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EARLY
CHRISTIAN
DOCTRINES ;
'· . .- - -· .
by J. % Z). Kelly '
\ leading patristic scholai présents a
lull histonI ol the Inst οgreat creative
pci iod ol ( '.hrist ian thought. Dr. Kelly ’s
lucid summarv and exposition extends
Iront the (lose <>l the apostolic age to
the Council ol Chalcedon in the filth
century a time alive with the genesis
of fresh ideas.
Organizing the vast body ol material
with great skill. Dr. Kelly provides the
nee essai \ historic al bae kgrouncl against
which he outlines the- development ol
each doc it inc. His straightforward
handling clarifies the· trends ol thought
and shows how the finally accepted
formulations— the· Inundation ol dog
matic development through fifteen
centuries came about. I hc doc trines
ol the I rinity, the· authority ol the
Bible· and tradition, the nature of
( Inist. salvation, oiiginal sin and
grace, and the sacraments arc all ex ­
tensively treated.
Ihc· last comprehensive· treatment
ol the doc times ol the· early (lunch
was written ovci hall a century ago:
(Conlinuf (I on buck flap)

——Jb h h h h h ih h h h h ibh h h h b h
'^ib Lio theca
fraternitas Sacerdotalis Sancti Tetri
 E;
CH R
DOC

\ le a d in g p a ti i
lu ll h is to n ol
p c i lo d o l ( In isi
Im id s u m m a i) ;
lio n i th e < lo se ·
th e ( o u n c il o l
( e n tu rv a lim e
o f fre s h id e a s .
( )rg a n i/in g il
w id i g re a t s k ill.
n c( c s s a n h is lo i i
w h i( h h e o u t lit
c.K li (lo d iin c .
h a n d lin g i la i ifii
and show s hov
lo i m iila i io n s t
in .itK d c s e lo p i
i ( n tu i π s ( am ·
ol tIk I i n u ts . ft

B ib le · .« n d uai
( In isi s a h a iK
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I he la st ( oi
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< Coni m t
 EARLY
CHRISTIAN DOCTRINES

J. N. D. KELLY
P R IN C IP A L O F ST . ED M U N D H A LL, O XFO RD

U N IV E R S IT Y LECTURER IN P A T R IS T IC S T U D IE S

CANO N O F C H IC H E S T E R C A TH ED R A L

SECOND EDITION

HARPER & ROW, PUBLISHERS

N ew Y o rk , E v a n sto n , a n d L ondon
 CHI
DOC
by J-
\ le a d in g p a l
lu ll h is lo rv< ol
p c i io d <>l < lh ri>
h it id M in im a l\*
h o rn th e ( lo se
(| K > C o u n t il o l
te u to n a tin
o f fre s h id e a s.
O rg a n iz in g i
w ith g tc a t s k il
n e t e ssa i \ h is io

u h i< h h e o u t li
e a ch d o t I t in e
h a n d lin g < la id
and show s ho
lo i in u h ‘ l“ *n s —
EARLY CHRISTIAN DOCTRINES
m a lic d e v c lo j
Copyright © 1958, 1960 hy John Norm an D avidson K elly
(e n tiiiie s ta n Printed in the U nited States of Am erica
of th e I i m ip All rights in this book are reserved.
No part of the book may he used or reproduced
B ib le and h;
in any manner whatsoever without written per ­
( h i is t. s a lv a t mission except in the case of brief quotations
g ra c e , a tid th e embodied in critical articles and reviews. For
information address:
u n s is c h tre a t. Harper & Row, Publishers, Incorporated,
I he la st (( 49 East 33rd Street, New York 16. N. Y .
ol th e d o t tin
FIRST PUBLISHED 1959
w a s sv! it te n o
SECOND EDITION PUBLISHED 1960
(C o iH i
Library of Congress catalog card num ber: 58-12933
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
I n preparing this edition for the press, I have corrected several
misprints, altered a dozen or so passages which seemed
to need modification, inserted an entirely fresh paragraph at
the end of Chapter XII, and attempted to improve the biblio —
grapliics. I have not felt it possible, or indeed desirable, to do
anything about the complaint of one or two reviewers that the
book contains no discussion of the fundamental doctrinal issues.
Urgent as such a discussion is, especially at the present time, I
do not think its proper place is in a historical work of this
nature; but my critics may be appeased by the knowledge that
I hope to produce a systematic study of the main Christian
doctrines in the not too distant future.
Feast of St. Edmund of Abingdon, 1959

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

M y object in writing this book has been the modest one of
providing students, and others who may be interested, with an
outline account of theological development in the Church of
the fathers. The last English manual on the subject, the late
J. F. Bethune-Baker’s admirable Introduction to the Early History
of Christian Doctrine, was published more than half a century
ago, and although it has gone through many editions and re ­
printings, the original text remains substantially unaltered. Since
it was written, important advances have been made in our
knowledge of early Christian thought, and the theological
climate is markedly different in several respects. I should like to
hope that this book has taken account of some of these changes.
In view of its limited purpose, however, I have had to deny
myself the pleasure of investigating some of the wider problems
which the evolution of dogma inevitably raises. To take but
two examples, no attempt has been made here either to define
the intrinsic nature of orthodoxy or to assess the impact of
vi PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

Hellenism on the original Gospel. Vitally important as these,

and kindred, topics are, they seemed to lie outside the scope
of such a book as this, and I have been content with trying
to expound the doctrines themselves as understandingly and
impartially as possible.
The text contains lavish quotations (mostly in English) from,
and references to, the ancient fathers and theologians, and in the
footnotes I have tried to indicate the exact sources of as many
of these as possible. I would seriously urge students to follow
these up wherever they have the opportunity, for the only way
to understand the mind of the early Church is to soak oneself
in the patristic writings. References to modern authors have in
general been avoided, but the discerning reader will quickly
perceive how deeply indebted I am to the classic historians of
dogma, such as Harnack, Tixeront, Loofs and Seeberg. The
brief bibliographies appended to the chapters arc of course not
meant to be exhaustive, but merely to list a selection of works
which I have myself found useful and which my readers might
study with advantage.
It is no doubt natural, as one reaches the end of a book like
this, to be conscious of a deep sense of dissatisfaction. It would
have been easier, and more satisfactory, to have treated one
doctrine thoroughly than so many in a summary fashion. So I
hope my readers will curb their impatience if here and there
they think the discussion inadequate, or if the balance between
the different sections does not always seem to them well main ­
tained. I would also take this opportunity of thanking the many
friends who have supported me with their help and encourage ­
ment. Among these I would particularly mention the Rev. Dr.
F. L. Cross, Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity, who read
the whole book through and made countless valuable sug-
gesdons, and Etta Gullick, who was largely responsible for the
index. It is also pleasant to recall that it was at Bincombe, the
Somerset house of Rowley and Etta Gullick, that the first
chapters were laboriously drafted and the last were typed out
in their final form.
Low Sunday, 1958
 CONTENTS
PAG E

Prefaces v
Abbreviations, etc. xii

PART I

PROLEGOMENA
C H A P.

I. THE BACKGROUND 3
1. The Patristic Epoch 3
2. Religious Trends in the Roman Empire 6
3. Graeco-Roman Philosophy 9
4. Nco-Platonism 15
5. Judaism 17
6. The Gnostic Way 22

IL TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 29

1. The Norm of Doctrine 29
2. The Primitive Period 31
3. Irenaeus and Tertullian 35
4. The Third and Fourth Centuries 41
5. The Appeal to the Fathers 48

III. THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 52

1. The Old Testament 52
2. The New Testament Canon 56
3. The Inspiration of Scripture 60
4. The Unity of the Two Testaments 64
5. Typology and Allegory 69
6. The Antiochene Reaction 75
•·
vu
 •· ·
V U 1 CONTENTS

PA R T Π

THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

C H A P.
PA C B

IV. THE DIVINE TRIAD

83
1. One God the Creator 83
2. The Church ’s Faith 87
3. The Apostolic Fathers 90
4. The Apologists and the Word 95
5. The Apologists and the Trinity IOI
\ Ic a d i»
6. Irenaeus 104
lu ll h is t
p c i io d <>
h it id m i » V. THIRD-CENTURY TR1NITARIANISM
109
fro m tl»< 1. Introduction
I h e ( <ou
109
2. Hippolytus and Tertullian
< c n lu ix no
o f fre s h 3. Dynamic Monarchianism
115
( )i g a i 4. Modalistic Monarchianism
119
w id » g re
5. The Roman Theology
n e t essa» 123
6. Clement and Origen
w h it h h 126
ea<h d<
7. The Influence of Origen
132
h a n d lin g
and sh<i VI. THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY
lo i n n d a 138
1. One-sided Solutions
in a tti (
2. The Spirit Christology 138
« e n tu i it
3. The Apologists and Irenaeus 142
of th e
B ib le a 4. The Western Contribution 145
( h i is t. 5. The School of Alexandria 149
•41 a< e . a 153
6. The East after Ongen
Ic iim x el
158
I he
VII. MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION
ol th e
w a s x \i 1. The Sub-Apostolic Age 163
2. The Apologists 163
3. The Theory of Recapitulation 166
170

s
 CONTENTS ix
PA G E

4. The West in the Third Century 174

5. The Doctrine of Man in the East 178
6. Eastern Views of the Work of Christ 183

C H A P·

VIII. THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 189

1. The Beginnings of Ecclesiology 189
2. Early Views of the Sacraments 193
3. Developments in the Doctrine of the Church 200
4. Baptism in the Third Century 207
5. Progress in Eucharistic Doctrine 211
6. The Penitential Discipline 216

pa r t in
FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

IX. THE NICENE CRISIS 223

1. The Eve of the Conflict 223
2. The Teaching of Arius 226
3. The Theology of Nicaea 231
4. The Aftermath of Nicaea 237
5. The Nicene Party and Athanasius 240
6. The Anti-Niccncs 247

X. THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 252

1. The Return to the Homoousion 252
2. The Homoousion of the Spirit: Athanasius 255
3. The Homoousion of the Spirit: the Cap ­
padocians 258
4. The Cappadocians and the Trinity 263
5. The Trinity in the West 269
6. The Contribution of Augustine 271
 CONTENTS
PA G E
1Η Λ Ρ

XI. FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 28O

1. Introduction 28O
2. The Arians and Eustathius 28I
3. The Christology of Athanasius 284
4. Apollinarianism 289
D( 5. The Orthodox Reaction 295
6. The Antiochene Christology JOI

XII. THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 310

\ le a d in g
lu ll h is lo i 1. Nestorianism 310
p c i K »d o l < 2. Cyril of Alexandria 317
Im id s u m
3. From Ephesus Towards Unity 323
lio n i th e
4. The Case of Eutyches 330
th e ( <>uu(
( e n iu ix 5. The West and Leo 334
o f fre s h id 6. The Chalccdonian Settlement 338
( )ig a n i/
w u h g ic a l
XIII. FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 344
n e t cssa rx I
1. The Soul’s Origin
w h it h h e 344
ca t h do( 2. Athanasius and the Fall 346
h a n d lin g < 3. The Greek Fathers
348
nul sh o w 4. The West Before Augustine
lo i m u la tii
353
5. The Doctrine of Pelagius
in a tic *d e 357
<(1)1111 IC S
6. Augustine and Original Sin
361
ol th e I i 7- Grace and Predestination
366
B ib le a iu 8. The Western Settlement
( h i 1st. s.
369
9- The East in the Fifth Century
g ra c e , a iu 372
ic n s ix e h i
XIV. CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK
I he la 375
<>l th e d<
1. The Clue to Soteriology
375
w a x w n tt 2. Athanasius
377
3. Fourth-century ’ Greek Fathers
380
4. The West in the Fourth Century
386
 CONTENTS xi
FA C E

5. Augustine 390
6. The East in the Fifth Century 395
C H A P.

XV. CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 401

1. Ecclesiology in the East 401
2. The East and the Roman Sec 406
3. Western Doctrines: Hilary and Optatus 409
4. Western Doctrines: Augustine 412
5. The West and the Roman Primacy 417

XVI. THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRA ­

MENTS 422
1. General Theory 422
2. Baptism 428
3. Confirmation or Chrism 432
4. Penance 436
5. The Eucharistic Presence 440
6. The Eucharistic Sacrifice 449

PA R T IV

EPILOGUE

XVII. THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 459

1. The Tension in Eschatology 459
2. Second-century Conceptions 462
3. The Development of Dogma 464
4. Origen 469
5. Later Thought: Resurrection of the Body 474
6. Later Thought: Parousia and Judgment 479
7. Life Everlasting 485

In d e x 49θ
 I

ABBREVIATIONS, E t c .

ACO E. Schwartz, Acta conciliorum oecumemcorum.

LXX Septuagint.
Mansi J. D. Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum nova ct
amplissima collectio.
PG J. P. Mignc, Patrologia Graeca.
PL j. P. Mignc, Patrologia Latina.

In the citation of patristic texts the editions used have generally

been those cither of J. P. Mignc (this applies in particular to quota ­
tions from Irenaeus) or, where available, of the Berlin Corpus of
Greek fathers and the Vienna Corpus of Latin fathers. Page refer­
ences have only been given when the chapter divisions were either
inadequate or non-existent. In a number of cases the references are
to well-known editions other than the above, and here the page has
usually been set down after the editor s name. The abbreviations of
the titles of journals etc. cited in the N o t e s o n B o o k s should be
self-explanatory.
 P A R T I

PROLEGOMENA
 C H A PTER I

THE BACKGROUND

I. The Patristic Epoch

T h e object of this book is to sketch the development of the

principal Christian doctrines from the close of the first century
to the middle of the fifth. The choice of these frontiers is not so
arbitrary or artificial as one might at first sight suppose. There
is an obvious convenience in placing the starting-point outside
the New Testament. Not only is its teaching a distinct, highly
specialized field of study, but the difference of atmosphere
becomes immediately apparent as one crosses from the apostolic
to the post-apostolic age. At the other end the council of
Chalcedon (451) saw the curtain drop on the Church ’s first
great doctrinally creative period. Discussion was far from
being closed; to take but one example, the Christological issue
which Chalcedon had tried to settle continued as a subject of
fierce controversy for generations. But, so far as the central
stream of Christendom was concerned, the brilliant upsurge of
fresh ideas which had distinguished the earlier centuries had
spent itself. By the sixth century, both in East and West, the
reign of formalism and scholasticism was well under way.
If he is to feel at home in the patristic age, the student needs
to be equipped with at least an outline knowledge of Church
history and patrology. Here there is only space to draw his
attention to one or two of its more striking features. In the
first place, he must not expect to find it characterized by that
doctrinal homogeneity which he may have come across at
other epochs. Being still at the formative stage, the theology of
the early centuries exhibits the extremes of immaturity and
sophistication. There is an extraordinary contrast, for example,
between the versions of the Church ’s teaching given by the
3
4 PROLEGOMENA

second-century Apostolic Fathers and by an accomplished fifth ­

century theologian like Cyril of Alexandria. Further, conditions
were favourable to the coexistence of a wide variety of opinions
even on issues of prime importance. Modem students are some­
times surprised at the diversity of treatment accorded by even
the later fathers to such a mystery as the Atonement; and it is a
commonplace that certain fathers (Origen is the classic example)
who were later adjudged heretics counted for orthodox in their
lifetimes. The explanation is not that the early Church was in ­
different to the distinction between orthodoxy and heresy.
Rather it is that, while from the beginning the broad outline of
revealed truth was respected as a sacrosanct inheritance from
the apostles, its theological explication was to a large extent left
unfettered. Only gradually, and even then in regard to com ­
paratively few doctrines which became subjects of debate, did
the tendency to insist upon precise definition and rigid uni­
formity assert itself.
Two important dividing-lines cut across the period, the one
vertically and the other horizontally. The former is the differ­
ence of theological temperament between East and West. For
historical reasons Rome and the churches immediately associated
with her (Gaul, Spain, North Africa, etc.) developed in relative
independence of the Eastern churches, and this is reflected in
their creeds, liturgies and doctrinal attitude. While Greek theo ­
logians are usually intellectually adventurous and inclined to
speculation, their Latin counterparts, with the exception of
those subject to Eastern influences, seem by contrast cautious
and pedestrian, confining themselves to expounding the tradi­
tional rule of faith. As an extreme example of this difference we
need only juxtapose the conceptions of theology held by (a)
Irenaeus and Tertullian, and (b) Clement and Origen, in the
latter half of the second and first half of the third centuries.
Deeply suspicious of, even hostile to, philosophy, the former
limited the function of theology to expounding the doctrines
set out in Holy Scripture; they applauded 1 the simple believers
who were content with the rule of faith. The latter, on the
1 E.g. Irenaeus, haer. 2, 26, 1; Tertullian, de praesa. 14, 1-3.
 THE BACKGROUND 5

other hand, went so far as to distinguish two types of Chris­

tianity, with two grades of Christians corresponding to them.
The first and lower type was based on ‘faith ’, i.e. the literal
acceptance of the truths declared in Scripture and the Church ’s
teaching, while the second and higher type was described as
‘gnosis ’, i.e. an esoteric form of knowledge. This started with
the Bible and tradition, indeed was founded on them, but its
endeavour was to unravel their deeper meaning, and in the light
of it to explore the profounder mysteries of God and His uni­
verse and scheme of salvation; it was supposed to culminate in
mystical contemplation or ecstasy. Thus they divided the faith ­
ful into simple believers, whom they tended to disparage, and
‘spiritual’ men, ‘gnostics’ or ‘perfect’, whom they regarded as
specially privileged by God.
The horizontal dividing line coincides with the reconciliation
between Church and Empire effected by Constantine I (306-
337), of which the council of Nicaea (325) was the symbol.
Prior to this the Church was a persecuted body, struggling
to adapt itself to its environment and to fight off such foes as
Gnosticism. It is to its credit that, in spite of all difficulties, it was
able to produce great constructive theologians like Irenaeus
and Origen. With the accession of Constantine, however, the
situation radically changed. Henceforth, except for a brief in ­
terlude when Julian was sole emperor (361-3), the Church was
to enjoy the often embarrassing favour of the State. The era of
acute ecclesiastical controversy now began, and councils of
bishops became the accepted instruments for defining dogma. As
a matter of fact, Christian theology was now entering upon its
first splendid summer, and the definitions hammered out against
this background of controversy and often unedifying rivalries
were to prove of lasting value. Because of the importance of
this horizontal division, the material in this book has been
arranged so as to take account of it.
Most significant of all, however, is the fact that the Church
of the fathers was set in the complex cultural environment of the
Roman Empire. This means that, although drawing on its own
unique sources of revelation, Christian theology did not take
 6 PROLEGOMENA

shape in a vacuum. The atmosphere in which it had to grow

and develop was crowded with religious, philosophical and even
theosophical notions. To some of these it reacted violently, by
others it was consciously or unconsciously affected. Some degree
of familiarity with this environment is indispensable to anyone
who hopes to appreciate the evolution of patristic thought, and
an attempt will be made to supply this in this chapter. The
reader should not expect anything like a comprehensive picture
of Graeco-Roman culture during the first five centuries. In the
following sections a few of the more noteworthy tendencies
and movements will be singled out, but even these will only
be touched on briefly and in so far as they impinged upon the
Church ’s teaching.

2. Religious Trends in the Roman Empire

The world in which the Church made triumphant, if some­
times painful, headway was hungry for religion. Surviving
monuments of every kind testify to the desperate longing, felt
by all classes, for assurance against death and fate, redemption
from evil, spiritual cleansing, union with God. To meet this
need the old classical religions had little to offer. Despite
periodical drives (e.g. by Augustus) to revive ancient piety, the
gods of Greece and Rome had lost whatever power they had
possessed to inspire. The worship of the emperor or his genius,
fostered by Augustus and his successors, became increasingly
prominent and had official backing. At best, however, it pro-
! vidcd a channel for corporate loyalty and the sense that Provi-
I deuce watched over the Empire. Much more satisfying were the
Oriental cults which from the first century before Christ spread
rapidly across the Graeco-Roman world. Isis, Serapis and Cybele
i were the most fashionable divinities, winning masses of devotees
I and having temples erected to them at the public charge; while
I among soldiers the Persian god Mithras, the ally of the Sun and
I so the champion of light against darkness, was immensely
I popular. Syncretism was the product of this mutual jostling of
I religions; the gods of one country were identified with those of
 THE BACKGROUND 7

another, and the various cults fused with and borrowed from
each other indiscriminately. The belief in the immortality of
the soul, sometimes linked with the idea of the transmigration
of souls taught by Pythagoras (6th cent, b .c .), and in a future
judgment leading either to punishment or a blessed life with
the gods, was general.
Two phenomena in this welter of superstition and genuine
piety call for notice. First, the extraordinary vogue of the so-
called mystery religions. This is the name given to those close-
knit religious groups or fellowships into which newcomers had
to be initiated by secret ceremonies (‘mysteries’) not com ­
municable to outsiders. In classical times the mysteries held at
Eleusis in honour of Demeter and Persephone were the most
famous. The ones that were popular in our period were mostly
Oriental in origin. There were mysteries of Isis, and of the great
Anatolian mother-goddess Cybele and her youthful lover, the
vegetation god Attis, and of others; probably the most wide ­
spread and representative were those of Mithras. All these re ­
ligions had sacred meals, and in the preparatory stages great
store was set by abstinences, mortifications and purifications.
The rites which formed the climax of their worship were occult
actions, involving carefully guarded formulae and cult objects,
which imparted an uplifting revelation to the initiate and
secured his mystic union with the deity. In the rites of Cybele
and Attis, for example, he underwent a kind of baptism in the
blood of a bull (taurobolium) or a ram (crioboliutn), which was
slain above him,1 and as a result felt himself‘reborn for ever’.
The rites of Isis persuaded him that he had traversed the portals
of death itself and had returned revivified, protected by the god ­
dess upon whom he had gazed face to face.2 The appeal of these
mystery religions undoubtedly lay in the satisfaction they could
give to the craving for an intense personal experience of the
divine, with the accompanying sense of release from guilt and
fear.
Secondly, the growing attraction, for educated and un ­
educated people alike, of a monotheistic interpretation of the
1 Cf. Prudentius, perist. io, 1011-50. 1 Cf. Apuleius, met. 11, 23 £
8 PROLEGOMENA

conventional polytheism. More and more the many gods of the

pagan pantheon tended to be understood either as personified
attributes of one supreme God or as manifestations of the unique
Power governing the universe. The current syncretism made
this process easy and natural, and at a higher level it coincided
with the trend of enlightened philosophical opinion. The
sophist Aristides, who lectured in Asia Minor and Rome in the
middle of the second century, provides an instructive example.
A series of his speeches survives celebrating individual gods,
especially Asclepius, to whom he has a warm, genuine attach ­
ment; but it is evident
* that in his eyes they all represent cosmic
forces emanating from the one universal Father. Plutarch, too,
the biographer and essayist (fl. 100), while adhering to ancestral
religious practices and admitting 2 the existence of subordinate
intermediary gods and demons, combines this with belief3 in a
single supreme and perfect God Who is true being. The grow ­
ing use of ‘Pantheos’, either as an amalgam uniting the char­
acteristics of several gods or as an adjective attached to the name
of one, was symptomatic. When in 274 the emperor Aurelian
instituted the state cult of Sol Invictus, he was not merely
saluting the sun as protector of the Empire, but acknowledging
the one universal Godhead Which, recognized under a thousand
names, revealed Itself most fully and splendidly in the heavens.
Apuleius(yi. 160) sums the matter up when he describes4 Isis as
‘. . . the chiefest of the heavenly ones, the inclusive manifesta ­
tion of gods and goddesses... whose unique divinity the whole
world adores under manifold forms, with varied rites and by
multifarious names’.
It is unnecessary here to dwell on particular cults in detail,
but an exception must be made of Manichaeism because of its
special impact on Christian thought. Its founder was the prophet
Mani, who was bom in Babylonia c. 216 and suffered martyr­
dom under Bahram I c. 277. Often classified as a Christian
heresy, it was really a completely independent religion embody-

1 Cf. his speeches to Asclepius, Zeus and Serapis (nos. 42, 43 and 45 in
B. Keil’s ed.). 1 E.g. de fac. 30; de defect, orac. 10; 13.
> E.g. de Is. et Osir. ηη f. 4 M et. 11, 5.
 THE BACKGROUND 9

ing Christian, but also Buddhist and Zoroastrian, elements.

Indeed, it claimed to be the only universal religion, giving in
its fulness the revelation which prophets prior to Mani had only
communicated fragmentarily. The elaborate, dramatic myths in
which this revelation came to be clothed hardly concern us
here. In essence Manichaeism was a gnosis, akin in some respects
to the Gnosticism which will be examined later in this chapter,
and as such offered men salvation by knowledge. It was founded
on a radical dualism, and taught that reality consists of two
great forces eternally opposed to each other, Good (that is, God,
Truth, Light) and Evil, or Darkness, the latter being identified
with matter. As he exists, man is tragically involved in the
material order; he is fallen and lost. Actually, however, he is a
particle of Light, belonging to, though exiled from, the tran ­
scendent world. He is of the same essence as God, and human
souls arc fragments of the divine substance. His salvation lies in
grasping this truth by an interior illumination which may be
spontaneous, but usually comes in response to initiation into
the Manichaean fellowship; and in the process of salvation,
paradoxically, God is at once redeemer and redeemed. The
all-important thing was to withdraw oneself from the con ­
tamination of the flesh, matter being the fundamental evil.
Such in outline was the dualist doctrine which, with its highly
organized church, its graded hierarchy of adherents (‘auditors ’,
‘elect’, ‘priests’, ‘bishops’, ‘apostles’ or ‘masters’), and its cor­
responding degrees of asceticism, swept over Europe, Africa
and Asia from the end of the third century and won such
notable converts as Augustine.

3. Graeco-Rotnan Philosophy 1
Philosophy was the deeper religion of most intelligent
people; what is more important for our purpose, its concepts
provided thinkers, Christian and non-Christian alike, with an
intellectual framework for expressing their ideas. The two most

1 As the accounts given of different thinkers in this and the following

sections arc quite summary, detailed references have been dispensed with.
ΙΟ PROLEGOMENA

influential types of thought in our period harked back to

Platonism and Stoicism. Of the other great classical systems,
Aristotelianism exerted a certain influence through its logic,
and some of its principles (for example, that a supreme Mind is
the ultimate cause of the universe) were absorbed by later forms
of Platonism. Scepticism, which traced its ancestry to Pyrrho of
Elis (fl. 300 B.C.), and maintained that knowledge is impossible
and that suspense of judgment is the only rational attitude, en ­
joyed a revival with Aencsidemus (fl. 60 B.c.) and Sextus Em ­
piricus (fl. a .d . 175) and kept up a formidable attack on
dogmatism of every kind, but its appeal was to rather limited,
chiefly scientific, circles. On the other hand, Epicureanism
(founded by Epicurus: 341-270 b .c .), with its denial that the
gods are concerned about human affairs, and its doctrine that
reality is composed of an infinity of atoms in a void and that
sensation is the criterion of good and evil, had lost all effective
force.
The key to Plato ’s (c. 429-347 b .c .) philosophy is his theory
of knowledge. Being convinced that knowledge in the strict
sense is possible, but that it cannot be obtained from anything
so variable and evanescent as sense-perception, he was led to
posit a transcendent, non-scnsible world of Forms or Ideas
(ίβη) which arc apprehended by the intellect alone. His point
was that, while sensation presents us with great numbers of
particular objects which are constantly changing, the mind
seizes on certain characteristics which groups of them possess
in common and which arc stable. For example, it fastens on
the characteristic of beauty common to certain objects and
of similarity common to others, and so reaches the Forms of
beauty-in-itsclf and likcncss-in-itsclf. The Forms thus resemble
the universals of which modern philosophers speak, but we
should notice that for Plato they had objective existence. It is an
open question whether he believed there were Forms corre­
sponding to every class of sensible things, but we do know
that he regarded them as arranged in a hierarchy crowned by
the most universal Form of all, the Form of the Good (later he
called it the One), which is the cause of all the other Forms
 THE BACKGROUND II

and of our knowledge of them. Being unchanging and eternal,

the Forms alone are truly real. They transcend, and are wholly
independent of, the world of particular sensible things. In fact,
the latter, the world of Becoming, is modelled on the world of
Forms, and particulars only are what they are in so far as the
Forms participate in, or are copied by, them.
The transition to Plato ’s psychology and theology is easy. In
his view the soul is an immaterial entity, immortal by nature;
it exists prior to the body in which it is immured, and is destined
to go on existing after the latter’s extinction. So far from having
anything to do with the world of Becoming, it properly belongs
to the world of Forms (that is, of Being), and it is in virtue of
the knowledge it had of them in its pre-mundane existence that
it can recognize (he calls this ανάμνησή, or recollection) them
here. It is, moreover, a tripartite structure, consisting of a higher
or ‘rational’ element which apprehends truth and by rights
should direct the man ’s whole life, a ‘spirited ’ element which
is the scat of the nobler emotions, and an ‘appetitive’ element
which covers the carnal desires. As regards theology, it seems
fairly certain that, in spite of the reverential language he often
used of it, Plato did not regard the Form of the Good or the One
as God in the ordinary sense of the word. Soul for him was the
supreme directive, organizing principle, and he believed in a
World-Soul animating the material universe. In the Timaeus he
pictures a Demiurge, or Craftsman, shaping the world out of
pre-existent material, and the Demiurge symbolizes the World-
Soul. But we should observe that the Demiurge constructs the
world according to the pattern wliich he contemplates in the
world of Forms. He and that world seem independent of each
other, so that we are left with two ultimate principles in addi­
tion to pre-existent matter.
Plato ’s pupil, Aristotle (384-322 b .c .), modified his master’s
teaching in several important respects. A feature of his logic
was his analysis of the ways in which the mind thinks about
things. These he called Categories, and he enumerated ten in
all: substance (ουσία — in the sense ofindividual thing), quantity,
quality, relation, place, date, position, state, action, passivity.
12 PROLEGOMENA

Aristotle, however, believed that these represent not only the

ways in which the mind thinks about the external world, but
also the modes in which things objectively exist in that world.
From this it is apparent that, unlike Plato, he was a realist and
accepted the reality of the material world as we know it.
Further, he sharply criticized Plato ’s theory of Forms. He fully
agreed that there must be Forms in the sense of universals
common to all particulars of a class, and also that they must be
objectively real and not mere mental concepts; he was even
prepared to describe them as ‘secondary substances’ (δ^υτεραι
ουσίαι). But he objected to Plato ’s suggestion that they are
‘separate from ’, or transcend, particulars. His contention was
that they arc actually present in particulars; in fact, die indi­
vidual substance (ουσία in the primary sense) is a compound
(συνολον) of the subject, or substratum (υποκείμενον, or
ύλη), and the Form. In harmony with this his psychology
differed from Plato ’s. So far from being disparate entities, he
taught that body and soul constitute a composite unity, the
body being as matter to the soul and the soul, as it were, the
Form of the body. As regards God, he took up Plato ’s thought
that Soul is immortal and self-moving, the source of motion
and change in all that is not soul, and expanded it into the con ­
ception of an eternal Mind which, unmoved itself, is the Prime
Mover of all that exists.
Stoicism presents a very different picture. Founded by Zeno
of Citium c. 300 B.C., it was a closely knit system of logic,
metaphysics and ethics. Its lofty, if somewhat impersonal, moral
ideal won it countless adherents; it taught conquest of self, hfe
in accordance with nature (i.e. the rational principle within
us), and the brotherhood of man. From the theological point of
view, however, what was most remarkable about it was its
pantheistic materialism. The Stoics reacted vigorously against
the Platonic differentiation of a transcendent, intelligible world
not perceptible by the senses from the ordinary world of
sensible expericnce.Whatcver exists, they argued, must be body,
and the universe as a whole must be through and through
material. Yet within reality 7 they drew a distinction between a
 THE BACKGROUND B
passive and an active principle. There is crude, unformed matter,
without character or quality; and there is the dynamic reason or
plan (Aôyoç) which forms and organizes it. This latter they
envisaged as spirit [πνεύμα) or fiery vapour; it was from this
all-pervading fire that the cruder, passive matter emerged, and
in the end it would be reabsorbed into it in a universal con ­
flagration. But though more ethereal than the passive matter it
informed, spirit was none the less material, and the Stoics were
not afraid to accept the paradox of two bodies occupying the
same space which their theory entailed. This active principle or
Logos permeates reality as mind or consciousness pervades the
body, and they described it as God, Providence, Nature, the
soul of the universe [anima mundi). Their conception that every ­
thing that happens has been ordered by Providence to man ’s
best advantage was the basis of their ethical doctrine of sub ­
mission to fate.
Thus Stoicism was a monism teaching that God or Logos is
a finer matter immanent in the material universe. But it also
taught that particular things arc microcosms of the whole, each
containing within its unbroken unity an active and a passive
principle. The former, the principle which organizes and forms
it, is its logos, and the Stoics spoke of ‘seminal logoi' [λόγοι
σπερματικοί), seeds, as it were, through the activity of which
individual things come into existence as the world develops.
All these ‘seminal logoi' are contained within the supreme,
universal Logos; they arc so many particles of the divine Fire
which permeates reality. This leads to the Stoic doctrine of
human nature. The soul in man is a portion of, or an emanation
from, the divine Fire which is the Logos. It is a spirit or warm
breath pervading the body and giving it form, character,
organization. Material itself, it survives the body, but is itself
mortal, persisting at longest until the world conflagration. Its
parts are, first, the five senses; then the power of speech or self-
expression; then the reproductive capacity; and, finally, the
ruling element [τό ηγεμονικόν), which is reason. The soul is
the logos in man, and the Stoics made an important distinction
between the ‘immanent logos ’ [λόγος ενδιάθετος ), which is
14 PROLEGOMENA

liis reason considered merely as present in him, and the ‘ex ­

pressed logos’ (λόγος προφορικός ), by which they meant his
reason as extrapolated or made known by means of the faculty
of speech or self-expression.
Both the Stoicism and, to an even greater extent, the
Platonism which flourished in the first two Christian centuries
show important deviations from their classical prototypes. Each
had borrowed from the other, and indeed the intellectual
attitude of great numbers of educated people might be de ­
scribed as either a Platonizing Stoicism or a Stoicizing Platonism.
Not that it would be accurate to speak of Eclecticism as holding
the field. On the academic plane at any rate the two schools
maintained their independence and engaged in polemics with
each other. Thus the Stoicism preached by such men as Seneca
(c. 4 b .c .-a .d . 65), Epictetus (c. 55-138) and Marcus Aurelius
(121-80) was a distinct system of thought, although with the
emphasis placed on conduct. There is discernible in it, however,
alongside a theoretical allegiance to the traditional materialism,
a definite movement away from the classic Stoic position.
Seneca, for example, so stresses the divine perfection and good ­
ness that he approximates to the conception of God as tran ­
scendent. Marcus Aurelius, too, divides human nature into three
parts— body, animal soul (φυχή) and intelligence (νους ) — and
explicitly states that the last of these, the ruling part (τό
ηγεμονικόν) in man, is not derived, as the other two arc, from
the four elements which constitute matter (fire, air, water, earth).
It is an offshoot (απόσπασμα) from God, a spiritual substance
of loftier origin than matter.
The Platonism of the period (Middle Platonism, as it is
called) presents a much less coherent aspect. Generalization
about it is not easy, for several diverse trends of thought were
to be found in it. For example, two of its leading second-
century representatives were Atticus and Albinus, the one
hostile to and the other greatly influenced by Aristo telianism.
As a movement, however, this revived Platonism had a strongly
religious colouring. The chief objects of its adherents were to
understand the truth about the divine world and, so far as their
 THE BACKGROUND 15

personal lives were concerned, to point the way to attaining the

greatest possible likeness to God. From the theological point of
view their most notable contribution was to bring together the
supreme Mind which Aristotle had postulated and Plato ’s Good,
and to equate them. So Middle Platonism was more definitely
theistic than its classical forerunner; at the summit of the hier­
archy of being it placed the unique Divine Mind. It retained the
conception bequeathed by Plato of a transcendent world of
Forms, but represented them as God ’s thoughts. Albinus ’s
system was more complex. He distinguished the First Mind or
God, Who is unmoved, the Second Mind or World-Intellect,
through which He operates and which is set in motion by desire
for Him, and the World-Soul. Celsus, the critic of Christianity
whom Origen sought to answer, belonged to the same school.
God, he argued, cannot have created the body, or indeed any ­
thing mortal, and only Soul can have come from Him directly;1
and the idea of His coming down to men must be rejected as
involving a change in Him, and a change necessarily for the
worse.2 In general the Middle Platonists were ready enough to
allow the existence of intermediary divinities. This was only to
be expected in view of the position they assigned to the supreme
God. While including Him in the hierarchy of being, they
nevertheless regarded Him as utterly transcendent, only to be
glimpsed in occasional flashes of illumination.

4. Neo-Platonism
In Neo-Platonism the tendency to make God transcendent
was carried as far as it could go. This was that fully developed
system, Platonic in its main inspiration, but incorporating
Aristotelian, Stoic and even Oriental elements, which flourished
from the middle of the third century and with which the
fathers of the second half of our period were familiar. It is best
exemplified by Plotinus (205-70), the Greek-speaking Egyptian
who was its founder and also one of the greatest thinkers of the
ancient world.
1 Origen, c. Cels. 4, 52; 4, 54. 2 lb. 4, 14.
ιό PROLEGOMENA

Plotinus was, philosophically speaking, a monist, conceiving

of reality as a vast hierarchical structure with grades descending
from what is beyond being to what falls below being. His
highest principle, or ‘hypostasis’, is God, more properly de­
signated as the One. Itself beyond being, and even beyond
mind (with which, it will be recalled, the Middle Platonists
equated God), the One is the source from which being derives,
the goal to which it ever strives to return. The process is
described analogically as emanation, but it leaves the One un ­
diminished and unchanged, just as the radiation of light from
the sun docs not cause it to suffer any loss. Ineffably simple, the
One cannot be the subject of any attributes; we can call It good,
not in the sense that it possesses goodness as a quality, but that
It is goodness. Immediately below the One in the hierarchy
comes the second hypostasis, Mind or Thought; and below and
issuing from it comes the third hypostasis, Soul. Mind com ­
prises the world of Forms, which it contemplates in its effort to
return to the One; and thus multiplicity is introduced into the
universe. It is the causal principle, being identified with Plato ’s
Demiurge. Soul is divided into two: the higher soul, which is
akin to Mind and transcends the material order, and the lower
soul, or Nature (φύσιχ), which is the soul of the phenomenal
world. All individual souls arc emanations from the World-
Soul, and like it they have a higher clement which is related to
Mind, and a lower element which is directly connected with
the body. Matter in itself, that is, unilluminated by form, is
darkness or non-being, and as such is evil.
Two features of Nco-Platonism deserve to be stressed. As
expounded by Plotinus, it represents an optimistic attitude to
the universe. Material though it is, the world as we know it is
good in his eyes; it is created and ordered by the higher soul,
and is held together by Nature. Though matter in itself is evil,
the visible universe reflects the intelligible order, and as such
should be accepted as the best of all possible worlds. Secondly,
the religious bias of the whole Nco-Platonic conception is
patent. Whatever exists is an ‘overflow ’ of the One, and per­
vading all reality, at its different levels, is the ardent longing for
 THE BACKGROUND 17

union with what is higher, and ultimately with the One itself. So
the human soul, fired by the heavenly Eros of which Plato spoke
in his Symposium,is challenged to undertake this ascent. The first
stage is one of purification; it must free itself from the body and
the beguilements of sense-perception. At the second stage it
rises to the level of Mind and busies itself with philosophy and
science, retaining, however, its self-consciousness. The fmal stage
consists in mystical union with the One; it is mediated by
ecstasy, and when this occurs the awareness of the distinction
between subject and object is lost. In this present life, of course,
the otate of ecstasy is rarely, if ever, attained and is bound to
be short-lived; Plotinus, we are informed by his biographer
Porphyry,1 was himself granted this experience four times only
in five years.

5. Judaism

Judaism was the cradle in which Christianity was nurtured,

the source to which it was uniquely indebted. It left a deep
imprint, as is generally agreed, on the Church ’s liturgy and
ministry, and an even deeper one on its teaching. In evaluating
this impact, we must take account both of Palestinian Judaism
and of the Hellenized version current at Alexandria. The former
can be dealt with quite briefly, for the heyday of its influence
falls outside this book in the apostolic age, when it moulded the
thought of all the New Testament writers. Yet, in spite of the
early rupture between Christians and Jews, it would be a grave
error to dismiss it as a negligible force in our period. Until
the middle of the second century, when Hellenistic ideas began
to come to the fore, Christian theology was taking shape in
predominantly Judaistic moulds, and the categories of thought
used by almost all Christian writers before the Apologists were
largely Jewish. This explains why the teaching of the Apostolic
Father, for example, while not strictly unorthodox, often strikes
a strange note when judged by later standards. And it is certain
that this ‘Judaco-Christian ’ theology continued to exercise a
powerful influence well beyond the second century.
1 Vit. Plot. 23.
i8 PROLEGOMENA

The two features of later Palestinian Judaism which call for

mention here are its attitude to divine ‘hypostases ’ and its
heightened interest in angels. It is certain that the former, and
by no means unlikely that the latter, helped to create an atmo ­
sphere of thought propitious to the development of the Christian
conception of God as three-personal. Students of the Old
Testament arc familiar with the growing tendency there1 visible
to personify Wisdom and to assign it creative functions; and the
readiness of New Testament writers like St. Paul to avail them ­
selves of the idea in order to explain the status of Christ is also
a commonplace. In later Judaism we come across a multitude
of such figures— Wisdom itself (one text2 implies that it was
Wisdom to whom God said, ‘Let us make man in our image ’,
etc.), God ’s ‘glory ’ or ‘Presence’ (Shekinah), His Word, His
Spirit (sometimes3 spoken of as God ’s agent in creation), and
others too. It remains a matter of dispute how far they were
actually hypostatized; the probability is that they were personi­
fied abstractions, or else periphrases for God Himself, and that
the question of their independent subsistence was never raised.
At the same time there was an enormous extension and sharpen ­
ing in later Judaism of the belief in angels, the ministers of God,
so frequently, and until Daniel anonymously, mentioned in the
Old Testament. Several of them were now given personal
names, and we read 4 of seven (or six) archangels. God ’s will in
His world was executed, so popular piety liked to imagine, by
them as His deputies, and there was even an angel, Uriel, ap ­
pointed to regulate the movement of the stars.5 Of particular
interest, some scholars have thought, is the suggestion, of which
traces can be found in several sources,6 that in the heavenly
court two angelic powers, sometimes identified as Michael and
Gabriel, stand before God ’s throne interceding for men.
Rather closer attention must be given to the special brand of
Judaism which flourished at Alexandria. In earlier days it had
produced the Scptuagint version of the Old Testament, and in
’ Job 28, 12 ff.; Prov. 8, 22 ff.; W is. 7, 22 ff; Ecclus. 24, 1 ff.
1 2 Enoch 30, 8. J Judith 16, 14; 2 Bar. 21, 4.
4 Eg. Tob. 12, 15; 1 Enoch 20, iff. » 1 Enoch 75, 3.
6 E.g. Apoc. M os. 33-5.
 THE BACKGROUND 19

the Christian period it proved a highly sympathetic channel for

introducing Hellenistic culture to the early Church. Greek
ideas had always attracted the Jews of that great cosmopolitan
city, set at the frontiers between East and West, and it was
here that the most thoroughgoing attempt was made to inter­
pret Jewish theology in terms of Hellenistic philosophy. Per­
haps the most notable exponent of these tendencies was Philo
(c. 30 B.C.— c. a .d . 45), who, as well as being a scholarly man with
a decidedly mystical bent, was a considerable personage in the
Jewish community at Alexandria and headed the delegation
which it sent to the Emperor Gaius in a .d . 40. An inflexible Jew
in faith and practice, he was drawn to the Greek philosophers,
especially Plato, accepting wholeheartedly the Platonic distinc­
tion between the ideal, or intelligible, and the material worlds,
but maintained that all their best ideas had been anticipated in
the Jewish Scriptures. The Pentateuch was his favourite study, ;
and the majority of his voluminous works are devoted to ex ­
pounding it. He regarded the Bible as fully inspired in the sense '
that God used its authors as passive instruments for com ­
municating His will.1 Two aspects of his thought arc of especial
interest to students of Christian doctrine.
First, the method of allegorizing Scripture by means of
which he was able to show that the truths set forth by revealed
religion were identical with those of the philosophers. Alle­
gorical exegesis was no novelty at that time; scholars had em ­
ployed it for centuries to discover hidden meanings in the
poems of Homer and Hesiod, and with its help the Stoics (for
example, L. A. Comutus: fl. a .d . 50) enabled themselves to
read their own metaphysical system out of the ancient myths.
More than a hundred years before an Alexandrian Jew, Aristo-
bulus, had used it to explain away the cruder anthropo ­
morphisms of the Pentateuch. Philo takes it up enthusiastically,
and contends2 that, of the various attitudes possible to the
Mosaic Law, much the most satisfactory is to observe its
prescriptions punctiliously while at the same time striving
with the aid of allegory to grasp their deeper purport. He
1 Of. quis rcr. div. haer. 66; de spec. leg. 1, 65. 2 De ebriet. 33-93.
20 PROLEGOMENA

compares1 the literal sense of Scripture to the shadow which the

body casts, finding its authentic, profoundcr truth in the spiritual
meaning which it symbolizes. Not that he wants to depreciate,
much less abolish, the literal meaning; just as man is body and
soul and must pay attention to the former as the tabernacle of
the latter, so the plain historical sense merits the fullest respect.2
By these principles he is able to explain 3 the story of Adam and
Eve as a myth symbolizing the creation of the human earthy
soul along with the intelligence, senses and passions, the seduc ­
tion of the intelligence by pleasure and its subjection to the
material order, and the ways in which it can return to its
original state. This is merely one example of a method by which,
while adhering strictly to the letter of the Law, he can regard it
as a divinely authorized veil covering a whole complex of Greek
philosophical ideas which he found intellectually congenial.
Secondly, there is his concept of the Logos, or Word.
Guided by the Middle Platonists he so much admired, Philo
taught
* that God is utterly transcendent; He transcends even
virtue, knowledge and absolute goodness and beauty, the
eternal Forms which his revered master, Plato, had postulated.
God is pure being (τό όντω ς ον), absolutely simple and self-
sufficing,5 and can be described 6 as ‘without quality ’ (άποιος )
— which probably means that, by His transcendence, He cannot
be included in any of the logical categories in which we classify
finite beings. The question thus arose of His relation to the
world. It was all the more urgent because Jewish theology
pictured God as calling it into existence by His fiat and being
directly concerned with it, while Platonism too insisted on the
divine formation and governance of the universe. The con ­
temporary Platonic solution, as we have seen, was to interpose
a hierarchy of divine beings between the Supreme Good, or
God, and the material order, and to regard these as ruling, or
even creating, the latter. This could not commend itself to
Philo, since nothing must interfere with the uniqueness of the
1 De confus, ling. 190. 1 De migrat. Abrah. 89-93.
* Leg. alleg. passim. 4 De opif. mun. 8.
5 De post. Caini 167; leg. alleg. 2, 2 f.; de mut. nom. 27.
6 E.g. leg. alleg. 1, 51.
 THE BACKGROUND 21

God revealed in Scripture. Instead he conceived 1 of inter­

mediary powers (δυνάμβι?) which, though their status is some ­
what confused, were not so much distinct beings as God ’s
operations considered in abstraction from Himself. Among
these intermediaries the supreme and most important was the
Logos, ‘the eldest and most akin to God ’, as he calls it,2 ‘ of
the things that have come into existence’.
Philo ’s teaching about the Logos is ambiguous, even incon ­
sistent, but its main lineaments are clear enough. As inter­
mediary between God and the universe the Logos has a double
role: it is God ’s agent in creation,3 and it is also the means by
which the mind apprehends God.4 Both ideas hark back to
Stoicism. We have noticed 5 that for the Stoics Logos (which
also means reason or plan) was the rational principle immanent
in reality, giving form and meaning to it; at the same time
reality was comprehensible to men because of the presence of
Logos in them. Philo has taken up the conception and linked it
with his doctrine of divine transcendence. No doubt he was
helped by the fact that in the Bible he read that God created
the world by His word (λόγω), and that it was by His word
that He revealed Himself to the prophets; and he was also
acquainted with the Wisdom theology, according to which
God first created Wisdom and then used her to create the
world. There has been much discussion whether he regarded
the Lagos as a personal being, but to ask tliis is to misconceive
his position. What is important, from the point of view of his
mctaphysic, is that he identifies6 the Logos with the Platonic
world of Forms or archetypes, of which sensible reality is a
copy. Like the Middle Platonists, he docs not regard that world
as self-existent, but simply as expressing the mind of the one
God. Just as in man (here we again observe Stoic influences at
work) there is a λόγος ενδιάθετος (i.e. the rational thought
in the mind) and also a Adyoç προφορικός (i.e. the thought
uttered as a word), so the divine Logos is first of all the ideas
Cf. quacst. in Exod. 2, 68; de Abrah. 121; de plant. 86.
Leg. alleg. 3, 175. 3 E.g. de cherub. 125-7.
E.g. de migrat. Abrah. 174. 3 See above, p. 13.
De opif. mun. 20; 24.
22 PROLEGOMENA

or thoughts of God ’s mind, and is then projected into formless,

unreal matter, making it into a real and rational universe.1
When Philo speaks2 of it in personal terms as ‘first-begotten
Son ’, the personification is not to be taken too seriously.
The Logos is, of course, the medium of God ’s government
of the world. Being immanent in it as well as transcendent in
the divine mind, it is ‘the captain and steersman of the uni­
verse’.3 And since it is the Platonic world of Forms, we can see
how in contemplating the Logos men can come to the know ­
ledge of God.4 Further, when the Old Testament describes the
appearance of the angel of Yahweh to the patriarchs, Philo ’s
explanation5 is that in fact it was the Logos.

6. The Gnostic W ay
One of the most potent forces operating in the Church ’s en ­
vironment, particularly in the second and third centuries, was
Gnosticism. Tins is the name (from γνώσις = knowledge) ap ­
plied to an amorphous group of sects or schools of thought
about which theologians like Irenaeus, Tertullian and Hip ­
polytus inform us. They treat it simply as a Christian heresy, an
aberration brought about by the adulteration of sound apostolic
doctrine with pagan philosophy,6 or even astrology and Greek
mystery religions,7 and charge8 the Simon Magus mentioned in
Acts 8 with having originated it. Many modern scholars have
accepted the main part of this thesis, so that A. Harnack could
describe9 Gnosticism as ‘the extreme Hellenization of Chris­
tianity ’. It is true that the Gnostic systems with which we arc
best acquainted were patently Christian in intention. On the
other hand, there were others (c.g. those represented by the
‘Naassene’ tractate and the ‘Book of Baruch’ cited by Hip ­
polytus10) in which the Christian features were quite superficial.
* De vit. M os. 2, 127. 1 De agric. 57.
* De cherub. 36. 4 Cf. de cotifus. ling. 97.
» De somn. 1, 232-9; de mut. nom. 87; de cherub. 3; de vit. M os. 1, 66.
6 E.g. Irenaeus, hacr. 2, 14; Tertullian, de praescr. 7; 30.
7 Hippolytus, ref. praef. 8.
• E.g. Irenaeus, haer. 1, 23, 2; 1, 27, 4; 2, pracf. 1.
• Dogmengeschichte, 4 ed., I, 250. 10 Ref. 5, 6, 3; 5, 7, 3-9; 5i 24-7.
 TILE BACKGROUND 23
Further, there seems to have been a Jewish Gnosticism ante ­
dating the Christian; and in the apostolic age we meet with
warnings, e.g. in 1 John and the Pastoral Epistles, against
sinister influences which appear to be Gnostic. It is therefore
more satisfactory to regard Gnosticism as a movement or,
more precisely, tendency which was wider and, probably,
older than Christianity. The product of syncretism, it drew
upon Jewish, pagan and Oriental sources of inspiration, and
brought a distinctive attitude and certain characteristic ideas
to the solution of the problem of evil and human destiny.
We can perhaps illustrate what Gnosticism was by giving a
rough, composite summary 1 of the teaching current in one of
its most important schools, that of the Christian Valentinus,
who taught at Alexandria and later at Rome in the middle
decades of the second century. According to this, above and
beyond the universe dwells the supreme Father, Bythos, the
unbegotten Monad and perfect Aeon, and by His side Sige
(Silence), who is His Ennoia (Thought). From these proceed,
by successive emanations, three pairs of aeons, Nous (or Mono ­
genes) and Alethcia (Truth), Logos and Zoe (Life), Anthropos
(Man) and Ecclesia (Church), thus completing the Ogdoad.
From Logos and Zoe proceed five (the Dccad), and from
Anthropos and Ecclesia six (the Dodecad), further pairs of
aeons. These thirty form the Pleroma, or fulness of the God ­
head, but the only-begotten Nous alone possesses the pos­
sibility of knowing and revealing the Father. The lowest of the
thirty aeons, however, Sophia, yielded to an ungovernable
desire to apprehend His nature. She travailed with the guilty
yearning she had conceived (Enthymesis), and would have
been dissolved into the All had not Horos (Limit: also called
Stauros, or Cross), appointed as guardian of the Pleroma, con ­
vinced her that the Father is incomprehensible. So Sophia cast
away her passion and was allowed to remain within the
Pleroma. Nous and Alctheia meanwhile, at the Father’s behest,
1 Cf. Irenaeus, haer. i, I— 8; Hippolytus, ref. 6, 21-37. Much light has been
thrown on Valentinus’s own teaching by the papyri discovered at Nag
Hammadi: sec The Jung Codex (studies by H. C. Pucch, G. Quispel and
W. C. Van Unnik), 1955, London.
2Λ PROLEGOMENA

produce a new pair of aeons, Christ and the Holy Spirit, to

instruct the aeons in their true relation to Him. Order having
been thus restored, they sing the praises of the Father and pro ­
duce the Saviour Jesus as the perfect fruit of the Pleroma.
But what of Sophia’s monstrous birth, Enthymesis, exiled
from die Pleroma and now known as a lower Sophia, or Acha-
moth? As she wanders about the still lifeless void, her anguish
brings matter to birth, while out of her yearning for Christ she
produces the ‘psychic’ (ψυχικόν) or soul-element. Then Christ
has pity on her and, descending by the Cross (Horos), im ­
presses form on her formlessness. As a result of this she gives
birth to spiritual, or ‘pneumatic’, substance. Out of these three
elements— matter, psyche and pneuma— the world then came
into being. First, Sophia formed a Creator, or Demiurge, out
of psychic substance as an image of the supreme Father. The
Demiurge, who is in fact the God of the Old Testament, then
created heaven and earth and the creatures inhabiting it. When
he made man, he first made ‘ the earthy man ’, and then breathed
his own psychic substance into him; but without his know ­
ledge Achamoth planted pneuma, or spirit, born from herself,
in the souls of certain men. This spiritual clement yearns for
God, and salvation consists in its liberation from the lower
elements with which it is united. This is the task which die
Saviour Jesus accomplishes. According to their constitution,
there arc three classes of men — the carnal or material, the
psychic and the pneumatic. Those who are carnal cannot in any
case be saved, while in order to attain redemption the pneu ­
matic only need to apprehend the teaching ofJesus. The psychic
class can be saved, though with difficulty, through the know ­
ledge and imitation of Jesus.
This bizarre mixture of speculation, fantasy and mysticism,
interspersed with Scriptural reminiscences, was typical of
Gnosticism. It was neither religion in the strict sense nor
philosophy pure and simple; it is best described as a species of
theosophy. There were many systems or schools, and they
differed markedly from each other. The Valcntinian school, for
example, in addition to Valentinus himself, included such
 THE BACKGROUND zS

notable figures as Heraclcon {fl. 175),the author of an allegoriz­

ing commentary on the Fourth Gospel, and Ptolemaeus
(f c. 180), whose Letter to Flora 1 is an invaluable witness to
Gnostic principles of exegesis. The most important Christian
Gnostic apart from Valentinus was the Syrian-born Basilidcs,
who lectured at Alexandria c. 120-40. In his system 2 we meet
with the same conception of graded orders of existence (in this
case three hundred and sixty-five heavens formed each of a
group of angels) descending from the supreme, ineffable
Father, and the same opposition between Him and the God of
the Jews, the creator of the material universe and man. Re ­
demption consists in the coming of the Father’s first-begotten,
Nous, in human form to release the spiritual element im ­
prisoned in men ’s bodies. While Christian motifs predominate
here, they play a minor part in the Gnostic Justin ’s ‘Book of
Baruch ’,3 which expounds a closely related story of redemp ­
tion in the setting of Greek myths and the Mosaic account of
creation. Again, the ‘Naassene’ sermon already referred4 to
takes a short hymn addressed to the god Attis as its text. On the
basis of this it seeks to explain the origin of man and of the
suffering to which he is heir. Other Gnostics of whom we hear
in the second century are Menander of Samaria, who is said
to have practised magic arts;5 Satornilus (or Saturninus) of
Antioch, who emphasized the asceticism which was one pos­
sible corollary of the Gnostic contempt for matter;6 Isidore, the
son and disciple of Basilidcs, whose followers deduced that the
spiritually perfect were free to be immoral;7 and Carpocrates,
who carried this antinomianism to extreme lengths.8 Of
Marcion, who stood much closer to the Church, an account
will be given later.9
To speak of Gnosticism as a movement is misleading, for
that term suggests a concrete organization or church. There
1 Cf. Epiphanius, haer. 33, 3-7.
2 Cf. Irenaeus, haer. 1, 24; Hippolytus, ref. 7, 20 ff.
’ Cf. Hippolytus, ref. 5, 24-7. 4 See above, p. 22.
s Hippolytus, ref. 7, 28; Irenaeus, haer. I, 23, 5; Eusebius, hist. eccl. 3, 26.
6 Hippolytus, ref. 7, 28.
7 Irenaeus, haer. 1, 24; Clement Alex., strom. 2, 20, 112; 3, I, 1-3, 2.
8 Irenaeus, haer. 1, 25; Clement Alex., strom. 3, 2, 5. ’ See pp. 57 f.
26 PROLEGOMENA

were, as we have seen, plenty of Gnostic teachers, each with his

coterie of adherents, but there was no single Gnostic Church.
On the other hand, it is clear that behind all the variegated
Gnostic sects there lay a common stock of ideas which could
fasten upon, adapt themselves to and eventually transform any
religious movement concerned to find an answer to the
problems of existence, evil and salvation. These ideas may
now be briefly summarized. First, all the Gnostic schools were
thoroughly dualistic, setting an infinite chasm between the
spiritual world and the world of matter, which they regarded
as intrinsically evil. Secondly, when they tried to explain how
the material order came into existence, they agreed in refusing
to attribute its origin to the ultimate God, the God of light and
goodness. It must be the result of some primeval disorder, some
conflict or fall, in the higher realm, and its fabricator must have
been some inferior deity or Demiurge. Where the Old Testa­
ment was accepted as authoritative, it was easy and natural to
identify him with the Creator-God of the Jews. Thirdly, the
Gnostics all believed that there is a spiritual element in man, or
at any rate in the élite of mankind, which is a stranger in this
world and which yearns to be freed from matter and to ascend
to its true home. Fourthly, they pictured a mediator or mediators
descending down the successive aeons or heavens to help it
to achieve this. These ideas were expounded in a setting of
elaborate pseudo-cosmological speculation, and extensive use
was made of pagan myths, the Old Testament and concepts
borrowed from Far Eastern religions.
In this way, then, the Gnostics sought to explain the riddle of
man ’s plight in a universe he feels to be alien to himself. But
what of the redemption they offered? Here we come to the
distinctive feature which gives Gnosticism its name. In all the
Gnostic systems redemption is brought about by knowledge,
and it is the function of the divine mediators to open the eyes of
‘pneumatic’ men to the truth. ‘The spiritual man ’, the disciples
of the Valentinian Marcus declared.1 ‘is redeemed by know ­
ledge ’; while according to Basilides,2 ‘the Gospel is knowledge
' Irenaeus, haer. i, 21, 4. 1 Hippolytus, ref. 7, 27, 7.
 THE BACKGROUND 27

of supramundane things ’. In other words, when a man has

really grasped the Gnostic myths in all their inwardness, and
thus realizes who he is, how he has come to his present condi­
tion, and what is that ‘indescribable Greatness’ which is the
supreme God, the spiritual clement in him begins to free itself
from the entanglements of matter. In the vivid imagery of
Valentinus’s Gospel of Truth,1 before he acquires that know ­
ledge, he plunges about like a drunken man in a dazed state,
but having acquired it he awakens, as it were, from his intoxi­
cated slumbers. Irenaeus has a colourful passage2 describing
how the possession of this esoteric knowledge— of the abysmal
Fall, of Achamoth, of the Demiurge and so forth — was
supposed to enable the Gnostic to overcome the powers
confronting him after death, and so to traverse the successive
stages of his upward journey.
It is easy to understand the fascination which the Gnostic
complex of ideas exercised on many Christians. The Church,
too, professed to offer men saving knowledge, and set Christ
before them as the revelation of the Father. There was a power­
ful strain in early Christianity which was in sympathy with
Gnostic tendencies. We can see it at work in the Fourth Gospel,
with its axiom that eternal life consists in knowledge of God
and of Christ, and even more clearly in such second-century
works as 2 Clement and Theophilus’s Ad Autolycum. As we
noticed above, Clement of Alexandria freely applied 3 the title
‘gnostics’ to Christians who seemed to have a philosophic
grasp of their faith. It is the existence of a genuinely Christian,
orthodox ‘gnosis ’ side by side with half-Christian, heretical or
even non-Christian versions which in part accounts for the
difficulty in defining Gnosticism precisely. As has been shown,
many of the Gnostic teachers mentioned above sincerely re ­
garded themselves as Christians, and there is an clement of
truth in the thesis that their systems were attempts to restate
the simple Gospel in terms which contemporaries would find
philosophically, even scientifically, more satisfying. The root

1 Cf. The Jung Codex, pp. 29 ff. » Haer. I, 21, 5.

3 E.g. strom. 5, 1; 6, 3, 3; 7 passim.
28 PROLEGOMENA

incompatibility between Christianity and Gnosticism really lay,

as second-century fathers like Irenaeus quickly perceived, in
their different attitudes to the material order and the historical
process. Because of their hostility to matter and their disregard
for history, the Gnostics (in the narrower, more convenient
sense of the term) were prevented from giving full value to the
fundamental Christian doctrine of the incarnation of the Word.

NOTE ON BOOKS

I. B. Altancr, Patrologie (Freiburg i.B., 5 cd. 1958); O. Bardenhewer,

Gcschichte der altkirchlichenLiteratur (Freiburg i.B., 2ed. 1913-32) ; J. Quasten,
Patrology (Utrecht and Brussels, 1950 contd.). 2. S. Angus, The Religious
Quests of the Graeco-Roman W orld (London, 1929); F. Cumont, Les Religions
orientales dans le paganisme romain (Paris, 4 cd. 1929) ; T. R. Glover, The Coiflict
of Religions in the Early Roman Empire (London, 10 cd. 1923); H. Lietzmann,
A History of the Early Church, Vols. I and II (Eng. trans.: London, 2 cd.
1949-50); H. C. Pucch, Le M anichéisme (Paris, 1949); P. Wcndland, Die
hellenistisch-romische Kultur (Tübingen, 1912). 3. A. H. Armstrong, An
Introduction to Ancient Philosophy (London, 1947); E. V. Arnold, Roman
Stoicism (London, 1911); E. Bevan, Stoics and Sceptics (Oxford, 1913);
Hellenistic Popular Philosophy (Cambridge, 1923); F. Coplcston, A H istory of
Philosophy, Vol. I (London, 1946); F. M. Comford, Plato's Theory of Know ­
ledge (London, 1935); W. F. R. Hardie, A Study in Plato (Oxford, 1936);
R. D. Hicks, Stoics and Epicureans (London, 1910); M. Pohlcnz, D ie Stoa
(Gottingen, 1948-55); L. Robin, Aristote (Paris, 1944); W. D. Ross, Aristotle
(London, 1930); A. E. Taylor, Plato, the M an and his W ork (London,
1926); R. E. Witt, Albinus and the History of M iddle Platonism (Cam ­
bridge, 1937). 4. A. H. Armstrong, The Architecture of the Intelligible Uni ­
verse in the Philosophy of Plotinus (Cambridge, 1940); P. Henry, Plotin ct
I ’ Occident (Louvain, 1934); W. R. Inge, The Philosophy of Plotinus (London, 3
cd. 1928). 5. W. Bousset, Die Religion des Judentums ini spathellenistischen
Zcitalter (Tübingen, 3 cd. 1926); E. Bréhicr, Philon d'Alexandrie (Paris, 1908);
G. F. Moore, Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era (Harvard, 1927
and 1930). 6. F. C. Burkitt, Church and Gnosis (Cambridge, 1932);
R. P. Casey, ‘The Study of Gnosticism ’ (art. in Journ. Theol. Stud., 1935) ;
F. L. Cross (cd.), The Jung Codex (London, 1955); E. de Faye, Introduction à
l ’étude du gnosticisme (Paris, 1903) ; H. C. Pucch and G. Quispel, ‘ Les Écrits
gnostiques du Codex Jung ’ (art. in Vig. Christ., 1954) ; G. Quispel, ‘ The
Original Doctrine of Valentine ’ (art. in Vig. Christ., 1947) ; F. Sagnard,
Gnose Valentinienne (Paris, 1947) ; R· McL. Wilson, ‘Gnostic Origins’ (art.
in Vig. Christ., 1955); The Gnostic Problem (London, 1958).
 C H A PTER II

TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE

I. The Norm of Doctrine

B e f o r e examining particular doctrines, there is an important

preliminary question which the student must face. This con ­
cerns the attitude of the Church in the period under review to
Christian doctrine itself, in particular to its sources and authority.
It is easy to furnish a rough-and-ready, partial answer. Chris­
tianity came into the world as a religion of revelation, and as
such claimed a supernatural origin for its message. Its ultimate
source, as the theologians of the early centuries clearly per­
ceived, lay in the Person, words and works of Jesus Christ in
the context of the revelation of which He was the climax. On
closer inspection, however, the problem is seen to be more
complex. What is meant by Christian doctrine is the teaching
of the Catholic Church from the end of the first century on ­
wards. This at once raises the question of the media by which
the original revelation was preserved and handed down in the
Church. Further, the principles by which these media were in ­
terpreted call for investigation; and since interpretations were
liable to differ, it seems desirable to consider the criteria by
which the Church judged doctrines to be sound or erroneous,
orthodox or heretical.
Broadly speaking, the problem we have raised is the problem
of Tradition (as we now call it) and Scripture, i.c. of the relation
between the two. Other questions arc closely linked with it,
such as the place accorded to reason in the formulation of
Christian truth; but it will be well to confine ourselves to the
central issue. God Himself, all the early theologians acknow ­
ledged, was the ultimate author of the revelation; but He had
committed it to prophets and inspired lawgivers, above all to
29
30 PROLEGOMENA

the apostles who were eye-wimesses of the incarnate Word, and

they had passed it on to the Church. Hence, when asked where
the authentic faith was to be found, their answer was clear and
unequivocal: in a general way it was contained in the Church ’s
continuous tradition of teaching, and more concretely in the
Holy Scriptures. These were in fact the twin — as we shall see,
overlapping — authorities to which Christians looked for the
confirmation of dieir beliefs. By itself, however, this is a bald
statement, and calls for a good deal of elucidation if its implica ­
tions are to be grasped. What books, for example, were ac­
cepted as Scripture, and how did the Church determine her
sacred canon? And what principles of exegesis did she employ?
Again, the notion of tradition needs more precise definition,
and some estimate must be formed of the store set by it at
different epochs. We must also ask how far, if at all, tradition
and Scripture counted as independent of, and supplementary
to, each other. And presupposed in the whole inquiry is the
deeper question of the doctrinal magisterium claimed for, and
exercised by, the Church.
The former set of questions, concerned with the Bible and its
interpretation, will be the theme of the following chapter. In
the present one we shall examine more closely the Church ’s
constant appeal to Scripture and tradition, and in the course of
our inquiry shall seek to explain what she understood by tradi­
tion. At the threshold, however, the reader should be placed on
his guard against an ambiguity inherent in the word. In present-
day idiom ‘tradition ’ denotes the body of unwritten doctrine
handed down in the Church, or the handing down of such
doctrine, and so tends to be contrasted with Scripture. In the
language of the fathers, as indeed of the New Testament,1 the
term of course conveyed this idea of transmission, and eventually
the modem usage became regular. But its primary significance
(cf. ίταραδιδόναι; tradere}, viz. authoritative delivery, was
originally to the fore and always remained prominent. Hence
by tradition the fathers usually mean doctrine which the Lord
or His apostles committed to the Church, irrespective of
« E.g. Luke I, 2\ 1 Cor. II, 2; II, 23; 15, 3; Jude 3.
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 31

whether it was handed down orally or in documents, and in

the earlier centuries at any rate they prefer to employ other
words or phrases to designate the Church ’s unwritten tradi­
tional teaching. The ancient meaning of the term is well
illustrated by Athanasius’s reference1 to ‘the actual original
tradition, teaching and faith of the Catholic Church, which
the Lord bestowed, the apostles proclaimed and the fathers
safeguarded’.

