ARIUS AND ATHANASIUS
We have seen how, at the conclusion of the Council of Nicæa, it looked
as if the Church had entered into her rest. The day of persecution was
over; Christianity had found in the Emperor an ardent and impetuous
champion; a creed had been framed which seemed to establish upon a sure
foundation the deepest mysteries of the faith; heresy not only lay under
anathema, but had been reduced to silence. Throughout the East—the West
had remained practically untroubled—the feeling was one of confidence
and joy. Constantine rejoiced as though he had won a personal victory;
his subjects, we are told,[122] thought the kingdom of Christ had
already begun. When Gregory, the Illuminator of Armenia, met his son,
Aristaces, returning from Nicæa and heard from his lips the text of the
new creed, he at once exclaimed: “Yea, we glorify Him who was before the
ages, by adoring the Holy Trinity and the one Godhead of the Father, and
of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, now and for ever, through ages and
ages.”
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Footnote 122:
_De Vita Const._, iii., c. 14.
-----
Moreover, the Emperor’s violent edicts against the Arians, and the
banishment of Eusebius and Theognis, all indicated a settled and rooted
conviction which nothing could shake, while the death of the Patriarch
Alexander of Alexandria and the election of Athanasius in his stead must
have strengthened enormously the Catholic party in Egypt and, indeed,
throughout the East. Alexander had died within a few months of his
return from Nicæa, in the early part of 326. He is said, when on his
death-bed, to have foretold the elevation of Athanasius and the trials
which lay before him. He had called for Athanasius—who at the moment was
away from Egypt—and another Athanasius, who was present in the room,
answered for the absent one. The dying man, however, was not deceived
and said: “Athanasius, you think you have escaped, but you will not; you
cannot.” We need not recount the stories which the malignity of his
enemies invented in order to cast discredit upon Athanasius’ election.
There is no reason to doubt either its validity or its overwhelming
popularity in Alexandria, where, while the Egyptian bishops were in
session, the Catholics outside the building kept up the unceasing cry:
“Give us Athanasius, the good, the holy, the ascetic.” The election was
not unanimous. Evidently some thought the situation required a
conciliatory demeanour towards the beaten Arians. But that was not the
view of the majority, who, by choosing Athanasius, set the best fighting
man on their side upon the throne of St. Mark. They did wisely.
Tolerance was not properly understood in the fourth century.
The outward peace lasted little more than two years. Unfortunately, we
are almost entirely in the dark as to what took place during that time,
beyond the certain fact of the recall of Arius, Eusebius, and Theognis.
Arius had been banished to Galatia; then we read of the sentence being
partially revoked, and the only embargo placed upon his freedom of
movement was that he was forbidden to return to Alexandria. Did this
take place before the recall of Eusebius and Theognis? Socrates gives
the text of a strange letter written by these two prelates to the
principal bishops of the Church, in which they definitely say that,
inasmuch as Arius has been recalled from exile, they hope the bishops
will use their influence with the Emperor on their behalf.
“After closely studying the question of the Homoousion,” they say, “we
are wholly intent on preserving peace and we have been seduced by no
heresy. We subscribed to the Creed, after suggesting what we thought
best for the Church, but we refused to sign the anathema, not because
we had any fault to find with the Creed, but because we did not
consider Arius to be what he was represented as being. The letters we
had received from him and the discourses we had heard him deliver
compelled us to form a totally different estimate of his character.”
