. Bishops who two years later were anxious to vote
the other way then alleged that Dioscorus used fraud (blank
papers to sign) and menaces (armed troops carrying manacles);
overawed the bishops surely were, even the Antiochene group.
They voted almost unanimously in favour, and Dioscorus had his
triumph. One nature had overthrown two, Alexandria had
overcome Antioch for possession of Constantinople. Theodoret,
Domnus and Ibas were all deposed, and the Twelve Anathemas of
Cyril canonized. Flavian never recovered from the manhandling
he received, and died the next winter in exile.
Meanwhile the defeated parties began to rally. Flavian wrote to
Leo, appealing to him to intervene, both to rescue true doctrine
and to restore legality (CCC 345-7). He claimed that the decisions
were taken by bishops under duress, and that the majority still
supported him, declared Eutyches an open Apollinarian, and
alleged that when he appealed to ‘the throne of the apostolic see of
Peter, the prince of the apostles, and to the holy council in general
230 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

which meets under your Holiness’, soldiers tried to arrest him and
he escaped in the tumult. All this was calculated to win Leo’s
support, though perhaps exaggerated. Theodoret also appealed to
Leo (CCC 347-9). He gives a dramatic picture of his long career as
pastor and theologian, converting and reconciling heretics, writing
books publicly available which make his soundness clear. He will
now abide by the judgement of the apostolic see, whichever way
that goes. Words like these struck the right note for Leo, who saw
his own view of his office acknowledged by the appeals. He had
already given his judgement in his letter to Flavian, which had
been ignored at Ephesus, and was unknown to the bishops there.
He now began to write letters to those in the East who might be
able to reverse the decision. He asked the Emperor for another
council, and the emperor’s sister Pulcheria for help in achieving it.
He gave the second Council of Ephesus the name by which it is
commonly known, the Latrocinium (literally ‘Robbery’ or ‘Gang of
brigands’; in English known as ‘the Robber Council’). He negotiated
with Anatolius, a creature of Dioscorus appointed to replace
Flavian in Constantinople. Some of his letters were probably
intercepted by Chrysaphius’ agents. But the settlement was
comprehensive and popular in the churches, as well as having full
imperial support; it was nevertheless to collapse with a change of
emperors.

The Council of Chalcedon, 451

On 28 July 450 Theodosius II was thrown from his horse and

died. Pulcheria his sister took over the government, rapidly
marrying Marcian, a distinguished soldier. Chrysaphius was put
to death, Eutyches exiled, Flavian’s bones honourably restored.
Leo welcomed the new trend, but reversed his policy on a council;
his Tome and the Second Letter of Cyril could resolve the matter.
But the Emperor Marcian was determined to keep control,' and
called a general council for Nicaea; it finally met at Chalcedon. It
was a mammoth council. Fifteen sessions were held from 8 October
to 10 November 451. About 600 bishops appear to have been
present at times; the Definition was signed by 452.
Dioscorus, who had gone so far as to excommunicate Leo on the
eve of the Council, was put on trial for his conduct at Ephesus.
The record of the proceedings alienated some of those who heard;
 Eutyches, Leo and the Council of Chalcedon 231
others, including former close allies like Juvenal of Jerusalem, saw
the way the wind was blowing and forsook him (perhaps Juvenal
was concerned with the status of Jerusalem). Dioscorus was
finally left with only his Egyptian colleagues. The proceedings
of Ephesus 449 were overturned, the condemnation of Eutyches
upheld. Dioscorus was deposed for his unlawful action at the
Council. Leo’s Tome was read and approved, with some sharp
questioning of those features which emphasized the distinct
functioning of two natures in the one Christ (see above pp. 227-8).
These misgivings were adroitly overcome by Theodoret, who had
been restored on the condition that he disowned Nestorius. He
found sentences from Cyril’s more moderate writings, and
especially the Second Letter to Nestorius, which seemed to agree
precisely with each of the controverted passages of Leo.
Careful attempts were made to sift and study decisions and
canons of past councils, and canon law reviewed and revised (see
CCC 354-60). The most important canonical decisions however
affected the see of Constantinople (CCC 361-2). Canon 9 allowed
appeals from the decisions of local superior bishops (metropolitans
of provinces) to the ‘exarch of the diocese’, which means the chief
bishop of the major administrative division of the Empire (modern
ecclesiastical usage has reversed the terms: dioceses were much
larger than provinces). But as an alternative, appeal could be
made to ‘the Throne of the imperial city of Constantinople’; the
bishop of that city thus had similar appellate status to Rome.
Canon 17 confirmed this. Canon 28 reaffirmed the decision of the
Council of 381 that Constantinople, as New Rome, deserved to
enjoy equal privileges with old Rome in ecclesiastical affairs as it
did in imperial. To this was added a reorganization, so that the
imperial dioceses (major divisions) of Pontus, Asia and Thrace,
and the barbarians outside the Empire whose churches were
related to them, should be subject to the bishop of Constantinople
and their metropolitans ordained by him. The see was thus greatly
elevated, and the practice of interfering in the affairs of these
neighbouring provinces, which had got both John Chrysostom and
Nestorius into trouble, was justified. The status of Constantinople
had already been the subject of letters between Anatolius and Leo.
Leo might have granted some of the package, but when the
Council was called his legates were directed to oppose any
concession. Rome had not accepted Canon 3 of Constantinople
232 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

381, and after consideration Leo now annulled Canon 28 of

Chalcedon (CCC 365-7): Anatolius was ambitious, and the canon
contrary to the decisions of Nicaea (he probably meant the canons
of Sardica, which were mistaken for Nicene). It was wrong to
relegate the apostolic (Petrine) sees of Antioch and Alexandria to
lower status than Constantinople. But the crucial point is the old
one: Canon 28 had flagrantly based the claim of Constantinople
on its imperial status, ‘that the city which was honoured with the
sovereignty and senate, and which enjoyed equal privileges with
the elder royal Rome, should also be magnified like her in
ecclesiastical matters’. The implication that the papacy derived its
standing from the imperial character of its city, and not from
Christ’s appointment of Peter, was not tolerable.

The Chalcedonian Definition

It was in the context of the upgrading of the imperial city that the
construction of the Chalcedonian Definition of the Faith (or
Chalcedonian Formula) should be understood (CCC 350-4). The
Definition was needed because the emperors were not content to
let Leo’s authority suffice. A unanimous christological settlement
was desired, and this would be achieved by a formal declaration of
faith. For obvious reasons it had to be based on things already
agreed, but its method is very important for understanding how
doctrine took its classic shape.
First the principle is asserted in section 2 that Jesus Christ
passed the whole truth to his disciples, and that the Council is
driving away the errors since implanted by the devil. It then goes
on to reaffirm the faith proclaimed at Nicaea in 325, Constantinople
381 and Ephesus 431. These councils thus became, from the
perspective of Chalcedon, ‘ecumenical councils’ of authoritative
standing. Next, the two creeds, of Nicaea 325 and Constantinople
381, are set out. These had already been produced and discussed
at an earlier session, the text of C being produced from some
archive in Constantinople unknown to us (see above pp. 167-71).
In the Definition the texts are adjusted to fit the theory outlined in
section 3: C is N, but with some alterations to deal with ‘those who
impugn the Holy Spirit’. The 150 fathers at Constantinople had
made this change, ‘not as though they were supplying some
omission of their predecessors, but distinctly declaring by written
 Eutyches, Leo and the Council of Chalcedon 233
testimony their own understanding concerning the Holy Spirit,
against those who were endeavouring to set aside his sovereignty’.
Thus Constantinople sets the needed precedent for Chalcedon: no
change to the apostolic faith represented at Nicaea, but dealing
with new heresies by a further statement. So ‘on account of those
who attempt to pervert the mystery of the incarnation’ (better, ‘the
economy or the dispensation’, Gk oikonomia, the regular term for
Christ’s presence in the flesh on earth), it has accepted ‘the
synodical letters of the blessed Cyril ... to Nestorius and to the
Orientals’. That means the Second Letter to Nestorius and the
Letter to John of Antioch (CCC 295-7, 313-17), the latter itself
embodying the Formula of Reunion-, these are supposed to deal
with the error of Nestorius, and ‘for the explanation of the salutary
creed’ to enquirers. To these is added, ‘for the overthrow of the
impiety of Eutyches’, the Tome of Leo, ‘since it agrees with the
confession of great Peter, and is a pillar of support against all
heterodox’. All these documents are thus established as orthodox
formulae. Some scholars both ancient and modern suppose Cyril’s
Third Letter to Nestorius to be understood also by the words
quoted. If that is correct, the Council was much more Cyrilline
than is usually supposed. But the best opinion is probably that the
Council ratified that aggressive letter with its anathemas only
insofar as it ratified the proceedings of Cyril’s Council of Ephesus
in 431, and did not intend it to be understood as annexed to its
own Definition.
In section 4 the Council goes on to state its own position, first
by disowning ‘double sonship’, the error attributed to Nestorius,
and four errors rightly or wrongly associated with Eutyches:
passible (suffering) godhead, confusion of two natures in Christ, a
heavenly substance in the ‘form of a servant’ which Christ took,
and two natures before, one after, the union. There follows a
positive creed. This is based on the Formula of Reunion with some
variations, and particularly with the insertion of a number of
phrases from Cyril’s Second Letter to Nestorius and from Leo’s
Tome. Our Lord Jesus Christ is ‘one and the same Son’, perfect
(that is, complete) in godhead, perfect in manhood, which is itself
a rational soul and a body. So the Antiochene principle of the one
Christ with two natures is established, against the Alexandrian
one divine Word with his flesh. It proceeds to assert that he is
consubstantial with the Father in godhead, consubstantial with us
234 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

in manhood, and that his birth is ‘from the Father before all ages
as touching his godhead,. .. from the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos,
as touching his manhood’ (there is only one verb in the Greek for
his birth, gennethenta, though it is rendered ‘begotten . . . born’ in
English). The process is then repeated: ‘one and the same Christ,
Son, Lord, Only-begotten, to be acknowledged in two natures,
without confusion, without change, without division, without
separation’. Here some delicate linguistic work was done. The
traditional way to express the two natures in Greek was ‘from’ (or
‘of’) two natures’ (ek dyo physeon); Flavian had used it in arguing
with Eutyches. But the Romans were suspicious, especially since
Dioscorus and Eutyches spoke of ‘One from two’. So the
continuation of the two natures was expressed in the more puzzling
‘acknowledged in two natures’ (Gk en dyo physesin gnorizomenon
- there is no justification for the translation, To be acknowledged
. . .’). This might be understood in English as ‘recognized as
(someone) with two natures’; Greek uses en not only for ‘in’ but for
the instrumental ‘with’. Four adverbs are then added to ‘with two
natures’; two are from Theodoret’s set: unconfusedly, immutably
(Gk asynchytos, atreptos), and two are to avoid the imputation of
Nestorianism: indivisibly, inseparably (Gk adiairetos, achoristos).
Finally, in a pastiche from Leo and Cyril, it is made clear that the
distinction of the natures is preserved in the union, but each keeps
its characteristic features (‘property’) as they combine in the one
person and substance (prosopon, hypostasis), not parted into two
but one Son, Only-begotten, God, Word, Lord, Jesus Christ. This
is to be set up as the only doctrinal standard for all, on pain of
deposition for the clergy, and excommunication for others.

