Athanasius and the Nicene Creed

By William H. Stephens

From the arid deserts of Egypt to Germany's lush and mountainous Mosel River, the exiled Athanasius fought for the Nicene Creed. Through the reigns of seven emperors from Constantine to Valens, his fight took him from favored bishop to enemy of the state, from honored friend to the death sentence. Exiled or in flight five times, he took whatever life dealt him, whether the comfortable life in Treves (Trier) or constant narrow escapes in Alexandria and the burning sands of Egypt's desert.
Athanasius and the Nicene Creed is the epic story of Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria and his fight for the Nicene Creed. Athanasius was one of the most powerful bishops of the fourth century, and the battle for the Nicene Creed occurred at the same time Constantine was establishing Christianity as the favored religion of the empire. This caused church politics to become part of Empire policy, resulting in the uniting of church and state. Arius was the pastor who gave his name to Arianism, the name given to the opponents of the Nicene Creed. Arius enlisted the aid of powerful bishops to promote the view that Jesus was a lesser being than the Father, a created being, against the monotheistic Nicene view that Jesus is one with God. The struggle threatened to tear the empire apart as each side vied for Constantine’s favor and manipulated him to their ends. Athanasius was sent into or escaped into exile five times—to Trier and Rome in relative comfort but also into the vast trackless deserts of Egypt in staggering discomfort, often with a price on his head. From those places of exile he supervised his see, wrote books and letters in defense of the Nicene Creed, and defended himself to the emperors, including Constantine’s three sons and their successors, Julian the Apostate, and others down to Valens. The emperors, as they dealt with the Church issues, had to fight wars against barbarians to the north and Persians to the east, as well as civil war among themselves, all of which are part of the story of Athanasius. Arius died a horrible death, seen by the Nicenes as the hand of God, but the Arians regrouped and gained the upper hand. Intertwining their goals with those of the emperor, with church and state no longer separate, Nicenes were tortured, sent to mines to die, and exiled. It was a brutal time, and the issues raised in that day shaped the hierarchy of the Church and the way church and state would relate to each other up to our time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William H. Stephens
• Release date: Dec 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9780986341236

William H. Stephens

Dr. William H. Stephens held editorial positions with LifeWay Christian Resources prior to his retirement. He created and was for ten years editor of Biblical Illustrator, a Bible background and archeology magazine. Then, with the title of Senior Curriculum Coordinator, he was responsible for the content of all discipleship training materials dealing with history and doctrine, along with other areas. After his early retirement he was adjunct professor of New Testament at Belmont University for seven years. Dr. Stephens is the author of eighteen books.

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Athanasius

and

the Nicene Creed

William H. Stephens

Copyright © 2012: William H. Stephens

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-0-9863412-3-6

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief

quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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Table of Contents

Preface

Macarius: Teller of the story

Chapter One: Arianism is born

Chapter Two: Constantine conquers the Empire

Chapter Three: Constantine orders the Council of Nicea

Chapter Four: The banning of Arianism

Chapter Five: The Arians regroup and connive

Chapter Six: A New Bishop at Alexandria

Chapter Seven: Accusations heaped against Athanasius

Chapter Eight: A rigged trial and a miraculous escape

Chapter Nine: The first exile: to Trier

Chapter Ten: Arius dies a terrible death

Chapter Eleven: A triumphal return and a second exile

Chapter Twelve: A new council to settle all

Chapter Thirteen: The Devil's tools in the work of God

Chapter Fourteen: Athanasius, alone against the world?

Chapter Fifteen: One miraculous escape after another

Chapter Sixteen: Desert hideaways bring great results

Chapter Seventeen: Constantius: Bishop of bishops

Chapter Eighteen: A pagan emperor takes the throne

Chapter Nineteen: It's only a small cloud

Chapter Twenty: A lull, another storm, and then the sun

About the Author

Preface

This is a true account of the most pivotal time in Christian history, and so I have attempted to be true to the historical record. I have depicted only persons who actually were part of the story, and every event in this novel actually happened. Being a historical novel, of course, I had to fill in details. In most cases, I created the physical appearances of individuals, much of the dialogue, and most of the details about the travels Athanasius was forced to make.

Quite a bit of historical information is available about this cataclysmic contest, this all-out warfare between the Nicene Creed and Arianism. Athanasius himself wrote a number of books, including a history of the controversy and several that defended the Nicene Creed. His other writings and letters on various subjects help draw a picture of the man, and there are quite a few of these. He sent his writings to bishops throughout the Christian world, wrote a paschal letter each Easter season to the churches in Egypt and Libya, and there is correspondence between him and the emperors as well as key bishops of the fourth century.

