Born in Libya around AD 250, Arius had studied at the feet of Lucian, presbyter of Antioch, who was later martyred for his faith. Lucian himself had studied under Paul of Samosata at one time, but had not embraced his Christology. Instead, he followed in the footsteps of Justin Martyr and Origen, seeing the Son of God as a superlative divine being, yet something less than God Himself.
Origen’s Christology provides some of the terms and definitions which Arius would later use (note the idiosyncratic reference to ‘two gods’ below). Arians had no difficulty referring to Christ as ‘God’ in the sense of a divine being ontologically distinct from the Father; to their minds, this did not compromise monotheism:
Origen: Is the Father God?
Heraclides: Assuredly.
Origen: Is the Son distinct from the Father?
Heraclides: Of course. How can he be Son if he is also Father?
Origen: While being distinct from the Father, is the Son also God?
Heraclides: He himself is also God.
Origen: And do two Gods become a unity?
Heraclides: Yes.
Origen: Do we confess two Gods?
Heraclides: Yes, [but] the power is one.[1]
Origen goes on to explain that the Father and Son are ‘one’ in the same sense as Adam and Eve, citing Gen 2:24 and Matt 19:5. He adds the proviso that Adam and Eve are ‘two in one flesh’ but ‘not two in one spirit’ or ‘two in one soul.’ Citing 1 Cor 6:17, he says ‘the just person and Christ are “one spirit”… Yet when a just person is united to Christ the word is “spirit” and when Christ is united to the Father the word is not “flesh” or “spirit” but the more prestigious word “God.”‘ This is how Origen understands John 10:30 (‘I and my Father are one’).
The significance of Origen as an inspiration for Arianism via Arius’ mentor Lucian cannot be overlooked. On one hand, Arius rejected Origen’s belief in the ‘eternal generation’ of the Son. On the other hand, he appreciated the description of Christ as ‘a second God’[2], and endorsed Origen’s teaching that the Father alone is autotheos:
And I am therefore of the opinion that the will of the Father alone ought to be sufficient for the existence of that which He wishes to exist. For in the exercise of His will He employs no other way than that which is made known by the council of His will. And thus also the existence of the Son is generated by Him.[3]
Though decried as heretical today, Origen’s view was common to many of the early fathers:
The Christian writers of the second and third centuries considered the Logos as the eternal reason of the Father, but as having at first no distinct existence from eternity; he received this only when the Father generated him from within his own being and sent him to create the world and rule over the world.
The act of generation then was not considered as an eternal and necessary life-act but as one which had a beginning in time, which meant that the Son was not equal to the Father, but subordinate to Him. Irenaeus, Justin, Hippolytus and Methodius share this view called Subordinationism.[4]
Lucian was a subordinationist of this type, considering himself an ‘Origenist’ (as did most of his Eastern friends) because his Christology was derived almost entirely from the teachings of Origen. Arius had inherited Lucian’s Christology, but courted disaster by refining it with increasing precision. The consequences of this development were deeply divisive. For as long as the precise nature of the relationship between Father and Son was left to the believer’s imagination, 3rd and 4th Century Christians could flatter themselves with the naïve assumption that they all believed much the same thing.
But what if that relationship was clearly delineated by a series of theological propositions? What if the language of Christology was officially formalised? What if the current, heterodox terminology was subdivided by necessity into ‘heretical terms’ and ‘orthodox terms’? What if the basic principles of 3rd Century Christology were taken to their logical conclusions? What would all of this mean for people’s understanding of Christ – and what would they do if they suddenly discovered that their apparent theological unity had been largely superficial? All of these questions were answered by the events of the Arian controversy.
Arius was not a contentious man, and there is no indication that he was looking for a debate when his views first came into question. He lived a quiet, simple life in Alexandria, confessing a typically Alexandrian Christology. He mixed easily with clergy and laity alike and lived his life by the principles of a strict spiritual asceticism which he nevertheless refrained from imposing upon others. He was also a man of tremendous faith and courage; during the Great Persecution under Diocletian he had remained in Alexandria even after its bishop (Peter) had fled.[5] At considerable personal risk to himself, Arius offered succour to the Christian prisoners and spiritual guidance to those few who remained free.