The value of the Definition

Even though the Egyptian contingent remained intransigent, and
Chalcedon has been rejected to this day by the principal churches
of Egypt, Ethiopia, Syria and Armenia in favour of Monophysite
(‘One-nature’) Christology, its achievement was considerable:

L The Formula of Reunion is upheld, and with it the principle

that Antiochene, Alexandrian and Roman theology should all
contribute positively to the understanding of Christ.
 Eutyches, Leo and the Council of Chalcedon 235

2. The error perceived in Eutyches is firmly set aside: his notion

that to acknowledge Christ as God entails a humanity different
in quality from that of other human beings. His manhood is
complete (‘perfect’) and consubstantial with ours, like us in
everything except sin. It is notable that the Monophysite
churches mentioned above, when they came to formulate their
dogmatic position under the leadership of skilful theologians
like Severus of Antioch, anathematized Eutyches. Whatever
else they would defend, it could not be any diminution in the
human nature of Jesus Christ. This has not been true of popular
Christian spirituality, which has often adored him as God,
while evading the challenge of his earthiness.

3. At the same time markers are put down to exclude other

earlier errors. Particularly Nestorianism is in mind, since division
and separation of the natures is excluded, Maiy is Theotokos,
and there is only one Son, who is also God, Word and Lord. But
Apollinarian ideas (‘reasonable [= rational] soul and a body’;
‘without confusion’) are excluded, and Arian and Pneumato-
machian ideas are excluded by the use and exposition of earlier
creeds.

Attempts were made, especially by the Emperor Justinian at the

Fifth Ecumenical council in 553, to reconcile the Egyptian and
other Monophysites by interpreting Chalcedon in a strongly
Cyrilline way, condemning some old Antiochene theology (Theodore,
and writings of Theodoret and Ibas against Cyril). This failed, as
did a later attempt to reunite on the basis of one Will in Christ (the
‘Monothelite heresy’), and the Chalcedonian settlement was fixed
in the canon law and theology of the imperial and papal churches
of East and West; its principles also remained largely unchallenged
throughout the Protestant Reformation.
In modern times the carefully balanced propositions of
Chalcedon have offended those who looked for a purely spiritual
or moral message: the living Redeemer is reduced to a metaphysical
mummy. This has been true of Liberal Protestant interpreters
(Harnack, Temple), of Anglo-Catholics (Prestige) and of advocates
of ‘Biblical Theology’ (Cullmann). Among theologians of all schools
there remain those who accept the Formula, but regard it as
primarily negative, in that it states the limits within which
 236 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

Christology may be discussed without falling into damaging error.

Roman Catholics have stayed firm with the Formula officially,
while practical devotion has centred elsewhere (as upon the Sacred
Heart of Jesus). In recent times, however, as biblical study has
encouraged concrete historical research into the origins of the faith
and Jesus himself, one great theologian has suggested that only
now can the Church begin to exploit the Chalcedonian principle of
his full humanity (Rahner). At the same time ecumenical contacts
have encouraged theologians to perceive the common ground
between the Monophysites, whose exclusion begins at Chalcedon,
and those who assert Two Natures. The Monophysites have
survived under various forms of alien rule, and that fact alone
must call in question whether the number of natures in Jesus
Christ is a suitable point on which to divide the churches, when
■4 they all enjoy the light of God through the same Jesus Christ, and
declare him complete in both godhead and manhood. The
interpretation of Chalcedon remains an important part of theology.
 22
THE HERITAGE OF ANCIENT THEOLOGY

The imperial Church

By 451 a great change had come over the Church since its birth
four centuries earlier. The small body of believers, of those who
had followed Christ and seen the risen Lord, Jewish in upbringing,
had expanded by the middle of the fifth century to include members
from Britain in the West and India in the East. In the beginning
they had included ‘not many wise, not many mighty’; by 451 not
only was the emperor himself a Christian, but, after resistance
and hesitation, the governing classes had followed the imperial
example. Pockets of reluctance and opposition were to be found
among certain noble families in the west and in the university
centres of Athens and Alexandria. But for practical purposes the
Empire was a Christian institution. To its people and officers, and
so to the leaders of the churches, it was virtually the whole world.
The institutions of the worldwide Empire would affect the shape
of the churches, and the shape of their doctrine, even more than
the Church’s faith affected the way the Empire was run.
Since its beginnings the organization of the Christian Church
had developed, and mirrored closely that of the Empire. At first
the ministry of bishop, presbyter and deacon appeared in various
forms, and these officers shared their powers and responsibilities
with teachers, prophets, widows and deaconesses; by the year 451
the threefold ministry was fixed and universal. Other forms of
ministry, especially those of prophets and teachers, had become
functions of bishops, priests and deacons, and whatever part in
them women had once played had disappeared. In the beginning
each city had its own bishop, and he presided over his one
congregation. By the fifth century areas of jurisdiction (later called
‘dioceses’), though still based on cities, were spread over wider
areas. The bishops themselves were organized regionally under
archbishops, and the archbishops were in turn grouped under
metropolitans, whose jurisdiction coincided with the geographical

237
 238 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

units of administration imposed by the Empire. The capital of the

civil province usually housed the ecclesiastical superior of the
region, or metropolitan. Over these metropolitans was an even
wider division, that of patriarchs, though the name was not used
till the sixth century. The five original patriarchates were Rome,
Alexandria, Antioch, Constantinople and Jerusalem. Bishops of
larger cities might have churches under them governed by
presbyters.
If the ecclesiastical structure of the fifth-century Church owed
much to the civil divisions of the Empire, since the days of
Augustus the Empire had undergone massive reorganization, above
all at the hands of Diocletian (284-305). He divided the Empire in
half, each half being under the jurisdiction of an Augustus, and
each Augustus having under him a Caesar. The four ‘Tetrarchs’
4 governed the whole of the Empire between them. Constantine too
shared power with relatives, though his personality was triumph¬
antly monarchical. After the battle of Chrysopolis in 324 he
refounded the city of Byzantium as ‘Constantine’s City’, Constan¬
tinople, to become his New Rome, with a Christian ethos. This
broke with the tradition that had seen Old Rome and its gods as
the centre of empire for more than four centuries; it also effectively
divided the Empire into two geographical units, the wealthy and
cultivated provinces of the east and the poorer western provinces,
who during the next two centuries became increasingly subject to
barbarian inroads. One consequence was the split between the
Greek-speaking Church of the East and the Latin-speaking Church
of the West. Lasting differences between the Eastern and Western
Churches reflect this early divide. The Greek emphasis on
argument and definition was matched by a Latin interest in order
and structure. The Latins suspected the Greeks of being ‘too clever
by half’, while the Greeks felt then and doubtless still feel that the
Western Church is too dominated by the concept of authority. The
different attitude to and practice of the liturgy both then and now
reflect the different temperament that produced them. In the West
the austere and brief Roman form came to prevail, at least officially,
while the Eastern rites are flamboyant and long, and both, we
must assume, very different from the practice of the first century.
Changes were also apparent in the demands made upon
individuals. Early converts were coming out from their environment
 The Heritage of Ancient Theology 239
and taking on a new social identity, suspect and in some sense
illegal. Adopting the God of Israel meant renouncing the gods and
the religious fabric of the society around them. As disciples became
more numerous, writers like the early apologists and the
Alexandrians Clement and Origen sought an accommodation,
finding in Jesus Christ a fulfilment of the best in Greek culture.
Lactantius and particularly Augustine were to do the same for the
Latin tradition, but much later; Tertullian and Cyprian were not
like Clement and Origen. But fitting in with Roman society meant
modifying attitudes, and Cyprian’s lament over the loss of apostolic
purity in the churches probably has truth in it (De laps. 5-6 [NE
215-16]). Attempts to impose or reimpose the strict discipline of
earlier days, or a more advanced spiritual discipline, were
constantly made by groups like the Marcionites, Montanists and
Novatianists. But they were repudiated by the main body of the
Church, which recognized its responsibility to a mixed congre¬
gation: even the steely Cyprian yielded, and allied himself with
Cornelius of Rome in a policy of graded indulgence to the lapsed.
The harder side of Cyprian was to re-emerge in Donatism, with its
rejection of all sacraments but their own; but that was in turn
firmly set aside by a state guided by the policy of Rome and
Augustine. The problems caused by doctrinal division in the
fourth century also led to greater tolerance towards clergy tainted
with heresy and schism, and Athanasius himself led the way by
unprecedented concessions at the Council of Alexandria in 362.
From the later third century some Christians’ urge to forsake
the bonds of Roman society, especially property and marriage, led
to the flowering of monasticism, and a new spirituality. That too
was not allowed to separate off from the body of the Church, but
was forced back into service by dedicated bishops like Basil of
Caesarea and Augustine of Hippo. Sometimes, as in the cases of
John Chrysostom and Nestorius, the monastic ideals proved
calamitous when applied directly to the management of a large
episcopal administration. Monasticism also left one uncomfortable
mark on Christianity, namely the belief that virginity was in itself
superior to marriage, and not merely a different (and exemplary)
calling. Augustine’s personal experience, sensitive and powerful in
its grasp of the divine grace in Jesus Christ overwhelming fleshly
pride and rebellious intellect, unfortunately identified that
 240 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

conversion with the monastic vocation, leaving a residue of

immense consequence, good and bad, for the Church afterwards.
So did his woeful picture of predestination and hell, and the guilt
of the newborn infant.

Doctrinal development

The Empire needed unity in the churches and coherent teaching

and practice. The fourth and fifth centuries saw the theological
basis of Christian doctrine receive a definite shape which remains
basic for Christian self-understanding today. Numerous councils
were held to deal with threats or resolve conflicts. We have
followed the tortuous course of some of these debates. The four
ecumenical councils of Nicaea (325), Constantinople (381),
Ephesus (431) and Chalcedon (451) were those which in the end
emerged as the norms for imperial religion and catholic truth.
The chief doctrines they stated were these:

i. that the Son is of the same substance as the Father;

ii. that the Holy Spirit shares the honour and dignity of the
Father and the Son;

iii. that Mary is to be honoured as ‘Theotokos’, ‘Godbearer’;

iv. that Jesus Christ is fully divine and fully human.