We also have the accounts of early Christian historians, the three most important being The Ecclesiastical History by Salaminus Hermias Sozomenus (Sozomen), who lived ca. 400-450; The Ecclesiastical History by Theodoret, who lived 393-ca. 457; and The Ecclesiastical History by Socrates Scholasticus, who was born about 380. Gennadius, who died about 496, also made important contributions to the story. These writings also give us considerable detail about what went on in each of the councils that met during this turbulent time.

In this novel, the story is told by Macarius. I made up most of what you will read about this man, but he is based on a real person, an aide of Athanasius who was a close friend who accompanied the bishop on at least some of his journeys.

All of the battles and deeds of Constantine and the emperors who followed him are based on historical records. All of the accusations against Athanasius and the machinations made by the Arians to bring about his downfall actually happened. I have not made up any of these events, but I have embellished them. I added flesh to the story in describing the characters and setting the stage for the events in ways, I believe, they could have happened. I created most of the dialogue, based at times on general descriptions in the historical record of what was said. I created the specifics of the various journeys Athanasius and others took. We know where he went but not necessarily how he got there. For example, the record has him seeking refuge among the desert monasteries and it includes some information about unusual incidents that happened. I created more details about the journeys where the record had to be filled in. In each event, all of the persons named in these parts of the novel are real.

My goal throughout was to tell the story as accurately as possible, and so in my created dialogues and descriptions I tried to be true to the characters of the people involved. This is an important story, and my goal is to inform as well as entertain. Christian history was forever changed during these events, and in very important ways these events made it much harder for us to live by the gospel of Jesus Christ than it ever was before Christianity discovered the enticing aura of power and wealth.

Macarius

Teller of the Story

This pain in my hip joint hurts like a knife prick when I walk much, a sharp pain with every step. I had already walked a long way from the Great Harbor, so I stopped to rest and drink a glass of wine in one of Alexandria's wonderful cafes to wait for the throbbing to go away. I had hoped to enter the city through the Port of Eunostos, the eastern harbor, because a canal runs from there to Lake Mareotis on the south side of Alexandria. I could have hired a boat and gotten off pretty close to my destination. On the bright side, I enjoyed my walk from the harbor. It gave me a chance to see some of the wonderful sights again. When you come into the harbor, Alexandria is an amazing city, with monumental buildings that seem to outdo one another in size and grandeur. The Temple of Poseidon was off to the left of where we docked but I did not go there. All kinds of maritime offices connected run tightly together, two and three stories high, all along the back of the docks. I made my way up a narrow street through these, past the Royal Parks of the emperor's palaces, and near Saint Mark's Church. It is the church started by Mark, the writer of the Gospel, who brought Christ's news to Egypt.

I had passed the Temple of Isis when I realized my hip would not make it to the Theonas Church, and so I went into the cafe and ordered my wine. The owner dipped it from an amphora set under a hole in the counter and I took it to a table near an open window. The day was hot and I hoped to catch what breeze that might come. I drank slowly because I wanted to rest.

For a while, I enjoyed my return home by watching the people. The style of dress here was more varied than anywhere I had ever been, outside perhaps of the capital cities. A man sitting in a corner reading a parchment, apparently a letter, had sideburns, a short goatee, and his hair was cut short. It came onto his brow in a sort of roll. The hair seemed to be the current style, but without the sideburns and goatee. He was dressed in a white linen tunic with a red sash around his waist. A woman sat across from him, looking solemn, with her hair in tight curls close to her head. She wore a long cotton tunic of light blue with a himation, also of cotton and a darker blue, wrapped around and its ends coming over her shoulder. Given her expression, I wondered what the letter was about.

Outside the window, the clothing was much the same style but the colors ranged from dull to brilliant, sometimes mixed together. The favorite color seemed to be blue, but I saw a lot of greens and reds, too. The styles of hair and beard were different, though. Most men were clean-shaven and wore their hair short, but occasionally someone with a full beard walked by. Most everyone, men and women, wore open sandals of papyrus stalk or leather, but some had closed toes and heels.

Alexandria is my home city, and I love it. There is nowhere I would rather be, even if at that time I had no choice in the matter. She is the Queen of all cities, with the world's best university and the largest library, and she is the empire's breadbasket and the greatest port city the world has ever known. My city. I had been away a long time, fighting the conspiracy along with Athanasius. This is where the heresy started, Arianism, here in Alexandria. I call it the Arius conspiracy.