2. The Primitive Period

The generations stretching from the apostolic age to the

middle of the second century have a special interest for our
inquiry. This springs from the fact that, although the New
Testament books were already in existence, there was as yet no
officially sanctioned New Testament canon. Whence then did
the Church draw her teaching, and how did she assess its
soundness? For an answer we naturally look to the writings of
the so-called Apostolic Fathers (Clement of Rome, Ignatius,
Polycarp, the author of 2 Clement, ‘Barnabas’, Hennas) and the
Greek Apologists (Aristides, Justin, Tatian, Athenagoras, Theo ­
philus). For all these Christianity seems to have implied a
complex of belief and practice (in Clement’s2 phrase, ‘ the rule
of our tradition ’, or in Justin ’s,3 ‘following God and the teach ­
ing derived from Him ’) which in the final resort went back to
Christ Himself. But if He was the supreme teacher,4 the im ­
mediately accessible authorities both for the facts about His
Person and for His message were (a) the prophets, who had fore ­
seen every detail of His ministry, and (b) the apostles, who had
worked with Him and whom He had commissioned. This two ­
fold appeal to the united witness of the Old Testament and the
apostles was characteristic of the age; it is aptly illustrated by
Polycarp’s summons5 to the Philippians to accept as their
standard Christ Himself along with ' the apostles who preached
the gospel to us and the prophets who aimounced our Lord ’s
coming in advance’.

1 Ad Strap. I, 28. 2 7, 2. 3 Dial. 80, 3.

* Cf. Justin, 1 apol. 12, 9. 3 Phil. 6, 3.
32 PROLEGOMENA

The importance of the Old Testament as a doctrinal norm in

the primitive Church cannot be exaggerated. A fuller discus­
sion must be postponed until the next chapter; three points only
need be established at this stage. First, the doctrinal authority
ascribed to it was based on the apparently unquestioning as­
sumption that, correctly interpreted, it was a Christian book,
and that the prophets in particular were really testifying to
Christ and His glory. Justin ’s insistence 1 that the Jewish
Scriptures did not belong to the Jews but to the Christians was
universally shared. Secondly, this assumption was only rendered
possible because Christians were using, consciously or uncon ­
sciously, a particular method of exegesis. This method, again,
will come in for treatment later; for the moment it is sufficient
to remark that it was not overtly contained in, or suggested by,
the Old Testament itself. The Apologists2 who claimed that
they had become Christians merely by studying the Scriptures
(i.e. the Old Testament) were clearly going beyond what
the facts warranted. Obviously they were reading them with
eyes enlightened by the specifically Christian revelation; and
‘Barnabas’ admits as much when he describes3 his Christo ­
centric exegesis as a gnosis. But, thirdly, this principle of inter­
pretation was no invention of the early second century. The
apostles, as we shall see, had employed it, and there is every
reason to suppose that our Lord Himself set the precedent— a
fact which Justin explicitly acknowledges.4 In the days of the
Apostolic Fathers and the Apologists it was already traditional
in the Church, a tradition for which (again Justin is the first to
avow 5 it) the Church was on the human plane indebted to the
apostles.
The parallel doctrinal norm, the testimony of the apostles,
was equally important in theory, and of course more important
in fact. ‘The apostles’, wrote 6 Clement, ‘received the gospel
for us from the Lord Jesus Christ. . . . Armed therefore with
their charge, and having been fully assured through the resur-
1 1 apol. 32, 2; dial. 29, 2.
2 E.g. Justin, dial. 8, i; Tatian, ad Graec. 29.
’ 6. 9Î 9. 8; 10, 10; 13, 7. < 1 apol. 50, i2 .
s lb. 49. 5· 6 +2-
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 33

rcction of our Lord Jesus Christ and confirmed in the word of

God with full conviction of the Holy Spirit, they went forth
with the glad tidings.’ By Justin ’s1 time the idea that the
Church ’s message rested upon the apostles’ witness to Christ
and the instructions He had given them before and after His
resurrection had been more fully worked out. It was through
the apostles, Hennas stated,2 that the Son of God was preached
throughout the world. Hence we are not surprised to fmd
Ignatius,3 a generation earlier, setting up conformity to the
Lord and His apostles as an ideal; it makes no difference that he
probably had ethical instruction primarily in mind. A practical
expression of this attitude was the keen interest taken in the
apostles’ personal reminiscences of Christ. Papias, for example,
did his best4 to discover His exact teaching by making inquiries
of ‘the elders’. A further evidence of it is the high prestige en ­
joyed by the Pauline epistles and the gospels. Although they
had not been canonized, the number of citations from them
in this period is quite remarkable. Polycarp, for example, re­
garded 5 St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians as the foundation-
stone of their faith; and for Justin 6 the gospels owed their
authority to their being the ‘memoirs’ {άπομνημονζυματα)
of the apostles. To them, too, he traced 7 the explanation of why
baptism was necessary, and the maimer of celebrating the
eucharist.
There is no reason to infer, however, that the primitive
Church regarded the apostolic testimony as confined to written
documents emanating from, or attributed to, the apostles.
Logically, as it must have done chronologically, the testimony
stood prior to the documents, and it would be more correct to
say that the latter were valued precisely because they were held
to enshrine the former. Admittedly there is no evidence for
beliefs or practices current in the period which were not
vouched for in the books later known as the New Testament.
But there is equally nothing to suggest, and general probability
« E.g. 1 apol. 42, 4; 50, 12; 53, 3; 67, 7; dial. 53, 1. 3 Sim. 9, 17, 1.
3 E.g. Eph. ii, 2; M agn. 13, 1; Trail. 7, 1.
4 CL Eusebius, hist. eccl. 3, 39, 3 F. 3 Phil. 3, 2.
6 I apol. 66, 3; dial. 103, 8. 7 1 apol. 61, 9; 66, 1-3.
34 PROLEGOMENA

makes it unlikely, that Cliristian teachers had these books

specifically in mind on the majority of occasions when they
referred to the apostolic testimony. It is much more plausible
that they were thinking generally of the common body of facts
and doctrines, definite enough in outline though with varying
emphases, which found expression in the Church ’s day-to-day
preaching, liturgical action and catechetical instruction, just as
much as in its formal documents. It is a commonplace that the
New Testament writers themselves presupposed, and on oc ­
casion quoted summaries of, this oudinc message or ‘ kerygma ’,
which apparently existed in various forms. A similar outline
seems to have been available to the writers of our period, and
they, too (formal creeds were still lacking), frequently reproduce
echoes of it.1 As often as not the background of these appears to
be the Church ’s living liturgical and catechetical tradition. It
was this ‘pattern of teaching ’,2 whether set down in apostolic
letters or gospels or embodied in the Church ’s propaganda or
liturgical life, together with the principles of Old Testament
interpretation referred to above, which they regarded as ‘the
teaching derived from Christ’s apostles ’.3
Three further points should be noticed. First, while Scripture
(i.e. the Old Testament) and the apostolic testimony were
formally independent of each other, these fathers seem to have
treated their contents as virtually coincident. What the apostles
saw and proclaimed as eye-witnesses, the prophets testified to
beforehand in minutest detail; there was no item in the message
of the former which, if one but searched the Scriptures, the
prophets could not be shown to have foreseen. Secondly, the
apostolic testimony had not yet come to be known as ‘tradi­
tion ’. Though Clement spoke4 of ‘the rule of our tradition ’,
the term (παράδοσι?) was of rare occurrence in this period.
Justin used 5 it only once, and then to indicate the tradition of
Jewish teachers. The cognate verb (παραδιδόναι) was much
more frequent, but possessed no specialized meaning. Polycarp
1 Cf. Ignatius, Eph. 18, 2; Trail. 9; Sm ym . 1, 1 f.; Polycarp, Phil. 2, 1; Justin,
1 apol. 13; 61, 3; 61, 10; 65, 3; 67, 2; dial. 63, 1; 85, 2; 126, 1; 132, 1.
1 Rom. 6, 17. 3 Justin, 1 apol. 53, 3.
♦ 7, 2. 5 Dial. 38, 2.
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 35

could speak ’ of ‘the word transmitted from the beginning ’,

and Justin of the apostles ‘delivering ’ to the Gentiles the
prophecies about Jesus,2 or ‘ handing down ’ the institution of the
eucharist.3 More often than not, however, the context has
nothing to do with Christianity; and where it has, the reference
is sometimes to Christ Himself, sometimes4 even to teaching
contained in Scripture. The truth is that, although the idea was
present in embryo, no single term had been earmarked to de ­
note tradition, i.e. the authoritative handing down of doctrine,
or the doctrine so handed down.
Thirdly, hints begin to appear of the theory that the Church ’s
ministers, in virtue of their endowment with the Spirit, were
the divinely authorized custodians of the apostolic teaching.
Clement, for example, though not explicit on the point, seems
to imply 5 that the hierarchy which succeeded the apostles in ­
herited the gospel message which they had been commissioned
to preach. The immense stress which Ignatius placed on loyalty
to the episcopate finds its explanation in the fact that he
regarded the bishop as the appointed guarantor of purity of
doctrine. In 2 Clement 6 strict obedience to the presbyters is in ­
culcated on the ground that their task is to preach the faith,
: and that their instructions are identical with those of Christ
Himself.

3. Irenaeus and Terhillian

In the following half-century the Church ’s estimate of her

doctrinal norms underwent certain adjustments. In the first
place, while the Old Testament lost none of its prestige as an
organ of revelation, the apostolic testimony as such was pro ­
moted in the minds of Christians to a position of supreme
authority. This shift of perspective was, of course, assisted and
indeed made possible by the recognition of the New Testament
as fully canonical and as entitled to rank alongside the Old as
inspired Scripture. Secondly, the distinction between Scripture
and the Church ’s living tradition as co-ordinate channels of this
I Phil. 7, 2. » 1 apol. 49, 5. J lb. 66, 3.
* E.g. Justin, 1 apol. 53, 6; dial. 42, 1. 5 Cf. 42. <> j7 .
3ό PROLEGOMENA

apostolic testimony became more clearly appreciated, and en ­

hanced importance began to be attached to the latter. This
development was largely the by-product of the great struggle
between Catholicism and the Gnostic sects which was now
fully engaged. Not only did the Gnostics exploit Scripture to
their own ends, but one of their techniques1 was to appeal, in
support of their speculations, to an alleged secret apostolic
tradition to which they claimed to have access.
This new and more mature position is mirrored, with minor
differences of emphasis, in the writings of Irenaeus ( fl. 180) and
Tertullian (c. 160-c. 220). For both 2 of them Christ Himself
was the ultimate source of Christian doctrine, being the truth,
the Word by Whom the Father had been revealed; but He had
entrusted tins revelation to His apostles, and it was through them
alone that knowledge of it could be obtained. ‘Through none
other’, wrote 3 Irenaeus, ‘than those by whom the gospel
reached us have we learned the plan of our salvation ’; while for
Tertullian4 what was believed and preached in the churches
was absolutely authoritative because it was the selfsame revela­
tion which they had received from the apostles, the apostles
from Christ, and Christ from God. Elsewhere5 he insisted that
Christians must not pick and choose doctrines according to
their whims; their sole authorities were the apostles, who had
themselves faithfully transmitted Christ’s teaching. Both on
occasion described this original message as tradition, using the
word to denote the teaching delivered by the apostles, without
any implied contrast between tradition and Scripture. So
Irenaeus claims6 that, however much Christians may differ in
language or mental capacity, the ‘force of the tradition ’ (i.e.
the ‘faith ’ or ‘preaching’ communicated by the apostles) re- I
mains one and the same; while Tertullian can refer7 to the j
whole body of apostolic doctrine, whether delivered orally or
in epistles, as apostolorum traditio or apostolica traditio.

« Cf. Irenaeus, haer. 3, 2, 1; Clement Alex., strom. 7, 17,106-8; Epiphanius

haer. 33, 7, 9.
1 Cf. Irenaeus, haer. 3, praef.; 3, 5,1; Tertullian, de praesa. 13.
’ lb. 3, i, I. ♦ lb. 21. » lb. 6: cf. 37.
‘ lb. I, to, 2: cf. 5, 20,1. ’ lb. 21; c. Marc. 1, 21; 4 5
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 37

But where in practice was this apostolic testimony or tradi­

tion to be found? It was no longer possible to resort, as Papias
and earlier writers had done, to personal reminiscences of the
apostles. The most obvious answer was that the apostles had
committed it orally to the Church, where it had been handed
down from generation to generation. Irenaeus believed that this
was the case, stating 1 that the Church preserved the tradition
inherited from the apostles and passed it on to her children. It
was, he thought, a living tradition which was, in principle, in ­
dependent of written documents; and he pointed 2 to barbarian
tribes which ‘received this faith without letters’. Unlike the
alleged secret tradition of the Gnostics, it was entirely public
and open, having been entrusted by the apostles to their suc ­
cessors, and by these in turn to those who followed them, and
was visible in the Church for all who cared to look for it.3 It
was his argument with the Gnostics which led him to apply 4
the word ‘tradition ’, in a novel and restricted sense, specifically
to the Church ’s oral teaching as distinct from that contained in
Scripture. For practical purposes this tradition could be regarded
as finding expression in what he called ‘the canon of the truth ’.
By this he meant, as his frequent allusions5 to and citations from
it prove, a condensed summary, fluid in its wording but fixed
in content, setting out the key-points of the Christian revelation
in the form of a rule. Irenaeus makes two further points. First,
the identity of oral tradition with the original revelation is
guaranteed by the unbroken succession of bishops in the great
secs going back lineally to the apostles.6 Secondly, an additional
safeguard is supplied by the Holy Spirit, for the message was
committed to the Church, and the Church is the home of the
Spirit.7 Indeed, the Church ’s bishops arc on his view Spirit-
endowed men who have been vouchsafed ‘an infallible charism
of truth ’ (charisma veritatis certum 8 ).
On the other hand, Irenaeus took it for granted that the

’ Haer. 5, pracf. 2 lb. 3, 4, 1 f.

3 lb. 3, 2-5. 4 Ib. 3, 2-5 (16 times).
* E.g. ib. I, 10, i f.; I, 22, 1; 5, 20, 1; dem. 6.
8 Cf. haer. 3, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 1·
7 E.g. ib. 3, 24, I. 8 Ib. 4, 26, 2: cf. 4, 26, 5.
38 PROLEGOMENA

apostolic tradition had also been deposited in written docu ­

ments. As he says,' what the apostles at first proclaimed by
word of mouth, they afterwards by God ’s will conveyed to us
in Scriptures. Like the Apologists, he held 2 that the whole life,
passion and teaching of Christ had been foreshadowed in the
Old Testament; but the New was in his eyes the written
formulation of the apostolic tradition (cf. έγγράφως παραΒι-
δόναι3). For this reason his test for books belonging to it was
not simply Church custom but apostolicity,4 i.e. the fact that
they had been composed by apostles or followers of the
apostles, and so could be relied upon to contain the apostolic
testimony. The difficulty was, of course, that heretics were
liable to read a different meaning out of Scripture than the
Church; but Irenaeus was satisfied 5 that, provided the Bible
was taken as a whole, its teaching was self-evident. The heretics
who misinterpreted it only did so because, disregarding its
underlying unity, they seized upon isolated passages and re ­
arranged them to suit their own ideas.6 Scripture must be
interpreted in the light of its fundamental ground-plan, viz.
the original revelation itself. For that reason correct exegesis
was the prerogative of the Church, where the apostolic tradi­
tion or doctrine which was the key to Scripture had been kept
intact.7
Did Irenaeus then subordinate Scripture to unwritten tradition?
This inference has been commonly drawn, but it issues from
a somewhat misleading antithesis. Its plausibility depends on
such considerations as (a) that, in controversy with the Gnostics,
tradition rather than Scripture seemed to be his final court of
appeal, and (b) that he apparently relied upon tradition to
establish the true exegesis of Scripture. But a careful analysis of
his Advertis haereses reveals that, while the Gnostics’ appeal to
their supposed secret tradition forced him to stress the superiority
of the Church ’s public tradition, his real defence of orthodoxy
1 Haer. 3,1,1. 2 lb. 4, 33,10-14.
’ lb. 3,1,1: cf. 3,1, 2; 3,10, 6; 3,14,2.
* Cf. ib. I, 9, 2; 3, I, 1; 3, 3, 4; 3. 10, 1; 3, 10, 6, etc.
» Ib. 2, 27, 2. 6 Ib. I, 8,1; 1,9,1-4.
’ Ib.4,26, 5; 4, 32.1:5.20,2.
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 39

was founded on Scripture.1 Indeed, tradition itself, on his view,

was confirmed by Scripture, which was ‘the foundation and
pillar of our faith ’.2 Secondly, Irenaeus admittedly suggested 3
that a firm grasp of ‘the canon of the truth ’ received at baptism
would prevent a man from distorting the sense of Scripture.
But this ‘canon ’, so far from being something distinct from
Scripture, was simply a condensation of the message contained
in it. Being by its very nature normative in form, it provided a
man with a handy clue to Scripture, whose very ramifications
played into the hands of heretics. The whole point of his
teaching was, in fact, that Scripture and the Church ’s un ­
written tradition arc identical in content, both being vehicles
of the revelation. If tradition as conveyed in the ‘canon ’ is
a more trustworthy guide, this is not because it comprises
truths other than those revealed in Scripture, but because the
true tenor of the apostolic message is there unambiguously
set out.
Tcrtullian ’s attitude docs not differ from Irenaeus’s in any
important respect. He was an innovator, it is true, in extending
the meaning of ‘tradition ’ to cover what had been customary
in the Church for long generations. In this sense practices like
the triple renunciation and triple immersion at baptism, the
reception of the cucharist in the early morning, the prohibition
of kneeling on Sundays and at Eastertide, and the sign of the
cross could be described 4 as traditions; one tradition might even
be said 3 to be at variance with another. In its primary sense,
however, the apostolic, evangelical or Catholic tradition 6 stood
for the faith delivered by the apostles, and he never contrasted
tradition so understood with Scripture. Indeed, it was en ­
shrined in Scripture, for the apostles subsequently wrote down
their oral preaching in epistles.7 For this reason Scripture has
absolute authority; whatever it teaches is necessarily true,8 and
woe betide him who accepts doctrines not discoverable in it.9

» Cf. ib. 2, 35, 4; 3, pracf.; 3, 2, 1 ; 3, 5, 1 ; 4, praef., 1; 5. pracf.

’ Ib. 3, pracf.; 3, i, I. ’ Ib. 1,9,4. * De cor. 3 f.
’ De oirg. vel. 2. 6 C. M arc. 4, 5; 5» monog. 2.
7 De praescr. 21. 8 De cartie Chr. 3; ado. Prax. 29.
9 Ado. Hemiog. 22; de came Chr. 6.
40 PROLEGOMENA

But Tertullian did not confine the apostolic tradition to the

New Testament; even if Scripture were to be set on one side, it
would still be found in the doctrine publicly proclaimed by the
churches. Like Irenaeus, he found 1 the surest test of the authen ­
ticity of this doctrine in the fact that the churches had been
founded by, and were continuously linked with, the apostles;
and as a further guarantee he added 2 their otherwise inexplic­
able unanimity. He was emphatic3 that no secret tradition
existed, and that it was incredible that the apostles did not
know, or failed to pass on, the revelation in its entirety.
This unwritten tradition he considered to be virtually
identical with ‘ the rule of faith ’ (regula fidei), which he preferred
to Scripture as a standard when disputing with Gnostics. By
this he did not mean, as scholars have sometimes imagined, a
formal creed, but rather the intrinsic shape and pattern of the
revelation itself. His citations
* from it show that, fully formu ­
lated, it made explicit the cardinal truths about God the Father,
Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. Thus the regula was for him
what ‘the canon of the truth ’ was for Irenaeus, although he
made more use of the concept. He states5 explicitly that the
rule has been handed down by Christ through the apostles, and
implies6 that it can be used to test whether a man is a Christian
or not. Further, the regula points the way to the correct ex ­
egesis of Scripture. Like Irenaeus, Tertullian is convinced 7 that
Scripture is consonant in all its parts, and that its meaning should
be clear if it is read as a whole. But where controversy with
heretics breaks out, the right interpretation can only be found
where the true Christian faith and discipline have been main ­
tained, i.e. in the Church.8 The heretics, he complained,9 were
able to make Scripture say what they liked because they dis­
regarded the regula.
Not surprisingly, many students have deduced that Tcrtul-
lian made tradition (i.e. the Church ’s unwritten teaching as

« E.g. de praescr. 21; 32; c. Marc. 4, 5. 1 De praescr. 28.

3 lb. 22; 27. 4 Cf. de praescr. 13; de virg. vel. 1; adv. Prax. 2.
5 Apol. 47, 10. 6 £) c praescr. 37.
7 E.g. ib. 9 f.; de resurr. 21; adv. Prax. 26. 8 De praescr. 19.
9 De pud. 3: cf. de praescr. 12; adv. Prax. 20.
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 4i

declared in the regula) a more ultimate norm than the Bible.

His true position, however, was rather subtler and approxi­
mated closely to that of Irenaeus. He was certainly profoundly
convinced 1 of the futility of arguing with heretics merely on
the basis of Scripture. The skill and success with which they
twisted its plain meaning made it impossible to reach any
decisive conclusion in that field. He was also satisfied, and made
the point even more forcibly than Irenaeus, that the indispens­
able key to Scripture belonged exclusively to the Church,
which in the regula had preserved the apostles’ testimony in its
original shape. But these ideas, expounded in his De praescrip ­
tione, were not intended to imply that Scripture was in any
way subordinate in authority or insufficient in content. His
major premiss remained that of Irenaeus, viz. that the one
divine revelation was contained in its fulness both in the Bible
and in the Church ’s continuous public witness. If he stressed
the latter medium even more than Irenaeus, elaborating the
argument that it was inconceivable that the churches could
have made any mistake in transmitting the pure apostolic
doctrine, his reason was that in discussion with heretics it pos­
sessed certain tactical advantages. Being by definition norma ­
tive, the regtila set out the purport of the gospel in a form about
which there could be no debate.

4. The Third and Fourth Centuries

With two main differences the attitude to Scripture and

tradition wliich we saw emerging in the previous section
became classic in the Church of the third and fourth centuries.
These differences were: (a) with the passing of the Gnostic
menace, the hesitation sometimes evinced by Irenaeus, and to
a rather greater degree by Tertullian, about appealing directly
to Scripture disappeared; and (b) as a result of developments
in the Church ’s institutional life the basis of tradition became
broader and more explicit. The supreme doctrinal authority
remained, of course, the original revelation given by Christ
’ De praescr. 15; 19; 37·
E.C.D.— 2 a
42 PROLEGOMENA

and communicated to the Church by His apostles. This was

the divine or apostolic ‘tradition ’ (παράδοσή traditio) in the
strict sense of the word. It was with reference to this that
Cyprian in the third century could speak 1 of ‘the root and
source of the dominical tradition ’, or of ‘ the fountain-head and
source of the divine tradition ’, and that Athanasius in the
fourth could point2 to ‘ the tradition . . . which the Lord gave
and the apostles proclaimed ’ as the Church ’s foundation-stone.
That this was embodied, however, in Holy Scripture, and
found a parallel outlet in the Church ’s general unwritten
teaching and liturgical life, was taken for granted, and the use
of the term ‘tradition ’, with or without such qualifications as
‘ecclesiastical’ or ‘of the fathers’, to describe this latter medium
now became increasingly common.
There is little need to dwell on the absolute authority ac­
corded to Scripture as a doctrinal norm. It was the Bible,
declared 3 Clement of Alexandria about a .d . 200, which, as
interpreted by the Church, was the source of Christian teach ­
ing. His greater disciple Origen was a thorough-going Biblicist
who appealed4 again and again to Scripture as the decisive
criterion of dogma. The Church drew her catechetical material,
he stated,5 from the prophets, the gospels and the apostles’
writings; her faith, he suggested,6 was buttressed by Holy
Scripture supported by common sense. ‘The holy and in ­
spired Scriptures’, wrote 7 Athanasius a century later, ‘are fully
sufficient for the proclamation of the truth ’; while his con ­
temporary, Cyril of Jerusalem, laid it down 8 that ‘with regard
to the divine and saving mysteries of faith no doctrine, how ­
ever trivial, may be taught without the backing of the divine
Scriptures. . . . For our saving faith derives its force, not from
capricious reasonings, but from what may be proved out of the
Bible.’ Later in the same century John Chrysostom badc 9 his
congregation seek no other teacher than the oracles of God;
everything was straightforward and clear in the Bible, and the
1 Ep. 63, 1; 74. IO · 2 Ad Scra P- 3 > 28 · 3 Strom. 7, 16, 93.
♦ E.g. de print. 1, pracf., 10; 1, 5, 4; 2, 5, 3. 5 C.Ceb.3,15.
6 De print. 3,6,6. 7 C. gent, i: cf. de syn. 6. 8 Cat. 4, 17.
’ In Col. horn. 9. v, in 2 hom. 3, 4 (PG 62, 361; 485).
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 43
sum of necessary knowledge could be extracted from it. In the
West Augustine declared
* that ‘in the plain teaching of Scrip ­
ture we find all that concerns our belief and moral conduct’;
while a little later Vincent of Lerins (f c. 450) took it as an
axiom 2 the Scriptural canon was ‘sufficient, and more than
sufficient, for all purposes ’.
Meanwhile certain shifts of emphasis are discernible in the
concept of tradition. Early third-century writers, like Clement
of Alexandria and Origen, continued to use language about it
closely akin to that of Irenaeus and Tertullian, and spoke of
‘the ecclesiastical canon ’ or ‘the canon of faith ’. The position
of both of them, it is true, is complicated by the fact that, in
addition to the Church ’s public tradition, they believed they
had access to a secret tradition of doctrine. Clement, who called
it a γνώσι,ς or παράδοσι?, regarded 3 it as stemming from the
apostles and including quasi-Gnostic speculations, while for
Origen
* it seems to have consisted of an esoteric theology based
on the Bible; in both cases it was reserved for the intellectual
élite of the Church. Although Clement seems to have confused
his secret Gnostic tradition with ‘the ecclesiastical canon ’, he
had clear ideas about the latter, and defined 5 it as ‘ the congru ­
ence and harmony of the law and the prophets with the
covenant delivered at the Lord ’s parousia ’ . According to
Origen,6 the rule of faith, or canon, was the body of beliefs
currently accepted by ordinary Christians; or again it could
stand 7 for the whole content of the faith. In his usage it was
equivalent to what he called ‘the ecclesiastical preaching’
(κήρυγμα 3 ), and he meant by it the Christian faith as taught in
the Church of his day and handed down from the apostles.
Though its contents coincided with those of the Bible, it was
formally independent of the Bible, and indeed included the
principles of Biblical interpretation.9

« De doct. christ. 2, 14. 2 Common. 2.

3 E.g. strom. 6, 7, 61; 6, 8, 68; 6, 15, 131.
4 E.g. c. Cels. I, 7; in Rom. 6, 8; horn, in los. 23, 4; comm, in M att. 10, 6.
s lb. 6, 15,125. 6 In loh. 13, 16, 98.
’ Frag. in 1 Cor. (in Journ. Theol. Stud, x, p. 42).
8 De princ. 3,1,1. 9 Cf. esp. ib. 4, 2, 2.
44 PROLEGOMENA

After Clement and Origen the idea of a ‘canon of faith ’

gradually lost the prominence it had previously enjoyed. Other
media were coming to be recognized as depositories of the
Church ’s living doctrinal inheritance. One of these was the
liturgy, which in the third century was acquiring a consider­
able measure of fixity. The title of Hippolytus’s famous collec­
tion of services, The Apostolic Tradition, dating from the early
third century, and also that of the much earlier Didache (‘The
Teaching of the Lord through the Twelve Apostles’), are re­
minders that the Church ’s whole liturgical apparatus, including
the baptismal and eucharistie rites which entered so deeply into
the ordinary Christian ’s devotional life, was regarded as em ­
anating from the apostles and so as reflecting their testimony.
Formal creeds, based on the solemn questions and answers at
baptism and the elaborate catechetical instruction which pre­
ceded it, were now coming into regular use. The current title
of the Western baptismal creed, symbolum apostolorum, and the
widely accepted story 1 of its compilation by the Twelve,
testify to the universal assumption that these brief formulae
were crystallizations of the primitive apostolic doctrine.
Synods and councils, particularly the ecumenical council of
Nicaea (a .d . 325), played an increasingly important role after
the middle of the third century, and the reverence paid to the
credal statements they promulgated stemmed from the belief
that they bore witness to and made explicit the faith once
delivered to the saints. In close conjunction with this the practice
of appealing to the orthodox fathers, whether as individuals or
assembled in synods, began to develop. If the theory, so dear
to Irenaeus and Tertullian, that the apostolically founded secs
could be relied upon to have preserved the apostles’ witness in
its purity had faded, its place was being taken by a growing con ­
sciousness of the magisterial authority of the Catholic Church.
The Roman church in particular (the evidence must be reserved
to a later chapter) regarded itself, and was regarded by many,
as in a special sense the appointed custodian and mouthpiece of
the apostolic tradition.
* Cf. explan. symb. ad init. (PL 17, 1155 f.); Rufinus, in jynib. apost. 2.
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURB 45

A few illustrations must suffice. Eusebius’s statement,1 when

submitting his creed at the council of Nicaea, that it was based
on teaching received from his episcopal predecessors, in the
course of catechetical instruction and at baptism, as well as on
the Bible, exactly reflects contemporary ideas about doctrinal
authority. It was natural for him, too, when looking for
depositories of the apostles’ witness, to single out2 a line of
orthodox worthies of the past— Hegesippus, Dionysius of
Corinth, Melito, Irenaeus, etc. So Athanasius, disputing with
the Arians, claimed 3 that his own doctrine had been handed
down from father to father, whereas they could not produce a
single respectable witness to theirs. The Nicene faith embodied
the truth which had been believed from the beginning. The
fathers of Nicaea, he declared,4 had merely ratified and passed
on the teaching which Christ bestowed and the apostles pro ­
claimed; anyone who deviated from it could not count as a
Christian. A century later, as Cyril’s correspondence with
Nestorius and the Chalcedonian Definition reveal, the Nicene
council and its creed enjoyed the prestige of unimpeachable
authorities. On the other hand, Basil made 5 the liturgical custom
of baptizing in the threefold name a pivot in his argument for
the coequality of the Spirit with Father and Son, pleading 6
that the apostolic witness was conveyed to the Church in the
mysteries as well as in Scripture, and that it was apostolic to
abide by this unwritten tradition. So when Gregory of Nvssa
desired to substantiate the unique generation of the Son, he
explained 7 that it was enough that ‘ we have the tradition de ­
scending to us from the fathers, like an inheritance transmitted
from the apostles along the line of holy persons who succeeded
them ’. In other writers, like Gregory of Nazianzus,8 Epi-
phanius9 and Chrysostom,10 the contrast between what is
handed down in writing (εγγράφως ) and unwritten tradition
(άγραφοι s') is clearly brought out. Epiphanius, it is noteworthy,

’ Ep. ad Caes. 2 (PG 20, 1537). 2 Hist. eccl. 4, 21.

3 De decret. Nie. syn. 27. 4 Ad Afr. 1; ad Serap. 1, 28
5 De Spir. sand. 26; 28; 67; 71. 6 lb. 66; 71.
7 C. Eunont. 4 (PG 45, 653). « Ep. 101 (PG 37, 176).
• Haer. 61, 6. 11 In 2 Thcss. horn. 4, 2 (PG 62, 488)
46 PROLEGOMENA

evidently regarded1 the Roman church (his attitude was not

singular) as having preserved the apostolic rule of faith uniquely
intact; but the supreme expression of it, he thought,2 was the
creed sealed by the fathers gathered in session at Nicaea.
Yet, if the concept of tradition was expanded and made more
concrete in these ways, the estimate of its position vis-à-vis
Scripture as a doctrinal norm remained basically unaltered. The
clearest token of the prestige enjoyed by the latter is the fact
that almost the entire theological effort of the fathers, whether
their aims were polemical or constructive, was expended upon
what amounted to the exposition of the Bible. Further, it was
everywhere taken for granted that, for any doctrine to win
acceptance, it had first to establish its Scriptural basis. A striking
illustration is the difficulty which champions of novel theo ­
logical terms like όμοούσιος (‘of the same substance’), or
again αγέννητος (‘ingenerate’ or ‘self-existent’) and άναρχος
(‘without beginning ’), experienced in getting these descrip ­
tions of the Son ’s relationship to the Father, or of God ’s eternal
being, generally admitted. They had to meet the damning
objection, advanced in conservative as well as heretical quarters,
that they were not to be found in the Bible. In the end they
could only quell opposition by pointing out (Athanasius3 in the
one case, and Gregory of Nazianzus4 in the other) that, even if
the terms themselves were non-Scriptural, the meaning they
conveyed was exactly that of Holy Writ. The creed itself,
according to Cyril of Jerusalem,5 Augustine 6 and Cassian,7 was
a compendium of Scripture. An exception to this general atti­
tude might seem to be Basil’s reliance, mentioned above, upon
tradition as embedded in the liturgy, rather than upon Scrip ­
ture, to demonstrate the full deity of the Holy Spirit. Even he,
however, makes it crystal clear, in the very discussion in ques ­
tion, that there is no contradiction between unwritten tradition
and the gospel,8 for in their traditionally transmitted teaching
the fathers have only been following what Scripture itself
‘ Haer. 27, 6: cf. Ambrose, ep. 42, 5; Rufinus, comm, in symb. apost. 3.
a Ancor. 118 f. J E.g. de decret. Nie. syn. 21.
♦ Or. 31, 23 f. ’ Cat. 5, 12. 6 Sernt. ad cat. 1.
’ De incam. 6, 3. * De Spir. sanet. 66.
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 47
*implies. Indeed, all the instances of unwritten tradition lacking
Scriptural support which the early theologians mention will be
found, on examination, to refer to matters of observance and
practice rather than of doctrine as such.
On the other hand, the ancient idea that the Church alone,
in virtue of being the home of the Spirit and having preserved
the authentic apostolic testimony in her rule of faith, liturgical
action and general witness, possesses the indispensable key to
Scripture, continued to operate as powerfully as in the days of
Irenaeus and Tertullian. Clement, for example, blamed 2 the
mistakes of heretics on their habit of ‘resisting the divine tradi­
tion ’, by which he meant their incorrect interpretation of
Scripture; the true interpretation, he believed, was an apostolic
and ecclesiastical inheritance. An examination of Origen ’s refer­
ences to ‘the ecclesiastical canon ’ suggests that, while it was
closely connected with and found confirmation in Holy Scrip ­
ture, it also threw light on the true intent of the Scriptural
writers. Athanasius himself, after dwelling on the entire
adequacy of Scripture, went on to emphasize 3 the desirability of
having sound teachers to expound it. Against the Arians he
flung the charge 4 that they would never have made shipwreck
of the faith had they held fast as a sheet-anchor to the σκοπος
Εκκλησιαστικός » meaning by that the Church ’s peculiar and
traditionally handed down grasp of the purport of revelation.
Hilary insisted 5 that only those who accept the Church ’s teach ­
ing can comprehend what the Bible is getting at. According to
Augustine,6 its doubtful or ambiguous passages need to be
cleared up by ‘the rule of faith ’; it was, moreover, the authority
of the Church alone which in his eyes7 guaranteed its veracity.
It should be unnecessary to accumulate further evidence.
Throughout the whole period Scripture and tradition ranked
as complementary authorities, media different in form but
coincident in content. To inquire which counted as superior
or more ultimate is to pose the question in misleading and

I lb. 16. 2 Strom. 7, 16, 103. 3 C. gent. 1.

* C. Ar. 3, 58. s In M att. 13, I. 6 Dr doct. christ. 3, 2.
7 C. ep. M anich. 6: cf. de doct. christ. 2, 12; c. Faust. M anich. 22, 79.
48 PROLEGOMENA

anachronistic terms. If Scripture was abundantly sufficient in

principle, tradition was recognized as the surest clue to its inter­
pretation, for in tradition the Church retained, as a legacy from
the apostles which was embedded in all the organs of her in ­
stitutional life, an unerring grasp of the real purport and mean ­
ing of the revelation to which Scripture and tradition alike bore
witness.

5. The Appeal to the Fathers

One final elaboration of the argument from tradition must

be mentioned before we leave the subject. In the previous
section we noticed the growing tendency, in the fourth
century, to appeal to the orthodox fathers of the past, as indi­
viduals or groups, as custodians and interpreters of the Church ’s
tradition. In the fifth century the practice was greatly extended,
explicit and even formal recognition being given to the
authority of the succession of venerated teachers. As an offshoot
of this the compilation of lists of fathers of unimpeachable
prestige, with select quotations from their writings, became a
favourite technique in theological debate.
Cyril of Alexandria provides an instructive example of this
new attitude in practice. Writing to the Egyptian monks in
defence of the Blessed Virgin ’s claim to be called mother of
God, he counselled1 them to follow in the steps of the holy
fathers, since it was they who had preserved the faith handed
down from the aposdes and had taught Christians to believe
aright. Again, he was prepared to affirm 2 that the correct
doctrine of the Trinity had been expounded by ‘the wisdom of
the holy fathers’. As against Ncstorius, he appealed3 to ‘the
holy, world-wide Church and the venerable fathers them ­
selves’, claiming that the Holy Spirit spoke in them. For the
more formal justification of his Christological position, he pre­
pared elaborate dossiers of patristic quotations, inserting them
in his controversial writings 4 and producing them at the

» Ad monach. (PG 77, 12; 13). * In loh. ev. 4, 11 (PG 74, 216).
3 Adv. Nest. 4, 2.
4 Cf. de recta fide ad regin.\ apol. c. Orient. (PG 76, 1212 ff.; 316 ff_).
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 49

council of Ephesus.1 A contemporary of a very different school

of thought, the Antiochene Theodoret, adopted exactly the
same position, speaking 2 of the orthodox faith as having been
transmitted to us, ‘not only by the apostles and prophets, but
also by those who interpreted their writings — Ignatius, Eusta­
thius, Athanasius, Basil, Gregory, John and the other luminaries
of the world — and also by the holy fathers who before these
assembled at Nicaea’. He added that any who deviated from
their teaching must be labelled enemies of the truth; and else­
where3 explained that the Holy Spirit inspired the fathers to
elucidate the darker passages of Scripture. He, too, compiled
dossiers of patristic authorities, and these found their way
into his Eranis tes.4
These developments might suggest that the tradition of the
fathers was coming to be treated as authoritative in its own
right. Such a reading of the evidence would, however, be mis ­
taken. Great as was the respect paid to the fathers, there was
no question of their being regarded as having access to truths
other than those already contained, explicitly or implicitly, in
Scripture. In the Christological controversy, for example,
Cyril’s ultimate appeal5 was always to its teaching — ‘ the tradi­
tion of the apostles and evangelists . . . and the bearing of
divinely inspired Scripture as a whole ’. Theodoret for his part
crystallized his position in the statement,6 T yield obedience to
Holy Scripture alone ’. In the eyes of both of them the authority
of the fathers consisted precisely in the fact that they had so
faithfully and fully expounded the real intention of the Bible
writers. What they found impressive was that so many famous
and saintly teachers, venerated in the whole Church, were
unanimous in their interpretation of Scripture and in their
statement of the doctrines set forth, or at any rate implied,
in it.
The results of this long evolution were codified in the middle
of the fifth century by Vincent of Lérins. Learned and godly
’ A.C.O. I, I, 7, 89 ff. 1 Ep. 89. J Ep. 151 (PG 83, 1440).
* Cf. PG 83, 81 ff.; 169 ff; 284 ff
5 De recta fide ad regin. 2 (PG 76, 1204): cf. quod unus sil Christus (PG 75.
1257). v 6 Eran. 1 (PG 83, 48).
50 PROLEGOMENA

men, he states,1 have often searched for a sure, universally

applicable rule for distinguishing the truths of the Catholic
faith from heretical falsehoods. What is necessary, he suggests,
is a twofold bulwark, the authority of the divine law (i.e. the
Bible) and the tradition of the Catholic Church. In itself, he
concedes, Scripture ‘is sufficient, and more than sufficient’; but
because it is susceptible of such a variety of interpretations, we
must have recourse to tradition. This ‘norm of ecclesiastical and
Catholic opinion ’, as he designates it, is to be identified with
‘ what has been believed everywhere, always and by all ’ (quod
ubique, quod semper, quod ab omnibus creditum est). Thus ‘we shall
conform to the principle of universality if we confess as alone
true the faith professed by the entire Church throughout the
world; to that of antiquity if we deviate in no particular from
the tenets manifestly shared by our godly predecessors and the
fathers; and equally to that of consent if, relying on former ages,
we make our own the definitions and opinions of all, or at any
rate the majority of, bishops and teachers’.
In practice, of course, heresy itself can often invoke preced ­
ents, and the scrutiny of the past sometimes reveals important
divergences of opinion. In such cases Vincent suggests2 that
the Christian will prefer the measured decision of a general
council to the hastily formed or ignorant opinions of indi­
viduals or of unrepresentative groups; and, failing a general
council, he will collate and examine the views of representative
fathers, especially of those who, living at different times and in
different parts of the world, have remained steadfast in the
faith and communion of the Catholic Church. Not that Vincent
is a conservative who excludes the possibility of all progress in
doctrine. In the first place, he admits3 that it has been the busi­
ness of councils to perfect and polish the traditional formulae,
and even concepts, in which the great truths contained in the
original deposit arc expressed, thereby declaring ‘not new
doctrines, but old ones in new terms’ (non nova, sed noue).
Secondly, however, he would seem to allow for an organic
development of doctrine analogous to the growth of the
1 Common. 2. * lb. 3 : cf. 27. J lb. 23.
 TRADITION AND SCRIPTURE 51

human body from infancy to age. But this development, he

is careful to explain, while real, must not result in the least
alteration to the original significance of the doctrine con ­
cerned. Thus in the end the Christian must, like Timothy,1
‘guard the deposit’, i.e. the revelation enshrined in its com ­
pleteness in Holy Scripture and correctly interpreted in the
Church ’s unerring tradition.
1 lb. 22: cf. 1 Tim. 6, 20.

NOTE ON BOOKS

L. Bouycr, ‘Holy Scripture and Tradition as Seen by the Fathers

* (art. in
East. Churches Quarterly, 1947); A. Deneffc, Der Traditionsbegriff (Münster
i.W., 1931); D. van den Eynde, Les Normes de renseignement chrétien dans la
littérature patristique des trois premiers siècles (Gcmbloux and Paris, 1937); E.
Flcsseman-van Leer, Tradition and Scripture in the Early Church (Asscn, 1954);
R. P. C. Hanson, Origen's Doctrine of Tradition (London, 1954); H. Holstein,
‘La Tradition des apôtres chez saint Irénéc (art. in Rech. des. sc. rel., 1949);
G. W. H. Lampe, ‘ Scripture and Tradition in the Early Church ’ (essay
in Scripture and Tradition, cd. F. W. Dillstonc, London, 1955); A. Michel,
‘Tradition ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.)·, G. L. Prestige, Fathers and Heretics,
chap. I (London, 1940); H. E. Symonds, ‘The Patristic Doctrine of the
Relation of Scripture and Tradition ’ (art. in East. Churches Quarterly, 1947).
 C H A PTER III

THE HOLY SCRIPTURES

I. The Old Testament

F o r the first hundred years, at least, of its history the Church ’s

Scriptures, in the precise sense of the word, consisted ex ­
clusively of the Old Testament. The books comprising what
later became known as the New Testament were, of course,
already in existence; practically all of them had been written
well before the first century ended, and they were familiar to
and used by second-century Christian writers. They had not
yet been elevated, however, to the special status of canonical
Scripture. Judaism, on the other hand, had its collection of
sacred, or ‘holy ’, books long before Christianity was born. The
official list, though not finally ratified by the rabbis till the council
of Jamnia c. a .d . 90, was virtually closed by the apostolic age,
and it was natural that the Church should appropriate it. She
instinctively claimed to be the new Israel, and as such the legiti­
mate heir both of the revelation and of the promises made to the
old. So when writers like Clement of Rome,1 ‘Barnabas’2 and
Justin 1 refer to Scripture (‘it is written ’, etc.), what they have in
view is almost always the Bible of the Jews. There were im ­
portant groups of second-century Christians (we shall discuss
them in a later section) who felt uneasy about the Old Testa­
ment, or even rejected it as completely alien to the gospel of
Christ, but they stood outside the central stream of Christianity.
For the Church as a whole it was a Christian book which spoke
of the Saviour on every page. Nor did this reverence for it
diminish when, in the later decades of the second century, the
New Testament writings won their way to recognition as
» E.g. 23; 34, 6; 35, 7; 46, 2 f. 2 E.g. 4, 7; 4, 11; 5, 4; 6, 12.
J Dial, passim.
52
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 53

inspired Scripture. Throughout the whole patristic age, as in ­

deed in all subsequent Christian centuries, the Old Testament
was accepted as the word of God, the unimpeachable source ­
book of saving doctrine.
It should be observed that the Old Testament thus admitted
as authoritative in the Church was somewhat bulkier and more
comprehensive than the twenty-two,1 or twenty-four,2 books
of the Hebrew Bible of Palestinian Judaism. (These conventional
totals were arrived at by reckoning 1 and 2 Samuel and 1 and 2
Kings as two books, the twelve minor prophets as one book,
Ezra-Nehemiah and 1-2 Chronicles as one book each, and, in the
case of the former, by attaching Ruth and Lamentations to
Judges and Jeremiah respectively.) It always included, though
with varying degrees of recognition, the so-called Apocrypha,
or deutero-canonical books. The reason for this is that the Old
Testament which passed in the first instance into the hands of
Christians was not the original Hebrew version, but the Greek
translation known as the Septuagint. Begun at Alexandria
about the middle of the third century b .c ., this became the Bible
of the Greek-speaking Jews of the Dispersion, and most of the
Scriptural quotations found in the New Testament are based
upon it rather than the Hebrew. For the Jews of Palestine the
limits of the canon (the term is Christian, and was not used in
Judaism) were rigidly fixed; they drew a sharp fine of demarca­
tion between the books which ‘defiled the hands’, i.e. were
sacred, and other religiously edifying writings. The outlook of
the Jewish communities outside Palestine tended to be much
more elastic. While respecting the unique position of the Penta ­
teuch, they treated the later books of the Old Testament with
considerable freedom, making additions to some and drastically
rewriting others; and they did not hesitate to add entirely new
books to the permitted list. In this way 1 (3) Esdras, Judith,
Tobit and the books of Maccabees came to be included among
the histories, and W isdom, Ecclesiasticus, Baruch, the Song of the
Three Holy Children, the History of Susannah, Bel and the Dragon

1 Cf. Josephus, c. Ap. 1, 8 (c. a .d . 90).

54 PROLEGOMENA

(these last three ‘the Additions to the Book of Daniel’), and the
Prayer oj Manasseh among the poetical and prophetic books.
In the first two centuries at any rate the Church seems to
have accepted all, or most of, these additional books as inspired
and to have treated them without question as Scripture.
Quotations from W isdom, for example, occur in i Clement 1 and
Barnabas, 2 and from 2 (4) Esdras and Ecclesiasticus in the latter.3
Polycarp 4 cites Tobit, and the Didache 5 Ecclesiasticus. Irenaeus
refers to 6 W isdom, the History of Susannah, Bel and the Dragon
and Baruch. The use made of the Apocrypha by Tertullian, Hip ­
polytus, Cyprian and Clement of Alexandria is too frequent for
detailed references to be necessary. Towards the close of the
second century, when as a result of controversy with the Jews
it became known that they were now united in repudiating
the deutero-canonical books, hesitations began to creep in;
Melito of Sardes {fl. 170), for example, satisfied himself,7
after a visit to Palestine, that the Hebrew canon was the
authoritative one. Origen, it is true, made extensive use of the
Apocrypha (as indeed of other truly apocryphal works), but
his familiarity as a scholar with the Hebrew Bible made him
conscious that there was a problem to be faced. A suggestion
he advanced8 was that, when disputing with Jews, Christians
should confine themselves to such books as they recognized;
but he added the caution that the further extension of such a
self-denying ordinance would necessitate the destruction of the
copies of the Scriptures currently read in the churches.
It was in the fourth century, particularly where the scholarly
standards of Alexandrian Christianity were influential, that
these doubts began to make their mark officially. The view
which now commended itself fairly generally in the Eastern
church, as represented by Athanasius,9 Cyril of Jerusalem,10
Gregory of Nazianzus" and Epiphanius,12 was that the deutero-
canonical books should be relegated to a subordinate position
1 3,4; 27, 5- 2 6.7· 1 12, 1; 19,9. *10,2.
’ 4,5. 6 Haer. 4, 26, 3; 4. 38, 3; 5. 5, 2; 5, 35, 1; dem. 97.
1 Cf. Eusebius, hist. eccl. 4, 26, 13 f. 8 Ep. ad Afric. 4 f.
9 Ep. heort. 39. 10 Cat. 4, 331 4· 35 f· 11 Cann. x, 12.
,a Haer. 8, 6; 76, 5.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 55

outside the canon proper. Cyril was quite uncompromising;1

books not in the public canon were not to be studied even in
private. Athanasius displayed greater flexibility, ruling 2 that
they might be used by catechumens for the purpose of instruc ­
tion. Yet it should be noted (a) that no such scruples seem to
have troubled adherents of the Antiochene School, such as John
Chrysostom and Theodoret; and (b) that even those Eastern
writers who took a strict line with the canon when it was
formally under discussion were profuse in their citations from
t

the Apocrypha on other occasions. This official reserve, how ­

ever, persisted for long in the East. As late as the eighth century
we find John Damascene maintaining 3 the Hebrew canon of
twenty-two books and excluding W isdom and Ecclesiasticus,
although he was ready to acknowledge their admirable
qualities. <

The West, as a whole, was inclined to form a much more

favourable estimate of the Apocrypha. Churchmen with Eastern
contacts, as was to be expected, might be disposed to push them
into the background. Thus Hilary, though in fact citing all of
them as inspired, preferred 4 to identify the Old Testament
proper with the twenty-two books (as he reckoned them) 1
extant in the Hebrew; while Rufinus described 5 W isdom, Ecclesi­
asticus, Tobit, Judith and 1 and 2 Maccabees as ‘not canonical, but
ecclesiastical’, i.e. to be read by Christians but not adduced as
authoritative for doctrine. Jerome, too, influenced by his long
residence in Palestine as well as by purely scholarly considera­
tions, declared6 about 391 that anything not in the Hebrew was
‘to be classed among the apocrypha ’, and did not belong to the
canon; somewhat later, in 398, he conceded 7 that the Church
read some of these books for edification, but not to support
doctrine. For the great majority, however, thedeutero-canonical
writings ranked as Scripture in the fullest sense. Augustine, for
example, whose influence in the West was decisive, made no
distinction between them and the rest of the Old Testament, to
1 lb. 4, 36. 2 Loe. cit. 3 De fide orth. 4, 17.
4 In pss. prol. 15. s Comm, in symb. apost. 38.
6 Praef in Sam. et M al.: cf. pracf. in Ezr.; cpp. 53, 8; 107, 12.
7 Praef. in lib. Sal.
56 PROLEGOMENA

which, breaking away once for all from the ancient Hebrew
enumeration, he attributed 1 forty-four books. The same in ­
clusive attitude to the Apocrypha was authoritatively displayed
at the synods of Hippo and Carthage in 393 and 397 respect­
ively, and also in the famous letter2 which. Pope Innocent I
despatched to Exuperius, bishop of Toulouse, in 405.

2. The New Testament Canon

The first writer to speak unequivocally of a ‘New ’ Testa ­

ment parallel to the Old was Irenaeus;3 But in teaching that it
was inspired Scripture he was by no means an innovator. The
author of 2 Peter
* had used language about St. Paul’s letters
which placed them on a level with ‘other scriptures’, i.e. the
Old Testament, and in Ignatius ’s5 eyes ‘the gospel’ was an
equivalent authority to the ‘prophets ’. 2 Clement 6 had introduced
a quotation from the First Gospel with the words, ‘Another
scripture says’; and both ‘Barnabas’7 and Justin 8 had prefaced
New Testament excerpts with the formula, ‘It is written ’.
After Irenaeus’s time, however, the fully scriptural character of
the specifically Christian writings was universally acknow ­
ledged, and the description of them as the ‘New Testament’ (a
title harking back to St. Paul’s designation 9 of the Jewish
Scriptures as ‘the old covenant’) came into vogue. Clement of
Alexandria, for example, speaks10 of ‘a fresh, new Testament’
being given to the new people of God; when reporting one of
the Lord ’s utterances, he says” that it is ‘according to the New
Testament’. We have Tertullian ’s statement12 that the Roman
church ‘ associates the Law and the prophets with the evangelical
and apostolic books ’. He recognized 13 a twofold collection of
equal authority which he called instrumentum utriusque testa ­
menti, and both Testaments were on his view alike ‘divine
Scripture’.14 Henceforth there could be no question that the
* De doct. christ. 2, 13.
1 Text in Journ. Theol. Stud, xni (1911-12), pp. 77-82.
» E.g. haer. 4, 9, I. 4 3. 5* £ ’ E.g. Stnyrn. 5, 1; 7, 2.
6 2, 4· 7 4. 14· 4 E.g. diaL 49. 5· ’ 2 Cor. 3, 14.
«° Paed. I, 59, I. ” Strom. 3, II, 71: cf. ib. 6, 15, 125.
« De praesa. 36. 11 Adv. Prax. 20. «« E.g. de test. anim. 5.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 57

Christian books belonged to what were called αί dyiac γραφαί,

sanctae scripturae or their numerous equivalents.
The formal recognition of a fixed Est, or canon, of New
Testament writings can be dated about the middle of the second
century. The first to draft one, so far as surviving evidence
shows, was Marcion, the heretic from Sinope, on the Black Sea,
who separated himself from the Catholic Church in Rome in
144. A Christian by upbringing, he declined to avail himself of
the allegorical methods of exegesis current in the Church, and
consequently found the Old Testament impossible to reconcile
with the gospel of Christ. The legalism and strict justice of the
one, he thought, and the grace and redeeming love revealed in
the other, stood for two antithetically opposed conceptions of
religion. Accepting the Old Testament as literally true, he con ­
cluded that there must be two Gods, a lower Demiurge who
created the universe (i.e. the God ofjudaism), and the supreme
God made known for the first time by Christ. The kinship
between his ideas and those of contemporary Gnosticism 1 can ­
not be denied (Irenaeus states2 that he was a disciple of the
Gnostic Cerdo), but he refrained from identifying the Demiurge
with the principle of evil. His dualism, however, led him to reject
the Old Testament, and it was natural that he should seek to
canonize an alternative set of Scriptures for use in his church.
St. Paul, so outspokenly hostile to the Law, was his hero, and he
regarded such Christian writings as seemed infected with a
Jewish outlook as suspect. Hence the list he drafted consisted of
St. Luke ’s Gospel, with all seemingly Judaizing passages ex ­
cised,3 and ten Pauline epistles (all, in fact, except the Pastorals)
similarly expurgated.4
The significance of Marcion ’s action should not be mis ­
understood. He has sometimes been acclaimed (e.g. by the
great German scholar Harnack) as the originator of the Catholic
canon, but this is an extravagant point of view. The Church
already had its roughly defined collection, or (to be more
precise) collections, of Christian books which, as we have seen,
1 Sec above, pp. 23-26. 2 Haer. 1, 27, 2.
3 Cf. Tcrtullian, c. M arc. 4 (csp. 4, 2). 4 Cf. id., c. M arc. 5.
58 PROLEGOMENA

it was beginning to treat as Scripture. The Lord ’s sayings, as

the use of them by St. Paul1 and the early fathers2 testifies, had
been treasured from the beginning, and about 150 we find
Justin familiar with all four gospels (the ‘memoirs of the
apostles’, as he calls3 them), and mentioning their use in the
weekly service. If it is too much to say that they already formed
a corpus, they were well on the way to doing so. Only a
generation later Irenaeus was to speak 4 of ‘the fourfold gospel’
(πτράμορφον ζύαγγζλιον) as the most natural thing in the
world, andTatian was to piece together his ‘ Harmony ’ (Diates-
saron) of the four evangelists. Further, although St. Paul’s
epistles took longer than the gospels to be universally ranked on
exactly the same level as the Old Testament (it is noteworthy
that none of Irenaeus’s 206 quotations from them is introduced
by scriptura ait), everything goes to suggest, not least intrinsic
probability, that they were very early grouped together as a
collection. Ignatius, for example, states5 that the Apostle makes
mention of the Ephesians ‘in every letter’; and Polycarp ’s
citations from them indicate that such a collection existed at
Smyrna. There arc numerous apparent echoes of them in
Clement which perhaps indicate6 that he was acquainted with
the nucleus of one as early as 95. It is altogether more probable,
therefore, that when he formulated his Apostolictmi, as when he
singled out the Third Gospel, Marcion was revising a list of
books currently in use in the Church than proposing such a list
for the first time.
Nevertheless, if the idea of a specifically Christian canon was
deeply rooted in the Church ’s own convictions and practice,
Marcion played an important part in the practical emergence
of one. What none of the great ecclesiastical centres, so far as
we know, had done, and what his initiative seems to have pro ­
voked them to do, was to delimit their lists of authorized
Christian books in a public, official way. The influence of
1 1 Thess. 4, 15; i Cor. 7, 10.
2 E.g. Ignatius. Smyrn. 3, 2; Polycarp, Phil. 2, 3; 7, 2; Papias, fraç. (in Euse­
bius, hist. eccl. 3, 39); Justin, 1 apol. 14-17.
1 E.g. 1 apol. 66; 67; dial. 103; 106. 4 Haer. 3, 11, 8.
’ Eph. 12, 2. 6 Cf. 47.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 59

Montanism, an ecstatic movement which originated in Phrygia

in 156 and whose founder, Montanus, and his chief associates
believed themselves to be vehicles of a new effusion of the
Paraclete, worked in the same direction. In the ‘oracles’ of
their prophets the Montanists saw 1 a revelation of the Holy
Spirit which could be regarded as supplementing ‘ the ancient
scriptures’ (pristina instrumenta). From now onwards, therefore,
it became a matter of immense concern to the Church that the
New Testament, as it was coming to be called, should be
credited with the right number of books, and the right books.
Tertullian, for example, defended against Marcion the inspired
character of the four gospels2 in their integrity and of Acts,3
as well as of thirteen Pauline epistles.4 He also recognized
Hebrews, attributing it to Barnabas,5 and both 1 John and
Revelation. 6 Yet nothing like an official catalogue appears in his
works. The earliest such catalogue of which we have evidence
is the Roman one contained in the so-called Muratorian frag ­
ment.7 Late second century in date and authoritative in tone,
this recognized the whole New Testament except Hebrews, 1
and 2 Peter, James and 3 John, assigned a place to W isdom and
the Apocalypse of Peter, admitted Hcrmas’s Shepherd as useful
reading, and branded Marcionite and Gnostic books as unfit for
perusal ‘in the Catholic Church ’. The text is very corrupt, and
emendations have been proposed restoring a mention of the
Petrine epistles, or at any rate of 1 Peter.
The development of the canon throughout the rest of our
period makes an exceedingly complicated story, and falls out­
side the scope of this book. The student should refer to
specialized manuals on the subject. The main point to be ob ­
served is that the fixation of the finally agreed list of books,
and of the order in which they were to be arranged, was the
result of a very gradual process. While the broad outline of the

’ Cf. Tertullian, de cant, resurr. 63. 2 C. M arc. 4, 2; 4, 5.

3 Ib. 5, 1; de praescr. 23.
4 He claims tnc Pastorals for St. Paul in c. M arc. 5, 21.
3 De pud. 20. 6 Ib. 19.
7 For the text sec A. Souter, Text and Canon of the New Testament (2nd
cd. 1954). PP· 191 ff·
6o PROLEGOMENA

canon was settled by the end of the second century, different

localities continued to maintain their different traditions, and
some (e.g. Alexandria in Origen ’s time 1) appear to have been
less partial to fixity than others. Three features of this process
should be noted. First, the criterion which ultimately came to
prevail was apostolicity. Unless a book could be shown to
come from the pen of an apostle, or at least to have the authority
of an apostle behind it, it was peremptorily rejected, however
edifying or popular with the faithful it might be. Secondly,
there were certain books which hovered for long on the fringe
of the canon, but in the end failed to secure admission to it,
usually because they lacked this indispensable stamp. Among
these were the Didache, Hcrmas’s Shepherd and the Apocalypse
of Peter. Thirdly, some of the books which were later included
had to wait a considerable time before achieving universal re­
cognition. For example, Hebrews was for long under suspicion
in the West, and Revelation was usually excluded in the fourth
and fifth centuries where the school of Antioch held sway. The
Western church was absolutely silent about James until the
latter half of the fourth century, and the four smaller Catholic
epistles (2 Peter, 2 and 3 John, Jude), absent from most early
lists, continued for long to be treated as doubtful in certain
circles. By gradual stages, however, the Church both in East
and West arrived at a common mind as to its sacred books. The
first official document which prescribes the twenty-seven books
of our New Testament as alone canonical is Athanasius’s
Easter Letter2 for the year 367, but the process was not every ­
where complete until at least a century and a half later.

3. The Inspiration of Scripture

From Judaism Christianity inherited the conception of the
divine inspiration of Holy Scripture. Whenever our Lord and
His apostles quoted the Old Testament, it is plain that they re ­
garded it as the word of God. This comes to light repeatedly in
« Cf. R. P. C. Hanson, Origen's Doctrine of Tradition, 1954, ch. 8.
a PG 26, 1437.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES

the New Testament records, but is explicitly affirmed in two l.i

passages in the later epistles: (a) ‘All scripture is inspired by ;r|
God and is useful for teaching, reproof, correction ’;1 and (b) ' h|
‘No prophecy ever came by the will of man, but men spoke ·. |
from God, being moved by the Holy Spirit’.2 These sentences ! M
crystallize what was to be the Church ’s attitude to the Old 'I
Testament throughout the whole period covered by this book, I H
and also towards the New Testament after it had been canonized l|
as an authority coordinate with the Old. The several books I.
were, as common usage expressed it,3 ‘written by the Holy . I
Spirit’; the human author served as God ’s instrument, and his !
tongue was, in words of the Psalmist (45, 1) which were fre­
quently applied 4 in this sense, ‘the pen of a ready writer’. i [I
It goes without saying that the fathers envisaged the whole ' <
of the Bible as inspired. It was not a collection of disparate |
segments, some of divine origin and others of merely human I
fabrication. Irenaeus, for example, is not surprised 5 at its fre- I
quent obscurity, ‘seeing it is spiritual in its entirety ’; while II
Gregory of Nyssa understands6 St. Paul to imply that every- I]
thing contained in Scripture is the deliverance of the Holy ,I
Spirit. Even Theodore of Mopsucstia, who distinguished 7 \ II
between the special inspiration of the prophets and the inferior ’
grace of ‘prudence’ granted to Solomon, was not really an jl
exception, for he was satisfied 8 that all the authors of both 11
Testaments wrote under the influence of one and the same \1
Spirit. Origen,9 indeed, and Gregory of Nazianzus10 after him,
thought they could perceive the activity of the divine wisdom
in the most trifling verbal minutiae, even in the solecisms,” of
the sacred books. This attitude was fairly widespread, and
although some of the fathers elaborated it more than others,
their general view was that Scripture was not only exempt
from error but contained nothing that was superfluous. ‘There
* 2 Tim . 3, 16. 2 2 Pet. 1, 21. ,
3 E.g. Origen, c. Cels. 5, 60; Basil, horn. in ps. 1, 1; Jerome, in Is. 29, 9 ft'. !
4 E.g Thcodorct, in pss. pracf. (PG 80, 865); Jerome, ep. 70, 7.
5 Haer. 2, 28, 2. 6 C. Eunom. 7 (PG 45, 744).
7 In lob (PG, 66, 697). 8 In Nah. 1, 1. |
’ In ps. I, 4 (PG 12, 1081). 10 Or. 2, 105. |i
11 Cf. Origen, in Os. (PG 13, 825 if.).
62 PROLEGOMENA

is not one jot or tittle ’, declared 1 Origen, ‘written in the Bible

which does not accomplish its special work for those capable of
using it.’ In similar vein Jerome stated 2 that ‘in the divine
Scriptures every word, syllable, accent and point is packed with
meaning ’; those who slighted the commonplace contents of
Philemon were simply failing, through ignorance, to appreciate
the power and wisdom they concealed.3 According to Chryso ­
stom/ even the chronological figures and the catalogues of
names included in Scripture have their profound value; and he
devoted two homilies to the salutations in Romans 16 in the
hope5 of convincing his auditors that treasures of wisdom lie
hid in every word spoken by the Spirit.
What was understood by inspiration in the patristic period?
In Alexandrian Judaism the popularly accepted theory had
been that it was a species of possession. Philo ’s explanation 6 of
the experience of the prophets was that, when God ’s Spirit
seized them, they lost consciousness; they no longer knew what
they were saying, or, rather, they no longer spoke but God
spoke through their lips. The Christian apologist Athenagoras
gives a similar account, representing 7 the prophets as prophesy­
ing in a state of ecstasy (κατ’ «κστασιν), and the Spirit as
breathing through them much as a musician breathes through
a pipe. But it was the Montanists, the ecstatic sect referred to
above,8 to whom this theory particularly appealed, and their
leaders, Montanus, Priscilla and Maximilia, supplied living
illustrations of it, falling unconscious when they prophesied.9
Not unnaturally, it found a vigorous defender in Tertullian 10
when he succumbed to the influence of Montanism. Again and
again we catch echoes of it in the language of Catholic writers,
as when Chrysostom speaks" of St. John and St. Paul as musical
instruments played upon by the Holy Spirit, or when Ambrose
describes12 the tumultuous disturbance of the prophetic mind.
’ Hom. in lerem. 39, 1 (Klostermann, 197). » In Eph. 2 (3, 6).
’ In Philcm. prol. ♦ In illud, Vidi dom. horn. 2, 2 (PG 56, no).
» In illud. Salutate hom. 1, 1 (PG 51,187).
6 Quis ret. div. haer. 249-6Ô; de spec. leg. 4, 48 f.
7 Ley. 7; 9. 8 Sec above, p. 59.
• Cf. Epiphanias, haer. 48, 4 ff. 10 C. Marc. 4, 22; 5, 8; dean. 11 ; 21.
" In loh. horn. 1, x f.; de Laz. cone. 6, 9. ’ » De Abrah. 2, 61.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 63

In general, however, while influenced by Philo ’s conceptions

and freely likening the Scriptural writers to instruments, the
orthodox tradition was careful to avoid the implication that
their role was purely passive. Hippolytus, for example, explains1
that when the Word moved the prophets, the effect was to
clarify their vision and instruct their understanding; and Origen,
rejecting all comparison between the inspired authors and the
ecstatic oracles of paganism, suggests2 that the Spirit’s function
was to cause the former to apprehend divine truth more clearly
without in any way suspending their free will. The burden
of Epiphanius ’s criticism 3 of the Montanists was his reminder
that, in distinction from them, the true prophets of God (by
whom he meant the writers of the Old and New Testaments)
were in a state of normal consciousness, in full possession of
their faculties, when they wrote. They understood, therefore,
what they were saying; and although Scripture sometimes
depicts them as falling victims to ecstasy, it would be erroneous
to deduce from this that they had lost the use of their reason.
Arguing on rather different lines, both Chrysostom· » and
Cyril of Alexandria5 make much of the personal contribution
of Moses, St. John and St. Paul in the actual composition of
their works. In the West Jerome emphasizes6 the normality of
the prophet’s condition, and underlines7 the differences of style,
general culture and background which they severally exhibit.
So Augustine, discussing the activity of the evangelists, admits8
that they used their own personal reminiscences in compiling
the gospels, the function of the Spirit being to stimulate their
memories and preserve them from error. It was not a case of
His imparting a fresh revelation to them; rather did He regulate
and control their mental powers.9
Unfortunately few, if any, of the fathers seem to have tried
to probe the deeper problems raised by their doctrine of inspira­
tion. With one or two exceptions we look in vain for any

’ De Christ, et antichr. 2. 2 C. Cels. 7, 3 f.; in Ezech. 6, 1 f.

3 Haer. 48, 1-10. 4 In Cen. hom. η, 4; 12, 1; 20, 4.
s In loh. I, 10; I, 18 (PG 73, 148; 176); in Rom. 7, 25; 8, 3.
6 In Is. prol. 7 In Is. prol.; in lerem. prol.; in Am . prol.
8 Senn. 246, I. 9 De consens, evang. 3, 30.
64 PROLEGOMENA

positive, constructive account (other than the theory of pos­

session, the perils of which they were usually alive to) of the
action of the Holy Spirit on the inspired writers. Augustine, it
is true, analyses1 at length the three principal types of vision
(corporal, spiritual and intellectual) which God employed to
communicate to them the things He desired them to declare.
Elsewhere he points out2 that in some cases the Spirit bestows a
direct vision on the prophet, in others instructs liis intelligence,
and in still others (e.g. that of Caiaphas) prompts him to utter
divine truth without knowing it. Theodore of Mopsuestia,
again, has some original speculations on the subject. In the first
place, while accepting the inspiration of the whole Bible, he
argues3 that the Holy Spirit’s action varied from writer to
writer; the special gift bestowed on the prophets, for example,
was in a different category from the grace of prudence which
Solomon possessed. Secondly, he attempts to explore the pheno ­
menon of prophecy itself. It involved a state of ecstasy, he
explains,4 which withdrew the prophet’s attention from liis im ­
mediate surroundings and focused it on ‘ the visions so frighten ­
ing and mysterious’ vouchsafed him by the Spirit. The organs
of sight were thus first affected, and then a verbal message might
be transmitted to his sense of hearing. Suggestions like these
have their value, but Augustine and Theodore were more or
less isolated pioneers. The majority were content to accept the
fact of the inspiration of the sacred writers, without examining
further the manner or the degree of its impact upon them.