The creeds and other statements of these councils used ideas and
language sometimes perceived as very different in some respects
from those of the New Testament. A typical example is given by
Edwin Hatch, who at the beginning of his Gifford Lectures for
1888, published as The influence of Greek ideas and usages upon
the Christian Church, spoke of the contrast between the Nicene
Creed and the Sermon on the Mount: ‘The one belongs to a world
of Syrian peasants, the other to a world of Greek philosophers . . .
The question why an ethical sermon stood in the forefront of the
teaching of Jesus Christ and a metaphysical creed in the forefront
of the Christianity of the fourth century is a problem which claims
investigation.’ For him, as for Adolf Harnack after him, the Church
of the fourth and fifth centuries represents a betrayal of the
primitive message of the New Testament, which is seen by them in
primarily ethical terms. Similarly Harnack writes at the beginning
 The Heritage of Ancient Theology 241

of his History of dogma (p. 16), ‘Dogma in its conception and

development is a work of the Greek spirit on the soil of the
Gospel. Those who believe in Jesus Christ have to decide what
they make of this apparent discrepancy.
Hatch and Harnack in various ways held that it was the moral
claims of Jesus, the absolute and demanding morality of the
Sermon on the Mount, which was the truth or ‘essence’ of
Christianity as Jesus had made it known. Albert Schweitzer, a
great theologian and critic before he became a medical missionary,
saw Jesus as rather an apocalyptic visionary, and imitated his self-
sacrifice with his own renunciation of European comforts for
dedicated service. The Roman Catholic Modernists like Alfred
Loisy and George Tyrrell found the key in the dogmas of the
Catholic Church as symbols representing those other-worldly
hopes and commitments which Schweitzer’s Jesus taught and died
for. They themselves had taken up and used the ideas of the great
Anglican and Roman Catholic theologian, John Henry Newman,
who had suggested in An essay on the development of Christian
doctrine that Catholic doctrine develops and changes, though with
an organized continuity like an oak-tree from an acorn. Newman’s
thought is very influential among modern Roman Catholics, who
attribute the policies of the Second Vatican Council to his influence,
effective over a century after he wrote.
All such ideas would have been unacceptable to the ancient
Church, which held that the gospel had to be preserved and passed
on exactly as the apostles gave it: we have met that idea in
Irenaeus in discriminating truth from error (Adv. Haer. 1.10.2
[NE 112]), and in the Chalcedonian Definition, where it is given
classic formulation in the very document which installed a new set
of creeds (CCC 350). Sometimes an ancient writer is aware of the
tension between continuity and change, like Vincent of Lerins,
who argued in his Commonitorium about 434 that Christian
doctrine, though essentially unchanging and universal, grows in
expression and clarity (CCC 322-4). Gregory of Nazianzus was
especially unusual in suggesting that there were real additions to
doctrine, such as the deity of the Spirit (CCC 85-6). Orthodox,
Roman Catholic and Protestant agreed with the Fathers on the
immutability of doctrine, until the rise of historical criticism,
particularly in the nineteenth century. To find an acceptable
formula some reflection on the witness of Scripture may help.
 242 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

The biblical basis

If we ask how the Church moved from the simple affirmations of

the New Testament to the complex credal statements about
hypostases, natures and consubstantial persons, we might begin
by noting the powerful and sometimes paradoxical biblical texts
themselves. ‘Jesus is Lord’ is a simple acclamation of primitive
Christianity (1 Cor. 12.3; cf. Rom. 10.9). But that confession is
itself said to be impossible without the inspiration of the Holy
Spirit: ‘No one can say, “Jesus is Lord”, except through the Holy
Spirit.’ Further, the same Spirit inspires believers to recognize the
Father: ‘You have received the Spirit of adoption by which we ciy,
“Abba! Father!’” (Rom. 8.15). This ‘Spirit of adoption’ alludes to
the idea that in calling God ‘Father’, as one does in saying the
Lord’s Prayer, the believer is made to share the status which Jesus
Christ has. So there is a trinitarian function even in the earliest
New Testament texts: ‘To show that you are sons, God has sent
the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying “Abba, Father!”’ (Gal.
4.6). So God is glorified in and with his Son. Every tongue in all
creation must in the end confess that ‘Jesus Christ is Lord, to the
glory of God the Father’ (Phil. 2.11). This means that even in the
New Testament Jesus Christ (the crucified and risen one) is
regarded as the agent of all God’s works, and shares his glorious
titles. ‘For us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all
things and we for him, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom
are all things and we through him’ (1 Cor. 8.6); these words form
the basis of the later creeds, not merely verbally (the Nicene-
Constantinopolitan Creed embodies phrases from it), but in its
fundamental concept, that the one God functions toward the
faithful through Jesus Christ. We should not underestimate the
meaning of what the New Testament attributes to Christ. The idea
that he was the biblical Creator, as the Image, Word or Son of
God, is quite primitive (Col. 1.15-17; John 1.2-4; Heb. 1.1-3).
The title ‘Lord’ might mean only ‘Master’ on the lips of disciples,
but was soon used to interpret Old Testament passages where the
same title was used of the God of Israel; and we find manifestations
of God from the old Scriptures taken as manifestations of the pre¬
existent Christ not only in the Fourth Gospel (John 12.41 reflects
Isa. 6.1), but in the Synoptics (where the Lord whom Moses and
 The Heritage of Ancient Theology 243

Elijah met at Sinai is the transfigured Son of Mark 9.2-8 and

parallels). So even if believers share his sonship by participating
in his Spirit, he is ‘uniquely Son’, expressed as ‘beloved’ (Col.
1.13; Mark 1.11 par.) or ‘only-begotten’ (John 1.18 etc.).
Such thoughts as these came together in the elementary
baptismal confessions of Christendom. Whether they were, as
many from the start, explicitly trinitarian (Matt. 28.19; Didache
7), or simply in the name of Jesus as Christ (‘Anointed King’) or
Lord, the sovereignty of the Father was implicitly confessed, and
the working of the Spirit: it is no accident that at the baptism of
Jesus the Father speaks of his Son while the Holy Spirit descends
upon him; it is the clearest ‘trinitarian’ part of Mark’s Gospel
(Mark 1.8-11). But inevitably this complex of devotion and
experience raised questions. Different attempts were made from
the start to account for the divine status of Jesus. That, he was a
prophet like Moses, or an angelic being appearing as a man, could
be dealt with quite early: more than a prophet, and physically
human. The favoured solution used the Platonic notion of an
intermediary between the Unoriginated Transcendent One and the
physical world of change and decay, a ‘second God’ or ‘Mind’,
conveniently designated Son or Word. While some version of this
prevailed with most of the theologians of the first few centuries, it
constantly raised new problems. If you identify the Son too firmly
with the Transcendent (as the Modalists, Sabellius and Marcellus
did), then even creation and providence, and certainly living and
suffering as a human being, become inconceivable: he must
therefore be a distinct hypostasis from the Father. But if you draw
too sharply the distinction of the generated Son from the
Unoriginated Father (as Arius and those like him were perceived
to do), then he operated at a level less than God, and the glory of
his saving work was seen to be diminished: he must be
consubstantial, homoousios, in his essence not distinguishable
from God.
The other puzzle, of humanity and divinity in Christ, was also
inherent in the biblical testimony. The essential message was of
the Crucified who was raised from the dead (1 Cor. 15.3-4; cf.
1 Cor. 2.1-2; Rom. 10.8-9). That raised the question, ‘Who was
the Crucified?’, a question which in their various ways the Gospels
answered. But they did so in the light of the glory of the risen and
 244 Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church

ascended Lord, and consequently they tell of a career suffused

with divine power and light, which at times is at variance with the
historical humanity.
This problem is present in all the Gospels, but most clearly felt
in John, who simultaneously emphasizes Christ’s divine super¬
natural powers and his concrete, suffering humanity. He is the
Only-begotten God (or Son), the Word who is eternally in the
Father’s bosom (1.1,18), who knows all things (2.24-5; 13.1,3),
controls his destiny (10.17-18), and performs stupendous miracles
of creation and resurrection (2.1-11; 9.32-3; 11.38-44). Yet he
became flesh (1.14), and suffers fatigue (4.6), thirst (19.28), grief
(11.35) and perplexity (12.27). It is no wonder the Evangelist
himself gets his narrative into a tangle when Jesus asks a simple
factual question (6.5-6), or starts to make a simple petitionary
prayer (11.41-2).
Such difficulties, apparent in the evangelists and particularly
John, were just those which led the early church thinkers to
various, and sometimes outlandish explanations. Not having the
advantage of a critical view of the gospel narratives, they found
themselves obliged either (like Theodore and Nestorius) to think
that Christ kept switching from his divine character to his human
and back again, or (like Apollinaris and Cyril) that the Word self¬
consciously adapted his outward behaviour at each moment to
what befitted a man, so that he said things for the benefit of his
followers which were strictly false, such as that there were things
he did not know, or that he felt distress. Neither of these methods
is to us satisfactory, and that is one reason we find it hard to get
worked up about whether Christ was one combined Person of two
natures, or one divine Nature with his humanity. The Chalcedonian
Formula, like Leo’s Tome, seems to have asserted both principles,
even if Cyril’s ‘One Nature of the divine Word enfleshed’ was only
in the supporting documents and not in the text. If Chalcedon
repudiated Nestorius unfairly, however, it did so because he
appeared to say that Christ was a man divinely inspired, not God
in a suffering humanity; and if Eutyches was misrepresented, it
was because he divinized the flesh and left God too far from
fallen mankind.
Finally we should perhaps note the central part played by
liturgy in the development of doctrine. Above all the baptismal
formula of Matthew 28.19, and the ‘rule of faith’ associated with
 The Heritage of Ancient Theology 245
baptismal teaching exercised a certain, if imprecise, pressure on
the theology of the Church. Doctrine and worship are inseparable
responses to what God has said to the world in Jesus Christ. And
because true worship was from the start a spiritual sacrifice of the
whole self in union with the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, obedience to
Christ’s law, and the deep commitment expressed in martyrdom
and monasticism, constitute the outward testimony to the truth of
the teaching, that God was in Christ reconciling the world
to himself.
4
 FURTHER READING

Constant reference is made in this book to the two companion volumes

edited by J. Stevenson (new editions revised by W. H. C. Frend), A New
Eusebius and Creeds, Councils and Controversies (London: SPCK 1987,
1989). These are abbreviated as NE and CC'C, and reference is to pages
of those books, not numbered items.

Useful for longer readings are: H. Bettenson, The Early Christian Fathers
and l.uter Christian Fathers (London: Oxford University Press 1956/1970
and after); the first eight volumes of Library of Christian Classics (London:
SCM/Philadelphia: Westminster Press [and Ichthys reprint] 1953 etc.);
and the recent series Sources of Early Christian Thought (Philadelphia:
Fortress Press).
For an introduction to the early Church, lan Hazlett (ed.), Early
Christianity: Origins and Evolution to AD 600 (London: SPCK 1991) is
full of useful information; for a short reliable history, Henry Chadwick,
The Early Church (Pelican History of the Church 1) (Harmondsworth:
Penguin 1967). For more detailed history try W. H. C. Frend, The Rise of
Christianity (London: Darton, Longman & Todd 1984) or Hubert Jedin
and John Dolan, History of the Church (London: Bums & Oates 1980)
vol. 1 and 2. For doctrine: J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Doctrines
(London: Longmans 31978) and Early Christian Creeds (London:
Longmans 31972); J. Danielou, A History of Early Christian Doctrine 1-3
(London: 1964-1977). For Christology, Aloys Grillmeier, Christ in
Christian Tradition 1 (London: Mowbrays 21975) is comprehensive. For
reference. Encyclopedia of Early Christianity, ed. E. Ferguson (New
York: Garland 1989); The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church
(London: Oxford University Press 21974); Atlas of the Early Christian
World (London: Nelson 1958 and after). Frances Young, From Nicaea to
Chalcedon (SCM 1983) is a readable guide to the writers of the later
period.

Chapter 1: God and the gods

Robert M. Grant, Gods and the one God: Christian theology in the
Graeco-Roman World (London: SPCK 1986). Robert M. Grant, Early

247
 248 Further Reading

Christianity and Society (London: Collins 1977). W. H. C. Frend, Martyr¬

dom and Persecution in the Early Church (Oxford: Blackwell 1965). R. A.
Markus, Christianity in the Roman World (London: Thames and Hudson
1975).

Chapter 2: Community and morality

Early Christian Fathers (Library of Christian classics 1). Cheslyn Jones,
Geoffrey Wainwright, Edward Yarnold, eds, The Study of Liturgy
(London: SPCK; New York: OUP 1978).

Chapter 3: The message and the messengers

R. J. Coggins and J. L. Houlden, A Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation

(London: SCM 1990); Bruce M. Metzger, The Canon of the New
Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1987); Bleddyn J. Roberts, The Old
-4 Testament Text and Versions (Cardiff: University of Wales Press 1951);
Hans von Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority and Spiritual Power
(London: A & C Black; Stanford University Press 1969).