After a while the aching had not gone away, so I decided to spend a bit of my meager funds for a ride the rest of the way to the Church of St. Theonas. My purse was thin; the magistrates took most of my money while I was in jail. When they released me, they gave me what little they had not pilfered on condition that I retire completely and stay out of politics. I agreed, but not because I'm scared or cowed. My life has proven my mettle. I'm just old. And, truth be told, I'm also discouraged.

I hailed an open two-wheeler taxi and climbed into the seat beside the driver, who had to help me up. Even then, I didn't have the energy to get into the passenger's seat behind him. Thank goodness he was a burly man, because I'm pretty big myself, although age has shrunk me some. He snapped the reins and headed into the Canopian Street which runs all the way through the city, from the Sun Gate on the east to the Moon Gate on the west, though on the west the city has grown far beyond the Sun Gate.

From where I caught the taxi, I could see the Soma, the huge mausoleum where the tomb of Alexander the Great is located, who founded this city, and it is adorned beyond your wildest ideas. The Mausoleum itself is magnificent, as you would expect. I instructed the driver to take me to the Church of St. Theonas near the Moon Gate, the largest of the churches in Alexandria. That is where the magistrate ordered me to retire. He wants the Arian bishop Lucius to keep an eye on me. I suppose it is a bit of a compliment that they think I might still be a threat.

My name is Macarius. I was a deacon under the great Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria, but deacon doesn't describe our relationship. I was his closest companion for most of my life and his most trusted aide. He is gone now, and I believe God left me on this earth for no other reason than to tell this story. It is an incredible story, but it is true. On that you have my word.

The taxi let me off at the church's main entrance, heavy double doors of Cedar of Lebanon, each one with an eight-foot cross carved into it. I lifted the horsehead knocker and rapped several times. In a few moments, a voice asked who I was and I told them. I was expected, so he opened for me immediately. Not very friendly, though. He hardly greeted me, just beckoned me to follow him. I stepped from the street into what was once the atrium of a large residence but now serves as an entrance hall. It is very pleasant, roofed except for a large square opening to the sky to catch the rain, which falls into a pond with plants and benches all around it. The atrium was beautiful as usual, with bright red anemones, blue hyacinths, and blue lotus.

Church styles have changed a lot during my lifetime, ever since Constantine began converting pagan temples and building new churches, but Theonas is of the old type, a converted villa donated long ago by a wealthy Christian. It is built in the Roman style, two stories high and with a flat roof, the whole structure built around a large courtyard.

My unspeaking escort took me through the atrium and into a long garden with more flowers of the same kind, plus some dark green hedges. Rooms opened onto the garden on both sides, bedrooms, I knew, because I once spent a lot of time in this church. Several men were strolling, standing, and sitting in groups, staff to the bishop, but I didn't know them. When we reached the room I was assigned, my escort told me what time they ate, nodded, and closed the door. The bedroom was spacious enough and was furnished with a good-sized desk with a nice cane armchair, a bed, a three-legged table and two smaller cane chairs.

I took several days to rest up from my long journey from Constantinople, and I used the time to visit all my old haunts in the old building. Everything is more ornate now than before, but the rooms and halls still evoke memories. This is where Athanasius and I spent our lives whenever there was peace, which unfortunately was rare. Conflict formed the major part of our lives. We both started here as deacons under Alexander when he was Bishop of Alexandria, a see which included all of the churches in Egypt and Libya. By the time Athanasius succeeded him as bishop, we had already worked closely for several years and had become the closest of friends. In his position, he needed someone he could trust. We went through hell on earth together.

For some time now I have intended to write this account. The Arians have won, and the winners in history always tell you their version of events. I say they have won, and they have, so far as I can tell. Yet some spark of faith within my heart tells me that God will bring about a victory yet for the truth about His only-begotten Son.

I have always been a methodical man, and part of my job for Athanasius has been to seek out every tidbit of information about the controversy as the war raged on. All through those decades, I received reports of private conversations from unwitting opponents, or reports from friends who overheard conversations in taverns, or from converted Arians, or from copies of letters and records. I even gleaned information from Euzy, if you can believe it, Arius' chief deacon and friend. [His actual name was Euzoius.]

And so I take my place at this desk and begin. I write this in the very church where it all started, that movement I call the Arius conspiracy, for that is what it became.