4. The Unity of the Two Testaments

The inspiration of Scripture being taken for granted, the
Church had to work out the methods of exegesis to be em ­
ployed in interpreting it. The fundamental issue here, as was
very soon perceived, was to dete-mine the precise relation of
the Old Testament to the New, or rather (since at the earliest
stage there was no specifically Christian canon), to the revelation
1 De Gen. ad Hit. 12, 1-14. 1 De div. quaest. 2, q. 1, 1.
J In lob (PG 66, 697). ♦ In Nah. i, 1.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 65

of which the «apostles were the witnesses. As has already

been mentioned, the solution arrived at consisted in treating
the Old Testament as a book which, if it were read with un ­
clouded eyes, would be seen to be Christian through and
through. In adopting this attitude Christian theologians and
teachers were merely following the example of the apostles and
evangelists, and indeed of the Lord Himself. It is evident from
every page of the gospel records that the incarnate Christ
freely took up, applied to Himself and His mission, and in so
doing reinterpreted, the key-ideas of the Messiah, the Suffering
Servant, the Kingdom of God, etc., which He found ready to
hand in the faith of Israel. In harmony with this the essence of
the apostolic message was the proclamation that in the mani­
festation, ministry, passion, resurrection and ascension of the
Lord, and in the subsequent outpouring of the Spirit, the an ­
cient prophecies had been fulfilled. Whether we look to the
fragments of primitive preaching embedded in Acts, or to St.
Paul’s argumentation with his correspondents, or to the elabor­
ate thesis expounded in Hebrews, or to the framework of the
evangelists ’ narratives, we are invariably brought face to face
with the assumption that the whole pattern of the Christian
revelation, unique and fresh though it is, is ‘according to the
Scriptures’. In this connexion St. Luke ’s story 1 of the two dis­
ciples on the road to Emmaus is highly instructive, for it pre­
sents a vivid picture of the primitive Church ’s conviction that
all the events of Christ’s earthly career, together with their
profound redemptive implications, are to be understood as the
fulfilment of what was written about Him ‘in the law of
Moses, and in the prophets, and in the psalms’, and that the
ultimate warrant for this conviction was His own express
authorization.
As an illustration of post-apostolic practice we may cite the
author of 1 Clement. The focal-point of his thinking is the Old
Testament; not only is it the source-book for Christian be ­
haviour, but it also provides2 the prototype of the Christian
ministry and liturgy. In the second century we have Justin ’s
« Luke 24, 25-48. 1 E.g. 43.
66 PROLEGOMENA

*statement to Trypho the Jew that ‘the Scriptures are much

more ours than yours. For we let ourselves be persuaded by
them, while you read them without grasping their true im ­
port’. So the author of The Preaching of Peter represents2 the
apostles as saying: ‘Having unrolled the books we possess, and
in which the prophets mention Christ sometimes in parables,
sometimes in enigmas, sometimes clearly and distinctly, we
have discovered His coming, His death, His cross, all the other
sufferings the Jews inflicted on Him, His resurrection, His as­
sumption. ... And we say nothing apart from Scripture.’ ‘How
could we believe’, Justin exclaims,3 ‘that a crucified man is the
first-born of the ingenerate God, and that He will judge the
whole human race, were it not that we have found testimony
borne prior to His coming as man, and that we have seen that
testimony exactly fulfdled?’ It seems clear4 that, if he and his
contemporaries had not available a recognized anthology of
proof-texts or testimonia, they at any rate made use of an
established method of appealing to select portions of the Old
Testament, particularly from Isaiah, Jeremiah, certain of the
minor prophets, and the Psalms, which appeared to set forth
‘the determinate counsel of God ’ as fulfilled in the gospel.
There were others, however, who, taking their cue from Philo
of Alexandria,5 tried to make the task of interpretation easier
by a lavish resort to allegory. According to ‘Barnabas’,6 the
fatal error of the Jews was to let themselves be beguiled by the
literal sense of Scripture. What God really asked of His people
was not bloody sacrifices, as the Law seemed to prescribe, but
a contrite heart; not bodily fasting, but the practice of good
works; not abstention from certain forms of food, but the
avoidance of vices symbolized by them.7 ‘Barnabas’ even de ­
tected 8 a prophecy of the Saviour’s name and of His crucifixion
in the number (318) of Abraham ’s servants, since the Greek
letters for 18, viz. IH, point to ’Ιησού?, and that signifying 300,
viz. T, stands for the cross.
1 Dial. 29. 1 Cf. Clement Alex., strom. 6, 15, i 2 8.
1 1 apol. 53.
♦ Cf. C. H. Dodd, According to the Scriptures, 1952, pp. 126 f.
5 See above, pp. 19 £ 6 4> 7· 7 9 f· » 9.
 THE HOLY SCRIP

The orthodox assumption of the underlying unity between

the old and new dispensations did not meet with acceptance
with all Christians. It was repudiated, as we have seen,1 by
Marcion, who refused to admit the Old Testament as a Chris­
tian book at all. As a history of mankind and of the Jewish race
it might be entirely accurate, and it might have provisional
validity as a code of strict righteousness; but its author must
have been the Demiurge, not the God of love revealed by
Christ, and it must have been utterly superseded by the new
law proclaimed by the Saviour. On the other hand, a less
extreme attitude than Marcion ’s, but differing like his from the
official one, prevailed in Christian Gnostic circles. We have a
sample of this in the famous letter2 which the Valentinian
Ptolemaeus wrote about 160 to a catechumen named Flora.
First, he rejects both the orthodox thesis that the Mosaic law is
the work of the good God (its imperfections sufficiently refute
such an idea), and the contrary thesis that it must be attributed
to an evil Demiurge. Then he argues that the contents of the
Pentateuch fall into three sections, one indeed deriving from
God, but one also from Moses in his legislative capacity, and
one from the elders of the people. Finally, he distinguishes three
levels, as it were, in the section attributable to God. There are
first those divine precepts (e.g. the Decalogue) which involve
no imperfection and which Christ came, not to abolish, but to
fulfil. Then there are certain mixed injunctions, partly good
and partly bad (the lex talionis is an example), which Christ
definitely superseded. Thirdly, there arc what he calls ‘typical’
commandments, e.g. the laws relating to sacrifice and the cere­
monial law generally, which have value so long as they arc
treated, not literally, but as types or figures. From this it should
be plain that the God Who has inspired this tripartite legisla­
tion is not the absolute, unengendered Father, but His image,
the just Demiurge.
While readier than Marcion to acknowledge the spiritual
worth of at any rate portions of the Old Testament, Ptolemaeus
was at one with him in setting a gulf between the old
1 Sec above, p. 57. 2 Cf. Epiphanius, haer. 33, 3-7.
68 PROLEGOMENA

dispensation and the new. Views like his were inevitable

wherever the Gnostic distinction between the unknown supreme
God and the Demiurge prevailed, and made it necessary for the
Catholic Church to justify her own position more explicitly.
Not without reason has it been claimed 1 that ‘the real battle
in the second century centred round the position of the Old
Testament’. The outlines of this apologetic were traced by
Justin, when he argued 2 that, for example, Leah and Rachel
prefigured the Synagogue and the Church, or that the
polygamy of the patriarchs was a ‘mystery ’ (οικονομία).
The fullest statement, however, of the orthodox position is to
be found in Irenaeus, one of whose favourite themes3 is that the
Law of Moses and the grace of the New Testament, both
adapted to different sets of conditions, were bestowed by one
and the same God for the benefit of the human race. If the Old
Testament legislation appears less perfect than the New, this is
because mankind had to undergo a progressive development,
and the old law was designed for its earlier stages.4 Hence we
should not conclude that it was the product of a blind Demiurge
and that the good God came to abolish it; in the Sermon on the
Mount Christ fulfilled it by propounding a more intimate and
perfect justice.5 As for those passages which were stumbling-
blocks to the Marcionites (e.g. the story of Lot, or of the
spoiling of the Egyptians), what was required 6 was to look for
the deeper significance of which they were figures or types.
Similarly, so far from knowing only an inferior creator God,
the prophets had full cognizance of all the incidents of the
Incarnation,7 and were fully apprised of the Saviour’s teaching
and passion.8 The only difference is that prophecy, by its very
nature, was obscure and enigmatic, divinely pointing to events
which could only be accurately delineated after their historical
realization.9
From this time onwards the continuity of the two Testa­
ments becomes a commonplace with Christian writers. It is
1 F. C. Burkitt, Church and Gnosis. 1932, p. 129.
• Dial· 134» 2.» 141» 4- 3 Haer. 3» 12, 14» 4» passim.
* lb. 4. 13; 14; 38· 5 lb- 4. 12 f. 6 lb. 4, 30-1.
’ lb. 1,10, i. 8 lb· 4. 33» 12. « lb. 4, 26, 1.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 69

grounded in the fact, pointed out by Theophilus of Antioch,1

that both the prophets and the evangelists were inspired by one
and the same divine Spirit. The affirmation of the oneness of
God, imperilled by Gnostic speculation of every sort, was the
indispensable premiss for refuting the Gnostic separation of the
Testaments, and to demonstrate this oneness was the principal
task of Irenaeus and his contemporaries. As a result of their
efforts Tcrtullian can speak of ‘the peace which exists between
the Law and the gospel’,2 and of ‘the harmony between the
prophetic and the dominical utterances’.3 If there is a difference,
it docs not spring from any contrariety of the Old Testament
to the New, but from the fact that the latter is a drawing out of
what is contained in the former, as the mature fruit is a develop ­
ment of its seed.4 In Origen ’s eyes ‘ the dogmas common to the
so-called Old and New Testaments ’ form a symphony;5 if the
one precedes and the other follows Christ’s corporeal mani­
festation, there is no iota of difference between them.6 No
doubt the prophets’ mode of knowledge was different from
that of the apostles, for they contemplated the mysteries of the
Incarnation before their accomplishment; but that was a quite
accidental point. The Christians who will assist at Christ’s
second coming will know no more of it, though their know ­
ledge will be different in kind, than the apostles who foretold it;
and similarly the insight of the apostles must not be reckoned
superior to that of Moses and the prophets.7 The way was thus
early paved for the classic doctrine which Augustine was to
formulate in the epigram:8 Tn the Old Testament the New is
concealed, in the New the Old is revealed’.

5. Typology and Allegory

The method of exegesis presupposed in the preceding sec­
tion has in modern times been given the convenient name
‘typology ’. The fathers themselves used various terms to

> Ad Autol. 3, 12. 1 C. M arc. I, 19. 3 lb. 4, 39.

< lb. 4, ii. s In loh. 5, 8. 6 In M att. comm. 14, 4.
’ In loh. 6, 15-42. 8 Qiiacst. in hept. 2, q. 73.
70 PROLEGOMENA

describe it, chiefly perhaps ‘allegory ’, which was suggested to

them by St. Paul’s statement1 that the story of Abraham ’s two
sons was an ‘allegory ’ of the two covenants. ‘Allegory ’, how ­
ever, is best avoided in this connexion; the word led to con ­
fusion even in the patristic age, and its accepted meaning to-day
denotes a somewhat different type of exegesis from typology.
Since the fathers employed both typology and allegory (in
its modem sense), the distinction between the two methods
needs to be clearly brought out.
In allegorical exegesis the sacred text is treated as a mere
symbol, or allegory, of spiritual truths. The literal, historical
sense, if it is regarded at all, plays a relatively minor role, and
the aim of the cxegete is to elicit the moral, theological or
mystical meaning which each passage, indeed each verse and
even each word, is presumed to contain. A classic example is
Augustine’s well-known explanation 2 of the parable of the
Good Samaritan, according to which the traveller stands for
Adam, Jerusalem for the heavenly city from which he fell,
Jericho for his resulting mortality, the thieves for the devil and
his angels, the wretched plight in which they left him for the
condition to which he was reduced by sin, the priest and the
Levitc for the ineffective ministrations of the old covenant,
the Samaritan for Christ, the inn for the Church, and so on.
Allcgorism was well established in Alexandrian Judaism, and
Philo, as we have seen,3 made a systematic use of it to bridge
the chasm between the Old Testament revelation and his own
Platonizing philosophy. In the hands of such a second-century
Christian writer as ‘Barnabas’4 Philonic allcgorism was able to
detect a Christian significance in the least likely passages of the
Old Testament. The Christian Gnostics were even more daring,
applying allegory to the New Testament and interpreting the
incidents of the earthly life of Jesus as a complex pattern of
symbolism mirroring the drama of the aeons. Thus when St.
John reports that the Lord ‘went down to Capernaum ’, the
Gnostic commentator Heracleon deduces5 from the verb ‘went
1 Gal. 4, 24. * Quae st. evang. 2, 19. 3 Sec above, pp. 19 f.
4 See above, p. 66. 5 Cf. Origen, in loh. io, 48-59.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES

down ’ that Capernaum must signify the lowest stratum of

reality, i.e. the world of matter, and that the reason why Christ
apparently neither accomplished nor said anything there must
be that the material order was uncongenial to Him.
Typological exegesis worked along very different lines.
Essentially it was a technique for bringing out the correspond ­
ence between the two Testaments, and took as its guiding
principle the idea that the events and personages of the Old
were ‘types’ of, i.e. prefigured and anticipated, the events and
personages of the New. The typologist took history seriously;
it was the scene of the progressive unfolding of God ’s consistent
redemptive purpose. Hence he assumed that, from the creation
to the judgment, the same unwavering plan could be discerned
in the sacred story, the earlier stages being shadows or, to vary
the metaphor, rough preliminary sketches of the later. Christ
and His Church were the climax; and since in all His dealings
with mankind God was leading up to the Christian revelation,
it was reasonable to discover pointers to it in the great experi­
ences of His chosen people. This conception, it should be ob ­
served, was no invention of Christian theologians. In the Old
Testament itself the events of Israel’s past are construed as
figures or types of realities to come; Deutero-Isaiah1 in par­
ticular looked back to the redemption from Egypt as re­
capitulating, as it were, God ’s original victory over chaos, and
looked forward to a second Exodus from captivity in the
future and a renewal of creation. But a corollary of it was that
typology, unlike allegory, had no temptation to undervalue,
much less dispense with, the literal sense of Scripture. It was
precisely because the events there delineated had really hap ­
pened on the plane of history that they could be interpreted by
the eye of faith as trustworthy pointers to God ’s future dealings
with men.
Of these two methods of exegesis the characteristically
Christian one was typology, which had its roots firmly planted
in the Biblical view of history. In its struggle with the Marcion ­
ites the Church found it an invaluable weapon for countering
1 E.g. 51, 9-16.
72 PROLEGOMENA

their attempt to separate the two Testaments. Naturally it

posed great difficulties, the chief perhaps being that of deter­
mining, in the light of intelligible criteria, what features of the
Old Testament should be regarded as genuinely ‘typical’. The
fathers were not always aware of, much less able to solve, these,
and many of their essays in typology strike one as naïve and
arbitrary; nevertheless this was the formula which, consistently
though often fumblingly (often too, as we shall see, with the
aid of other less legitimate principles), they applied to the inter­
pretation of Scripture. It has been fashionable to distinguish
different schools of patristic exegesis, notably the Alexandrian
with its bias towards allegory, and the Antiochene with its
passion for literalism. Valid though this contrast is, it should
not be pressed to the extent of overlooking the underlying
unity, at the deeper level of typology, of the fathers’ approach
to the Scriptural revelation. There was general agreement
about cardinal issues, such as that Adam, or again Moses the
law-giver, in a real sense foreshadowed Christ; the flood pointed
to baptism, and also to the judgment; all the sacrifices of the old
Law, but in a pre-eminent way the sacrifice of Isaac, were
anticipations of that of Calvary; the crossing of the Red Sea
and the eating of manna looked forward to baptism and the
eucharist; the fall of Jericho prefigured the end of the world.
The list of correspondences could be expanded almost in ­
definitely, for the fathers were never weary of searching them
out and dwelling on them. They were united in believing that
what Origen called 1 ‘theJewish mystery (or dispensation) in its
entirety ’ was, as it were, a rehearsal of the Christian mystery.
The inherent difficulties of typology, however, made the
transition to allcgorism extremely tempting, especially where
the cultural environment was Hellenistic and impregnated with
Platonic idealism,2 with its theory that the whole visible order
is a symbolical reflection of invisible realities. Hence it is not
surprising that most of the fathers injected a strain of allegory,
some of them a powerful one, into their typology. Alexandria,
famous in the late second and third centuries for its catechetical
1 Hom. in lerem. io, 4. 2 See above, pp. 10 £
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 73

school, became the home of allegorical exegesis, with the great

Biblical scholar, Origen, as its leading exponent. An admirer1
of Philo, he regarded 2 Scripture as a vast ocean, or (using a
different image) forest, of mysteries; it was impossible to
fathom, or even perceive, them all, but one could be sure that
every line, even every word, the sacred authors wrote was
replete with meaning. Formally he distinguished 3 three levels of
signification in Scripture, corresponding to the three parts of
which human nature is composed: the bodily, the psychic and
the spiritual. The first was the straightforward historical sense,
and was useful for simple people; the second was the moral
sense, or the lesson of the text for the will; the third was the
mystical sense with relation to Christ, the Church or the great
truths of the faith. In practice Origen seems to have employed
a slightly different triple classification, comprising (a) the plain
historical sense, (b) the typological sense,4 and (c) the spiritual
sense,5 in which the text may be applied to the devout soul.
Thus when the Psalmist cries (3, 4), ‘Thou, O Lord, art my
support, my glory, and the lifter up of my head ’, he explains6
that it is in the first place David who speaks; but, secondly, it
is Christ, Who knows in His passion that God will vindicate
Him; and, thirdly, it is every just soul who, by union with
Christ, finds His glory in God.
This is but a single example of a method of exegesis which in
Origen ’s hands was capable of almost infinite ramifications.
Another might be his interpretation 7 of the holocaust and sin-
offering prescribed by the Law as pointing to (a) Christ’s
sacrifice, and (b) the sacrifice which each Christian, in imita ­
tion of Christ, should reproduce and accomplish in his heart.
It is evident that, working on these lines, there was no limit to
the symbolism which he was able to detect in Scripture. Indeed,
he makes8 the point that, thanks to the allegorical method, it is
1 Cf. comm. in M att. 15, 3.
2 Hom. in Ex. 9, r, in Gen. 9, 1; in Ezech. 4, 1.
3 De princ. 4, 2, 4 : cf. in M att, io, 14; horn, in Lev. 5, 5.
4 E.g. hom. in Num . 8, 1 (Baehrens, 49).
5E.g. in Cant. 2 (Baehrens, 165). 6 Sei. in ps. 3, 4.
7 Hom. in Lev. 1, 4 f.
8 De princ. 4, 2, 2; horn, in Num. 26, 3; horn, in lerem. 12, 1.
74 PROLEGOMENA

possible to interpret it in a maimer worthy of the Holy Spirit,

since it would not be proper to take literally a narrative or a
command unworthy of God. It is not true, as has sometimes
been alleged, that he did away with the literal meaning, although
he is satisfied1 that in a number of cases it is inacceptable. He
was undoubtedly prone, however, to ascribe too readily to the
inspiration of the Spirit the fanciful spiritual symbolism which
his fertile imagination discovered in almost every word or
image of the Bible. Every proper name, every number, all the
animals, plants and metals mentioned there seemed to him to be
allegories of theological or spiritual truths. Finally, not only
does he strive 2 to find a spiritual, in addition to the obvious
factual, sense in the gospels, but he is on occasion prepared 3 to
borrow the Gnostic technique of seeing in the episodes of
Christ’s life an image or representation of events accomplished
in die spiritual realm.
Although he was primarily a loyal and orthodox churchman,
the Platonizing strain in Origen ’s assumption that Scripture is a
patchwork of symbolism cannot be disguised. His predecessor
Clement, though not strictly an exegete, anticipated his method
and many of his leading ideas about exegesis. He expounded 4
the theory that all the loftiest truths can only be communicated
by symbols; Moses and the prophets had used them just as
much as the sages of Egypt and Greece, and the religiously
advanced Bible student must always be on the look-out for the
deeper meaning. Underlying this doctrine was the Platonic con ­
ception, shared by Origen too, that there is a hierarchy of
bemgs, and that the lower reflect, and can be treated as symbols
of, the higher. The Alexandrian theologians who followed
them, from Dionysius to Cyril, were all to a greater or lesser
extent infected with their predilection for allegory; and the
same can be said of the Palestinian (Epiphanius was a notable
exception) and Cappadocian fathers. Through their influence
the allegorizing tradition passed to the West, and is visible in
the expository writings, for example, of Hilary and Ambrose.
1 De princ. 4, 2, 5. 2 E.g. c. Cels. 2, 69.
» E.g. in loh. 10, 9 13» 59'. «c. * Cf. strom. 5 passim.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 75

The greatest of Latin exçgetes, Jerome, though in his later days

he became suspicious of allcgorism, accepted 1 Origen ’s three
senses of Scripture, deeming 2 that recourse to the spiritual mean ­
ing was made necessary by the anthropomorphisms, inconsist­
encies and incongruities in which the Bible abounded; and
Augustine employed allegory with the greatest freedom, de ­
lighting particularly in the mystical significance of names and
numbers. He seems to have held 3 that the same passage of
Scripture may have several different meanings, all of them
willed by the Holy Spirit. In a more formal vein he listed 4 four
senses of Scripture: the historical, the ‘etiological’ (an example
is Christ’s explanation in M att. 19, 8 of the reasons for Moses’
allowing a bill of divorcement), the analogical (which brings
out the complete harmony of the Old and New Testaments),
and the allegorical or figurative. His rule for determining
whether the literal or the figurative sense was the more correct
was that whatever can be shown to be inconsistent, if taken
literally, with propriety of life or purity of doctrine must be
taken figuratively. In a general way he thought5 that no inter­
pretation could be true which did not promote the love of God
or the love of man.

6. The Antiochene Reaction

The tradition of allegorical exegesis was thus securely estab ­
lished in the Church, although most of its later exponents were
more cautious than Origen and steered clear of his wilder
extravagances. Nevertheless a vigorous reaction against al-
legorism of every sort made itself manifest in the fourth and
fifth centuries. Its centre was Antioch, the ecclesiastical metro ­
polis of Syria, where a tradition of Bible study, with meticulous
attention to the text, had been fostered since the days of Lucian
(martyred 312). The chief theologians concerned in this were
Diodore of Tarsus (r. 330-c. 390), Theodore of Mopsuestia
1 Ep. 120, 12: cf. in Am . 4, 4; in Ezech. 16, 31.
1 In M att. 21, 5; in Gal. 5, 13.
3 Confess. 12, 42; de doct. christ. 3, 38.
* De util. cred. 5-8. 5 E.g. de doct. christ. 3: csp. 3, 14; 3, 23.
76 PROLEGOMENA

(c. 350-428)and Theodorct (c. 393-c 460), but practical illustra­

tions of the Antiochene method arc to be found in the sermons
of such a preacher as John Chrysostom (c. 347-407). Despite
differences of emphasis, the whole school was united in believ­
ing that allegory was an unreliable, indeed illegitimate, instru ­
ment for interpreting Scripture. The true key to its deeper
spiritual message where this was not already fully explicit, as in
genuine prophecy, was what they called ‘insight’ (0«ιφία). By
this they meant the power of perceiving, in addition to the
historical facts set out in the text, a spiritual reality to which
they were designed to point. Thus they accepted typology
proper— indeed, the classic definition of a type as ‘a prophecy
expressed in terms of things ’ (ή 8tà πραγμάτω ν . . . προφητεία)
was framed by Chrysostom 1— but tried to rescue it from
being exploited arbitrarily. For theoria to operate they con ­
sidered it necessary (a) that the literal sense of the sacred nar­
rative should not be abolished, (b) that there should be a real
correspondence between the historical fact and the further
spiritual object discerned, and (c) that these two objects should
be apprehended together, though of course in different ways.
The antithesis which the Antiochenes made between allegory
and theoria conics out in a remark of Scvcrian of Gabbala
(fl. c. 400) justifying the parallel he drew between the creatures
‘which the waters brought forth ’ (Gen. 1, 21) and Christians re­
generated by baptism. ‘It is one thing ’, he states,2 ‘to force
allegory out of the history, and quite another tiling to preserve
the history intact while discerning a theoria over and above it’.
Chrysostom is bringing out the same point when he divides3
Scriptural statements into (a) those which allow a ‘theoretic ’ in
addition to the literal sense, (b) those which are to be under­
stood solely in the literal sense, and (c) those which admit only
of a meaning other than the literal, i.c. allegorical statements.
In Diodorc’s formula/ ‘We do not forbid the higher inter­
pretation and theoria, for the historical narrative does not

1 De poenit. hotn. 6, 4: cf. in ps. 9, 4.

1 De creat. 4, 2 (PG 56, 459). 3 In ps. 9, 4.
* Praef. in pss. (cd. L. Mariés, Recherches de science religieuse, 1919), p. 88.
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 77

exclude it, but is on the contrary the basis and substructure of

loftier insights.... We must, however, be on our guard against
letting the theoria do away with the historical basis, for the
result would then be, not theoria, but allegory.’ In harmony
with this he freely admitted 1 the propriety of treating Cain as
prefiguring the synagogue, Abel the Church, and the spotless
lamb enjoined by the Law Christ. Similarly Theodore dis­
cerned 2 in the Israelites’ sprinkling of their doors with blood at
the Exodus an authentic sign of our deliverance by Christ’s
blood, and in the brazen serpent a type of the Lord ’s conquest
of death; while he agreed that in the experiences ofJonah God
foreshadowed Christ’s entombment and resurrection, and His
summons of mankind to eternal life.
As the theorists of the movement, Diodore and Theodore
were severest in applying its principles. The result was the
elimination of all purely allegorical or symbolical exegesis from
the Old and New Testaments, and the drastic limitation of both
the strictly prophetic and the typological elements in the Old.
Theodore, for example, refused to recognize such traditionally
accepted texts as Hos. n, i £; M ic. 4, 1-3; 5, 1 £; Hag. 2, 9;
Zech, ii, 12-14; I2 > ιθ; M ai. 1, 11 ; 4, 5 f. as directly Messianic;
they did not conform to his rigorous criteria, and their contexts
provided (he thought) a fully satisfying historical explanation.
Similarly he reduced 3 the number of Psalms which he allowed
to be directly prophetic of the Incarnation and the Church to
four (2; 8; 45; no). In the case of other Psalms (e.g. 21, 2; 69,
22) which had been applied to the Saviour either by the
apostolic writers or by Himself, he explained 4 that they lent
themselves to this use, not because they were predictive, but
because the Psalmist had been in an analogous spiritual pre ­
dicament. Yet he was prepared to concede that some Psalms
(e.g. 16; 55; 89) and prophecies (e.g. Joel 2, 28 £; Am . 9,
11; Zech. 9, 9; M ai. 3, 1), although not Messianic if taken
literally, could legitimately be interpreted as such in so far as

1 Art. cit. p. 88. 2 In Ion. praef. ; 2, 8 1T. (PG 66, 320 f.; 337-40).
3 Cf. R. Dcvreesse, Essai sur Théodore de M opsucste (Studi e Testi, 141,
1948), pp. 70 ff. 4 Cf. in Rom. 9, 14-21.
78 PROLEGOMENA

they were types which reached their true fulfilment in the

Christian revelation. His attitude to Canticles, which was almost
everywhere treated as an allegory of the Church, or else of the
loving soul’s intercourse with Christ, was equally cautious. Its
plain, literal meaning, he insisted, must be given full weight,
and it was in fact an epithalamium composed by Solomon to
celebrate his marriage with the Egyptian princess; but thereis no
reason to infer, as his later critics did, that he excluded the pos­
sibility of a spiritual interpretation as well. On the other hand,
his position, like Diodore ’s, must be admitted to have been an
extreme one. Other convinced Antiochenes, like Chrysostom
and Theodoret, while loyal to the principles of the school, felt
themselves free to apply them more flexibly. The former, while
stating his clear preference for the literal sense, is not averse1 on
occasion from citing the figurative as well. The latter is much
readier than Theodore to recognize2 the prophetic element in
the Psalms, and affirms3 that, so far from being an actual human
love-song, Canticles is a ‘spiritual work ’.
’ Cf. in Is. I, 22; 6, 6. 2 In pss. prol. 3 In Cant. prol.

NOTE ON BOOKS

Canon. E. C. Blackman, M arcion and H is Influence (London, 1948); J. Knox,

M ardon and the New Testament (Chicago, 1942); M. J. Lagrange,
Histoire ancienne du canon du nouveau testament (Paris, 1933); A. Mcrk,
‘Origenes und der Kanon des altcn Testaments’ (art. in Biblica, 1925);
A. Souter (rev. by C. S. C. Williams), The Text and Canon of the New
Testament (London, 1956); H. B. Swcte, Introduction to the O ld Testa ­
ment in Greek (Cambridge, 2 ed. 1914).
Inspiration. H. Cremer, ‘Inspiration ’ (art in Hauck ’s Realencyk.); E. Man-
genot, ‘Inspiration de l’Ecriture’ (art in D id. Théol. Cath.); W. San-
day, Inspiration (London, 1893).
Exegesis. G. Bardy, ‘Interpretation chez les pères’ (art. in D id. de la Bible:
Suppl.');]. Daniélou, Origen (Eng. trans., London, 1955); Sacramentum
Futuri (Paris, 1950); ‘The Fathers and the Scriptures ’ (art. in Theology,
1954); R. Dcvrcessc, Le Commentaire de Théodore de M opsueste sur les
psaumes (Vatican City, 1939)'» C. H. Dodd, According to the Scriptures
(London, 1952); R. M. Grant, The Letter and the Spirit (London, 1957);
 THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 79

g. P. C. Hanson, Allegory and Event (London, 1959); G. W. H. Lampe,

‘Typological Exegesis’ (art. in Theology, 1953); G. W. H. Lampe and
K. J. Woollcombc, Essays on Typology (London, 1957); H. de Lubac,
‘Typologie et allégorisme ’ (art. in Rech. sc. relig., 1947); Histoire et
esprit: Γ intelligence de l ’écriture d'après Origène (Paris, 1950); L. Pirot,
L ’ Œ uvre exégétique de Théodore de M opsueste (Rome, 1913); A. Vaccari,
‘La θιωρία antiochcna nclla scuola escgetica di Antiochia ’ (arts, in
Biblica, 1920 and 1934)·
 PART Π

THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

 C H A PTER IV

THE DIVINE TRIAD

I. One God the Creator

T h e classical creeds of Christendom opened with a declaration

of belief in one God, maker of heaven and earth. The mono ­
theistic idea, grounded in the religion of Israel, loomed large in
the minds of the earliest fathers; though not reflective theo ­
logians, they were fully conscious that it marked the dividing
line between the Church and paganism. According to Hermas,1
the first commandment is to ‘believe that God is one, Who
created and established all things, bringing them into existence
out of non-existence’. It was He Who ‘by His invisible and
mighty power and great wisdom created the universe, and by
His glorious purpose clothed His creation with comeliness, and
by His strong word fixed the heavens and founded the earth
above the waters’.2 For Clement3 God is ‘the Father and
creator of the entire cosmos’, and for ‘Barnabas’4 and the D i-
*
dache ‘our maker’. His omnipotence and universal sovereignty'
were acknowledged, for He was ‘the Lord almighty ’,6 ‘the
Lord Who governs the whole universe ’,7 and ‘the master of all
things ’.8 The reader should notice that at this period the title
‘almighty ’ connoted God ’s all-pervading control and sover­
eignty over reality ’·, just as ‘Father’ referred primarily to His
role as creator and author of all things.
These ideas derive almost exclusively from the Bible and
latter-day Judaism, rarely from contemporary philosophy.
Echoes of later Stoicism, however, are audible in Clement’s
references9 to God ’s ordering of His cosmos. When we pass to
1 M and. i, i. 2 Vis. I, 3, 4. J 19. 2.
4 19. 2. 5 1,2. * Did. 10, 3.
7 Barn. 21, 5. 8 1 Clem. 8, 2. ’ E.g. 20; 33
83
84 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

the Apologists, the infiltration of secular thought is even more

obvious. Aristides of Athens, for example, opened 1 the Apology
which he addressed to the emperor Hadrian (117-38), or pos­
sibly Antoninus Pius (138 — 61), with an outline demonstration
of God ’s existence based on Aristotle ’s argument2 from motion.
The consideration of the order and beauty of the universe in ­
duced him to believe in a supreme Being Who was the prime
mover and Who, remaining Himself invisible, dwelt in His
creation. The fact that there was a cosmos demanded a divine
craftsman to organize it. Sovereign and Lord, He has created
everything for man; reality came to be out of nothing at the
behest of Him Who is incorruptible, unchanging and invisible.
He Himself is uncreated, without beginning or end; He has no
form, no limits, no sex. The heavens do not contain Him
(here we detect a criticism of Stoic pantheism,3 with its identi­
fication of God with the world); on the contrary, He contains
them, as He contains everything visible and invisible. Hence
Christians ‘acknowledge God as creator and demiurge of all
things . . . and apart from Him worship no other God ’.4
In Justin the oneness, transcendence and creative role of God
arc asserted in language strongly coloured by the Platonizing
Stoicism 5 of the day. It was apparently his sincere belief6 that
the Greek thinkers had had access to the works of Moses. So
God is everlasting,7 ineffable and without name,8 changeless
and impassible,9 and ‘ingenerate’10 (αγέννητος : a technical term
stressing His unique unoriginateness in contrast to creatures).
He is also ‘the creator of the universe ’, the maker and Father of
all tilings; Himself above being, He is the cause of all existence,11
and Marcion was wrong in drawing a distinction between God
and the Demiurge.12 ‘We have learned ’, he states,13 ‘ that, being
good, He created all things in the beginning out of formless
matter.’ This was the teaching of Plato ’s Timaeus,'
* which Justin

I i; 4. 2 Sec above, p. 12. 3 Sec above, p. 13.

« 15, 3. s Sec above, p. 14. 6 1 apol. 44, 8; 59 , 1.
7 Ib. 13, 4. 8 lb. 9. 3*. 61, 11; 63, I- ’ Ib. 13. 4; 25,2.
10 Ib. 14, 1; 2 apol. 6, I. 11 7 apol. *3· K 56, 1; 3, 5; Σ
II 1 apol. 58, I. 13 Ib· I0 · 2 ·
14 E.g. 30; 53; 69: see above, p. II.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD »5

supposed 1 to be akin to, and borrowed from, that contained in

Genesis. For Plato, of course, pre-existent matter was eternal,
but it is improbable that Justin acquiesced in this dualist con ­
clusion; it is more likely 2 that he regarded the heaven and
earth which, according to Moses, had been created first as the
material out of which God formed His cosmos. A further im ­
portant point he made 3 was that, in creating and sustaining the
universe, God used His Logos, or Word, as His instrument.
The other Apologists were in line with Justin, although they
were more definite as regards creation ex nihilo. As Tatian
pointed out,4 the matter out of which the universe was made
was itself created by ‘the sole artificer of the cosmos ’, and He
created it through His Word. ‘From nothing ’, declared 5
Theophilus of Antioch, ‘God created whatever He willed, as
He willed it’; while Athenagoras spoke6 of ‘all things having
been made through His Word ’. Equally they all emphasized
His transcendence. ‘Is it not absurd ’, exclaimed7 Athenagoras,
‘ to level the charge of atheism against us, who distinguish God
from matter, and teach that God is one thing and matter
another, and that they are separated by a vast chasm? For the
Deity is unoriginate and eternal, to be apprehended by under­
standing and reason alone, whereas matter is originate and
perishable.’ For Theophilus 8 God was ‘without beginning
because uncreated ’, ‘immutable because immortal’, ‘Lord be ­
cause He is Lord over all things ’, ‘Father because He is prior to
all things ’, ‘ most high because He is above all things ’, ‘almighty
because He holds all things; for the heights of the heavens, the
depths of the abysses and the ends of the world are in His
hands’. He was particularly critical9 of the Platonic notion of
the eternity of matter, arguing that, if it were true, God could
not be the creator of all tilings, and therefore His ‘monarchy ’,
i.c. His position as the sole first principle, must go by the board.
As he expressed it, ‘The power of God is manifested in this,
that out of things that arc not He makes whatever He pleases’.

1 Ib. 59. * Cf. ib. 59, 5- 3 Ib. 59; 64; 2 apol. 6.

4 O r. 5, 1-3. 3 Ad Auto!. 2, 4. 6 Supplie. 4, 2.
7 Ib. 4, i f. 8 Ib. i, 5. 9 Ib. 2, 4.
86 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

With Irenaeus the affirmation of God as one and as creator

assumed special prominence; his task was different from that
of the Apologists, being to rebut the Gnostics’ theory of a
hierarchy of aeons descending from an unknowable Supreme
God, with its corollary of a gulf between Him and the creator
or Demiurge. One or two texts make his position clear. ‘It is
proper’, he wrote,1 ‘that we should start with the first, most
important proposition, viz. God the creator (a demiurgo deo),
Who made heaven and earth and everything in them, the God
Whom they (i.e. the Gnostics) blasphemously describe as an
abortive product; and that we should show that there is nothing
above or after Him ... since He is alone God, alone Lord, alone
creator, alone Father, and alone contains all things and bestows
existence on them.’ The first article of our faith, he explained,2
is ‘God the Father, increate, unengcndcred, invisible, one and
only Deity, creator of the universe’; Christ’s own words imply
that the world has but one fabricator, and that He is identical
with the God proclaimed by the Law and the prophets.3 He
taught4 that God exercises His creative activity through His
Word and His Wisdom, or Spirit, and was a firm believer in
creation ex nihilo, pointing out5 that ‘men indeed cannot make
anything out of nothing, but only out of material already
before them; God is superior to men in this prime respect, that
He Himself furnished the material for His creation although it
had no previous existence’.
To establish these principles Irenaeus appeals,6 in addition to
Scripture, to our natural reason: ‘Created things must neces­
sarily draw the commencement of their existence from some
first cause; and God is the commencement of all. He comes
from no one, and all things come from Him. . . . Among all
things is included what we call the world, and in the world
man. So this world has also been created by God.’ Again, he
delights7 to expose the contradiction involved in postulating a
scries of emanations of graded degrees of divinity: ‘ By the very

1 Haer. 2, 1, 1: cf. dem. 4 f. 1 Dem. 6. ï Haer. 2, II, i.

4 lb. 2, 30, 9; dem. 5. s Haer. 2, io, 4.
6 Dem. 4: cf. haer. 2, 6, 1. 7 Haer. 2, I, 4.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 87
reasoning by which they strive to show that there is a Pleroma,
or God, above the creator of heaven and earth, it will be pos ­
sible to maintain that there is another Pleroma above the
Pleroma, another again above that, and above Bythos another
ocean of deity ... and thus, their doctrine tailing off ad infinitum,
they will always be required to conceive of other Pleromata and
other Bytlii.’ In any case, every subordinate emanation must
share the nature of its principle, 1 but the very notion of God ­
head excludes a plurality of Gods. ‘Either there must be one
God Who contains all things and has made every creature
according to His will; or there must be many indeterminate
creators or gods, each beginning and ending at his place in the
series. . . . But in this case we shall have to acknowledge that
none of them is God. For each of them . . . will be defective in
comparison with the rest, and the title “ Almighty ’” will be
reduced to nought.’2 The Demiurge of Gnosticism cannot be
God since he has another superior to himself.3

2. The Church's Faith

The doctrine of one God, the Father and creator, formed the
background and indisputable premiss of the Church ’s faith.
Inherited from Judaism, it was her bulwark against pagan poly ­
theism, Gnostic emanationism and Marcionite dualism. The
problem for theology was to integrate with it, intellectually,
the fresh data of the specifically Christian revelation. Reduced
to their simplest, these were the convictions that God had
made Himself known in the Person ofjesus, the Messiah, raising
Him from the dead and offering salvation to men through Him,
and that He had poured out His Holy Spirit upon the Church.
Even at the New Testament stage ideas about Christ’s pre ­
existence and creative role were beginning to take shape, and a
profound, if often obscure, awareness of the activity of the
Spirit in the Church was emerging. No steps had been taken
so far, however, to work all these complex elements into a
coherent whole. The Church had to wait for more than three
« lb. 2, 17, 7. 2 lb. 2, I, 5· 3 lb. 4, 2, 5.
88 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

hundred years for a final synthesis, for not until the council of
Constantinople (381) was the formula of one God existing in
three co-equal Persons formally ratified. Tentative theories,
however, some more and some less satisfactory, were pro ­
pounded in the preceding centuries, and it will be the business
of this chapter and the next to survey the movement of thought
down to the council of Nicaea (325).
Before considering formal writers, the reader should notice
how deeply the conception of a plurality of divine Persons was
imprinted on the apostolic tradition and the popular faith.
Though as yet uncanonizcd, the New Testament was already
exerting a powerful influence; it is a commonplace that the out­
lines of a dyadic and a triadic pattern arc clearly visible in its
pages.1 It is even more marked in such glimpses as are obtainable
of the Church ’s liturgy and day-to-day catechetical practice. In
the primitive period there were no stereotyped creeds of the kind
that later became regular, but it is clear that, as in the apostolic
age, the main theme of the Church ’s propaganda, as of her
worship, was that God had sent His Son, the Messiah Jesus,
Who had died, risen on the third day, ascended to heaven, and
would return in glory. The writings of Ignatius2 and Justin 3
suggest that this very early began to settle down in semi-fixed
formularies. Often these included a reference to the Holy
Spirit, the inspirer of the Old Testament prophets and the gift
bestowed in these latter times on the faithful. As the second
century advances, we come across more detailed citations of
‘the rule of faith ’, i.e. the teaching inherited from the apostles
and set out in freely worded summaries.4 Sometimes these are
cast in a dyadic mould and refer to the Father and the Lord
Jesus Christ, but the triadic pattern, affirming belief in the
Father Who created the universe, in His Son Jesus Christ, and
in the Holy Spirit, gradually becomes normal. An illustration
may be quoted from a treatise5 of Irenaeus’s which gives
1 For a summary of the evidence sec J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds
(London, 1950), chap. I.
1 E.g. Eph. 18, 2; Trail. 9; Smyrn. I, I f.
’ E.g. 1 apol. 21, 1; 31, 7; dial. 63, 1; 126, 1. ♦ Sec above, p. 40.
! Dem. 6.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 89

a very fair picture of intelligent catechetical instruction at

this period:
Tills, then, is the order of the rule of our faith.... God the
Father, not made, not material, invisible; one God, the
creator of all things: this is the first point of our faith. The
second point is this: the Word of God, Son of God, Christ
Jesus our Lord, Who was manifested to the prophets accord ­
ing to the form of their prophesying and according to the
method of the Father’s dispensation; through Whom (i.e.
the Word) all things were made; Who also, at the end of the
age, to complete and gather up all things, was made man
among men, visible and tangible, in order to abolish death
and show forth life and produce perfect reconciliation
between God and man. And the third point is: the Holy
Spirit, through Whom the prophets prophesied, and the
fathers learned the things of God, and the righteous were
led into the way of righteousness; Who at the end of the age
was poured out in a new way upon mankind in all the earth,
renewing man to God.
The baptismal rite is the liturgy with which we are best
acquainted for this time, and the evidence it provides is in
complete harmony with this. Whether or not baptism was
administered in the apostolic age, as many New Testament
texts seem to imply, in the name of Jesus, the triadic pattern
was not slow in asserting itself, no doubt under the influence
of the Lord ’s command recorded in M att. 28, 19. So the Didachc
prescribed 1 baptism in the threefold name. Justin relates2 that
those who arc to be baptized ‘arc conducted by us to a place
where there is water, and there, in the same manner as we
ourselves were regenerated, they are regenerated in turn. In the
name of God the Father and master of all things, and of our
Saviour Jesus Christ, they are washed in the water’. Later he
adds3 that baptism is ‘in the name of God the Father and master
of all things ’, of ‘Jesus Christ, Who was crucified under
Pontius Pilate ’, and ‘of the Holy Spirit, Who foretold by the
> 7, 1-3. 1 1 apol. 61,3. 3 lb. 61,10-13.
90 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

prophets the whole story of Jesus’. Clearly he has in mind a

liturgical formula which was already stereotyped, as has
Irenaeus when he reports,1 ‘We received baptism for the re­
mission of sins in the name of God the Father, and in the name
of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, Who was incarnate and died
and rose again, and in the Holy Spirit of God ’. A similar
pattern formed the ground-plan of the doxology (‘glory to
the Father of all tilings, in the name of the Son and of the
Holy Spirit’) which Justin assumes2 to have been included in
the eucharistie prayer, as also of the doxology (‘I glorify Thee
through the everlasting and heavenly high-priest Jesus Christ,
Thy beloved Son, through Whom be glory to Thee together
with Him and the Holy Spirit’) with which Poly carp is re­
lated 3 to have ended his prayer before his martyrdom.
The ideas implicit in these early catechetical and liturgical
formulae, as in the New Testament writers’ use of the same
dyadic and triadic patterns, represent a prc-reflective, pre-
thcological phase of Christian belief. This in no way diminishes
their interest and importance. It was out of the raw material
thus provided by the preaching, worshipping Church that
theologians had to construct their more sophisticated accounts
of the Christian doctrine of the Godhead.

3. The Apostolic Fathers

The earliest writers we have to consider, the Apostolic
Fathers, appear as witnesses to the traditional faith rather than
interpreters striving to understand it. Nevertheless their deliver­
ances, usually fragmentary and often naïve, furnish useful
insight into the lines along which the Church ’s unconscious
theology was developing; and this insight is all the more valu ­
able because, so far from being a homogeneous group, they
were the spokesmen of widely differing trends.
Little can be gleaned from the first of them, Clement of
Rome. He coordinates the Three in an oath/ ‘As God lives,
* Dent. 3: cf. ib. 7. 1 1 apol. 65.
J M art. Polyc. 14, 3· 4 58, 2.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 91

and the Lord Jesus Christ lives, and the Holy Spirit’; and again
in the question,1 ‘Have we not one God, and one Christ, and
one Spirit of grace poured upon us? ’ As for Christ, he takes2
His pre-existence prior to the incarnation for granted, since it
was He Who spoke through the Spirit in the Psalms, and Who
is ‘the sceptre of majesty ’, i.e. the instrument through which
God has ever exercised His sovereignty. He is also ‘ the way by
which we have found salvation, the high-priest of our offer­
ing ’; through Him we ‘gaze up to the heights of heaven ’.3
The Holy Spirit Clement regarded 4 as inspiring God ’s prophets
in all ages, as much the Old Testament writers as himself. But
of the problem of the relation of the Three to each other he
seems to have been oblivious.
2 Clement and ‘Barnabas’ have each special traits of their own.
The former opens5 by advising its readers to ‘ think of Jesus
Christ as of God, as of the judge of living and dead ’. He is our
Saviour, and ‘through Him we have known the Father of
truth ’.6 In a later chapter the author lays bare his underlying B iii

conception of the relation of Christ to the Father, stating 7 that hi

‘ being first of all spirit, Christ the Lord, Who saved us, became
flesh and so called us ’. It seems plain that in using this language
he was not, as one might be tempted to infer, confusing the
Son and the Holy Spirit, for elsewhere8 he identifies the latter
with the pre-existent, spiritual Church, which he evidently re­
gards as distinct from the pre-existent Christ. Hence, though
his thought is obscure, he seems to acknowledge three — God
the Father, Christ Who was spirit and became flesh, and the
Holy Spirit, the heavenly Church and mother of the faithful.
Hints of a similar two-level use of ‘spirit’ occur in ‘Barnabas’.
Sometimes he makes reference,9 in traditional fashion, to the
Spirit as inspiring prophets and as having prepared in advance
those whom God calls; but he also speaks10 of Christ’s body as
‘the vessel of spirit’, presumably denoting by the word the
spiritual nature of the divine element in the Lord. The chief

1 46. <5. » 22, ΐ; Ιό, 2. 3 36, I f.

4 8, 1; 13, 1; 16, 2; 63, 2. 5 I» I. 6 lb. 3, I-
7 9. 5· 8 14.3. 9 6,14; 12,2; 19,7. 10 7» 3; ii. 9
92 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

interest of his theology, however, is the prominence it gives to

Christ’s pre-existence. It was He Who cooperated 1 with God
the Father at creation (the words, ‘Let us make man in our
image’, were addressed to Him); He conversed with Moses,
and before the incarnation received His mandate from the
Father.2 He is ‘Lord of the entire cosmos’, and it is His glory
that ‘all things arc in Him, and unto Him ’.3
Ignatius and Hermas are rather more revealing, although
their approaches differed markedly. The centre of Ignatius’s
thinking was Christ. It is true that he assigned a proper place to
the Holy Spirit. He was the principle of the Lord ’s virginal con ­
ception;4 it was by Him that Christ established and confirmed
the Church ’s officers;5 He was the gift sent by the Saviour, and
spoke through Ignatius himself.6 Further, the triadic formula
occurs thrice 7 at least in his letters, the most notable example
being a picturesque simile comparing the faithful to stones
forming the temple built by God the Father; the cross of Jesus
Christ is the crane by which they are hoisted up, and the Holy
Spirit the hawser. Much more frequently, however, he speaks
of God the Father and Jesus Christ, declaring8 that ‘there is. one
God, Who has revealed Himself through His Son Jesus Christ,
Who is His Word emerging from silence’. Christ is the Father’s
‘thought’ (γνώμη), ‘the unlying mouth by which the Father
spoke truly ’.9 Ignatius even declares10 that He is ‘our God ’, de­
scribing” Him as ‘God incarnate’ (εν σαρκΐ γενόμενο? θεός ) and
‘God made manifest as man ’ (θεοΰ άνθρωπίνως φανερούμενού).
He was ‘in spirit (πνευματικών) united with the Father’.12 In
His pre-existent being ‘ingenerate’ (αγέννητος : the technical
term reserved to distinguish the increatc God from creatures),
He was the timeless, invisible, impalpable, impassible one Who
for our sakes entered time and became visible, palpable and
passible.13 His divine Sonship dates from the incarnation.14

« 5, 5; 6, 12. 1 14. 3; 14, 6- 3 s, 5; 12, 7·

4 Eph. 18, 2. 5 Philad. inscr. 6 Eph. 17, 2; Philad. 7, 1.
’ Eph. 9, 1; M agn. 13, 1; 13, 2. 8 ΛΜ?π. 8, 2.
• Eph. 3, 2; Rom. 8, 2.
«° E.g. Eph. inscr.; 18. 2; Trail. 7. i; Rom. inscr. ’ ’ Eph. 7, 2; 19. 3.
*« Smyrn. 3. 3. 13 Eph. 7, 2; Polyc. 3, 2. «♦ Smyrn. 1, 1.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 93

In view of this language the conclusion has sometimes been

drawn 1 that, while echoing the triadic scheme made official by
the baptismal formula, Ignatius was really an ‘economic trini­
tarian ’, i.e. regarded God as an undifferentiated monad in His
essential being, the Son and the Spirit being merely forms or
modes of the Father’s self-revelation, only distinguishable from
Him in the process of revelation. A closer analysis, however,
shows how misleading this interpretation is as an account of
Ignatius’s thought. This, it should be noted, was steeped in the
Fourth Gospel, and its strong emphasis on the oneness of
Christ with the Father reflects such Johaimine texts as i, I £;
io, 30; 14, 9; 17, 5. In tracing His divine Sonship to His con ­
ception in Mary ’s womb, he was simply reproducing a com ­
monplace of pre-Origenist theology; the idea did not convey,
and was not intended to convey, any denial of His pre ­
existence. So far as Ignatius is concerned, he definitely states2
that He ‘existed with the Father before the ages’, and that He
‘came forth from the unique Father, was with Him and has re ­
turned to Him ’. Phrases like these imply a real distinction, as
do the passages3 in which he compares the relation of deacons to
the bishop, or of the church to the bishop, to that of Christ to the
Father. Numerous other contexts suggest that His independ ­
ence vis-à-vis the Father was not limited to His earthly sojourn,
such as (a) the formulae4 of greeting and farewell affixed to the
letters, and (b) Ignatius’s requests5 to his correspondents to
address their prayers to Jesus Christ. But the only hint he gives
of the nature of this distinction within the unity of the divine
spirit (πνεύμα) is that Christ is the Father’s ‘thought’ (γνώμη).
The atmosphere completely changes when we pass to
Hermas. Preoccupied with repentance and the sovereignty of
the one, creative God, he nowhere mentions the name ofJesus,
and only discusses His Person in two of his Similitudes. The
first, a parable obviously modelled on the gospel one, tells6 the

1 Notably by F. Loofs (cf. Leitfaden zum Studium der Dogmengeschichte,

5 cd. 1950, §15, 4)· 1 M agn. 6, 1; 7, 2.
J Trail. 3, i; M agn. 6, 1; 7. K Smyrn. 8, 1.
4 Eph. 21, 2; M agn. inscr.; Trail. 13, 2; Rom. inscr.
» Eph. 20, 1; Roni. 4, 2; Smyrn. 4, 1. 6 Sim. 5, 2.
94 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

story of a land-owner who entrusted his vineyard during his

absence to a servant, and was so pleased on his return with his
management of it that, after consulting ‘his well-beloved son
and heir’, he decided to make him joint-heir’ with his son.
The landowner, Hermas explains,1 is the Creator, the estate the
world, and the servant the Son of God; the landowner’s
‘beloved son ’, we gather, is the Holy Spirit. Later, because the
Son of God seems to have been assigned altogether too lowly a
status, he amends2 his interpretation. The servant, apparently,
was not, as the first account might appear to suggest, a mere
man, but God had caused ‘the holy, pre-existent spirit’ to in ­
dwell Him; it was because His flesh cooperated so willingly
and successfully with this divine spirit that God promoted Him
to be ‘a partner with the Holy Spirit’. In the second of the two
Similitudes, which describes the Church under the figure of a
tower built upon an unshakable rock, the Son of God is again
identified 3 with holy spirit (‘ that holy spirit which spoke with
you in the likeness of the Church is the Son of God ’); and
*
Hennas represents Him as bom before the world, the Father’s
counsellor in His creative work, the pillar of all creation, and as
having been manifested in these latter days.
Hennas clearly envisages three distinct personages— the
master, i.e. God the Father, his ‘well-beloved son ’, i.e. the
Holy Spirit, and the servant, i.e. the Son of God, Jesus Christ.
The distinction between the three, however, seems to date from
the incarnation; as pre-existent the Son of God is identified 5
with the Holy Spirit, so that before the incarnation there would
seem to have been but two divine Persons, the Father and the
Spirit. The third, the Saviour or Lord, was elevated to be their
companion as a reward for his merits, having cooperated nobly
with the pre-existent Spirit which indwelt him. Hermas’s
theology was thus an amalgam of binitarianism and adop-
tionism, though it made an attempt to conform to the triadic
formula accepted in the Church. It was still further com ­
plicated by being crossed with a totally different set of ideas. In
’ Sim. 5, 5. 1 lb. 5, 6. a lb. 9, 1, 1.
♦ lb. 9. 12, 1-5; 9. U. 5· s lb. 9, i, i.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 95

a number of passages’ we read of an angel who is superior to the

six angels forming God ’s inner council, and who is regularly
described as ‘most venerable ’, ‘holy ’, and ‘glorious’. This
angel is given the name 2 of Michael, and the conclusion is
difficult to escape that Hennas saw in him the Son of God and
equated him with the archangel Michael. Both, for example,
are invested with supreme power over the people of God;3 both
pronounce judgment on the faithful;4 and both hand sinners
over to the angel of repentance to reform them.5
The evidence to be collected from the Apostolic Fathers is
meagre, and tantalizingly inconclusive,. Christ’s pre-existence,
it should be noted, was generally taken for granted, as was His
role in creation as well as redemption. This theme, which could
point to Pauline and Johannine parallels, claimed in very easily
with the creative functions assigned to Wisdom in later
Judaism.6 The theory that the divine element in Christ was pre ­
existent spirit had wide currency and could take various forms.
There is evidence also, as we observed in the preceding para ­
graph, of attempts to interpret Christ as a sort of supreme
angel; here the influence of Jewish angelology 7 is discernible.
Of a doctrine of the Trinity in the strict sense there is of course
no sign, although the Church ’s triadic formula left its mark
everywhere.

4. The Apologists and the W ord

The Apologists were the first to try to frame an intellectually

satisfying explanation of the relation of Christ to God the
Father. They were all, as we have seen, ardent monotheists,
determined at all costs not to compromise this fundamental
truth. The solution they proposed, reduced to essentials, was
that, as pre-existent, Christ was the Father’s thought or mind,
and that, as manifested in creation and revelation, He was its
extrapolation or expression. In expounding this doctrine they
’ Vis. 5, 2; matid. 5, 1, 7; sim. 5, 4, 4; 7, 1, 5; 8, 1, 2.
2 Sim. 8, 3, 3. J lb. 5, 6, 4 ; 8, 3, 3.
4 lb. 8, 3, 3; 9, 5, 2-7; 9, 6, 3-6; 9, 10, 4.
s lb. 8, 2, 5; 8, 4, 3; 9, 7, i C 6 See above, p. 18.
’ Sec above, p. 18.
96 TILE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

had recourse to the imagery of the divine Logos, or Word,1

which had been familiar to later Judaism as well as to Stoicism,
and which had become a fashionable cliche through the influ ­
ence of Philo. Others had, of course, anticipated them. In the
Fourth Gospel,2 for example, the Word is declared to have
been with God in the beginning and to have become flesh in
Christ, while for Ignatius3 Christ was the Father’s Word issuing
from silence. The Apologists’ originality (their thought was
more Philonic than Johannine) lay in drawing out the further
impheations of the Logos idea in order to make plausible the
twofold fact of Christ’s pre-temporal oneness with the Father
and His manifestation in space and time. In so doing, while
using such Old Testament texts as Ps. 33, 6 (‘By the word of
the Lord were the heavens made ’), they did not hesitate to
blend with them the Stoic technical distinction 4 between the
immanent word (λόγος ενδιάθετος ) and the word uttered or
expressed (λόγος προφορικός }.
Their teaching appears most clearly in Justin, although his
theology is far from being systematic. His starting-point was
the current maxim that reason (the ‘germinal logos ’ = λόγος
σπερματικός ) was what united men to God and gave them
knowledge of Him. Before Christ’s coming men had pos­
sessed, as it were, seeds of the Logos and had thus been enabled
to arrive at fragmentary facets of truth.5 Hence such pagans as
‘lived with reason ’ were, in a sense, Christians before Chris­
tianity.6 The Logos, however, had now ‘assumed shape and
become a man ’ in Jesus Christ; He had become incarnate in His
entirety in Him.7 The Logos is here conceived of as the Father’s
intelligence or rational thought; but Justin argued 3 that He was
not only in name distinct from the Father, as the light is from
the sun, but was numerically distinct too (και άριθμίρ ετερον) .
His proof, which he was particularly concerned to develop
against Jewish monotheism, was threefold. The Word ’s other­
ness, he thought, was implied (a) by the alleged appearances of
1 See above, pp. 13 f.; 20-22. 2 I, I ff.
> M agn. 8, 2: ct Eph. 3, 2; Rotn. 8, 2. 4 Sec above, pp. 13 f.
s 1 apol. 32, 8; 2 apol. 8, 1; 10, 2; 13, 3. 6 i apol. 46, 3.
’ lb. 5, 4; 2 apol. 10, I. 8 Dial. 128, 4.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 97

God in the Old Testament (e.g. to Abraham by the oaks of

Mamre), which suggest’ that, ‘below the Creator of all things,
there is Another Who is, and is called, God and Lord ’, since it is
inconceivable that ‘ the Master and Father of all things should
have abandoned all supercelestial affairs and made Himself
visible in a minute comer of the world ’; (b) by the frequent
Old Testament passages (e.g. Gen. I, 26: ‘Let us make man
etc.’) which represent God as conversing with another, Who is
presumably a rational being like Himself;2 and (c) by the great
Wisdom texts, such as Prov. 8, 22 ff. (‘The Lord created me a
beginning of His ways etc.’), since everyone must agree that the
offspring is other than its begetter.3 So the Logos, ‘having been
put forth as an offspring from the Father, was with Him before
all creatures, and the Father had converse with Him ’.4 And He
is divine: ‘being Word and first-begotten of God, He is also
God ’.5 ‘Thus, then, He is adorable, He is God ’;6 and ‘we adore
and love, next to God, the Logos derived from the increate and
ineffable God, seeing that for our sakes He became man ’.7
The incarnation apart, the special functions of the Logos,
according to Justin, are two: to be the Father’s agent in creating
and ordering the universe,8 and to reveal truth to men.9 As
regards His nature, while other beings are ‘things made ’
(ττοίηματα 10) or ‘creatures’ (χτίσματα 11 ), the Logos is God ’s
‘offspring’ (γε'ρρημα 12), His ‘child ’ (τε'κρορ13) and ‘unique Son ’
(ό μορογερη?14) * ‘ before all creatures God begat, in the begin ­
ning, a rational power out of Himself’.15 By this generation
Justin means, not the ultimate origin of the Father’s Logos or
reason (this he docs not discuss), but His putting forth or
emission for the purposes of creation and revelation; and it is
conditioned by, and is the result of, an act of the Father’s will.16
But this generation or emission does not entail any separation
between the Father and His Son, as the analogy between human
1 lb. 56, 4; 60, 2. 2 lb. 62, 2.
3 lb. 129, 3 f.: cf. ib. 61, 3-7; 62, 4. 4 lb. 62, 4.
s 1 apol. 63, 15. 6 Dial. 63, 5. 7 2 a P°l- 13. 4-
8 1 apol. 59; 64, 5; 2 a P°l- 6, 3.
9 1 apol. 5, 4; 46; 63» 10; 2 apol. 10,1 £; etc. 10 2 apol. 6, 3; dial. 62, 4.
“ Dial. 61,i; 100, 2. 12 1 apol. 21, 1 ; dial . 62, 4 13 Dial. 125, 3.
14 Ib. 105, I. ,s Ib · 61, I. 16 lb. 6t, i; 100, 4; 127, 4; 128, 4.
98 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

reason and its extrapolation in speech makes clear. ‘When wc

utter a word, we give birth to the word (or reason) within us,
but without diminishing it, since the putting of it forth entails
no abscission. We observe much the same when one fire is
kindled from another. The fire from which it is kindled is not
diminished but remains the same; while the fire which is
kindled from it is seen to exist by itself without diminishing
the original fire ’.1 Elsewhere2 Justin uses the analogy of the
impossibility of distinguishing the light from the sun which is
its source in order to argue that ‘ this Power is indivisible and
inseparable from the Father’, and that His numerical distinction
from the Father docs not involve any partition of the latter’s
essence.
Tatian was a disciple ofJustin ’s, and like his master spoke 3 of
the Logos as existing in the Father as His rationality and then,
by an act of His will, being generated. Like Justin, too, he
emphasized 4 the Word ’s essential unity with the Father, using
the same image of light kindled from light. ‘The birth of
the Logos involves a distribution (μσ/Ησμόν), but no sever­
ance (αποκοπήν). Whatever is severed is cut off from its
original, but that which is distributed undergoes division in the
economy without impoverishing the source from which it is
derived. For just as a single torch serves to light several fires and
the light of the first torch is not lessened because others are
kindled from it, so the Word issues forth from the Father’s
power without depriving His begetter of His Word. For ex ­
ample, I talk and you listen to me; but I, who converse with
you, am not, by the conveyance of my word to you, made
empty of my word.’ At the same time Tatian threw 5 into
sharper relief than Justin the contrast between the two suc ­
cessive states of the Logos. Before creation God was alone, the
Logos being immanent in Him as His potentiality for creating
all things; but at the moment of creation He leaped forth from
the Father as His ‘primordial work ’ (epyov πρω τότοκον).
Once born, being ‘spirit derived from spirit, rationality from
» Didi. 6l, 2. 1 lb. 128, 3 f. J Or. 5, 1.
* Ib. 5, i f. 5 Ib. 5, i.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 99

rational power’, He served as the Father’s instrument in creat­

ing and governing the universe, in particular making men in the
divine image.1
The teaching of Theophilus of Antioch followed similar lines,
although he frankly used the Stoic technical terms appropriate
to the underlying system of ideas. ‘God ’, he wrote,2 ‘having
His Word immanent (ενδιάθετον) in His bowels, engendered
Him along with His wisdom, emitting Him before the uni­
verse. He used this Word as His assistant in His creative work,
and by Him He has made all things. This Word is called First
Principle because He is the principle and Lord of all things
fashioned by Him ’. Again, dealing with the sonship of the
Logos, he wrote:3 ‘He is not His Son in the sense in which
poets and romancers relate the birth of sons to gods, but rather
in the sense in which the truth speaks of the Word as eternally
immanent (ε’νδιά#ετον) in God ’s bosom. For before anything
came into being He had Him as His counsellor, His own intel­
ligence and thought. But when God willed to create what He
had planned, He engendered and brought forth (ε^ε'ννησε
ττροφορίκόν) this Word, the first-begotten of all creation. He did
not thereby empty Himself of His Word, but having begotten
Him consorts with Him always’. Like Justin, Theophilus re ­
garded 4 the Old Testament theophanies as having been in fact
appearances of the Logos. God Himself cannot be contained in
space and time, but it was precisely the function of the Word
Whom He generated to manifest His mind and will in the
created order.
A rather fuller account is given by Athenagoras. In a famous
passage,5 after stating that the unoriginate, eternal and invisible
God has created and adorned, and actually governs, the universe
by His Word, he goes on to identify the Word as the Son of
God. Repudiating the objection that there is something ridicul­
ous in God ’s having a son, he protests that God ’s Son is not like
the children of men, but is ‘the Father’s Word in idea and
in actualization ’ (ε’ν ίδε'α και ε’νερχεια). It was by Him, and
1 Ib. 7, i f. 2 Ad Autol. 2, io. ’ Ib. 2, 22.
■» Ib. s Supplie. 10, 1 ff.
100 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

through Him, that everything was made, and the Father and
the Son form a unity. ‘The Son being in the Father and the
Father in the Son by the unity and power of divine spirit, the
Son of God is the Father’s intelligence and Word ’ (νους καί
λόγος ). To make his meaning clearer, Athenagoras then points
out that, while He is God ’s offspring, He never actually came
into being (ούχ ώς γενόμενον), ‘for God from the beginning,
being eternal intelligence, had His Word (λόγον) in Himself,
being eternally rational’ (ά ιδίως λογικός ). A more correct
account would be, that He ‘issued forth ’ (προελθών : again
the idea of λόγος προφορικός ) into the world of formless
matter as the archetypal idea and creative force. In support of
this he quotes Prov. 8, 22, ‘The Lord created me as a beginning
of His ways for His works ’, without stressing, however, the
verb ‘created’. In a later chapter1 he speaks of ‘the true God
and the Logos Who derives from Him ’, dwelling on the unity
and fellowship which exist between Father and Son; and else­
where2 he describes the Son as the Father’s ‘intelligence, Word,
wisdom ’.
There are two points in the Apologists ’ teaching which,
because of their far-reaching importance, must be heavily
underlined, viz. (a) that for all of them the description ‘God
the Father’ connoted, not the first Person of the Holy Trinity,
but the one Godhead considered as author of whatever exists;
and (b) that they all, Athenagoras included, dated the genera­
tion of the Logos, and so His eligibility for the title ‘Son ’, not
from His origination within the being of the Godhead, but from
His emission or putting forth for the purposes of creation,
revelation and redemption. Unless these points arc firmly
grasped, and their significance appreciated, a completely dis­
torted view of the Apologists’ theology is liable to result. Two
stock criticisms of it, for example, are that they failed to dis­
tinguish the Logos from the Father until He was required for
the work of creation, and that, as a corollary, they were guilty
of subordinating the Son to the Father. These objections have a
superficial validity in the light of post-Nicene orthodoxy, with
1 Supplie. 12, 2 1 lb . 24, I.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD ιοί

its doctrine of the Son ’s eternal generation and its fully worked-
out conception of hypostases or Persons; but they make no
sense in the thought-atmosphere in which the Apologists
moved. It is true that they lacked a technical vocabulary
adequate for describing eternal distinctions within the Deity;
but that they apprehended such distinctions admits of no doubt.
Long before creation, from all eternity, God had His Word or
Logos, for God is essentially rational; and if what later theology
recognized as the personality of the Word seems ill defined in
their eyes, it is plain that they regarded Him as one with Whom
the Father could commune and take counsel. Later orthodoxy
was to describe His eternal relation to the Father as generation;
the fact that the Apologists restricted this term to His emission
should not lead one to conclude that they had no awareness of
His existence prior to that. Similarly, when Justin spoke of Him
as a ‘second God ’ worshipped ‘in a secondary rank ’,1 and when
all the Apologists stressed that His generation or emission re ­
sulted from an act of the Father’s will, their object was not so
much to subordinate Him as to safeguard the monotheism
- - - - - - - - O - - .

which they considered indispensable. The Logos as manifested

must necessarily be limited as compared with the Godhead
Itself; and it was important to emphasize that there were not
two springs of initiative within the Divine Being. That the
Logos was one in essence with the Father, inseparable in His
fundamental being from Him as much after His generation as
prior to it, the Apologists were never weary of reiterating.

