Imperator, Deus

by John R. Prann Jr.

  Arius was practically yelling: “It is clear from the most respected Gospels that Jesus’ Last Supper corresponds to the 14th day of the Jewish month of Nisan. The start of Passover. Jesus, being a devout Jew, would want us to use the dates established by his religion. So, we must rely on our Jewish brethren to set that date each year.”

  Without being recognized, Nicholas shouted back: “Brethren! The Jews aren’t consistent in choosing their dates for Passover. Sometimes they choose a date prior to the equinox, sometimes after. Often in the wrong month. More important: Passover is of the wrong character to reflect the joy of Christ’s resurrection. It is a festival of death!”

  “Ach. It’s a celebration of God’s deliverance of the Jews from slavery! You are arguing to change a historical date based on your personal distaste for following Jewish custom.” Arius responded.

  Nicholas looked offended. “Not so! The date is arbitrary. The Jews follow a lunar calendar; we follow a solar calendar. Over 200 years ago, Pope Sixtus recommended that we establish our own dates for Holy Days. The time has come for the Church to heed his advice.”

  “And what else shall we change because you don’t like it, Bishop Nicholas? Shall we change Jesus’ name to Sol?” Arius asked the crowd, which groaned.

  Nicholas glared at Arius with contempt—unusual from a man renowned for his jolly personality and generous gift-giving.

  “Enough,” shouted Ossius. “We have discussed the point sufficiently. We will return tomorrow to vote on the question: Whether to establish our own system of dates for scheduling Holy Days. A blessed evening to all.”

  As Ossius walked out of the hall, he saw Clodius and motioned for the deacon to join him. Once they were away from the crowd, Ossius said: “Deacon, have you been keeping notes of the proceedings as I requested?”

  “Well…ah…yes, Holiness,” Clodius replied—without making eye contact.

  “May I see the notes?”

  “Well…actually, Holiness, I have been coordinating with Athanasius on the notes. Alexander has requested the same thing.”

  Ossius stopped and looked hard at Clodius—forcing the deacon to make eye contact, which he couldn’t hold for very long. Something bad was at work. “I wanted you to take notes, Clodius. Not Athanasius. I would like to see your notes from the last several days tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, Holiness.”

  “I’ve noticed you in deep conversation with Athanasius. And also with the Emperor. What is that about?”

  “Mostly small talk, Holiness. And I have given him answers to some questions he’s asked me.”

  “What questions?”

  “The Emperor wanted to know how certain bishops felt about the Arian controversy. I answered him to the best of my ability.” There was an air of pride in his admission.

  “Clodius, a Council like this is a heady experience. And your access to the Emperor is rare thing. But don’t let these experiences flatter your vanity. You are a Deacon of the Church. You should listen more than talk. And be very careful about offering opinions.”

  “Yes, Holiness.”

  After supper, Ossius met with Constantine in his personal quarters of his palace. They spoke each evening, after the Council’s business was completed. “Dominus, my apologies for any embarrassment my Deacon Clodius may be causing you during these proceedings.”

  Constantine smiled. “You don’t trust him—do you, Ossius?”

  “Trust is earned. As of yet, Clodius has not earned mine.”

  “He is a bit strange,” Constantine nodded. “But I think he’s harmless. Doesn’t hold eye contact. He hasn’t been an embarrassment to you. But….”

  “I recognize that pivot, Imperator.”

  “Yes. The politician in me. So, let me say it plainly. Your deacon has extolled to me several times the piety of Alexander and Athanasius. Suggested that I declare Alexander a living saint. And he has been critical of Eusebius—so harshly that I doubt he realizes Eusebius is my cousin. Oh, and he suggested that I declare December 25 as the date of the Nazarene’s birth.”

  “What?” Ossius almost screamed.