Chapter One

Arianism is born

The sanctuary of the Theonas Church is entered through the atrium. It wasn't always a sanctuary, of course, for the building was not always a church. Once it was the home of a powerful businessman for whom it served to receive his clients. From the atrium, they entered into a long room where on the far end sat the benefactor on a sort of throne chair in an elaborate apse. As they walked toward him, giving them time to be suitably impressed with his wealth and power, they had to pass by statues in niches along the wall, murals of mythical scenes, and gilded sconces that held oil lamps. Now the statuary is gone, the murals have been changed to biblical scenes, and the apse is the focal point of the sanctuary and where the bishop sometimes sits.

It was in this very room where the controversy began. I stood in that room yesterday and all those sights and sounds came flooding back into my memory. It was our custom for clergymen to meet twice each year to discuss doctrine and Scripture. The topic for that meeting was Jesus' relationship to the Father, an impossibly deep subject that is really beyond human perception. Nevertheless, it had to be discussed because several heresies had arisen during the previous decades. How can Christians believe in one God and yet proclaim a Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit? Several bishops had tried their hands at answering the question and none of them had accomplished anything more than getting themselves into trouble.

A greater number of bishops than usual came to that meeting, more in fact than I had yet seen in my young life, and they came not just from Alexandria but from throughout Egypt and Libya. I suppose I should tell you, in case you haven't been a Christian very long, that bishop is the title of a pastor who is over other pastors in his area. We call the pastors presbyters. In those days, the bishop of Alexandria had the same title as all other bishops, even though he is the leader of Christians throughout Egypt and Libya. Of late, people have started calling him patriarch to indicate his special status among bishops.

A sea of men milled about in the hall and atrium that day, all of them dressed in dull-colored inner tunics—gray, beige, or black—and outer tunics of the same colors, that came below their knees. Nowadays, God's so-called leaders outdo themselves to wear the best cloth and most expensive jewelry they can afford. They do it to flout their high positions. Back then, the only jewelry bishops wore were crosses hung on simple chains or cords around their necks.

Most of our heroes back then were Christians who had suffered but had remained faithful during the terrible persecution under Emperor Diocletian. We call them confessors. In my mind's eye I can still see Paphnutius entering the room that day. He was pastor of a church far up the Nile in Upper Thebes. He was a small wiry man, middle-aged and with a short unruly beard. He shunned notoriety and tried to enter the room quietly, but someone recognized him immediately. All of a sudden, a hush settled over the crowd. Paphnutius walked with a crutch because the persecutors had hamstrung his right leg. I still can hear the dull thump of his leather-tipped crutch and the little hop with his good leg, and I can still see his left eye darting about as he greeted people he knew. His right eye was gone; it had been torn out and the socket was a dark recess. Everyone stood aside to let him pass, though several bishops hurried to guide him solicitously to an honored seat near Bishop Alexander's throne. He was not the only confessor there, of course. Many had suffered. Some were blind, or their hands were disabled, or some limbs were gone. As they came in, they made their way to seats as best they could.

Bishop Alexander entered through a side door and stepped up onto the dais to take his place on the bishop's throne. We called it a throne, but it was only a wooden armchair, although it was beautifully carved and had thick red pads both in the seat and the back. The pads had religious scenes embroidered on them. Arius came in at the last moment. He had a magnificent skill of making grand entrances while appearing humble. He was a tall gaunt man, already sixty years of age, with long, thin arms and legs, the body of an ascetic. His face was like a metal etching, deeply lined with sunken eyes above prominent cheekbones, the eyelids dark around his eyes. He wore a long black tunic with short sleeves over a shorter one that was held partly closed with a loosely-tied cloth belt. I remember the belt had slipped to his hips and its ends were dangling. Both his hair and beard both were short in the Roman style, but neither was well-trimmed. It was a self-denying appearance which he carefully cultivated. You have seen such ministers. They know how to look pious, how to appear humble and in close communion with God. Their stock-in-trade is to champion things that bother common folk in ways that appear to be brave but really do no more than give them publicity. Arius was like that.

He had an odd history. He was very well educated, having studied in Antioch under one of the empire's most renowned teachers, Lucian. Many of the leading pastors in the East—that is, the Greek-speaking part of the empire—had studied under Lucian. But Arius had not used his training wisely. Eventually, he came to Egypt and almost immediately aligned himself with a troublesome faction led by a bishop named Meletius. Meletius was a good man at heart but was contentious. He rose to leadership during the great persecution while the bishop of Alexandria and other leaders were away in hiding. Meletius had been faithful in spite of threats but somehow he had avoided exile. He believed Christians who had made pagan sacrifices to save themselves during the persecution should never be allowed to return to the Church unless they came as new converts. He required them to go through all the training a new convert goes through, even to be rebaptized. Nor would he allow any clergyman who had apostatized ever again to be a minister. This was his view and he made no exceptions.