5. The Apologists and the Trinity

What the Apologists had to say about the Holy Spirit was
much more meagre, scarcely deserving the name of scientific
theology. This is understandable, for the problem which
principally exercised them was the relation of Christ to the God ­
head. Nevertheless, being loyal churchmen, they made it their
business to proclaim the Church ’s faith, the pattern of which
was of course triadic.
« Cf. 1 apol. 13, 3.
102 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

On several occasions Justin coordinates the three Persons,

sometimes quoting 1 formulae derived from baptism and the
eucharist, and at other times echoing official catechetical teach ­
ing. Thus he counters2 the charge of atheism brought against
Christians by pointing to the veneration they pay to the Father,
the Son and ‘the prophetic Spirit’. Indeed, references to ‘the
holy Spirit’ or ‘the prophetic Spirit’ abound in his writings;
and although he was often hazy about the relation of His
functions to those of the Logos, the attempts he made3 to
extract testimony to His existence as a third divine being from
Plato ’s writings prove that he regarded the two as really dis­
tinct. According to Tatian,4 ‘the Spirit of God is not present in
all, but He comes down upon some who live justly, unites
Himself with their souls, and by His predictions announced
the hidden future to other souls ’. Athenagoras conceived 5 of
the Spirit as inspiring the prophets, and was familiar6 with the
triadic formula; he even defined 7 the Spirit as ‘an effluence
(œnoppoLav) of God, flowing from and returning to Him like
a beam of the sun ’. Theophilus, parting company at this point
with Justin, identified8 the Spirit with Wisdom, equating the
latter with the spirit which, according to Ps. 33, 6, God used
along with His Word in creation. He was the first to apply the
term ‘triad ’ to the Godhead, stating 9 that the three days which
preceded the creation of sun and moon ‘were types of the
Triad, that is, of God and of His Word and of His Wisdom ’.
Yet, as compared with their thought about the Logos, the
Apologists appear to have been extremely vague as to the exact
status and role of the Spirit. His essential function in their eyes
would seem to have been the inspiration of the prophets. De ­
veloping this, Justin interprets10 Is. 11, 2 (‘The Spirit of God
shall rest upon him ’) as indicating that with the coming of
Christ prophecy would cease among the Jews; henceforth the
Spirit would be Christ’s Spirit, and would bestow His gifts and
graces upon Christians. Hence it is He Who is the source of
1 Cf. 1 apol. 61, 3-12; 65, 3. 1 lb. 6, 1 f.
J lb. 60, 6 f.: cf. Pseudo-Plato, ep. 2, 312 c. 4 Or. 13, 3.
s Supplie. 7, 2; 9, i. 6 lb. 10, 3. ’ lb.
* Ad Autol. I, 7; 2, 18. ’ lb. 2, 15. «° Dial. 87, 2 if.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 103

the illumination which makes Christianity the supreme philo ­

sophy.1 There are passages,2 however, where he attributes the
inspiration of the prophets to the Logos; and Theophilus, too,
suggests3 that it was the Logos Who, being divine spirit, il­
luminated their minds. There can be no doubt that the Apolo ­
gists’ thought was highly confused; they were very far from
having worked the threefold pattern of the Church ’s faith into
a coherent scheme. In this connexion it is noteworthy that
Justin did not assign the Holy Spirit any role in the incarnation.
Like other prc-Nicene fathers, he understood 4 the divine Spirit
and ‘power of the Most High ’ mentioned in Luke 1, 35, not as
the Holy Spirit, but as the Logos, Whom he envisaged as
entering the womb of the Blessed Virgin and acting as the
agent of His own incarnation.
In spite of incoherencies, however, the lineaments of a
Trinitarian doctrine are clearly discernible in the Apologists.
The Spirit was for them the Spirit of God; like the Word, He
shared the divine nature, being (in Athenagoras’s words) an
‘effluence’ from the Deity. Although much ofjustin ’s language
about Him has a sub-personal ring, it becomes more personal
when he speaks of ‘the prophetic Spirit’; and there is no
escaping the personal implications contained in his pleas5 that
Plato borrowed his conception of a third One from Moses, and
that the pagan custom of erecting statues of Korc at springs was
inspired by the Scriptural picture of the Spirit moving upon the
waters. As regards the relation of the Three, there is little to be
gleaned from Justin beyond Iris statement6 that Christians vener­
ate Christ and the Spirit in the second and the third ranks re ­
spectively. Athenagoras echoes this idea when he inveighs7
against labelling as atheists ‘men who acknowledge God the
Father, God the Son and the Holy Spirit, and declare both Their
power in union and Their distinction in order’ (την cv rij τάξζι
διαίρζσιν). This order, or τάξις , however, was not intended
to suggest degrees of subordination within the Godhead; it

1 lb. 4, i. 1 1 apol. 33, 9; 36, i. 3 Ad Autol. 2, 10.

* 1 apol. 33, 4 ft.: cf. dial. 100, 5 f. 5 1 apol. 60, 6; 64, 1 ft'.
6 lb· 13. 3· 7 Supplie. 10, 3.
104 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

belonged to the Triad as manifested in creation and revelation.

Theophilus, with his doctrine of God ’s Word and His Wisdom
(he probably preferred ‘Wisdom ’ to ‘Spirit’ because of the
persistent ambiguity of the latter term), provides a fairly
mature example of their teaching. In spite of his tendency 1 to
blur the distinction between the Word and the Spirit, he really
had the idea of the holy Triad fixed firmly in his mind. He
envisaged God as having His Word and His Wisdom eternally
in Himself, and generating 2 Them for the purpose of creation;
and he was also clear3 that when God put Them forth He did
not empty Himself of Them, but ‘is forever conversing with
His Word ’. Thus the image with which the Apologists worked,
viz. that of a man putting forth his thought and his spirit in
external activity, enabled them to recognize, however dimly,
the plurality in the Godhead, and also to show how the Word
and the Spirit, while really manifested in the world of space
and time, could also abide within the being of the Father, Their
essential unity with Him unbroken.

6. Irenaeus
The theologian who summed up the thought of the second
century, and dominated Christian orthodoxy before Origen,
was Irenaeus. He for his part was deeply indebted to the
Apologists; although he was more of a self-conscious church ­
man than they, more openly attached to and more ready
to parade the Church ’s threefold ‘rule of faith ’, the framework
of his thinking remained substantially the same as theirs. Thus
he approached God from two directions, envisaging Him both
as He exists in His intrinsic being, and also as He manifests
Himself in the ‘economy ’, i.e. the ordered process of His self­
disclosure. From the former point of view God is the Father
of all things, ineffably one, and yet containing in Himself from
all eternity His Word and His Wisdom. In making Himself
known, however, or in exerting Himself for creation and re ­
demption, God extrapolates or manifests these; as the Son and
1 Sec above, p. 102. 2 Ad Atitol. 2, 10; 2, 22. J lb. 2, 10.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD 105
the Spirit, They arc His ‘hands’, the vehicles or forms of His
self-revelation. Thus Irenaeus could claim 1 that ‘by the very
essence and nature of His being there is but one God ’, while at
the same time ‘according to the economy of our redemption
there are both Father and Son ’— and, he might easily have
added, Spirit. Where he was in advance of the Apologists,
from whom he also diverged in his deliberate avoidance of
philosophical jargon, was (a) in his firmer grasp and more ex ­
plicit statement of this notion of ‘the economy ’, and (b) in the
much fuller recognition which he gave to the place of the Spirit
in the triadic scheme.
In the first section we noticed the emphasis Irenaeus placed
on the uniqueness and transcendence of the Father, the author
of whatever exists. Nevertheless, ‘being altogether mind and
altogether Word, God utters what He thinks and thinks what
He utters. His thinking is His Word, and His Word is His in ­
telligence, and the Father is that intelligence comprising all
tilings’.2 More briefly, ‘since God is rational, He created what­
ever was made by His Word ’3 (in the original there was no
doubt a play on λογικός and λόγος ). Here we have the con ­
ception, so familiar from the Apologists, of the Logos or Word
as God ’s immanent rationality which He extrapolates in crea­
tion etc. Unlike them, however, Irenaeus rejects4 the favourite
analogy between God ’s utterance of His Word and the declara­
tion of human thought in speech on the ground that He is
identical with His Word. In fact, taking his cue from Is. 53, 8
(LXX: ‘Who shall explain His generation? ’), he repudiates all
attempts to explore the process by which the Word was be­
gotten or put forth. He also throws5 into much more striking
relief than they the Word ’s co-existence with the Father from all
eternity. The inference has been very generally drawn from this
that he taught a doctrine of eternal generation, especially as he
sometimes speaks6 of the Son being always with the Father.
Too much, however, should not be read into such remarks, for

1 Dem. 47. 2 Haer. 2, 28, 5: cf. ib. I, 12, 2.

’ Dem. 5. 4 Haer. 2, 28, 4-6: cf. ib. 2, 13, 8.
s E.g. ib. 2, 30, 9; 3, 18, 1; 4, 20, i. * E.g. ib. 2, 30, 9; 4, 20, 3.
E.C.D.— 4 a
ιοό THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

in his usage ‘Son ’ was little more than a synonym for ‘Word ’.
The conception of eternal generation would be hard to square
with the framework of ideas he inherited from the Apologists,
and it is strange that, if he was responsible for it, his devoted
disciple Hippolytus1 did not reproduce it. What seems decisive
is that he nowhere mentions the doctrine as such. He certainly
conceived of the Word ’s relationship to the Father as eternal,
but he had not reached the position of picturing it as generation.
With the Son Irenaeus closely associated the Spirit, arguing 2
that, if God was rational and therefore had His Logos, He was
also spiritual and so had His Spirit. Here he showed himself a
follower of Theophilus3 rather than Justin, identifying the Spirit
with the divine Wisdom, and thereby fortifying his doctrine of
the third Person with a secure Scriptural basis.4 Thus he states5
that ‘His Word and His Wisdom, His Son and His Spirit, are
always by Him ’, and that it was to them that God addressed
the words, ‘Let us make man etc.’ That ‘His Wisdom, i.e the
Spirit, was with Him before the world was made ’, he finds6
proved by Solomon ’s statements in Prov. 3, 19, and 8, 22 ff.,
viz. ‘By Wisdom God established the earth ’, and, ‘The Lord
created me a beginning of His ways etc.’ Thus the Word and
the Spirit collaborated in the work of creation, being, as it
were, God ’s ‘hands’.7 This image, doubtless reminiscent ofJob
10, 8, and Ps. 119, 73 (‘Thy hands have made me and fashioned
me ’), was intended to bring out the indissoluble unity between
the creative Father and the organs of His activity. It was the
function of the Word to bring creatures into existence, and of
the Spirit to order and adorn them.8 So he writes,9 ‘It is the
Word Who establishes things, i.e. gives them body and be ­
stows the reality of being upon them, and the Spirit Who gives
order and form to these different powers ’.
Creation, of course, docs not exhaust the functions of the
Word and the Spirit. It is by the Word, and the Word alone,
that the Father reveals Himself: ‘He is ineffable, but the Word
1 See below, p. 112. 2 Deni. 5. 3 Sec above, pp. 102; 104.
4 E.g. Ps. 33, 6; W is. I, 6; 9, I £; 9. 17· 5 Haer. 4, 20,1.
6 lb. 4. 20, 3. ’ E.g. ib. 4. pracf. 4; 5. 1» 3; 5. 5. v, 5. 6, 1; dem. 11.
* E.g. haer. 4, 20, 2. 9 Dem. 5.
 THE DIVINE TRIAD I07

declares Him to us ’.1 The Johannine basis of this theology is

apparent, and it finds characteristic expression in such state­
ments as,2 ‘The Son reveals the knowledge of the Father
through His own manifestation, for the Son ’s manifestation is
the making known of the Father’; and, ‘What is invisible in the
Son is the Father, and what is visible in the Father is the Son ’.
So in the Old Testament theophanies (here he was in full agree­
ment with Justin) it was really the Word Who spoke with the
patriarchs.5 In the incarnation the Word, hitherto Himself in ­
visible to human eyes, became visible and disclosed for the first
time that image of God in the likeness of which man was
originally made.4 As for the Spirit, it was He ‘through Whom
the prophets prophesied, and the fathers learned the things of
God, and the righteous were led into the way of righteousness,
and Who at the end of the age was poured out in a new way ...
renewing man unto God ’.5 The Spirit’s role is indeed essential,
for ‘without the Spirit it is impossible to behold the Word of
God . . . since the knowledge of the Father is the Son, and the
knowledge of the Son of God can only be obtained through the
Spirit; and according to the Father’s good pleasure the Son
ministers and dispenses the Spirit to whomsoever the Father
wills, and as He wills’.6 Our sanctification is indeed wholly the
work of the Spirit, for it is ‘the Spirit of the Father Which
purifies a man and raises him to the life of God ’.
Naturally the Son is fully divine: ‘the Father is God, and the
Son is God, for whatever is begotten of God is God ’.7 The
Spirit, too, although Irenaeus nowhere expressly designates
Him God, clearly ranked as divine in his eyes, for He was
God ’s Spirit, ever welling up from His being.3 Thus we have
Irenaeus’s vision of the Godhead, the most complete, and also
most explicitly Trinitarian, to be met with before Tertullian.
Its second-century traits stand out clearly, particularly its
representation of the Triad by the imagery, not of three
coequal persons (this was the analogy to be employed by the

» Haer. 4, 6, 3. » Ib. 4, 6, 3; 4, 6, 6.
1 E.g. ib. 4, 9. 1; 4. io. I- * Ib. 5, 16, 2. » Dem. 6.
6 Ib. 7. 7 Ib. 47. 8 Cf. haer. 5, 12, 2.
io8 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

post-Nicenc fathers), but rather of a single personage, the Father

Who is the Godhead Itself, with His mind, or rationality, and
His wisdom. The motive for this approach, common to all
Christian thinkers of this period, was their intense concern for
the fundamental tenet of monotheism, but its unavoidable
corollary was a certain obscuring of the position of the Son and
the Spirit as ‘Persons’ (to use the jargon of later theology)
prior to their generation or emission. Because of its emphasis
on the ‘economy ’, this type of thought has been given the
label ‘economic Trinitarianism ’. The description is apt and
convenient so long as it is not assumed that Irenaeus’s recogni­
tion of, and preoccupation with, the Trinity revealed in the
‘economy ’ prevented him from recognizing also the mysteri­
ous thrce-in-onencss of the inner life of the Godhead. The
whole point of the great illustrative image which he, like his
predecessors, employed, that of a man with his intellectual and
spiritual functions, was to bring out, however inadequately,
the fact that there arc real distinctions in the immanent being
of the unique, indivisible Father, and that while these were
only fully manifested in the ‘economy ’, they were actually
there from all eternity.

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. G. Bardy, ‘Trinité ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.); J. Daniclou,

Théologie du judéo-christianisme, Chap. V (Paris, 1958); G. Krctschmar,
Studien zur friihchristlichen Trinitatstheologie (Tubingen, 1956); J. Lcbrc-
ton, Histoire du dogme de la Trinité (Paris, 1928); F. Loofs, ‘Christologie,
Kirchcnlchrc ’ (art. in Hauck ’s RcalencykJ ; G. L. Prestige, God in
Patristic Thought (London, 2 cd. 1952); A. E. J. Rawlinson (cd.),
Essays on the Trinity and the Incarnation (London, 1928).
Special. N. Bonwctsch, Die Théologie des Irenaus (Gütersloh, 1925); P. A.
Casamassa, G li apologist! greci (Rome, 1944); E. R. Goodenough, The
Theology of Justin M artyr (Jena, 1923); R. M. Grant, ‘ Theophilus of
Antioch to Autolycus ’ (art. in Hart ’ . Thcol. Rev., 1947); J. Lawson, The
Biblical Theology of Irenaeus (London, 1948); V. A. S. Little, The
Christology of the Apologists (London, 1934); J. M. Pfattisch, Der Einfuss
Platos auf die Théologie Justins des M artyrers (Paderborn, 1910) ; M. Rackl,
Die Christologie des hl. Ignatius von Antiochien (Freiburg i.B., 1914).
 C H A PTER V

THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM

I. Introduction

T h e third century saw the emergence of conflicting tendencies

in Trinitarian thought which were to provide the material for
later controversies. Hitherto the overriding preoccupation of
Christian theism had been with the unity of God; the struggle
with paganism and Gnosticism thrust this article well into the
foreground. As a result, while theologians were obscurely
aware of distinctions within the one indivisible Godhead, and
Theophilus could even describe1 the Father with His Word and
His Wisdom as the Triad, they showed little disposition to
explore the eternal relations of the Three, much less to construct
a conceptual and linguistic apparatus capable of expressing
them. Their most fruitful efforts, as we observed in the preced ­
ing chapter, were expended in considering the Triad as mani­
fested in creation and redemption, and in attempting to show
how the Son and the Spirit, revealed in the ‘economy ’ as
other than the Father, were at the same time inseparably one
with Him in His eternal being.
Economic Trinitarianism of this type continued to find ex ­
ponents in the late second and early third centuries; we shall give
an account of the most noteworthy of them in the next section.
Its very success, however, brought to the surface a powerful
reaction in circles which fought shy of the Logos doctrine and
suspected that the growing emphasis on the triplicity disclosed
by revelation imperilled the divine unity. This current of
thought was chiefly evident in the West; it was called monarch-
ianism because its adherents, as Tertullian phrased it,2 ‘took
fright at the economy ’ and sought refuge in ‘the monarchy ’
1 See above, p. 102. 2 Adv. Prax. 3.
109
no THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

(μοναρχία), i.e. the axiom that there was one divine source
and principle of all things. At the same time a diametrically
opposite movement was under way in the East. This took the
form of a frankly pluralistic conception of the Deity which
tried, without sacrificing the basic tenet of monotheism, to do
justice to the reality and distinction of the Three within God ’s
eternal being — in other words, to Their subsistence as ‘Persons’.
Though associated in the first instance with Alexandria, this
new approach was destined to leave a permanent impress on
Greek Trinitarianism as a whole, and indeed on Christian
thinking generally.

2. Hippolytus and Tertullian

Our first task is to consider two theologians who stood more

or less directly in the line of the Apologists and Irenaeus, and
reflected their influence at many points. There were the Roman
anti-pope and martyr, Hippolytus (f 235), and the North
African Tertullian (c. 160-c. 220). Like their predecessors, both
set great store by monotheism, devoting their energies to the
refutation of Gnostic dualism, although ironically enough they
were branded with the charge of polytheism in circles (we shall
return to these later) where modalism flourished. While their
ideas arc in many respects similar, those of Hippolytus arc
sketchier and have a more archaic flavour; Tcrtullian ’s brilliant
mind was able to formulate a statement of more lasting value.
The clue to their teaching, as to that of Irenaeus, is to approach
it simultaneously from two opposite directions, considering God
(a) as He exists in His eternal being, and (b) as He reveals Him ­
self in the process of creation and redemption. The com ­
prehensive term they borrowed from Irenaeus for the latter
was ‘economy ’ (οίκονομία", dispensatio). From meaning 1 the
divine plan, or God ’s secret purpose, the word became applied
in Christian theology to the incarnation, the goal of the divine
purpose. Among its original meanings, however, was that of
distribution, organization, the arrangement of a number of
« Cf. Eph. 3, 9·
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM in

factors in a regular order or τάξι?; and so it was extended to

connote the distinction of Son and Spirit from the one Father
as disclosed in the working out of God ’s redemptive plan.
First, then, they both had the conception of God existing in
unique solitariness from all eternity, yet having immanent in
and indivisibly one with Himself, on the analogy of the mental
functions in a man, His reason or Word. This is the doctrine,
familiar since the Apologists, of the Logos endiathetos, and Hip ­
polytus actually uses1 the technical term. For him, as for Tatian
and Irenaeus, God ’s Word and His Wisdom arc distinguished,
being in fact the Son and the Spirit regarded as immanent; but
Tertullian follows2 the tradition which equates Wisdom with
the Word. Thus Hippolytus affirms that there is always a
plurality in the Godhead, stating,3 ‘Though alone, He was
multiple (μόνος ών πολύς ήν), for He was not without His
Word and His Wisdom, His Power and His Counsel’. Tertul­
lian is rather more explicit, pointing out4 that ‘before all things
God was alone, being His own universe, location, everything-
He was alone, however, in the sense that there was nothing
external to Himself. But even then He was not really alone, for
He had with Him that Reason which He possessed within Him ­
self, that is to say, His own Reason.’ Moreover, he brings out,
much more clearly than any of his predecessors, the otherness
or individuality of this immanent reason or Word. The
rationality, he explains,5 by means of which a man cogitates and
plans is somehow ‘another’ (alius), or ‘a second ’ in himself (cf.
secundus quodammodo in te est sermo) ’, and so it is with the divine
Word, with which God has been ratiocinating from everlasting
and which constitutes ‘a second in addition to Himself’
(secundum a se).
Secondly, however, the thrccfoldness of God ’s intrinsic
being is manifested in creation and redemption. According to
Hippolytus,6 when God willed, He engendered His Word,
using Him to create the universe, and His Wisdom to adorn or
order it. Later still, with the world ’s salvation in view, He
« Ref. io, 33, I. 2 Adv. Prax. 6; adv. Hermog. i8; 20.
’ C. Noct. 10. 4 Adv. Prax. 5. 5 lb. 6 C. Noet. 10 f.
112 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

rendered the Word, hitherto invisible, visible at the incarna­

tion. Thereupon, alongside the Father (i.e. the Godhead Itself),
there was ‘another’ (αύτώ παρίστατο έτερος ), a second
‘Person ’ (πρόσωπον), while the Spirit completed the Triad.1
But if there are Three revealed in the economy, there is in fact
only one God, since it is the Father Who commands, the Son
Who obeys and the Spirit Who makes us understand. Hip ­
polytus is most insistent on the essential unity, stating 2 that
there is only one Power, and that ‘when I speak of “ another” ,
I do not mean two Gods, but as it were light from light, water
from its source, a ray from the sun. For there is only one Power,
that which issues from the All. The All is the Father, and the
Power issuing from the All is the Word. He is the Father’s
mind. . . . Thus all things are through Him, but He alone is
from the Father’. Similarly, in stressing 3 that the Word ’s
generation takes place as and when the Father wills, his inten ­
tion is not to subordinate Him to the Father (judged by post-
Nicene standards, his language has a subordinationist ring),
but to emphasize the absolute unity of the Godhead, since
that will of the Father is in fact none other than the Word
Himself.
Hippolytus was reluctant4 to designate the Word as Son in
any other than a proleptic sense till the incarnation. Tertullian
followed the Apologists in dating 3 His ‘perfect generation ’
from His extrapolation for the work of creation; prior to that
moment God could not strictly be said to have had a Son,6
while after it the term ‘Father’, which for earlier theologians
generally connoted God as author of reality, began to acquire
the specialized meaning of Father of the Son.7 As so generated,
the Word or Son is a ‘Person ’ (persona), ‘a second in addition
to the Father’ (secundum a patre 3 ). In the third place, however,
there is the Spirit, the ‘representative ’ or ‘deputy ’ (vicaria vis 9 )
of the Son; He issues from the Father by way of the Son (a patre
per filium 10 ), being ‘third from the Father and the Son, just as
1 C. Nott. 7; 11; 14. 2 lb. 10: cf. ib. 8. J Ib. 10.
■* Ib. 15. 5 Adv. Prax. η. 6 /U p . Hcrmog. 3.
7 Adv. Prax. 7. « Ib. 5. • De pracscr. 13.
«° Adv. Prax. 4.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINIT ARIANISM 113

the fruit derived from the shoot is third from the root, and as
the channel drawn off from the river is third from the spring,
and as the light-point in the beam is third from the sun ’.1 He,
too, is a ‘Person ’,2 so that the Godhead is a ‘trinity ’ (trinitas:
Tcrtullian is the first to employ 3 the word). The three are in ­
deed numerically distinct, being ‘capable of being counted ’
(nutnerum . . . patiuntur
).
* Thus Tertullian can state:5 ‘We
believe in one only God, yet subject to this dispensation, which
is our word for economy, that the one only God has also a Son,
His Word, Who has issued out of Himself. . . which Son then
sent, according to His promise, the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete,
out of the Father’; and later in the same context he can balance
the divine unity with ‘the mystery of the economy, which
distributes the unity into Trinity, setting forth Father, Son and
Spirit as three ’.
Tertullian exerted himself to show (the criticisms of the
medalists made him sensitive on the point) that the threeness
revealed in the economy was in no way incompatible with
God ’s essential unity. Like Hippolytus, he argued 6 that, though
three, the Persons were severally manifestations of a single
indivisible power, noting that on the analogy of the imperial
government one and the same sovereignty could be exercised
by coordinate agencies. Like the Apologists, he again and again
repudiated 7 the suggestion that the distinction between the
Three involved any division or separation; it was a distinctio or
dispositio (i.e. a distribution), not a separatio, and he quoted the
unity between the root and its shoot, the source and the river,
and the sun and its light as illustrations. His characteristic way
of expressing this was to state that Father, Son and Spirit are
one in ‘substance’. Thus Father and Son are one identical sub ­
stance which has been, not divided, but ‘extended ’;8 the
Saviour’s claim, T and my Father are one ’ (unutn), indicates
that the Three are ‘one reality ’ (unutn is neuter), not ‘one
Person ’ (unus), pointing as it does to identity of substance and
1 Ib. 8. ’ Ib. ii.
3 E.g. ib. 3 ;i i ; 12 ; de pud. 21 (trinitas unius divinitatis) .
* Adv. Prax. 2. 5 Ib. 6 Ib. 3.
’ E.g. apol. 21, II— 13; edv. Prax. 8. 8 Apol. 21, 12.
H4 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

not mere numerical unity;1 the Son is unius substantiae with the
Father,2 and the Son and the Spirit arc consortes substantiae
patris. 3 Using crudely materialistic language (his background
of ideas was Stoic,4 and he regarded the divine spirit as a highly
rarefied species of matter), Tertullian can say 5 that ‘the Father
is the whole substance, while the Son is a derivation from and
portion of the whole ’— where the context makes it plain that
‘portion ’ (poriio) is not to be taken literally as implying any
division or severance. Thus, when he sums the matter up, he
dismisses6 the idea that the Persons can be three in ‘status’ (i.e.
fundamental quality), substance or power; as regards these
the Godhead is indivisibly one, and the threeness applies only
to the ‘grade’ {gradus = Greek τά£ι$·), or ‘aspect’ {forma), or
‘manifestation ’ {species) in which the Persons are presented.
Hippolytus and Tertullian were at one with Irenaeus in re­
garding the Three revealed in the economy as manifestations of
the plurality which they apprehended, however obscurely, in
the immanent life of the Godhead. Where they were in advance
of him was (a) in their attempts to make explicit the oneness of
the divine power or substance of which the Three were ex ­
pressions or forms, and (b) in their description of Them (in
Hippolytus’s case, of the Father and the Son) as Persons
{πρόσωπα', personae). This latter term, it should be noted, was
still reserved for Them as manifested in the order of revelation;
only later did it come to be applied to the Word and the Spirit
as immanent in God ’s eternal being. There has been much dis­
cussion about the precise meaning of their terminology, some
arguing that for Tertullian at any rate, with his legal up ­
bringing, substantia signified a piece of property which several
people could jointly own. In fact, however, the metaphysical
sense was foremost in his mind, and the word connoted the
divine essence, that of which God is, with the emphasis on its
concrete reality. As he remarks,7 ‘God is the name for the sub ­
stance, that is, the divinity ’; and the Word, so far from being a
mere notional nonentity, is ‘ substantival ’, ‘ a substance composed
1 Adv. Prax. 25. 1 lb. 2. 3 lb. 3. * See above, pp. 12 f.
» Adv. Prax. 9. 6 lb. 2: cf. ib. 19. 7 Adv. Hermog. 3.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINIT ARIANISM 115

of spirit and wisdom and reason ’.1 Hence, when he speaks of

the Son as being ‘of one substance’ with the Father, he means
that They share the same divine nature or essence, and in fact,
since the Godhead is indivisible, are one identical being. On the
other hand, the terms πρόσωπον and persona were admirably
suited to express the otherness, or independent subsistence, of
the Three. After originally meaning ‘face’, and so ‘expression ’
and then ‘role ’, the former came to signify ‘individual’, the
stress being usually on the external aspect or objective presenta­
tion. The primary sense of persona was ‘mask ’, from which the
transition was easy to the actor who wore it and the character
he played. In legal usage it could stand for the holder of the title
to a property, but as employed by Tertullian it connoted the
concrete presentation of an individual as such. In neither case,
it should be noted, was the idea of self-consciousness nowadays
associated with ‘person ’ and ‘personal’ at all prominent.

3. Dynamic M onarchianism
The closing decades of the second century witnessed the
emergence of two forms of teaching which, though funda ­
mentally different, have been brought together by modern his­
torians under the common name of monarchianism. ‘Dynamic’
monarchianism, more accurately called adoptionism, was the
theory that Christ was a ‘mere man ’ [ψιλός άνθρωπος :
hence ‘psilanthropism ’) upon whom God ’s Spirit had de ­
scended. It was essentially a Christological heresy, but the cir­
cumstances in which it arose justify its treatment here.
Modalism, which was alone designated monarchianism by
contemporaries, tended to blur the distinctions between Father,
Son and Holy Spirit. The classification of both as forms of
monarchianism stems from the assumption that, despite differ­
ent starting-points and motives, they were united by a concern
for the divine unity, or monarchia. This supposition goes back
at least as far as Novatian [c. 250), who interpreted 2 adoptionism
and modalism as misguided attempts to salvage the Bible dogma
« Adv. Prax. η. 1 De Irin. 30.
1 16 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

that God is one. So far as the former is concerned, there is

nothing to show that this consideration carried much weight
with at any rate its original supporters, it may well have been
influencing their successors in Novatian ’s day, but they them ­
selves seem to have been intellectuals inspired by current philo ­
sophical rationalism.
The originator of dynamic monarchianism is said to have
been a learned Byzantine leather-merchant, Theodotus, who
brought it to Rome about 190. Malicious critics explained 1 his
position as a makeshift device to cover up a previous act of
apostasy at Byzantium (T have not denied God, but a man ’),
but it was in fact carefully worked out and shows no signs of
improvisation. While in full agreement with orthodox views
about the creation of the world, the divine omnipotence and
even the virgin birth, Theodotus held 2 that until His baptism
Jesus lived the life of an ordinary man, with the difference that
He was supremely virtuous. The Spirit, or Christ, then descended
upon Him, and from that moment He worked miracles, with ­
out, however, becoming divine — others of the same school
admitted His deification after His resurrection. Theodotus and
his followers were much preoccupied3 with Biblical exegesis
and textual criticism, and appealed4 to such texts as Dent. 18,15
and Luke 1,35 (the latter amended to read ‘ Spirit of the Lord ’),
to support their claim that Jesus was an ordinary man whom
the Spirit had inspired rather than indwelt. They also scandal­
ized 5 the faithful by their interest in logic and geometry, and
the deference they paid to Aristotle, Euclid and, among con ­
temporaries, the philosophical physician Galen. Theodotus was
himself excommunicated by Pope Victor (186-98), but his
ideas were immediately taken up 6 by another Theodotus, this
time a banker, an Asclepiodotus, and an Artemas, or Artemon,
who lived on at Rome beyond the middle of the third century.
Mixed up with the teaching of the second Theodotus were
bizarre speculations about Mclchizedek, whom he regarded7 as
1 Cf. Epiphanius, haer. 54, 1, 7. 1 Hippolytus, ref. 7, 35.
’ Eusebius, hist. eccl. 5, 28, 13-17. ♦ Epiphanius, h aer. 54, 3, 1-6.
5 Eusebius, op. cit. 5, 28, 13 f. 6 Eusebius, op. cit. 5, 28, 1-3 and 9.
7 Hippolytus, ref. 7, 36.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM 117

‘the supreme Power’, superior to Christ and mediator between

God and man, ‘spiritual and Son of God ’, and whom he may
have equated with the Spirit which descended on Jesus.
These adoptionists were an isolated and unrepresentative
movement in Gentile Christianity. It is an attractive guess1 that
Theodotus the leather-merchant and his coterie belonged to the
circle of Galen, and were stimulated by his friendly, but critical,
interest in the faith to work out a rationalizing version of it.
Their scholarly sympathies and methods were certainly akin to
his, and their chief object seems to have been to eliminate the
idea, so uncongenial to people imbued with Greek philosophical
culture, of an incarnation of the Deity. The second generation
of the adoptionists may well have blended this rationalism
with the suspicion that orthodoxy was virtually committed to
ditheism, for Novatian puts 2 in their mouth the argument, ‘If
the Father is one and the Son another, and if the Father is God
and Christ God, then there is not one God, but two Gods are
simultaneously brought forward, the Father and the Son ’. By
Artemon ’s time they were claiming 3 to be the trustees of the
true apostolic tradition, and seeking to show that their views
about Christ had been accepted in the Church from the
beginning down to the reign of Pope Zephyrinus (198-217),
when the official teaching had been tampered with. In re ­
joinder Hippolytus had little difficulty in pointing 4 to the grand
succession of teachers going back to the first century, ‘by all
of whom Christ is theologized (e’p olç αττασι ^toAoyccrai ό
Χριστό?), and whose works ‘proclaim Christ as both God
and man ’.
Paul of Samosata, perhaps the most interesting exponent of
this type of thought, flourished rather later in the century, being
formally condemned 5 at the synod of Antioch held in 268.
Further reference to his theory that Christ was an ordinary
man inspired by the divine Wisdom will be made in the next
chapter; here his attitude to the Godhead calls for remark.

1 Made by R.Walzcr (see Note on Books). 2 De trin. 30.

3 Hippolytus, Little labyrinth (in Eusebius, hist. eccl. 5, 28, 3 ff.).
4 Loc. cit. 5 Eusebius, op. cit. 7, 27-30.
n8 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

According to a sixth-century writer,1 ‘Paul did not say that

it was the self-subsistent Word Who was in Christ, but applied
the title “ Word ” to God ’s commandment and ordinance, i.e.
God ordered what He willed through the man, and so did
it. . . . He did not say that Father, Son and Holy Spirit are one
and the same, but gave the name of God to the Father Who
created all things, that of Son to the mere man, and that of
Spirit to the grace which indwelt the apostles.’ What this
amounts to is that he was prepared to use the officially accepted
Trinitarian formula, but only as a veil to cover a theology
which was nakedly Unitarian. This conclusion is supported by
the fact, reported in a fourth-century homoeusian document,2
that the bishops who outlawed him (they were Origenists com ­
mitted to the belief in three eternal, subsistent Persons) thought
it necessary to insist that the Word was an ουσία, or substance.
By this they meant that He was not simply a verbal utterance,
without any subsistence of His own (this was presumably Paul’s
view), but a real Person distinct from the Father. It is further
reported 3 that at the synod he claimed that the Word was
όμοουσιος , i.e. the same in ousia or substance, with the Father.
If this report is correct, it is plausible to suppose 4 that, taking
his cue from the language of his judges, he was protesting
against the sharp division between the Father and the Son
which their assertion that they were distinct ousiai seemed to
entail.
Paul’s thought is notoriously difficult to evaluate, but the
view that he was a strict Unitarian, denying any subsistence or
personality to the Word and teaching that the Son and the
Spirit were merely the Church ’s names for the inspired man
Jesus Christ and the grace which God poured upon the
apostles, is probably accurate. An attempt5 has been made,
however, to represent him as an ‘economic Trinitarian’, re ­
sponsible for a doctrine resembling that of Irenaeus and Tertul-
lian, and still more that of the fourth-century Marcellus of
’ De sectis 3, 3 (PG 86, 1216). 1 In Epiphanias, haer. 73, 12.
3 Athanasius, de syn. 45; Hilary, de syn. 81; Basil, ep. 52, 1.
4 So Hilary, loc. cit. See below, pp. 140; 234 f.
5 Cf. F. Loofs, Paulus von Samosata, 1924, p. 257.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM 119

Ancyra.1 The patristic tradition, it is true, tended increasingly

to classify Paul with Sabcllius and Marcellus; but it should be
noted that at its earlier stages, as represented, for example, by
the Ecthesis macrostichos 2 (345) and Athanasius,3 it made no such
juxtaposition, and depicted Paul exclusively in his character as
an adoptionist. Further, in spite of certain ambiguous passages,
all the evidence 4 goes to suggest that he was opposed to the idea
that the Word became a subsistent Person as the economy un ­
folded. Points of contact there may have been between the
theology of Paul and that of Marcellus; but while the focus of
the latter was interest in the Trinity, that of the former was
psilanthropism, with an exaggerated monarchianism as its
premiss.

4. M odalistic M onarchianism

If dynamic monarchianism was a relatively isolated pheno ­

menon with a predominantly rationalist appeal, the same
cannot be said of monarchianism proper, otherwise called
modalism. This was a fairly widespread, popular trend of
thought which could reckon on, at any rate, a measure of
sympathy in official circles; and the driving-force behind it was
the twofold conviction, passionately held, of the oneness of
God and the full deity of Christ. What forced it into the open
was the mounting suspicion that the former of these truths was
being endangered by the new Logos doctrine and by the efforts
of theologians to represent the Godhead as having revealed
Itself in the economy as tri-personal. Any suggestion that the
Word or Son was other than, or a distinct Person from, the
Father seemed to the modalists (we recall that the ancient view
that ‘Father’ signified the Godhead Itself was still prevalent) to
lead inescapably to the blasphemy of two Gods.
As early as Justin ’s time we read 5 of objections to his teaching
that the Logos was ‘something numerically other’ (dptfyiw
cTcpovTi) than the Father; the critics argued that the Power
« See below, pp. 240 f. 2 Cf. Athanasius, de syn. 26.
3 E.g. c. Ar. I, 25 ; I, 38; 2, 13; 3. 26; 3, 51.
·* Cf H. de Riedmattcn, Les Actes du procès de Paul de Samosate, 1952,
chap. vi. 5 Dia/. 128, 3 f.
120 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

issuing from the Godhead was only distinct verbally or in

name, being a projection of the Father Himself. The first
theologian, however, formally to state the monarchian position
was Noetus of Smyrna, who was twice summoned before the
presbyters of that city in the closing years of the second century;
his contemporary, Hippolytus,1 and the fourth-century Epi-
phanius2 are our chief authorities for his teaching. Its pivot was
the vigorous affirmation that there was only one God, the
Father; patripassianism, or the idea that it was the Father Who
suffered and underwent Christ’s other human experiences, was
a corollary which he seems to have embraced willingly enough.
If Christ was God, as Christian faith took for granted, then He
must be identical with the Father; otherwise He could not be
God. Consequently, if Christ suffered, the Father suffered, since
there could be no division in the Godhead. To his accusers he
retorted,3 ‘What wrong have I done, glorifying one only God,
Christ, Who was bom, suffered and died? ’ For Scriptural sup ­
port his followers appealed4 to such texts as Ex. 3, 6 (taken
with 20, 3), and Is. 44, 6, which proclaimed the uniqueness of
God, Is. 45, 14 f. and Bar. 3, 36-8, which suggested that this
unique God had been present in Jesus Christ, and John 10, 30,
14, 8-10, and Roni. 9, 5, which seemed to point to the identity
of Father and Son. They rejected the Logos doctrine, arguing 5
that the Prologue of the Fourth Gospel was to be taken
allegorically.
Noetus was condemned, the presbyters confronting 6 him
with the Church ’s rule of faith; but a disciple of his, Epigonus,
came to Rome, where he found an apt pupil in one Cleomenes
during Zephyrinus’s pontificate (198-217). Summarizing the
position of the school, Hippolytus reports7 that they believed in
one identical Godhead Which could be designated indifferently
Father or Son; the terms did not stand for real distinctions, but
were mere names applicable at different times. Indeed, the God ­
head was like the universal monad postulated by the ancient
1 Cf. c. Noet.: also ref. 9. 2 Haer. 57.
’ Hippolytus, c. Noet. 1: cf. Epiphanius, op. cit. 57, 1, 8.
4 Hippolytus, op. cit. 2; 6 f. 5 Id. 15.
6 Id. I. 7 Ref. 9, 10.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM 121

philosopher Hcraclcitus (c. 502 b .c .), which comprised in itself

mutually contradictory qualities, being at once divisible and
indivisible, created and uncreated, mortal and immortal, etc.
It is precisely this position, supported apparently with the same
texts, that Tertullian combats in his Adversus Praxeam, written
about 213. Who Praxeas was remains a mystery; he is a
shadowy figure, and some have identified him (‘Praxeas’ could
be a nickname, meaning ‘ busybody ’) with Noetus or Epigonus,
or even (we shall see the point of this later) with Pope Cal­
listus. Whoever he was, he seems to have taught1 that Father
and Son were one identical Person [duos unum volunt esse, ut idem
pater et filius habeatur), the Word having no independent sub ­
sistence and being a mere vox et sonus oris,2 and that consequently
it was the Father Himself Who entered the Virgin ’s womb, so
becoming, as it were, His own Son,3 and Who suffered, died
and rose again.4 Thus this unique Person united in Himself
mutually inconsistent attributes, being invisible and then
visible, impassible and then passible.5 Yet Praxeas and his asso ­
ciates, it would seem,6 were in the end obliged to recognize a
duality in the Lord, in the sense that the man Jesus was, strictly
speaking, the Son, while the Christ, i.e. the divine element
[spiritum, id est deum) was properly the Father. From this it was
an easy step to the formula 7 which excited both indignation and
derision, ‘So, while it is the Son Who suffers, the Father co ­
suffers’ [compatitur). It is curious to observe how close at this
point modalism came to Theodotus’s adoptionism. Although
starting from opposite poles, they reached rather similar con ­
clusions about the Saviour as a man inspired by the Deity.
The naivete of this earlier modalism stands out, but it was
very soon to be given a more systematic, philosophical shape.
The man responsible for this, it would appear, was Sabelhus,8
who came to Rome towards the end of Zephyrinus’s reign, was
fiercely attacked by Hippolytus and, after enjoying the con ­
fidence of Pope Callistus (217-22), was eventually excom ­
municated by him. This later, more sophisticated modalism,
* Adv. Prax. 5. 2 Ib. 7. > Ib. 10. ♦ Ib. 1; 2.
s Ib. 14. 6 Ib. 27. 7 Ib. 29. 8 Cf. Hippolytus, ref. 9,11 f.
122 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

known after its author as Sabellianism, tried to meet some of

the objections to which the earlier brand was exposed. Sabel-
lius, we are told,1 regarded the Godhead as a monad (his name
for it was υίοπάτωρ 2 ) which expressed itself in three opera­
tions. He used the analogy of the sun, a single object which
radiates both warmth and light; the Father was, as it were, the
form or essence, and the Son and the Spirit His modes of self­
expression. He may also have exploited 3 the idea of the ex ­
pansion or ‘dilation ’ (πλατυσμός ) of the divine monad, the
Father by process of development projecting Himself first as Son
and then as Spirit. Thus the one Godhead regarded as creator
and law-giver was Father; for redemption It was projected like
a ray of the sun, and was then withdrawn; then, thirdly, the
same Godhead operated as Spirit to inspire and bestow grace.4
Ideas like these suggest that Sabcllius was conscious of the
difficulties inherent in the simple inodalism of his predecessors,
and was prepared to turn to account features borrowed from
the economic Trinitarianism of their critics. Part of his motive
may have been to explain the government of the universe when
the Godhead appeared as the Son, and also to obviate the charge
of patripassianism. Unfortunately we cannot be sure that all the
details of the position just summarized can be attributed to
Sabellius himself. Most of the surviving evidence dates from a
century or more after his lifetime, when his theology and that
of the much more familiar Marcellus of Ancyra 5 were hope­
lessly confused. One point which seems to be established is that
die traditional belief that he spoke of Father, Son and Spirit as
three prosopa, in the sense of masks or outward appearances, is
erroneous. The term πρόσωπον, as we have already seen,6 was
used by Hippolytus to signify the otherness, or separate subsist­
ence, of the Son, as revealed in the economy, from the Father,
and it is most unlikely that Sabcllius used it with a diametrically
opposite meaning. Indeed, Hippolytus clearly implies7 that for
* Epiphanias, haer. 62, I, 4ff.
* Arius, ep. ad Alex, (in Epiphanius, op. cit. 69, 7).
J Pscudo-Athanasius, c. Ar. 4, 25. 4 Epiphanius, haer. 62, 1.
5 See below, pp. 240 f. 6 Sec above, p. 115.
’ Ref. 10, 27, 4.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINIT ARIANISM 123

Callistus, whom he regarded as a Sabcllian, the Godhead was

but a single prosopon, i.c. individual or Person.

5. The Roman Theology

The theological activity we have been studying was largely

concentrated in the West and at Rome. Yet none of the figures
concerned in it had the standing of an official spokesman. Hip ­
polytus and Tcrtullian might be described as free-lances, while
most of the leading modalists were condemned as heretics. It
might well be asked what was the attitude of official circles in
the Roman church to the issues under discussion. The question
is highly relevant, for it was in the first half of the third century
that the standard pattern of Western Trinitarianism was taking
shape. If one may anticipate, its starting-point was that pro ­
found conviction of the unity of God, the divine monarchy,
which always dominated the minds of Western theologians,
and of which modalism in all its forms was a well-intentioned
distortion. In its formulation, however, it was greatly indebted,
both for ideas and for terminology, to the classic statement of
Tcrtullian.
At the initial stage the monarchian strain just mentioned
was clearly in the ascendancy. This comes out in the attitude of
Popes Zcphyrinus (198-217) and Callistus (217-22), both of
whom sympathized with the widespread popular reaction
against the theories of Hippolytus and Tcrtullian, which they
regarded as leading to ditheism. Hippolytus, for his part, con ­
sidered
* Zcphyrinus an out-and-out modalist, the patron of
Cleomenes and the school which collected round him. In proof
of this he represents the pope, ‘an ignorant and uncultured
man ’, as declaring, T know only one God, Christ Jesus, and
none other Who was boni and suffered ’, and at the same time
protesting, ‘It was not the Father Who died, but the Son ’. The
former statement is practically identical with Noctus’s pro ­
fession of faith,2 and many 3 have in consequence acquiesced in
’ Ref. 9, ii. 2 See above, p. 120.
3 E.g. A. Hamack (Sitzungsberichte Preuss. Akad., 1923, pp. 51-7).
124 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

the verdict of Hippolytus. Others1 have drawn the conclusion

that he must somehow have misrepresented the pope. In view
of the second of the two statements cited these judgments seem
unduly hasty. There can be no doubt that Zephyrinus, like
other ‘simple and uncultured ’ Christians,2 viewed the new talk
of ‘Persons’ of the Godhead with unconcealed suspicion; the
former statement is evidence of his concern for the full deity of
the incarnate Lord. The second statement, however, suggests
that, however hostile he was to the ditheist-sounding language
of the learned theologians, he saw the necessity of recognizing
the reality of the distinction between Father and Son.
Hippolytus ’s estimate of Callistus was similar. He describes
him as the dupe of Sabellius, and summarizes his teaching in
two passages3 which seem to combine authentic dicta of the
pope with possibly biased interpretations of his own. Bearing
in mind that Callistus excommunicated Sabellius, we can
fairly deduce the following points from them. First, he placed
the greatest possible emphasis on the divine unity. The God ­
head in his eyes was the single, indivisible spirit which per­
vades the universe, and constituted one object of presentation
(if one may use such language of God), one being or ‘Person ’
(πρόσω πον). Secondly, he admitted the distinction of Father
and Word, the latter being the prc-temporal element which
became incarnate; the Son, strictly speaking, was the historical
figure, ‘the man ’. But he insisted that They were not separate
beings (‘the Father is not one thing — άλλο — and the Son
another— άλλο— , but They are one and the same reality ’), and
that the Word was not ‘another alongside the Father’ (erepo?
παρά τον πατέρα). Thirdly, since the Father was the unique
divine spirit, Callistus could speak of Him as being identical
with the Word, and even as becoming incarnate; but he was
careful to point out that the Father only ‘co-suffercd ’ with the
Son. Thoughts like these, though closely akin to the Praxeanism
combated by Tcrtullian and understandably anathema to Hip ­
polytus, do not brand Callistus as a thoroughgoing modalist.
1 E.g. B. Capelie (R. Bén. xxxviii, 1926, pp. 321-30).
* Cf. Tertullian, adv. Prax. 3. 1 Ref. 9, 12, 16-19; 10, 27, 3 f.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM 125

They suggest, rather, that while his sympathies lay with

modalism, he was conscious of its difficulties, and was struggling
to develop a compromise approach to the problem which,
while taking account of the real distinction between the Father
and the Word, would stress the truth that even so They were
manifestations of one divine spirit and thus avoid the dangers
(as he conceived them) inherent in any doctrine of two or three
‘Persons’.
Zephyrinus and Callistus were thus conservatives holding
fast to a monarchian tradition which antedated the whole move ­
ment of thought inaugurated by the Apologists. Very soon,
however, without abating its monarchian bias, the Roman
theology was to assimilate all the main features of TertuUian’s
doctrine, and even to deepen it in certain respects. We can see
the results in the treatise of the Roman theologian Novatian,
written about 250. According to this,1 the one and only God ­
head is the Father, the author of all reality; but out of Him,
‘when He willed, there has been generated a Son, His Word ’.
This Word is no verbal nonentity (non in sono percussi. . . aeris
agnoscitur), as modalism alleged, but has a subsistence of His
own (in substantia . . . agnoscitur), being a ‘second Person ’. Two
points in particular should be noted. First, Novatian does not
tie the generation of the Son to creation, but argues that it is
pre-tcmporal; since the Father is always Father, He must always
have had a Son. Secondly, he stresses the community of being
between Father and Son. The Son is God inasmuch as He
derives His being from the Father, and the Godhead has been
transmitted by the Father to Him; there is a communio sub ­
stantiae between Them. At the same time, being even more
determined to exclude ditheism than modalism, he exerts him ­
self to show that his teaching does not imply a duality of Gods.
The deity bestowed by the Father on the Son for ever reverts to
the Father; and the Son, though a persona secunda post patrem, is
only such as Son. Had He been ingenerate or without origin,
there would doubtless have been two divine principles; but
since He is only other than the Father as Son and owes His
1 De trin. 31.
120 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

being wholly to the Father, there is no division of the divine

nature.
Novatian’s doctrine of the Spirit is rudimentary. He regards’
Him as the divine power which works in prophets, apostles
and the Church, inspiring and sanctifying; but he makes no
mention of His subsistence as a Person. Much of his language
about the Son has a strongly subordinationist colouring; He is
‘subject to the Father’, ‘less than the Father’, and showed Him ­
self ‘obedient to Flis Father’.2 Yet he makes it plain that this
inferiority springs from the fact that the Son is by nature
derivative, owing His origin to the Father; and we must
remember that ‘Father’ for him retains its archaic meaning,
connoting the unique Godhead Which is source of all reality.
Where he makes an advance on Tertullian, and on all previous
thinkers, is in his acknowledgement that the Son ’s distinction
from the Father as a Person is no mere by-product of the
‘economy ’, but belongs to the pre-temporal life of the God ­
head. He admits, indeed, that the Father, as Father, necessarily
‘precedes’ the Son, and that before the Son was ‘alongside the
Father’ (cum patre) as a Person, He was ‘immanent in the
Father’ (in patre) ; but the priority implied here seems to be a
logical rather than a real one, since he is insistent that the
Father always had His Son. While he is far from clearly en ­
visaging a doctrine of eternal generation, he is quite explicit in
saying 3 that the Son ‘ received the begimiing of His generation
before all time ’, and that when He proceeded from the Father
in that act of generation He was a Person or ‘substance ’; Christ
‘existed substantially (in substantia, i.e. as a Person) before the
foundation of the world ’.4

6. Clement and Origen

Meanwhile an immensely significant development was
taking place in the East. This drew its initial inspiration from
the catechetical school at Alexandria, the two thinkers re-
» De trin. 29 1 lb. 18; 22; 26; 27; 31.
3 lb. 31. 4 lb. 16.
»·-

THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM 127

sponsible for it being Clement {fl. 200) and Origen (c. 185 —
c. 254). The latter a contemporary of Plotinus,1 both were
profoundly influenced, in their attempts to understand and
expound the triune Godhead, by the revived, or ‘middle’,
Platonism 2 fashionable at this time at Alexandria.
We can deal briefly with Clement, who was a moralist rather
than a systematic theologian. For him 3 God is absolutely tran ­
scendent, ineffable and incomprehensible; He is ‘unity, but
beyond unity, and transcending the monad ’, and yet somehow
embracing all reality. This is the Father (we note the pre-
Nicene connotation of the term); and He can be known only
through His Word, or Son, Who is His image and inseparable
from Him, His mind or rationality.4 Like the Nous of middle
Platonism and of Neo-Platonism, the Word is at once unity
and plurality, comprising in Himself the Father’s ideas, and
also the active forces by which He animates the world of
creatures.5 His generation from the Father is without beginning
(‘the Father is not without His Son; for along with being
Father, He is Father of the Son ’6); and He is essentially one
with Him,7 since the Father is in Him and He in the Father.8
The Spirit, thirdly, is the light issuing from the Word which,
divided without any real division, illuminates the faithful; He is
also the power of the Word which pervades the world and
attracts men to God.9 Thus we have a Trinity which, though in
all its lineaments Platonic, Clement unhesitatingly identifies
with Christian theism. As he writes,10 ‘O wondrous mystery!
One is the Father of the universe, and one also the Word of
the universe; the Holy Spirit, again, is one and everywhere the
same.’ He clearly distinguishes the Three, and the charge of
modalism, based on his lack of any teclmical term to designate
the Persons, is groundless; and if he appears to subordinate the
Son to the Father and the Spirit to the Son, this subordination

1 Sec above, pp. 15-17. 2 See above, pp. 14 f.

3 Paed. I, 71, 1; strom. 2, 6, 1; 5, 65, 2; 5, 78, 3; 5, 81, 3.
4 Prot. 98, 3; strom. 5, 16, 3; 7, 5, 5. s Strom. 4, 156, 1 f.; 5, 16, 3.
6 lb. 4, 162, 5; 5,1, 3; 7, 2, 2. 7 Paed. 1, 62, 4; 1, 71, 3; 3, 101, 1.
» lb. I, 24, 3; I, 53, I. ’ Strom. 6, 138, 1 f.; 7, 9, 4; 7, 79, 4.
Paed. I, 42, 1: cf. ib. 3, 101, 2; prot. 118, 4; quis div. 34, 1; etc.
128 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

implies no inequality of being, but is the corollary of his

Platonic conception of a graded hierarchy.
Origen ’s Trinitarianism was a brilliant reinterpretation of the
traditional triadic rule of faith, to which as a churchman he was
devoted, in terms of the same middle Platonism. At the apex
of his system, as the source and goal of all existence, tran­
scending mind and being itself, he placed God the Father,
‘altogether Monad, and indeed, if I may so express it, Henad ’.1
E[e alone is God in the strict sense (αύτό^εος ), being alone
‘ingenerate’ (αγέννητο?); and it is significant that Christ
spoke of Him (John 17, 3) as ‘the only true God ’.2 Being per­
fect goodness and power, He must always have had objects on
which to exercise them; hence He has brought into existence
a world of spiritual beings, or souls, coeternal with Himself.3
To mediate, however, between His absolute unity and their
multiplicity, He has His Son, His express image, the meeting­
place of a plurality of ‘aspects’ (ε’πινοιαι: these represent the
ideas of Platonism proper) which explain His twofold relation
to the Father and the world.4 These ‘aspects’ stand for the
manifold characters which the Word presents either in His
eternal being (e.g. Wisdom, Truth, Life) or as incarnate (e.g.
Healer, Door, Resurrection). Being outside the category of
time, the Father begets the Son by an eternal act (άει γεννά
αυτόν), so that it cannot be said that ‘there was when He was
not5 ’; further, the Son is God, though His deity is derivative
and He is thus a ‘secondary God ’ (δεύτερος 0εός 6). The
parallel with Albinus,7 who believed in a supreme Father Who
organized matter through a second God (Whom he, however,
identified with the World-Soul), is striking; as is the fact that
both thinkers envisaged8 the generation of the Son as the result
of His contemplation of the Father. But, thirdly (and here he
realizes9 that Christianity parts company with philosophy,
’ De princ. i, I, 6; c. Cels. 7, 38 2 In loh. 2, 2, 16; 2, 10, 75.
3 De prine, 1, 2, 10; 1, 4, 3; 2, 9, 1.
4 C. Cels. 2, 64; in loh. 1, 20, 119.
s De princ. 1, 2, 4; horn. in leretn. 9, 4: cf. Plotinus, enn. 5, 1,6.
6 C. Cels. 5, 39; in loh. 6, 39, 202. ’ See above, p. 15.
8 Cf. Origen, in loh. 2, 2, 18; Albinus, didask. 14, 3.
9 De princ. I, 3, 1-4.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINIT ARIANISM 129

relying on revelation alone), there is the Holy Spirit, ‘the most

honourable of all the beings brought into existence through
the Word, the chief in rank of all the beings originated by the
Father through Christ’.1
The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are, Origen states,2
‘three Persons’ (υποστάσεις · ). This affirmation that each of the
Three is a distinct hypostasis from all eternity, not just (as for
Tertullian and Hippolytus) as manifested in the ‘economy ’, is
one of the chief characteristics of his doctrine, and stems
directly from the idea of eternal generation. Hupostasis and
ousia were originally synonyms, the former Stoic and the latter
Platonic, meaning real existence or essence, that which a thing
is; but while hupostasis retains this connotation in Origen,3 he
more frequently gives it the sense of individual subsistence,
and so individual existent. The error of modalism, he con ­
tends,4 lies in treating the Three as numerically indistinguish ­
able (μ,ή διαφερειν τω άρι,θμω), separable only in thought,
‘one not only in essence but also in subsistence’ (ev ού μόνον
ουσία άλλα καί υποκει-μενω). The true teaching, on his view,5
is that the Son is ‘other in subsistence than the Father’ (erepoç
καθ' υποκείμενον), or even that the Father and the Son ‘are two
things in respect of Their Persons, but one in unanimity, har­
mony and identity of will’ (ρντα δυο rfj ύποστάσει πράγ ­
ματα, εν δε ττ) όμονοία καί τρ συμφωνία καί τι) ταύτότητι του
βουλώματος ). Thus, while really distinct, the Three are from
another point of view one; as he expresses it,6 ‘we are not afraid
to speak in one sense of two Gods, in another sense of one God ’.
The question of the unity of the Three is of vital importance;
it is best studied in the light of the relation of Father and Son.
As the passage just quoted shows, Origen sometimes re ­
presents it as a moral union; Their wills are virtually identical.7
Elsewhere8 he argues that Father and Son are one God in much
the same way as man and wife form one flesh, and the righteous

« In loh. 2, 10, 75. 2 Ib. 2, 10, 75.

3 E.g. ib. 20, 22, 182 f.; 32, 16, 192 f.
* Ib. 10, 37, 246: cf. ib. 2, 2, 16; in M alt. 17, 14.
s De orat. 15, 1; c. Cels. 8, 12. 6 Dial. Heracl. 2.
7 In loh. 13, 36, 228 f. 8 Dial. Heracl. 3.
130 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

man and Christ one spirit. The Son, moreover, is the Father’s
image, the reflection of His glory.1 By themselves, however,
thoughts like these hardly do justice to the whole of Origen ’s
teaching, the pivot of which was that the Son had been be­
gotten, not created, by the Father. Where he seems2 to speak of
Him as a creature, his language is a conscious concession to the
usage of Prov. 8, 22 (‘The Lord created me as a beginning ’, etc.)
and Col. 1, 15 (‘First-begotten of all creation’), and should not
be pressed. As the Father’s offspring, He is eternally poured forth
out of the Father’s being and so participates3 in His Godhead.
He issues from Him as the will from the mind, which suffers
no division in the process.4 According to W is. 7, 25, He is ‘a
breath of the power of God, a pure effluence of the glory of the
Almighty ’; and Origen points out5 that ‘both these illustrations
suggest a community of substance between Father and Son.
For an effluence would appear to be όμοούσίος , i.e. of one
substance with, that body of which it is an effluence or vapour’.
Whether or not the term 6/ζοουσιος is original in this passage
(there seems to be no cogent reason why it should not be), the
idea expressed is authentically Origenist. The unity between
Father and Son corresponds to that between light and its
brightness, water and the steam which rises from it. Different in
form, both share the same essential nature; and if, in the strictest
sense, the Father alone is God, that is not because the Son is not
also God or does not possess the Godhead, but because, as Son,
He possesses it by participation or derivatively.6
Of the Spirit Origen states,7 ‘He supplies those who, because
of Him and their participation in Him, are called sanctified
with the matter, if I may so describe it, of their graces. This
same matter of graces is effected by God, is ministered by
Christ, and achieves individual subsistence (υφ^σ-ώσης ) as the
Holy Spirit.’ Thus the ultimate ground of His being is the
Father, but it is mediated to Him by the Son, from Whom
also He derives all His distinctive attributes.8
' D eprive, i, 2, 6; 4, 4. 1. 2 loh. 1, 19, II5 - c CeJs ,
J In loh. 2, 2, 16. 4 De princ. 1, 2 , 6; 4, 4, 1.
J Frag. in Hebr. (PG 14, 1308): cf. de princ. 4, 4, 1.
6 In loh. 2, 2, 16. 7 lb. 2, 10, 77. s 15 2> IQ 6
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM 131

It is not altogether fair to conclude, as many have done, that

Origen teaches a triad of disparate beings rather than a Trinity;
but the strongly pluralist strain in his Trinitarianism is its
salient feature. The Three, on his analysis, are eternally and
really distinct; They are separate hypostases or even, in his
crude-sounding language, ‘things ’. But he attempts to meet the
most stringent demands of monotheism by insisting that the
fulness of unoriginate Godhead is concentrated in the Father,
Who alone is the fountain-head of deity ’ (τνηγη της θεότητας 1 }.
The Son and the Spirit arc divine (in fact, he is remarkably
reticent about the latter’s status), but the Godhead which They
possess, and which constitutes Their essence, wells up and is
derived from the Father’s being. This vision of ‘the adorable,
everlasting Triad ’,2 of which he detected 3 an anticipation in the
thrice-repeated ‘holy ’ of Isaiah ’s seraphim, was to inspire
generations of later Greek theologians. As it is formulated by
Origen, however, the underlying structure of thought is un ­
mistakably borrowed from contemporary Platonism. A strik ­
ing illustration of this is the fact that, in addition to the Son or
Word, he conceived of the whole world of spiritual beings
(what he called logikoi or noes) as being coeternal with the
Father. Indeed, their relation to the Word is precisely parallel
to that of the Word, at a higher level, to the Father; they are
images of Him, as He is of the Father, and in their degree are
equally entitled to be called gods. The reason for this is the
axiom, which Origen picked up from middle Platonism, that
the Father must always have had a world on which to exercise
His power; but its effect is to undermine the Christian idea of a
triune God Who transcends the contingent order.
In a more limited field the impact of Platonism reveals
itself in the thoroughgoing subordinationism which is integral
to Origen ’s Trinitarian scheme. The Father, as we have seen, is
alone avrofleos; so St. John, he points out,4 accurately de ­
scribes the Son simply as θεός , not ο θ^ός . In relation to the
God of the universe He merits a secondary degree of honour;*

« lb. 2, 3, 20. 1 lb. 6, 33, 166; 10, 39. 270.

3 Horn. in Is. 4,1. 4 lb. 2, 2, 13 ff. 5 C. Cels. 7, 57.
132 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

for He is not absolute goodness and truth, but His goodness and
truth are a reflection and image of the Father’s.1 The same goes
for His activity; the Son is the Father’s agent (υπηρέτη?),
carrying out His commands, as in the case of creation.2 For
this reason he concludes3 that ‘we should not pray to any
generate being, not even to Christ, but only to the God and
Father of the universe, to Whom our Saviour Himself prayed ’;
if prayer is offered to Christ, it is conveyed by Him to the
Father. Indeed, the Son and the Spirit are transcended by the
Father just as much as, if not more than, They Themselves
transcend the realm of inferior beings;4 and if sometimes
Origen ’s language seems to contradict this, suggesting 5 that the
Son is God from the beginning, very Word, absolute Wisdom
and truth, the explanation is that He may appear such to
creatures, but from the viewpoint of the ineffable Godhead He
is the first in the chain of emanations. This conception of a
descending hierarchy, itself the product of his Platonizing
background, is epitomized in the statement6 that, whereas the
Father’s action extends to all reality, the Son ’s is limited to
rational beings, and the Spirit’s to those who are being
sanctified.

7. The Influence of Origen

Such meagre evidence as survives of Greek Trinitarianism in
the latter half of the third century testifies to the extent of
Origen s influence. Some theologians gave prominence to his
emphasis on the Son ’s essential kinship to the Father, others to
his subordinationism. Among the former may be reckoned
Thcognostus, head of the catechetical school at Alexandria
(fl· 250-80). While he called 7 the Son a creature and restricted
His activity to rational beings, he also declared 8 that His sub ­
stance (ουσία) was derived, not out of nothingness, but out of
the Father s substance, as brightness comes from light or steam
1 De princ. 1, 2, 13; in loh. 13, 25, 151; 32, 28.
2 C. Cels. 2, 9; 6, 60. J De orat. 15, I; l6 jn jt> . c Cels. 8>
* In loh. 13, 25, 151; in M att. 15, 10.
5 'n ^ att- I4, 7· 6 De princ. 1, 3, 8.
Cf. Photius, bibl. cod. 106. 8 Cf. Athanasius, de decret. 25.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM i 33

from water. Just as the brightness and the steam were neither
identical with the sun or with water nor alien (άλλότριον)
from them, so the substance of the Son was neither identical
with nor alien from the Father; He was an effluence (απόρροια)
of the Father’s substance, which in the process suffered no divi­
sion. His successor, Pierius (β. 280-300), seems1 to have spoken
of the Father and the Son as two substances or natures (ούσίαι;
φύσας ), clearly using these terms as equivalents of Origen ’s
‘hypostases’. Gregory Thaumaturgus (f c. 270), the apostle of
Pontus, was willing on occasion to speak 2 of the Son, in
Origenist fashion, as ‘a creature or a tiling made ’ (χτίσμα;
ποίημα). His formal teaching, however, as set out in his
creed,3 was to the effect that ‘there is one God, Father of the
living Word . . . perfect begetter of the perfect begotten. . . .
There is one Lord, unique out of unique, God out of God,
impress and image of Godhead, effective Word. . . . And there
is one Holy Spirit, having His subsistence from God and being
made manifest by the Son ... in Whom is manifested God the
Father, Who is above all and in all, and God the Son, Who is
through all. So there is a perfect Triad ... in the Triad there is
nothing either created or servile, nor anything brought in, as
if it formerly did not exist and was subsequently introduced.
Thus neither was the Son ever wanting to the Father, nor the
Spirit to the Son. ’
The best-known exponent of Origen ’s subordinatiotiist
strain is his pupil Dionysius, bishop of Alexandria. In the
late fifties of the century he was instigated 4 to set out what he
considered to be the orthodox position by an outbreak of
Sabcllianism in the Libyan Pentapolis, which fell under his
jurisdiction. Not unnaturally, since the rebuttal of modalism
was his object, he thrust the personal distinction between Father
and Son into the foreground; and the Sabellian group was able
to find at any rate one 5 of his letters, addressed to bishops
Ammonius and Euphranor, full of indiscretions. They made a
formal complaint to the Roman pope, who was also named
1 Photius, bibl. cod. 119. 2 Cf. Basil, ep. 210, 5.
1 PG 10, 184-8. 4 Cf. Athanasius, de sent. Dion. 5. 5 Ib. 9; 10.
134 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

Dionysius, and accused the Alexandrian bishop (a) of making

a sharp division, amounting to separation, between Father and
Son (διαιρεί και μακρύνει και μερίζει τον νίον άπο του πατρδ?1);
(b) of denying the Son ’s eternity, and stating that the
Father had not always been Father and that ‘the Son was not
before He came into existence’;2 (c) of naming the Father
without the Son and the Son without the Father, as if They
were not inseparable in Their very being;3 (d) of failing to
describe the Son as όμοούσιος with the Father;4 and (e) of
stating that the Son was a creature (ποίημα και γενητόν), just
as much different from the Father in substance (ξένον κατ
ουσίαν) as a vine from its vinedresser, a boat from the ship ­
wright who made it, etc.5
There is no doubt that Dionysius had used language un­
fortunate in itself and in its implications; in the following
century Athanasius tried 6 to whitewash him, but Basil’s judg ­
ment was surer when he remarked 7 that Dionysius’s anti-
Sabellian zeal had carried him to the opposite extreme.
Dionysius of Rome issued a brief8 which, without mentioning
his name, in effect criticized Dionysius of Alexandria, and then
went on to expound a positive theology which shows how
powerful was the influence of Novatian at Rome. The pope
was clearly shocked by the Origen-inspired doctrine of three
hypostases, which seemed to him to undermine the divine
monarchy. Those Alexandrian theologians who taught it were,
he implied, virtual tritheists, splitting the indivisible oneness
of the Deity into ‘three powers, three absolutely separate
hypostases, three divinities’. At all costs the indivisibility of
the holy Monad must be maintained; the Word and the Spirit
must therefore be regarded as inseparable from the God of the
universe, and must be summed up and gathered to Him. This
is the old idea that the almighty Father (in the old sense of the
unique Godhead) can never have been without His Word and
His Spirit since They belong to His very being. In harmony

1 De sent Dion. 16. ~ lb. 14. 3 Ib. 16. * Ib. 18.

3 Ib. 4. 6 Cf. ib. i Ep. 9, 2.
» Cf. the fragments preserved by Athanasius, de decret. 26.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRIN[TARIANISM 135

with this, the pope continued, if Christ is in the Father (cf.