  “It was a bit…incongruous. One moment he was praising Alexander to the sky, saying he already had the right answer to this debate, and the next moment he was suggesting when to celebrate the Nazarene’s birthday. I don’t remember how he connected the two. Perhaps he’d heard me say that the 25th is Fausta’s favorite pagan holiday. Anyway, his idea was that I, as Emperor, could declare both matters resolved and be done with all of this.”

  Ossius felt betrayed. But he didn’t want Constantine to see that weakness. Better to focus on Clodius’ breach of protocol. “I will remove my insolent deacon your presence—and from this Council— immediately.”

  “You don’t need to do it on my account, Ossius. As I said, what harm does he do? So, he’s a bit…strange. Everyone who meets him knows that.”

  “The harm is that he represents me,” Ossius said, hoping not to sound like a foolish old man who couldn’t keep control of his underlings. “His assumptions and conduct could misrepresent what I stand for. I have not endorsed Alexander’s position. It’s not that I will not—it’s just that, as we’ve discussed, some form of compromise would be best. For the Church and the Empire. I am frustrated with this, Dominus. I beg your leave—so that I can attend to it immediately.”

  Nicaea, Asia Minor

  July 1, 1078 AUC (325 AD)

  Nearly two weeks into its meetings, the Council decided to take a break for one day from official business. Attendees could take care of correspondence, pray or simply clear their minds of meeting protocols and procedures.

  Ossius had spent the first part of the day considering what to do about Clodius. He read the notes that his deacon had given him—they were obviously Athanasius’. The inappropriate comments to Constantine were even a worse sign. The date itself wasn’t the issue; some Christians already celebrated Christ’s birthday on or near the winter solstice. Ossius didn’t particularly care when Christ’s birthday was celebrated. Like most priests, he felt the Resurrection was—by far—the most important episode from Christ’s life. But, if asked, Ossius would have said that Jesus was likely born in the spring. The Gospel of Luke referred to “shepherds in the field,” perhaps the spring lambing season.

  But to link the date of Christ’s birth with a suggestion that the Emperor override the Council showed weaknesses of judgment and temperament that Clodius would never overcome.

  There was other business to resolve before the Council resumed. Most of the minor matters had been resolved, so the bishops were positioned to focus on the Arian controversy when they came back from their short break. Arius would have a day to present his position; Alexander would have the following day to present his. Ossius had stipulated that each man would present his argument personally—no proxies or advocates. Specifically, no Eusebius or Athanasius. Ossius expected that there would be another day (or perhaps two) of questions after each man had made his case. Then, the bishops would vote on which explanation of Christ’s nature better fit the Church’s goals and needs.

  And they could move on to the wording of the Creed.

  The break seemed to evaporate, it passed so quickly. And now Ossius was back in front of the Council, calling it back into order and describing how the next few days would proceed. He made eye contact with Constantine, who nodded in agreement, and invited Arius to come to the podium.

  The great hall was packed with bishops, priests and their servants—but they came to a complete silence when the popular Arius walked to the front. “Thank you, Ossius. Thank you, my brothers. I salute you, children of God. We come together here, at this time, drawn by our shared love of Christ Jesus. And by our belief in His teachings. One of the necessary tasks that we complete in this Council is to determine how we teach the faithful about Christ’s nature. And His relationship to God, Whom He cal
led ‘Abba’ or ‘Father’ in our vernacular….”

  Arius had been uneasy about speaking to the group. On the off-day, he’d complained to Ossius that he wasn’t an orator. But he was doing well. As Ossius looked around, he saw quite a few heads nodding in agreement with what Arius said. And even those that Ossius recognized as siding with Alexander seemed to be listening attentively.

  For the first few hours, Arius described Christ’s nature in philosophical terms. He used the Socratic Method—rhetorical questions that he himself answered. Syllogisms. Abstractions. This kept the audience’s attention. Even Constantine stayed in the hall longer than he usually did—in fact, he stayed for most of the day.