Peter was bishop of Alexandria in those days, a godly and able man who had to flee during the persecution. Meletius took advantage of his absence to position himself to become bishop if Peter did not survive. Peter did survive, though, and when he returned during a lull in the troubles he instituted a more forgiving policy. Meletius was furious and fought against him with all his might. I tell you this because the Meletians became allied with the Arians later in the conspiracy.

Arius supported Meletius for a while, but when he realized the man would never become bishop he made a public repentance of his support and returned to the unity of the church. Bishop Peter forgave him and ordained him as a deacon. After a while, Arius became a presbyter, but he had not really repented. Eventually, his constant rebellious attitude forced Peter to excommunicate him. Peter died soon after that, though. He was arrested again by the Roman authorities, and this time he suffered a martyrs' death.

The bishops refused to elect Meletius as his successor and chose Achillas instead. The new bishop lived only long enough to readmit Arius to fellowship. He assigned him to be pastor of the Baukalis Church, a foolish move. Some call the church Saint Mark's because he started the church and his tomb is there. Achillas put a cantankerous presbyter as pastor of one of our most influential congregations. The church is located in a fashionable eastern part of our city, down by the great wharves and granaries of the Great Harbor. The bishop of Alexandria has always been elected in that church, in honor of St. Mark.

So here Arius was, coming in late and taking a seat as near the bishop as he could manage. Everyone paid close attention that day to what Bishop Alexander had to say, some making occasional notes in their diptyches. About halfway through, Alexander emphasized that the Son is eternal. His exact words were, There never has been a time when the Son did not exist.

Arius jumped up from his seat, waving and shouting out like a wild cat, No! No! Only the Father is eternal! You make Jesus equal with God! Several bishops gasped, then a hush settled over the room. All of them were glaring at Arius, their mouths agape or tight-lipped, with their heads shaking. Arius had an odd way of contracting and twisting himself as he spoke. He stretched his neck and turned his head and body slightly. He was talking loudly, almost shouting. John calls Jesus the only-begotten Son. How can He be eternal if He was begotten? His purple neck veins throbbed against the pale pallor of his face, but the voice coming from such a thin body was strong and startling.

The stunned silence lasted only for a moment before it dissolved into a terrible hubbub. Alexander ended the meeting and ordered Arius to stay. They walked in silence out of the room and across the atrium to the bishop's office. Alexander motioned to a cane armchair beside a low table and sat in an identical one on the opposite side. The bishop was soft-spoken, immaculate in his dress, hair, and beard, and a bit overweight. Arius, my brother, what's wrong with you? he asked gently. Arius thrust out his chin as he answered, Nothing's wrong with me. What's wrong with those clergymen?

Alexander ignored the rude response. Explain to me, he asked Arius, how Jesus' death can be adequate for our salvation if He is not eternal.

What does Jesus being eternal have to do with it?

The implications of not being eternal are immense. If the Son is not eternal, He is not God.

On the other hand, what do you think begotten means, other than the Son had a beginning.

Alexander wished Athanasius were present. Even as a young man, he would do well in this kind of debate. But Alexander knew Arius would treat my friend as an upstart even though Athanasius had authored two important books. It refers to Jesus' earthly birth. I would expect you to know that.

I think that answer is no more than an attempt to wiggle out of the obvious meaning. Understand me, I am not denying Jesus' divinity. I believe He is divine and that He existed before all time and before all creation, but there was a time when He did not exist. He was begotten by God. The Father is the only Unbegotten, the only One who has no beginning.

Over the next several weeks, Alexander and Arius talked several times, but Arius would not waver. Frankly, he was smarter and had more debating skill than Alexander. He pointed out to Alexander that John 3:15 also refers to God's only begotten Son, and to Hebrews 1:5-6 which speaks of Jesus being begotten of God. Arius finally stated flatly, Jesus is in no way part of God. Alexander ended their discussions in the belief they were only making matters worse. He cautioned Arius not to generate controversy. He vainly hoped the issue would die down if he ignored the man.

But Arius had found his cause. Almost every night he held meetings in one home or another, or occasionally in a church. He particularly promoted his views to women, for they tended to respect his asceticism and they liked his manner. The man could be charming, and his ascetic look make him appear holy. Through them, he gained entree to their husbands. These divisive actions finally forced Alexander to deal with the issue, and so in 321 he called a formal church council. It was even better attended than the one where the controversy began.