John 14, 11), if He is His Word, Wisdom and Power (cf. 1 Cor.
I, 24), He must always have existed, and it is blasphemous to
speak of Him as a creature or to say that there was when He was
not. According to Ps. 109, 3 (LXX: ‘Before the dawn I begat
thee out of my belly ’), and Prov. 8, 25 (‘Before all the hills he
begets me ’), His origin was no act of creation, but ‘a divine
and ineffable generation ’.
Dionysius of Alexandria made an elaborate rejoinder, in
which he restated his position in less equivocal, more cautious
terms, although without surrendering any of its essential
features. He freely acknowledged 1 the impropriety of some of
his expressions and analogies, but complained that his teaching
had not been judged as a whole; and he skilfully adopted the
pope ’s language in reformulating his own doctrine. First, he re ­
pudiated the charge of separating Father, Son and Spirit. The
Three are obviously inseparable, as is demonstrated by Their
very titles: a Father implies a Son, a Son implies a Father, and
Spirit implies both the source from which and the medium by
which it proceeds forth.2 Even so, his definition of Them as
‘three hypostases’ must be retained, inasmuch as They are
three, unless the Triad is to be dissolved.3 Secondly, he affirmed
unambiguously that the Son is eternal. God was always Father,
and therefore Christ was always Son, just as if the sun were
eternal the daylight would also be everlasting; the one cannot
be conceived without the other.4 Thirdly, dealing with the
allegation that he had not employed όμοούσιος , he pointed
out5 that the term was non-Scriptural. Nevertheless he ac­
cepted its meaning, as the figures he had chosen proved.
Parents and children, for example, arc different people, but are
‘homogeneous ’ (o/xoyeveîç); the plant and its seed or root are
different, yet of the same nature (όμοφυή). So the river and its
source arc different in form and name, but consist of the self­
same water. He evidently interpreted hotnoousios as meaning

’ Cf. Athanasius, de sent. Dion. 14; 18. 1 Ib. 17.

3 Cf. Basil, de spir. sanct. 72. 4 Cf. Athanasius, op. cit. 15 f.
s Ib. 18.
I3< 5 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

‘sharing the same nature’, in the generic sense, as Origen him ­

self may well have done. His whole object, it would appear,
was to correct the false impression, as he judged it, that his
doctrine of three hypostases excluded the essential unity of the
Three. He summarized his position in the balanced formula,1
‘We both expand the Monad into the Triad without dividing
It’— thus he concedes to his Roman colleague that the Son and
the Spirit are, as it were, projections of the indivisible divine
essence— ‘and again we sum up the Triad in the Monad without
subtracting from It’— that is, the oneness must be acknow ­
ledged, but not at the cost of failing to recognize the three
Persons.
The incident supplies an instructive illustration of the very
different lines along which Western and Eastern theologians
were working. Scholars have often sought to explain the clash
away as the result of a mere misunderstanding over termin ­
ology. To a certain extent it was that. For example, the pope
may well have inferred, on sound etymological grounds, that
ύπόστασις was the Greek equivalent for substantia, which he had
learned from Tertullian signified the indivisible concrete
reality of the Godhead. Hence his shocked conclusion that his
namesake ’s doctrine of three hypostases was tantamount to
tritheism. But the matter went much deeper than words.
Western Trinitarianism, as we noticed earlier, had long been
marked by a monarchian bias. What was luminously clear to
the theologians representing it was the divine unity; so
mysterious did they find the distinctions within that unity that,
though fully convinced of their reality, they were only begin ­
ning, haltingly and timidly, to think of them as ‘Persons’. In
the East, where the intellectual climate was impregnated with
Nco-Platonic ideas about the hierarchy of being, an altogether
different, confessedly pluralistic approach had established itself.
The disagreement was thus theological at bottom, and was
destined to manifest itself again in the following century.
1 Cf. Athanasius, op. cit. 17.
 THIRD-CENTURY TRINITARIANISM U?

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. G. Bardy, ‘Trinité ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.); G. Krctschmar,

Stndien zur frühchristlichen Trinitatstheologie (Tübingen, 1956); J. Lcbrc-
ton, Histoire du dogme de la Trinité (Paris, 1928); F. Loofs, ‘ Christologie-
Kirchcnlehrc ’ (art. in Hauck ’s Realencyk.); G. L. Prestige, God in
Patristic Thought (London, 2 ed. 1952); A. E. J. Rawlinson (cd.), Essays
on the Trinity and the Incarnation (London, 1928).
Special. É. Amann, ‘Hippolyte ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.); A. d'Alès,
La Théologie de Tcrtullien and La Théologie d ’Hippolyte (Paris, 1905 and
1906); G. Bardy, ‘Monarchianisme ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.); J.
Daniclou, Origen (Eng. trans., London, 1955); E. Evans, Tertullian s
Treatise against Praxeas (London, 1948); C. L. Fcltoe, The Letters of Dio ­
nysius of Alexandria (Cambridge, 1904); M. Kricbcl, Stndien zur àlteren
Entwicklung der abendlandischen Trinitatslehre bei Tertullian und Novatian
(Marburg, 1932); C. W. Lowry, ‘Origen as Trinitarian ’ (art. in Journ.
Thcol. Stud., 1936); R. A. Markus, ‘Trinitarian Theology and the
Economy ’ (art. in Journ. Thcol. Stud., 1958; P. Nautin, Hippolyte contre
les hérésies (Paris, 1949); H. de Riedmattcn, Les Actes du procès de Paul
de Samosate (Fribourg en Suisse, 1952); R. Walzcr, Galen on Jews and
Christians (Oxford, 1949).

*• 4 M
 C H A PTER VI

THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY

I. One-sided Solutions

T h e problem of Christology, in the narrow sense of the word,

is to define the relation of the divine and the human in Christ.
For a full-dress attack on the issues involved we must wait until
the fourth century; it was the decision, promulgated at Nicaea,
that the Word shared the same divine nature as the Father,
that focused attention upon them. Nevertheless the all but
universal Christian conviction in the preceding centuries had
been that Jesus Christ was divine as well as human. The most
primitive confession had been ‘Jesus is Lord ’1, and its import
had been elaborated and deepened in the apostolic age. The
New Testament writers generally regarded Christ as pre­
existent; they tended 2 to attribute to Him a twofold order of
being, ‘according to the flesh ’ (κατά σάρκα), i.e. as man, and
‘according to spirit’ (κατά πνεύμα), i.e. as God. So deeply
was this formula embedded in their thinking that F. Loofs
justly labelled 3 it ‘the foundation datum of all later Christo-
logical development’. As this contained all the elements of the
Christological problem, thoughtful Christians could scarcely
ignore it. We shall find that they did not do so, and that while
most of the solutions proposed by the pre-Niccne Church were
necessarily tentative, there were some which foreshadowed the
mature discussion of later centuries.
In this book we are primarily concerned with the progress
of doctrine within the central Christian tradition, i.e. in the
Catholic Church. Here the double premiss of apostolic Christ-
1 E.g. Rom. io, 9; Phil. 2, 11.
1 E.g. Rom. I, 3 f; 8, 9; 2 Cor. 3, 17; Hebr. 9, 14; 1 p e t. i, Ir; 3> jg.
J Lcitjadcn zum Studium der Dogmengescliichte (Halle, 5th cd. 1950), § 14, 5a
138
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 139

ology, viz. that Christ as a Person was indivisibly one, and that
He was simultaneously fully divine and fully human, was taken
as the starting-point, the task of theology being to show how its
two aspects could be held together in synthesis. In the first
three centuries, however, the frontiers of orthodoxy were not
so rigidly demarcated as they later became, and important cur­
rents of thought flowed outside the main channel. Certain
of these ‘heretical’ trends have considerable Christological
interest, and we shall glance briefly at a few of them before
concentrating on the orthodox movement of thought.
First, then, we hear in the second century of a type of
Christology, known as Ebionism, which solved the problem
by denying the divinity altogether. The Ebionites were an
offshoot of that specifically Jewish form of Christianity which
was a potent force in the apostolic age, when it was only pre ­
vented with difficulty from saddling the Church with the full
observance of the Jewish law. The rapid expansion of Gentile
Christianity meant that its influence was bound to diminish,
and the dispersal of the main community from Jerusalem to
Transjordan on the outbreak of the Jewish war (a .d . 66) com ­
pleted its isolation. After that date we only catch fleeting
glimpses ofjudaizing Christianity, and indeed it seems to have
dissolved in splinter groups. Some of them, often called
Nazaraeans, while strictly obeying the law and preferring a
Judaizing gospel of their own, were perfectly orthodox in their
belief that Jesus was the Son of God.1 In distinction from these
the Ebionites rejected 2 the virgin birth, regarding the Lord as a
man normally born from Joseph and Mary; He was the pre­
destined Messiah, and in this capacity would return to reign on
earth. This at any rate was the core of their teaching, which in
some quarters seems to have had a pronounced Gnostic colour­
ing. Hippolytus3 and Tertullian 4 connect their name with one
Ebion, presumably the apocryphal founder of the sect; but in
fact it derives from the Hebrew for ‘poor’, no doubt recalling
’ Justin, dial. 47: cf. Hcgesippus (in Eusebius, hist. eccl. 4, 22, 2 f.); Jerome,
ep. 1 1 2, 13; Epiphanius, haer. 29, 7.
1 Justin, ib.; Irenaeus, haer. 1, 26, 1; 3, 11, 7; 3, 21, 1.
3 Ref. 7, 35. I· 4 De praescr. 33.
140 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

the humble title 1 by which the original Je wish-Christian com ­

munity in Jerusalem liked to be known.
Secondly, Christologies of this type, attributing to Christ
the status of a mere man (ψιλός άνθρω πος } pre-eminently
endowed, were not wholly unexampled in non-Jewish circles.
In the previous chapter, when considering monarchianism, we
examined2 the adoptionism of the two Theodoti and Artemas,
and noticed that Paul of Samosata was charged with dis­
seminating similar teaching in the sixties of the third century.
Although tradition alleged 3 him to be the intellectual child of
Artemas, Paul worked out his theory on original lines. An
extreme monarchian, he held that Christ was (in Eusebius’s
phrase4) ‘an ordinary man in nature’, drawing a sharp distinc ­
tion between the historical figure and the Word. Jesus Christ,
he declared,5 was ‘one ’ (άλλο?), the Word ‘another’ (άλλο?),
the former being from below and the latter from above; Mary
did not, indeed could not, bear the Word. The relation of the
Word to Jesus Christ he described6 as a kind of ‘ indwelling ’ or
‘participation ’ or ‘grace’; It was in Him as ‘a quality ’ (ττοίοτη?).
As we saw in the last chapter, the Word was not on his view a
Person (ουσία or υπόστασι?), so that there could be no ques­
tion of the Godhead ’s being united to the man in any concrete
or substantial sense. In fact, the relation of the Word to Christ,
as Paul did not hesitate7 to make plain, was precisely analogous
in kind to I~Lis relation to the prophets, Moses and the saints,
although more intense in degree. As he summed it up,8 ‘ Mary
did not bear the Word, for Mary did not exist before the ages.
Mary is not older than the Word; what she bore was a man
equal to us, but superior in all things as a result of holy spirit.’
Thirdly, a diametrically opposite Christological tendency,
effectively eliminating the Lord ’s humanity, was a factor to
be reckoned with from apostolic times onwards. Known as
* E.g. Rom. 15, 26; Gal. 2, 10. 2 See above, pp. 116-19.
’ CL Eusebius, hist. eccl. η, 30, 16. 4 Ib. 7, 27, 2.
’ S 14; 25; 26; 27 (text in H. de Ricdmatten, Les Actes du procès de Paul de
Samosate, 1952).
6 S 5; 8; 14; 25; 29; 31; 33 (Riedmattcn, op. cit.).
7 S 6; 8; 9; 10; 39 (Riedmattcn, op. cit.).
8 S 26 (Riedmattcn, op. cit.).
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 141

Docetism, the distinctive thesis which gave it its name (δοκάν

= ‘to seem ’) was that Christ’s manhood, and hence His suffer­
ings, were unreal, phantasmal. Clearly its ultimate roots were
Graeco-Oricntal assumptions about divine impassibility and the
inherent impurity of matter. The first expressly to mention
‘Docctists’ (δοκηταί) is Serapion of Antioch 1 (fl. 200). But
Docetism was not a simple heresy on its own; it was an
attitude which infected a number of heresies, particularly
Marcionism 2 and Gnosticism.3 This attitude is crystallized in
a remark 4 of Justin ’s (?), ‘There arc some who declare that
Jesus Christ did not come in flesh but only as spirit, and ex ­
hibited an appearance (φαντασίαν) of flesh ’. Traces of teaching
like this are visible in the New Testament itself, and very early
in the second century we fmd Ignatius protesting5 against ‘ god ­
less’ people who claimed that Christ had suffered in appearance
only. By itself this might imply simply the theory, common
enough at the time, that someone else was crucified in Christ’s
stead. But the vigour with which Ignatius defends6 the
actuality of all Christ’s human experiences, as well as the hint7
that his opponents declined to admit that He was genuinely
‘flesh-bearing ’ (σαρκοφόρος ), suggests that their Docetism
went the whole way. Shortly afterwards Polycarp was
anathematizing 8 the refusal to ‘confess that Jesus Christ came
in the flesh ’; and the apocryphal Gospel oj Peter was to state9
that the Saviour on the cross had ‘kept silence, as feeling no
pain ’, implying that His bodily make-up was illusory.
The Christologics of Gnosticism transport us into a bizarre
world of cosmic speculation. The burden of the myth of re ­
demption, it will be recalled,10 was the liberation of the divine
element, the fragment of spirit, in fallen humanity, and this
was accomplished by the bestowal of knowledge. There was a
great variety of Gnostic systems, but a common pattern ran
through them all. From the pleroma, or spiritual world of

1 Cf. Eusebius, hist. eccl. 6, 12, 6. 1 See above, p. 57.

3 See above, pp. 22-8. ■* De res. 2. s Trail. 10; Smyrti. 2.
6 Eph. 7; 18-20; Trail. 9; Smyrtt. 1-3; 7; M agn. 11. ’ Smyrti. 5.
8 Phil. 7, i. 9 4. U (cd. M · R· James, p. 91).
10 Sec above, pp. 23-7.
142 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

aeons, the divine Christ descended and united Himself for a

time (according to Ptolemy,1 between the baptism and the
passion) to the historical personage, Jesus; and according to
most accounts the latter’s body was formed, not out of
ordinary flesh, but of ‘psychic ’ substance.2 Thus the Gnostics’
Christology was radically pluralist; Christ Jesus on their view,
as Irenaeus pointed out,3 was compounded of two distinct sub ­
stances (ουσίαι), being the heavenly Christ and Jesus, the son
of the Demiurge, in a loose sort of liaison. It was also docetic,
cither as teaching that the heavenly Christ was invisible, impalp ­
able and impassible, or as implying that the lower Christ him ­
self, with whom the heavenly Christ joined himself, was not
real flesh and blood. Marcion ’s Christology, too, was docetic,
at any rate to the extent that he regarded 4 the Lord ’s body
(not, however, His sufferings) as phantasmal, but it contained
no trace of Gnostic pluralism. The Redeemer was the
Son of the good God of the New Testament, but more than
that; Marcion conceived5 of Him, almost in the fashion of the
modalists, as the good God in person, clothed with the out­
ward appearance of a man.

2. The Spirit Christology

These were tendencies on the fringe, yet Gnosticism at any
rate came within an ace of swamping the central tradition. The
fact that it did not do so was in large measure due (apart from an
astonishing feat of pastoral care on the part of the ecclesiastical
authorities) to the unwavering insistence in the rule of faith, as
expressed in liturgy, catechetical teaching and preaching, that
the Son of God had really become man. This fundamental
datum ensured that the Christological scheme of the primitive
Church reproduced the pattern laid down in the New Testa­
ment— one Christ, at once human and divine, flesh and spirit.
The most striking examples of it are provided by Ignatius,

’ Irenaeus, haer. I, 7, 2. 3 E.g. ib. I, 6, 1. J Ib. 3, 16, 5.

♦ Cf. Tertullian, de earn. Chr. 5; Origen, hom. in Luc. 1 (Raucr, 7).
’ Cf. Tertullian, c. M arc. 1, 19.
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 143

whose anti-heretical polemic prompted him to emphasize both

the oneness of Christ and the reality of His twofold mode of
existence. He delighted to proclaim these truths in such balanced
antitheses as,1 ‘There is one physician, composed of flesh and of
spirit, generate and ingenerate, God in man, authentic life in
death, from Mary and from God, first passible and then im ­
passible, Jesus Christ our Lord ’. He was accustomed to drive
home the fact that the subject of these seemingly contradictory
experiences was indivisibly one by using expressions2 like ‘ the
blood of God ’, ‘the suffering of my God ’, and ‘God . . . was
conceived by Mary ’, which anticipated the later doctrine of
communicatio idiomatum (άντίδοσι,ς Ιδιωμάτων), i.e. that in
view of the unity of Christ’s Person, His human and divine
attributes, experiences, etc. might properly be interchanged.
This being the accepted formula, the suggestion once com ­
monly advanced that the original type of Christology was
naively adoptionist, i.c. envisaged Christ as a man promoted by
divine favour to deity, has little to be said for it. In any case, as
was shown in Chapter IV, the attribution of pre-existence to
Christ was general among the Apostolic Fathers, and it is un ­
likely that even Hermas3 was an adoptionist in the strict sense.
The vast majority of Christians in the early second century
probably shared the faith and practice of the simple Bithynian
believers who, as they confessed to Pliny,4 were in the habit of
meeting together before dawn and singing a hymn ‘to Christ
as to God ’. The Christological theory (if theory is an apt name
for what was usually a pre-reflectivc supposition) which com ­
manded most support, and which lingered on beyond the
second century, may be described as a Spirit-Christology. By
this is meant the view that in the historical Jesus Christ the pre ­
existent Son of God, Who is divine spirit, united Himself with
human nature. This could take a variety of forms, according
to the underlying conception. The idea seems sometimes to
have been that the pre-existent Christ-Spirit indwelt the man
Jesus, sometimes that He actually became man. ‘Barnabas’
1 Eph. 7, 2. 2 Ib. I, 1; 18, 2; Rom. 6, 3.
3 See aDove, pp. 94 f. 4 Ep. ad Traian, imp. 96.
144 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

provides an example of the former, with his statements1 that the

Son of God ‘came ’ or ‘manifested himself’ in flesh, or in the
form of flesh, and that the body which Christ offered in sacrifice
was ‘the receptacle of spirit’. An even more impressive illustra­
tion is Hermas’s theory 2 that ‘God caused the holy, pre-existent
spirit which created the whole of creation to dwell in flesh that
He desired’, i.e. in the human Jesus, Who cooperated with it
meritoriously.
On the other hand, the Christology of the Ignatian passage
cited above clearly conforms to the second type. Belonging
first to the supernatural order (cf. πνευματικός , αγέννητος ,
απαθής , etc.), Jesus was fully and characteristically human. He
was born ‘of the seed of David, but also of holy spirit’3; He
was ‘of the seed of David as regards His flesh, but Son of God
according to God ’s will and power’4. In agreement with this
approach 2 Clement declares5 that ‘Christ the Lord, Who saved
us, being first of all spirit, became flesh ’; while in 1 Clement 6 we
read that Christ addresses us in the Psalms ‘through holy
spirit’. To pass beyond the second century, the same theory, it
is plain, lay behind Callistus’s doctrine 7 that what became in ­
carnate of the Blessed Virgin was ‘holy spirit’. Both Hip ­
polytus and Tertullian, as we shall see, were exponents of the
Spirit-Christology; and Cyprian ’s statement8 that at the in ­
carnation God ’s Son ‘descended into the Virgin and as holy
spirit clothed Himself with flesh ’ illustrates its persistence. It is
noteworthy that the all but unanimous exegetieal tradition 9 of
Luke I, 35, equated ‘the holy spirit’ and ‘the power of the
Most High ’ which were to come upon Mary, not with the
third Person of the Trinity, but with the Christ Who, pre ­
existing as spirit or Word, was to incarnate Himself in her
womb. It is also highly probable that the ancient clause of the
Old Roman Creed, w h o w a s b o r n f r o m h o l y s pir it a n d t h e
v ir g in m a r y , reflects the same idea that Jesus Christ, the

1 5. <5; 5. IO f.; 12, 10; 7, 3. 2 Sim. 5, 6, 5-7: see above, p. 94.

J Eph. 18, 2. ♦ Smyrn. 1, I. 5 9, 5- 6 22, I.
7 Cf. Hippolytus, ref. 9, 12, 17: see above, p. 124. 8 Quod idola i t .
9 Cf. J. M. Creed, The Gospel according to St. Luke (London, 1930), ad loc.:
sec above p. 103.
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 145

historic Son of God, was the product of the union of divine

spirit with human nature in the womb of the Blessed Virgin.

3. The Apologists and Irenaeus

Little enough can be gleaned from the Apologists, Justin

apart, about Christology. Preoccupied with the Logos, they
evince surprisingly little interest in the Gospel Figure. Tatian, it
is true, speaks1 of Him as ‘God in the form of a man ’; while
Aristides, using language coloured by the Spirit-Christology,
states" diat ‘it is confessed that this Son of the most high God
descended from heaven as holy spirit (ev ττρβυ/χατι άγίω) and
took flesh from a virgin ’. For Melito 3 He was ‘by nature God
and man ’ ; His pre-existence and complete identification with
the Godhead were strongly stressed. Justin himself was usually
content to reproduce the familiar affirmations of the rule of
faith. He is satisfied that the Word became man by being born
from the Virgin. As he expresses4 it, ‘He Who was formerly
Logos, and appeared now in the semblance of fire, now in
incorporeal fashion, has fmally by God ’s will become man for
the human race’. He pre-existed as God, and was made flesh
of the Virgin, being born as man.5 His incarnation involved
the assumption of flesh and blood,6 and Justin insists,7 in spite
of the scandal thereby occasioned to Jewish critics, on the
reality of the Messiah’s physical sufferings. Yet He did not
cease to exist as Word, being in fact at once ‘God and man ’.8
Passages like these emphasize the reality of the two natures
(what Melito of Sardis a little later, if we can trust our texts,
was to call9 τας δυο αυτού ουσία?, lit. ‘His two substances’),
but throw no light on the manner of their co-existence in the
one Person of Christ. The only explanation Justin hints at is
one suggested by his doctrine of the germinal Logos {λόγος
σπερματικός 10 ). Since we agree, he argues,11 that the Logos

1 Or. 21, i. 2 Apol. 15, i.

5 Horn, de pass. 8-10; 82. 4 1 apol. 63, 10.
J Dial. 87, 2: cf. 1 apol. 46, 5. 6 1 apol. 66, 2.
7 Dial. 34, 2; 36, 1; 39, 7; 41, 1; 49. 2; etc. 8 lb. 71, 2: cf. ib. 100.
9 De iticarn. 3, frg. 6. 10 See above, p. 96. * ’ Dial. 75, 4.
i 46 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

manifested Himself in various forms to Abraham, Isaac and

Moses (he is thinking of the Old Testament theophanies), why
should we shrink from believing that He could be born as a
man from the Virgin? The Logos, moreover, has been active in
all men, imparting to them whatever goodness and knowledge
they possessed.1 The idea lurking in his mind seems to be that
His presence in Jesus Christ should be understood as similar in
kind to this universal presence, though much greater in degree.
Yet he does not follow up or develop the idea, and in any case
leaves the presence of the Word in other men in all ages itself
unexplained. Sometimes he speaks of His dwelling in them or
being implanted in them like a seed,1 2 sometimes of them as
living with the Logos,3 sometimes of their having a share or
portion of Him.4
There is, however, one crucial passage which has often been
pointed to as providing an answer. This is Justin ’s statement5
that Christianity is manifestly superior to all other human
teaching ‘for the reason that the rational principle in its entirety
became the Christ Who appeared because of us, body and
Logos and soul’ (δια του το λογι,κον το όλον τον φανόντα
* ημάς Χρίστον γ^γονόναι, και σώμα καί λόγον καί φυχήν).
δι
The implication of the final clause, it has been suggested, must
be that on Justin ’s view the Logos took the place in the man
Jesus of the human rational soul {νους or πνζΰμα). If this inter­
pretation is correct, Justin must have been a pioneer exponent
of the ‘Word-flesh’ type of Christology which wc shall later
be studying; and it is certainly the case that, one or two pas­
sages excepted, he shows little or no interest in Christ’s human
soul. The Stoic influences in his environment must have
prompted him to regard the Logos as the governing principle,
or ηγεμονικόν, in the God-man. On the other hand, the whole
point of the passage is that the difference between Christ and
ordinary mtn lies, not in any essential disparity of constitution,
but in the fact that, whereas the Logos works in them frag-

1 1 apol. 32, 8; 46, 3; 2 apol. 8, 1; 10, 2; 13, 3.

2 i apol. 32, 8; 2 apol. 8, 1. 2 1 apol. 46 3
4 2 apol. 10, 2; 13, 3. s ib. Io , j.j
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 147

mentarily (κατά μέρος }, or as a seed, He works in Christ as a

whole. Indeed, if that had been what he intended, nothing
could have been easier for Justin than to say quite frankly that
the Logos had substituted Himself for the kind of soul ordinary
men possessed. From this point of view it might be more
plausible to regard the text cited as bearing testimony to
Justin ’s belief that Christ’s humanity was complete, including a
soul (ψυχή} animated and enlightened by the Word, as well as a
body. As a matter of fact, he has other passages,1 e.g. where he
refers to the crucified Christ’s surrendering His spirit (πνζΰμα},
or to His feelings when faced with His passion, which suggest
that he may have allowed for His possession of a human soul.
It is difficult, however, to feel any certainty where there is so
little evidence to go upon; and while speculation opens up
fascinating vistas, Justin ’s final conclusions on the matter must
remain a mystery.
Although influenced by the Apologists, Irenaeus owed much
more to the direct impact of St. Paul and St. John. In Chris-
tology his approach was conditioned negatively by his opposi­
tion to Gnosticism and Docctism, positively by his own
tremendous vision of Christ as the second Adam, Who summed
up in Himself the whole sequence of mankind, including the
first Adam, thereby sanctifying it and inaugurating a new, re­
deemed race of men. Thus he insists almost monotonously on
the unity of the God-man, repudiating 2 the Gnostic separation
of the heavenly Christ from the man Jesus. As he read the
Gospels and the rule of faith, it was the eternal Word Himself
Who became incarnate; and he never tires of applying the
formula3 ‘one and the same ’ to the Lord Jesus Christ. His
motive here was frankly soteriological; only if the divine Word
entered fully into human life could the redemption have been
accomplished. Similarly, as against Docetism, he argued for the
reality of Christ’s corporeal nature. He was ‘truly God ’ and
‘truly man ’4 ; if His flesh had differed in any respect (sinlessness
excepted) from ordinary human flesh, the parallel between Him
« Dial. 105, 5; 103, 7 f. 2 E.g. haer. 3, 16, 8.
3 E.g. ib. I, 9, 2; 3. 16, 2 f.; 3, 16, 8; 3, 17, 4. * Ib. 4, 6, 7.
148 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

and the first Adam would not have been valid, and man ’s sinful
nature could not have been reconciled to God.1 The Word
Himself fashioned His own humanity in the Virgin ’s womb;
and if it be asked why He did this instead of creating some
altogether novel substance, the answer2 is that the humanity
which was to be the instrument of salvation had to be identical
with that which needed to be saved.
Thus Irenaeus, even more emphatically than Justin, is a
representative of the view that at the incarnation the pre­
existent Logos, Who revealed Himself in the creation of the
world and in the Old Testament theophanies, actually became
man. The difference between them is that, while Justin ac­
centuates the distinction between the Logos and the Father,
even calling the former a ‘second God ’, for Irenaeus (here he is
akin to Ignatius) He is the form in which the Godhead mani­
fests Itself. A rather different Christology has been suspected
to He behind his habit of referring3 to ‘the God ’ and ‘His
man ’ (e.g. ‘both confessing the God and firmly accepting
His man ’), as if the humanity were almost an independent
person vis-à-vis the Word. But expressions like these do not
betoken an incipient Nestorianism; they are simply examples of
the vividly concrete language which Irenaeus was obliged to
use because of his lack of abstract terms for ‘divinity ’ and
‘humanity ’. Two further points of interest deserve to be
noticed. First, while it is not absolutely clear whether he
attributed a rational human soul to the incarnate Lord (the
question had not been posed in his day), the probability is that
he did in so far as he thought about the matter at all. At any
rate he was satisfied4 that human nature in its completeness in ­
cludes such a soul, and that the Word became whatever human
nature is. Secondly, there are passages in his writings which
suggest that he was aware of some at any rate of the problems
involved in the union of divinity and humanity. For example,
he states5 that when the Lord was tempted, suffered and died,

1 Haer. 5, 14, 2 f. 3 lb. 3, 21 f.

3 E.g. ib. 5, 14. I*. 5» 4; 5. 21, 3. 4 lb. 3, 22, 1: cf. 5, 9, 1.
1 Ib. 1. 10. 3.
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 149

the Word remained quiescent ^συχάζοντο^, but cooperated

{συγγι,γνομίνου τω άνθρώττω) with the humanity in its victory,
endurance and resurrection.

4. The W estern Contribution

In the prc-Nicene era the West was quicker in formulating

a mature Christology than the East. In part its success was due
to its possessing theologians of the calibre of Hippolytus and
Tertullian. If we concentrate on the latter in this section, the
reason is that the pattern he shaped was to prove of lasting
significance. Yet certain features of Hippolytus’s Christology
call for mention.
First, like his teacher Irenaeus, Hippolytus looked to the
Johannine model, ‘The Word was made flesh ’. Some of his
utterances seem at first sight to imply that the Logos simply
assumed human flesh as an outward habiliment, as when he
compares1 Christ’s humanity to a bridegroom ’s robe. Again,
like Irenaeus, he sometimes speaks2 of it as ‘the man ’, as if it
constituted an independent person. His true meaning, however,
conies out in the statements3 that ‘ the Logos became flesh and
was made man ’, that entering into the Virgin He took flesh
from her and ‘became every thing that a man is, sin excepted ’,
and that (as against the Docetists) ‘He became man really, not
in appearance or in a manner of speaking ’. Like St. John and
Irenaeus, he used ‘flesh ’ to connote human nature in its in ­
tegrity, without raising the question of a rational soul, and re ­
ferred to the divine element in Christ as ‘spirit’. Secondly, he
had a firmer grasp than most of his predecessors of the duality
of natures in Christ as attested by the difference of operation
and manifestation. More than once, in passages4 packed with
eloquent antitheses, he contrasts the weakness of the humanity
(what he calls τα ανθρώπινα) with the sublimity of the divine
nature. Thirdly, he has an interesting text5 in which he states,
‘Neither the Logos without flesh and by Himself was Son in
1 De antichr. 4. 2 E.g. in Dan. 4, 39, 5.
.3 C. Noet. 4; 17. 4 E.g. c. Noet. 18. » Ib. 15.
150 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

the full sense . . . nor could the flesh exist (ύποστάναι) by itself
apart from the Logos, since it has its support (σύστασιν) in the
Logos’. Hippolytus is not here anticipating the much later
doctrine that the human nature derived its subsistence from the
Word. He is merely emphasizing his well-known view 1 that
the Sonsliip, properly speaking, dated from the incarnation,
and adding that the Word was the creator of His own flesh.
But the introduction of the fateful term ύποστάναι (cogn.
υπόστασή) into Christological discussion deserves notice, as
does the implied hint that the Person of the Word is the basis
of the God-man.
The central feature of Tertullian’s Christology was its grasp
of the two natures in Christ; to use the term which he preferred,
the Saviour was composed of ‘two substances’. The Word on
his view, as we have already seen,2 has existed alongside the
Father from all eternity, a distinct Person at any rate from His
generation, but one with Him in essence. He became man,
however, for man ’s salvation, since only as man could He
accomplish His work on our behalf. So He was born from the
Virgin; as Son of God He needed no earthly father, but it was
necessary for Him to derive His manhood from an earthly
source.3 Consequently, being divine spirit (here again we catch
an echo of the Spirit-Christology), He entered into the Virgin,
as the angel of the annunciation foretold, and received His
flesh from her.4 The birth was a real one; He was bom from
her and not, as the Gnostic Valentinus alleged, simply through
her, as if she were a mere channel through which He passed.5
Tertullian does not shrink from claiming 6 that in the process
Mary, who had conceived as a virgin, lost her virginity.
Christ’s humanity was in every respect genuine,7 and also
complete; it included, as indispensable to man ’s constitution, a
soul as well as a body — indeed, the assumption of a soul was
necessary if man was to be saved.8 As a result, He was obliged
to put up with the passiones humanas, such as hunger and thirst,

1 See above, p. 112. 1 See above, pp. in f. J De cam. Chr. vj f.

♦ Adv. Prax. 26. s De cam. Chr. 20. 6 Ib. 23.
’ Ib. 1; 5; 9· 8 Ib ·
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 15 r

tears, birth and death.1 The governing principle in His make­

up, however, was always the Word; Tcrtullian leaves one in
no doubt that it was He, the divine spirit, Who ‘took the man
to Himself’ {suscepit hominem), and ‘mingled God and man in
Himself’.2
If Jesus Christ, then, consists of ‘two substances’ (cf. utram-
que substantiam Christi et carnis et spiritus non negas 3 ) , what
should we say about the relation between them? Tcrtullian has
the distinction of being the first theologian frankly to tackle
this issue. ‘Thus the Word ’, he writes,4 ‘is in flesh. But this
provokes the inquiry how the Word became flesh. Was He, so
to speak, metamorphosed {transfiguratus) into flesh, or did He
clothe Himself in it {indutus carnemfi' He has no hesitation in
opting for the second alternative. A transformation is unthink ­
able, for the reason that God and His Logos arc by definition
immutable, and that the result of such a metamorphosis would
be the destruction of both the Godhead and the manhood and
the emergence of a monstrous tertium quid, a mixture or
amalgam. The logical conclusion is that both ‘substances’ con ­
tinue unaltered and unimpaired after the union. So, anticipating
later definitions, Tcrtullian can say that each of them preserves
its peculiar qualities {salva est utriusque proprietas substantiae) and
activity {substantiae ambo in statu suo quaeque distincte agebant),
the spirit performing the miracles and the humanity enduring
the sufferings. Yet while the flesh remains flesh and the spirit
spirit (he cites the Lord ’s remark to Nicodemus in John 3, 6 as
Scriptural confirmation), they both belong to a single subject
{in uno plane esse possunt); He Who was both Son of God and
Son of man was one and the same Person.
He sums up:5 ‘ We observe a twofold condition, not confused
but conjoined, Jesus, in one Person at once God and man ’
{videmus duplicem statum, non confusum sed coniunctum, in una
persona deum et hominem lesum). Side by side in that indivisible
Person can be seen Godhead and manhood, divine spirit
and human flesh, immortality and mortality, strength and
» Adi>. Prax. 16. 2 E.g. c. M arc. 2, 27. J De cam. Chr. 18.
*· Adv. Prax. 27. s Loc. cit.
152 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

weakness.1 If it is said that Christ suffered and died, the reference

is to the human ‘substance’. God docs not suffer; the Christ-
spirit cannot even have ‘suffered with ’ {compassus) the flesh, as
the modalists liked to plead.2 The cry of dereliction on the cross
came from Christ’s human flesh and soul, not from His divine
nature; and we should say that His death was in respect of His
human, not His divine, ‘substance’.3 So when the Saviour said
that His soul was troubled, He was referring to His human
§oul.4 Yet these careful distinctions did not prevent Tertullian
from using expressions like, ‘God allows Himself to be bom ’,
‘the sufferings of God ’, ‘God was truly crucified, truly died ’5
— language which foreshadowed the ‘interchange of char­
acteristics’ {communicatio idiomatum) which later counted as
orthodox. On the other hand he was convinced 6 that the man
Jesus had preserved intact the substance and form of human
flesh in heaven. In certain moods the sheer absurdity of these
paradoxes {certum est quia impossibile 7 ) strikes him as the best
argument in their favour. His final position, with its recogni­
tion of the part played by the Lord ’s human soul, is one which
allows full scope to the humanity as an active principle, without,
however, thereby undermining the unity of the subject, viz.
the divine Word.
To a large extent Novatian, as we might expect, modelled his
ideas on those of Tertullian. Like liis master, he declares8 that
Christ is both God and man, combining ‘both substances’
{utramque substantiam) in Himself. Like him, too, he stresses9 the
reality of the human nature, picturing 10 the eternal Word as
putting it on like a garment or joining Himself to it as a bride ­
groomjoins himself to his bride. Indeed, he carries Tertullian’s
tendency to hold the two natures apart so far that he has been
accused of being a Nestorian before Ncstorius. For example, he
speaks" of the man being joined with the God, and the God
linked with the man. Again, commenting on Luke I, 35, he
1 De cam. Chr. 5. 2 Adv. Prax. 29.
’ lb. 30; 29. 4 De cam. Chr. 13.
5 lb. 5; de pat. 3; c. M arc. 2, 27. 6 De resurr. 5 1 .
1 De cam. Chr. 5: cf. c. M arc. 2, 16. 8 De trin. 13.
• lb. 10. ,0 lb. 21; 13. « lb. 15.
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 153 I

distinguishes 1 between ‘the holy thing ’ which was to be bom

from Mary, viz. the man Jesus, and the divine spirit which was
to come upon her. Only the latter was in the strict sense the Son
of God; He ‘assumed ’ the Son of Man, and by attaching Him <
to Himself made Him Son of God. We should notice, how- j
ever, that Tertullian ’s exegesis2 of the Lucan text was similar,
and Novatian ’s strong emphasis elsewhere3 on the unity ex ­
cludes the suspicion that he thought of two Sons yoked
together in a purely moral union. On the other hand, it
remains true that, in sharpest possible contrast to Tertullian,
he apparently did not envisage the Lord ’s humanity as com ­
plete. Not only docs he describe it exclusively as ‘flesh ’ or
‘body ’ (the concern, which he shared with Tertullian, to rebut
the Gnostic disparagement of the body would account for this),
but he nowhere refers unambiguously to Christ’s human soul |
or mind. What is decisive, he regarded 4 His death as consisting ]
simply in the laying aside of His body; and, drawing a parallel
between His death and ours, he clearly suggests that, whereas
ordinary men consist of body and soul, He was composed of '
flesh and the divine Word. I

5. The School of Alexandria

At Alexandria, under the influence of the speculative and

ascetic ideas current there, an important new movement in
Christology was under way in the third century. Though out­
wardly, and in intention too, loyal to the Church ’s rule of faith
and doctrinal tradition, this took certain Hellenizing presup ­
positions for granted; its sympathies lay much more with
Justin and the Apologists than with a theologian like Tertullian.
We can observe this development at work in Clement. Much
of his teaching conforms to the conventional pattern. The
Logos, he states,5 ‘has come to us from heaven ’; the Lord has
‘entered into ’, or ‘attached’ Himself to, human flesh. In becom ­
ing incarnate and so making Himself visible, He has begotten
1 lb. 24. 2 Adv. Prax. 27. 3 E.g. de trin. 11. « lb. 21.
5 Protr. ii, in, 2; 11, 112, 1; Strom. 5, 105, 4.
154 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

Himself, i.e. created His own humanity.1 So Christ is both

human and divine — ‘alone both, God and man ’.2 He has
‘clothed Himself with a man ’, being ‘God in the form of a
man, unsullied ’,3 and as such has really suffered.4 Though
criticized 5 as such by Photios, Clement was no Docetist, and de­
fended 6 the reality of the incarnation; but many of his state­
ments, e.g. that Christ was no ordinary man with physical
passions,7 have a distinctly docetic ring. It seems certain, how ­
ever, despite the questionings of many scholars, that he at­
tributed 8 a human soul or mind to the God-man. The pro ­
blematical element in his picture of Him springs from the way
he allowed it to be coloured by the Greek ascetical ideal of
apatheia, or emancipation from passion. Clement was con ­
vinced 9 that the Lord must have been exempt from all desires,
both those necessary for maintaining the body and those
peculiar to the soul, since His constitution was sustained by
‘divine power’. His view seems to have been that the directive
principle (in Stoic language, τό ήγζμονικόν) which was the
ground of His organic unity was the Logos.10 He it was Who
in effect was Christ’s ‘inner man ’.11 On this assumption, how ­
ever, since Christ’s human soul was a mere copy of the divine
Word, it is difficult to see what practical part Clement can
have envisaged it as playing. Sotcriologically considered, the
humanity of Jesus had little theological importance in his
scheme.
Much more interesting was Origen ’s theory, and its central,
most original feature can be stated at once. ‘We believe ’, he
lays it down,12 ‘that the very Logos of the Father, the Wisdom
of God Himself, was enclosed within the limits of that man
who appeared in Judaea; nay more, that God ’s Wisdom entered
a woman ’s womb, was born as an infant, and wailed like crying
children.’ The problem of how this came about he solved with
« Strom. 5, 16, 5. 2 Protr. I , 7,1 . J Quis div. 37, 3; pacd. 1, 2, 4.
■* Strom. 6, 127, 2. s Bibl. cod. 109.
6 E.g. protr. 7, 2; pacd. 3. 2, 2; strom. 3, 102, 1; 5, 341; 6, 127, 1.
’ Ib. 3, 49, 3.
B E.g. quis div. 37, 4; pacd. 1, 85, 2: cf. Socrates, hist. ecd. 3, 7.
’ Strom. 6, 71. «° Cf. ib. 6, 135, 1-4. n 3> j, 2
11 De princ. 2, 6, 2.
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 155

brilliant simplicity. Wc recall1 his belief that the world of

spiritual beings (τά λογικά), including human souls, pre-existed
from all eternity; he applied this as the key to the incarnation.
One of these souls, the one destined to be the soul of the man
Jesus, in every respect a human soul like the rest, was from the
beginning attached to the Logos with mystical devotion; it
burned with love and desire for justice.2 All the other souls, by
the misguided exercise of their free-will, fell away from the
Logos, to Whom they ought to have adhered;3 but this unique
soul, as a result of its adoring contemplation, became insepar­
ably united with Him.4 The union is as complete as that of a
lump of iron with the fire into which it has been plunged,
becoming red-hot; and Origen quotes5 1 Cor. 6, 17 as Scriptural
proof that it formed ‘one spirit’ with Him. But since this soul,
while thus cleaving to the Logos, properly belonged to a body,
it formed the ideal meeting-point between the infinite Word
and finite human nature. So when it was born from the Blessed
Virgin with pure flesh created by the action of the Spirit, God ­
head and manhood were inextricably united. Further, it was
natural that, in union with the flesh with which it was con ­
joined, it should be designated God ’s Son, Power and Wisdom,
being so fused with and penetrated by Him Who in very truth
is God ’s Son, just as it is natural that He in His turn should be
saluted as Son of Man and that we should speak of Him as
being born as an infant and dying.6
With this theory of the mediating role of Christ’s human
soul as its basis, Origen expounds the doctrine of the in ­
carnation (ένανθρώπησις : 7 the verb ένανθρωπΐϊν occurs fre­
quently). On the one hand, he insists on the duality of the
natures, speaking 8 of Christ’s manhood (άνθρωπότης ) and
divinity (flcôrïjç), and of ‘His divine and human nature’
(<£υσις ), even of His ‘hypostasis’ (ύποστασις ) as man and His
‘hypostasis’ as Only-begotten. Interpreting Ps. 72, 1, he ex ­
plains9 ‘the king ’ and ‘the king ’s son ’ as referring respectively
I See above, p. 128. a Ib. 2, 6, 3-5. J Ib. 2, 9, 2.
♦ Ib. 2, 6, 4. s lb. 2, 6, 6; 2, 6, 3; c. Cels. 2, 9.
6 Ib. 2, 6, x f. 7 E.g. c. Cels. 3, 14.
• In loh. 10, 6, 24; 32,12, 192; c. Cels. 3, 28. « In loh. 1, 28, 195.
156 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

to ‘the nature (ψυσιν) of the Word ’ and ‘the man whom

He assumed ’ and whom, because of His pre-eminence, He
dominates. Both the natures retained their special characteristics.
For example, ‘the Logos, remaining Logos in essence, under­
goes none of the experiences of the body or the soul’;1 whereas
His human nature has to put up with the customary human
lot.2 The cries, ‘My soul is exceedingly sorrowful’ (M att. 26,
38), and, ‘Now is my soul troubled ’ (John 12, 27), refer to His
human soul.3 Similarly, we can say that the Son of God died,
but only if we make clear that it was ‘in respect of that nature
which was in any case susceptible of death ’/ On the other hand,
the incarnate Lord is a unity — ‘a composite thing ’ (σύν ­
θετον χρήμα), as Origen forcefully describes5 Him. The Gospel,
he points out,6 speaks of one, not of two; and he defines7 the
relationship of the two natures as an actual union (ενωσι,ς ) or
commingling (άνάκρασι,ς ), resulting in the deification of the
humanity, and not as a mere association (κοινωνία). The
Logos and the humanity arc really one (ev8), the reason
being that He has united Himself substantially with Christ’s
human soul in a union more intimate than He ever effected
with the souls of prophets or apostles by inspiration and
grace.9
With the traditional teaching as his starting-point, Origen
was thus able to explain the rationale of the incarnation in
terms of his own philosophy. Two further points must be made
in order to set his position in true perspective. First, while he
clearly intends to represent the unity between the Logos and
Christ’s human soul as a real one, his theory as outlined above
hardly succeeds in doing so. However intimate the relationship
established by the soul’s loving adhesion to the Word, it can in
the end be no more than a special case, differing in degree but
not in kind, of that union of affection and will which the saints
can attain with Him. In fact, however, his deepest thought
seems to have been that the unity of the God-man (he was the
1 C. Cels. 4, 15. 2 Ib. 2, 23; de princ. 4, 4, 4; in Icretn. hotn. 14, 6.
3 De princ. 4, 4, 4 (31). 4 Ib. 2, 6, 3. s C. Cels. 1, 66.
6 In loh. I, 28, 196. 7 C. Cels. 3, 41. 8 2 , 9; 6, 47.
• De princ. 2, 6, 4; 4. 4. 4 (3 1 )·
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 157

first to use this description of the Incarnate) was located in the

Logos Himself. While satisfied 1 that the Lord must have as­
sumed a soul as well as a body if human nature was to be saved
in its entirety, he regarded the soul as wholly subjected to the
Logos. It was the nature of the Logos, as we saw above, which
predominated (cf. προηγούμενη) in Christ; and his concep ­
tion 2 is of the Logos indwelling and directing the manhood.
The human soul was, on his view, totally suffused with, and
caught up in, the divine wisdom, goodness, truth and life.3 As
Origen saw the matter, therefore, the Word had in effect taken
over the role of the ηγεμονικόν, or governing principle, in
Christ.
The second point opens up larger issues. It must be re ­
cognized that the incarnation as such really stood outside the
logic of Origen ’s system. While assigning it a place, out of
loyalty to God ’s revealed word and the Church ’s tradition, he
did not regard the Son ’s participation in human nature as either
permanent or essential. It is the simple sort of Christians, he
taught,4 who are attached to Christ’s manhood; the true
gnostic, i.e. the man of real spiritual advancement and insight,
strains upwards to the Logos, the soul’s authentic life from
which it originally fell away. The mediator between the only
true God, i.e. the ineffable Father, and man is not, in the last
analysis, the God-man Jesus Christ, but the Word Who bridges
the gulf between the unoriginate Godhead and creatures.5 So
we arc not surprised to learn 6 that Jesus was able to alter His
body as and when He willed, and that it was ‘more divine ’ than
other bodies. Indeed, it shared in the Word ’s divinity, and
while absolutely real (Origen had no wish to be a Docetist7)
possessed a godlike, ethereal quality.8 With the resurrection the
deification of Christ’s human nature really began, His body
becoming of a consistency midway between that of natural
flesh and that of the soul freed from bodily ties;9 and the
Christian can say that, ‘although the Saviour was a man, He is
1 Dial. Heracl. η. 1 E.g. c. Cels. 2, 9; in loh. 6, 53. 275.
3 D e princ. 4, 4, 4 (31). 4 In loh. 2, 3, 27-31: cf. ib. I, 7, 43·
» E.g. c. Cels. 3, 34; de orat. 10, 2. 6 C. Cels. 2, 64; I, 69.
7 E.g. ib. 2, 16. 8 Ib. 3, 41. 9 Ib. 2, 62.
i 58 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

now no longer one ’.1 The exaltation of the Son of Man con ­
sists precisely in this, that He has ceased to be other than the
Logos and has become identically one with Him.2

6. The East after Origen

Although we are largely in the dark about Christological

development in the second half of the third century, such
evidence as we possess suggests that, while Origen ’s general
framework of ideas exerted a powerful influence, there was a
widespread reaction against its most distinctive thesis, viz. that
Christ’s human soul was the point of union between the
eternal Word and the humanity. We have already noticed that
Novatian in the West, while usually a faithful disciple of
Tertullian, refused to follow his master in including a rational
soul in Christ’s human make-up. His refusal, coming at about the
same time as a similar reluctance was showing itself in the East,
may well have resulted from the exchange of ideas between the
two great sections of the Church. In the East at any rate the
chief motive at work, apart from hostility to Origen ’s doctrine
of the pre-existence of souls, seems to have been the growing
suspicion that the recognition of a real human mind in the God ­
man must logically entail the disruption of His unity.
An instructive illustration of this reaction can be seen in the
views propounded by the bishops who excommunicated Paul
of Samosata at Antioch in 268, and in particular by their able
spokesman, the priest Malchion. These can be reconstructed
from the surviving fragments 3 of the acts of the synod. Being
Origenists, the bishops naturally repudiate Paul’s denial of the
personality or concrete subsistence of the Word; in their eyes
He had existed from all eternity as a hypostasis or onsia. But
they equally take umbrage at his radical separation of the Word
from the man Jesus4 and his interpretation of the relation
between them as merely one of inspiration.3 There is, they

1 In lerem. horn. 15, 6. 2 In loh. 32, 25, 325.

3 Text iii H. de Riedmatten, op. cit. 4 E.g. S 19 (Riedmatten).
5 E.g. S 24; 33 (Riedmatten).
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 159

affirm, an absolute unity between the two, a unity which is not

one of participation or grace, but of substance. They are, as
it were, ontologically one, and ‘the substantial Word ’, ‘the
hypostasis of the Word ’, is actually present in the make-up of
Jesus Christ.1 Being Himself a substance (ουσία), the Word has
become ‘substantifted ’ (ούσίω/ζευη) in the humanity,2 and the
God-man is a composite being (σύνθετον ζωον)\ the divinity
and the flesh having been substantially (ουσιωδών) united, the
former is a real element in the structure of the God-man.3
If we ask how this has been brought about, the answer is
surprising and important. There is no suggestion of Origen ’s
theory of the intimate adhesion of Christ’s human soul to the
Logos. On the contrary, the explanation put forward by
Malchion and the bishops implies that Christ’s humanity did
not include a human soul at all, all the functions of one in His
constitution being performed by the Word incarnate. This
comes out very clearly in their statement4 that the Saviour is a
composite being in the same way as an ordinary man is com ­
posite; just as the oneness or unity of the latter results from the
concourse (σώ'οδο?) of flesh and ‘something else ’ which in ­
habits the flesh (manifestly the higher soul or mind), so the
unity of the Lord results from the coming together (ex rov
συνδεδραμηκεναι.) of the divine Word and the flesh He assumed
from the Virgin. Evidently they were dichotomists, believing
in the Platonic maimer that a human being is a mind inhabiting
a body. So they can say,5 ‘We recognize only one difference,
admittedly a very important one, between His constitution
(αυτού την συστασιν) and ours, viz. that the divine Logos is
in Him what the interior man (ό εσω άνθρωπος ) is in us ’.
There can be no doubt that by ‘the interior man ’ the fathers
meant the higher soul or mind, or that by substituting the
Word for it in the structure of the Incarnate they intended to
safeguard His unity against Paul’s separation of the Word from
‘the man ’.

1 S 23; 36 (Riedmatten). 2 S 33; 22 (Riedmatten).

’ S 36; 14 (Riedmatten). 4 S 36 (Riedmatten).
» S 30 (Riedmatten).
i6o THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

Further proof that the doctrine of Christ’s human soul was

coining under heavy fire in the latter half of the century can be
gleaned from the apology for Origen which Pamphilus and
Eusebius prepared between 308 and 310. From this it emerges1
that Origen was charged with holding adoptionist views similar
to those of Paul of Samosata and Artemas, and also of preaching
two Christs. Evidently these errors were taken by his critics to
be the logical outcome of the thesis that the God-man pos­
sessed a human soul, for in defending him Pamphilus and
Eusebius make the point1 2 that this suggestion of his should
not be the occasion of offence, seeing that, on the evidence of
Scripture, Christ Himself more than once alluded to His soul.
In his own theology Eusebius was quite explicit3 that the Word
indwelt the flesh of the Incarnate, ‘moving it like a soul’; it
was His ‘corporeal instrument’. If he is prepared to make use
of the Scriptural language referring to His human soul, he
interprets it as signifying, not an actual human soul, but that
which takes the place of one, viz. the eternal Word. So he
explains 4 that, when the demons launched their attack ‘against
our Saviour’s soul’, the mistake they made lay in supposing
that the soul inhabiting His body was an ordinary human one.
Again, he understands5 by Christ’s death the departure of the
Word from His flesh, which for its part is consigned to the grave.
If ideas like these were to the fore in circles which were in
other matters sympathetic to Origenism, it is not surprising
that theologians less subservient to Origen ’s spell were disposed
to dissociate themselves from his solution of the Christological
problem. Methodius of Olympus (f 311) is a good example;
indeed, he is the only theologian falling into this category
whose works have come down to us. Speaking of the incarna­
tion, he states6 that the Son of God ‘ truly became man ’, or even
‘assumed the man ; he describes7 the Incarnate as ‘a man filled

1 Bk. i (PG 17, 578 f_: the Latin translation of Rufinus)

3 lb. (PG 17, 590).
3 De eccl. theol. i, 20, 90; theoph. 3, 39 (Grossmann, 142)
4 Dem. eu. io, 8, 503 £
5 lb. 3, 4, 108: cf. ib. 4, 12, 166; theoph. 3, 41-4.
6 De res. 2. 18; syuip. 7, 9. ’ Syntp. 3, 4.
 THE BEGINNINGS OF CHRISTOLOGY 161

with deity unmixed and perfect, and a God contained in a man ’.

Phrases like these have an Origcnist ring, as does his designa ­
tion
* of the Lord ’s humanity as an ‘instrument’ (opyayov).
We should notice, however, that when he defines his meaning
more precisely he affirms2 that it was in virtue of His assumption
of flesh that the heavenly Christ, not being man, became man.
As a matter of fact, his major Christological passages3 imply
that there were only two elements compounded in the God ­
man, viz. the Word and His flesh. The effect of the incarnation,
he states,4 was that the body in a miraculous way became the
receptacle of the Logos; and, identifying Christ’s immaculate
flesh with the bride of Solomon ’s Song, he represents5 the
Word as abandoning the Father for sheer love of it, descending
to earth and cleaving to it in closest union. When we bear in
mind that Methodius is a dichotomist6 holding that human
nature is composed of body and soul, and that on his view the
soul is the immortal element in man and belongs to the order of
intelligences of which the Word is the chief, the conclusion is
inescapable that he was an exponent of what may be called the
‘Word-flesh ’ type of Christology, teaching that the Word
took the place of the human mind of soul in the structure
of the God-man.
1 lb. 3, 7. 1 De res. 2, 18. 3 . De res. 2, 18; c. Porphyr.
4 C. Porphyr. 1. s Symp. 7, 8. 6 Cf. de res. 1,51; symp. 6, 4.

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. J. A. Domer, History of the Development of the Doctrine of the

Person of Christ (Eng. trans., Edinburgh, 1878); C. Gore, The Incarna ­
tion of the Son of God (London, 1891); Dissertations (London, 1895);
A. Grillmcicr, ‘Die thcologischc und sprachlichc Vorbcrcitung der
christologischen Formel von Chalkedon ’ (art. in Das Konzil von
Chalhedon, 1, Würzburg, 1951); F. Loofs, ‘Christologie’ (art in Hauck ’s
Realencyk.); J. Michel, ‘Incarnation ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.); R. L.
Ottley, The Doctrine of the Incarnation (London, 1896); R. V. Sellers,
Tivo Ancient Christologies (London, 1940).
Special. G. Bardy, ‘Origènc’ (art. in Did. Théol. Cath.)\ G. N. Bonwetsch,
Die Théologie des M ethodius von Olympus (Berlin, 1903); H. J. Carpenter,
 102 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY
‘The Birth from Holy Spirit and the Virgin in the Old Roman Creed
(art. in Jottrn. Thcol. Stud., 1939); J. Danidlou, Origen (Eng. trans.,
London, 1955); A. Licskc, Die Théologie der Logos-M ystik bei Origines
(Miinstcr, 1938); J. M. Pfattisch, Der Einfluss Pintos auf die Théologie
Justins des M artyrers (Paderborn, 1910); H. de Riedmattcn, Les Actes du
procès de Paul de Sainosate (Fribourg on Suisse, 1952).

1
 C H A PTER V II

MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION

I. The Sub-Apostolic Age

T h e development of the Church ’s ideas about the saving

effects of the incarnation was a slow, long drawn-out process.
Indeed, while the conviction of redemption through Christ
has always been the motive force of Christian faith, no final
and universally accepted definition of the manner of its achieve­
ment has been formulated to this day. Thus it is useless to look
for any systematic treatment of the doctrine in the popular
Christianity of the second century. It is true that the Apostolic
Fathers make numerous references to Christ’s work. For the
most part, however, they are rehearsing the cliches of catecheti­
cal instruction, so that what they say smacks more of affirma­
tion than explanation. While taking it for granted that men are
sinful, ignorant and in need of true life, they never attempt to
account for their wretched plight. Only once, in ‘Barnabas’s ’
remark,1 ‘Forasmuch as the transgression was wrought in Eve
through the serpent’, do we meet with what looks like an
allusion to the Fall story in Gen. 3 : although it should be noted
that the same writer elsewhere2 suggests that the souls of
children are entirely sinless. Hermas, again, is a solitary witness^
to the rabbinical theory of the origin of evil, viz. the presence
of a wicked imagination or desire (what the Rabbis called the
yeçer ha-ra) in man ’s heart. Similarly, while enumerating all
sorts of benefits bestowed by Christ, the Apostolic Fathers
nowhere co-ordinate their main ideas or attempt to sketch a
rationale of salvation.
When we analyse their utterances, we find that their chief
emphasis is on what Christ has imparted to us— new knowledge,
1 12, 5. a 6, ii. ’ M and. 12, 1 f.
163
 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

fresh life, immortality, etc. The Didactic, for example, con ­

fines itself to thanking 1 God ‘for the life and the know ­
ledge ’, or ‘for the knowledge, faith and immortality ’, which
God has disclosed ‘through His servant Jesus’ (the latter
formula, frequently repeated, hints at a fuller doctrine of the
mediatorial role of Christ’s humanity). Through Christ, accord­
ing to i Clem ent 2 we gaze up to heaven and ‘taste immortal
knowledge ’. Through Him God ‘has called us from darkness
to light, from ignorance to knowledge of the glory of His
name’.3 Christ has rescued us from the darkness of error;4 it was
because of the enlightenment received from Him that those
who are now Christians abandoned idolatry.5 In addition to
revealing the true God, states6 Hermas, He makes God ’s law
known to us; indeed, ‘this law is the Son of God, Who is
preached from end to end of the world ’. In harmony with
this Christ’s sufferings, and even His death, are set out chiefly
as models of obedience and self-effacing love.7 Further, Christ
is ‘the Saviour and prince of immortality, through Whom
God has revealed to us the truth and the heavenly life ’.8
The object of His endurance, says9 ‘Barnabas’, was to abolish
death and to demonstrate resurrection from the dead. For
Ignatius, with his intense Christ-mysticism, the essence
of salvation seems to consist in union with Christ, through
Whom new life and immortality flow into us. He dwells in
us, so that we become His temple.10 Hence He is ‘our true
life ’, ‘our inseparable life ’;11 by believing in His death we
escape death.12
Alongside thoughts like these, however, a rather different
strain is discernible in the Apostolic Fathers. This dwells on the
Lord ’s passion, death and resurrection, and affirms that He
suffered for our sakes. His blood, states13 Clement, ‘was given
on behalf of us ’; again, it was because of His love that ‘He gave
His blood for us, and His flesh for our flesh, and His soul for our

’ 9, 3; io, 2. 1 36,2. J 59, 2.

♦ Barn. 14, 5· 5 2 Clem. 1, 4-7. 6 Sim. 5, 5, 3; 8, 3, 2 f.
7 E.g. J Clem. 2, 1; 16 f. 8 2 Clem. 20, 5. e 5, 6.
10 Eph. 15. 3: cf. M agn. 14; Æon». <5, 3· 11 Eph. 3, 2; Sniyrn. 4, 1.
« Trail. 2, I. » 21, 6; 49, 6.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 165

souls’. He died and rose again on our behalf, declare1 both

Ignatius and Polycarp. The former also claims2 that ‘we have
been restored to life through the blood of God ’, and the
latter3 that ‘ He endured all His sufferings on account of us, that
we might live in Him ’. Occasionally the remission of sins is
brought into the picture, so that ‘Barnabas’ can speak * of the
Lord as delivering His flesh to destruction ‘ so that we might be
cleansed by the remission of our sins, which cleansing is through
the blood of His sprinkling ’. More often, however, the sug ­
gestion is that His sufferings should challenge us to repentance.
So the author of 2 Clement, after recalling them, exclaims,5
‘What recompense shall we then give Him? ’ Clement himself,
after bidding his readers gaze on Christ’s blood and observe
how precious it is to the Father, adds6 that its shedding has
brought the grace of repentance to the world. Yet he is also
aware7 that believers fmd redemption (λντρωσι?) through
the Lord ’s blood, and that His life was surrendered in sacrifice
for us. Only ‘Barnabas’, however,interprets Christ’s passion in
expressly sacrificial terms, stating 8 that He offered His body as
a sacrifice for our sins and appealing to Isaac’s sacrifice as a
prototype.
It must be admitted that, as compared with the New Testa ­
ment, the Apostolic Fathers as a whole are not greatly pre ­
occupied with sin, and that their writings exhibit a marked
weakening of the atonement idea. Although satisfied that
Christ died for us (often the repetition of the formula has a
conventional ring), they assign a relatively minor place to the
atoning value of His death. What looms much larger in their
imagination is the picture of Christ as the lawgiver, the be-
stower of knowledge, immortality and fellowship with God.
For 2 Clement,9 for example, Christ’s saving significance consists
in His role as the future righteous judge; what He accomplished
in His earthly sojourn was simply to summon men by His
preaching to that salvation. In view of this we need scarcely

1 Roni. 6, 1; Phil. 9, 2. 1 Eph. i, i. J Phil. 8, I.

4 5, 1: cf. 6, 11; 8, 3. 5 I, 3 f. 6 7. 4·
’ 12, 7; 49, 6. 8 7» 3· ’ E.g. I, 1; 7, 16-18.
1 66 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

be surprised to miss that close logical connection between

Christology and sotcriology which was later to become
characteristic of orthodox Christian thought. Ignatius is an ex ­
ception, for his insistence on the union, indeed virtual identi­
fication, of the Christian with Christ illustrates the import­
ance he attached to the sacred manhood. In none of the others,
however, not even in Clement and ‘Barnabas’, do we meet
with any real appreciation of the truth that through Christ’s
assumption of human nature the infusion of new life into
fallen humanity has been made possible.

2. The Apologists

With the Apologists a marked change comes over the atmo ­

sphere, and the outlines of a definite anthropology, or doctrine
of man, begin to take shape. Their general view of human
nature is dichotomist, i.e. they consider it to be composed of
two elements, body (σώμα) and soul (ψυχή, or πνεύμα). And
they are unanimous that man is endowed with free-will. We
had no choice in being bom, argues1 Justin, but we have a
choice, in virtue of the rational powers God has given us,
whether to live in a fashion acceptable to Him or not. As a
result, since we are reasonable beings, we arc without excuse in
God s eyes when we do wrong.2 Athenagoras, Theophilus and
Tatian agree 3 that it lies within the orbit of man ’s choice
whether he is to do good or evil, with all the disastrous con ­
sequences which a decision for the latter entails. As against
the Stoic doctrine 4 of fate (καθ' ειμαρμένης ανάγκην), Justin
develops 5 the idea of human responsibility. The Christian
belief in prophecy, with its premiss of divine foreknowledge,
might seem to contradict free-will, but his rejoinder is that
God does not so much predetermine men ’s actions as foresee
how by their own volitions they are going to act, and so
announces it beforehand through His prophets.6 Sin on his

■ 1 apol. IO, 4- 2 fl, 2 8,

Supp 24, 4; ad Au to I. 2, 27; or. 11, 2. * See above, p. 13.
i 1 apol. 43; 2 apol. 7. 6 j apo / djal r4r> 2 . cf Tadan> or 2
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 167

view consists in ‘erroneous belief and ignorance of what is

good ’ (ι/κυδοδοξία και άγνοια. των καλών), and in the result­
ant rebellion against God ’s commandments.1
How then do evil and sin arise? Quoting Dent. 27,26 (‘ Cursed
be everyone who does not abide in the injunctions of the book
of the law, to do them ’), Justin affirms2 that the transgression of
God ’s ordinances has placed the whole human race under a
curse. The theory 5 which most consistently attracts him, as it
attracts the Apologists generally, is that malign demons, them ­
selves the product of the union of fallen angels with the
daughters of men, are to blame. Swarming everywhere, they
have obsessed men ’s souls and bodies, infecting them with vice
and corruption. In one passage,4 it is true, he seems to posit a
connection between the act of the serpent narrated in Gen. 3
and the present sinful condition of mankind, while in another5
he speaks of ‘. .. the race of men, who from Adam ’s time have
fallen under death and the deceit of the serpent’. The latter
context, however, explicitly states that ‘ each man sinned by his
own fault’. Elsewhere6 he develops the theory, drawing a
parallel between Eve and the Blessed Virgin, and arguing that
Christ was made man of our Lady ‘in order that, by the same
way in which the disobedience proceeding from the serpent
took its rise, it might also receive its abolition. For Eve, when
a virgin undcfilcd, conceived the word of the serpent and
brought forth disobedience and death.’ The underlying sugges­
tion, however, appears to be simply that the sin of Adam and
Eve, consisting as it did in their yielding to the Devil’s blandish ­
ments, is the prototype of our sin. So he interprets7 Ps. 82, 7
(‘Ye die like men, and fall like one of the princes’) as signifying
that men die in the same way as Adam and Eve, and fall in the
same way as Satan. His nearest approach to a corporate con ­
ception of sin (and even here original sin in the later sense is
excluded) is his assertion 8 that, having been born without our
own knowledge and consent, we have been trained up in
’ 2 apol. 14, i. 1 Dial. 95, 1.
3 E.g. 1 apol. 5, 2; 2 apol. 5, 3 f.; 17, 2 f. * Dial. 94, 2.
5 lb. 88, 4. 6 lb. 100, 4-6. 7 ib. 124, 3.
8 1 apol. 61, 10.
ι<58 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

wicked ways by our environment, and in this sense perhaps

may be called ‘children of necessity ’.
The treatment assigned to the subject in Tatian and Theo ­
philus is fuller and more precise. Starting from the premiss that
man was not created good but rather with a capacity for good ­
ness, the former states1 that he fell into sin through becoming
attached to one of the angels who was ‘ more subtle than the
rest’ and venerating him as God. As a result, the guidance of the
Spirit was withdrawn, and while the power of self-determina ­
tion was not obliterated (Tatian is a firm believer in responsi­
bility) he became henceforth the prey of demoniac assaults.
According to Theophilus,2 too, man as originally created was
neither mortal nor immortal, but was capable of both; his
destiny depended on how he exercised his free-will. As he ex ­
presses it, Adam was infantile and undeveloped, and indeed this
was the reason why he was forbidden the acquisition of know ­
ledge. Had he been content to remain obedient, he might have
become immortal, but he disobeyed and so became mortal. All
the physical woes of humanity can be traced to that act of dis­
obedience and the expulsion from Paradise which it entailed.
Like Justin, therefore, both of them seem to accept the Pauline
teaching in so far as it links the entrance of sin and death into
the world with Adam ’s act of disobedience; but neither of
them, any more than Justin, secs that act as more than a type
of the disobedience of the race, although its consequences per­
sist in the subjection of Adam ’s descendants to labour, pain,
death and, of course, the power of evil spirits.
When we inquire what effect the Apologists conceived
Christ’s coming to have had on fallen man, we find that only
Justin provides anything resembling an answer, and that even
his thought on the subject is shot through with ambiguity.
Undoubtedly the principal purpose of the incarnation, when
he views the matter as a philosopher, strikes Um as Having been
didactic. Having forgotten the truth and having been inveigled
into ignorance and positive error by the demons, men desper­
ately need the restoration of the light they have lost. As ‘ the new
1 Or. 7. 2 Ad Autol. 2, 24 f.; 27.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 169

law-giver’,1 or again, ‘the eternal, final law, the faithful coven ­

ant which replaces all laws and commandments ’,2 Christ im ­
parts this saving knowledge. It was to bestow such illumination,
in particular the realization of the oneness of God and the
belief in the moral law, and to restore men by it, that the Logos
in fact became man.3 We have already noticed the popularity
of the conception of redemption as enlightenment among the
Apostolic Fathers. It reappears in the Apologists, but is given a
firm, rational foundation in their doctrine of the Logos. Christ,
we should observe, does not merely impart fresh knowledge;
He at the same time breaks the spell of the devils who lead men
astray. God, states Justin,4 has finally destroyed principalities
and powers by Him Who became passible according to His
will; the crucifixion has ‘shattered the might of the serpent,
who instigated Adam ’s transgression ’. The aim of the incarna­
tion, he points out,5 was the conquest of the serpent, who com ­
mitted the initial sin, and of the fallen angels who imitated his
example. At the temptation in the wilderness,6 or when He
hung on the cross,7 and even at His birth,8 Christ wielded
authority over the malefic spirits, and was proclaimed ‘Lord of
the powers’.9 So Justin thinks 10 that he can perceive a continua­
tion of the same victory in the power possessed by believing
Christians to rout by exorcism ‘the demons who hold men
captive’.
If liberation from ignorance and error and from bondage to
demons is one side of Christ’s work, Justin recognizes another
as well. He has a great deal to say about the cross, the presence
of which he notices everywhere in nature and in all forms of
life. It is ‘the chief symbol of His might and rulership’,11 and
was foretold 12 in the Old Testament and even by Plato. ‘The
Word of God ’, he declares,13 ‘became man for our sakes, so
that participating in our miseries He might heal them.’ Jesus
Christ, our Saviour, assumed flesh and blood for our salvation;
1 Dial. 18, 3. 2 Ib. ii, 2: cf. ib. 43, 1; 5I, 3 .
3 1 apol. 12-19; 23. * Dial. 41, 1; 94, 2. 5 Ib. 45, 4.
6 Ib. 103, 6; 125, 4. 7 Ib. 49, 8. 8 Ib. 78, 9.
9 Ib. 85, I. 10 2 apol. 6, 6; dial. 30, 3. ” 1 apol. 55, 2.
12 Ib. 60, 5; dial. 90 f. 13 2 apol. 13, 4.
E.C.D.— 6 a
i 7o THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

He suffered in order to purify with His blood those who believe

in Him.1 Thus we offer the eucharist in memory of the pains
He endured on behalf of men; His death procures remission of
sins and redemption from death.2 How this was achieved,
Justin does not fully explain. In one important passage3 he
argues that ‘by His blood and the mystery of the cross’ Christ
has acquired possession of mankind; thus His death can be said
to redeem men in the sense that He has earned them for Him ­
self by what He has suffered. In another passage,4 with a passing
allusion to Is. 53, 5, he states that Christ suffered on our behalf
so that by His stripes the human race might be healed. It was
the Father’s will that He should ‘ take upon Himself the curses
of all, for He knew that, after He had been crucified and was
dead, He would raise Him up ’. In any case, because of what He
endured, Christ has become the originator of a new humanity,
regenerated by Him by water, faith and the cross. This last re­
ference5 would seem to contain an anticipation of the idea of
recapitulation which will be discussed in the following section,
and which Irenaeus actually attributes6 to Justin. Thoughts like
these indicate that, however ready he might be on occasion to
avail himself of the idiom of Hellenistic speculation, he re­
mained all the time a churchman, with his feet firmly planted
in the Church ’s living liturgical and Scriptural tradition.