Chapter 4: Proliferation and excess

Walter Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity (London:

SCM 1972/Philadelphia: Fortress Press 1971); C. W. Hedrick and Robert
Hodgson, eds, Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism and Early Christianity
(Peabody, MA: Hendrickson 1986); Kurt Rudolph, Gnosis (Edinburgh:
T. & T. Clark 1983); Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures (London:
SCM 1987).

Chapter 5: Defence and definition

Henry Chadwick, Early Christianity and the Classical Tradition (Oxford:

Oxford University Press 1966). R. M. Grant, Greek Apologists of the
Second Century (London: SCM 1988).

Chapter 6: Tradition and truth: Irenaeus of Lyons

R. P. C. Hanson, Tradition in the Early Church (London: SCM 1962);

John Lawson, The Biblical theology of St Irenaeus (London: Epworth
Press 1948).

Chapter 7: Latin theology launched: Tertullian

T. D. Barnes, Tertullian (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1971); G. L. Bray,

Holiness and the Will of God (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott 1979).
 Further Reading 249

Chapter 8: Sectarian religion and episcopal authority

Controversial discussions are not readily accessible in English; see however

general books and G. Dix, ed., The Treatise on the Apostolic Tradition of
St Hippolytus of Rome (reissued with corrections by H. Chadwick)
(London: SPCK 1968); Hippolytus of Rome Contra Noetum, ed. and
trans. Robert Butterworth (London: Heythrop College 1977).

Chapter 9: One Church, one baptism: Cyprian

Michael M. Sage, Cyprian (Cambridge, MA: Philadelphia Patristic

Foundation Ltd); M. F. Wiles, ‘The theological legacy of St Cyprian’,
Journal of Ecclesiastical History 14 (1963), pp. 139-149.

Chapters 10 and 11: Clement and Origen

Charles Bigg, The Christian Platonists of Alexandria (Oxford: Clarendon

Press 1886); H. Crouzel, Origen (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark 1989); R. P. C.
Hanson, Origen’s Doctrine of Tradition (London: SPCK 1954); S. R. C.
Lilia, Clement of Alexandria (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1971);
J. W. Trigg, Origen (Atlanta: John Knox Press 1983/London: SCM
1985).

Chapter 12: The rise of Constantine

T. D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, MA/London:

Harvard University Press 1981); N. H. Baynes, Constantine the Great
and the Christian Church (Proceedings of the British Academy 1929/
reprint ed. by H. Chadwick, Oxford 1972); W. H. C. Frend, The Donatist
Church (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1952); A. H. M. Jones, Constantine
and the Conversion of Europe (Harmondsworth: Penguin 1962); Robin
Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians (Harmondsworth etc.: Viking 1986) is
valuable for the period before as well as for Constantine.

Chapter 13: Arius and the Council of Nicaea

R. C. Gregg, ed.,Arianism (The Philadelphia Patristic Foundation 1985);

R. P. C. Hanson, The Search for the Christian Doctrine of God
(Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark 1989) covers the whole period to Constantin¬
ople; Rowan Williams, Arius (London: Darton, Longman & Todd 1987).

Chapters 14 and 15: Councils and controversies; Towards synthesis

H. Lietzmann, A History of the Early Church 3-4 is particularly good, in

addition to other church histories and Hanson. G. L. Prestige, God in
 250 Further Reading

Patristic Thought (London: SPCK 1952); Charles E. Raven, Apollinarian-

ism (Cambridge: University Press 1923); see also accounts of personalities
in Frances Young, From Nicaea to Chalcedon, and histories of doctrine.

Chapter 16: Theodosius I and the Council of Constantinople

N. Q. King, The Emperor Theodosius and the Establishment of

Christianity (London: SCM 1961).

Chapter 17: New spirituality: the monastic movement

Owen Chadwick, John Cassian (Cambridge: University Press 21968);

D. J. Chitty, The Desert a City (Oxford: Blackwell 1966); Philip Rousseau,
Ascetics, Authority and the Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press
1979) and Pachomius (Berkeley/London: University of California Press
1985) . H. Lietzmann, A History of the Early Church 4 has a good final
4 chapter.

Chapter 18: Origenism, Jerome and John Chrysostom

Chrysostomus Baur, John Chrysostom and his Time (London/Glasgow:

Sands & Co. 1959; reprint Belmont, MA, 1988); J. N. D. Kelly, Jerome
(London: Duckworth 1975).

Chapter 19: Augustine of Hippo

Gerald Bonner, St Augustine of Hippo (London: SCM 1963) is clear and

thorough; Peter Brown, Augustine of Hippo (London: Faber 1967) is full
and readable; Henry Chadwick, Augustine (Oxford/New York: OUP
1986) is brief and brilliant.

Chapters 20 and 21: Cyril, Nestorius and the Council of Ephesus;

Eutycles Leo and the Council of Chalcedon

A. Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition for all detail on Christology.

Cyril of Alexandria, Select Letters, ed. and trans. Lionel R. Wickham
(Oxford: Clarendon Press 1983) has an excellent introduction; see also
J. B. Bethune-Baker, Nestorius (Cambridge: University Press 1908); G. L.
Prestige, Fathers and Heretics (London: SPCK 1948); R. V. Sellers, Two
Ancient Christologies (London: SPCK 1940) and The Council of
Chalcedon (London: SPCK 1953).
 INDEX

Acoemetae 178-9 221; support for Athanasius 155; theology

Acts of John 78 reflected in creed 171
Acts of Thomas 45 apologetic, apologists: alleged atheism 51-2;
adultery 17, 68, 81-2 defence of Christian morality 50; described
Aelia see Jerusalem 48; early 48-9, 49; protest about
Aetius, Neo-arian 145-6 persecution 49-50; links with Greek
Africa, north: Catholicism 193; church culture 50-1; teaching 52-4, 56
building in 116; dissident confessors apostles, apostolic tradition: concepts of:
87-8, 90; Latin scriptures in 67; Donatism in Chalcedonian Definition 241, in
114, 116, 203; persecutions in 114-15; Clement of Alexandria 97-8, in Clement of
schism 88-9, 93; see also Augustine, Rome 33, in gnosticism' 59-60, in
Cyprian, Tertullian Irenaeus 34, 59-61, 241, in Origen 102, in
agape 23 Rule of Truth 61-3, in Tertullian 68-9,
Albinos 52-3 69-70; early evidence 29-30, 31 ; origins,
Alexander, Bishop of Alexandria 121, 125, use of terms 29; strict adherence to 241
126-7, 133, 135, 136, 137 Aquila, Greek version of Scriptures 27, 104
Alexander, Bishop of Jerusalem 96, 100 Arianism: and Neo-arianism 144, 145-6;
Alexander Severus 83 anathematization 149, 165; beliefs 111,
Alexandria: origins, importance of churches 121-6, 154-5, 212; monism 135-6; Origen
in 95, 121, 134, 165-6; patriarchate 238; regarded as precursor 106; rejection 126,
teaching schools 17, 96-7; see also 131-3, 140-1, 142-3, 144-5; see also Arius
individual bishops Arius 121, 124, 125, 133, 135, 138; see also
allegory see interpretation, allegorical Arianism
Ambrose, Bishop of Milan 159, 162, 171-2, Aristotle 5, 6
189, 192, 196, 218 Aristides 49, 50
Anatolius, Bishop of Constantinople 230, Armenia, Armenians 112-13, 234
231, 232 Artemon 77
anchorites 175 asceticism 96, 174-6, 182, 184
angels: concepts of 50-1, 55-6, 99, 102, 106; Asclepiodotus 77
fall, restoration 107-8 astrology, astronomers Augustine’s
anointing, baptismal 19-22 interest 193, 196
Anomoians (Anomoeans) see Eunomius, Athanasius: Against the Pagans and On the
Neo-arianism incarnation 139; appointment to see of
Anthropomorphites, 183, 188, 190 Alexandria 137; association with Life of
Antioch, Antiochenes: christology 216, Antony 173, 175, 190; concept of soul of
217-19, 222; divisions 148-53; deposition Christ 151; condemnation of supporters
of Eustathius from see 137; Easter date 142; disputes 135, 136, 137-8, 144;
imposed on 133-4; status 134, 238; fluctuating fortunes 138-9, 140, 143, 144,
see also Nestorius 145; homoousios defended by 111;
Antony, pioneer of monasticism 173-6; see insistence on Nkene creed 150, 153-4;
also Life of Antony president at Council of Alexandria (362)
Apocalypse of Adam, The 42 148-53, 163; relations with Apollinaris
Apocrypha 25-6, 28 155; repudiation of creed of Sardica 150,
Apocryphon of John 59 217; theology 145, 153-4, 159
Apollinaris, Apollinarianism: christology Athenagoras 49, 50, 56
condemned as heresy 154-6, 159-60, 162, Augustine of Hippo: and the City of God
165, 166; earlier anticipations of 111, 151, 209-10; attempt to harmonize Christianity
153; impact 155, 156, 158, 163-4, 214, with Latin culture 239; attitude to fleshly