We met in the same room, and when Alexander entered the room the clergy took their places in seats that ran down both long walls, so that they faced toward one another. They had to turn their heads toward the dais in the apse. Alexander called for Arius to state his views to the entire group. Arius unfolded his lanky frame and stepped into the open area between the rows of seats. He took two or three steps one way and then the other before he answered. The Son of God was the first of all creatures, he began. He turned to face one row of clergymen and then the other. Before anything else was created, he was created. But He was most surely begotten, and so we call Him the Only-begotten.

A bishop from Libya rose and asked him calmly to answer a crucial question, Do you believe Jesus is closer to man or to God? The answer would tell a lot about Arius.

Arius did not answer the question directly. God created the Son not in His image but in the image of Divine Wisdom. That is why John called Him the Word. The Father created the Son so that through the Son the world could be created.

That sounds like the Gnostics, Bishop Alexander objected.

I am not a Gnostic, as all of you know full well. I do not defend my position by their specious arguments but from Scripture.

Arius' quick mind and his good education made him a formidable debater. He knew the theological pitfalls well and evaded them adroitly, even though it was clear to everyone that his view most certainly had Gnostic overtones. Gnosticism is just about dead now, but in those days it was very strong, especially in some areas of Egypt. They had made Christianity an amalgam of pagan belief, with a hierarchy of many gods. To this had been added Greek philosophy and some sayings they claimed were from Jesus. They had many sayings of Jesus which we Christians do not believe Jesus said. They placed Jesus in the middle of the hierarchy of gods, about halfway between God and demons. Since God, being good, could not create an evil world, He had to create His Son. Then Jesus could create an evil world without making God the author of evil. Arius did not believe that, but if Jesus is below the Father and he created the world, you can see why Alexander believed his views reflected Gnosticism.

As I said, Arius was good at debate, and it seemed to me he was winning over some of the clergy just by the logic of his arguments. Athanasius, who was a young deacon at the time but was a rising star, asked him the same question in a different way: I would like to know how close to man you believe the Son was. Men are changeable. We can choose to do good or evil. Do you believe this exalted Creature whom we call Jesus could have changed, if he so desired, from a good Being to an evil One? For the first time that day, an absolute hush fell over the room. I had always respected Athanasius' mind and skill, but a light came on inside my head when he asked that question. I believe it was at that moment I knew he would be a great influence in the Church.

Arius paused for a long moment, obviously recognizing both the importance of the question and the risk of answering it. Finally, he set his jaw and spoke firmly, Yes, he could have made that choice. He could have changed from a good Being to an evil One.

Pandemonium broke loose. Bishops rose to their feet shouting in disagreement, some calling for Alexander to dismiss Arius as a pastor. Some so completely lost control of themselves that their protests bordered on obscenity. The stamping of feet almost drowned out every other sound, and some bishops were so angry they openly wept. Alexander had a hard time restoring order. When he did, the Council of 321 condemned Arius and ordered him into exile by a vote that was almost unanimous. The only ones who supported Arius were three deacons. They were banished with him.

Arius refused to go into exile, and he refused to resign his church. Today, when a bishop gives an order it is backed up by the civil authorities. It can be enforced by the police or military if need be. In those days, the churches were more independent. Bishops and councils only had moral power. Arius could ignore the exile order so long as the Baukalis Church supported him, and it did.

Arius worked hard to convince his church members of his views. Once he secured his position, he traveled out from Alexandria, carefully identifying different groups he thought he could influence. He developed a separate strategy for each type of group. I learned how he convinced people who were poorly informed about their faith from a merchant who once supported him but later saw his error. Arius had prodded the merchant to hold a small banquet for his fellow businessmen and some civil servants. The merchant lived in an elegant house with a large dining room. Its floor and walls were mosaic, covered in scenes from Greek mythology, and a fountain bubbled in the center of one long wall. During the banquet, a girl stood next to the fountain and sang softly to the accompaniment of a flute and lyre. The guests reclined on couches that extended at right angles from the table, their higher ends toward the table. As you know, the discussion of ideas is a chief purpose of banquets; everything is designed to encourage free discussion.

Arius opened the conversation. My good friends, what do you think of this controversy about the Son?

Plautus laughed. I don't even understand it.

Timotheus and the others laughingly agreed.

Explain it to us, the host prompted.

This invitation was what Arius was waiting for. He took a piece of bread and set it on his plate. The food was generous, but he drank only water and ate only bread and a little fruit. The merchant told me it was interesting that Arius did not take any food until the attention was all on him. The issue revolves around how old Christ is, he said with a smile. Has He lived forever or only since before the creation of the universe.