3. The Theory of Recapitulation

The conception, Pauline 7 in its ultimate derivation, of the
inauguration of a new, restored humanity in Christ seems to
have reached Justin from the theological tradition of Asia Minor.
It was taken up and deepened by Irenaeus, who was also the
first to work out comprehensive theories both of original sin
and of redemption. Let us glance first at his anthropology,
which recalls that of Tatian and Theophilus and again suggests
the influence of Asia Minor.

1 apol. 66, 2; 32, 7. 2 Dial. 41, x; m, 3. 3 Ib. 134, 5 £

Ib · 95. 2 f- s Ib. 138, 2. 6 Haer. 4, 6, 2.
E.g. Rom. 5, 12-21; 1 Cor. 15, 22; 15, 45.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 171

In his original state, Irenaeus teaches, man was created ‘in the
image and likeness of God ’. Although his usage is far from
being consistent, he seems occasionally to have distinguished 1
between the ‘image’ and the ‘likeness’. By the former he
meant that Adam was a being possessed of reason and free-will,
by the latter that he enjoyed a supernatural endowment through
the action of the Spirit (eam quam habui a Spiritu sanctitatis
stolatn 2 ). Yet there is no suggestion that this endowment
amounted to what later theology was to call original righteous ­
ness. On the contrary, being a creature, Adam was necessarily
far removed from the divine perfection and incorruptibility; an
infinite distance divided him from God.3 In Paradise, therefore,
he was morally, spiritually and intellectually a child;4 and
Irenaeus makes the point5 that, while God infused into the first
man ‘the breath of life ’ (Gem 2, 7), He did not bestow upon
him the Spirit of adoption which He gives to Christians. It was
by a long process of response to grace and submission to God ’s
will that Adam, equipped as he was with free choice, was in ­
tended to advance towards ever closer resemblance to his
Maker.6 Unfortunately, because of his very weakness and in ­
experience, the process was interrupted almost at the start; he
fell an easy prey to Satan ’s wiles and disobeyed God.7 Thus he
lost the divine ‘image and likeness’8— at any rate the likeness,
since the image must have persisted in some degree— and fell
into the clutches of the Devil.9
So much for Adam; Irenaeus regarded the story told in
Genesis as authentic history. The essence of Adam’s sin, it should
be noted, consisted in disobedience. But that sin entailed con ­
sequences for the whole race; Irenaeus has no doubt that the
first man ’s disobedience is the source of the general sinfulness
and mortality of mankind, as also of their enslavement to the
Devil. What Adam lost, all lost in him: ‘. . . through the dis­
obedience of that one man who was first formed out of the
untilled earth, the many were made sinners and lost life’.10
> Haer. 5, 6, 1; 5. 16, 2. 1 Ib. 3, 23, 5. ’ Ib. 4, 38,1-3.
4 Dem. 12. 5 Haer. 5, 12, 2. 6 Ib. 4, 37, 1; 4, 38, 3.
7 Dem. 16. 8 Haer. 3, 18,1; 5, 2, 1. « Ib. s, 21, 3.
«ο Ib. 3, 18, 7.
172 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

More than that, all men participated in Adam ’s deed and there­
fore shared in his guilt. ‘In the first Adam ’, he writes,1 ‘we
offended God, not fulfilling His commandment. ... To Him
alone were we debtors, Whose ordinance we transgressed in
the beginning ’; and again, Tn Adam disobedient man was
stricken ’.2 The theme, based on Rom. 5, that the human race
sinned ‘in Adam ’ recurs so frequently that quotation is superflu­
ous. Irenaeus nowhere formulates a specific account of the con ­
nexion between Adam ’s guilty act and the rest of mankind. He
clearly presupposes some kind of mystical solidarity, or rather
identity, between the father of the race and all his descendants.
At the time of the Fall they somehow already existed in him,
just as the author of Hebrews conceives3 of Levi as having existed
seminally in Abraham, and the subsequent multiplication of the
race can be viewed as the subdivision of the original Adam into
myriads of individuals who were thus at once responsible for
the ancient act of transgression and the victims of its fatal
consequences.
What has been said so far gives the clue to the distinctively
Irenaean interpretation of the work of Christ. ‘Because of His
measureless love,’ he writes,4 ‘He became what we are in order
to enable us to become what He is. * The method he outlines in
the oft-repeated assertion that what we lost in Adam we re­
covered in Christ; its premiss is the idea that, if we fell through
our solidarity with the first man, we can be restored through
our solidarity with Christ. The key-conception which Irenaeus
employs to explain this is ‘recapitulation ’ (ανακε^αλαιωσι?),
which he borrows from St. Paul’s description5 of the divine
purpose as being ‘to sum up all things in Christ’. He under­
stands6 the Pauline text as implying that the Redeemer gathers
together, includes or comprises the whole of reality in Himself,
the human race being included. In close conjunction with this
he exploits to the full the parallelism between Adam and
Christ which was so dear to St. Paul. Christ is indeed, in
his eyes, the ‘second Adam ’ (ό δεύτερο? Άδάμ 7), and ‘re-
1 Haer. 5, 16, 3. 3 Ib. 5, 34, 2. 3 7, 9 f. 4 Haer. 5, pracf.
» Eph. I, 10. 6 Haer. 3, 16, 6. ’ ib. 5> l6>
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 173

capitulated ’ or reproduced the first even in the manner of His

birth, being generated from the Blessed Virgin as he was from
virgin earth.1 Further, just as Adam contained in himself all his
descendants, so Christ (as the Lucan genealogy proves) ‘re ­
capitulated in Himself all the dispersed peoples dating back to
Adam, all tongues and the whole race of mankind, along with
Adam himself’2 Thus, when He became incarnate, Christ ‘re ­
capitulated in Himself the long sequence of mankind ’, and
passed through all the stages of human life, sanctifying each in
turn.3 As a result (and this is Irenaeus’s main point), just as
Adam was the originator of a race disobedient and doomed
to death, so Christ can be regarded as inaugurating a new,
redeemed humanity.4
Thus we see the outlines of Irenaeus’s characteristic theory
of redemption. The conclusion to which his argument leads is
that humanity, which as we have seen was scminally present in
Adam, has been given the opportunity of making a new start
in Christ, the second Adam, through incorporation in His
mystical body. The original Adam, by his disobedience, intro ­
duced the principle of sin and death, but Christ by His obedi­
ence has reintroduced the principle of life and immortality.
Because He is identified with the human race at every phase of
its existence, He restores fellowship with God to all,5 ‘perfecting
man according to God ’s image and likeness’.6 And because He
is a real man, born of a woman, He is able to vanquish the
Devil, into whose power mankind had fallen.7
It is often stated that, in the light of this analysis (technically
known as the ‘physical’ theory of the atonement), it is the
incarnation itself which effects the redemption, but this is a
dangerous half-truth. At most the incarnation, according to
this account, is the presupposition of the redemption. In the
first place, Irenaeus is quite clear that Christ redeemed us with
His blood, and when using the imagery of our enslavement to
the Devil he is prepared to speak 8 of the Saviour’s blood as our

« Ib. 3. 21, I0 · » Ib. 3, 22, 3. J Ib. 3, 18, 1; 2, 22, 4.

* E.g. ib. 3, 22, 4. 5 Ib. 3, 18, 7. 6 Ib. 5, 21, 2.
’ lb. 5. 21,1; 5. 21,3. 8 lb. 5. I» I.
174 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

ransom. The theory of the Devil’s rights over mankind, how ­

ever, though present in his thought, is not fully integrated with
it. Secondly, and more significantly, he emphasizes1 that, since
the essence of Adam ’s sin was disobedience, the obedience of
Christ was indispensable; it is obedience that God requires, and
in which man ’s glory consists.2 Hence he stresses,3 as an example
of steadfast obedience, Christ’s resistance to the temptations
spread before Him by the Devil— a scene which was the exact
counterpart of the original temptation in the garden. He further
points out4*that, in order to exhibit such obedience, the second
Adam had to live His life through all its stages, not excluding
death itself. Studied in this perspective, His passion and cruci­
fixion fall perfectly into place, for ‘in obliterating the dis­
obedience of man originally enacted on the tree, He became
obedient unto death, even the death on the cross, healing the
disobedience enacted on the tree by obedience on a tree .s
There are passages in which, echoing traditional language,
Irenaeus speaks6 of Christ’s dying for us or reconciling us to
God by His passion, or of His ‘ propitiating for us the Father
against Whom we had sinned ’, or of God ’s offering His
Son as ‘a sacrifice for our redemption ’, and these arc com ­
monly regarded as standing apart from his main theory of
recapitulation. In fact, they cohere admirably with it, suggest­
ing as they do that the Lord ’s passion and sacrificial death were
the supreme and necessary expression of His obedience.

4. The W est in the Third Century

In the third century a marked divergence between Eastern
and Western thought on the subject of man and his redemption
begins to manifest itself. So far as the West was concerned, the
chief region of theological activity was North Africa, where a
sombre picture of the Fall came to be developed anticipating
at many points that of Augustine.
The figure of commanding influence here was Tertullian, the
« E.g. haer. 3, 21, 10. ’ Ib. 4, 14, 1; 4, 17, 1-5. 3 Ib. 5,21, 2 f.
4 Ib. 2, 22, 4. » Ib. 5, 16, 3. 6 Ib. 3, 16, 9; 5, 17, 1; 4, 5, 4.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 175

salient feature of whose anthropology was the conception, bor­

rowed from Stoicism,1 of the soul as material. Though simple
and more subtle, he regards2 it as a body intimately united with
and occupying the same space as the physical body to which it
belongs. Hence, when he speculates about its origin, he can
reject current theories of pre-existence (cf. Origen). He has
equally little use for the view that it was created by God
simultaneously with the coming of the body into existence
(‘creationism ’). In contrast he is a thoroughgoing ‘tradu-
cianist’, teaching 3 that each soul is derived along with the body
with which it is united from the parent; the whole man, soul
as well as body, is produced by one and the same generative
act, and the paternal germ is not merely a portion of the
father’s body, but is charged with a definite quantity of his
soul-stuff. There is a real sense, therefore, in which all souls,
actual or potential, were contained in Adam, since they must all
be ultimately detached portions of the original soul breathed
into him by God. Every soul, as Tertullian expresses it,4 is, as
it were, a twig cut from the parent-stem of Adam and planted
out as an independent tree.
It is a short step from this psychology to the doctrine of
original sin. Tertullian is a firm believer in free-will; he
defends5 its existence against Marcion and Hermogenes, never
ceasing to repeat6 that a man is responsible for his acts. Yet free­
will is not the only source of our misdeeds; account must be
taken of the bias towards sin in which Adam ’s transgression has
involved mankind.7 ‘We have borne the image of the earthy ’,
he remarks,8 ‘through our participation in transgression, our
fellowship in death, our expulsion from Paradise.’ As the effect
of this primeval sin human nature bears a stain, so that ‘every
soul is counted as being in Adam until it is re-counted as being
in Christ, and remains unclean until it is so re-counted ’.9 The
demons, he admits,10 exert a baneful influence, but apart from
that ‘the evil that exists in the soul ... is antecedent, being
1 See above, p. 13. 2 De an. 9. 3 Ib. 27. ♦ Ib. 19.
3 C. M arc. 2, 5-7. 6 Ib. 2, 9 f.: cf. de exhort, cast. 2.
7 C. A'farc. 1, 22; de earn. Chr. 16. 8 De res. cam. 49.
9 De an. 40. 10 Ib. 39; 41.
 v]6 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

derived from the fault of our origin (ex originis vitio) and
having become in a way natural to us. For, as I have stated, the
corruption of nature is second nature (alia natura) ’. Our whole
substance has been transformed from its primitive integrity into
rebellion against its Creator,1 the causal connexion being pro ­
vided by the quasi-physical identity of all souls with Adam.
Deceived by Satan, the first man ‘infected the whole race by his
seed, making it the channel (traducem) of damnation ’.2 For this
reason even the children of the faithful must be reckoned impure
until they have been reborn by water and the Holy Spirit.3
Thus Tertullian takes the view that, while Adam received
from God true human nature in its integrity, the nature he
passed on to his descendants is vitiated by an inclination to sin;
an ‘irrational element’ has settled in the soul (irrationale autem
. . . coadoleverit in anima ad instar iam naturalitatis 4 ). He is more
explicit and outspoken about this sinful bias than previous
theologians, in whose eyes corruption and death seem to have
been the principal legacy of the Fall; but, although there has
been much difference of opinion on the question, his language 5
about ‘our participation in [Adam ’s] transgression ’, and about
the ‘impurity ’ (cf. immundi) of unbaptized infants, can hardly
be read as implying our solidarity with the first man in his
culpability (i.e. original guilt) as well as in the consequences of
his act. Hints of a doctrine akin to his are to be found in
Cyprian, who describes the effects of original sin, in language
which was to become classical, as ‘wounds’ (vulnera). The
Saviour came, he states,6 in order to heal the wounds received
by Adam and to cure the serpent’s poison. Again, he speaks7 of
baptism as ‘cleansing us from the stain of the primeval con ­
tagion ’. Arguing for infant baptism, he states8 that even a new ­
born child who has never committed actual sin has been ‘ bom
carnally after the pattern of Adam, and by his first nativity has
contracted the contagion of the ancient death ’, although the
sins involved here are ‘not his own, but someone else’s ’. That

« De sped. 2. 1 De test. an. 3. > De an. 39. « lb. 16.

. ï De res. earn. 49; de an. 39. De op. et eleein. 1.
I ’ De hab. virg. 23. e Ep. 64, 5.

'- ------ -
I
— <
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 177
he linked the transmission of sinfulness with the process of
generation is confirmed by his appeal1 to Ps. 51, 5: ‘Behold, I
was conceived in iniquities, and in sins did my mother bear me ’.
In contrast to the progress it had made in regard to original
sin, Latin theology remained curiously backward and meagre
in its treatment of the redemption. A fresh approach might
have been expected from Tertullian, whose legal outlook led
him to emphasize the necessity of reparation for offences com ­
mitted, and who transferred the idea to theology. Thus he has
the theory 2 that good deeds accumulate merit with God, while
bad deeds demand ‘satisfaction ’— we observe the introduction
of this important conception into Christian thought. Taken in
conjunction with his doctrine of original sin, it might have
enabled him to deal in a fresh way of his own with the problem
of atonement. In fact, however, while using his ideas about
satisfaction to explain the restoration of relations between the
individual sinner and God, he altogether fails to apply them to
the mediatorial role of Christ. He lays greater stress, indeed, on
Christ’s death than does Irenaeus, speaking 3 of it as ‘the whole
weight and fruit of the Christian name ... the supreme founda ­
tion of the gospel’. Not only did Christ die for us, but He was
sent for precisely this purpose.4 Indeed, ‘neither could our own
death have been annulled except by the Lord ’s passion, nor our
life have been restored without His resurrection’.5 His death,
further, was sacrificial; ‘it was necessary for Him to be made a
sacrifice for all nations’,6 and ‘He delivered Himself up for our
sins’.7 These thoughts, however, while they may well contain
the germ of a doctrine of substitution, are nowhere expanded
or worked up into a synthesis, and there is a distinct tendency 8
in Tertullian to reduce Christ’s achievement to ‘ the proclama­
tion of a new law and a new promise of the kingdom of
heaven ’, and to represent Him as ‘the illuminator and in ­
structor of mankind ’.
Other Western theologians may be dealt with more cursorily.

« Test. 3, 54. 2 E.g. de poen. 5 f.; de exhort, cast. 1; scorp. 6.

1 C. M arc. 3, 8. * De cam. Chr. 6. 5 De bapt. 11.
6 Adi'. Ind. 13. ’ Scorp. 7. 8 De praescr. 13; apol. 21.
178 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

Hippolytus closely reproduces Irenaeus’s doctrine of recapitu ­

lation, teaching ’ that the Word was born from the Virgin
in order to restore and recapitulate in Himself the original
Adam. Thus ‘through His death He conquered death ’,2 and
mingled incorruptible with corruptible to make men sons of
God;3 as man he vanquished man ’s vanquisher on the cross.4
His most characteristic thought, however, is one derived from
the Apologists, viz. that the redemption chiefly consists in
the knowledge of God mediated by the Word through nature
and history, the law and the prophets, and finally the Gospel:
‘appearing in the world as the truth, He has taught the truth ’.5
A generation or so later we find Cyprian teaching6 that Christ
suffered for our sins, healing our wounds and destroying death
by His blood, and that we have been restored to life and our
sins purged by it.7 He spoke 8*of the Lord ’s passion as a sacrifice,
and a hint of the doctrine of substitution appears in the state­
ment,
* ’ ‘Christ bore us all when He bore our sins’. At the same
time he presents’0 Christ as the teacher of truth Who bestows ‘a
new law ’ and reinforces it through His own example. Those
who arc His servants must obey their Master’s commandment,
all the more so since not only has He set rewards and punish ­
ments before them, but it is their clear duty to make Him some
recompense for His passion.” A similar conception of the pro ­
cess of redemption can be found in Lactantius;’2 it was the by ­
product of the growing Western tendency to think of God as
the supreme lawgiver Whose relation to mankind must be
conceived in almost juridical terms.

5. The Doctrine of M an in the East

The Alexandrian theologians drew an equally realistic picture
of man ’s plight, but the chief premiss of the doctrine of original
I In Dan. 4, 11: cf. de antichr. 26; c. Noet. 17. 1 De antichr. 26.
3De antichr. 3 f. 4 In cant, tnagn. 1 (Achclis, 83).
’ In Dan. 4, 41. 6 De laps. 17; de op. et clean. 1; ep. 55, 22; etc.
7 Ad Fortun. 6; de op. ct elcern. 2; 26. 8 Ep. 63, 16 f.
• lb. 63, 13. 10 De op. et clean. 1; 7; de laps. 21; de dotn. or. 15; 28.
II De op. et eleem. 23.
u E.g. div. instit. 4, 10, 1; 4, xi, 14; 4, 13, 1; 4, 14, 15; 4, 24, 1; 4, 24, 6.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 179

sin which we have seen emerging in the West, the conception

of our physical solidarity with Adam and thus of our participa­
tion in his sinful act, was largely absent from their thinking.
In his primitive state, according to Clement,1 man was child ­
like and innocent, destined to advance by stages towards per­
fection. Adam, he states,2 ‘was not created perfect in constitu ­
tion, but suitable for acquiring virtue.. .. For God desires us to
be saved by our own efforts.’ Progress therefore depended upon
free-will, on which Clement places great emphasis. The fault of
Adam and Eve consisted in the fact that, using their volition
wrongly, they indulged in the pleasures of sexual intercourse
before God gave them leave.3 Not that sex was wrong in itself
(Clement strongly repudiates 4 the Gnostic suggestion that it is),
but the violation of God ’s ordinance was. As a result they lost
the immortal life of Paradise, their will and rationality were
weakened, and they became a prey to sinful passions.5 But
while Clement accepts the historicity of Adam, he also regards
him as symbolizing mankind as a whole. All men, he teaches,6
have a spark of the divine in them and are free to obey or dis­
obey God ’s law, but all except the incarnate Logos are sinners.7
They are, as it were, sick, blind and gone astray; they are en ­
slaved to the elements and the Devil; and their condition can be
described as death.8 He nowhere hints, however, that they arc
involved in Adam ’s guilt, and in one passage9 vehemently
denies that a new-born baby which has not performed any act
of its own can have ‘fallen under the curse of Adam ’. In
another10 he explains Job 1, 21 (‘ Naked I came from my mother’s
womb ’) as implying that a child enters the world exempt from
sin. On the whole, his insistence against the Gnostics that only
the personal misdeeds that men have committed are imputable
to them leaves no room for original sin in the full sense. On the

1 Protr. ii, in; strom. 2, 22, 131. 2 Strom. 6, 12, 96.

3 Protr. i i , in; strom. 3, 17, 103.
* E.g. strom. 3, 12, 88 £; 3, 17, 102.
5 lb. 2, 19, 98; paed. 1, 13, 101; protr. 11, in.
6 Protr. 6, 68; strom. 2, 15, 62; 3, 9, 63 ff.; 4, 24, 153.
7 Paed. I, 2, 4; 3, 12, 93.
8 Protr. I, 6 f.; 11, 114; paed. 1, 9, 83; strom. I, 11, 53; etc.
’ Strom. 3, 16, 100. ,0 lb. 4, 25» 160.
i8o THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

other hand, although certain contexts1 might seem to suggest

that the connexion between the general human sinfulness and
Adam ’s transgression amounts to no more than imitation, he in
fact envisages it as much more intimate. His teaching 2 seems to
be that, through our physical descent from Adam and Eve, we
inherit, not indeed their guilt and curse, but a disordered
sensuality which entails the dominance of the irrational element
(το άλογον) in our nature.
When we come to Origen, the whole atmosphere changes.
He transforms the story recorded in Genesis, which Irenaeus,
Tertullian and Clement had accepted as historical fact, into a
cosmic myth, and lifts the origination of human sinfulness from
the terrestrial to the transcendental plane. Unlike Tertullian,
who believed that each soul is generated along with its body
from the parent, Origen is a firm exponent of the theory
(already mentioned in previous chapters3) of the pre-existence
of all individual souls. In the beginning, he explains,4 God out of
His goodness created a fixed number of rational essences, all
of them equal and alike (there was no reason for any diversity),
and all of them endowed with free-will— thus he strives to
defend the divine justice and the principle of liberty against the
Gnostics. Since these souls were free, it rested with their own
volition to advance by imitating God, or to fall away by
neglecting Him, to depart from good being tantamount to
settling down to evil. With the unique exception of Christ’s
pre-existent soul,5 all these rational beings opted in varying
degrees for the latter; the result was their fall, which gave rise to
the manifold and unequal gradations of spiritual existence.
‘Before the ages,’ he writes,6 ‘they were all pure intelligences
(voeç), whether demons or souls or angels. One of them, the
Devil, since he possessed free-will, chose to resist God, and God
rejected him. All the other powers fell away with him, becom ­
ing demons, angels and archangels according as their misdeeds
were more, or less, or still less, heinous. Each obtained a lot

1 Esp. adumbr. in lud. n. ’ Strom. 3, 16, 100 f.: cf. ib. 3, 9, 63-5.
’ See above, p. 128 and p. 155. 4 De print. 2, 9, 6.
» Ib. 2, 6, 3: cf. Jerome, ep. 124, 6. 6 Ib. I, 8, i.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 181

proportionate to his sin. There remained the souls; these had

not sinned so grievously as to become demons or so vcnially as
to become angels. God therefore made the present world,
binding the soul to the body as a punishment. . . . Plainly He
chastises each to suit his sin, making one a demon, another a
soul, another an archangel.’
Such is Origen ’s theory of the pre-cosmic Fall. It explains to
him the fact of universal sinfulness: ‘all we men are clearly
prone to sin by nature’.1 It explains also the manifold disasters
and tragedies of life: ‘it is plain that the souls concerned were
guilty of previous sins ’.2 Such Scriptural texts as Ps. 51, 5 (T
was conceived in iniquities, etc.’) and Ps. 58, 3 (‘The wicked arc
estranged from the womb ’), implying as they do that children
come into the world already stained with sin,3 are in line with
it, as is also, in Origen ’s opinion, the Church ’s practice of
baptizing infants.4 So, he suggests,5 is David ’s cry (cf. Ps. 119,
67: in the LXX), ‘Before I was humbled ’— i.e. in my pre ­
natal life— ‘ I went wrong. ’ He regards6 the story of the Garden
and Adam ’s expulsion from it as an allegory of this pre-cosmic
Fall, pointing out that where Moses seems to be speaking of an
individual he really has human nature as a whole in mind. The
theory entails, of course, the abandonment of any doctrine of
corporate sinfulness, for it suggests that if human beings are
sinful from birth, their wickedness is the legacy of their own
misguided choices in the transcendental world, and has nothing
to do with the disobedience of any one first man. Interpreters
of Origen have sometimes been reluctant to admit that this was
his true teaching. There are passages in his writings, especially
in his Commentary on Romans, where he appears to accept the
doctrine that the whole race was present in Adam ’s loins and
‘sinned in him ’. It is difficult, however, to take them at their
face value, for we know that in his translation Rufinus adjusted
his teaching in the interests of orthodoxy. For example, he
represented Origen as taking ό/>’ ω in Rom. 5, 12 as meaning

’ C. Cels. 3, 66: cf. ib. 3, 62. 2 De print. I, 8, i.

J E.g. c. Cels. 7, 50. 4 Hom. in Lev. 8, 3; horn, in Luc. 14.
» De princ. 2, 8, 3. 6 C. Cels. 4, 37-40. csp. 4, 40.
1 82 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

‘in whom ’, whereas he really understood it as meaning ‘since’.

Even in that commentary, however, in expounding 1 Rom. 5,
12-19, his whole emphasis is on the personal sins of individuals
who have followed Adam ’s example, rather than on their
solidarity with his guilt; and, while admitting the possibility
that we may be in this vale of fears because we were in Adam ’s
loins, he does not conceal his belief that each one of us was
banished from Paradise for his personal transgression.
Thus men arc pure intelligences fallen from their former
splendour and united with bodies. Origen secs2 these latter
symbolized in the ‘coats of skins’ with which God clothed the
nakedness of Adam and Eve after their transgression. Not that
corporeity is on his view intrinsically bad; despite his language
in certain contexts, he is opposed 3 to those who condemn the
body as the principle of evil, and himself teaches that evil
resides in the will alone. Rather, while corporeity can be re­
garded as the penalty of their fall, it is really an aspect of the
diversity 4 belonging to the level of existence to which the
spirits have been reduced. Even so, as he is never tired of em ­
phasizing,5 men retain their free-will; indeed, the idea of free­
will provides the key to Origen ’s whole system. Nevertheless,
in their struggle against the temptations of their nature and the
world, men arc exposed to the continuous assaults of malign
demons;6 the story of Adam and Eve mirrors the experience of
every man and woman.7 Origen agrees8 with St. Paul that we
have to do battle ‘ against principalities, against powers, against
the rulers of darkness of this world, against spiritual forces of
wickedness in heavenly places’, and states’ that if we have good
angels to assist us, we have bad ones to prompt us to sin.
It is scarcely surprising that Origen ’s bold and original
speculations excited a sharply critical reaction. Methodius of
Olympus (f 311), for example, brusquely repudiates10 the whole
conception of a multiplicity of pre-cosmic falls, proposing
1 In Rom. 5 (PG 14, 1018 f.; 1024; 1029 £).
* C. Cels. 4, 40. ’ lb. 3, 42; 4, 65 £
* De princ. 2, i, 4. s E.g. ib. 3, i, 2-4; de orat. dom. 6.
6 De princ. 3, 2, ι-ό. 7 C. Cels. 4, 40. 8 De princ. 3, 2, 1.
9 Hom. in Luc. 13; 35. 10 E.g. de res. 1, 55.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 183

instead that the Genesis narrative should be taken literally. His

views are important as representing the normal current of
opinion in the late third century. The first man, he holds,1 was
created immortal, having had the breath of life breathed into
him by God, and even prior to his sinning possessed a body like
ours. He was also free, but when confronted with the divine
prohibition he succumbed to desire. Methodius identifies Adam
with the human race, stating 2 that from the day sin established
itself in him we men were deprived of the divine breath and
filled with troublesome thoughts and carnal yearnings. He
approves3 St. Paul’s suggestion that sin actually dwells in us,
identifying it with the sensual cravings which, arising out of
our bodily nature, are fanned by the Devil and cause a man to
be divided against himself. Death, which was the punishment
prescribed for Adam ’s disobedience, is also God ’s remedy for
sin, since by destroying the body it makes possible the restora­
tion of incorruption.4 His teaching thus reverts to the pre-
Origenistic tradition, being marked by the optimistic colouring
which was usually characteristic of Greek thought on the
subject. This conies out both in the way he softens the Pauline
antithesis (cf. Rom. 7, 9-25) between carnal desire and the spirit,
and also in the way in which he combines a strong emphasis on
man ’s free-will, apparently unimpeded by the effects of the
Fall, with the affirmation that human nature inherits a bias
towards sensuality from Adam.

6. Eastern Views of the W ork of Christ

In expounding Christ’s saving work Clement carries on the

tradition we have already studied in the Apologists, though
blending with it his own mysticism and shifting somewhat the
emphasis. Thus he speaks
* of Christ’s laying down His life as a
ransom (λύτρον) on our behalf, redeeming us by His blood,
offering Himself as a sacrifice, conquering the Devil, and inter­
ceding for us with the Father. These are, however, conventional
1 lb. I, 34-6; 52; 55. 2 lb. 2, I. » lb. 2, 2-4. 4 lb. 1, 38 f.
» Qui; div. 37, 4; pacd. 1, 5, 23; i, II, 97; 3, 12, g^protr. 11, in; n, no.
1 84 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

phrases as used by him, and this is not the aspect of Christ’s

achievement which makes the chief appeal to him. His most
frequent and characteristic thought is that Christ is the teacher
Who endows men with true knowledge, leading them to a
love exempt from desires and a righteousness whose prime
fruit is contemplation. He is their guide at the different levels
of life, ‘ instructing the gnostic by mysteries, the believer by
good hopes, and the hard-hearted by corrective chastisement’.1
It is as teacher that He is ‘ the all-healing physician of mankind ’,2
Who bestows immortality as well as knowledge.3 ‘God ’s will’,
he remarks,4 ‘ is the knowledge of God, and this is participation
in immortality.’ So man is deified: ‘the Word . . . became man
so that you might learn from man how man may become
God ’.5 As God Christ forgives us our sins, while the function of
His humanity is to serve as a model so as to prevent us from
sinning further.6 It is clear that Clement’s soteriology issues in a
Christ-inysticism in which the Lord ’s passion and death have
little or no redemptive part to play.
A mysticism closely akin to this permeates Origen ’s thought
about the redemption. As we saw in the preceding chapter,7 he
conceives of Jesus’s human nature as having been progressively
deified through its union with the Logos; after the resurrection
its materiality disappears and His human soul becomes fused
ineffably with the Logos. This illustrates the way in which
Origen visualizes the restoration of rational beings in general
and men in particular. The Logos is our teacher, law-giver and
model;8 by associating with Him we lose our deadness and
irrationality, becoming ‘divinely possessed and rational’.9 He
is ‘the pattern of the perfect life ’,10 the exemplar of true virtue
into Whose likeness Christians are transformed,11 thereby being
enabled to participate in the divine nature.12 As he puts it,13
‘ Discoursing in bodily form and giving Himself out as flesh, He

1 Strom. 7, 2, 6. 2 Paed. I, 2, 6. 2 Protr. 12, 120, 3.

• Strom. 4, 6, 27. » Protr. 1, 8, 4. 6 Paed. 1, 3, 7.
’ Sec above, pp. 157 f.
• De princ. 4, 1, 2; 4, 3, 12; c. Cels. 2, 52; 3, 7; etc.
• In loh. I, 37, 268. 10 C. Cels. 1, 68. “ Ib. 8, 17.
12 De princ. 4, 4, 4. u C. Cels. 6, 68.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 185

summons to Himself those who arc flesh, in order that He

may first of all transform them into the likeness of the Word
Who has been made flesh, and after that may exalt them so as
to behold Him as He was before He became flesh ’; and again,1
‘With Jesus human and divine nature began to be woven
together, so that by fellowship with divinity human nature
might become divine, not only in Jesus Himself, but also in all
those who believe and embrace the life which Jesus taught, the
life which leads everyone who lives according to His com ­
mandments to friendship with God and fellowship with Him ’.
Illumination and mystical exaltation, however, do not, ac­
cording to Origen, exhaust the work of the Redeemer. His
death, he declares,2 ‘not only has been set forth as an example
of dying for religion, but has effected a beginning and an
advance in the overthrow of the evil one, the Devil, who
dominated the whole earth ’. From the moment of His birth
His life was a conflict with the powers of darkness.3 His passion
and resurrection signified their final defeat, and Origen appeals4
to Col. 2, 15 as proving that the Saviour’s death has a twofold
aspect, being both an example and also the trophy of His
victory over the Devil, who in effect was nailed to the cross with
his principalities and powers. This conception of Christ’s work
as consisting in a struggle with, and ultimate triumph over, the
demoniac forces which hold sway over the world went back,
as we have seen,5 at least as far as Justin among the fathers, and
it undoubtedly plays a big part in Origen ’s sotcriology. The
underlying idea seems to be that the Devil, with whom death is
identified, deluded himself into imagining that he had triumphed
over Christ, but his seeming victory was turned to defeat when
the Saviour rose from the grave.6 Elsewhere Origen, like
Irenaeus7 before him, varies his imagery and makes use of the
Gospel metaphor of a ransom. He speaks8 of Jesus delivering
up His soul, or life, not indeed to God, but to the Devil in

1 Ib. 3, 28. 1 Ib. 7,17.

J Ib. i, 60; 6, 45; hotn. in Luc. 30; 31.
* Horn. in los. 8, 3; in M att. 12, 40. 5 See above, p. 169.
6 In M att. 13, 9. ’ Sec above, pp. 173 f.
8 In M att. 16, 8 : cf. ib. 12, 28; in loh. 6, 53, 274; hotn. in Exod. 6, 9; etc.
ι86 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

exchange for the souls of m en which the Devil had claimed as

his due because of their sinfulness. The Devil accepted the ex ­
change, but could not hold Jesus, Who proved stronger than
death, in his clutches and was thus cheated of his victim. We
should note, however, that, while exploiting to the full the idea
of a ransom, Origen thinks much more in terms of Christ’s
conquest of the Devil than of any actual transaction with him.
Thirdly, however, Origen was prepared to interpret Christ’s
death as an act of vicarious substitution or propitiatory sacrifice.
He is indeed the first of the fathers to treat this aspect of the
Lord ’s work in full detail, and he conceives of His death, not
simply as an obedient surrender to God ’s will, but as an offering
which has positive influence on the Father. Thus he argues1
that, as leader of the Church, Jesus is the head of a body of
which we are members; He has taken our sins upon Himself,
has borne them and has suffered freely for us. As a true priest,
He has offered the Father a true sacrifice in which He is Himself
the victim, thereby propitiating the Father.2 Sin called for a
propitiation, and Christ stepped forward as ‘a victim spotless
and innocent’, propitiating the Father to men by His generous
self-oblation.3 In this mood Origen applies4 Is. 53, 4 f. to
Christ’s passion, stating that ‘Fie too has borne our sins and has
been bruised because of our iniquities, and the punishment
which was owing to us, in order that we might be chastised
and might obtain peace, has fallen on Him ’.
Scholars have often found Origen ’s thoughts on the re ­
demption complex to the point of being mutually irrecon ­
cilable, and have been hard put to it to discover a unifying
theme in them. But if we bear his system as a whole in mind,
we should not find it impossible to grasp the relation of at any
rate the first two of the theories discussed above. For a com ­
plete and final salvation such as Origen envisages, the restora ­
tion of the fallen spirits, angels and demons, as well as of men,
to their pristine transcendental status is required. Hence the role
of the Logos as illuminating men ’s souls, purifying and deifying
1 Hom. in Lev. I, 3. 1 In Rom. 3. 8. 3 Hom. in Num. 24, 1.
♦ In loh. 28, 19, 165.
 MAN AND HIS REDEMPTION 187

them by His transforming contact, must obviously be primary.

But Origen, as we have seen, was also acutely conscious of the
malefic efforts of the Devil and his coadjutors to enslave men
and hold them back from any return. Hence the destruction of
their power was to his mind an indispensable preliminary to the
purgative process worked by the Logos. Admittedly his sacri­
ficial views, if taken in their literal sense, cannot logically be
harmonized with the rest of his system, not least because it
excludes the idea of original sin as a corporate infection and
the whole conception of human solidarity. It was natural, of
course, that he should make use of this sacrificial imagery,
since the Bible was full of it, when he was expounding Holy
Scripture. He made it quite plain, however, that whatever
value it might have for simpler Christians, the more advanced
would be bound to leave it behind. ‘Happy arc they ’, he
wrote,1 ‘who no longer need the Son of God as a physician
Who heals the sick, nor as shepherd, nor as redemption, but as
wisdom, and as word, and as righteousness.’ Like St. Paul
(2 Cor. 5, 16), the mature Christian does not need the historical
Jesus.2 This being his view, he is able to acquiesce in the factual
narrative of the Gospels, and the theological interpretation of
the Passion which goes with it, while holding all the time that
the ultimate truth of the matter transcends the categories of
history and sacrifice.
Origen ’s severe critic, Methodius, takes up Irenaeus’s doctrine
of recapitulation in a somewhat weakened form, and we shall
bring this chapter to a close with a cursory reference to his ideas.
Christ on his view 3 is the new Adam because He assumed
human nature and, just as all died in the first Adam, so they arc
made alive in the second. It was fitting that the Devil should
be defeated and the judgment of death which he had brought
on the human race annulled through the very man he had
originally deceived. We observe that in this account Christ is
virtually identified with Adam, and Methodius actually re­
marks4 how appropriate it was that the only-begotten Logos
1 In loh. I, 20, 124. * Hom. in lerctn. 15, 6.
3 Symp. 3, 6, 65. 4 Ib. 3, 4, 60.
 i88 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

should unite Himself with the first-born of men. Yet, while

Irenaeus saw a positive, almost dynamic significance in Christ’s
death as the supreme instance of His obedience, Methodius
almost completely overlooks this aspect. Rather he views’ the
Lord ’s humanity as the instrument by means of which He
disclosed the resurrection of the flesh. More important in his
eyes than the conquest of sin and death on the cross2 is the fact
that the Logos ‘took to Himself this suffering body in order
that... what was mortal might be transformed into immor­
tality and what was passible into impassibility ’.3 It is clear
that, while the outward forms of Irenaeus’s physical theory
of redemption have been retained, it has lost much of its
original emphasis on the atoning death, and has been shot
through with mysticism.
1 Symp. 3, y, 69. 2 Frg. c. Porphyr. 1, 3. J De res. 3, 23, 4.

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. G. Aulén, Christus Victor (English trans., London, 1931); J. K.

Mozley, The Doctrine of the Atonement (London, 1915); J. Rivière, Le
Dogme de la rédemption (Paris, 1905); A. Slomkowski, L'État prim itif de
l ’homme dans la tradition de Γ Église avant saint Augustin (Paris, 1928);
H. E. W. Turner, The Patristic Doctrine of Redemption (London, 1952);
N. P. Williams, The Ideas of the Fall and Original Sin (London, 1927).
Special. A. d ’Alès, ‘La Doctrine de la recapitulation cn saint Ircnce ’ (art. in
Rech, de science rclig. 6, 1916);}. Daniélou, Origen (Eng. trans., London,
1955); H. Koch,
* Zur Lehrc vom Urstand und der Erlôsung bci Ircnaus’
(Theol. und Kritik., 1925); T. Ruthcr, Die Lehre von der Erbsiinde
bci Clemens von Alexandrien (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1902); F. Stoll,
‘Die Lehre des Id. Ircnaus von der Erlôsung und Hciligung’ (art. in Der
Katholik, 1905); A. Wintersig, Die Hcilsbedeutung der M enschcit lesu in
der vornicânischen Théologie (Tübingen, 1932).
 C H A PTER V III

THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY

I. The Beginnings of Ecclesiology

L o o k e d at from the outside, primitive Christianity has the ap ­

pearance of a vast diffusion of local congregations, each leading
its separate life with its own constitutional structure and
officers and each called a ‘church ’. In a deeper sense, however,
all these communities are conscious of being parts of one uni­
versal Church, which Ignatius implies1 is related to Christ as the
body is to its head. It extends, we are informed,2 to the ends of
the earth, and God gathers it together from the four winds. So
the church of Smyrna sends 3 its report of Polycarp ’s martyrdom
not only to the church at Philomelium, but to all the com ­
munities (napo oticus) composing ‘ the holy and Catholic
Church ’. As he faces death, Polycarp himself prays4 ‘for the
entire Catholic Church throughout the world ’. Ignatius sug ­
gests5 that Christ’s standard rallies His followers everywhere,
whether Jews or Gentiles, ‘in one body of His Church ’. He
adds6 that the Catholic Church is to be found wherever Christ
is present, in contrast to the local church, which is confined to
the district presided over by the bishop. So for Hermas 7 the
Church collects its members from the whole world, forming
them into one body in unity of understanding, mind, faith and
love. Justin speaks8 of all those who believe in Christ as being
united ‘in one soul, one synagogue, one Church, which is
brought into being through His name and shares in His name;
for we arc all called Christians’.
Because of its unity and universality Christians liked to think
of the Church as a special grouping of mankind. According to
1 Eph. 17, I. 2 Did. 9, 4; IO. 5. 3 M art. Polyc. inscr.
4 lb. 8, I. s Smyrn. I, 2. 6 lb. 8, 2.
’ Sim. 9, 17· 8 Dial. 6 3. 5·
189
190 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

‘Barnabas’,1IIit is ‘the new people ’ which God has called into

existence; while Aristides explains2 that there are three sorts of
men — pagans, Jews and Christians. So both The Preaching of
Peter 3 and Ad DiognetHtn 4 refer to Christians as ‘a third race’ or
‘this new race’. Alternatively (and this conception harks back
to the New Testament) the Church is regarded as the new,
authentic Israel which has inherited the promises which God
made to the old. So Clement of Rome sees5 in its election the
fulfilment of the prophecies that Jacob should become the
Lord ’s portion and Israel the lot of His inheritance. Justin puts6
the claim forcibly to the Jew Trypho, and of course it is the
presupposition underlying the Christian appropriation 7 of the
Hebrew Scriptures. The term ‘holy ’, the stock epithet of the
Church, expresses the conviction that it is God ’s chosen people
and is indwelt by His Spirit. As regards ‘Catholic’, its original
meaning was ‘universal’ or ‘general’, and in this sense Justin
can speak 8 of ‘the catholic resurrection ’. As applied to the
Church, its primary significance was to underline its univers­
ality as opposed to the local character of the individual con ­
gregations. Very quickly, however, in the latter half of the
second century at latest, we find 9 it conveying the suggestion
that the Catholic is the true Church as distinct from the here­
tical congregations.
In all this there is implied a distinctive, if far from con ­
sciously formulated, ecclesiology. If the Church is one, it is so
in virtue of the divine life pulsing through it. Called into exist­
ence by God, it is no more a mere man-made agglomerate than
was God ’s ancient people Israel. It is in fact the body of Christ,
forming a spiritual unity with Him as close as is His unity with
the Father, so that Christians can be called 10 His ‘members’. As
the incarnation is the union of seen with unseen, flesh with
spirit, so Ignatius teaches" that the Church is at once flesh and

I 3. <5; 5. 7· 2 Apol. 2.
3 In Clement Alex., strom. 6, 5, 41. ■» χ. s 29, 1-3.
6 E.g. dial, ii, 5; 123. ’ $ cc above, p. 52.
8 Ib. 81, 4. ’ Cf., e.g. Muratorian Canon.
«° E.g. Ignatius, Eph. 5, i; Trail, n, 2.
II Eph. 10, 3; M agn. 13; Smyrn 12, 2.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 191

Spirit, its unity being the union of both. And it is a holy com ­
munity within which the divine Spirit lives and operates.
Among the multiplicity of local bodies making up this com ­
munity, he seems to suggest1 that the Roman church occupies a
special position; he speaks of the church ‘which has the primacy
(προκάΟηται,) in the place of the region of the Romans’. This
may be merely an elaborate way of defining the area of the
authority of the congregation addressed, but something more
appears to be implied since he goes on to salute the Roman
church as possessing ‘a primacy of love ’ (προκαθήμενη της
αγάπης — an expression which some have translated, rather
forcedly, ‘presiding over the love-community’, i.e. over the
Church universal).
What these early fathers were envisaging was almost always
the empirical, visible society; they had little or no inkling of
the distinction which was later to become important between
a visible and an invisible Church. Yet speculation about the
Church as a pre-existent, spiritual reality was already at work,
and traces of it appear in 2 Clement and Hernias. The former,
perhaps taking his cue from St. Paul (Eph. 1, 3-5), represents2
the Church as having been created before sun and moon, i.e. as
having existed from all eternity. Like Christ, Whose bride she
is, she is spiritual (πνζυματι,κη), and has been manifested in these
latter days in His flesh for our salvation. Only those who have
scrupulously observed the law of purity may belong to her.
Hernias describes3 the Church under the figure of an old
woman; she is aged because she was created before every tiling
else, and indeed the universe was made because of her. These
arc passing hints, however; Hernias at any rate is much more
concerned with the visible Christian society, with its ministers
and its more or less perfect members. For the fuller development
of the theory of the invisible, pre-existent Church we have to
look to Valcntinian Gnosticism. In its cosmology, as expounded
by Irenaeus,4 the Church was a mysterious aeon, a member of
the primitive ogdoad from which all tilings arc derived.
1 Rom. inscr. 2 14» 1-4·
I is· 4» 1» 3» 5» i· 4 Hocr. I, 2, 2, 1, i i , 1» i> 12, 3·
192 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

Irenaeus gathers together the main second-century ideas

about the Church and, in conscious reaction against Gnosticism,
imposes a sharper outline on them. Like his predecessors, he
regards1 die Church as the new Israel, and calls2 it ‘the great
and glorious body of Christ’. It is endowed with mysterious
powers which it exercises without charge, and bestows graces
which cannot be counted.3 And it is the unique sphere of the
Spirit, Who has indeed been especially entrusted to it, so that
we can only attain communion with Christ in the Church.
‘Where the Church is,’ he writes,4 ‘there is the Spirit of God;
and where the Spirit of God is, there is the Church and all
grace; and the Spirit is the truth. Those, therefore, who do not
participate in the Spirit neither feed at their mother’s breasts
nor drink the bright fountain issuing from Christ’s body.’ His
most characteristic thought, however, is that the Church is the
sole repository of the truth, and is such because it has a mono ­
poly of the apostolic writings, the apostolic oral tradition and
the apostolic faith. Because of its proclamation of this one faith
inherited from the apostles the Church, scattered as it is
throughout the entire world, can claim to be one.5 Hence his
emphasis6 on ‘the canon of the truth ’, i.e. the framework of
doctrine which is handed down in the Church and which, in
contrast to the variegated teachings of the Gnostics, is identical
and self-consistent everywhere. In a previous chapter7 we
noticed his theory that the unbroken succession of bishops in
the great sees going back to the apostles themselves provides a
guarantee that this faith is identical with the message which
they originally proclaimed.
To illustrate his argument Irenaeus singled out, in a famous
and much debated passage,8 the Roman church; its greatness,
its antiquity, its foundation by the apostles Peter and Paul, but
above all the fact that it represented Christendom in miniature,
made it an apt example. Ad hanc enim ecclesiam, so the surviving
Latin translation runs, propter potentioretn (better, potiorem)
• E.g. haer. 5, 32, 2; 5, 34, I. » Ib. 4, 33, 7.
3 Ib. 2, 31, 3; 2, 32, 4· 4 Ib. 3, 24, i. 5 ib. i, 10, 2.
6 E.g. ib. i, 9. 4; I. 10. i f; η 22, i.
7 See above, p. 37. 8 Ib. 3, 3, 2.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 193

principalitatem necesse est omnem convenire ecclesiam, hoc est, eos qui
sunt undique fideles, in qua semper ab his, qui sunt undique, con ­
servata est ea quae est ab apostolis traditio. If convenire here means
‘agree with ’ and principalitas refers to the Roman primacy (in
whatever sense), the gist of the sentence may be taken to be
that Christians of every other church are required, in view of its
special position of leadership, to fall into line with the Roman
church, inasmuch as the authentic apostolic tradition is always
preserved by the faithful who arc everywhere. This interpre­
tation, or some variant of it, has been accepted by many, but
the weakness of the final clause lias struck other scholars as
intolerable. Further, the normal meaning of convenire is ‘resort
to ’, ‘foregather at’, and necesse est does not easily bear the
i sense of ‘ought’. Hence they have judged it more plausible
to take Irenaeus’s point as being that the Roman church sup-
• lies an ideal illustration for the reason that, in view of its being
placed in the imperial city, representatives of all the different
churches necessarily (i.c. inevitably) flock to it, so that there is
some guarantee that the faith taught there faithfully reflects
the apostolic tradition.

I 2. Early Views ofi the Sacraments

The Church ’s sacraments are those external rites, more pre ­
cisely signs, which Christians believe convey, by Christ’s ap ­
pointment, an unseen sanctifying grace. Their number has been
reckoned differently at different times; in this section we shall
glance at three — baptism, the cucharist and penance— for which
some circumstantial evidence survives from the second century.
We should note that, while the technical terms for sacrament
were to be μυστήριον in Greek and sacramentum in Latin,
there arc no absolutely certain instances of their use before the
1 Alexandrian fathers and Tertullian respectively.
From the beginning baptism was the universally accepted
rite of admission to the Church; only ‘those who have been
baptized in the Lord ’s name ’ may partake of the eucharist.1
> Did. 9, 5.
194 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

Whether or not administered originally in Christ’s name only,

as numerous New Testament texts appear to suggest, in the
second century it was administered in water in the threefold
name.1 As regards its significance, it was always held to convey
the remission of sins, but the earlier Pauline conception of it as
the application of Christ’s atoning death to the believer seems
to have faded. On the other hand, the theory that it mediated
the Holy Spirit was fairly general. Clement appears to have had
this in mind in his reference2 to ‘one Spirit of grace poured out
upon us’, and this is clearly what lies behind the description of
baptism as ‘the seal’ (σφραγίς ) or ‘the seal of the Son of God ’,
which the baptized must keep unsullied, in 2 Clement3 and
Hermas.4 According to the latter, we descend into the water
‘dead ’ and come out again ‘alive’; we receive a white robe
which symbolizes the Spirit. In ‘Barnabas’5 it is the remission
of sins which is emphasized; we enter the water weighed down
and defiled by our transgressions, only to emerge ‘ bearing fruit
in our hearts, having fear and hope in Jesus in the Spirit’. The
Spirit is God Himself dwelling in the believer, and the resulting
life is a re-creation. Prior to baptism, he remarks, our heart was
the abode of demons; and Ignatius develops this idea, suggest­
ing 6 that baptism supplies us with the weapons for our spiritual
warfare.
Justin has left a description7 of baptism which has become
famous. He finds authority for its use in Is. 1, 16-20 (‘Wash,
make yourselves clean, etc.’) as well as John 3, 5 (‘Unless you
arc born again, etc.’), and the chief points he brings out are
that it is a washing with water in the Triune name which has as
its effects regeneration, illumination and remission of sins. Else­
where8 he calls it ‘the bath of repentance and knowledge of
God ’, the living water which alone can cleanse penitents and
which, being a baptism with the Holy Spirit, is to be con ­
trasted with Jewish washings. It is a spiritual rite replacing
circumcision, the unique doorway to the remission of sins

1 Did. 7, 1-3· 2 46, 6. 3 7. 6; 8, 6.

♦ Sim. 8, 2, 2 f.; 8, 6, 3; 9, 16, 3 f. ’ i i , ii; 16, 7 f.
6 Polyc. 6,2. 7 1 apol. 61. 8 Dial. 14, 1; 29, i.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY

prophesied by Isaiah.1 Theophilus of Antioch represents2 it as

imparting remissions of sins and rebirth (παλιγγενεσία); it
was prefigured, he thinks, in the production of livin g being
from the waters on the fifth day of creation. For Irenaeus3 it is
‘ the seal of eternal life and our rebirth in God, so that we are no |
longer the sons of mortal men only, but also children of the I
immortal and indefectible God ’. It cleanses the soul as well as 1 ;
the body, bestowing the Spirit as an earnest of resurrection. i <
‘We have received baptism ’, he writes,4 ‘for the remission of
sins in the name of God the Father, and in the name of Jesus
Christ the Son of God, Who was incarnate and died and rose
again, and in the Holy Spirit of God. And thus baptism is the !
seal of eternal life and new birth unto God.’ Through it we are ?
washed, have the Spirit imparted to us, and obtain ‘ the image
of the heavenly’.
The early view, therefore, like the Pauline, would seem to be |
that baptism itself is the vehicle for conveying the Spirit to )
believers; in all this period we nowhere come across any clear |
pointers to the existence of a separate rite, such as unction or the | J
laying on of hands, appropriated to this purpose. It is true that
in one passage,5 making an obvious allusion to Acts 8, 17, .
Irenaeus betrays his recognition that the Spirit had been be- 5
stowed by the imposition of the apostles’ hands, but even I
here there is no hint that the contemporary Church was '
familiar with any such practice. Again, it is far-fetched to seek !
to extract a reference to physical anointing out of his state- |
ment6 that Christians are to be saved ‘by partaking of His $
unction ’. The unction of Christ here mentioned is the descent I
of the Spirit upon Him at His baptism, and the anointing of i
Christians, so far from being a literal one, consists in their re- · M
ception of the Spirit similarly in baptism. As a matter of fact, !ln
whether or not the second-century Church employed unction, ,';f|
the clearest evidence7 for its use at this period is in the initiation H
ceremonies of certain Gnostic sects. | j8
196 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

If such was the Church ’s understanding of baptism, the

eucharist was regarded as the distinctively Christian sacrifice
from the closing decade of the first century, if not earlier.
Malachi’s prediction (i, io f.) that the Lord would reject the
Jewish sacrifices and instead would have ‘a pure offering ’ made
to Him by the Gentiles in every place was early seized’ upon
by Christians as a prophecy of the eucharist. The Didache indeed
actually applies2 the term θυσία, or sacrifice, to the eucharist,
and the idea is presupposed by Clement in the parallel he dis­
covers3 between the Church ’s ministers and the Old Testament
priests and lévites, as in his description4 of the function of the
former as the offering of gifts (cf. τούς . . . προσενεγκόντας τα
δώρα). Ignatius’s reference5 to ‘one altar, just as there is one
bishop ’, reveals that he too thought in sacrificial terms. Justin
speaks6 of ‘all the sacrifices in this name which Jesus appointed
to be performed, viz. in the eucharist of the bread and the cup,
and which are celebrated in every place by Christians ’. Not
only here but elsewhere7 too, he identifies ‘the bread of the
eucharist, and the cup likewise of the eucharist’, with the
sacrifice foretold by Malachi. For Irenaeus8 the eucharist is
‘the new oblation of the new covenant’, which the Church
has received from the apostles and offers to God throughout
the whole world.
It was natural for early Christians to think of the eucharist as
a sacrifice. The fulfilment of prophecy demanded a solemn
Christian offering, and the rite itself was wrapped in the
sacrificial atmosphere with which our Lord invested the Last
Supper. The words of institution, ‘Do this’ {τούτο ποιείτε),
must have been charged with sacrifical overtones for second-
century ears; Justin at any rate understood9 them to mean,
Offer this . If we inquire what the sacrifice was supposed to
consist in, the Didache for its part provides no clear answer.
Justin, however, makes it plain ’9 that the bread and the wine
themselves were the ‘pure offering’ foretold by Malachi. Even
1 E.g. did. 14, 3; Justin, dial. 41, 2 f.; Irenaeus, haer. 4, 17, 5.
» 14, I. 1 40-4. 4 44, 4. » Ph il ad. 4.
6 Dial. 117,1. 7 Ib. 41, 3. 8 Haer. 4, 17, 5.
• 1 apol. 66, 3: cf. dial. 41, 1. »o Dial. 41, 3.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 197

if he holds’ that ‘prayers and thanksgivings ’ (ευχαριστίαν) arc

the only God-pleasing sacrifices, we must remember that he
uses2 the term ‘thanksgiving ’ as technically equivalent to ‘the
cucharistizcd bread and wine ’. The bread and wine, moreover,
are offered ‘for a memorial (ενς · ανά/χνησιρ) of the passion ’, a
phrase which in view of his identification of them with the
Lord ’s body and blood implies much more than an act of purely
spiritual recollection. Altogether it would seem that, while his
language is not fully explicit, Justin is feeling his way to the
conception of the eucharist as the offering of the Saviour’s
passion. Irenaeus’s thought3 moves along rather different lines
and does not link the eucharist so closely with Christ’s atoning
death. When the bread and wine are offered to God, he thinks
of them primarily as first-fruits of the earth which Christ has
instructed us to offer, not because the Father needs them, but
that we may not be found unfruitful or ungrateful. This is ‘the
oblation of the Church ’, and is well-pleasing to God as the ex ­
pression of a sincere and faithful disposition. But the idea of the
passion pervades this approach too, for Irenaeus identifies the
gifts with Christ’s body and blood and describes them, in
language reminiscent of the Lord ’s words at the Last Supper,
as ‘the oblation of the new covenant’.
This leads us to consider the significance attached to the
elements themselves in this period. From the Didache 4 we
gather that the bread and wine arc ‘holy ’; they arc spiritual
food and drink communicating immortal life. Ignatius roundly
declares5 that ‘ the eucharist is the flesh of our Saviour Jesus
Christ, which suffered for our sins and which the Father in His
goodness raised ’. The bread is the flesh of Jesus, the cup His
blood.6 Clearly he intends this realism to be taken strictly, for
he makes7 it the basis of his argument against the Docctists’
denial of the reality of Christ’s body. Because the eucharist
brings Christians into union with their Lord, it is the great
bond between them;8 and since it mediates communion with
« Ib. 1 17, 2. 2 1 apol. 65, 3-5.
3 Cf. csp. haer. 4, 17, 4-6; 4, 18, 1-6; 4, 33, 2; 5, 2, 2 f.
4 9, 5; 10, 3. ■' Smyrn. 6,2. 6 Rom. 7, 3.
’ Smyrn. 6 f. 8 Eph. 13, 1; Philad. 4.
198 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

Christ, it is a medicine which procures immortality (φάρμακον

αθανασίας }, an antidote against death which enables us to live
in the Lord forever.1 Justin actually refers to the change. ‘We
do not receive these’, he writes,2 ‘as common bread or common
drink. But just as our Saviour Jesus Christ was made flesh
through the Word of God and had both flesh and blood for our
salvation, so also we have been taught that the food which has
been eucharistized by the word of prayer from Him (that food
which by process of assimilation nourishes our flesh and blood)
is the flesh and blood of the incarnate Jesus.’ So Irenaeus
teaches3 that the bread and wine are really the Lord ’s body and
blood. His witness is, indeed, all the more impressive because
he produces it quite incidentally while refuting the Gnostic
and Docctic rejection of the Lord ’s real humanity. Like Justin,
too, he seems to postulate a change, for he remarks:4 ‘Just as the
bread, which comes from the earth, when it receives the invoca­
tion of God, is no longer common bread but cucharist, being
composed of two elements, a terrestrial one and a celestial, so
our bodies arc no longer commonplace when they receive the
cucharist, since they have the hope of resurrection to eternity ’.
In contrast to baptism and the cucharist, our knowledge
about the Church ’s theology of penance in this early period
remains bafflingly meagre. Essentially the problem was that of
dealing with sins committed after baptism; sins committed
prior to baptism were of course remitted at the font. A power­
ful current of thought in the second-century Church favoured
the view that no remission was possible for sins deliberately
committed after baptism. The author of Hebrews, 5 it will
be recalled, had represented this standpoint, as had the author
of 1 John when he forbade6 prayer for what he called ‘the
sin unto death ’. So Hermas reports with 7 approval the opinion
of ‘certain teachers’ (he uses the technical term διδασκάλων}
that the only penance available to Christians is the one under­
gone in baptism, and Justin puts forward 8 the ideal of living
1 Eph. 20, 2. 1 i apol. 66, 2.
’ Hacr. 4, 17, 5: cf. ib. 4, 18, 4; 5, 2, 3. * Ib. 4, 18, 5: cf. ib. 5, 2, 3.
’ 6. 4-6; 10,26-31. 6 5. 16 f.
7 M a nd. 4, 3, I. 8 Dial. 44, 4.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 199

without sin once one has been baptized. On the other

hand, there is abundant evidence in contemporary literature
that a more lenient attitude was widely adopted in practice.
Clement emphasizes1 God ’s mercy and the desirability o£
repentance and confession. In the Didache 2 public, possibly cor­
porate, confession of sin is prescribed, while Ignatius envisages3
the reconciliation of schismatics after due repentance. Polycarp
prays4 that God may grant repentance to the fallen priest Valens
and his wife, and expects the Philippian church to receive them
back into fellowship. An unknown preacher urges5 his auditors
not to postpone their penitence until they are dead, ‘when we
can no longer confess and repent’. We are completely in the
dark about the practical arrangements, if any, connected with
this embryonic anticipation of penitential discipline. Its emer­
gence, however, provoked a vigorous reaction, exemplified
in the repudiation 6 by the Montanists of the power of the
Church ’s ministers to forgive post-baptismal sin. Yet it is plain
that pastoral considerations were making the old rigorism
difficult to maintain. A striking illustration is provided by
Hermas, who, while approving (as we have seen) the traditional
attitude, proclaimed,7 on the basis of revelation, a special
second opportunity for repentance for older Christians. It
was, we should note, limited to them, not being available
cither to the recently baptized or to future converts;8 and
even in their case it was a once-for-all indulgence which
could not be repeated.9 An important feature of it was that
it apparently did not exclude those heinous sins (apostasy,
adultery and murder) which were later to be treated as
reserved, for Hermas explicitly states10 that the adulterous
wife should be taken back by her husband, if she is really
sorry for her sin, and that apostates who have denied Christ
with the mouth, if not the heart, can take advantage of the
concession.

1 7.3-7; 18; 48.1-.5I.3- ’ 4,14; 14.1.

3 Philad. 3, 2; 8, 1. * Phil, i i , 4·
3 2 Clem. 8, 1-3· 6 Cf. Tertullian, de pud. 21.
7 Vis. 2, 2, 4 f 3. 5. 5Î 4. 3. 3-5Î «m. 8, 9. e M and. 4, 3, 3.
9 Ib. 4, 3. 6 · «° Ib. 4, I, 7 f· ; sim. 9, 26, 5.
200 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

3. Developments in the Doctrine of the Church

While the third century was to see significant advances in the

theology of the Church, old-fashioned views were still to the
fore at the outset. Tertullian’s conception, for example, at any
rate during his Catholic phase, hardly differed from that of
Irenaeus. ‘We are a body ’, he writes,1 ‘knit together by the
bond of piety, by unity of discipline and by the contract of
hope.’ There can only be one Church spread throughout the
world, just as there is one God, one Christ, one hope, one
baptism;2 and this is the bride of Christ mentioned in Solomon ’s
Song,3 the mother of Christians {domina mater ecclesia 4). In this
latter thought can be discerned more than the germ of the later
axiom that only he who has the Church for his mother can
have God for his Father. Like Irenaeus again, as we have already
seen,5 Tertullian insists that the Church is the unique home of
the Spirit, the sole repository of the apostolic revelation, with
its teaching guaranteed by the unbroken succession of bishops.
But these ideas underwent a radical transformation when, about
207, he joined the Montanists, and for the visible, hierarchically
constituted Church we find 6 him substituting a charismatic
society. He is even prepared at this stage to define the Church ’s
essential nature as Spirit. Such being its nature, he claims, it
must be pure and undcfilcd, composed exclusively of spiritual
men. The rigorist strain in him, which had always been present,
was thus given full rein, and he could argue that there can be no
difference between clergy and laity, since authority belongs to
those who possess the Spirit, and not to bishops as such.
Tertullian was not the only churchman to be attracted by
rigorism. Indeed, as we shall sec in a later section, the prevailing
view at this time was that the graver sins were incapable of re­
mission, and it is obvious that the conception of the Church ’s
nature and function corresponding to this must have been
equally strict. We find a strong expression of it in Hippolytus,

’ Apol. 39, I. 1 De virg. vel. 2, 2. J C. Marc. 4, u.