  After a short lunch break, Arius shifted his argument to the practical matters of why his concept of a “complementary” Jesus, who was a “beloved Son” would be more effective for drawing people into the Church. And for keeping them inspired after they joined. That being a son of man, he was an example that other men could achieve, or at least to emulate.

  When Arius was finished, he received some applause from the audience—a rare thing at a Church Council. He accepted the support humbly. Ossius reminded everyone that Alexander’s turn would come in the morning and called an end to the day’s business. A crowd gathered around Arius—asking questions, adding thoughts, offering encouragement.

  But Ossius didn’t stay around to listen. He saw Clodius—who’d spent most of the day milling around one of the side entrances— starting to leave the great hall.

  “Clodius.” At first, the deacon didn’t respond. “Clodius! Wait a moment! I would like to speak with you.” On the second shout, Clodius stopped.

  Ossius pointed to a quiet, grassy hillock a few hundred cubits from the hall entrance. They headed that direction silently. Clodius seemed visibly anxious.

  As soon as they reached the grassy area, well out of earshot from the hall, Ossius started: “Clodius, you mentioned to me a few days ago that you shared only ‘small talk’ with the Emperor. But, in fact, it appears your conversations were meant to influence him. Is that true?”

  Clodius changed from looking anxious to looking confused. Had he been expecting something else?

  “Influence? No, Holiness. I only…explained positions of people that he asked me about.”

  “And who might those people be?

  Clodius shook his head slightly—still confused. “I explained—no, I mean, ah, I mentioned Alexander’s and Athanasius’ knowledge of the theology of Christ and God.”

  “And did you mention my knowledge of the theology concerning Christ and God.”

  “No,” Clodius said slowly. “I mean I don’t understand….”

  “Do you know my position on this controversy, Clodius?”

  “No. Not really. I believe you favor Eusebius and Arius. But that’s my inference. Never heard you say it.”

  Ossius stared hard at his deacon. He believed Clodius was lying. The only question was: how much?

  “And that would make you wrong, Clodius. You know not how I feel. You only see actions that may be there for the perception of what may be the good of our Church or the good of the Empire. And yet you work against my ends by conspiring with Athanasius and reporting to him my letters. That is true, is it not, Clodius?”

  Clodius bowed his head “I may have misinterpreted and reported some of your statements, Bishop.”

  Ossius let that admission stand for a few moments.

  “And what possessed you to approach Constantine about Christ’s birthday?”

  Clodius turned pale. “The Emperor was lamenting that he had other urgent business. I’d heard him talk earlier about how his wife favors the pagan solstice holiday—Sol Invictus. So, it occurred to me that he could easily fix both problems with one edict.”

  Ossius sighed. “The Emperor can do as he wishes. But to curry favor with him, in order to influence him to rule a certain way or take a certain action, invites serious trouble for the Church. I say this as someone who has known Constantine for many years. You overstepped here.”

  A few more moments of silence—during which Ossius noticed some priests coming their direction.

  “Clodius, are you sure you wish to be a priest?”

  “Yes, Bishop. It is the most important thing I can imagine. My great desire. I want to show people my dedication to the words of our Lord, Jesus Christ!”

  Ossius shook his head slightly, ruefully. “But a priest helps people. He sacrifices his life for the good of others. He acts as an illustration of Christ’s life. Having people see your dedication is secondary. Or less.”

  Clodius was starting to sweat. “Well, of course. That too. But I want those dedicated to Christ to see me as an equal.”

  “Clodius, I don’t think I can help you be what you want to be. I don’t think what you want is actually to be a priest. Your time with me must come to an end. I suggest you align yourself with another bishop. Or, better yet, a good Christian teacher. We will discuss this more after this Council has ended.”

  Nicaea, Asia Minor

  July 6, 1078 AUC (325 AD)

  Eusebius of Nicomedia felt that the Arian argument was not gathering the momentum it needed. There had been many favorable remarks about Arius’ position. But Alexander’s rambling two-day rant against Arius had been full of hell and damnation. Eusebius believed none of it—but some in the assembly did. Also, Athanasius was acting extremely smug. Overconfident. Eusebius wondered whether there was something he was missing.