251
 252 Index

desires 198, 199, 239-40; Christian Caesarius of Arles 174, 182

upbringing 193-6; canon accepted by 28; Caius, presbyter, challenge to authenticity
concept of office of bishop 92, 203-4; of John’s Gospel, Revelation 77
conversion 175, 191, 196-9; development Callistus, Bishop of Rome: beliefs 81-2, 92,
of creed 170, 202; influences on 46, 189, 93; disputes during episcopacy 78-80, 82;
194, 196, 198; invocation of laws against imprisonment, release 76, 79; unifying
heresy 172; life, career, Confessions 191-3; policies 75
offended by Latin Bible 185; response to: cannibalism, repudiation of alleged practice
Donatism 203-5, Manicheism 195-6, 197, 12,13,50,57
Pelagianism 204, 205-9; rules for Canon see Bible, New Testament, Old
monasticism 174; teaching 159, 199, 200-8 Testament, Scriptures
Aurelian, Emperor 110, 118 Cappadocian Fathers 154-60, 162-3, 189,
,
201 202
baptism: admission to Eucharist following Carpocratians 39
22-4; and rebaptism 81, 92-3, 117; and catechumens: life as unbaptized adherents
original sin, 206-8; and sexual abstinence 173; preparation for, coming to baptism
45; concepts of: in Africa 193, in 15-22, 56
Augustine 203-4, 207-9; in Clement of Celestius 206
Alexandria 97-8, in Donatism 203; celibacy: among Gnostics, Marcionites,
exorcism prior to 18, 19-22; in Rome, 115; Manichees 38, 41, 195; of the
,, Montanist, recognition refused 47; of baptized (Encratism) 17, 18, 173; various
heretics 89, 92-3; of those baptised by practices 38, 41, 195; views of
schismatics 92-4; preparation for 15, Augustine 199
18-19, 80-1; repudiation of false gods at Celsus 14, 49, 56, 98, 101
50; rites 16, 19-22, 52, 89, 93, 170, 243, Cerinthus 40, 77
244-5; validity dependent on doctrine Chalcedonian Formula, Definition:
affirmed at 117 Antiochene method in 216; christology
baptistery, function in early church 19 233-4, 244; documents incorporated in
Bardaisan (Bardesanes) 75, 145-6 167-71, 215, 220, 232-3, 241; evaluated
Barlaam and Joasaph, legend of 49 232-6
Basil, Bishop of Ancrya 146, 153-4 charity: administration 32; attitudes
Basil of Caesarea: contribution to to 17, 23
monasticism 155, 156-7, 175, 179-80; chastity: among clergy, Hippolytus’
opponent of Valens 162; relations with: insistence on 81; see also celibacy, sexual
Apollinaris 155, 159, Eustathius of abstinence
Sebaste 158, 179-80; theology 155, 157-9 children: baptism 19-20; Christian
Basilides, Basilideans: beliefs 41, 42, 43, upbringing 14
44, 62; considered to be gnostic 40; Chi-rho, origin of 118
repudiation by Irenaeus 59; widespread chrism see anointing
influence 45, 95 Christianity, Christians: alleged sinister
Beryllus of Bostra 106 practices 12, 13, 50, 57; apologetic see
Bethlehem, monasteries in 174, 183, 184 apologetic, apologists; binitarian theology
Bible, The: development of doctrine from 52-4; christology 78; defence against
28-9, 242-5; fourfold gospel Canon: not charge of godlessness 51-2; defence of
universally accepted 75, supported by Christian morality 50; defined 48; Greek.
Irenaeus, Tatian 77; Jerome’s translation Latin 48-9; protest about persecution
184-5; language used in 26-7; see also New 49-50; common ground with Greek,
Testament, Old Testament Roman thought 6, 50-1; conversion to:
bishops: chastity required of 80-1; defaulting, and concept of judgement 14-15, and
Cyprian’s view of 91-2; patriarchates, instruction of catechumens 15-17,
regional groupings 237-8; responsibilities openness of women to 14, various reasons
31-5, 74-5, 80-1, 119, 237; ritual role for 14-15; dependence on Scriptures 25,
18-22, 22-4; spiritual, other functions 27; lapsed: and emergence of confessors
distinguished 90-1, 92, 94; three required 86-7, forgiveness and restoration 86,
to make new one 90; rigorous approach to 88-9; persecutions 7,
Byzantium see Constantinople 10-13, 86-7, 112-13; ‘real’, ‘born again’
distinguished 44; training 7; spread 27, 28
Caecilian, Bishop in Carthage 114-17 christology: Antiochene 216, 217-19, 222;
Caelestine, Bishop of Rome 215-16, 217, 222 Apollinarian 155-6; Arian (Eudoxius) 154;
 Index 253
biblical basis 242-5; controversies over 125-6; attitude to religion 118-19; baptism,
soul of Christ 151-3, 163; docetism in 39; death 139; churches built, endowed by
importance of Tertullian’s doctrine of 116, 119-20; family relationships 115,
trinity for 73; in Callistus, 79, 82, 151-3, 238; proclamation as Emperor 115;
163; of Athanasius 155; of Cappadocian refounding of Constantinople 238;
Fathers 159-60; of Chalcedonian Formula relations with: Donatists 116, Licinius
232-4, 234-6; of Cyril 214-19, 222; of 119, 125, 128-9, Maxentius 115; summons
Eutyches 226, 227-8, 233; of Formula of of Council of Nicaea 128; word
Reunion 220-2; of Hippolytus 80; of Leo I proposed by 129-30
227-8, 231; of Melito 78; of Monarchians Constantine II, 139-40
76-8, 79-80; of Monophysites 234-5; of Constantinople, city and see: foundation 119;
Nestorius 213, 220; of Origen 105-7, precedence accorded to 166, 213, 231-2;
107-9, 111; of Paul of Samosata 111; of patriarchate 238; see also individual
Sabellians 77-8, 79-80; of Theodore 213; bishops
of Theodoret 225-6; traditional, of Constantius I (Chlorus) 111, 115
Alexandria 152-3, 214, 218-19 Constantius II 139-40, 144, 146, 148
Chrysaphius 223, 226, 230 ‘consubstantial’ (homoousios), use of term
Church, churches: concept of, in Rule of 110, 111, 129-33, 146, 150-1, 158, 162,
Truth 61-2; divisions, schisms: and 233-4; see also Trinity
doctrine of double procession 202, Coptic churches 113-14, 177
attempted reconciliation at Sardica 142-3, Corinth: early Church in 19, 32-3
opposition to Neo-arianism 146, origins Cornelius, Bishop of Rome, 88-9, 91, 239
36, 238, period of Eastern dominance council, councils see under individual
144-7; financial integrity required of councils
office-bearers 24; protection from frauds Council of Antioch (325) 125, 126-7
30; reflection of imperial organization Council of Antioch (341) (‘Dedication
237-8; role: of bishops 74-5, of leaders in Council’) 140-2, 146
development of doctrine 29-35; severity of Council of Alexandria (362) 148-54
excommunication 29-35; social advantages Council of Aquileia (381), 171
of membership 23-4; strengthening 116, Council of Ariminum (Rimini) (359) 146-7
119-20, 237; Sunday meetings 17; Council of Arles (314) 117, 120
systematic persecution 86-9; unity, Council of Arles (353) 144
insistence on 45, 89-91; weekday teaching Council of Carthage (251) 88
17; see also Christianity Council of Carthage, Seventh (256) 92-4
City of God, Augustinian concept 208-10 Council of Chalcedon (451) 167-71, 231-6,
Clement of Alexandria: attempt to harmonize 240; see also Chalcedonian Formula
Christianity with Greek culture 7, 239; as Council of Constantinople (381) 156, 159,
teacher 96-8; concept of apostolic tradition 165-72, 217, 240
97-8; death 96; education, training 95-6; Council of Ephesus (431) 206, 214-19,
evidence from, on training of catechumens 220-2, 240
16; hostility to heresy 97; in apologetic Council of Ephesus (449) (‘Robber Council’):
tradition 49, 50; method of interpretation called 226, 229-231
103; on kiss of peace 21; on knowledge of Council of Nicaea (325) 128, 133-4, 149,
God 98-9, 102; regard for Irenaeus 97 158, 162, 165-6, 240; see also Creed,
Clement of Rome: evidence from: on Church Nicene
in Rome 34, on elders, bishops, deacons Council of Rome (377) 162, 164, 166,
31-2, 32-3; in Roman succession list 61 169, 171
Cleomenes 78 Council of Sardica (342 ?343) 142-3; see also
clergy: acceptance back of dissident 134, Creed of Sardica
139; appeal to Rome 143; early evidence Council of Seleucia (359) 146-7, 162
on ordination 80-1; heretical, schismatic Council of Toledo (589) 202
239 creation, concepts of: importance in
confessors: emergence 86-7, 192-2; martyrs emergence of Christian doctrine 17; in
distinguished 86; support for dissidents apologists 42; in Arius 135-6; in
87-8, 90 gnosticism 42-3, 44; in Irenaeus 65-6; in
confirmation, origins of 19-20 New Testament 242; in Origen 101-2,
Constans 139-40, 144 103-4, 107-9; in Platonism 52, 53
Constantine I: attempts: at reconciliation in Creed, Athanasian: doctrine of double
Egypt 138-9, to solve dispute with Arius procession in 202
 254 Index