The tongue-in-cheek comment brought laughter, as he intended. Really, he said, this is a clergymen's battle. The Christian faith is not as complicated as we make it to be. Christians should not argue so much over doctrine, especially over ideas so hard to understand as the Son's relationship to the Father. Why can't we all just live together in peace?

By the end of the evening, his host and guests were convinced he was an embattled man whose viewpoint was not at all heretical. They liked him. He contrasted sharply with those pastors who harangued their people angrily as they warned their flocks against Arianism.

Arius used a different approach for those who were better informed and concerned about heresy entering the Church, a still different approach when he talked with people trained in philosophy and rhetoric, and yet another with pastors who hated theological controversy because it draws them away from the basic work of the church. Those he encouraged not to allow the debate to enter their churches and to remain as aloof from it as possible. For those clergymen who were unhappy with the status quo, for whatever reason, his approach to them was to criticize Bishop Alexander and his supporters.

This last tactic was the worst because he brought with it a terrible innovation. He involved the Roman government in our problems. Over the years, the Arians were to perfect the technique, but the practice began with him. Because Arius had been banished by a church council, he and his followers were not allowed communion. The Roman government has always been concerned about peace. Anything that threatens the tranquility of an area is of concern to the emperor. Arius and his followers took advantage of this attitude and purposely created conflicts. They entered churches which opposed their views and demanded to be served communion. When they were refused, they complained to the civil magistrates that their excommunication disturbed the common peace. Sometimes they even convinced the authorities to send militia to accompany them to worship. This made some churches afraid to refuse communion to them. Never before had the Church involved the magistracy in its work or its problems.

Those who worshipped the pagan gods had great fun with the controversy. They performed mock debates in the marketplaces about the relationship of the Son to the Father. Crowds would gather and laugh uproariously at the comical presentations. Before long, even writers for the theater included jibes at Christians in their scripts.

Arius' activities caused Alexander much grief, but he had no coercive power to force Arius into exile if the Baukalis church refused to oust him. Many pastors became increasingly alarmed as Arius embroiled more and more churches in the controversy. Eventually, they pressed Alexander to be rid of him. In 323, two years after the council and five years after Arius started the controversy, Alexander arranged a meeting with the main leaders of the Baukalis church. He showed them the large packet of letters which worried pastors had written him and explained to them how much trouble Arius was causing throughout Egypt. The church finally agreed to dismiss their pastor.

Arius was shocked at the church's action, but he recovered quickly. He had no intention of fading into oblivion. He was sixty-five and knew this was his only chance for fame. He was determined to continue his fight from exile, and so he decided to go to Nicomedia in Bithynia. It was the eastern capital of the empire and he knew the bishop there, Eusebe, a younger man who also was a former student of Lucian.

As he prepared to leave Egypt, Arius sat in his apartment and stared at the cases of scrolls, books, and writing materials stacked on the floor, along with the single box of a few toilet articles and extra clothing. He would need a lot more for his journey—cooking implements, tents, food, wine, and such. Friends from the Baukalis church would give him those things, but he owned his own mattress and bedding. He thought of the letter he had written Eusebe earlier and was suddenly inspired. Why write only Eusebe, he said to himself aloud, Lucian's students are in churches throughout the East.

He opened a box and took from it a copy of his letter to Eusebe. A seven-lamp chandelier hung from the ceiling and two oil lamps sat on short stands on his desk. In the ample light, he made a list of every former student he could think of and wrote feverishly to each one, using the letter to Eusebe as a model. He prepared letters to Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea, to Paul of Tyre, Patrophilus of Scythopolis, George of Laodicea, and many more. He spent the rest of the night writing.

At dawn, several deacons from the Baukalis church arrived to help Arius carry his baggage to the harbor. He was still sitting at his desk, a pile of small scrolls before him, each tied with a brown string and its edge sealed with a drop of wax into which he had pressed his signet ring. Can you take care of these letters for me? he asked.

Of course, Good Arius, one answered. It would be time-consuming task, for a traveler had to be found who was going to each place and paid to deliver each letter.

Arius and his friends made their way to the Great Harbor. Euzy and the two others who were going into exile with him were already there. His church friends placed his boxes and supplies on the dock and stayed to guard his luggage as Arius fought through the bustle to the office that handled ships bound for the Bosporus area. He hoped he would be lucky and not have to go to his alternative plan. The clerk looked at his ledger for a moment and answered in a high-pitched voice, One is due to leave in two or three weeks if the omens are right.