The authenticity of this letter has been sharply called in question, for
there is no other scrap of evidence confirming the statement that Arius
was recalled before Eusebius and Theognis—in itself a most improbable
step. Constantine had issued an edict that any one concealing a copy of
the writings of Arius and not instantly handing it over to the
authorities to be burnt, should be put to death, and it is much more
probable that Arius was recalled after, rather than before, Eusebius of
Nicomedia. The “History” of Socrates contains many letters of doubtful
authenticity and some which are, beyond dispute, forgeries. Among the
latter we may certainly include the portentously long document in which
Constantine is represented as making a grossly personal attack on the
banished Arius. We will content ourselves with quoting the most
vituperative passage:
“Look! Look all of you! See what wretched cries he utters, writhing in
pain from the bite of the serpent’s tooth! See how his veins and flesh
are poison-tainted and what agonised convulsions they excite! See how
his body is wasted away with disease and squalor, with dirt and
lamentation, with pallor and horror! See how he is withered up with a
thousand evils! See how horrible to look upon is his filthy tangled
head of hair; how he is half dead from top to toe; how languid is the
aspect of his haggard, bloodless face; how madness, fury, and vanity,
swooping down upon him together, have reduced him to what he is—a
savage and wild beast! He does not even recognise the horrible
situation he is in. ‘I am beside myself with joy’; he says, ‘I dance
and leap with glee; I fly; I am a happy boy again.’”
[Illustration:
ST. ATHANASIUS.
FROM THE BRITISH MUSEUM PRINT ROOM.
]
Assuredly this raving production never came from the pen of Constantine,
and it bears no resemblance to his ordinary style. The resounding
platitude with which it opens, “An evil interpreter is really the image
and counterpart of the Devil,” leads us confidently to acquit the
Emperor of its authorship and ascribe it to some anonymous and unknown
ecclesiastic desirous at once of edifying and terrifying the faithful.
We can only surmise the circumstances which worked upon the Emperor’s
mind and caused his complete change of front with respect to Arianism
and its exponents. Sozomen, indeed, attributes it wholly to the
influence of his sister, Constantia. According to an Arian legend quoted
by that historian, it was revealed to the Princess in “a vision from
God” that it was the exiled bishops who held the true orthodox doctrine
and, therefore, that they had been unjustly banished. She worked upon
the impressionable mind of her brother, and the two bishops were
recalled. When Constantine asked whether they still held the Nicene
doctrines to which they had subscribed, they replied that they had
assented, not from conviction, but from the fear lest the Emperor should
be disgusted at the dissensions among the Christians, and revert to
paganism. This curious story certainly tends to confirm the tradition
that it was Constantia who was the court patroness of the Arians. She
had been for years Empress in the palace of Nicomedia, and it is easy to
suppose that the very able Bishop of that city had established a strong
ascendency over her mind, long before the Arian controversy arose.
The upshot of the whole matter—however the change was brought about—was
that in the year 329, the Arian and Eusebian party was paramount at the
Imperial Court. They had persuaded the Emperor that theirs was the party
of reason, and that those who persisted in troubling the peace of the
Church by holding extreme views and seeking to impose rigorous tests
were the followers of the new Patriarch of Alexandria. They had
subscribed to the Nicene Creed or to a Creed which—so they persuaded the
Emperor—was practically indistinguishable from it, and they now plotted,
with great skill and adroitness, to undermine the position of
Athanasius. How they conducted the intrigue we do not know, but it is
significant that after the break up of the Council of Nicæa we hear no
more, during Constantine’s lifetime, of his long-trusted adviser Hosius,
Bishop of Cordova. The dreadful tragedies in the Imperial Family had
taken place at Rome in the summer of 326. It is possible that Hosius
made no secret of his horror at these monstrous crimes and retired to
his Spanish bishopric, and that Eusebius of Nicomedia, when brought into
communication with Constantine, was not so exacting in his demand for a
show of penitence and proved more skilful in allaying the Emperor’s
remorse. Be that as it may, as soon as Eusebius felt assured of his
position, he lost no time in prosecuting a vigorous campaign against
those who had triumphed over him at Nicæa. The first blow was directed
against Eustathius, the Bishop of Antioch, who was charged with heresy,
profligacy, and tyranny by the two Eusebii and a number of other
bishops, then on their way to Jerusalem. Whether the charges were well
founded or not, the tribunal was a prejudiced one and the sentence of
deprivation and banishment passed upon Eustathius was bitterly resented
in Antioch.