Creed, Lucianic (second of Antioch) 141-2, restoration 107-8; in Clement of

146 Alexandria 99; in Origen 102; renounced
Creed, Nicene: approach of spirit-fighters to at baptism 20, 51; see also exorcism
153-4, as doctrinal standard 144, 150, Demophilus of Constantinople 163, 165
assimilated into Chalcedonian Formula Didache: evidence on: early Eucharist 23,
167-8, 232-4, Athanasius’ attachment to emergence of bishops, deacons 30-5, of
144, christology 150, 154, 217, confession prophets 29, 30-1, of teachers 29, 30-1,
a condition of restoration to communion role of apostles 29-30, 31, instruction of
149, consolidation of support for 144-5, catechumens in 15-16; parallels to New
debated at Council 129-33, doctrine of Testament 16; teaching on prayer 17
double procession incorporated 202, Didymus the Blind 181, 189
expounded: by Cyril 214-15, by Nestorius Diocletian 112-3, 238
216, foundation for orthodoxy 141, 217, Diodore of Tarsus 151-2, 155, 162, 163, 222
219, phraseology derived from Bible 242, Dionysius, Bishop of Alexandria 85, 94, 110
reiteration at Constantinople 165, 167-71 Dionysius of Corinth 74-5
Creed of Chalcedon 167 Dionysius, Bishop of Rome 94, 110
Creed of Constantinople: Chalcedonian Dionysus, cult of 2-3
Formula 167-8, 232-4, Nicene Creed Dioscorus (Dioscuros): appointment to see at
compared 167-71 Alexandria 223; at Council of Ephesus
4 Creed of Sardica 142-3, 144, 150, 170, 217 (449) 229; attempts to suppress
Creed ‘of the long lines’ 143 ‘Nestorianism’ 223, 225; controversies
creeds: modem interpretations 240-1; involving 225, 230-1; trial, deposition
statements from Council of Antioch, 341 230-1
140-2, 146; trinitarian elements in early Docetism, docetists 39
20-1 doctrine: development: at major Councils
Creeds of Sirmium: Second 145, 146, Fourth 240, biblical basis 242-5, by modern
(Dated Creed) 146-7 scholars 240-1, contribution of liturgy
cross of Christ: and chi-rho emblem 118; 244-5; see also Creeds and individual
Helena’s purported discovery 138 aspects of doctrine
Cyprian, Bishop of Carthage: approach to Domnus, Bishop of Antioch 225, 229, 233
baptism 92-4, 117, 203; disputed texts 28, Donatism, Donatists: on baptism 115, 203;
91; education, training, 87; influence of on defective bishops 92, 114, 203; origins,
Tertullian 87; lament over loss of apostolic distribution 114-15, 117, 203; refutation
purity 239; an apostasies 87-8; on common by Augustine 203-5; rejection, proscription
purse 23; on defaulting bishops 91-2; on 117, 204, 239; relations with Constantine
church unity 89-91, 93; persecution, 116-17, 120; Theodosius’ anti-heretical
arrest, execution 85-6, 93-4, 112; decree used against 172, 204
significance 94 Donatus, Bishop of Carthage 114, 115
Cyril of Alexandria: acceptance of Formula dualism: denied by Novatian 83; in .
of Reunion 220, 221, 222; administrative gnosticism 40, 44, 63-4; in beliefs of
expertise 211; christology 214-19, 220-2, Manichees 194-5
244; death 223; deposition, restoration
219, 220; dispute with Nestorius 212,
213; Second Letter to Nestorius 215-16, Easter: date agreed at Nicaea 133-4; keeping
221, 222, 231, 233; Third Letter to of: by Quartodecimans 76, in Irenaeus 75,
Nestorius 216-19, 233; Twelve Anathemas Victor’s attempt to unify practice 76;
217-19, 222, 229; use of Apollinarian tradition of baptism at 18-19
writings 156 Eastern Christianity: early 45-6; survival 46;
see also Church, divisions
Daniel, Book of 25-6 Ecclesiasticus 25-6
deacons: chastity required of 80-1; origins, economic trinitarianism 70-1, 105-6
responsibilities 30-5, 237 ‘economy’ (oikonomia, dispensatio),
Decius, Emperor, 85-6, 93-4, 101, 112 theological uses of term 70-1
Demetrias 205 Edessa: Christianity at 75; Palut appointed
Demetrius, Bishop of Alexandria 75, 100-1 bishop 75
Demiurge, concepts of 38, 41, 43, 53, 63 Egypt: churches: attempt to reconcile
demons: association with: evil thoughts 181, divisions 138-9; rejection of Chalcedonian
illness 17, pagan gods 4, 51; combat with, Formula 234; early monasticism 176;
in monastic life 174; fall, potential for Monophysite christology 234-5;
 Index 255
persecutions in 85-6, 113-14; spread of
Eusebius of Vercellae 144, 149
Manicheism 112; see also Melitius
Eustathius of Antioch: account of Council of
elect, the: angels associated with 55; gnostic
Nicaea 129-30; appointment, deposition
concept 43, 44, 59-60; in Augustine 207;
126, 137, 148; beliefs 132, 150, 151, 163,
Irenaeus on 59-60; Manichean term 195-6 164
elders see presbyters
Eustathius of Sebaste 153-4, 158-9, 179-80
Eleutherus, Bishop of Rome 57-8
Eustochium 184
encratite heresy 18, 173
Eutyches: christology 226, 227-8, 233, 235;
Epicurus, Epicureans, concept of
fluctuating fortunes 226, 229, 230, 231;
Providence 5
influence 223; interpretation of Cyril’s
Epiphanius, Bishop of Salamis 168-9, 185-6
theology 217
eschatology: expectations among early
Euzoius, Bishop of Antioch 148, 155
Christians 47; in Clement of Alexandria
Evagrius of Pontus 180-1, 182, 189
96, 99; see also judgement, millennium,
evil, evil spirits: attitudes to, in early
resurrection
church 17, 18; Augustine’s approach to
Esther, Book of 26
196, 197; exorcism 17, 18-19; God as
eternal generation, doctrine of 83, 106, 124
source 37, 195; see also demons, sin
Ethiopia, churches in: adoption of
excommunication, social implications in early
Monophysite christology 234-5; rejection of church 24
Chalcedonian Formula 234
exorcism, exorcists 17, 18-20
eucharist: admission of newly baptized to
exposure of babies, forbidden in early
19, 22-4; blessing, dismissal of
Christian teaching 16-17
catechumens before 17; concept of sacrifice
90-1; early accounts of 23, 50, 54-5;
importance of Hippolytus’ liturgy for 81; Fabian, Bishop of Rome 83, 85
inclusion of creed of Constantinople in Fabius, Bishop of Antioch 88-9
liturgy 170; nature of oblation 22; role of fall, the, concepts of 99, 102, 106, 107-8,
207-8
prophets 30, symbolism of bread and wine
22, 23; tradition of common meal 22 fasting: emphasis on: in Montanism 46-7, in
Euchites see Messalians training of catechumens 17, 18, 19;
paschal 19
Euctemon of Smyrna 85
Felix of Aptungi 115
Eudoxius, Eudoxians: anathematization 165;
Firmillian, Bishop of Caesarea 92, 111
appointment to see of Antioch 165;
Flavian, Bishop of Antioch 164, 166, 187
christology 154; homoian doctrines 145,
153, 154-5, 160; relations with Nicenes Flavian, Bishop of Constantinople 223, 227,
228, 229, 230
163; translation to Constantinople 147
flesh, the, fleshly desires: Augustine’s
Eunomius, Eunomians: anathematization
attitude 198, 199, 239-40; gnostic view 41,
165; doctrines 145-6, 201; opposed by
43, 44; war with, a feature of early
Cappadocian Fathers 157-9; relations
monasticism 176; see also asceticism
with Nicenes 163
Forgiveness: strictness about, in Montanism
Eusebius of Caesarea: attack on Marcellus of
46-7; for lapse, and formal reconciliation
Ancrya 128; contribution to Council of
86-7, 88-9; see also sin
Nicaea 129-33; defence of Origen 91-7,
Formula of Reunion: acceptance by Cyril
110; dissent, excommunication 127, 130;
220, 221; Antiochene method in 216;
influence on Nicene Creed, 129-33, 170;
assimilation into Chalcedonian Formula
on keeping of Easter 76; on life, theology
233; christology 220-2; repudiated by
of Origen 100, 101, 106; on persecution in
Eutyches 226; upheld by Council of
Gaul 57-8; on Clement of Alexandria 95-6;
Chalcedon 234
on Montanism 46; on vision of Constantine
fornication: forgiveness opposed by
118; opposition to Eustathius 137; report
Tertullian 68; prohibited 17
on deaths of Peter, Paul 11; support for
Fortunatus, schismatic Bishop of
Arius 125; use of term theotokos 213
Carthage 88
Eusebius of Dorylaeum 229
freedom of the will, concepts of 107, 196,
Eusebius of Nicomedia: baptism of
197, 206, 207
Constantine 139; deposition 134-5;
Fronto, attitude to Christians 13
evangelistic policies 223-4; influence on
Constantine 128, 135; support for Arius
125, 131; translation to Constantinople Galerius 112, 113, 115
140 Gallienus 112
256 Index

Gaul: church feuds 224; gnosticism in 45; Gregory of Nyssa: background 156-7; on
monasticism in 182; papal primacy in 224; conversion of Basil of Caesarea 180; on
persecutions in 57-8, 177 monasticism among women 174; supporter
Genesis, book of 17, 42, 101, 103, 192-3; see of Meletius 162; theology 158, 160
also Creation, Old Testament Gregory Thaumaturgus 111
gnosticism, gnostics: Clement’s
understanding of 95, 97, 98; encratite Hebrew language 26, 27, 104, 185
heresy associated with 173; origins, use Hebrews, Epistle to 28
of term 39-40; principal features 41-7, 62, Hegesippus, apostolic tradition in 60
63-4, 78; repudiation by Irenaeus 59-60; Helena: discovery of ‘true cross’ 138;
strength 45, 95 Eustathius’ supposed affront to 137
God: concepts, doctrines of: Arian 121-5, hell, Augustine’s teaching on 234-40
135-6, 141-2, 212-13, biblical basis Heraclides, bishop 106, 110
242-5; in Apollinarian heresy Heracleon, commentary on John’s Gospel
154-6, 163-4, in Athanasius 145, 146, 42-3
150, in Augustine 193-4, in beliefs of heresy, heretics: associated with influence of
Anthropomorphites 183, in Callistus, philosophy 69; attacks on 68-70, 161, 172,
Hippolytus compared 82; in Cappadocian 212, 213; in Eastern Christianity 45-6;
Fathers 157-9, 159-60; in classical origin, use of term, 36; schism
philosophy 5-7; in Clement of Alexandria distinguished 36; see also individual
98-9, in Cyril 217-19, in early apologetic movements
50-4, in Eunomians 157, in Eustathian Hermes, concept of, as saviour 43
tradition 150, in gnosticism 41-7, 63-4, in Hilary of Arles 224
Greek and Roman philosophy 5-7; in Hilary of Poitiers 111, 144, 200
Hippolytus 80, 82, in Irenaeus 61-2, 63-6, Hippolytus: criticism of Callistus 81-2, 91;
in John Chrysostom 187-8, in Meletius doctrines 77-80; evidence on early
148-9, 150, in Monarchians, Sabellians Christian practices 18-22, 23, 81. 93;
77-80, in Neo-arianism 145-6, in Origen 80-1; exposition of Rule of Truth 62;
102, 105-7, 107-10, 124, 183, in spirit- identification of episcopate as high
fighters 153-4, 164, in synodical letter priesthood 90; martyrdom 82, 83; theology
from Alexandria (362) 152-3, in Tertullian compared: with Callistus 82, with
70; references to, as Father, in New Novation 83, 84
Testament 202; of Israel, exclusivity 1, 4; Holy Spirit, concepts of: and doctrine of
unity of 63-4; see also creeds, Trinity, double procession 202-3; gift of, dependent
doctrine of on baptism 21; in early apologetic 50-1,
gods, goddesses: Christian concept of, as evil 54-5; in gnosticism, 44; in Irenaeus 61-2,
spirits 18; in ancient world 2, 3-4, 50-1; 63-6; in Origen 102; see also creeds,
see also polytheism Pneumatomachi, Trinity, doctrine of
Gospel of Peter 75 Homer, polytheism in 50-1
Gospel of Philip 21 homoian (homoean) theology 146-7; see also
Gospel of Thomas 45 Eudoxius
gospels, four see New Testament Homoiousian party 146, 148; see also
Goths 223-4 ‘consubstantial’
Gratian, Emperor 161 homoiousios, homoousios, distinguished 146
Greece: assimilation of culture into homoousios, homoousians see consubstantial
Christianity 50, 239; polytheism 2, 4-6; homosexual practices, prohibited 17
education in 6-7; concept of transcendent Hypatia, lynched 211
God 52; persecution of Christians in 74; hypostasis, concept of 150-1, 158, 163, 164,
theologians’ abandonment of belief in 218; see also Trinity, doctrine of
millennium 58
Greek language: spoken, in Palestine 26, 27; Ibas of Edessa 222, 225, 226, 229
translation of Scriptures into 26; use for idolatry, prohibited 17
preaching, teaching 26-7, 59 Ignatius of Antioch 32, 33-4, 39, 60
Gregory of Nazianzus: background 156-7; Incarnation, the: concepts of 109-10, 155-6,
beliefs 159-60, 164, 213, 218, 241; 171, 221; see also christology, creeds,
ordination of Evagrius 180; supporter of Jesus Christ, Trinity, doctrine of
Meletius 162; tenure of see of incest, apologists’ repudiation of charges
Constantinople 166-7 of 50
 Index 257
Innocent I, Pope (402-17) 206
Syrian monasticism 178; ordination 187;
interpretation, allegorical 6, 26-7, 102-5 reception of Tall Brothers 188-9
187, 196 Josephus 10, 27
Irenaeus: appointment to see of Lyons 57-8; Judaism, Jews: attitudes to, in Roman Empire
beliefs 44, 47, 58, 60-6, 71-2, 77, 241; 10-11, 13; Scriptures 25-7; widespread
criticisms of: apologists’ theology, communities 25; see also Old Testament
Marcosians 20; doctrine of the Trinity in judgement, concept of 4-5, 14-15, 17, 61-2,
Tertullian and, compared 71-2; evidence 63-6
from: on origins of church in Rome 34, on Julian, Emperor (‘the Apostate’) 7, 148, 151
role of elders, bishops 31, 34-5, 94; 211
importance 58, 97; on exclusivity of the Julian of Eclanum 208
four gospels 61, 62, 77; on gnosticism 40, Julius, Bishop of Rome 140
45, 59-60; on keeping of Easter 76; on Justin Martyr: apologetic 48-9; beliefs 47, 52,
Rule of Truth 35, 61-3, 103; origins 58-9; 53- 4, 71-2; defence of monotheism 51-2;
role in persecution in Lyons 57-8; surviving description of Christian practices 23, 50,
works 58; teaching reflected in Tertullian 54- 5; influence of classics on 51, 52-4;
68-9; use of Greek language 59 known to Irenaeus 63; on reasons for con¬
Irenaeus, Bishop of Tyre 225 version 14; protest at persecution 49-50;
Isis, cult of 2-3 reflection of controversies over interpreta¬
tion of Scripture 29; school for catechumens
Jerome: career 183-4; criticism of Origenism 15; teacher of Tatian 45; Tertullian and,
185; disputes involving 186, 189, 205, compared 71-2
206; observations on early monasticism Justinian, Emperor 235
177-8; reflection of Origenism 185, 187,
189; relations with Epiphanius 186; killing of human beings, prohibited 16-17
significance 184-5; support for Paulinus kiss of peace 21-2, 9
185; translation of Scriptures 28
Jerusalem: Church of the Resurrection 138, Lactantius 118, 239
139; honoured by Council of Nicaea 134; language: of scriptures 26-7, 185; of speech
monasteries in: dispute over Origenism 26, 45-6
183, endowment 174; organization of lapsed, the, attitudes to reconciliation 86-9,
church government in 31; patriarchate 238 94, 239
Jesus Christ: angels associated with, in early Latin: culture, attempt to harmonise
apologetic 50-1, 55-6; concepts of soul of Christianity with 239; educational
151, 152-3; difficulty of concept of traditions 6-7; translation into: of liturgy
resurrection 4-5; early responses to 45; 67, of scriptures 185
gnostic concept of 43, 44; identification as Latin theology 58, 67; see also Augustine,
Messiah 25, 29; models in Old Testament Church, divisions, Cyprian laying on of
103; name used in baptism 21; passion of hands 19, 81, 93
73; term ‘oikonomia’ applied to 70; see Lent, origins 19
also christology, creeds, Trinity, doctrine Leo I (‘the Great’) 223, 224, 227-8, 230,
of and individual writers 231-2, 233
John, Apostle: acceptance of writings as Lerins, monastic settlement 182
Scripture 62; Barbelo claimed as inspiration Letter to Diognetus 48-9, 50
for Apocryphon, 59; Gospel: apostolic Letter of Ptolemy to Flora, The 42
authenticity challenged 77, christology Liberius, Bishop of Rome 145, 153, 161
243, 244, defended by Hippolytus 77; Licinius 116, 119, 125, 128-9
Revelation: interpretation 110, source of Life of Antony 173-6, 189, 199
doctrine of millennium 58; supposed liturgy: and development of doctrine 244-5;
martyrdom in Rome 69; see also New early translations into Latin 67; influence
Testament of Origen on 104; traditions of East, West
John of Antioch 219, 220, 222; see also Cyril compared 238; see also Eucharist
of Alexandria Logos, concepts of: in Callistus, Hippolytus
John, Bishop of Jerusalem 186 compared 80, 82; in Clement of Alexandria
John Arcaph 137-8 98-9; in early apologetic 51, 52-4, 55-6; in
John Cassian 177, 181, 182, 189 gnosticism 44; in Greek, Latin philosophy
John Chrysostom: beliefs 187-8, 189, 218; 6; in Irenaeus 63, 64; see also christology,
components of Canon accepted by 28; Creation, creeds, Trinity, doctrine of
controversial career 187-8, 189, 211; on Lord’s Prayer 17
258 Index