Peter’s cowardice was disappointing to many Christians, but Melitius of Lycopolis (an Egyptian bishop who also functioned as metropolitan of the Thebaid) found it positively offensive. Alexandria was a great city and its bishop was partly responsible for several churches in Libya and Egypt, who clearly required guidance and support at this difficult time. Accordingly, Melitius left his own see, commandeered the position of Peter in Alexandria, consecrated two additional bishops to share the load and continued to perform ecclesiastical duties as if he had always been there.
From the safety of his hiding place Peter condemned Melitius with volume and vigour, ordering him to leave the city and forbidding the local clergy to obey him. But it was all to no avail. Melitius responded by coolly ignoring the absent bishop (which, with so much distance between them, he found quite easy to do) and his fellow clergymen, who saw nothing wrong with Melitius or his actions, followed suit.
In time, however, the persecution subsided and Peter returned to his see. Summoning a local council of like-minded churchmen, he excommunicated Melitius on the charge of abusing his authority. Shortly afterwards, Melitius was arrested by the Romans during a resurgence of the previous persecution, and sent to work in the mines of Palestine. There he served with courage and distinction as a prison priest for several years, eventually returning to Egypt as a free man.
Arius’ enemies would later claim that he had co-operated with Melitius during the rogue bishop’s brief rule in Alexandria; in fact, this was not true. Arius had been careful to remain aloof from the Melitian schism, a fact which Peter openly and gratefully acknowledged at the resumption of his bishopric. Bishop Achillas (Peter’s short-lived successor) even went so far as to make Arius a presbyter – a generous promotion which would not even have been contemplated if he had been a Melitian sympathiser.
Following the death of Achillas, the see of Alexandria was granted to Bishop Alexander, who divided the city into quarters over which he appointed four presbyters. Of the four places available, Arius somehow ended up with the worst: he was made presbyter of the Baucalis or wharf quarter, a seedy locale in the roughest part of the city.
In retrospect, he was an ideal candidate for the role. His age and wisdom commanded respect, his grey hair and slim build lent an air of distinction and his scrupulous personal morality (a somewhat irregular virtue in 4th Century presbyters) was much admired. Standing well above the height of the average man, he was also immune to physical intimidation and enjoyed an arresting presence.
Arius delighted his congregation by composing his sermons in rhythmic meter and singing them to the tune of popular ballads. These often contained explicit references to Arian Christology. Surprisingly, the wider implications of Arius’ views were not immediately apparent to his bishop.
Although disturbed by the thought of heresy being taught right under his nose, Alexander believed this was a minor affair of purely local significance. He generously proposed that Arius’ teachings should be examined in a private forum which would allow him an opportunity to clarify his beliefs and respond to his critics.
Thus, in the presence of Alexander, Arius is alleged to have stated:
Before he [Christ] was begotten, he was not.
By this Arius would have meant that Jesus Christ was the Word, or Logos; a created being which God called into existence before the creation of the world, in order to create all else through him. Even if the quote is falsely attributed, the essential predicate of Arius’ Christology remains the same: Jesus himself is not truly God but stands on the side of creation as a unique product of the Father, mysteriously ‘begotten’ by some incomprehensible process and therefore not actually ‘created’ per se.
Arianism was heterodox, but no more so than any other belief of the day. Alexander found it offensive, though he stopped short of punitive action. Over time, a series of increasingly agitated meetings were held between Alexander and his deacons as they struggled to agree on a suitable response to Arianism. These early investigations into Arius’ Christology were not belligerent; Arius was simply asked to withdraw and discard his teachings on the nature of Christ. He refused. Popular support was on his side, and he continued to preach as before. Shocked by this defiance, Alexander convened a local church council, which ruled that Arius should be deposed from office and excommunicated with his clerical adherents. Suddenly Arius found himself persona non grata.
Given Alexander’s initial tact, one might ask why this final judgement was so severe. Several factors may be involved. First, Alexander needed to reassert his authority. Secondly, he was now aware that Arius’ supporters comprised a significant proportion of the clergy. This threatened the stability of the entire Alexandrian church. Thirdly, Arius had recently criticised Alexander’s own Christology as Sabellian, and the bishop was keen to retaliate. Finally, Alexander needed to mitigate any criticism that he had been overtaken by events by failing to recognise the danger of Arianism.[6]
If Alexander believed excommunication would marginalise Arius, he was wrong. Support for Arianism continued to grow, and its influence began to spread beyond Alexandria. Even the bishops of Ptolemais and Marmarica were persuaded by Arian Christology. Correctly noting that the church still lacked a universal Christology, Arius refused to recognise his excommunication and sent a letter of protest to Bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia, detailing his confrontation with Alexandria.