* Ad mart, i: cf. de orat. 2; c. Marc. 5, 4, 8. s $ cc above, p. 192.
6 E.g. de exhort, cast. 7; de pud. 21.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 201

who, while picturing 1 the Church as Christ’s bride, or again as a

ship sailing East through the billows of the world, envisages2 it
as ‘the holy society of those who live in righteousness’. There
is no place in it for heretics or sinners, as is demonstrated by its
Old Testament type, Susannah, who preferred death to defde-
nient. Rather the Church is the earthly Eden from which the
backslider who plunges into sin is extruded.3 But other and
perhaps more characteristically Christian ideas were now gain ­
ing currency, their acceptance being commended by pastoral
necessity and the need of coping with the ever-growing swarm
of converts. With the enlargement of the penitential discipline,
which we shall shortly examine, a wider appreciation of the
Church ’s role was beginning to make headway; instead of re ­
garding it as a community of saints, the new school of theo ­
logians looked upon it as a training-ground for sinners. There is
reason to suppose that Pope Callistus, when introducing his
reforms in penance, was fully conscious of the implications of
his more liberal attitude for ccclcsiology. According to Hip ­
polytus,4 he appealed to the parable of the tares as suggesting
that sinners should be permitted to remain in the Church.
Further, he cited Noah ’s ark as a type of the Church, pointing
out that unclean as well as clean beasts found lodgment in it.
Meanwhile at Alexandria, as we might expect, while the
visible Church received its meed of recognition, the real focus
of interest tended to be the invisible Church of the true gnostic;
the treatment accorded to the earthly hierarchy was generally
perfunctory. Clement, for example, is ready enough to use
empirical categories and to distinguish5 ‘ the ancient and Catholic
Church ’ from heretical conventicles. This is the Church in
which the apostolic tradition is enshrined, and to which those
whom God predestines to righteousness belong. Like God Him ­
self, it is one;6 it is also the virgin mother of Christians, feeding
them on the Logos as holy milk.7 Imperceptibly, however, the
conception is spiritualized. The Church becomes ‘ the gathering
« In cant. 16; 19 (Achclis, 355 f.; 364; 369); de antichr. 59.
» In Dan. I, 17. 3 Ib. 1, 15 if. * Ref. 9, 12, 22 f.
s Strom. 7, 17, 107. 0 Paed. 1, 4, 10.
7 Ib. I, 6, 42: cf. ib. I, 5, 21.
202 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

of the elect’,1 an impregnable city ruled by the Logos;2 and

he states3 that the pious and righteous gnostics who teach and
do God ’s will are its true priests and deacons, even if they have
never been promoted to such office on earth. The earthly
Church, moreover, is a copy of the heavenly; that is why we
pray that God ’s will may be accomplished on earth as it is in
heaven.4 The perfect gnostics, he writes,5 ‘will rest on God ’s
holy mountain, the Church on high (τη άνωτάτω εκκλησία),
in which are assembled the philosophers of God, the authentic
Israelites who arc pure in heart... giving themselves over to the
pure intuition of unending contemplation ’. It is this ‘spiritual
Church ’ which is Christ’s mystical body; such of its members
as still live like the heathen are, as it were, its flesh, while those
who truly cleave to the Lord and become one spirit with Him
form the holy Church in the real sense of the word.6
Platonizing influences7 were clearly at work in Clement’s
distinction between the visible but imperfect Church and the
perfect spiritual one, and we may expect to find Origen suc­
cumbing to them too. He has a firmer grasp than Clement of
the Church as an organized community, describing8 it as ‘ the
congregation of Christian people’ or ‘ the assembly of believers ;
and he has a high opinion 9 of the office and responsibilities of
its ministers, and deplores10 their all too frequent unworthiness.
The Church seems11 to him a sort of world-wide republic, with
its own laws and constitution; it is, in fact, ‘the city of God ’
(ή πόλις τού θεοΰ 12). It is also (he develops this idea more fully
than anyone before him) the body of Christ, being animated
by Him exactly as an ordinary body is animated by the soul,
and the faithful who belong to it are His members.13 In this
mystical sense Christ’s body comprises the whole of humanity,
indeed the whole of creation;14 for according to Origen ’s teach ­
ing all creatures will ultimately be saved, and for that they
» Strom. 7, 5, 29. » lb. 4, 26, 172. 3 lb. 6, 13, 106 f.
4 lb. 4. 8, 66. s lb. 6, 14, 108. 6 lb. 7, 11, 68; 7, 14, 87 f.
’ See above, pp. 10 f. 8 Hom. in Ezech. I, 11; in Exod. 9, 3.
’ E.g. c. Cels. 8, 75; hom. in lerem. II, 3.
10 E.g. hom. in Num. 2, 1. n C. Cels. 4, 22.
11 Hom. in lerem. 9, 2; in los. 8, 7.
13 C. Cels. 6, 48: cf. in M att. 14, 17. 14 Hom. in 36 ps. 2, 1.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 203

must belong to the Church. Hence he can affirm ’ that on the

last day, when death has been vanquished, the resurrection of
Christ’s veritable body will take place, and all those who are
united to Him, after suffering crucifixion and death here, will
be raised up so as to constitute a perfect man, according to the
measure of the fulness of Christ’s body.
All the time, however, there is an acute tension in his mind
between the empirical Church here on earth and the ideal
Church. In the former, he recognizes,2 there arc many merely
apparent members, just as there were many Jeb usités in Zion;
but the true Church (ή κυρίως Εκκλησία), in contrast, is as
St. Paul described it, ‘without spot or wrinkle’, holy and
blameless.3 To it belong all who attain perfection here on
earth, i.e. the t c X c l o l who, according to Origen ’s mystical
theology, become united to the Logos. This elect portion of the
terrestrial Church is identified with ‘the heavenly Church ’
(η ουράνιο? εκκλησία), which Origen regards4 as having ex ­
isted since before creation. In this sense the Church is ‘the
assembly of all the saints ’, and its body is constituted by ‘all
those souls which have attained perfection ’.3 Many have in ­
ferred from his preoccupation with this spiritual Church that
Origen did not in the last resort regard the true devotees of the
Logos as belonging to the visible, hierarchical Church, but this
is a perversion of his teaching. Despite the distinction he draws
between the spiritual Church, the immaculate bride of Christ,
and the earthly Church with all its defects, it remains his clear
belief6 that the two somehow coincide, and in several passages7
he indicates that the spiritually advanced are the teachers or, as
it were, ‘ the eyes’ of the visible, empirical body. As the body of
Christ, with the Logos animating it as its life-principle, the
latter is ‘an imitation of the coming kingdom ’,8 and the true
gnostics form its spiritual core.
From the mystical, sometimes elusive, theorizing of Alex ­
andria we turn to Cyprian, whose conception of the Church
* In loh. 10, 35 f., 229-38. 1 In M att. 12, 12; hom. in los. 21, 1
3 De orat. 20, I. 4 In Cant. 2 (Bachrcns, 157).
» lb. i ; 3 (Bachrcns, 90; 232). 6 E.g. ib. 3 (Bachrcns, 176 f.).
’ E.g. ib. 2 (Bachrcns, 154 £)· 8 De princ. I, 6, 2.
204 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

and ministry was to dominate the West until Augustine’s time,

and at once find ourselves breathing a different atmosphere. For
all his profound sense of the Church as a spiritual entity, his
approach was practical and even legalistic, owing much to
analogies borrowed from Roman law and conditioned by the
problems created by the Novatianist schism. This was a
rigorist, doctrinally orthodox movement, representing the
party which advocated severity towards those who had lapsed
in the Decian persecution and now wished to resume Church
membership, and so Cyprian was obliged to find some other
basis for unity than strict orthodoxy of teaching.
In all his discussions his unquestioned premiss is the assump ­
tion that the Catholic Church not only ought to be, but in
fact is, one. The ‘unity handed down by the Lord through
the apostles’1 was prefigured, he holds,2 in the Old Testament,
was implied by Christ’s seamless robe, was proclaimed by the
apostle Paul, and was the object of the Saviour’s high-priestly
prayer. It was grounded in the very nature and being of God.3
The question before Cyprian, faced as he was with seccders
whose creed was unexceptionable, was how this unity was ex ­
pressed and where its guarantee was to be discerned. For an
answer he points to the episcopate, arguing that, considered as
a whole and in its individual members, this is the God-given
principle of unity in the Church. The bishops stand in the place
of the apostles, not only in the sense that they arc their lineal
successors, but that like them they have been chosen and
established in their offices by the Lord ’s special decree.4 More­
over, the bishops, each presiding in a diocese which is the
whole Church in microcosm, form a college, for the episcopate
itself is one and indivisible, and the several bishops enjoy the
plenitude of it exactly as shareholders do of a joint property
(episcopatus unus est, cuius a singulis in solidum pars tenetur 5 ).
Hence the Church is founded on the bishops;6 it is ‘ united and
held together by the glue of the mutual cohesion of the

ξρ· 45. 3- E.g. de unit. eccl. 4; 7 £ ; 7< ,

i De unit. eccl. 23. - E.g. ep. 8, 1; 59 , L 6q <
5 De unit. eccl. 5: cf. ep. 55, 24· 6 Ep. 33, 1. ’ ’ 5‘
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 205

bishops ’;' but the theory implies, as Cyprian made plain,2 that
each bishop is entitled to hold his own views and to administer
his own diocese accordingly, and that the principle of charitable
respect for each other’s opinions must be maintained.
In proof of the unity Cyprian appeals3 to Christ’s com ­
mission to St. Peter recorded in M att. 16, 18 f. and His words
to the apostles generally reported in John 20, 21 f. His argu ­
ment seems to be that, although the Lord was founding a col­
legiate episcopate, He deliberately gave His mandate to St.
Peter alone in the first instance so as to establish conclusively
the principle of unity in the Church from the start. In view of
its importance the passage must be quoted: ‘The Lord said to
Peter, “ I tell you, you are Peter .. Thus He built His Church
upon a single man; and although after His resurrection He
assigned equal authority to all the apostles, saying, “ As the
Father sent me, so send I you . . nevertheless in order to
bring out the Church ’s unity vividly, He so ordered the origin
of that unity as to make it begin with a single man. Assuredly
the other apostles were all exactly what Peter was, equipped
with an equal share of honour and authority; but a beginning
was made from unity, so that the oneness of Christ’s Church
might be manifested.' If this is the true text, it supports the col­
legiate conception of the episcopate which Cyprian advocates
elsewhere, only adding that St. Peter was the starting-point
and symbol of unity. There is no suggestion that he possessed
any superiority to, much less jurisdiction over, the other
apostles, any more than in the numerous other contexts4 in
which the Church ’s unity is traced to him. There exists, how ­
ever, another (the so-called ‘Papal’) version of the passage
which (a) speaks of the setting up of ‘one chair’ (imam cathe ­
dram) and of the giving of a primacy to Peter (primatus Petro
datur), and (b) omits the mention of the other apostles’ being
armed with the same authority as he. It seems likely that this
too comes from Cyprian ’s pen, being earlier than the textus
1 lb. 66, 8.
2 lb. 72, 3 : cf. sent, episcop. pracf. in Augustine, de bapt. 6, 9.
3 De unit. eccl. 4.
4 E.g. ep. 33,1; 43, 5; 66, «· 73, 7: cf. 75, 17 (by Firmilian).
200 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

receptus and representing his attitude prior to his dispute with

Pope Stephen on the necessity of rebaptizing heretics and
schismatics. The use made of it by Stephen ’s supporters in
order to assert the authority of Rome over other secs may
well have induced him to modify it in favour of a less awk ­
ward version. Even the ‘Papal text’, however, does not neces­
sarily conflict with his general teaching, viz. that the Church ’s
unity is to be found in the consensus of the collective episco ­
pate. While he is prepared, in a well-known passage,1 to speak
of Rome as ‘the leading church ’, the primacy he has in mind
seems to be one of honour. At any rate he lays it down, a few
lines later, that ‘each of the shepherds (i.e. bishops) has had a
portion of the flock assigned to him to rule and govern, and
will have to render an account of his charge to the Lord ’.
Cyprian does not hesitate to draw the logical corollaries
from his theory. The criterion of Church membership is no
longer, as for Irenaeus, acceptance of the teaching guaranteed
by the episcopate as apostolic, but submission to the bishop
himself.2 Rebellion against him is rebellion against God,3 and
the schismatic, however correct his doctrine or virtuous his life,
renounces Christ, bears arms against His Church and resists
God ’s ordinances.4 In effect he is a heretic, so that Cyprian can
write5 of Novatian himself: ‘ Wc arc not interested in what he
teaches, since he teaches outside the Church. Whatever and
whatsoever kind of man he is, he is not a Christian who is not
in Christ’s Church.’ And, since ‘he cannot have God for his
Father who has not the Church for his mother’,6 there is no
salvation outside the Church (salus extra ecclesiam non est7 ). It
goes without saying that outside the Church sacraments arc
impossible (e.g. ‘the oblation cannot be consecrated where
the Spirit is not present’8), and in particular that baptism by
schismatics or heretics is invalid. On this last point, as is well
known, Cyprian met with strong opposition at Rome, where
Pope Stephen argued9 on the basis of tradition that baptized

' Ep. 59. 14· 1 Ib. 49, 2. 1 Ib. 66, 1. * De unit. eccl. 17.
» Ep. 55, 24. 6 De unit. ecd. 6. Ί Ep. 73, 21.
» Ib. 65, 4: cf. ib. 67, 3; 72. 2. · Ib. 74, 1 (quoting Stephen).
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 207

heretics entering the Church needed only the imposition of

hands. If his doctrine seems harsh and legalist, it was only the
obverse of his passionate conviction that the Church was the
body of Christ, pulsing with the life of the Spirit, and that to
claim the grace of Christ and His Spirit outside its frontiers
was at once presumptuous and illogical. Further, schism in his
eyes’ was the mark of pride, selfishness and partisan feeling,
just as the unity which he saw expressed in the episcopal hier­
archy was the outcome and manifestation of charity.

4. Baptism in the Third Century

Speculation about baptism in the third century revolves

around its function, universally admitted hitherto, as the
medium of the bestowal of the Spirit. Infant baptism was now
common, and this fact, together with the rapid expansion of
the Church ’s numbers, caused the administration of the sacra­
ment to be increasingly delegated by bishops to presbyters.
The existence of schismatics, as we have seen, raised the pro ­
blem of their rebaptism on joining the Church. Ever-growing
importance, consequently, was coming to be attached to the
subsidiary rites associated with baptism — chrismation, or
anointing with the sign of the cross, and the laying on of
hands. We observe a tendency to limit the effect of baptism
itself to the remission of sins and regeneration, and to link the
gift of the Spirit with these other rites.
Let us look first at the East, where conservative ideas per­
sisted longer. Clement of Alexandria speaks2 of baptism as
imparting regeneration, enlightenment, divine sonship, im ­
mortality, remission of sins; the sonship, he explains,3 is the
result of the regeneration worked by the Spirit. Baptism im ­
prints a seal, or stamp, which is in fact the Spirit, the image of
God;4 the indwelling Spirit is a ‘shining impress’ (χαρακτηρ)
of the Christian ’s membership of Christ.5 As he nowhere hints
at any liturgical rite of unction or the imposition of hands, we
• De zel. et liv. 6. » p a ed. 1, 6, 26. ’ Ib. 1, 5, 21.
* Excerpta Theod. 86, 2. ’ Strom. 4, 18, 116.
2O 8 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

may reasonably infer that he regards baptism itself as mediating

the Spirit. Origen lays much greater stress on the inward
significance and spiritual efficacy of baptism, and has a firmer
hold on the biblical doctrine. For example, he insists1 on peni­
tence, sincere faith and humility as its prerequisites, as well as
on the gradualness with which it transforms the soul. In it, he
believes,2 the Christian is united with Christ in His death and
resurrection. It is the unique means of obtaining remission of
sins;3 it frees us from the power of the Devil and makes us
members of the Church as Christ’s body.4 Even little children,
he assumes,5 being defiled with sin, must be baptized. His
normal teaching6 is that the Spirit is received in baptism, the
convert being ‘baptized in Christ, in the water and the Holy
Spirit’. The Spirit descends upon the Christian at his baptism as
upon Christ at His, and he becomes ‘pneumatic’.7 It is plain,
however, that he finds such passages as Acts 8, 17 puzzling, and
is sometimes led to distinguish8 between ‘the grace and re­
generation of baptism ’ and the gift of the Spirit mediated by
apostolic hands. But it would be a mistake to regard him, even
in these moods, as dividing Christian initiation into two
separate rites. Rather he stresses its unity, placing all the
emphasis on the inward effects, and treating such features as
the imposition of hands and chrismation as subordinate aspects
of a single rite.
When we turn to the West, we discover a growing readiness
to focus the gift of the Spirit on the later rites. Hippolytus, it is
true, generally preserves the traditional theology, associating ’
both remission of sins and the reception of the Spirit with
baptism. He provides valuable evidence, however, of the im ­
portance which other ceremonies, e.g. the laying on of the
bishop ’s hand with prayer, and unction with oil, were now
assuming, and on occasion links10 the reception of the Spirit

1 Hom. in Lev. 6, 2; in Luc. 21; in Exod. 10, 4.

1 Hom. in Icrcm. 19, 14. 3 Exhort, ad mart. 30.
♦ Hom. in Exod. 5, 5; in Rom. 8, 5. ’ In Rom. 5, 9; hom. in Luc 14
6 De princ. 2, 10, 7; hom. in Exod. 5, 5. 7 Hom. in Luc 22· 27
• E.g. de princ. I, 3, 7. ’ E.g. trad, apost. 22, 1 f. (Latin version!
·· E.g. in Dan. 1. 16. version).
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 209

with the latter. Tertullian carries us a. stage further. Baptism, he

holds,1 is necessary to salvation; following Christ’s example,
we arc born in the water, and can only be saved by remaining
in it. It is administered to children, although he personally
prefers2 that it should be postponed until they reach years of
discretion. It cannot be repeated, the only exception being the
ease of the baptism of heretics, who have never received true
baptism anyway.3 Its effects include remission of sins, libera­
tion from death, rebirth and the gift of the Spirit.4 The view
that the Spirit is received in baptism comes out strongly in the
opening chapters of his treatise on the sacrament, but he later
changes his mind, remarking,5 ‘ Not that we receive the Holy
Spirit in the water, but after being restored in the water we are
prepared under an angel for the Holy Spirit’. Later still he
speaks6 of the bishop ’s hand, when imposed in blessing, ‘sum ­
moning and invoking the Holy Spirit’, and supports his theory
by the implied typology of Gen. 48, 14 (where Jacob lays his
hands in blessing on Ephraim ’s and Manassch ’s heads) and by
the episode of the Ephesian disciples in Acts 19. Similar teaching
is to be found elsewhere7 in his writings, and his theology seems
to have remained confused.
By Cyprian ’s time the development had reached its logical
term. The conservative viewpoint still had important advocates
at Rome, such as the theologian Novatian. The Spirit, he
taught,8 is the active force we experience in baptism, re ­
generating and dwelling in us with His personal presence,
giving us a foretaste of eternal life and preparing us for im ­
mortality; and he altogether ignored confirmation. The more
general Roman teaching, however, was now in advance of this
and was tending to identify the gift of the Spirit with the rites
which followed the baptism in water. Pope Cornelius (251-3),
we note, criticized 0 Novatian, who had been baptized by
affusion on what was thought to be his death-bed, for not sup ­
plementing this by being ‘scaled’ at the hands of a bishop:
1 De bapt. 1; 12-15. 2 Ib. 18. 3 De pud. 19.
4 De bapt. 1; 18; c. M arc. I, 28. ’ De bapt. 6. 6 Ib. 8; 10.
7 E.g. de res. earn. 8. 8 De trin. 29.
9 Cf Eusebius, hist. eccl. 6, 43, 15.
no THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

‘since he failed to obtain this, how could he have obtained the

Holy Spirit?’ Much the same theology may be assumed to lie
behind Pope Stephen ’s (254-7) willingness, as against Cyprian,
to recognize the validity of schismatical baptism; with the
weakening of the significance of baptism itself, the result in part
of its delegation to presbyters, the importance of the imposition
of hands or of scaling with chrism, which were reserved to the
bishop, became enhanced. The unknown author of the anti-
Cyprianic tract De rebaptismate, written in N. Africa about
256, makes1 the demarcation between baptism (baptisma aquae)
and the laying on of hands (baptisma Spiritus, or spiritale) com ­
plete, designating them as ‘the less’ and ‘the greater’ re­
spectively. Appealing to Acts 8, 17; 9, 17; 19, 6, he describes
water-baptism as ‘a maimed, incomplete mystery of faith ’, and
suggests2 that confirmation (if we may so term it) is what
bestows the Spirit and, apparently, remission of sins as
well, and that salvation is bound up with it. The cheapen­
ing of baptism proper could go no further, and we can
understand why he did not think it necessary to rebaptize
schismatics so long as they accepted the episcopal laying on
of hands.
Cyprian ’s own position is not without ambiguity. Through
the washing with water, he holds,3 the convert is reborn to
newness of life, and this is the result of the Spirit’s descent. He
explicitly affirms4 that ‘the Spirit is received in baptism, and
when they have been baptized and have obtained the Holy
Spirit converts draw near to drink the Lord ’s cup ’. Even infants,
according to their capacity, receive the Spirit in baptism;5 and
as against Cornelius he contends6 strongly that those who have
been only clinically baptized in sickness (thereby missing, pre ­
sumably, the bishop ’s laying on of hands and anointing) have
received the Holy Spirit no less than their fellows who have
undergone the full public rite. All this is old-fashioned doctrine,
and it coheres with his insistence on the rcbaptism of heretics
and schismatics. At times, however, influenced no doubt by the
’ De rcbapt. n; 6 ad fin. » lb. 5. 3 Ad Donat. 3 f.
* Ep. 63, 8. » lb. 64. 3. 6 lb. 69, 13 f.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 2IT

current custom of getting the bishop to lay his hand on the

newly baptized as well as by his reading of the notorious texts
in Acts, he wavers and attributes 1 the gift of the Spirit to the
imposition of hands and the signing with the cross. He even
interprets2 John 3, 5, with its reference to being bom again by
water and the Spirit, as if it implied two sacraments. As com ­
pared with his contemporaries, however, Cyprian must count
as a conservative who resisted the fashionable tendency to re­
cognize two entirely distinct rites, and endeavoured rather
to hold them together as two different aspects of Christian
initiation.

5. Progress in Eucharistic Doctrine

In the third century the early Christian identification of the
eucharistie bread and wine with the Lord ’s body and blood
continued unchanged, although a difference of approach can
be detected in East and West. The outline, too, of a more con ­
sidered theology of the eucharistie sacrifice begins to appear.
In the West the equation of the consecrated elements with
the body and blood was quite straightforward, although the
fact that the presence is sacramental was never forgotten. Hip ­
polytus speaks3 of ‘the body and the blood ’ through which the
Church is saved, and Tertullian regularly describes4 the bread
as ‘the Lord ’s body ’. The converted pagan, he remarks,5
‘feeds on the richness of the Lord ’s body, that is, on the
cucharist’. The realism of his theology conies to light in the
argument,6 based on the intimate relation of body and soul,
that just as in baptism the body is washed with water so that the
soul may be cleansed, so in the cucharist ‘the flesh feeds on
Christ’s body and blood so that the soul may be filled with
God ’. Clearly his assumption is that the Saviour’s body and
blood arc as real as the baptismal water. Cyprian ’s attitude is
similar. Lapsed Christians who claim communion without do ­
ing penance, he declares,7 ‘do violence to His body and blood,
« lb. 73. 9· 2 lb· 72. I·
j Frag. arab. in Gen. 38, 19 (Achelis, 96).
4 E.g· de orat. 19; de idol. 7. s De pud. 9.
6 De res. earn. 8. 7 De laps. 16: cf. ep. 15, 1.
212 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

and sin more heinously against the Lord with their hands and
mouths than when they denied Him ’. Later he expatiates1 on
the terrifying consequences of profaning the sacrament, and the
stories he tells confirm that he took the real presence literally.
So, when he comments on the Lord ’s Prayer, he states2 that
Christ is our bread ‘ because He is the bread of us who touch
His body ’; and elsewhere he argues3 that prospective martyrs
should be fortified ‘with the protection of Christ’s body and
blood. . . . For how can we teach or incite them to shed their
own blood in confessing the Name if, as they set out on their
service, we refuse them the blood of Christ? ’
Occasionally these writers use language which has been held
to imply that, for all its realist sound, their use of the terms
‘body ’ and ‘blood ’ may after all be merely symbolical. Tertul-
lian, for example, refers4 to the bread as ‘a figure ’ (figura) of
Christ’s body, and once speaks5 of ‘the bread by which He re­
presents (repraesentat) His very body ’. Yet we should be cauti­
ous about interpreting such expressions in a modern fashion.
According to ancient modes of thought a mysterious relation ­
ship existed between the tiling symbolized and its symbol,
figure or type; the symbol in some sense was the thing sym ­
bolized. Again, the verb repraesentare, in Tcrtullian ’s vocabu ­
lary,6 retained its original significance of ‘to make present’. All
that his language really suggests is that, while accepting the
equation of the elements with the body and blood, he remains
conscious of the sacramental distinction between them. In fact,
he is trying, with the aid of the concept offigura, to rationalize
to himself the apparent contradiction between (a) the dogma
that the elements arc now Christ’s body and blood, and (b) the
empirical fact that for sensation they remain bread and wine.
Similarly, when Cyprian states7 that ‘in the wine Christ’s blood
is shown ’ (in vino vero ostendi sanguinem Christi), we should re ­
call that in the context he is arguing against heretics who
wilfully use water instead of wine at the cucharist. In choosing

1 De laps. 25 f. 1 De orat. dom. 18. J Ep. 57, 2.

* E.e. c. Marc. 3, 19; 4, 40. 5 Ib. I, 14: cf. Hippolytus, apost. trad. 32, 3.
6 CL ib. 4, 22; de monog. 10. 7 Ep. 63, 13: cf. ib. 63, 2.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 213

the term ‘is shown ’, therefore, he is not hinting that the wine
merely symbolizes the sacred blood. His point is simply that
wine is an essential ingredient of the cucharist, since numerous
Old Testament texts point to it as a type of the precious blood.
It is significant that only a few lines above 1 he had spoken of
‘drinking the Lord ’s blood ’.
A different situation confronts us when we turn to the
Alexandrian fathers, for, while they verbally reproduce the con ­
ventional realism, their bias to allegory and their Platonizing
absorption in the spiritual world behind phenomena alter their
perspective. Clement frequently writes in terms of the equiva­
lence of the elements with Christ’s body and blood, in one
passage2 representing Him as identifying them with Himself.
To drink Jesus’s blood, he states,3 is to participate in His incor­
ruptibility; the eucharistie wine is a mingling (κράσίς ) of the
Logos with material substance, and those who drink it are
sanctified in body and soul. More often than not, however,
what seems a firm reference to the cucharist dissolves into an
allegory of the true gnostic’s knowledge; feeding on the flesh
and blood of the Logos means apprehending the divine power
and essence.4 Origen ’s teaching is of a piece with this, only
clearer. He is prepared to speak 5 of Christ giving His body and
blood to Christians, and informs6 Celsus that ‘we consume
bread which by virtue of the prayer has become body, a holy
tiling which sanctifies those who use it with a sound purpose’.
He commends7 the reverence shown to the consecrated ele­
ments, and emphasizes8 the wrongness of approaching the body
and blood with traitorous feelings towards one ’s brethren or
thoughts otherwise impure. In the sacrament he seems9 to dis­
tinguish two aspects, the corruptible matter which passes
through the communicant and the incorruptible reality which
sanctifies him. Much more important in his eyes, however, than
this ‘typical and symbolical body ’, as he designates10 the con ­
secrated bread, is the Logos Himself, Who became flesh and is
> Ib. 63, II. 2 Quis dii>. 23, 4. 3 Paed. 2, 2, 20.
♦ Strom. 5, 10, 66. s Hom. in lerem. 19, 13. 6 C. Cels. 8, 33.
i Hom. in Exod. 13, 3. 8 In M att. comm. ser.82; horn, in 37 ps. 2, 6.
• In M att. II, 14· 10 Ib·
214 THE PRE-NICENE theology
our authentic food. A host of passages’ suggest that for him
Christ’s body and blood signify, in a deeper and more spiritual
sense, His teaching, the ineffable truth which He reveals and
which nourishes and sustains the soul. The outward rite, he
implies,2 which imparts the sacramental body and blood, is for
the simpler grade of Christians, while the more advanced, with
their profounder insight, find nourishment in the Logos
Himself.
The cucharist was also, of course, the great act of worship of
Christians, their sacrifice. The writers and liturgies of the
period arc unanimous in recognizing it as such. Clement
applies3 the term ‘sacrifice’ (προσφορά) to it, citing Mclchi-
zedek’s offering as its type. Tertullian defines4 the priestly
function as one of ‘offering ’ (offerre); the ‘offering of the
sacrifice’5 is as much a Christian occasion to him as the preach ­
ing of the Word. Though the first to mention 6 it, he treats the
offering of the cucharist for the dead (oblationes pro defunctis) as
one of the established customs which tradition has hallowed.
What the sacrifice consists in, he docs not specify. No doubt he
views7 it primarily as an offering of prayer and worship, but
worship in the context of the Saviour’s passion and of the
elements which ‘represent’ His sacrificed body and blood. Hip ­
polytus is a little more definite, speaking8 of it as the new
sacrifice foretold by Malachi, ‘the sacrifice and libation which
are now offered’. In his eyes it commemorates the Last Supper
and the passion; the bread and the cup arc offered in it, but
only after the celebrant has recalled the Lord ’s words and
actions at the Supper. The whole is ‘the oblation of the holy
Church ’, its object being that Christians may praise and glorify
God through His incarnate Son.9 Origen presupposes10 the idea
of the cucharist as a sacrifice of first-fruits and prayers to the
Creator; but at the same time he argues” that the Christian rite
1 E.g. horn, in Lev. 7, 5; horn. in Num. 16, 9; 23, 6; in M att, comtn. scr. 85;
de oral. 27, 1-5. » In loh. 32, 24, 310.
1 Strom, i, 19, 96; 4, 25, 161. ♦ De virg. vel. 9.
» De cult. fan. 2, 11. 6 De cor. 3; de monog. 10; de exhort, cast. 11.
7 Cf. apol. 30; de oral. dom. 28; ad Scap. 2.
• In Cant. 3, 4; in Dan. 4, 35. ’ Trad, apost. (Latin version), 4.
10 C. Cels. 8, 33 f. “ Hom. in Lev. 9, 10.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 215

replaces the propitiatory sacrifices of Israel. The shew-bread

of Israel, for example, was a type of Christ and the eucharistie
bread; and it is the commemoration of His sacrifice in the
cucharist which alone makes God propitious to men.1 What
he says, however, must be read with discernment, for the
deeper meaning which he himself perceives2 behind the
Church ’s sacrificial system is the surrender of the heart to
God.
Cyprian was the first to expound something like a theory of
the eucharistie sacrifice. While he regularly uses the terms
‘sacrifice’ and ‘oblation ’, and even refers3 once to ‘the dominical
victim ’ (dominica hostia), his views receive fullest expression
in Ep. 63, in which he sets out to refute certain heretics
(Aquarians) who celebrated with water instead of wine. Run ­
ning through this is the key-thought4 that the cucharist should
exactly reproduce Christ’s action and intention at the Last
Supper. Hence the Aquarians must be wrong since, apart from
violating ancient prophecy, ‘they do not do what Jesus Christ,
our Lord and God, the institutor and teacher of this sacrifice,
did and taught’. In harmony with this idea Cyprian implies5
that the priest acts as the representative of Christ, our high-
priest, so that ‘he fulfils the role of Christ when he imitates
what He did, and only then docs he offer a true, complete
sacrifice in the Church to the Father when he begins to offer it
after the pattern of Christ’s offering ’. Since Christ’s offering
consisted in the surrender of Himself in His passion, it is clear
that His passion must be the object of our sacrificial offering
too. As Cyprian expresses6 it, ‘As to our mentioning His passion
in all our sacrifices— for it is in the Lord ’s passion that our sacri­
fice consists (passio est enim domini sacrificium quod offerimus) — wc
ought to do nothing other than He Himself did ’. The priest, it
would appear, sacramentally re-enacts the oblation of His pas­
sion which the Saviour originally presented to the Father.
Further, it is clear from what he says elsewhere about offering
it on behalf of people in need,7 and especially on behalf of the
1 Ib. 13, 3. 2 E.g. ib. 4 f. 1 De unit. eccl. 17.
* Ep. 63, I. 5 Ib. 14· 6 Ib. 17. 7 Ib. 15, 1; 17, 2.
2Ι0 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

dead,’ that Cyprian conceived of the eucharistie sacrifice as pos­

sessing objective efficacy.
A further point Cyprian makes2 is that, when Christ suffered
for us and thus offered His sacrifice, we were in Him inasmuch
as He was bearing our sins. Thus in His physical body and
blood the people of God were being offered to the Father. In the
eucharist there is a parallel union between Christ and His people,
so that the rite is in effect the offering of the whole Church,
both its Head and the faithful who in it have been made one
with Him.

6. The Penitential Discipline

With the dawn of the third century the rough outlines of a
recognized penitential discipline were beginning to take shape.
In spite of the ingenious arguments of certain scholars,3 there
are still no signs of a sacrament of private penance (i.e. con ­
fession to a priest, followed by absolution and the imposition of
a penance) such as Catholic Christendom knows to-day. The
system which seems to have existed in the Church at this time,
and for centuries afterwards, was wholly public, involving con ­
fession, a period of penance and exclusion from communion,
and formal absolution and restoration— the whole process being
called exomologesis. The last of these was normally bestowed
by the bishop, as Hippolytus’s prayer4 of episcopal consecration
implies, but in his absence might be delegated to a priest. There
is plenty of evidence 5 that sinners were encouraged to open
their hearts privately to a priest, but nothing to show that this
led up to anything more than ghostly counsel. Indeed, for the
lesser sins which even good Christians daily commit and can
scarcely avoid, no ecclesiastical censure seems to have been
thought necessary; individuals were expected to deal with
them themselves by prayer, almsgiving and mutual forgive­
ness.6 Public penance was for graver sins; it was, as far as we
* Ep. I, 2; 12, 2; 39, 3. » Ib. 63, 13.
3 E.g. P. Galticr, L'Église et la rémission des péchés (Paris 1012).
4 Trad, apost. 3, 5.
’ E.g. Origen, hom. in Num. 10, 1; hom. in 37 ps . 2 , 6.
6 Ct. Origen, hom. in Leu. 2, 4.
 THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 217

know, universal, and was an extremely solemn affair, capable

of being undergone only once in a lifetime. So Tertullian,
when still a Catholic, speaks’ of a second penance (second, that
is, after the original one involved in baptism) available to all
once (iam sem el. . . sed amplius nusquam), but which it would be
hazardous to presume upon; and Clement, after quoting what
Hennas had said 12 about the one and only penance possible
after baptism, does his best to show 3 that this ought to be
sufficient and that to permit more than one such penance would
spell disaster. Origen characterizes 4 this public penance as ‘ the
hard and laborious remission of sins through penance when the
sinner is not ashamed to reveal his sins to the priest of the Lord
and ask for a cure ’.
The most noteworthy advance in the theology of penance
in the third century was in connexion with the Church ’s atti­
tude to certain sins esteemed particularly heinous. In the last
decades of the second century adultery, homicide and idolatry
(or apostasy) seem to have been treated in practice, if not
in theory, as irrémissible, even by means of the once-for-all
exomologesis described above. Some have doubted whether this
was in fact the case, but even allowing for a good deal of local
variation it is difficult to resist the impression that it was, at any
rate in many important centres. Certainly Hippolytus, protest­
ing 5 against Callistus’s innovations, and Tcrtullian6 in his later
Montanist phase took it for granted that it had been the
Church ’s practice to reserve such sins hitherto. Origen supplies7
confirmatory evidence for the East, explaining that, under the
guidance of the Holy Spirit, the good bishop ‘forgives what­
ever sins God forgives, but reserves others which are incurable’
(ανίατα). He quotes 1 Sam. 2, 25 (‘If a man sin against the
Lord, who shall intreat for him? ’), a classic text in discussions
about penance, and adds that idolatry, adultery and fornication
figure among these sins for which there is no remedy. Cyprian
is an important witness, for he shows8 (a) that, while sexual sins

1 De paen. 7, 10. » See above, p. 199. 3 Strom. 2, 13, 56-9.

* Loc. cit. s Ref. 9. 12» 2026. 6 De pud. passim.
7 De orat. 28, 8 f. 8 Ep. 55. 20 f.
 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

were remissible at Carthage in his day, there had previously

been disputes on the subject; and (b) that idolatry, irrémissible
in the past, only came to be included among sins capable of
forgiveness as a result of the Decian persecution.
We can only obtain spasmodic glimpses of the steps by
which this severity came to be relaxed. Pope Callistus, it ap ­
pears, took an important initiative. From a highly prejudiced
report1 left by Hippolytus we gather that he was the first to
adopt, as a matter of Church policy, a more generous attitude
towards the sins of the flesh. For authority he appealed to the
parable of the tares (M att. 13, 24-30), the Apostle’s sharp ques­
tion (R o /h . 14, 4), ‘Who are you to judge another man ’s
servant?’, and the mixed assortment of animals in Noah ’s ark;
all these, he argued, suggested that there should be room for
sinners in the Church. Shortly after this we fmd Tertullian
indignantly upbraiding 2 a bishop who had published a ‘per­
emptory edict’ to the effect that he was prepared to grant
absolution, due penance having been done, to persons guilty
of adultery or fornication. Although a ease has been made out
for his being Agrippinus, the local bishop of Carthage, the
more usual assumption that Tertullian was hitting at Callistus
is probably correct. This more indulgent practice soon estab ­
lished itself, for as we have indicated Cyprian frankly admits,3
‘We allow adulterers an opportunity of penance and grant
them absolution ’. As regards idolatry, his Testimonia, compiled
before the outbreak of the Decian persecution, clearly shows4
that at that date it was still considered an irrémissible sin. In
251, however, at a council held when the persecution had died
down, the policy approved was more merciful,5 viz. that
libellatici, i.e. people who had satisfied the State by merely pro ­
ducing certificates that they had fulfilled its requirements,
should be readmitted at once, while sacrificati, i.e. people who
had actually offered the sacrifices prescribed by the imperial
edict, should undergo lifelong penance and be readmitted on
their deathbed.
 TILE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY 219

The days of rigorism were far from being over. An apt

illustration of the persistence of old-fashioned severity is pro ­
vided by the Spanish council of Elvira (303). which is chiefly
memorable for the large number of canons’ it promulgated,
ordering lifelong excommunication without hope of recon ­
ciliation even at death. Nevertheless a more compassionate
attitude, more appreciative of human frailty and more in tune
with the spirit of the Gospels, was steadily gaining ground. It
received a fine expression in the Didascalici Apostolorum, a
Syrian document dating from the middle of the third century.
Here the Christian ideal that baptism ought to be the one and
only penance is amply recognized:2 ‘it is known to all that
whosoever docs evil after baptism, the same is condemned to
the Gehenna of fire ’. At the same time the bishop is exhorted 3
to reconcile all repentant sinners— idolaters, murderers and
adulterers included. He is depicted 4 as sitting in the Church as
a judge appointed by God and charged by Him with the power
of binding and loosing. His authority is from on high, and he
should be loved like a father, feared like a king and honoured as
God.
1 Mansi II, pp. 6 ff. 2 2, 7. 3 2, 23. 4 2, 18 f.

NOTE ON BOOKS

The Church. G. Bardy, La Théologie de l ’ Église, Vols. I and II (Paris, 1945

and 1947); P. Batiffol, L ’ Église naissante (Paris, 9 cd. 1927); M. Bévenot,
‘Saint Cyprian ’s De unitate, Chap. IV, in the Light of the Manuscripts’
(in Analecta Gregoriana, 1938); ‘St. Cyprian on the Papacy ’ (art. in
Journ. Theol. Stud., 1954); E. W. Benson, Saint Cyprian (London,
1897); J. Chapman, ‘Les Interpolations dans le traité de s. Cypricn
sur l’unité de l’Église ’ (art. in Rev. Bén., 1902-3); J. Daniélou, Théo­
logie du judéo-christianisme, Chap. X (Paris, 1958); W. L. Knox,
‘Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 3, 3, 2 ’ (art. in Journ. Theol. Stud., 1946);
H. Koch, ‘Cyprian und dcr romischc Primat’ (in Texte und Unter-
suchungcn, XXXV, 1910); A. Licskc, Die Théologie der Logosmystik des
Origenes, pp. 74-98 (Münster i.W., 1938); J. C. Plumpc, M ater Ecclesia
(Washington, 1943); D. Stone, The Christian Church (London, 1905);
H. B. Swctc (cd.), Essays on the Early History of the Church and M inistry
(London, 1918).
 220 THE PRE-NICENE THEOLOGY

Baptism. J. G. Davies, ‘The Disintegration of the Christian Initiation

Rite ’ (art. in Theology, 1947); G. Dix, ‘The Theology of Confirmation
in Relation to Baptism ’ (Theology Occasional Paper, 1946); G. W. H.
Lampe, The Seal of the Spirit (London, 1951); P. Lundberg, La Typologie
baptismale datis l'ancienne Église (Uppsala, 1942); A. J. Mason, The
Relation of Confirmation to Baptism (London, 2 cd. 1893).
Eucharist. P. Batiffol, L'Eucharistie: la presence réelle (Paris, rev. cd. 1913);
A. Gaudcl, ‘Messe ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.fi, C. Gore, The Body of
Christ (London, 3 cd. 1903); F. Kattcnbusch, ‘Messe ’ (art. in Hauck ’s
Realcncyk.fi, F. Loofs, ‘Abcndmahl’ (art. in Hauck ’s Realencyk.fi , J. H.
Srawlcy, ‘Eucharist (to the end of the Middle Ages)’ (art. in Hastings’
Encyc. Relig. Eth.fi D. Stone, A History of the Doctrine of the Holy
Eucharist (London, 1909).
Penance. É. Amann, ‘Pénitence ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.fi, P. Galtier,
L'Église et la rémission des péchés (Paris, 1932); R. C. Mortimer, The
Origins of Private Penance in the Western Church (Oxford, 1939); B.
Poschmann, Die abendlandische Kirchenbusse (Munich, 1928); Poenitentia
Secunda (1940); W. Tclfcr, The Forgiveness of Sins (London, 1959);
O. D. Watkins, A History of Penance (London, 1920).

I: i

I I
< »
 P A R T III

FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

 C H A PTER IX

THE NICENE CRISIS

I. The Eve of the Conflict

T h e end of the third century marked the close of the first great
phase of doctrinal development. With the opening of the
second phase we resume consideration of the central dogma of
the Godhead, and can plunge without more ado into a contro ­
versy which, in retrospect, we can see to have been uniquely
decisive for the Christian faith. This was the embittered debate
which, touched off by the flaring up of Arianism, was to cul­
minate, as the next chapter will show, in the formulation of
Trinitarian orthodoxy. At its outbreak the problem of the
Trinity as such might not seem to have been directly involved.
The theological issue at stake was, or seemed to be, a much
narrower one, viz. the status of the Word and His relation to
the Godhead. Was He fully divine, in the precise sense of the
term, and therefore really akin to the Father? Or was He after
all a creature, superior no doubt to the rest of creation, even by
courtesy designated divine, but all the same separated by an
unbridgeable chasm from the Godhead? Once these questions
had been raised, however, as the course of the controversy was
to reveal, the further question of what Christians meant by the
divine Triad could not be evaded.
The villain in the piece (to use the language of orthodoxy)
was the arch-heretic Arius, but before his theology is explained
a brief sketch must be given of the theories about the position
of the Word in the Godhead which held the field in the first
decades of the fourth century. Here we must largely confine
ourselves to the Greek-speaking section of the Church. Little
or no evidence survives to show what Western theologians
were thinking, although it is a safe conjecture that, like Pope
224 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Dionysius’ a few generations earlier, they were chiefly con ­

cerned for the divine unity and found the distinctions within
the Godhead mysterious. More information is available for the
East, where the dominant influence remained that of Origen.
So far as the Word was concerned, two types of Origenism
seem to have been in vogue, one of them cautious and right­
wing, the other more radical. As an exponent of the former
we can cite Alexander, bishop of Alexandria 313-28, who
was to have the responsibility of calling Arius to order. A
typical exponent of the more radical approach is Eusebius of
Caesarea, the church historian, whose opinions, at any rate in
their more moderate form, reflected the attitude of great
numbers of Eastern clergy.
An outline of Alexander’s position can be recovered from
certain letters2 which he wrote in criticism of Arius. Having
been drafted after the latter had shown his hand, they probably
make Alexander’s theology out to be more definite on the dis­
puted points than it may earlier have been. However that may
be, although accused by Arius of Sabellianism because he in ­
sisted on the unity of the Triad (eV τριά8ι μονάδα είναι3),
it is manifest that he conceived of the Word as a ‘Person ’
(υπόστασή) or ‘nature ’ (φυσις : we notice his use of this word
in a sense virtually identical with that of υπόστασή, i.e. ‘indi­
vidual being ’) distinguishable from the Father. In true Origen-
istic fashion he describes4 Him as the unique nature which
mediates (μεσιτευουσα φυσις μονογ€νης ) between God and
creation; but He is not Himself a creature, being derived
from the Father’s being. The Father alone is ‘ingenerate’
(αγέννητος ), i.e. unoriginate or self-existent; on this point he
is firm, although charged by his opponents with teaching that
the Son is unoriginatc too. What he actually teaches5 is that the
Son, as Son, is co-eternal with the Father, since God can never
have been without His Word, His Wisdom, His Power, His
Image, and the Father must always have been Father. Further,
1 See above, pp. 134-6.
1 Ep. encyc. (in Socrates, lust. eccl. I, 6) ; ep. ad Alex. Byz. (more probably
Thessal.·. in Theodoret, hist. eccl. i, 4). i Cf. Socrates, hist eccl 1 5
4 Ep. ad Alex. 45. ’ Ib. 26 f.; ep. encyc. 13
 THE NICENE CRISIS 225

the Sonship of the Word is a real, metaphysical one, natural as

opposed to adoptive (cf. the LXX wording of Ps. no, 3:
‘Before the dawn I begat thee out of my belly ’1): which im ­
plies, although Alexander docs not explicitly say so, that He
shares the Father’s nature. To explain His co-ctcmity he makes
full use of Origen ’s conception 2 of eternal generation, speak­
ing 3 of the Son ’s άναρχος γέννησές from the Father. The Two
are indeed, as John 1, 18 indicates, ‘two realities inseparable
from one another’ (αλληλων άχώρι,στα πράγματα δυο 4), the
Son being the Father’s express image and likeness. But we must
not, he warns 5 us, interpret John 10, 30 as implying that the Son
is identical with the Father, or that these ‘natures which are two
in hypostasis are in fact one ’. All that the text should be taken
to convey is that there is a perfect likeness (κατά πάντα
όμοιότης } between Them.
Alexander thus reproduces elements in Origen ’s teaching
(e.g. the idea of eternal generation) which suggest the Son ’s
divine status; he has also picked up some hints (cf. his insistence
on the inseparability of the Persons) from Pope Dionysius’s
letter to his predecessor. Eusebius, on the other hand, reflects
Origen in his most subordinationist mood, and his overriding
interest is cosmological rather than soteriological. The key ­
stone of his system, which was already fixed before the emerg ­
ence of Arianism, is the thought of the unique, transcendent
Father, the indivisible Monad Who is ‘above and beyond
reality ’ (d επέκεινα των ολωι»), Who is the cause of all
things, and Who is alone self-existent and without beginning
{άναρχος και αγέννητος ^}. The Word, a distinct hypostasis
begotten from Him before all ages, is His intermediary for
creating and governing the universe, for the contingent order
could not bear direct contact with absolute being.7 He is ‘perfect
and only-begotten Son . . . the reflection of everlasting light’8 ;
being the Father’s offspring, He differs from all creatures,9

« Ep. ad Alex. 32-5. 2 See above, p. 128. 3 Ib. 52.

* Ib. 15. 5 Ib. 38.
6 E.g. de eccl. iheol. 2, 6 f.; dem. ev. 4, 1, 145; c. M arc. I, 1, II.
’ De eccl. theol. 1, 13, 1; dem. ev. 4, 6, 1-6.
8 Dem. ev. 4, 3, 1 and 4. 9 Ib. 5, l, 14-Π·
 226 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

and because He carries in Himself the image of the ineffable

Godhead He is entitled to be called God.1 At this point,
however, we come across features which reveal Eusebius’s
radical bias. First, while he occasionally 2 accords a half­
hearted recognition to the idea of eternal generation, he con ­
sistently refuses to concede that the Son is co-cternal with the
Father. He is emphatic 3 that, since the Father is alone αγέννητος ,
‘everyone must admit that the Father is prior to and pre-exists
the Son ’. So he corrects the time-honoured analogy of the
light and its brightness, pointing out4 that the brightness exists
simultaneously with the light, whereas the Father precedes the
Son. Secondly, in his earlier phase at any rate (after signing the
Nicene creed he became more discreet), he teaches5 that the
Son ’s existence depends on a specific act of the Father’s will. It
should further be mentioned that, not content with appro ­
priating Origen ’s subordinationism in all its detail (e.g. the
idea that the Son, though God, is not ‘true God ’; He is only
God as the image of the one true God 6), Eusebius quietly drops
his master’s assumption 7 that Father and Son share the same
essence or substance. Such a doctrine, he is convinced,3 must
involve a division of the indivisible Monad, and in any case
would lead to the absurdity of postulating two unoriginate
beings. The unity of the Son with the Father, on his exegesis9
ofJohn 10, 30, consists simply in His sharing an identical glory;
and he is not afraid to add that the saints also can enjoy pre ­
cisely the same kind of fellowship with the Father.

2. The Teaching of Arius

f
Such was the theological climate in which Arius, then pre­
siding as presbyter over the church district of Baucalis in
Alexandria, began to publish his daring conclusions about the
nature of the Word in 318. He had a handful of resolute co-
’ Dem. ev. 4, 2, 1 f. 1 E.g. ib. 4, 3, 13; 5 , i, l8 .
1 lb. 5, I, 20. 4 4» 3. 5· 5 Ib. 4, , 7
6 De eccl. theol. 2, 23; ep. ad Euphrat. (Mansi XII, 176). ’
7 See above, p. 130. 18 Ep. ad Caes. 5; dem. ev. 20 .
’ De ecd. theol. 3, 19.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 227

adjutors, Eusebius of Nicomedia being the political tactician of

the group. Our chief sources of information about his ideas are
some letters of his own and such fragments of his Thalia, or
‘Banquet’, a popular medley of prose and verse, as Athanasius
has preserved in his own polemical writings.
The fundamental premiss of his system is the affirmation
of the absolute uniqueness and transcendence of God, the
unoriginate source (αγέννητος άρχη') of all reality. So the
authoritative, though diplomatically worded, profession of
faith 1 which, along with his close partners, he sent to Bishop
Alexander opens with the uncompromising statement, ‘We
acknowledge one God, Who is alone ingenerate (άγε'ννητον,
i.e. self-existent), alone eternal, alone without beginning
(άναρχον), alone true, alone possessing immortality, alone wise,
alone good, alone sovereign, alone judge of all, etc.’ Since it
is unique, transcendent and indivisible, the being or essence
(ουσία) of the Godhead cannot be shared or communicated.
For God to impart His substance to some other being, however
exalted, would imply that He is divisible (διαιρετό?) and
subject to change (τρεπτό?), which is inconceivable. Moreover,
if any other being were to participate in the divine nature in
any valid sense, there would result a duality of divine beings,
whereas the Godhead is by definition unique. Therefore what­
ever else exists must have come into existence, not by any
communication of God ’s being, but by an act of creation on His
part, i.e. must have been called into existence out of nothing.
By God he means, of course, God the Father. What then of
the Son or Word, Whom the Arians agreed 2 that the Father,
because the world of contingency could not bear His direct
impact, used as His organ of creation and cosmic activity? The
attitude of Arius and his colleagues can be summarized in four
propositions which follow logically from the premiss stated
above. First, the Word must be a creature, a κτίσρ,α or ποίημα,
Whom the Father has formed out of nothing by His mere fiat.
The term ‘beget’ (γεννάν) applied to the generation of the
Word must therefore bear the purely figurative sense of ‘make ’
1 In Athanasius, de svn. 16. 1 Cf. Athanasius, c. Ar. 2, 24; de decret. 8.
 228 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

(ποιείν1). To suggest that the Son is an emanation from

{προβολή), or a consubstantial portion of (μέρος όμοουσιον),
the Father is to reduce the Godhead to physical categories.2
True, He is a perfect creature, and not to be compared with the
rest of creation;3 but that He is a creature, owing His being
wholly to the Father’s will, follows from the primary fact that
He is not self-existent. We should observe that the Arians
exploited the systematic ambiguity of the term αγέννητος ,
deducing from the self-evident truth that the Son is not in ­
generate the more questionable conclusion that He must belong
to the contingent order.
Secondly, as a creature the Word must have had a beginning.
‘We are persecuted’, Arius protests,4 ‘because we say the Son
has a beginning whereas God is without beginning.’ ‘He came
into existence’, he writes in the same letter, ‘before the times
and the ages’— inevitably so, because He is the creator of
time itself, no less than of every thing else belonging to the world
of contingency. Nevertheless, although ‘born outside time
(άχρόνως γεννηθείς ) . . . prior to His generation He did not
exist’.5 Hence the familiar, monotonously repeated Arian
slogan, ‘There was when He was not’ (ην ποτέ οτε ούκ ήν).
The orthodox suggestion that He was in the strict sense
eternal, i.e. co-etcrnal with the Father, seemed to Arius to en ­
tail presupposing ‘two self-existent principles’ (δυο αγέννητους
άρχά$6), which spelt the destruction of monotheism.
Thirdly, the Son can have no communion with, and indeed
no direct knowledge of, His Father. Although He is God ’s
Word and Wisdom, He is distinct from that Word and that
I
Wisdom which belong to God ’s very essence; He is a creature
pure and simple, and only bears these titles because He partici­
pates in the essential Word and Wisdom.7 In Himself He is,
like all other creatures, ‘ alien from and utterly dissimilar to the
Father s essence and individual being (αλλοτριο? και ανόμοιος
κατα παντα της του πατρος ουσίας και ιόιότητος ^). Being
1 Ep. ad Alex, (in Athanasius, de syn. ι6).
1 Ib. 4 Ep. ad Euseb. Nicom. (in Epiphanius, haer. 69, 6)"
» Ep. ad Alex. 66 Ib.
Ib. 7 Cf. Athanasius, c. Ar. 1, 5; 2, 37
» Ib. 1,6.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 229

finite, therefore, and of a different order of existence, He

cannot comprehend the infinite God. ‘The Father’, Arius
remarks,1 ‘remains ineffable to the Son, and the Word can
neither see nor know the Father perfectly and accurately . . .
but what He knows and sees, He knows and sees proportionately
to His capacity, just as our knowledge is adapted to our powers.’
Fourthly, the Son must be liable to change and even sin (τρ€πτο\;
αλλοιωτό?). At a conference one of the Arians, surprised by a
sudden question, admitted 2 that He might have fallen as the
Devil fell, and this was what they in their heart of hearts
believed. Their official teaching,3 however, was a tactful modi­
fication of this to the effect that, while the Son ’s nature was in
principle peccable, God in His providence foresaw that He
would remain virtuous by His own steadfast resolution, and
therefore bestowed this grace on Him in advance.
It might be asked in what sense, according to the Arians, the
Word could be called God, or indeed Son of God. Their
answer was that these were in fact courtesy titles. ‘ Even if He
is called God ’, wrote 4 Arius, ‘He is not God truly, but by
participation in grace (μετοχή χάριτος ). . . . He too is called
God in name only.’ Similarly it is by grace that He is designated
Son.5 Arius could speak of the holy Triad, in speciously
Origenistic language, as consisting of three Persons (τρεις
υποστάσεις ). But the Three he envisages arc entirely different
beings, not sharing in any way the same nature or essence.6
This was the conclusion he deduced, by the exercise of his
ruthless dialectic, from his analysis of the concept of agennetos,
which literally meant ‘ingenerate’ (being generate, the Word
was admittedly not agetitietos in this sense), but which in current
philosophical parlance had come to mean the same as agenetos,
i.e. ‘unoriginated ’, or ‘self-existent’, the attribute of trans­
cendent deity. In addition, however, the Arians amassed a for­
midable array of Scriptural texts7 in support of their theses.
1 Cf. Athanasius, cp. ad episc. Aeg. et Lib. 12: cf. de syn. 15.
2 Cf. Alexander, ep. encyc. 10. 3 Athanasius, c. Ar. 1, 5.
* Ib. I, 6. 3 Ib. I, 5; I, 9· 6 Ep. Alex.·, Athanasius, c. Ar. 1, 6.
7 A full treatment of disputed texts will be found in Athanasius, c. Ar.
passim, and Epiphanius, haer. 69, 12-79.
 230 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Chief among these were passages suggesting that the Son was
a creature, such as Prov. 8, 22 (LXX: ‘The Lord created me
etc.’), Acts 2, 36 (‘God has made Him Lord and Christ’), Rom.
8, 29 (‘the first-born among many ’), Col. 1, 15 (‘the first-born
of all creation ’), Hebr. 3, 2 (‘Who was faithful to Him Who
made him ’), etc. Others were texts representing God the
Father as the sole veritable God, the classic example being John
17, 3 (‘this is life eternal, that they should know Thee the only
true God, and Him Whom Thou didst send, Jesus Christ’). A
third category comprised texts which seemed to imply Christ’s
inferiority to the Father, notably John 14, 28 (‘the Father is
greater than Γ). Lastly, there was a host of passages which
attributed ignorance, weakness, suffering or development to
the Son of God.
The net result of this teaching was to reduce the Word to a
demigod; if He infinitely transcended all other creatures, He
Himself was no more than a creature in relation to the Father.
Arius did not claim originality for his views; he and Eusebius of
Nicomedia, he implied,1 were ‘ fello w-Lucianists’, and Eusebius
is elsewhere2 described as a disciple of Lucian. This is that Lucian
who was founder of the catechetical school at Antioch and was
martyred in 312. His special influence on the Arian coterie may
perhaps be discerned in the dry rationalism of their approach
and in their methodical, literalistic interpretation of Scripture.
Lucian apart, we know that the Arians regarded themselves as
doing no more than carry on the patristic tradition as ex ­
emplified, in particular, by Dionysius of Alexandria. The
» general mould of their teaching was undoubtedly Origenistic,
and there are many striking points of resemblance between
their subordinationism and that of Origen and, still more,
Dionysius. For two of its features, however, viz. its exaggerated
emphasis on agennesia as the indispensable characteristic of
Deity, and its rejection of the idea that the Godhead can com ­
municate Its essence, it is difficult to find parallels in these
teachers. Yet both features, as we have seen, were anticipated
1 Ep. ad Euseb.: Nicom.: cf. Alexander, ep. ad Alex. 35 f
1 Philostorgius, hist. ecd. 1 (cf. Nicetas Choniata, thes. 5, 7: p g t 1368)
 THE NICENE CRISIS

with a hesitancy which shrank from drawing the logical con ­

clusion, by Eusebius of Caesarea. The fact is that, with their
Aristotelian bias, their Origenism had been weakened by being
severed from its Platonic roots. They had retained the idea of a
transcendent immaterial Godhead and of three hierarchically
graded hypostases; but having lost the Neo-Platonic vision of
the same reality existing at different levels, they were logically
compelled to deny divinity to the Word.

3. The Theology of Nicaea

Teaching like this, going far beyond Dionysius of Alex ­

andria ’s most unguarded statements and verging, as Athanasius
was quick to note,1 on polytheism, stood little chance of prov ­
ing acceptable in the East, much less in the West. Nevertheless
Arius was able to hold his own for a few years. His bishop,
Alexander, as we should expect, came out strongly against him
at once, suspending him from office after a public inquiry. He
had powerful friends, however, and was a master of propa ­
ganda. He even won over Eusebius of Caesarea, who was not
really an Arian at heart, probably by representing 2 Alexander’s
teaching in the worst possible light and his own in the best. But
after the capitulation of Licinius in 324 Constantine turned his
attention to the affair, determined to re-establish doctrinal
unity in the Church. By this time the uneasiness of the Eastern
episcopate as a whole was becoming obvious, and the sym ­
pathies of Ossius, the emperor’s ecclesiastical confidant, whose
standpoint was thoroughly Western, were not likely to lie with
Arius. His tenets were anathematized at a synod held under
Ossius’s chairmanship at Antioch early in 325, and Eusebius of
Caesarea (so the surviving synodal letter indicates3) was placed
under provisional excommunication at the same time. A few
months later, in June, the ecumenical council which Constantine
had planned met at Nicaea, and Arianism was soon officially

2 Cf. cp. ad Euseb. Nicont.; also the profession of faith in ep. ad Alex., which
impressed Eusebius (cf. the latter’s ep. ad Alex.: H. Opitz, Urk. 7).
3 Sec J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds (London, 1950), 208; 220 ff.
 FROM. NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

condemned. The following is a translation of the creed 1 which

the council drafted and required all the bishops present to sign:

We believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of all

things, visible and invisible;
And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, begotten
from the Father, only-begotten, that is, from the substance
of the Father, God from God, light from light, true God from
true God, begotten not made, of one substance with the
Father, through Whom all things came into being, things in
heaven and things on earth, Who because of us men and
because of our salvation came down and became incarnate,
becoming man, suffered and rose again on the third day,
ascended to the heavens, and will come to judge the living
and the dead;
And in the Holy Spirit.
But as for those who say, There was when He was not,
and, Before being born He was not, and that He came into
existence out of nothing, or who assert that the Son of God
is from a different hypostasis or substance, or is created, or is
subject to alteration or change— these the Catholic Church
anathematizes.

Our immediate task is to investigate the theological attitude

of the council, as expressed principally in this creed. From the
negative point of view there can be no doubt what that
attitude was. Arianism, it is clear, at any rate in its original form
outlined in the previous section, was placed under a decisive
ban. The Son, the creed states emphatically, is begotten, not
made (γεννηθέντα, ού ποι,ηθίντα). Anyone who affirms that
the Father pre-existed the Son, or that the Son is a creature
produced out of nothingness, or is subject to moral change or
development, is formally declared a heretic. We have little or
no first-hand evidence of the reasons animati ig the fathers of
Nicaea in their repudiation of Arianism, but we may suspect
that they shared Alexander’s conviction2 that Scripture and
 THE NICENE CRISIS 233

tradition alike attested the divinity and immutability of the

Word. Later, in his anti-Arian treatises, Athanasius was to de ­
ploy a triple onslaught based on the Church ’s living faith and
experience. First, he argued
* that Arianism undermined the
Christian doctrine of God by presupposing that the divine
Triad is not eternal and by virtually reintroducing polytheism.
Secondly,2 it made nonsense of the established liturgical customs
of baptizing in the Son ’s name as well as the Father’s, and of
addressing prayers to the Son. Tliirdly,3 and perhaps most im ­
portantly, it undermined the Christian idea of redemption in
Christ, since only if the Mediator was Himself divine could
man hope to re-establish fellowship with God. Considerations
like these may well have carried weight with the council.
Much more difficult to determine is its positive teaching.
The creed supplies some hints, stating that as begotten the Son
is ‘out of the Father’s substance’ (ε’κ της ουσίας του πατρός '),
and that He is ‘of the same substance as the Father’ (όμ,οουσιον
τω πατρΐ). We know that these phrases (the latter owed its
insertion to Constantine ’s express wish) caused embarrassment
at the council to the Origenistic majority represented by
Eusebius, and in his letter to the Caesarean church he records
the interpretation he was prepared to put upon them. The
former, he explains,4 simply means that the Son is ‘from the
Father’ (by itself, we note, a meaningless phrase, since all things
come from God), not that He is ‘a portion of His substance’ (a
question-begging alternative, which the orthodox were bound
to dissociate themselves from because of its implication that the
divine essence is divisible). The latter, he says, is not to be taken
in any corporeal sense (the emperor himself had been reassuring
on that point— as well he might), nor as suggesting that the
Father’s substance had undergone any change or division;
rather it indicated that the Son bore no resemblance to creatures,
but was in every respect like the Father, and that He came
from Him and ‘not from any other hypostasis or ousia. The

« E.g. c. Ar. I, 17 f.; 1, 20; 3. 5* f.

2 Ib. 2, 41 f.; ep. ad cpisc. Aeg. et Lib. 4. > E.g. c. Ar. 2, 67·, 2, 70.
* Ep. ad Caes. 5; 7.
234 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

question is whether this interpretation adequately represents

the intention of the creed. As regards ‘ out of the Father’s sub ­
stance’ we can be fairly confident that it docs not; there can be
little doubt that the original purport of these words was that
the sonship was a real or (if we may use the term) meta­
physical one, entailing that the Word shares the same divine
nature as the Father from Whose being He is derived. This is
borne out by the texts to which Alexander was appealing 1 long
before the council, in 319, and which the orthodox were never
weary of repeating, e.g. Ps. 45, 1 (‘My heart has delivered itself
of a goodly word ’), and Ps. 110, 3 in the LXX version (‘Before
the morning star I have begotten thee out of my belly ’). It is
reasonable to suppose, pace Eusebius, that a similar meaning,
viz. ‘of the same nature ’, was read into the homoousion. But
if this is granted, a further question at once arises: are we to
understand ‘ of the same nature ’ in the ‘ generic ’ sense in which
Origen, for example, had employed 2 όμοούσι,ος , or are we to
take it as having the meaning accepted by later Catholic
theology, viz. numerical identity of substance? The root word
ουσία could signify 3 the kind of substance or stuff common to
several individuals of a class, or it could connote an individual
thing as such.
There can be no doubt that, as applied to the Godhead,
homoousios is susceptible of, and in the last resort requires, the
latter meaning. As later theologians perceived, since the divine
nature is immaterial and indivisible, it follows that the Persons
of the Godhead Who share it must have, or rather be, one
identical substance. But the question is whether this idea was
prominent in the minds of the Niccne fathers, or rather of that
group among them whose influence may be presumed to lie
behind the creed. The great majority of scholars have answered
unhesitatingly in the affirmative. Indeed, the doctrine of
numerical identity of substance has been widely assumed to
have been the specific teaching of the Niccne council. Never­
theless there are the strongest possible reasons for doubting
this. The chief of these is the history of the term όμοούσιος
« Ep. encyc. 12. » See above, p. 130. j Sec above, pp. n f
*C W

THE NICENE CRISIS 235

itself, for in both its secular and its theological usage prior to
Nicaea it always conveyed,1 primarily at any rate, the ‘generic’
sense. Christian writers seem to have borrowed it from the
Gnostics, for whom it signified the relationship between beings
compounded of kindred substance (e.g. Achamoth, who is
spiritual, and the spiritual part of the world; the ‘psychic’
Demiurge and ‘psychic’ objects; aeons and the higher aeons
from which they emanated; etc.). This is understandable enough
where creatures are concerned, for while finite beings can be
of the same kind of substance, they cannot actually be the same
identical substance; and so we find Origen,12 Methodius,3
Eusebius4 and other Christians employing it in secular contexts
with a similar connotation. But it was with this ‘generic’ sense
that the word was first applied in Christian theology, too, to
express the Son ’s relation to the Father. Origen, we recall,5 had
this sense foremost in his mind when he spoke of a ‘com ­
munity of substance between Father and Son ’, citing steam
and the water from which it is generated as an analogy.
Dionysius of Alexandria, similarly, understood6 όμοούσιος as
synonymous with ομογενής or όμοφυής , i.e. ‘homogeneous’,
‘of the same nature’; and Dionysius of Rome seems to have
been content with his interpretation. The use of the term at the
council of Antioch (268) remains something of a mystery,7 but
there is every likelihood that it was given the meaning generally
accepted in the third century.
In view of all this it is paradoxical to suppose that the
Niccne fathers suddenly began employing what was after all a
familiar enough word in an entirely novel and unexpected
sense. The only reasonable inference is that in selecting it for
insertion in their creed they intended it to underline, formally
and explicitly at any rate, their conviction that the Son was
fully God, in the sense of sharing the same divine nature as His
Father. Several other considerations lend support to this. First,
we know that Arius himself, on the eve of the council, more

1 For the evidence, see G. L. Prestige, Cod in Patristic Thought, ch. 10.
2 In loh. 20, 20, 170. 3 De res. 2, 30, 8. ♦ Dem. ev. 1, 10, 13.
3 Sec above, p. 130. 6 See above, p. 135. » See above, p. 118.
236 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

than once used 1 d /χοουσιο?, or expressions equivalent to it, in

passages denying that the Son was of the same nature as the
Father; but it is transparently clear that it was His alleged
divinity, not His substantial unity with the Father, that he was
repudiating. Secondly, the great issue before the council, as all
our sources agree, was not the unity of the Godhead as such;
it was the Son ’s co-eternity with the Father, which the Arians
denied, His full divinity in contrast to the creaturcly status they
ascribed to Him. Thirdly, we may be sure that, if Eusebius and
liis allies had had the slightest suspicion that numerical identity
of substance was being foisted on them in ο'/ζοούσιο?, they
would have loudly objected to it as Sabellian. In fact, as we
know from his apologia to the Caesarean church, it was its
materialistic flavour that he found awkward. Lastly, we know
that afterwards, when the identity of substance of the three
Persons was fully acknowledged, the most orthodox theo ­
logians continued to use ό/ζοουσιο?, in the appropriate con ­
texts, with the sense of generic unity.
The theology of the council, therefore, if this argument is
sound, had a more limited objective than is sometimes sup ­
posed. If negatively it unequivocally outlawed Arianism,
positively it was content to affirm the Son ’s full divinity and
equality with the Father, out of Whose being He was derived
and Whose nature He consequently shared. It did not attempt
to tackle the closely related problem of the divine unity,
although the discussion of it was inevitably brought nearer.
The deeper implications of όμοούσιος , as applied to the
unique and indivisible Godhead, may already have been ap ­
parent to some, for quite soon after the council we find 2
Eusebius of Caesarea accusing Eustathius of Antioch (one of its
ardent champions) of reading a Sabellian meaning into the
word. It is highly probable that the handful of Western bishops
at any rate, led by Ossius of Cordoba, took it for granted the
unity of substance was entailed. As we know, concern for the
unity of the Godhead was more advanced in the West, and
1 E-g· C P- a d Alex.·, Athanasius, c. Ar. 1, 6.
* Cf. Socrates, hist. eccl. x, 23.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 237

they must have welcomed όμοούσιος as a convenient transla ­

tion of the formula unius substantiae which they had inherited
from Tertullian. It is not unlikely, in view of the influence
which Ossius wielded at the council, that it was he who actually
suggested the value of the term to Constantine. If this is cor­
rect, however, he did not also succeed in persuading the
emperor to accept his interpretation of it. Whatever the
theology of the council was, Constantine’s one overriding
motive was to secure the widest possible measure of agreement.
For this reason he was not prepared to bar the door to anyone
who was willing to append his signature to the creed. There is
thus a sense in which it is unrealistic to speak of the theology
of the council. While different groups might read their own
theologies into the creed and its key-word, Constantine him ­
self was willing to tolerate them all on condition that they
acquiesced in his creed and tolerated each other.

4. The Aftermath of Nicaea

The Nicene crisis did not come to an end with the closing
of the council. Arianism proper had, for the moment, been
driven underground, but the conflict only served to throw into
relief the deep-seated theological divisions in the ranks of its
adversaries. The Church ’s new relation to the State, which
meant that the success or failure of a doctrine might hinge upon
the favour of the reigning emperor, tended to sharpen these
divisions. In fact, the dispersal of the council marked the com ­
mencement of a protracted period of controversy lasting at
least until Constantius’s death in 361. Even then two further
decades had to elapse before the Nicene faith was securely and
finally established.
Though the detail belongs to Church history, the student of
doctrine ought to be given at least a bird ’s-eye view of the
chief phases in the fluctuating debate. The first, lasting until
Constantine ’s death in 337, saw a widespread reaction against
Nicaea. The Arian leaders, who had been exiled, returned,
and Eusebius of Nicomedia became head of an anti-Nicene
238 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

coalition. While the emperor was alive, his creed was sacrosanct,
but the Eusebians (as we may conveniently call them after
their leader) were able to engineer the deposition and exile of
their principal opponents, Athanasius (since 328 patriarch of
Alexandria), Eustathius of Antioch and Marcellus of Ancyra.
From 337 to 350, although the ‘Arianizing’ Constantius ruled
the East, the Western emperor, Constans, backed the Nicene
cause and protected its leaders. So, while the Eusebians were
now openly campaigning to get behind the Nicene creed, the
formulae1 they produced at Antioch (341), Philippopolis (342)
and Antioch again (344: the Ecthesis tnacrosticlios), were on the
whole moderate, omitting the homoousion, it is true, but
usually critical of Arianism proper and sometimes even con ­
ciliatory to the Niccnes. From 350 to 361 Constantius reigned
as sole emperor and made a determined effort to crush the
Nicene doctrine. The genuinely Arian elements in the great
anti-Nicene party now threw off the mask and succeeded in
getting an unadulterated version of their teaching canonized at
a scries of synods,2 notably the third council of Sirmium
(357) and the synods of Nice (359) and Constantinople (360).
This was the situation which instigated Jerome to write,3 ‘The
whole world groaned and marvelled to find itself Arian ’. At
the same time, however, as a result of the very triumph of
extremism, the moderates in the vast amorphous party began
to rally under Basil of Ancyra around the compromise formula
‘of like substance’ (όμοιούσιο?). The final phase, from 361 to
381, witnessed the overthrow of Arianism and the gradual con ­
version of the now dominant ‘Homocousians’ to acceptance
of the homoousion. At the council of Constantinople (381) the
Nicene faith was reaffirmed, and the various Arian and Arianiz ­
ing deviations were placed under a ban.
A superficial glance at the polemical literature of the period
leaves the impression of a battle-royal between Sabcllians and
Arians. While the two parties hurled these epithets at each

’ For the texts of these creeds, sec J. N. D. Kelly, op. at. 268 ff.· 27$ ff.·
279 f· ’ ’’
* Cf. J. N. D. Kelly, op. cit. 285 ff.; 291 ff. 1 Dial. c. Lucif. 19.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 239

other, it would be a mistake to take them at their face-value.