Lucian of Antioch 141 Melitians: alleged connection with Arius

Lucifer of Calaris 144, 149-50, 163 121; disputes involving 113-14, 137-8;
Lucius, Bishop of Alexandria 161-2 terms imposed on, by Council of Nicaea
Lyons: links with Asia, Phrygia 57, 59; 133
persecution in 57-8 Melito of Sardis: christology 78; in apologetic
tradition 48; protest at persecutions 49,
Macarius of Alexandria 173-6 50; search for true Canon of scripture 27
Macarius of Egypt 176, 179, 180 Memnon, Bishop of Ephesus 219, 220, 226
Maccabees, Books of 25-6 men: baptism 19; training as catechumens
Macedonius, Bishop of Constantinople 144, 15; see also women
146, 147, 153-4 Mensurius, Bishop of Carthage 114
Majorinus 114-15, 116-17 mental illness, attitudes to 17, 18
Mani, Manichees, Manicheism: attacks on Messalians (Euchites) 179
112, 205; beliefs 194-5; Encratite heresy Methodius of Olympus 110, 124
in 173; origins, influence 40, 46, 112; metropolitan bishops, jurisdiction, powers
response of Augustine 195-6, 197 238
Marcellus of Ancyra, Marcellians: affinities millennium, concepts of 58, 158
with Arianism 127-8; controversies Miltiades, Bishop of Rome 116
involving 139, 140, 142, 143, 165, 168; Milvian Bridge, battle of 115, 118
influence on creeds 168, 170-1; Sabellius Minucius Felix 49
and, compared 79; theology, christology Mithras, cult of 2-3
131-2, 141, 142, 143, 164; Western Modalism 79, 105-6; see also Monarchianism
support for 142 Monarchianism, monarchians: and Modalism
Marcian of Arles 92, 230 77-8; ‘dynamic monarchianism’ 76-7;
Marcion of Pontus, Marcionites: active in christology 77-8
Edessa 75; alleged misuse of apostolic monasticism: and concept of three categories
tradition 97; beliefs 20-1, 37-9, 62, 63, 78, of mankind 43-4; association with
173; repudiation by Irenaeus 59; wide¬ persecution 173; concept of purely spiritual
spread influence 45; writings accepted as marriage not accepted by Jerome 178; con¬
scripture by 62 tributions of: Basil of Caesarea 156,
Marcus Aurelius, Emperor 49, 74 179-80, 181, Evagrius of Pontus 180-1,
Markos, Marcosians 20, 59 182, Jerome 184-5, John Chrysostom 187,
marriage: concept of purely spiritual, not 188-9, Martin of Tours 182; development,
accepted by Jerome 178; of clergy, in growth 113, 173, 175, 176, 177-9, 180,
Callistus, Hippolytus 81; second 46-7; 182, 224, 229, 239; life-style in early times
superiority of virginity asserted 184 175-6; pre-Christian counterparts 173;
Martin of Tours 178, 182 repercussions 173, 239-40; requirement of
martyrdom, martyrs: accepted as valid celibacy 173; significance for Augustine
baptism 15; among Montanists 46; con¬ 198-9; ‘singing monks’ 178-9; women’s
fessors distinguished 86; influence on movement 174, 184
unbelievers 14, 15; teaching of Clement of Monnica, mother of Augustine 14, 191, 207
Alexandria on 96; see also individual Monophysites: anathematization of Eutyches
martyrs 235; attempts to reconcile 235; christology
Mary, Virgin: dispute over description as adopted by Eastern churches 234; rejection
Theotokos, 212-14, 215, 217, 218, 221, of Chalcedonian Formula 234-5
234, 235; in gnostic christology 44; monotheism 5-6
Jerome’s assertion of perpetual virginity Monothelite heresy 235
184 Montanism: emphasis on discipline 46-7;
Maxentius 115, 116 Irenaeus’, Tertullian’s views on 58, 67-8;
Maximian 112, 115 origins 46
Maximian, Bishop of Constantinople 220, 222 morality, Christian 15-17, 20, 50
Maximin Daza (Tetrarch) 113, 115, 116
Maximin Thrax 83 Nectarius, Bishop of Constantinople 167, 169
Maximus the Cynic 165, 166 Neo-arianism 144, 145-6; see also Eunomius
Melania of Rome 174 Neoplatonism 113, 196-8
Meletius of Antioch, Meletians: beliefs 148, Nero, Emperor 9, 11, 12
151-2, 155; controversies involving 148-9, Nestorius, Nestorians: appointment to see of
149-50, 152, 162, 163, 164; ordination of Constantinople 211; areas of dispute with
John Chrysostom as deacon 187; Melitius, Cyril 212, 213, 215-19, 233, 244; beliefs
 Index 259
211-12, 213, 215, 218, 219-20, 242-5; ousia: controversies over hypostasis and
deposition 219; opponents, supporters 150-1, 158; in Nicene Creed 131-2; two
213, 222; reaction to Leo I’s Tome 228 ousiai in Christ 151, 155
New Testament: acceptance of fourfold
gospel as Canon 61, 62, 75, 77; angels Pachomius, contribution to monasticism 175
associated with the elect in 55; core of 177, 189
testimonia in 28; doctrine based on 202, Palladius, visit to monks of northern Egypt
242-5; evidence on persecution of 176
Christians 10; gnostic attempt to reconcile Palut, Bishop of Edessa 75
with dualism 44; uncertainty of limits 62; Pamphilusof Caesarea 110
see also Bible, Old Testament, Scriptures Pantaenus, teacher of Clement of Alexandria
Nicaea see Council of Nicaea, Creed, Nicene 95
Nicenes: claim to primacy in East 166; papacy: association with Peter 224-5; impact
divisions among 163, 165; dominance in of Leo I 223; origins of term 82; primacy
West 151, 152, 154-6, 160, 162, 171; Neo- 91, 223, 224
Nicenes regarded as Arian 163; opposition Papias, influence on Irenaeus 58
to 155, 156-9, 162 Paraclete, in Montanist theology 46
Noetus, challenged by Hippolytus 77-8 Passover, and keeping of Easter 76
Novatian, Novatianists: rigorous approach patriarchates, five original 238; see also
88-9, 93, 94; terms for reconciliation individual sees
declared at Council of Nicaea 134; Paul, apostle: allegorical method 103;
theology 83-4 influence of classical monotheism on 6;
Novatus 90 martyrdom 11, 69; on rules for
Numidians, in disputes in Carthage 114-15 catechumens 15; summary of core of
gospel 28
oil, oiling, in baptismal rituals 19 Paul of Antioch 97
Old Testament: apologists’ approach 50, 54; Paul, Bishop of Constantinople 140, 142
components of Jewish Canon 25-7; gnostic Paul of Samosata 110-11, 118, 134
acceptance of 44; language 26-7; literal use Paula of Rome, endowment of monasteries
and Manichean objections 193; Marcion’s 174, 184
interpretation 39; models of Jesus Christ Paulinus: beliefs 151-2, 155, 164, 185;
found in 103; Origen’s work on texts 104-5; controversies involving 148, 150-1; follower
source for Christian teaching 17, 25-7, of Eustathius 137; made bishop 149-50;
242-5; uncertainty of limits 62; see also ordination of Jerome 184; supported by:
Bible Epiphanius 185, Jerome 185, Rome 164
ordination: Augustine’s arguments about Pelagius, Pelagianism: Augustine’s dispute
203; evidence on early practice 80-1 with 204, 205-9; condemnation 206, 219
Origen, Origenists: attempt to harmonize Perpetua and her companions, martyrdom 15
Christianity with Greek culture, 239; persecutions: apologists’ protests 49-50;
beliefs 83, 97, 106, 107-9, 111, 151, 206, association with growth of monasticism
218; condemnations of 75, 100-1, 143, 173; condemned by Tertullian 67, 68; in
181, 186; disputes over 183, 185-6, 188; Alexandria 75; of 235-8 AD, political basis
education, training, early works 100-1; 83; renewal 93-4, 112-14; systematic, by
evidence from Eusebius on 96-7; evidence imperial command 85-6; under Marcus
from, on training of catechumens 16; Aurelius 49, 74
exposition of Rule of Truth 62; implication Peter, apostle: association with primacy of
of heresy in 97; in apologetic tradition 49; papacy 224-5; Eusebius’ report of death 11;
influence 101-2, 110-11, 141-2, 189; martyrdom 69, 161
nature of spirituality 45; ordination in Peter I of Alexandria 113, 114
Palestine 100-1; possibly a pupil of Peter II of Alexandria 161-2, 165
Clement of Alexandria 95; regarded as Petilian, Bishop of Constantine 203
precursor of Arianism 106; role as Pharisees, Scriptures used by 25
catechist at Alexandria 17; translation by Philip the Arabian 83, 85
Jerome 184; trinitarianism 71, 72, 105-7, Philo 26, 27, 103
159; use of term Theotokos 213; work on philosophy, Greek: challenged by early
texts of Scripture 27-8, 101-2, 102-5 Christian teaching 17, 96, 98; critiques of
original sin, Augustinian doctrine of 207-9, polytheism 4-5; heresy associated with
239-40 influence 69, 79; reflected in: Arius and
Ossius of Cordova 142, 145 opponents 124, Augustine 192, 196-8,
260 Index