After certain other bishops had met with a like fate, the Eusebii flew
at higher game and attacked Athanasius. They had already entered into an
understanding with the Meletian faction in Egypt, who carefully kept
alive the charges against Athanasius, and now they again took up the
cudgels on behalf of Arius. Eusebius wrote to the Patriarch asking him
to restore Arius to communion on the ground that he had been grievously
misrepresented. Athanasius bluntly refused. Arius, he said, had started
a deadly heresy: he had been anathematised by an Œcumenical Council:
how, then, could he be restored to communion? Eusebius and Arius
appealed to the Emperor. Constantine, who had previously ordered Arius
to attend at court and promised him signal proof of his regard and
permission to return to Alexandria, sent a peremptory message to
Athanasius bidding him admit Arius. When Athanasius, on the score of
conscience, returned a steady refusal, the Emperor angrily threatened
that, if he did not throw open his church doors to all who desired to
enter, he would send an officer to turn him out of his church and expel
him from Alexandria. “Now that you have full knowledge of my will,” he
added, “see that you provide uninterrupted entry to all who wish to
enter the church. If I hear that you have prevented any one from joining
the services, or have shut the doors in their faces, I will at once
despatch some one to deport you from Alexandria.” The threat did not
terrify Athanasius, who declared that there could be no fellowship
between heretics and true believers. Nor was the Imperial officer sent.
Then began an extraordinary campaign of calumny against the Patriarch,
who was accused of taxing Egypt in order to buy a supply of linen
garments, called “sticharia,” for his church; of instigating one
Macarius to upset a communion table and break a sacred chalice; of
murdering a Meletian bishop named Arsenius, who was presently found
alive and well; and of other crimes equally preposterous and unfounded.
It was the Meletian irreconcilables in Egypt who brought these calumnies
forward, but Athanasius had no doubt that the moving spirit was none
other than Eusebius himself. And his enemies, whoever they were, were
untiring and implacable. As soon as one calumny was refuted, they were
ready with another, and all this time there was Eusebius at the
Emperor’s side, continually suggesting that with so much smoke there
needs must be some fire, and that Athanasius ought to be called upon to
clear himself, lest the scandal should do injury to the Church.
Constantine summoned a council to try Athanasius in 333, and fixed the
place of meeting in Cæsarea,—a tolerably certain proof that the two
Eusebii were acting in concert. For some reason not stated the bishops
did not assemble until the following year, and then Athanasius refused
to attend. Not until 335 did Athanasius stand before his episcopal
judges at Tyre.
Accompanied by some fifty of his suffragans, Athanasius had made the
journey, only to find himself confronted by a packed council. All his
bitterest enemies were there; all the old unsubstantiated charges were
resuscitated. His election was said to be uncanonical; he was charged
with personal unchastity and with cruelty towards certain Meletian
bishops and priests; and, most curious of all, the ancient calumnies of
“The Broken Chalice” and “The Dead Man’s Hand” were revived and pressed,
as though they had never been confuted. With respect to the latter
charge, Athanasius enjoyed one moment of signal triumph. After his
accusers had caused a thrill of horror to pass through the Council by
producing a blackened and withered hand, which they declared to belong
to the missing Bishop Arsenius, who was supposed to have suffered foul
play, Athanasius asked whether any of those present had known Arsenius
personally. A number of bishops claimed acquaintance, and then
Athanasius gave the signal for a man, who was standing by closely
muffled in a cloak, to come forward. “Lift up your head!” said
Athanasius. The unknown did so, and lo! it was none other than Arsenius
himself. Athanasius drew aside the cloak, first from one hand and then
from the other. “Has God given to any man,” he asked quietly, “more
hands than two?” His enemies were silenced, but only for the moment. One
of them, cleverer than the rest, immediately exclaimed that this was
mere sorcery and devil’s work; the man was not Arsenius; in fact, he was
not even a man at all, but a mere counterfeit, an illusion of the senses
produced by Athanasius’ horrible proficiency in the black art. And we
are told that this ingenious explanation proved so convincing to the
assembly, and created such a fury of resentment against Athanasius, that
Dionysius, the Imperial officer who had been deputed by Constantine to
represent him at the Council, had to hurry Athanasius on shipboard to
save him from personal violence.
