"Father Paphnutis," he shouted to drown the general clamour, "what is
all this about?... It is a question of a single word; is not that so?"
and forthwith he began to narrate terrible scenes he had witnessed in
Alexandria and Constantinople. The Arians had opened with wooden
pincers the mouths of those unwilling to receive the Sacrament in
heretic churches, and forced the host between their lips. Mere
children were subjected to inquisition; the breasts of women were
crushed under leaden weights and branded with live iron. In the Church
of the Holy Apostles so horrible a struggle had taken place between
Arians and Orthodox that the blood, overflowing the cistern which
received the drainage of the place, had poured down the steps in front
of the western façade and streamed into the market-square. At
Alexandria the governor Sebastian had caused virgins to be beaten with
thorn branches, so that many of them had succumbed and their bodies
lay unburied outside the city gates. All this contention was over a
single letter, an _iota_.
"Father Paphnutis," argued the pale monk, "for an iota! The word
'substantial' does not even occur in the holy Scripture. What are we
then torturing each other about? Think, Father; it is horrible!"
"Then," interrupted the Arch-priest impatiently, "must we be
reconciled with those impious dogs who will not hunt out of their
pestilent hearts the doctrine that there was a moment when the Son of
God did not exist?"
"'One Shepherd and one Flock,'" the monk returned: "Let us make them
some concessions!"
But Paphnutis refused to hear anything, vociferating till the veins of
his neck almost burst--
"Let the enemies of God be silent! Never will I give in! Anathema on
the Arian heresy! Such have I received the faith from my fathers, and
such will I keep it!"
Ozius the centenarian wagged approvingly his white head and long
beard. On the other side of the hall two archdeacons were talking
together.
"You keep very calm, Father Dorophas. Why are you taking no part in
discussion to-day?"
"My voice is gone, Father Flavius. I am too hoarse with anathematising
the cursed sectaries."
In another group the deacon from Antioch, Aetius, a bold and fervent
disciple of Arius, regarded as an atheist for his audacious and
scoffing interpretations of the Trinity, was holding forth.
The career of Aetius had been remarkable for its extraordinary
variety. At first a slave, he had afterwards become by turns a
coppersmith, a sailor, a rhetorician, a pupil and teacher of
Alexandrian philosophy, and finally a deacon.
"God the Father is in His substantial essence different from His Son,"
Aetius was saying with a smile and evident gusto, to the dismay of his
hearers. "The Trinity has differentiations, degrees of glory,
according to the nature of the personalities comprised in it. The word
'God' cannot be used of the Son, because He has never applied it to
Himself. The Son has never even comprehended the essence of the
Father, because it is impossible for Him who had a beginning to
imagine that which has neither beginning nor end."
"Blaspheme not!" shouted an indignant bishop. "Where is this Satanic
boldness going to stop, my brethren?"
"Drag not the simple-minded into perdition by your speeches!" shrieked
another.
"Prove me wrong by philosophic reasoning, and I will acquiesce. But
shouts and insults are proof of nothing but impotence," replied Aetius
calmly.
"It is written in the Scriptures...."
"What is that to me? God has given intelligence to man that He himself
might be understood. I believe in logic of argument and not in texts.
Reason with me on the basis of the syllogisms and categories of
Aristotle...."
And with a contemptuous smile he threw his surplice around him like
the cynic mantle of Diogenes.
Some bishops were beginning to speak in favour of a universal creed in
which mutual concession should be made, when the Arian Narcissus of
Neronia, a profound expert in all statutes, creeds, and canons of the
councils, intervened in discussion. He was a man little liked,
suspected of adultery and usury, but admired by everyone for his
theological erudition.
"That is a flat heresy!" he declared decisively.
"Why is it a heresy?" demanded several voices.
"Because the assizes of Paphlagonia have already so laid it down."
"The assizes of Paphlagonia?" repeated the desperate bishops; "we had
clean forgotten them. What is to be done now?"