Clement of Alexandria 96, Justin 52-4, catechumens 15, unifying policies 75-80,
Nestorius 220, Origen 100, 108; Tertullian spread 237; dispersion of Jews in 25;
69; schools of 4-6 extent 8; government, bureaucracy 8-9,
Photinus, Photinians, anathematization 165 9-10, 238; importance of cemetery 79;
Phrygia, association of Montanism with 47 repercussions of division after Constantine
Plato, Platonism 48, 52-3, 80; see also Neo¬ 139-40; widespread influence of
platonism gnosticism 45
pleroma, gnostic concept 43, 44 Rufinus of Aquileia 101, 186, 189
Pliny 11-12 Rule of Faith (Rule of Truth) 61-3, 69, 102,
Plotinus 100, 196-7 103, 244-5
Pneumatomachi (spirit-fighters): anathemati-
sation 149-50, 165; approach of Council of
Chalcedon 168, 169, 170; beliefs 153, Sabellius, Sabellianism: anathematization
158; opponents, supporters 153-4, 164 165; attributed to Paul of Samosata 111;
Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna 34-5, 58, 60, 61, christology 77-8, 79-80; disputes over 94,
76 110; excommunication by Callistus 79
polytheism: challenged 4-6, 17, 50-1; sacerdos, Cyprian’s use of term 90
characteristic of ancient religions 1-4 sacraments, influence of Augustine on
Pontianus, Bishop of Rome 82, 83 Western approach 204; see also individual
Porphyry 113, 196-7 sacraments
prayer, Christian practices 17, 21, 68, 96, Sarapis, cult of 3
176, 177, 179, 181 Saturninus 40
Praxeas, Tertullian’s response to 70, 71-3, schism, schismatics: following persecution,
77-8 apostasy 88-9, 89-91; heresy distinguished
preaching, shared by bishops, presbyters, lay 36; origins, use of term 36
teachers 90 Scilli, martyrs of 67
predestination, doctrine of 207, 239-40 Scriptures: early translations into Latin 67;
presbyters: chastity required of 80-1; interpretation: allegorical method 103, by
identification with bishops 31; origins, gnostics 62, by Irenaeus 62-3, by later
functions 31, 33, 237 fathers 62-3, by Origen 101-2, 102-5;
priesthood, priests: bishops as 80-1, 90-1; constant controversies over 29; Jewish
John Chrysostom on merits 187; origins of Canon 6, 25-7; text and Canon: canonical,
term 31 deuterocanonical components distinguished
Priscillianists 182 28, controversies within Church over 27-8,
Proclus, bishop in Constantinople 223 Origen’s work 104-5, Protestant rejection
prophecy, prophets: ecstatic 46; entitlement of Apocrypha 28, researches on 27-8,
to tithes 30; ‘false’ 30; in early Christianity surrender held to be treason 114-15,
29, 30-1, 47; in Judaism 25; in Montanism uncertainty of limits 62; see also New
47; supplanted by bishops 90 Testament, Old Testament and individual
Psilanthropists 76-7 books
‘psychic’, the, gnostic concept 43, 44 Semiarians see Pneumatomachi
Pulcheria, Empress 230 Septimius Severus 75
Septuagint 26, 27, 104, 185
Quadratus, apologist 49 Serapion, Bishop of Antioch 75
Quadratus, bishop of Athens 74 Seth, gnostic concept of, as saviour 43
Quartodecimans, basis for observance of Sethians 40, 43, 62
Easter 76 Severus of Antioch, Monophysite 235
sexuality: chastity, abstinence: association
rebaptism 81, 92-3, 117 with baptism in Eastern traditions 45, in
repentance 96 Augustine 207-9, 239-40, in Clement of
resurrection of the body 21, 108 Alexandria 96; in early Christian teaching
Revelation see John 17; see also celibacy, monasticism
Rome, Roman Empire: attitudes to religion in Simon Magus, interpretation as gnostic 40
1, 2, 4-6, 10-13; barbarian onslaughts sin: discipline for 17; forgiveness 46-7, 81,
209-10, 223; bathing customs 19; 82; in Origen's christology 107-9; original,
Christian church in: divisions, controversies doctrine of 207-9, 239-40; see also lapsed,
85, 88-9, 93, early organisation 33, 34, the
Irenaeus’ succession list 60-1, patriarchate Sirmium see creeds
134, 238, pre-eminence 60-1, school for Sixtus I, Bishop of Rome 34, 60-1, 75-6
 Index 261
Sixtus III. ratification of Formula of Reunion Theodoret of Cyrus (Cyrrhus): christology
222 225-6; components of Canon accepted by
slavery, slaves 7-8, 23 28; deposition, restoration 229, 230, 231;
Socrates 48, 50-1 disputes involving 222, 223, 225, 226;
Son of God see creeds, Jesus Christ, Trinity, impression of Syrian monasticism 178
doctrine of Theodosius I: achievements 172; con¬
Song of Songs 104 demnation of Apollinaris during reign 156;
Sophia, concept in gnosticism 41-2 religious policies 161-2, 164, 165, 172, 204
Soter of Rome 74-5 Theodosius II 216, 223, 226, 230
soul, the: Augustine on origin 208; of Jesus Theodotion, Greek version of Scriptures 27,
see christology; Origen’s concept of pre¬ 104
existence 107-9 Theodotus, Valentinian writer 96
spirit-fighters see Pneumatomachi Theodotus the Banker, heretic 77
sports, forbidden to Christians 16-17 Theodotus the Cobbler, Theodotians,
Stephen, Bishop of Rome 91, 92-4 heretical doctrines 76-7, 78
Stoicism, Stoics: allegorical method of inter¬ Theognis, Bishop of Nicaea 128, 131, 134-5
pretation 103; influence 5-6, 67, 69, 70, theatres, forbidden to Christians 16-17
71-2, 73 Theophilus, Bishop of Alexandria 183, 186,
Sulpicius Severus, on Martin of Tours 178, 188-9, 190, 211
182 Theophilus of Antioch 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 56,
Symeon, monastic writer 179 63
Symeon the Stylite 178 TTteotokos, title of Virgin Mary 212-14, 215,
Symmachus, Greek version of Scriptures 27, 217, 218, 221, 234, 235
104 Thomas (Judas Thomas), apostle 45
Synod of Gangra 179 tithing, tithes 22, 30
Synod of the Oak 189, 211 Tome, Leo I 227-8, 231,233
Syria: Monophysite christology in 234-5; tradition see apostolic tradition
baptismal traditions 18, 19; development Trajan, Emperor 11-12
of monasticism 1 77-9; heresies associated Trinity, doctrine of, trinitarianism: among
with 45-6; rejection of Chalcedonian Cappadocian Fathers 156, 157-9, 162-3,
Formula 234 201, 202; among Eastern Christians 143;
biblical basis 242-5; challenged by Paul of
Tacitus, evidence on persecutions 11, 13 Samosata 111; debate over ‘consubstantial’
Tall Brothers 188-9 (homoousios) 110, 111, 129-33, 146, 148,
Tatian: Diatessaron 45, 77; critical of Greek 150-1, 158, 162, 233-4; divergence of
polytheism 50; in apologetic tradition 49; Eastern, Western approaches 72;
influence 75; pupil of Justin Martyr 45 ‘economic’, ‘immanent’ distinguished 71,
teaching, teachers: Celsus’criticism of 83; elements: in apologetic 51-6, in early
Christian 14; Clement of Alexandria as baptismal rituals 20-1; emergence 54-6;
95-6; of catechumens 15-16; of classics 6-7; enunciation by Theophilus 52; in Ambrose
Origen as 100-1; role 29, 30-1; shared by 159; in Apollinaris 155; in Athanasius
bishops, presbyters, lay teachers 90 111, 159; in Augustine 159, 200-3; in
Tertullian: association with Montanism 47, Basil of Caesarea 169; in church in Rome
58, 67-8; background, education 67; under Dionysius 94; in Irenaeus 102; in
beliefs 52, 71-3, 151, 208; challenge to Marius Victorinus 200; in Novatian 83-4;
monarchianism 77-8, 79; concern with in Origen 71, 72, 102, 159; in Paulinus
discipline, conduct 67-8; condemnation of 163; in Tertullian 70, 71-3; positions of
heresy 68-70; evidence from: on common Tertullian, Justin, Irenaeus, Origen
purse 23, reasons for conversion 14, on compared 71; trinitas, simplex unitas
reconciliation of sinners 82, on training of distinguished 72; see also christology,
catechumens 16; exposition of Rule of creeds
Faith 61, 62; in apologetic tradition 49; Twelve Anathemas of Cyril 217-19, 222, 229
influence 67, 87; reaction to apostasy 87; Two Ways, instruction of catechumens in
response to gnosticism 45; theology of 15-16
Novatian and, compared 83, 84
Testimoma, early Christian teaching based Ursacius of Singidunum 142-3, 144, 146
on 28
Theodore of Mopsuestia 212, 213, 214-15, Valens, Emperor 153-4, 156-7, 161, 162, 165
222, 244; teacher of Nestorius 212 Valens of Mursa 142-3, 144, 146
262 Index

Valentinian I, Emperor 162 Vulgate, Jerome’s contribution to 185

Valentinian III, Emperor 224
Valentinus, Valentinians: beliefs 42, 43, 44, Wisdom, Book of 27-8
55; range of scripture expounded by 42; women: and monasticism 174, 184: baptism
regarded as gnostic 39, 42; repudiation by 19; openness to conversion 14; training as
Irenaeus 59; widespread influence 45, 95; catechumens 15
writings produced by 62 Word, the see logos
Valerian, Emperor 93-4, 112 Writings, defined in Jewish Canon 25
Vergil, Christian respect for 7
Victor, Bishop of Rome 75-7, 79 Zephyrinus. Bishop of Rome 75, 77-80
Victorinus 198, 200 Zoroastrianism: in gnosticism 40; in
Vitalis: Apollinarian Bishop of Antioch 155, Manicheism 194
156, 163-4
 There has long been a need for a succinct and up-to-date
account of the major doctrines and practices of the early church.
This book fulfills that need in clearly tracing the emergence of the
distinctive elements of the Christian tradition. Based on the latest
scholarship, Stuart G. Hall’s Doctrine and Practice in the Early Church
will establish itself as the standard introduction to the subject for
student and general reader alike.

“At a time when seminary professors and ecclesiastical

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the churches have sat, it is gratifying that theological students and
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the scriptural and traditional church of the early centuries. Stuart
Hall’s book provides an excellent introduction, both scholarly and
accessible, to the formative period on which any recognizable
version of Christianity will continue to depend. ”

— GEOFFREY WAINWRIGHT
Duke University
“Hall walks with a scholars ease and grace through the
ancient texts. His book has the advantage of treating more
explicitly the liturgical practice of the ancient church, in addition
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authors literary skill enhances what could have been a heavy
technical presentation, making the book suitable for classroom
use. . . . Scholars will find fresh perspectives on old issues. ”

— KILIAN MCDONNELL, OSB

Institute for Ecumenical and Cultural Research

STUART G. HALL is the former chair of ecclesiastical history

at King’s College, London, England.

ISBN □-flDEfl-DbEci-S Cover art: The Council of Nicaea, fresco

painted at Heraklion, Crete, c. 1500; courtesy of
Religious News Service. Cover design by
Lorraine White.

780802 806291

9780802806291
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