  This was the day when the session was supposed to open up for questions. But there had been some speculation through the evening and early morning that Alexander would refuse to give up the podium.

  Ossius entered the great hall just moments before the session was supposed to start. He walked directly to the podium—and nodded to the head deacon, who called for order.

  “Gentleman. I have a request from Alexander of Alexandria,” Ossius looked uneasy. “He requests that, since he has summarized his position of faith, he be given the opportunity to begin the questioning of Arius.” There were some murmurs of objection from the audience—but they died away. “Furthermore, Alexander requests that this Council grants him an additional indulgence. That we allow his deacon Athanasius to respond to the same questions.”

  Eusebius’ first impulse was to disagree. He wanted time to figure out what Alexander and Athanasius were planning. But he didn’t want to act from a position of weakness—and ignorance was weakness. So he remained silent and listened.

  Ossius seemed a bit disappointed. “Unless we have objection to Alexander’s request, will both Arius and Athanasius approach the podium?”

  They did—and Alexander came with them. Ossius yielded to podium back to Alexander, who directed Arius and Athanasius to separate stools on either side of him.

  Alexander pulled some notes from his sleeve and started the questioning. “Arius, my objective is to prove Jesus is identical in nature as God. I want to prove that They are homoousian. Do you agree that is my position?”

  “I agree that is your position, Bishop. And my position is that They are not quite the same. That Jesus was begotten of God and is …lesser.”

  “I agree that is your position, Arius—faulty as it may be. And do you agree that, in the process of coming to your conclusion that Jesus is lesser than God, you have had to rely on blasphemous and heretical reasoning?”

  Arius shook his head. “No, Bishop. I do not agree with that statement. I relied on accepted gospels and scriptures—books that I believe all here would agree are valid.”

  Alexander took a deep breath, which seemed to energize him. “If I were to prove to you that you have based your opinions on heresy, would you repent?”

  Arius shrugged, “Yes. But my reasoning is not based on heretical scriptures. Or reasoning.”

  “I have several examples that I wish to share wit
h the Council— which prove that you are misguided. But, before I begin, I will give you the opportunity to denounce your misguided opinions. As our Savior taught us, I pray that you accept your mistakes. So that we may embrace you back into the womb of the Church.”

  “Alexander, I sincerely believe my opinions are from the womb of the Church,” as Arius said this, he realized that he sounded arrogant. “I look forward to seeing the illustrations that you feel prove the contrary.”

  Alexander nodded in agreement. “I ask the indulgence of the Council—to allow my deacon, Athanasius, to question Arius. This is due to his direct involvement in the events which will illustrate.”

  There was a general sound of agreement among the assembly to allow Athanasius to question Arius.

  All eyes turned to Ossius, who looked to Constantine. Who shrugged very slightly. Ossius stroked his beard and the said: “We have allowed deacons and assigns to speak on other matters, so we will allow this now. But I’ll remind all of the parties—on both sides of this issue—that the purpose of this exchange is to inform the Council’s discretion. No one is going to be excommunicated here.” He ended his warning by staring hard at Athanasius.

  Alexander yielded the podium to Athanasius, who immediately asked: “Arius, do you recall a series of conversations you had with me, when I was but a student and a scribe? We discussed the teachings of Origen and your opinion of the Gospel of John?”

  “Yes, I was thinking of that conversation not long ago. It was eight or 10 years ago. My impression was that you understood the concepts quite well, given your young age.”

  “Do you remember the letter you wrote me concerning that conversation?”

  “Until this moment I had forgotten I sent you a letter. I vaguely remember I had included a verse.”

  “We will discuss the verse in a moment. But you agree you corresponded with me after our conversation on Origen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you recall how you described the author of the Gospel of John?”