There was clearly so little corroborative evidence against Athanasius
that the Council dared not convict him. But, as they were equally
determined not to acquit him, they appointed a commission of enquiry to
collect testimony on the spot in the Mareotis district of Egypt with
respect to the story of the Broken Chalice. The six commissioners were
chosen in secret session by the anti-Athanasian faction. Athanasius
protested without avail against the selection: they were all, he said,
his private enemies. The commission sailed for Egypt, and Athanasius
determined, with characteristic boldness, to go to Constantinople,
confront the Emperor, and appeal for justice and a fair trial at the
fountainhead. Athanasius met the Emperor as he was riding into the city,
and stood before him in his path. What followed is best told by
Constantine himself in a letter which he wrote to the Bishop of
Tyre.[123] Here are his own words:
“As I was returning on horseback to the city which bears my name,
Athanasius, the Bishop, presented himself so unexpectedly in the
middle of the highway, with certain individuals who accompanied him,
that I felt exceedingly surprised on beholding him. God, who sees all,
is my witness that at first I did not know who he was, but some of my
attendants, having ascertained this and the subject of his complaint,
gave me the necessary information. I did not accord him an interview,
but he persevered in requesting an audience, and, although I refused
him and was on the point of ordering that he should be removed from my
presence, he told me, with greater boldness than he had previously
manifested, that he sought no other favour of me than that I should
summon you hither, in order that he might, in your presence, complain
of the injustice that had been done to him.”
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Footnote 123:
Sozomen II., 28.
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Such boldness had the success it deserved. Constantine evidently made
enquires from Count Dionysius, and, discovering that the Council at Tyre
was a mere travesty of justice, ordered the bishops to come forthwith to
Constantinople. But before these instructions reached them they had
received the report of the Egyptian commissioners, and, on the strength
of it, had condemned Athanasius by a majority of votes, recognised the
Meletians as orthodox, and, adjourning to Jerusalem for the dedication
of the new church, had there pronounced Arius to be a true Catholic and
in full communion with the Church. The Emperor’s letter, which began
with a reference to the “tumults and disorders” which had marked their
sessions, was a plain intimation that he disapproved of their
proceedings, and only six bishops, the two Eusebii and four others,
travelled up to Constantinople. Arrived there, they changed their
tactics, and recognising that the old charges against Athanasius had
fallen helplessly to the ground, they invented another which was much
more likely to have weight with the Emperor. They accused him of seeking
to prevent the Alexandrian corn ships from sailing to Constantinople.
Egypt was the granary of the new Rome as well as of the old, and upon
the regular arrival of the Egyptian wheat cargoes the tranquillity of
Constantinople largely depended. Athanasius protested that he had
entertained no such designs. He was, he said, simply a bishop of the
Church, a poor man with no political ambition or taste for intrigue. His
enemies retorted that he was not poor, but wealthy, and that he had
gained a dangerous ascendency over the turbulent people of Alexandria.
Constantine abruptly ended the dispute by banishing Athanasius to
Treves, and the Patriarch had no choice but to obey. He arrived at his
city of exile in 336, and was received with all honour by the Emperor’s
son Constantine, then installed in the Gallic capital as the Cæsar of
the West. This is tolerably certain proof that the Emperor did not
regard him as a very dangerous political opponent, but banished him
rather for the sake of religious peace. Constantine was weary of such
interminable disputations and such intractable disputants.
The exile of Athanasius was of course a signal victory for the Eusebians
and for Arius. With the Patriarch of Alexandria thus safely out of the
way, they might look forward with confidence to gaining the entire court
over to their side and still further consolidating their position in the
East. Arius returned in triumph to Alexandria, where he had not set foot
for many years. But his presence was the signal for renewed popular
disturbance. The Catholics remained faithful to their Bishop in
exile—St. Antony repeatedly wrote to Constantine, praying for
Athanasius’ recall—and Alexandria was in tumult. Constantine refused to
reconsider the sentence of banishment on Athanasius, but he checked the
violence of the Meletian schismatics by banishing John Arcaph from
Alexandria, and he hurriedly recalled Arius to Constantinople. The
heresiarch was summoned into the presence of the Emperor, who by this
time was once more uneasy in his mind. Constantine asked him point blank
whether he held the Faith of the Catholic Church. “Can I trust you?” he
said; “are you really of the true Faith?” Arius solemnly affirmed that
he was and recited his profession of belief. “Have you abjured the
errors you used to hold in Alexandria?” continued the Emperor; “will you
swear it before God?” Arius took the required oath, and the Emperor was
satisfied. “Go,” said he, “and if your Faith be not sound, may God
punish you for your perjury.”