"May God have pity on us miserable sinners!" the good bishop Ozius was
muttering; "I can no longer understand anything; I can't get out of
the labyrinth; my head is buzzing, my ears singing with Greek words;
I'm walking in a fog and don't know myself what I believe in and what
I disbelieve; what is heresy and what is not.... Jesus help us!... We
are falling into the snares of the Devil."
At that moment the hubbub and clamour ceased. The bishop Ursatius of
Singidion, one of the Emperor's favourites, mounted the tribune. He
was holding in his hand a long scroll of parchment. Two _silentiarii_,
having mended their fine pens of Egyptian reed, got ready to write
down the conciliar debate. Ursatius read out the message of the
Emperor to the bishops--
"Constantius, the triumphant, glorious, and eternal Augustus, to all
bishops assembled in this council...."
The Emperor demanded the dismissal of Athanasius, the patriarch of
Alexandria, whom he called the most useless of men, the traitor, the
accomplice of the insolent and abominable Magnentius.
The courtiers, Valentine, Eusebius, Axentius, hastened to sign the
scroll. But a murmur arose.
"It is all a damnable device; a trick of the Arians! We will not let
our patriarch suffer...."
"The Emperor calls himself _eternal_ ... nobody is eternal but God! It
is a mockery of holy things."
Constantius, lurking behind the curtain, heard this last speech
distinctly. Thrusting the hangings roughly by, he pushed unexpectedly
into the hall. The lances of the guard surrounded him. His face
expressed anger. A heavy silence fell upon the throng.
"What is it, what is it?" the blind Ozius kept whispering in restless
perplexity.
"Fathers," the Emperor began, bridling his anger, "allow me, the
servant of the Most High, to use my zeal under His providence to a
successful issue. Athanasius is a rebel, the chief violator of
universal concord and oecumenical peace."
Fresh murmurs arose. Constantius was silent and ran a surprised look
over the array of bishops. A voice shouted--
"Anathema upon the abominable Arian heresy!"
"The faith against which you revolt," replied the Emperor, "is my
faith. If it is heretical, why has the omnipotent God assigned victory
to us over all our enemies? Constans, Vetranio, Gallus, the abominable
Magnentius, why has God Himself placed the power over the world in our
sacred hands?"
The bishops were dumb; then the courtier Valentius, bishop of Mursa,
bowing with great servility--
"God will unveil the truth to your wisdom, sire, well-beloved of the
Lord! What you believe cannot be heresy. Did not Cyril of Jerusalem
behold a rainbow-surmounted cross in the heavens on the day of your
victory over Magnentius?"
"It is my will," interrupted Constantius, rising from the throne.
"Athanasius shall be laid low by the power God has entrusted to me.
Pray that all these conflicts and controversies may cease, that the
murderous heresy of the Sabæans, the partisans of Athanasius, may be
destroyed, that the truth may shine into all hearts...."
Suddenly the Emperor grew pale; the words expired on his lips.
"What! How is it that he has been allowed to enter?"
He pointed to a tall old man with a severe and majestic face. It was
the bishop Hilarion of Pictavia (Poitiers), who had been exiled and
ruined for his faith, one of the greatest enemies of the Arian
Emperor. He had come to the council unsummoned, perhaps seeking
martyrdom. The old man raised his hand to heaven as if calling down
malediction upon the head of the Emperor, and his powerful voice
thrilled the silent crowd--
"Brothers, Christ must be about to descend, for Antichrist has already
conquered, and that Antichrist is Constantius! He does not break your
backs on the wheel, but he flatters your proud bellies. He does not
throw us into dungeons, but entices us into his palaces.... Emperor,
hearken! I say to you what I have said to Nero, Decius, Maximian, all
persecutors of the Church. But you are not, like them, the murderer
of men, but the murderer of the Divine love itself! Nero, Decius,
Maximian, have better served the God of truth than you! In their reign
we conquered the Devil, the blood of the martyrs flowed, cleansing the
earth, and their dead bones worked miracles. Whereas you, O King,
cruellest of the cruel, slay and yet grant us not the glory of
death.... Lord, send us a true despot like Nero, and let the kindly
arm of Thy wrath revive again the Church dishonoured by the kiss of
this Judas!"