Arius was afraid it might be this way. He would wait if he had to, but his alternate plan was to take any ship going in the right direction. He left the office and looked up and down the buildings that surrounded the dock, looking for an office that catered to smaller ships, one that might go up the coast of Palestine, preferably to Caesarea. He did not have to sail the shortest route to Nicomedia. He could take a longer route and visit highly-placed bishops along the way. The trip would take longer, but he would gain a sense of how much support for his views he could generate. The information would be valuable when he met with Eusebe.

He spotted the right office and walked to it. The clerk told him a ship was ready to leave for Caesarea that day or the next. You'll have to make your own arrangements with the captain, he said. The ship is docked at pier 13.

Arius and his companions carried his belongings to the pier, he made arrangements with the ship master, found a place on the deck where he could stay, and said goodbye to his friends. The ship was ready to sail, so the ship master had told him, and was waiting only for the right omens. So far, no one had seen a crow or magpie in the rigging, or wreckage in the harbor, and no one had dreamed of rough waters or an anchor or goats, wild boars, or any of the other unlucky dreams that would veto a ship's sailing plans.

As it turned out, none of those things happened, or at least the crew did not know of them, so after a fire was lit on the portable altar and a bull was sacrificed, the ship left the dock. It was medium-sized, carrying a variety of wares for the merchants of Caesarea and Jerusalem. The hold was full and some of the less perishable goods were tied down on the deck. It was summer and the prevailing winds were from the north, so the sails could be used only in a tacking movement along the coast until they turned north. Then it would be mostly oars that would move them along. There was a square sail, with a small rectangular one above it to catch soft winds.

The journey took nearly two uneventful weeks, but very early one morning the captain's cry startled them from their sleep, Caesarea! Caesarea! Arius, Euzy, and his two other friends threw off their covers and ran toward the bow in time to catch a brief glimpse of brilliant beams of light, the blazing lighthouse fire made much brighter by reflection from well-placed mirrors. They fought with a few of the crew for places along the rail. The boat's bow raised and dipped gently with the waves, bringing the distant outline of the marble and limestone city in and out of view.

The captain cried out over the excitement, Remember the omens! Arius and his fellows glanced at one another disapprovingly but acquiesced to the captain's pagan superstition. No one should talk until the ship was safely docked, lest some god be angered inadvertently. Slowly, the huge harbor came more clearly into view, the white walls glistening even though the sun was rising from behind the buildings. Sailors furled the sail and the ship slowed as a harbor tug moved toward them, a heavy dory with several husky rowers pulling on long oars, their bodies glistening with sweat. They called to the ship's crew to throw a line and a doryman caught the rope, attached it to the dory, and retook his place among the rowers. They bent their backs to the task, hauling the ship into the harbor.

Inside, the water was a deep turquoise blue. The lower stones of the wharf were black basalt, the upper stones white limestone. The dory pulled the ship to one of the long docks, and a few minutes later Arius descended the gangway, leaving his fellows to guard their belongings while he arranged for stevedores and transportation. The church where Eusebius was bishop was within walking distance of the harbor, located in an envious spot near an esplanade. The Roman authorities had allowed it there because of the fame brought to the city by the great Christian scholar Origen a hundred years before. Walking was out of the question, of course, because they needed wagons to carry their baggage. They hired two four-wheelers, each pulled by a single mule, and instructed the wagoners to take them to Caesarea's main church. The iron rings on the wheels scraped on the marble street that passed among the warehouses along the docks. The wagons turned up a low rise of a hill toward the city's main temple, dedicated to Roma and Augustus. It appeared larger than it really was, as it was raised on a stone platform to make it the highest point in the city.

Bishop Eusebius of Caesarea welcomed them warmly and installed them in the church's inn. Eusebius was an erudite, influential bishop who had been elected to his position after being tutored by a much-beloved confessor who had died as a martyr for Christ. He was author of several books, including a history of the Christian church. He was also a powerful preacher. His endorsement would mean a great deal. I have said that Arius had a knack for presenting his views in a way most likely to be accepted by whoever he was talking to. He handed Eusebius the letter he had brought, similar to the ones his friends were sending out from Alexandria, and asked him to read it later at his leisure.

The rest of the day was taken with settling into the quarters Eusebius had provided, getting acquainted with the church's staff, and resting. The busy Eusebius was quite cordial and told them he planned a banquet in their honor later, but excused himself for a few days after assigning one of his deacons to look after them. When he finally was able to talk to Arius, he called him to task for stirring up such a controversy, pointing out, These issues you raise have never before been considered by the Church.

I agree, Arius answered, but Lucian did have us study the relationship of the Son to the Father.

Eusebius ignored the we.