This strange scene is described by Athanasius himself, who had been told
the details by an eyewitness, a priest called Macarius. According to
Socrates, Arius subscribed the declaration of the Faith in Constantine’s
presence, and the historian goes on to recount the foolish legend that
Arius wrote down his real opinions on paper, which he carried under his
arm, and so could truly swear that he “held” the sentiments he had
written. Arius then demanded to be admitted to communion with the Church
at Constantinople, as public testimony to his orthodoxy, and the
Patriarch Alexander was ordered to receive him. Alexander was a feeble
old man of ninety-eight but he did not lack moral courage. He told the
Emperor that his conscience would not allow him to offer the sacraments
to one whom, in spite of the recent declarations of the bishops at
Jerusalem, he still regarded as an arch-heretic. He was not troubled,
says Socrates,[124] at the thought of his own deposition; what he feared
was the subversion of the principles of the Faith, of which he regarded
himself as the constituted guardian. Locking himself up within his
church—the Church of St. Eirene—he lay prostrate before the high altar
and remained there in earnest supplication for many days and nights. And
the burden of his prayer was that if Arius’s opinions were right he
(Alexander) might not live to see him enter the church to receive the
sacrament, but that, if he himself held the true Faith, Arius the
impious might be punished for his impiety.
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Footnote 124:
Socrates, i., 37.
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The aged Bishop was still calling upon Heaven to judge between Arius and
himself and declare the truth by some manifest sign, when the time
appointed for Arius to be received into communion was at hand. Arius was
on his way to St. Eirene. He had quitted the palace—says
Socrates—attended by a crowd of Eusebian partisans, and was passing
through the centre of the city, the observed of all observers.[125] He
was in high spirits—as well he might be, for it was the hour of his
supreme triumph. Then the blow fell. As he drew near the Porphyry Pillar
in the Forum of Constantine he was suddenly taken ill. There was a
public lavatory close by and he withdrew to it. When he did not return
his friends became alarmed. Entering the place, they found him dead of a
violent hæmorrhage, with bowels protruding and burst asunder, like the
traitor Judas in the Field of Blood. One can imagine the extraordinary
sensation which the news must have caused in Constantinople as it flew
from mouth to mouth. Not only the Patriarch Alexander, but all the
orthodox, attributed Arius’ sudden and awful end to the direct
interposition of Providence in answer to their prayers. In an instant,
we are told, the churches were crowded with excited worshippers and were
ablaze with lights as for some happy festival.
-----
Footnote 125:
περίοπτος.
-----
On the superstitious mind of the Emperor so tragic a death naturally
made a deep impression. He was, says Athanasius, amazed. Doubtless he
believed that Arius had deceived him and that God had answered his
prayer to punish the perjurer. The Eusebians were “greatly confounded.”
Some hinted at poison, others at magic; others were content to look no
further than natural causes. The general verdict of antiquity, however,
was almost unanimous in ascribing the death of Arius to the anger of an
offended Deity. It is a view which still finds adherents. Cardinal
Newman, for example, declares:
“Under the circumstances a thoughtful mind cannot but account this as
one of those remarkable interpositions of power by which Divine
Providence urges on the consciences of men in the natural course of
things, what their reason from the first acknowledges, that He is not
indifferent to human conduct. To say that these do not fall within the
ordinary course of His governance is merely to say that they are
judgments, which in the common meaning of the word stand for events
extraordinary and unexpected.”
But that is a matter which need not be discussed here. What is more
important to our purpose is to point out that the death of Arius does
not seem to have affected the state of religious parties at
Constantinople. It did not shake the position of Eusebius of Nicomedia,
who continued to enjoy the confidence of the Emperor and to act as the
keeper of his conscience.
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