It was an adroit political manoeuvre, instantly depriving the conflict of its local limitations and ensuring its impact would be felt throughout the entire Eastern Church. The decision forced Alexander to take more decisive action. He immediately summoned a general council of all Egypt, at which one hundred bishops renounced the ‘Arian Heresy’ and re-affirmed the excommunication of Arius and all his defenders in the Egyptian and Libyan clergy.
The resulting encyclical consisted of a concise account of Arius’ false doctrine, an extensive refutation on behalf of the synod, and a stinging reference to Eusebius of Nicomedia, as payback for his passive support of the errant priest. But by AD 320 it was clear that no amount of intimidation would cause Arius to recant. He had moved back to Nicomedia where he drew up a profession of faith, signed by himself and all those who had been excommunicated with him. It asserted that the faith which they held was that which they had heard Alexander proclaim within the Church of Alexandria; namely, that only the Father is eternal – He alone is without beginning – and the Son, God’s perfect creature, does not possess his being with the Father, since the Father existed before the Son.
Eusebius of Nicomedia lent considerable authority to the Arian cause by convening a local council which declared Arius orthodox and readmitted him to communion. Encouraged by this success, and perhaps sensing an opportunity to consolidate his support base, Arius composed a new sermon called Thalia (‘The Banquet’) which contains some of the most famous references to his idiosyncratic Christology. An excerpt follows:
The Unbegun made the Son a beginning of things originated; and advanced Him as a Son to Himself by adoption. He has nothing proper to God in proper subsistence. For He is not equal, no, nor one in essence with Him…Thus there is a Triad, not in equal glories. Not intermingling with each other are their subsistences. One more glorious than the other in their glories unto immensity. Foreign from the Son in essence is the Father, for He is without beginning. Understand that the Monad was; but the Dyad was not, before it was in existence. It follows at once that, though the Son was not, the Father was God. Hence the Son, not being (for He existed at the will of the Father), is God Only-Begotten, and He is alien from either.[7]
During the same year, Arius convoked a Bithynian synod which sent a circular to all bishops, calling for the restoration of ecclesiastical communion with those who had been excommunicated by the Bishop of Alexander. He protested that, since they were orthodox, pressure should be placed on the bishop to receive them back. His AD 320 profession of faith, with its multiple signatures, added considerable weight to this argument.
Alexander was now feeling pressure from many sides, and for the purpose of ecclesiastical harmony, it appeared that the time was coming for him to revise his judgement on Arius. Until such a decision became imperative, however, the bishop still felt obliged to warn others of the inherent dangers contained in Arius’ teachings. Accordingly, he embarked on a massive correspondence campaign. Letters were sent to the bishops of the East, and obtained the support of those in Egypt, Palestine, Asia Minor, Greece and the Balkan Peninsula. The Bishop of Rome (Silvester I) was informed of the recent events in Alexandria, including the excommunication of the Alexandrian clerics.
It was not long before full-scale literary warfare had broken out between the Arian and Alexandrian factions. Clerical dignity was forgotten as polemic from both sides included historical misrepresentations, doctrinal distortions, and crude accusations of a most personal nature. Inevitably, the split in Eastern Christianity came to the attention of Emperor Constantine.
[1] Dialogue of Origen with Heraclides and his Fellow Bishops on the Father, the Son, and the Soul; books.google.co.uk.
[2] Contra Celsum, 5:39; www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/anf04.vi.ix.v.xxxix.html.
[3] De Principiis, 1.2.6; www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/anf04.vi.v.ii.ii.html.
[4] M. Schmaus, Dogma (6 vols; Sheed and Ward, London, 1971), 3:216.
[5] Peter’s escape at this time only served to delay the inevitable, for he was beheaded in AD 311 during the closing months of a second persecution.
[6] Such criticism was not slow in coming, and Alexander’s humiliation was acute.
[7] Thalia; en.wikisource.org.
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