On one side stood the group headed by Athanasius, small in
numbers but strong in the consciousness that the Western
church was solidly behind them. They were devoted advocates
of the homoousion, and had come to perceive that identity of
substance must follow from the doctrine that Father and Son
share the same Godhead. With one or two exceptions, they
were very far from being Sabellians; it was their reluctance to
accept the formula ‘three hypostases’, which they thought was
being exploited in a way prejudicial to the divine unity, which
caused them to be suspected of ignoring the personal distinc­
tions in the Godhead. Ranged against them was a much larger,
more variegated group comprising by far the greater portion
of Greek-speaking churchmen. Held together by dissatisfaction
with Nicaea, it included representatives of markedly different
standpoints. A small, determined minority were definitely
Arian, although they deemed it politic at first to veil their in ­
tentions. The great majority, however, were as far removed
from Arianism as their opponents from Sabcllianism; the
typical Arian theses were, in fact, anathema to them. Origenist
in outlook, they thought naturally in terms of three hypostases,
and were easily induced to believe that the homoousion im ­
perilled them. The teaching of its more extreme advocates,
especially Marcellus, satisfied them that it was a cloak for
Sabcllianism. Most of them were not theologians at all; they
were conservatives who preferred the traditional lack of defini­
tion and objected to the Nicene key-word as a departure from
pure Biblical standards.
The historian Socrates (c. 380-c. 450), writing some genera­
tions later, has left a vivid description of the astonishing failure
of the two sides to comprehend each other. ‘The situation ’, he
remarked,1 ‘was exactly like a battle by night, for both parties
seemed to be in the dark about the grounds on which they were
hurling abuse at each other. Those who objected to the word
hotnoousios imagined that its adherents were bringing in the
doctrine of Sabcllius and Montanus. So they called them
’ Hist. eccl. I, 23.
240 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

blasphemers on the ground that they were undermining the

personal subsistence of the Son of God. On the other hand, the
protagonists of hotnoousios concluded that their opponents were
introducing polytheism, and steered clear of them as importers
of paganism.... Thus, while both affirmed the personality and
subsistence of the Son of God, and confessed that there was one
God in three hypostases, they were somehow incapable of
reaching agreement, and for this reason could not bear to lay
down arms.’

5. The Nicene Party and Athanasius

It is time to look more closely at these rival theologies. Both

had extremist as well as more moderate spokesmen, the chief
example of the former in the Nicene group being Marcellus,
bishop of Ancyra (f c. 374). An enthusiastic supporter of the
homoousion, he wrote a treatise (c. 335) in its defence, giving it
what the Eusebians considered a Sabcllian interpretation. As a
result of this, although he lost his see, he remained their bogy
for the rest of his active life.
His theology he tried to ground 1 on the Bible and the
apostolic tradition, and would have nothing to do with merely
human opinions, or even with the authority of the fathers.
From Scripture he deduced i2 that God is spirit, ‘an indivisible
Monad ’, ‘a single prosopon'. Before all ages the Logos was in
God as His immanent reason,3 identical with Him (cu και
ταντόν . . . τω 0βώ) as a man ’s reason is with himself4. So he
condemns5 the Origcnist conception that the Logos is a distinct
hvpostasis or onsia as threatening to disrupt this unity and lead
to polytheism. All that can be said about the pre-existent Logos
is that He was Logos;6 there can be no talk of His generation,
and Marcellus restricts7 the title ‘Son ’ to the Incarnate. But if
the Logos was thus immanent in God as ‘potency ’ (δυνάμβι),
He was also externalized as God ’s ‘active energy ’ (eVepyeia

i Frg. 121; 08; 86; 88 (cd. E. Klostcrmann, G.C.S. 14).

8 3 Frg. 52; 54; 60. * Frg-61; 71; 73.
5 Frg. 76; 82; 83. 6 Frg. 42; 43', 91; 103. 7 Frg. 3-6; 43; 48.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 241

δραστική) for creation and revelation, since everything that

die Father says or does is accomplished through His Word.1
Indeed, it is precisely His function as God ’s self-activization
and self-revelation which, Marcellus claims,2 distinguishes
the Logos from His possessor, and it is the recognition of this,
he holds,3 that differentiates his own position from Sabellianism.
This externalization of the Logos does not, of course, result in
His becoming a second hypostasis; His coming forth or pro ­
cession (he uses4 terms like εξ-ηλθεν, εκπορεύεται, etc.) is
described 5 as an extension or expansion (cf. the verb πλατύ-
νεσθαι) of the Monad, which at creation and the incarnation
becomes, without undergoing any division, a dyad, and with
the outpouring of the Spirit a triad. Eventually, after the judg ­
ment,the process will be reversed;6 the Logos will be reabsorbed
in the Monad, and the reign, or kingdom, of Christ— not, we
observe, of the Logos as such — will come to an end.
It is clear that Marcellus was not strictly a Sabellian. Several
of his ideas are reminiscent of Irenaeus, Hippolytus and Tertul-
lian and the ‘economic Trinitarianism ’ associated with them.
His conception, for example, of the expansion of the Monad
recalls Tertullian ’s description 7 of the Son ’s generation as ex ­
tending the divine substance without dividing it, as well as
Dionysius of Rome ’s statement,8 ‘We expand (πλατυυοριβν)
the indivisible Monad into the Triad ’. Further, although he
lacked language and even concepts to express the distinction,
he envisaged the pre-existent Logos as somehow other than the
indivisible spirit with Whom He was nevertheless ‘one and the
same’. His position, however, while it might meet with the
approval of Westerners, made no concessions to the progress
which Eastern theology had made under Origen ’s influence,
and we need not be surprised that it scandalized the Eusebians.
The frequent appearance of the clause ‘ Of Whose reign there 1 1 Γ

will be no end ’ in the creeds they manufactured testifies to

their dread of it. His pupil Photinus, bishop of Sirmium, taught

1 Frg. 52; 61; 121. 2 Frg. 61. 3 Frg. 44.

4 Frg. 68; 121. J Frg. 67; 71. 6 Frg. 1 17; 121.
7 Apol. 21. 8 In Athanasius, de sent. Dion. 17.
242 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

a more provocative form of the same doctrine, possibly com ­

bined with an adoptionist Christology, and was even more
suspect in their eyes. The Nicene party at first espoused his
cause, and a Roman council held in 341 under Pope Julius I
cleared him of the charge of heresy. When they realized the
embarrassment he was causing them, their attitude became
cooler, and although they never formally condemned him they
gradually dissociated themselves from him and liis standpoint.
Marcellus was an extremist; the attitude of the average,
particularly Western, adherent of the Nicene theology is better
represented by the so-called creed of Serdica,1 which the
Western members of the council held there (343) drafted after
the Easterners had withdrawn. Negatively it repudiates the
‘Arian ’ theory that there are ‘different, quite separate hypo ­
stases of Father, Son and Holy Spirit’. On the contrary, the
Catholic and apostolic tradition, it affirms, is that the Three
have one identical hypostasis or substance (hupostasis and onsia,
we note, are treated as synonyms, as in the anathemas to the
Nicene creed), viz. the hypostasis of the Father. It is clear (a)
that hypostasis here means substance or essence, and (b) that
actual identity of essence is insisted upon. On the other hand, as
against Marcellus, the creed admits that the Word was generated
for the purpose of creation, and it adds that it is false to suppose
that He ever had a beginning (the Arian thesis) or will have an
end (against Marcellus). Further, the substantial identity of
Father and Son, it states, docs not entail that the Son actually is
the Father; on the contrary, the Father is Father, and the Son is
Son of the Father, His Word, Wisdom and Power. He is a true,
not adoptive, Son because His substance (hupostasis) is identical
with the Father’s. The Godhead of both is one and the same
(μίαν πατρος καί υίοΰ θεότητα), and if the Father is greater
than the Son, that is ‘ because the very name of father is greater
than that of son ’. Thus Their unity is based, not on mutual
harmony and concord (συμφωνία ’, ομόνοια), as the Origenists
claimed,2 but on ‘oneness of hypostasis ’ (ή της υποστάσεων
« Cf. Theodorct, hist. eccl. 2, 8, 37-52; J. N. D. Kelly, op. cit. 277 f
3 Cf. Origen, c. Cels. 8, 12.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 243

ΐνότης ). The Son ’s reign will never end. The term όμ,οουσιος ,
it is noteworthy, nowhere occurs in the creed, and its favourite
formula is ‘identity of hypostasis’.
Writing 1 almost twenty years later, in 362, Athanasius might
find it convenient to disown the Scrdican manifesto; in fact its
main theses, though expressed in old-fashioned terminology,
coincided very closely with his own. His theology, of course,
represents the classic exposition of the Nicene standpoint. As a
Christian thinker he stood in complete contrast to Arius and
even to Eusebius of Caesarea. Rationalists at heart, they started
from à priori ideas of divine transcendence and creation. The
Word, they held, could not be divine because His being
originated from the Father; since the divine nature was incom ­
municable, He must be a creature, and any special status He
enjoyed must be due to His role as the Father’s agent in creation.
In Athanasius’s approach philosophical and cosmological con ­
siderations played a very minor part, and his guiding thought
was the conviction of redemption. Admittedly the Father used
the Word as His organ of creation, but to suppose that He
needed an intermediary was absurd.2 On the other hand, by his
fellowship with Christ man has been made divine and has be ­
come the child of God. Hence the Word Himself must be
intrinsically divine, since otherwise He could never have
imparted the divine life to men. As he put the matter,3 ‘the
Word could never have divinized us if He were merely divine
by participation and were not Himself the essential Godhead,
the Father’s veritable image’.
Let us examine first Iris conception of the divine Sonship.
God, he holds,4 can never be without His Word, any more
than the light can cease to shine or the river source to flow.
Hence the Son must exist eternally alongside the Father. The
explanation of this is that His generation is an eternal process;
‘just as the Father is always good by nature, so He is by nature
always generative ’ (act γεννητικός 5 ). ‘It is entirely correct’,
he writes,6 ‘to call Him the Father’s eternal offspring. For the
1 Tom. ad Antioch. 5. 3 C. Ar. 2, 24-6; 2, 29 f. 3 De syn. 51.
s Ib. 3, 66. 6 Ib. I, 14.
244 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Father’s being was never incomplete, needing an essential

feature to be added to it; nor is the Son ’s generation like a man ’s
from his parent, involving His coming into existence after the
Father. Rather He is God ’s offspring, and since God is eternal
and He belongs to God as Son, He exists from all eternity. It is
characteristic of men, because of the imperfection of their
nature, to beget in time; but God ’s offspring is eternal, His
nature being always perfect.’ Like Irenaeus, Athanasius regards1
the Son ’s generation as mysterious; but he interprets2 it as im ­
plying that, so far from being a creature, He must, like a
human offspring, be derived from and share His Father’s
nature. Not that we should press the analogy of human
generation so far as to conclude that the Son is, as it were, a
portion of divine substance separated out of the Father; this is
impossible, the divine nature being immaterial and without
parts.3 Nor is the Son ’s generation, as the Arians claimed, the
result of a definite act of the Father’s will, which would reduce
the Son ’s status to that of a creature. It certainly happens accord­
ing to the Father’s will, but it is misleading to speak of a
specific act of volition in regard to what is an eternal process
inherent in God ’s very nature.4 We should also reject the sug ­
gestion that the Son is not, like the Father, agennetos, if the
connotation put upon this ambiguous term is ‘eternally exist­
ing ’ or ‘increate’, although He is of course not agennetos if the
word retains its etymological sense of ‘ingenerate’.5
Athanasius is satisfied that, as the Father’s offspring (γέν ­
νημα), the Son must be really distinct (erepov) from Him;6 and
since the generation is eternal, it follows that the distinction too
is eternal and docs not belong simply to the ‘economy ’. It also
follows, however, that, as a Son derived from His Father’s
being, He must share the same nature. As he puts it,7 ‘The Son
is other in kind and nature (érepoye^ç και ετεροφυής ) than
the creatures, or rather belongs to the Father’s substance (της
του πατρος ουσίας tSioç) and is of the same nature as He ’.

’ C. A t . 2, 36; 3, 66 f. 1 Ib. 1, 26-8; 2, 59 f. 3 De decret. 11.

4 C. Ar. 3, 59-66. s Ib. I, 31; de decret. 28-30. 6 C. Ar. 3, 4.
7 Ib. I, 58: cf. de decret. 23; de syn. 53; ad Serap. 2, 6.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 245

Considered as two Persons, therefore, Father and Son are

‘alike ’ (όμοιοι). The Son is the Father’s image;1 He is the
stream and the Father the source, He the brightness and the
Father the light.2 Hence anyone who sees Christ sees the
Father, ‘because of the Son ’s belonging to the Father’s sub ­
stance and because of His complete likeness (κατά πάντα ομοιό ­
τατα) to the Father’.3 This likeness is no external resemblance,
however, such as exists between man and man,4 but extends
to His very substance or nature. ‘He is the offspring ’,5 says
Athanasius, ‘of His Father’s substance, so that none may doubt
that in virtue of His likeness to His immutable Father the Word
also is immutable.’ So he repudiates6 the Arian proposal that
the likeness is one of will, comparable with a human being ’s
voluntary imitation of a teacher whom he reveres: ‘this
likeness and unity must be in respect of the Son ’s essence’

From tliis it was only a short step to oneness (όνότη?), or

identity (ταύτότης ), of substance, and Athanasius did not
hesitate to take it. Perhaps, as some students have suggested, he
and his associates may have had their eyes opened to the full
implications of the homoousion in the West; but it is more
likely that his own theological instinct lighted upon them. Thus
he declares7 that ‘ the divinity of the Father is identical with that
of the Son ’, and even 8 that ‘the Son ’s divinity is the Father’s
divinity ’. Again,9 ‘the fuhiess of the Father’s divinity is the
being (t o efvai) of the Son ’. In illustration of this he endlessly
exploits10 his favourite analogy of the light and its brightness,
which while distinguishable as two are one and the same sub ­
stance. ‘The Son ’, he argues,1’ ‘is of course other than the Father
as offspring, but as God He is one and the same; He and the
Father are one in the intimate union of Their nature and the
identity of Their Godhead. . . . Thus They are one, and Their
Godhead is one, so that whatever is predicated of the Son is
predicated of the Father.’ Human beings can, of course, be
* E.g. c. Ar. 2, 29. 2 Eg· ib. 2, 41; 3, 4. 3 Ib. 2, 22.
♦ De syn. 53. 5 C. Ar. I, 39: cf. de decret. 12.
6 C. Ar. 3, 10 f. 7 Ib. I, 61. » Ib. 3,41. • Ib. 3, 6.
10 E.g. ib. 3,11; de decret. 23 f.
246 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

described as ομοουσιοι.1 But whereas the human nature they

share is necessarily apportioned out among individuals, so that
they cannot possess one and the same identical substance, the
divine nature is indivisible.2 In his earlier works Athanasius
does not make much use of honioousios to express this numerical
identity, but contents himself with such expressions as ‘impro ­
priate to the Father’s essence’ (ίδιο? της τοΰ πατρος ουσία?),
‘like in substance’ (ομοιο? κατ’ ουσίαν), etc. Later, however,
faced with the Euscbians speaking of the Son as ‘like the
Father’ in their own defective sense of ‘like ’, and with the
Homocousians defining Him with similar reservations as ‘like
in substance’, he came increasingly to employ 3 the Nicene key ­
word as the term uniquely adapted to bring out what he
believed to be the truth of the matter.
So Athanasius’s thought has two sides which must be held
together in tension. Just as much as Arius, he believes that the
Godhead is a unique, indivisible Monad; there is only one
monarchy, one supreme principle (μίαν αρχήν ofàapAv *). It
is his firm grasp of this truth, as of the parallel truth that the
analogy between finite and infinite breaks down because of the
pure spirituality of the latter, that enables him to draw the in ­
ference that Father and Son must be one identical substance,
the same indivisible reality existing in two forms of presenta­
tion. At the same time he is no less firmly convinced of the
truth of the distinction between Them. As against Sabcllianism
he affirms,5 ‘Two They are, because the Father is Father and not
Son, and the Son is Son and not Father’. The Scriptural revela­
tion, no less than the relation of offspring to parent, of image to
original, etc., demands a real duality. It is because They are
really two that he is able to speak of Them as ‘alike ’ (όμοιοι),
while in the next breath affirming identity of substance. He
sums the matter up simply in the sentence,6 ‘ If the Son as off­
spring is other than the Father, He is identical with Him as God ’.
He had no term of his own, we should note, to express Their
subsistence as Persons, and seems to have discerned little or no
« Ad Serap. 2, 3. 2 De decret. 11; 24; c. A t . i , 26; 1, 28.
» De syn. 53. * C. Ar. 3, 15. » Ib. 3, 4. 6 lb.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 247

difference between ουσία and υπόστασις . In a later work,1

written in 369, he could still say, ‘ Hupostasis is the same as
ousia, signifying nothing other than being itself’ (αυτό το ον).
His fundamental position is that the divine ousia, infinite,
simple and indivisible, is at once Father and Son. The distinc ­
tion between Them is real, and lies in the distinction between
the Godhead considered as eternally activating, expressing and
begetting Itself, and the selfsame Godhead considered as
eternally activated, expressed and begotten. The Son is the self­
same Godhead as the Father, but that Godhead manifested
rather than immanent. So He is ‘the Father’s very own self-
illuminative and creative activity, without Whom He neither
creates anything nor is known ’.2 Again, ‘Whatever works the
Son accomplishes are the Father’s works, for the Son is the
manifestation (e?8oç) of the Father’s divinity, which accom ­
plished the works ’.3 Indeed, the Father achieves nothing except
through the Son,4 Who is the Godhead regarded as active in the
work of divinizing and illuminating.5

6. The Anti-Nicenes
If such was the teaching of Athanasius and his allies, at
least three types of theology found shelter at different times in
the anti-Nicenc camp. The first, indefinite, on occasion ambigu ­
ous on the crucial issues, but on the whole conciliatory, reflects
the attitude of the great conservative ‘middle party ’. The earlier
creeds of the period provide samples of it. The creed 6 of the
Dedication Council of 341 (the ‘Second Creed of Antioch ’)
reveals both its left- and its right-wing strains. Strongly anti-
Sabcllian in tone, it brands Arian tenets in terms which leave a
loop-hole for the more sophisticated forms of the heresy. These
could easily get round such statements as that the Son is ‘un ­
alterable and unchangeable ’, and that He is ‘not a creature as
the creatures’. Its positive doctrine is that there are three divine

1 Ep. ad Afr. 4: cf. de decret. 27; de syn. 41. 2 De syn. 52.

3 C. A t . 3, 6. 4 Ib. 3, 12. 5 De syn. 51.
6 Cf. J. N. D. Kelly, op. cit. 268 ff.

i M
248 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

hypostases, separate in rank and glory but united in harmony of

will. The creed ’ drafted at Philippopolis in 343, when hopes of
agreement with the West ran high, is more eirenical. There is
no mention of the homoousion, of course, but equally none of
‘three hypostases ’; and by anathematizing the suggestion of
‘three Gods ’, it goes out of its way to still the anxieties of many
anti-Origenists. Of greater importance is the Ecthesis tnacro-
stichos, 2 or ‘Long-lined Creed ’, which was despatched to Milan
in 345 in an attempt to explain the Eastern viewpoint to the
West. It scrupulously avoids contentious terms like ousia and
hupostasis, and rejects the idea of the Son ’s generation out of
nothingness, as also the formula ‘There was when He was not’.
The Son, it declares, is ‘from God alone ’. The Father alone is
‘ingencrate’ and ‘unoriginate’, and He begets the Son ‘outside
time ’. The Son is ‘perfect and true God in nature’; His coming
to be (ΰπαρξις ) is ‘before the ages’. The Three are ‘three
objects and three Persons’ {πράγματα . . . πρόσωπα: the latter
word is no doubt chosen as translating the Western persona),
but Their inseparability is forcefully emphasized. ‘They are
united with each other without mediation or distance’, and
possess ‘one dignity of Godhead ’. Though by-passing the
homoousion, the document leans a little towards Homocous-
ianism, and goes some way to meet the Western standpoint.
Secondly, we have the specifically Arian theology which,
always lurking beneath the surface, emerged into the open in
the fifties. A by-product of this was the notorious Second
Creed, or ‘Blasphemy ’, of Sirmium 3 (357), for which the
politically-minded prelates Ursacius and Valens were mainly
responsible. Though not explicitly inculcating Arianism, it has
an unmistakable Arian bias, since it studiously abstains from
criticizing any Arian tenet while prohibiting both the slogans
‘of the same substance’ and ‘of like substance’. ‘The Catholic
doctrine’, it states, ‘is that there are two Persons of the Father
and the Son, the Father greater and the Son subordinated
(subiectum) to the Father ... the Father having no beginning .. .

‘ Cf. J. N. D. Kelly, op. cit. 275 ff. 3 Ib. 279 f.

’ Cf. Hilary, de syn. u (J. N. D. Kelly, op. cit. 285 f.).
 THE NICENE CRISIS 249

but the Son having been begotten.’ In its developed form this
new Arianism was given the name Anomoeism because of its
watchword, ‘The Son is unlike (άνό /xoios) the Father in all
things’. Its intellectual leaders, Aetius and Eunomius, made
great play with a hair-splitting, pseudo-Aristotclian dialectic,1
arguing their case in rather specious syllogisms. God, they held,2
was a unique and simple essence constituted exclusively by
agennesia\ hence the Son, as gennetos (‘generate ’), could be
neither ‘of the same essence’ (ό/χοουσιο?) with the Father nor
‘of like essence’ (όμοιου'σιο?), but must be ‘from a different
essence (εξ έτερας ουσίας ) and so unlike Him. In two respects
their teaching diverged from Anus’s. First, they distinguished
between the divine essence (ουσία), which was indivisible and
incommunicable, and the divine activity or energy (eWpyeia),
which could be communicated. Hence they were prepared to
concede3 that the Son had divinity conferred upon Him at His
generation in the sense that He was allowed to share the
Father’s activity and creative power. Secondly, while Arius
considered the Godhead incomprehensible, the Anomoeans de ­
duced Its perfect comprehensibility from Its absolute simplicity.
So Eunomius could claim,4 ‘ God does not know His own being
any better than we do; His essence is no more manifest to
Himself than it is to us’.
The third type of theology was the Homocousianism (un ­
fairly called Semi-Arianism by Epiphanius5) to which an ever-
growing number of moderates of the middle party rallied
after the out-and-out Arians in the anti-Nicene camp had
thrown off the mask. Some of its adherents were people who
had been virtually orthodox from the start, only divided from
the Nicenes by dislike of the homoousion and suspicion of
some of its advocates. Mclctius of Antioch and Cyril of
Jerusalem were among these. The latter, for example, taught6
that the Son was like the Father in all dungs ’, sharing His
1 Cf. Theodorct, haer. fab. 4,3.
1 Cf. Aetius, prop. 4 (in Epiphanius, haer. 76, 12); apol. Eunom. 11; 26 (PG
30). 3 Apol. bunom. 24; 26: cf. symb. Eunomii (PG 67, 587).
4 Cf. Socrates, hist. eccl. 4, 7. s Haer. 73.
6 Cat. 4, 7; 6, 6; 11, 16.
 250 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

divinity and one with Him in will and operation. Others,

while admitting the deity of the Word and the likeness of
substance, even the perfect resemblance, between Him and the
Father, retained a subordinationist strain and felt obliged to
think of His generation as depending on an unfettered act of
the Father’s will. A party was formed under the leadership of
Basil of Ancyra, and at the synod of Ancyra (358) published
the first Homoeousian manifesto.1 This pronounced that Christ
was not a creature but Son of the Father, for ‘creator and
creature are one tiling, Father and Son quite another’; and it
condemned other typical Arian theses. On the other hand, the
Son was not simply an ‘energy ’ of the Father, as Marcellus was
presumed to have taught, but ‘a substance (ουσία) like the
Father’— we observe that in their terminology ousia approxi­
mated to the sense of ‘Person ’. In distinction from all creatures
He is really Son. But the likeness between Father and Son is not
to be conceived of as identity (ταύτότη?); being another ousia,
the Son can be like the Father, but not identical with Him. So
the statement speaks of ‘the likeness of ousia to ousia ’ , and con ­
demns anyone who defines the Son as όμοούσιος or ταύτούσιος
with the Father. Thus the formula όμοιουσιο?, put under a ban
at Sirmium in 3 57, was deliberately taken up. Only a year later,
in 359, a Homoeousian memorandum was drafted 2 which re­
veals how rapidly the gap between the new party and the
Niccnes was narrowing. First, after explaining that Eastern
theologians simply used ύπόστασις to express ‘the subsistent
characteristics of the Persons’, this lays it down that Father and
Son are two hypostases, and that from this point of view ‘a
likeness in respect of substance’ (κατ’ ουσίαν όμοι,ότ'ης ') exists
between Them. But, secondly, it adds that the Son, having been
begotten from the Father, is spirit like Him, and from this
point of view is ‘one and the same’ (τό αυτό) as He. Although
the identity here presupposed is qualitative rather than numeri­
cal, the memorandum clearly marks an approximation to the
1 Athanasian point of view.
I 1 Text in Epiphanius, haer. 73, 3-11.
I 2 By George of Laodicea: text in Epiphanius, haer. 73, 12-22.
 THE NICENE CRISIS 251

The Homocans, the party of compromise headed by

Aeacius, whose formula Tike (d/zotoç) the Father’ was incor­
porated in the creeds1 of Nice (359) and Constantinople (360),
can hardly lay claim to a separate theological position. In
effect they were, and were recognized 2 as being, Arians, since
their key-word Tike ’ was intentionally left vague and could be
interpreted, for example, as implying no more than a moral
resemblance.
1 Texts in Theodoret, hist. eccl. 2, 21, 3-7; Athanasius, de syn. 30: see J. N. D.
Kelly, op. cit. 291; 293-5. 2 Cf. Epiphanius, haer. 73, 23.

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. L. Atzberger, Die Logoslehre des hl. Athanasius (Munich, 1880);

G. Bardy, ‘Trinité ’ (art. in Diet. Theol. Cath.)·, A. E. Bum, The
Council of Nicaea (London, 1925); J. Gummcrus, Die homousianische
Partei bis zuni Tode des Konstantins (Leipzig, 1900); H. M. Gwatkin,
Studies of Arianism (Cambridge, 2 cd. 1900); J. N. D. Kelly, Early
Christian Creeds (London, 1950); F. Loofs, ‘Arianismus’ and ‘Christo ­
logie ’ (arts, in Hauck ’s Realcncyk.) ’, G. L. Prestige, God in Patristic
Thought (London, 2 cd. 1952); E. Schwartz, Kaiser Constantin und die
christliche Kirche (Berlin, 2 cd. 1938).
Special. P. Arnou, ‘Arius et les relations trinitaircs ’ (art. in Gregorianum
xiv, 1933); G. Bardy, Recherches sur Lucien d ’Antioche et son école (Paris,
1936); H. Berkhof, Die Théologie des Eusebius von Caesarea (Amsterdam,
1939); W. Gcrickc, M artell von Ancyra (Halle, 1940); G. W. H. Lampe,
‘The Exegesis of some Biblical Texts by Marcellus of Ancyra ’ (art.
in Journ. Theol. Stud., 1948); J. Lebon, ‘La Position de saint Cyrille
de Jerusalem ’ (arts, in Rev. d ’hist, cedes.) ’, H. G. Opitz, Urkunden
zur Geschichte des arianischen Streites (in Vol. Ill of Berlin edition
of Athanasius); I. Ortiz de Urbina, El simbolo niceiio (Madrid, 1947);
T. E. Pollard, ‘The Origins of Arianism ’ (art. in Journ. Theol. Stud.,
1958).
 C H A PTER X

THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY

I. The Return to the Honioousion

In the Arian struggle, as we have seen, the question agitating

men ’s minds was the full deity of the Son, and although this
was an essential constituent in the doctrine of the Trinity the
latter was at first kept in the background. The Nicene creed,
indeed, merely affirmed belief‘in the Holy Spirit’, and many
years had to elapse before there was any public controversy
about His position in the Godhead. Nevertheless, a discussion of
the deeper issues could not be postponed indefinitely, and in
this chapter we shall trace the formulation of Trinitarian ortho ­
doxy. The theologians chiefly responsible for this were, in the
East, the Cappadocian fathers, Basil the Great (f379), Gregory
of Nazianzus (fc. 390) and Basil’s younger brother, Gregory of
Nyssa ("(*394), and, in the West, Augustine of Hippo (f43°)·
Before examining their syntheses, however, we must glance at
two important Unes of development without which their con ­
tribution cannot be understood. The first is the conversion of
the great body of Homoeousian churchmen to the acceptance
of the homopusion. The second is the emergence of interest in
the status of the Holy Spirit, culminating in His recognition as
fully personal and consubstantial with the Father and the Son.
The figures largely instrumental in the first of these develop ­
ments were Athanasius and Hilary of Poitiers; the latter spent
356-9 in exile in Asia Minor and for the first time found him ­
self in direct contact with tire Eastern theological debate. Both
of them realized that, as regards the fundamental issues, the gap
between the Homoeousians and the Nicene party was extremely
narrow, and that the final success of the latter could be ensured
by establishing a rapprochement between them. So in his De
252
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 253

synodis (359) Athanasius made a conciliatory gesture, saluting ’

the Homocousians as brothers (ώ? αδελφοί προς αδελφούς δια-
λεγόμεθα) who in essentials were at one with himself. Since they
recognized that the Son was ‘ out of the Father’s ousia and not
from another hypostasis’, His authentic offspring and coetemal
with Him, they were near enough to admitting the homoou-
sion, which alone expressed with precision the truth which they
evidently accepted. Hilary went even further in a work with
a similar title published in the same year. He conceded 2 that
the homoousion, unless safeguarded by a proper stress on the
distinction between the Persons of the ingenerate Father and
the generate Son, lent itself to Sabellian interpretations. He even
allowed 3 the propriety of όμοιούσιο?, especially in view of its
anti-Sabellian emphasis on the three Persons, since it had to be
understood in the sense of perfect equality, and that strictly
entailed unity of nature. His conclusion 4 was that, since they
acknowledged the distinction of Persons, the Catholics, i.e. the
Nicenes, could not deny the homoeousion, while the Homoeou-
sians for their part were bound to allow unity of substance if
they believed seriously in the perfect likeness of substance.
A further practical step of great importance was taken in 362
at the council of Alexandria, which met under Athanasius’s
chairmanship during the détente caused by the death of Con ­
stantius (361) and the accession of Julian the Apostate. Every
alert reader must have noticed, and been astonished by, the
extent to which theological divisions at this time were created
and kept alive by the use of different and mutually confusing
theological terms. At the council it was formally recognized
that what mattered was not the language used but the meaning
underlying it. Thus the formula ‘three hypostases’, hitherto
suspect to the Nicenes because it sounded in their ears painfully
like ‘three ousiai', i.e. three divine beings, was pronounced
*
legitimate provided it did not carry the Arian connotation of
‘utterly distinct, alien hypostases, different in substance from
each other’, in other words ‘three principles or three Gods ’, but
’ De syn. 41. 2 De syn. 67-71. 3 Ib. 72-6.
* Ib. 84-9: cf. ib. 91. 5 Tom. ad Antioch. 5.
254 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

merely expressed the separate subsistence of the three Persons

in the consubstantial Triad. The opposite formula, ‘one hypos­
tasis’, so disturbing to anti-Nicencs of every school, was equally
approved,1 its adherents having explained that they had no
Sabcllian intent but, equating hupostasis with ousia, were merely
trying to bring out the unity of nature between Father and
Son. By this statesmanlike decision, which incidentally shocked
many 2 in the West who saw in ‘three hypostases’ a confession
of tritheism, the union between the two parties was virtually
sealed, and we can see foreshadowed in it the formula which
became the badge of orthodoxy, ‘one ousia, three hupostaseis ’ .
The theory has been advanced (e.g. by F. Loofs, R. Seeberg
and J. Gummerus) that in making these overtures Athanasius
and Hilary were, consciously or unconsciously, sanctioning the
use of the homoousion in a homocousian sense, i.e. as implying
generic unity rather than numerical identity of substance, and
were thus tacitly introducing a ‘Neo-Nicene’ theology. The
premiss on which it rests, however, is misconceived, for we
have seen that, whatever the deeper implications of όμοούσι,ος ,
the original Nicene teaching was, not that Father and Son are
numerically one in substance, but that They share the same
divine nature. There is, further, no real antithesis between
generic and numerical oneness so long as the Son ’s essential
deity is acknowledged, for Godhead (as these fathers were never
tired of pointing out) is ex hypothesi simple and indivisible.
Both of them, it should be noted, in making concessions to the
Homoeousians, take for granted3 their admission that the Son
is a real offspring, deriving His substance from the Father’s
substance. Athanasius, indeed, for all his friendliness to the
Homoeousians, still insists4 that, in regard to the divine sub ­
stance, ‘identity ’ is a more appropriate term than ‘likeness’,
and that Father and Son must be ‘one (εν) in substance ’.
Hilary, admittedly, has learned from the Homoeousians the
value of the idea of resemblance as a protection against the

’ Tom. ad Antioch. 6. 1 E.g. Jerome, cp. 15, 4 (dated 376).

’ Athanasius, de $yn. 41; Hilary, de syn. 51; 71-4; 84.
♦ De syn. 53; 48.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 255

exploitation of the homoousion in a Sabcllian sense; and in his

De synodis he explains1 the latter as meaning that the Son is
perfectly like, or equal to, the Father in virtue of His genera ­
tion from the Father’s substance. Elsewhere,2 however, both
before and after 359, he makes his belief in identity of substance
clear beyond any manner of doubt. If considered as Father and
Son the Persons are two and can properly be designated as
‘like ’, the substance which They both possess, and are, is one
and indivisible.
This statesmanlike attitude of Athanasius and Hilary was
not without effect. Coming at a time when the great body of
the Homoeousians were growing increasingly apprehensive of
the menace of unmitigated Arianism, it quietened their sus­
picions that the orthodox party was inveterately Sabellian, and
made the homoousian theology more palatable to them.

2. The Homoousion of the Spirit: Athanasius

The second line of development, viz. the recognition of the

full deity of the Spirit, demands a lengthier discussion, including
an account of the pioneer contribution of Athanasius.
Since Origen ’s day theological reflection about the Spirit had
lagged noticeably behind devotional practice. Alexander merely
repeated 3 the old affirmation that He inspired the prophets and
apostles. Arius considered 4 Him a hypostasis, but regarded 5 His
essence as utterly unlike that of the Son, just as the Son ’s was
utterly unlike that of the Father. Although the problem of the
Spirit was not raised at Nicaea, a heightening of interest
becomes discernible from now on. On the one hand, a radical
like Eusebius of Caesarea, while clear that the Spirit is a
hypostasis, reckons6 He is ‘in the third rank ’, ‘a third power’
and ‘third from the Supreme Cause’, and uses7 Origen ’s
exegesis ofJohn 1, 3 to argue that He is ‘one of the things which
have come into existence through the Son ’. If it is asked why,
■ E.g. 67; 84; 88.
» In M att. 8, 8; 16, 4; 31, 3; de trin. 4, 33; 7. U; U» i; c. Aux. 7 f.; 11.
3 Ep. ad Alex. 53. * Ep. ad Alex. s Cf. Athanasius, c. Ar. 1, 6.
6 Praep. ev. 11, 20. 7 De reel, theol. 3, 6, 3.
256 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

unlike other created rational and spiritual beings, He is ‘in ­

cluded in the holy and thrice blessed Triad ’, his embarrassed
answer1 is that He transcends them in honour and glory. The
later Arians, Actius and Eunomius, true to the logic of their
position, regard 2 Him merely as the noblest of the creatures
produced by the Son at the Father’s bidding, the source of
illumination and sanctification. On the other hand, a con ­
servative churchman like Cyril of Jerusalem, while discourag­
ing inquiry into His Person and origin, displays a full doctrine
which approximates to later orthodoxy. The Spirit, he claims,3
belongs to the Trinity, and ‘we do not divide the holy Triad as
some do, nor do we work confusion in It as Sabcllius does ’. It
is in union with the Spirit that the Son participates in the
Father’s Godhead,4 and the Spirit is ‘the universal sanctifier and
deifier’, ‘a being divine and ineffable’.5 Hence, like the Son,
He is far removed from creatures, even the most exalted,6 and
enjoys a perfect knowledge of the Father.7 His relation to the
other Two is defined in the formulae,8 ‘The Father gives to the
Son, and the Son communicates to the Holy Spirit’, and, ‘The
Father bestows all graces through the Son with the Holy
Spirit’. He is ‘subsistent’ (νοεστώ?), ‘ever-present with the
Father and the Son ’,9 and is glorified inseparably with
Them.10
Cyril delivered his Catechetical Lectures about 348. It was in
359 or 360 that Athanasius was instigated to expound lais own
theology of the Spirit. Scrapion, bishop of Thmuis, had called
lais attention to a group of Egyptian Christians who combined
a recognition of the Son ’s deity with disparaging views of the
Spirit. Called ‘Tropici’ by Athanasius" because of their figur­
ative exegesis of Scripture (τρόπο? = ‘ figure ’), they argued that
the Spirit was a creature brought into existence out of nothing ­
ness.12 To be more precise, He was an angel, superior to other

1 De eccl. thcol. 3, 5, 17.

8 Cf. Eunomius, apol. 25; 28; Basil, c. Eunotn. 2, 33. 3 Cat. 16, 4.
4 Ib 6, 6. 5 Ib. 4, 16; 16, 3. 6 lb. 8, 5; 16, 23.
7 Ib. 7, 11; ii, 12. 8 Ib. 16, 24. 9 R>· 17. 5.
10 Ib. 16, 4; 17, 38. 11 E.g. ad Serap. 1, 21; 1, 30.
12 Ib. I, 1; 1, 17; i, 26; etc.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 257

angels in rank, but to be classified among the ‘ministering

spirits’ mentioned in Hebr. 1, 14,1 and consequently was ‘other
in substance’ (βτβροουσιον) from Father and Son.2 They ap ­
pealed 3 to three proof-texts in particular, viz. Am. 4, 13 (‘Lo, I
who establish thunder and create spirit. . .’), Zech. 1, 9 (‘These
things says the angel that speaks within me ’), and 1 Tint. 5, 21
(‘I adjure you in the sight of God and Christ Jesus and the elect
angels’). It seems probable that the Tropici, while anticipating
the later Pneumatomachians and Macedonians, were not con ­
nected with them, but were a purely local sect.
Athanasius’s teaching, set out in rejoinder to these theses, is
that the Spirit is fully divine, consubstantial with the Father
and the Son. First, after exposing the mistaken exegesis of the
Tropici, he demonstrates that Scripture as a whole is unanimous
that, so far from having anything in common with creatures,
the Spirit ‘ belongs to and is one with the Godhead Which is
in the Triad ’.4 Thus, while creatures come from nothingness,
arc the recipients of sanctification and life, and are mutable, cir­
cumscribed and multiple, the Spirit conics from God, bestows
sanctification and life, and is immutable, omnipresent and
unique.5 Secondly, he makes much of the argument that the
Triad is eternal, homogeneous and indivisible, and that since
the Spirit is a member of it He must therefore be consubstantial
with Father and Son.6 Thirdly, he dwells on the close relation
between the Spirit and the Son, deducing from it that He
belongs in essence to the Son exactly as the Son docs to the
Father.7 He is, for example, the Spirit of the Son, ‘the vital
activity and gift whereby He sanctifies and enlightens’, and He
is bestowed by the Son;8 whatever He possesses is the Son ’s.9
He joins with the Son in His work of creation, as Pss. 104, 29 f.
and 33,6 indicate;10 and Their indivisibility is also illustrated by
Their co-activity in the inspiration of the prophets and in the
incarnation.11 Lastly, he infers12 the Spirit’s divinity from the fact
that He makes us all ‘partakers of God [cf. 1 Cor. 3, 16 f.]. ...
1 E.g. ib. i, I. 2 Ib. I, 2. 3 lb. I, 3; i, 11; i, 10.
* lb. I, 21. » Ib. I, 22-7. 6 Ib. I, 2; I, 20; 3, 7.
7 E.g. ib. I. 25; 3. 2. 8 Ib. I. 20. ’ Ib. 3, i.
lb. 3. 4 f· " Ib. 3. 5 f· 12 lb. I, 24.
 258 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

If the Holy Spirit were a creature, we should have no participa­

tion in God through Him; we should be united to a creature and
alien from the divine nature. ... If He makes men divine, His
nature must undoubtedly be that of God.’ In deference to cur­
rent convention Athanasius abstains from calling Him God
directly. But his doctrine is that He belongs to the Word and
the Father, and shares one and the same substance (ο'μοουσω?)
with Them.’
What Athanasius says about the Spirit, we should observe,
rounds off his teaching about the Trinity. The Godhead, ac­
cording to this conception, exists eternally as a Triad of
Persons (we recall that he had no term of his own for this)
sharing one identical and indivisible substance or essence. All
three Persons, moreover, are possessed of one and the same
activity (eWpyeia), so that ‘the Father accomplishes all things
through the Word in the Holy Spirit’.2 Whatever the Father
effects in the way of creation, or government of the universe, or
redemption, He effects through His Word; and whatever the
Word carries out, He carries out through the Spirit. Hence he
can write,3 ‘The holy and blessed Triad is indivisible and one
in Itself. When mention is made of the Father, the Word is also
I
included, as also the Spirit Who is in the Son. If the Son is
named, the Father is in the Son, and the Spirit is not outside the
Word. For there is a single grace which is fulfilled from the
*
Father through the Son in the Holy Spirit.’

3. The Homoousion of the Spirit: the Cappadocians

If Athanasius took the lead in defending the homoousion of
the Spirit, the task was completed, cautiously and circum ­
spectly, by the Cappadocian fathers. We have already seen
that the moderate section of the great central party, of which
Cyril of Jerusalem was a typical representative, had long pos ­
sessed a doctrine acknowledging the full deity of the Spirit
while declining to employ the homoousion to express it; but
the old Eusebian subordinationism was still tenaciously upheld
1 Ad Scrap. 1, 27. 2 Ib. I, 28 : cf. ib. 1, 30 f. 3 ifc T I4

■mm·
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 259

by the left wing. As a result the manifesto 1 circulated by Basil of

Ancyra and his friends after the synod of 358 contented itself
with vague formulae stating 2 that the Spirit ‘is given to the
faithful from the Father through the Son ’, and ‘has His being
(ύφζστώ ς ) from the Father through the Son ’. In 362, however,
at the council of Alexandria, Athanasius secured acceptance of
the proposition 3 that the Spirit is not a creature but belongs to,
and is inseparable from, the substance of the Father and the Son.
From now onwards the question of the Spirit’s status becomes
an urgent issue, and the underlying divergences of opinion are
brought out into the light of day. In a sermon 4 preached in 380
Gregory of Nazianzus gives an illuminating picture of the wide
variety of views which still held the field. Some, he reports,
consider the Holy Spirit to be a force (eWpyeta), others a
creature, others God. Others, making the vagueness of
Scripture their excuse, decline to commit themselves. Of those
who acknowledge His deity, some keep it as a pious opinion to
themselves, others proclaim it openly, and yet others seem to
postulate three Persons possessing deity in different degrees.
The two main divisions of opinion merit closer scrutiny.
The opponents of the full deity of the Spirit were known as
Macedonians or Pncumatomachians (‘Spirit-fighters ’). The
former name, which only came into use after 380, recalls
Macedonius, the Homocousian bishop of Constantinople, who
was deposed by the Arians in 360, but there is nothing to show
that he had anything in fact to do with ‘Macedonianisin ’. The
Pncumatomachians, as they are more suitably named, harked
back to the left-wing Homoeousians whom Athanasius must
have had in mind when insisting on the homoousion of the
Spirit at Alexandria. The moderate among them accepted5
the consubstantiality of the Son, but the more radical (led by
Eustathius of Scbastc after his rupture with Basil in 373 — ‘the
leader of the sect of the Spirit-fighters’6) preferred 7 ‘like in

1 See above, p. 250. a Cf. Epiphanius, haer. 73, 16.

3 Tom. ad Antioch. 3; 5 f. * Or. 31, 5.
5 Cf., e.g., Gregory Naz., or. 41, 8. 6 Basil, ep. 263, 3.
7 Cf. Basil, ep . 244, 9; Sozomen, hist. eccl. 7, 2; Pseudo-Athanasius, dial. c.
M aced. I, 15.
200 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

substance’ or ‘like in all things’. The position of both groups is

aptly summarized in the statement1 attributed to Eustathius
that he did ‘not choose to call the Spirit God nor presume to
call Him a creature’; as others expressed 2 it, ‘He occupies a
middle position, being neither God nor one of the others (i.e.
the creatures) ’. Their case was partly Scriptural; they cited 3 a
multitude of texts suggestive of the Spirit’s inferiority and
pointed,4 in particular, to the silence of the Bible respecting His
divinity. They also argued 5 that, since no relationship was con ­
ceivable within the Godhead except that of Father and Son, the
Spirit, if God, must be cither a coordinate unoriginate principle
with the Father or else the brother of the Son; since neither
alternative was acceptable, He could no more be God than the
other spirits.
In the opposite camp, because of the wide variety of opinion
which had to be placated, progress towards the full Athanasian
position was necessarily gradual. Gregory of Nazianzus
describes6 how Basil, when preaching in 372, studiously ab ­
stained from speaking openly of the Spirit’s deity. At this stage
he preferred to win over the wavering by tactful ‘reserve’
(οικονομία), contenting himself with the negative criterion of
denial or acceptance of the crcaturclincss of the Spirit.7 After
his break with Eustathius and the increasing activity of the
Pncumatomachians, he became progressively more definite. So,
in the following year, in the profession of faith submitted to
Eustathius, he advanced8 a new test: the Spirit must be re­
cognized as intrinsically holy, one with ‘ the divine and blessed
nature ’, inseparable (as the baptismal formula implied) from
Father and Son. In his De Spiritu sancto (375) he took a further
step, urging that the Spirit must be accorded the same glory,
honour and worship as Father and Son; He must be ‘reckoned
with ’ [συναριθμύσθαί), not ‘reckoned below ’ (ύπαρι0μασ0αι)
Them. This was as far as he was to go. He nowhere calls the
1 Socrates, hist. cal. 2, 45. 1 Didymus, de trin. 2, 8 (PG 39, 617).
1 lb. 3, 30-40. * lb. 2, 10; Gregory Naz., or. 31, 23-8.
5 Cf. Gregory Naz., or. 31,7 f_; Didymus, de trin. 2, 5; Pscudo-Athanasius
dial. c. Maced. 1, 1. 6 Ep. 58.
7 Epp. II3 ’,II4 (dated 372). 8 Ep. 125, 3.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 261

Spirit God or affirms His consubstantiality in so many words,

*
although he makes it plain that ‘we glorify the Spirit with the
Father and the Son because we believe that He is not alien to
the divine nature ’. The high-lights of his argument are (a) the
testimony of Scripture to the Spirit’s greatness and dignity, and
to the power and vastness of His operation; (b) His association
with the Father and Son in whatever They accomplish,
especially in the work of sanctification and deification; and (c)
His personal relation to both Father and Son.
The other Cappadocians repeat and extend Basil’s teaching.
Gregory of Nyssa, for example, emphasizes2 the ‘oneness of
nature ’ shared by the three Persons, and quotes Ps. 33, 6 (‘By
the word of the Lord were the heavens established, and all the
power of them by the Spirit [lit. ‘breath ’] of His mouth ’) to
prove that the Word and the Spirit arc coordinate realities.
According to his version of Lk. 11, 2, the Lord ’s Prayer read,
‘Thy Holy Spirit come upon us and purify us ’. From this he
concluded 3 that the activity of the Spirit was identical with that
of the Father; and since the Son also was indistinguishable,
there could be no difference of nature between the Persons.
Gregory Nazianzen throws off all inhibitions. ‘Is the Spirit
God? ’ he inquires,4 ‘Yes, indeed. Then is He consubstantial? Of
course, since He is God.’ He, too, finds5 support for his doctrine
in the testimony of Scripture (e.g. John 4, 24; Rom. 8, 26;
1 Cor. 14, 15), and also in the Spirit’s character as the Spirit of
God and of Christ, His association with Christ in the work of
redemption, and the Church ’s devotional practice. To explain
the lateness of His recognition as God he produces6 a highly
original theory of doctrinal development. Just as the acknow ­
ledgment of the Father’s Godhead had to precede the recogni­
tion of the Son ’s, so the latter had to be established before the
divinity of the Spirit could be admitted. The Old Testament
revealed the Father, and the New the Son; the latter only hinted
at the Spirit, but He dwells in us and discloses His nature more
clearly.

« Ep. 159, 2. 1 Or. cat. 3 f. 3 De orat. dom. 3 (PG 44,1157-61).

4 Or. 31, 10: cf. ib. 34, ii. 1 Cf. csp. or. 31. 6 Ib. 31,26.
262 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

A problem which the Cappadocians had to face, if they were

to counter the Arian jibe that the homoousion of the Spirit
seemed to involve the Father in having two Sons, was to
differentiate between the mode of origin of the Son and that of
the Spirit. All that Basil can say 1 on the subject is that the Spirit
issues from God, not by way of generation, but ‘as the breath
of His mouth ’; thus His ‘maimer of coming to be ’ (τρόπος rfjs
ύπάρξεως ) remains ‘ineffable ’. He further teaches2 that the one
Spirit ‘is linked with the one Father through the one Son ’; it
is ‘through the Only-begotten’ that the divine qualities reach
the Spirit from the Father. Gregory Nazianzen is satisfied 3 with
the Johanninc statement (John 15, 26) that He ‘proceeds’
(εκπορεύεται) from the Father; what ‘procession ’ means he
can no more explain than can his adversaries what the Father’s
agennesia or the Son ’s generation means, but it distinguishes the
Spirit from both. It was Gregory of Nyssa, however, who pro ­
vided what was to prove the definitive statement. The Spirit,
he teaches,4 is out of God and is of Christ; He proceeds out of
the Father and receives from the Son; He cannot be separated
from the Word. From this it is a short step to the idea of the
twofold procession of the Spirit. According to him,5 the three
Persons arc to be distinguished by Their origin, the Father being
cause (το αίτιον) and the other two caused (cf. το αίτιατόν).
The two Persons Who are caused may be further distinguished,
for one of Them is directly (προσέχω?) produced by the Father,
while the other proceeds from the Father through an inter­
mediary. Viewed in this light, the Son alone can claim the title
Only-begotten, and the Spirit’s relation to the Father is in no
way prejudiced by the fact that He derives His being from Him
through the Son. Elsewhere Gregory speaks6 of the Son as
related to the Spirit as cause to effect, and uses7 the analogy of a
torch imparting its light first to another torch and then through
it to a third in order to illustrate the relation of the three
Persons.

1 De spir. sand. 46. 2 Ib. 45; 47. ’ Or. 31, 7 £

* C. Maced. 2; 10; 12; 24. » Quod non sint ad fin.
6 C. Eunom. 1, 42 (PG 45, 464). 7 C. Maced. 6.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 263

It is clearly Gregory ’s doctrine that the Son acts as an agent,

no doubt in subordination to the Father Who is the fountain-
head of the Trinity, in the production of the Spirit. After him
the regular teaching of the Eastern Church is that the pro ­
cession of the Holy Spirit is ‘ out of the Father through the Son ’.
Epiphanius, after describing the Holy Spirit as ‘proceeding
from the Father and receiving of the Son ’, takes a further step,
influenced perhaps by his Western contacts, and omits the
crucial preposition ‘through ’. In his view 1 the Holy Spirit is
‘not begotten, not created, not fellow-brother nor brother to
the Father, not forefather nor offspring, but out of the same
substance of Father and Son ’. He is ‘Spirit of the Father’ and
‘Spirit of the Son ’, not through any composition analogous to
that of body and soul in a man, but ‘centrally to Father and
Son, out of the Father and the Son ’. He is ‘from both, a Spirit
derived from spirit, for God is spirit’.2 Origen more than a
century before, we recall, basing himself on John 1, 3, had
taught3 that the Spirit must be included among the things
brought into existence through the Word. The same theory,
with a strongly subordinationist flavour, reappears in his radical
successors, such as Eusebius of Caesarea.4 As stated by the
Cappadocians, however, the idea of the twofold procession
from Father through Son lacks all trace of subordinationism,
for its setting is a wholehearted recognition of the homoousion
of the Spirit.

4. The Cappadocians and the Trinity

The climax of the developments we have been studying was
the reaffirmation of the Nicene faith at the council of Con ­
stantinople in 381. At this the consubstantiality of the Spirit as
well as of the Son was formally endorsed. The theology which
prevailed, as exemplified by the great Cappadocians themselves
and by teachers like Didymus the Blind (f c. 398) and Evagrius
Ponticus (f 399), may be fairly described as in substance that of
* Aricor. 7, 7 f. 2 Ib. 70. 3 E.g. in loh. 2, 10, 75 f.
-» See above, p. 255.
264 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Athanasius. It is true that their angle of approach was some­

what different from his. Emerging from the Homocousian
tradition, it was natural that they should make the three
hypostases, rather than the one divine substance, their starting-
point. Hence, while the formula which expresses their position
is ‘one ousia in three hupostaseis ’ , their emphasis often seems to be
on the latter term, connoting the separate subsistence of Father,
Son and Holy Spirit, rather than on the former, which stood
for the one indivisible Godhead common to Them. Like
Athanasius, however, they were champions of the homoousion
both of the Son and (as we have just seen) of the Spirit. We
have already glanced at the kind of arguments they employed
to prove the deity of the latter. As regards the Son, they pressed
home the time-honoured considerations of His generation out
of the Father’s being and of His functions as creator and re­
deemer, and in particular of the worship offered to Him in the
Church.
The essence of their doctrine is that the one Godhead exists
simultaneously in three inodes of being, or hypostases. So Basil
remarks,1 ‘Everything that the Father is is seen in the Son, and
everything that the Son is belongs to the Father. The Son in
His entirety abides in the Father, and in return possesses the
Father in entirety in Himself. Thus the hypostasis of the Son is,
so to speak, the form and presentation by which the Father is
known, and the Father’s hypostasis is recognized in the form
of the Son ’. Here we have the doctrine of the co-inhcrence, or
as it was later called ‘pcrichorcsis’, of the divine Persons. The
Godhead can be said to exist ‘undivided ... in divided Persons’
(d/zepiaroç èv μΐμχρισμζνοίς ... η Θζότης 2), and there is ail
‘identity of nature ’ (ταύτότης φύσεως ) in the three hypostases.3
‘We confess’, writes4 Evagrius Ponticus, ‘identity of nature
and so accept the homoousion. . . . For He Who is God in
respect of substance is consubstantial with Him Who is God
in respect of substance.’ Gregory of Nazianzus explains5 the
1 Ep. 38, 8 (possibly Gregory of Nyssa is the author).
2 Gregory Naziauzcn, or. 31, 14.
3 Didymus, de trin. I, 16 (PG 39, 336).
4 Cf. Basil, ep. 8, 3 (probably by Evagrius). 3 Or. 42, 15.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 265

position by stating, ‘The Three have one nature, viz. God, the
ground of unity being the Father, out of Whom and towards
Whom the subsequent Persons are reckoned ’. While all sub-
ordinationism is excluded, the Father remains in the eyes of the
Cappadocians the source, fountain-head or principle of the
Godhead. Their thought is (as we have already seen when
discussing the Holy Spirit) that He imparts His being to the
two other Persons, and so can be said to cause Them. So
Gregory of Nyssa speaks1 of ‘one and the same Person (προσ ­
ώπου) of the Father, out of Whom the Son is begotten and the
Spirit proceeds’, adding that ‘in the strict sense (κυρίως ) we
describe the unique cause of Those caused by Him one
God ’.
To explain how the one substance can be simultaneously
present in three Persons they appeal to the analogy of a
universal and its particulars. ‘ Oust'd and hupostasis ’ , writes2
Basil, ‘are differentiated exactly as universal (κοινόν) and
particular (τό καθ' έκαστον) are, e.g. animaland particular man.’
From this point of view each of the divine hypostases is the
ousia or essence of Godhead determined by its appropriate
particularizing characteristic (ίδιότης ; ιδίωμα), or identifying
peculiarity (cf. γνωριστικαι ιδιότητες 3), just as each indi­
vidual man represents the universal ‘man ’ determined by
certain characteristics which mark him off from other men.4
For Basil5 these particularizing characteristics arc respectively
‘paternity ’ (πατρότης ), ‘sonship ’ (υίότης ), and ‘sanctifying
power or sanctification ’ (άγιαστική διίναμις ; αγιασμός ). The
other Cappadocians define 6 them more precisely as ‘ingener-
ateness’ (άγεννησία), ‘gencrateness’ (γε'ννησις ), and ‘mission ’
or ‘procession (εκπεμι/τις ; εκπόρευσις ), although Gregory
of Nazianzus has to confess7 his inability to indicate wherein
the Spirit’s procession differs from the generation of the
Son. Thus the distinction of the Persons is grounded in
Their origin and mutual relation. They arc, we should observe,
1 De commun, not. (PG 45, 180). 2 Ep. 236, 6.
3 Basil, ep. 38, 5. * Ib. 2 f. 5 Ep. 214, 4; 236, 6.
6 Cf. Gregory Nazianzcn, or. 25, 16; 26, 19; 29, 2.
7 E.g. or. 31, 8.
266 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

so many ways in which the one indivisible divine substance dis­

tributes and presents Itself, and hence They come to be termed
‘modes of coming to be ’ (τρόποι ύπάρ£σω?). So Basil’s friend
Amphilochius of Iconium, after stating his belief in ‘one God
made known in three forms of presentation ’ (προσώπου),
suggests1 that the names Father, Son and Holy Spirit do not
stand for essence or being (‘God ’ does), but for ‘a mode of
existence or relation ’ (τρόπο? υπάρξ^ως ήτουν σχόσεω?); and
Pseudo-Basil argues2 that the term αγέννητος does not repre­
sent God ’s essence but simply the Father’s ‘mode of existence’.
A modern theologian 3 has aptly summarized their thought in
the sentence, ‘The whole unvaried substance, being incom ­
posite, is identical with the whole unvaried being of each
Person ... the individuality is only the manner in which the
identical substance is objectively presented in each several
Person ’.
The Cappadocians had thus analysed the conception of hypo ­
stasis much more thoroughly than Athanasius. As we have seen,
they were emphatic that the three hypostases share one and the
same nature. In the Triad the Monad is adored, just as the Triad
is adored in the Monad;4 and the distinction of hypostases in no
way rends the oneness of nature asunder.5 Their theory is that
the unity of the ousia, or Godhead, follows from the unity of
the divine action (èvcpyeia) which is disclosed in revelation.
‘If we observe’, writes6 Gregory of Nyssa, ‘a single activity of
Father, Son and Holy Spirit, in no respect different in the case
of any, we are obliged to infer unity of nature (τό ηνωμέναν
της φύσ€ως ) from the identity of activity; for Father, Son and
Holy Spirit cooperate in sanctifying, quickening, consoling and
so on.’ Basil similarly finds7 proof of the deity of the Spirit in
the fact that His energy is coordinate with that of Father and
Son. As Pseudo-Basil (possibly Didymus) remarks,8 ‘Those
whose operations are identical have a single substance. Now
I Frg. 15 (PG 39. 1 12). 1 C. Eunom. 4 (PG 29, 681).
J G. L. Prestige, God in Patristic Thought (2nd ed. 1952), 244.
♦ Gregory Nazianzen, or. 25, 17. 5 Basil, ep. 38, 4.
* Cf. Basil, ep. 189, 6 f. (by Gregory). 7 c. Eunom. 3, 4.
8 C. Eunom. 4 (PG 29, 676).
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 267

there is a single operation of the Father and the Son, as is

shown by “ Let us make man in our image etc.” , or, “ Whatso ­
ever the Father does, the Son does likewise” ; and therefore
there is a single substance of Father and Son.’ Along similar
lines Gregory of Nyssa argues1 that, whereas men must be
regarded as many because each of them acts independently, the
Godhead is one because the Father never acts independently of
the Son, nor the Son of the Spirit. The divine action begins
from the Father, proceeds through the Son, and is completed
in the Holy Spirit; none of the Persons possesses a separate
operation of His own, but one identical energy passes through
all Three.
The Cappadocians have often been charged with accepting
the homoousion while interpreting it in a merely specific or
generic sense, and the designation of ‘ Neo-Nicenes’ has con ­
sequently been applied to them. The accusation, however, rests
on a misconception, for we have seen 2 that it is exceedingly
doubtful whether the fathers of Nicaea themselves used the
term όμ,οούσιος to suggest anything more than the truth that
the Son shares the same divine nature as the Father. Much more
to the point is the related suggestion, which was advanced as
much in their own day as in ours, that their doctrine, despite its
sincere intention of maintaining the divine unity, was inescap­
ably trithcistic. Admittedly certain features of their thought seem
to lend colour to the charge, not least their unfortunate com ­
parison of the ousia of Godhead to a universal manifesting itself
in particulars. In his anxiety to evade the trithcistic implications
of likening the Triad to three men sharing the same oust a of
manhood, Gregory of Nyssa is forced to conclude3 that in
strictness of language we should not speak of a multiplicity of
men but of one man. Yet the fathers themselves were fully
conscious of the deficiencies of the analogy. Gregory of Nyssa,
as we have noted, expressly draws attention to the unity of
operation between Father, Son and Spirit; and Gregory of
Nazianzus emphasizes4 that the unity of the divine Persons is
1 Quod non sint ires (PG 45, 125). 2 See above, pp. 235 f.
3 Ib. (PG 45, 120).
268 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

real as opposed to the purely ‘notional’ [μόνον èmvoia

θ^ωρητόν) unity of several men. Thus if Father, Son and Spirit
are distinguishable numerically as Persons, They are indis­
tinguishable as essence.1 Vis-à-vis the Father, the Son is
identical in substance [ταύτον κατ' ουσίαν2); and the analogy
between the Trinity and Adam, Eve (made out of his rib) and
Seth (the product of both) breaks down because the divine
essence is indivisible.3 In the very letter4 which expounds the
universal-particular analogy most fully, Basil (or whoever was
its author) argues eloquently for the inseparability of the
Persons and the ineffable oneness of Their being. The funda­
mental point which should be remembered is that for these
writers the ousia of Godhead was not an abstract essence but a
concrete reality.
This brings us to an clement in the Cappadocians’ thought
which their critics often ignore, viz. their belief in the simplicity'
and indivisibility of the divine essence. In certain moods they
seem reluctant to apply the category of number to the God ­
head at all, taking up the old Aristotelian doctrine5 that only
what is material is quantitatively divisible. How can we be
accused of tritheism, exclaims6 Evagrius, seeing we exclude
number entirely from the spiritual nature of deity? According
to Gregory of Nyssa,7 number is indicative merely of the
quantity of things, giving no clue as to their real nature; and
Basil insists8 that if wc use number of deity at all we must use it
‘reverently ’ (εύσεβώς ), pointing out that while each of the
Persons is designated one, They cannot be added together. The
reason for this is that the divine nature which They share is
simple and indivisible. As Gregory of Nazianzus remarks,9
it is ‘absolutely simple and indivisible substance’, ‘indivisible
and uniform and without parts’ (αδιαίρετός εστι και μονούς
καί άμ€ρης ). In other words, they have transferred their
emphasis from mere numerical unity to unity of nature.
‘ Or. 29, 2. 1 Ib. 30, 20. ’ Ib. 31,11.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 269

Evagrius says as much when he writes,1 ‘ In answer to those who

upbraid us with tritheism, let it be said that we worship one
God, one not in number but in nature. Whatever is described
as one in a merely numerical sense is not one really, and is not
simple in nature; but everyone recognizes that God is simple
and incomposite.’ But the corollary of this simplicity is that
tritheism is unthinkable.

5. The Trinity in the W est

In the meantime Western theological reflection about the
Trinity, virtually quiescent since Novatian, had begun to bestir
itself. We have seen how Hilary, as a result of his sojourn in the
East, was able to collaborate with Athanasius in winning over
the Homocousians, himself teaching a doctrine which, while
absolutely clear as against Sabcllianism on the distinction of the
Persons, insisted on Their consubstantiality. A characteristic
formula of his was,2 Unutn sunt, non unione personae sed sub ­
stantiae unitate, and he cited 3 Is. 45, 14 f. (Old Latin) as proving
that ‘the Godhead of Father and Son is indivisible and in ­
separable’. A little later we find Ambrose conceiving 4 of three
Persons Who are one (tinuni sunt) through Their having one
substance, one divinity, one will, one operation; the idea of a
universal with its particulars docs not suffice to explain Their
unity. A more conservative approach, reflecting the still
powerful influence of Tcrtullian, comes to light in writers
such as Phocbadius of Agcn (f after 392). ‘We must hold fast
the rule ’, he wrote,5 ‘which confesses the Father in the Son and
the Son in the Father. This rule, preserving unity of substance
in the two Persons, recognizes the economy (dispositionem) of
the Godhead.’ The Spirit, he added, is from God, so that if God
has a second Person in the Son, He has a third in the Spirit.
‘Yet all in all They arc one God; the Three arc a unity (unum).’
Far the most original and interesting figure, however, in the

’ Ep. Bas. 8, 2. 2 De trin. 4, 42. 1 Ib. 5, 38.

* Cf. deJid. I, 2, 17-19; 4. *.34 5. 4*5 de ituam. dont. sacr. 8, 81-8.
s C. Ar. 22.
270 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

middle decades of the fourth century was Victorinus, the Neo­

platonic philosopher who after his conversion c. 355 set himself
to defend the homoousion against Arian criticisms. Important
for their own sake, his ideas are also noteworthy for the impact
they had on Augustine.
Victorinus draws his inspiration from Plotinus, although his
devotion to Scripture and the Christian revelation obliges him
to make drastic modifications in the Neo-Platonic scheme. In
harmony with the Biblical idea of a living God, he thinks of
the Deity as essentially concrete and active; God is eternally in
motion, and in fact His esse is equivalent to moveri.1 In relation
to die contingent order this movement takes the form of
creation, while in relation to the Word it is generation.2 He is
thus able to develop a doctrine of eternal generation which
evades the Arian objection that generation implies change. At
the same time he holds3 that the immanent dialectical process
within the Godhead is intrinsically triadic; God is τρώύναμος ,
‘possessing three powers— being, living, understanding ’ (esse,
■vivere, intelligere). From this point of view the Father is the
divine essence considered as absolute and unconditioned; He is
entirely without attributes or determination, invisible and un ­
knowable; strictly, He is ‘prior to being ’ (προόν 4). The Son is
the ‘form ’ by which the Godhead determines or limits Itself,
thereby coming into relation with the finite and making Itself
knowable.5 He is, as it were, the eternal object of the Father’s
will, or again the object of His knowledge, the image by which
He knows Himself.6 He is related to the Father as act to
potency,7 or as Word to eternal silence.8 The Spirit, about
Whom Victorinus has less to say, is distinguishable from the
Son as intelligence is from life, as the voice from the mouth
which utters it. So Victorinus can write that9 ‘the Father is
silence eloquent, Christ is His voice, and the Paraclete is the
voice of the voice’; and again 10 that, ‘if Christ is life, the Spirit
is understanding’.
’ Adv. A t . I, 43. 1 De gen. verb. 29 f. 1 Adv. Ar. 4. 21.
♦ E.g. ib. 4, 20; de gen. verb. 2. J E.g. adv. Ar. 3, 7; 4. 20.
6 Ib. I, 31. ’ Ib. I, 41. « Ib. i, 13· i. 41.
« lb. 3, 16. 10 Ib. I, 13.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 271

In one of his hymns1 he sums up the characters of the Persons

as ‘Existence, Life, Knowledge— O blessed Trinity!’; and
affirms, ‘God is substance, the Son form, the Spirit concept’.
Yet these three dynamic characters are shared alike by all three
Persons; each with the others is only one substance, one will
and life, one knowledge.2 Again and again he insists on the
circuminsession, or mutual indwelling, of the Persons (e.g.
otnnes in alternis existentes 3 ). They arc one with the unity which
transcends number;4 yet there is a distinction between Them
which Victorinus would prefer to express by tres subsistentiae
rather than by très personae, or else by saying that the absolute
Godhead subsists tripliciter.5 He seems to envisage the being of
God as in a continuous process of unfolding and re-folding (cf.
status, progressio, regressus).6 If the Son, as the form and image of
the Godhead, reveals the unknowable, in the Spirit the same
Godhead knows Itself, and so returns back to Itself. The Spirit
is thus the link, or copula, between the Father and the Son,
completing the perfect circle of the divine being.7 Victorinus
finds3 the best analogy to, or expression of, the Triune Godhead
in the soul, which on his view exists in man as a part, as it were,
of God. In it can be seen the triad esse, vivere and intelligere,
determinations or distinctions which are related to each other
as the Persons of the Trinity of which it is the image, and
which, like Them, are consubstantial.

6. The Contribution of Augustine

It was Augustine, however, who gave the Western tradition
its mature and final expression. All his life as a Christian he was
meditating the problem of the Trinity, explaining the Church ’s I
doctrine to inquirers and defending it against attack, and
perhaps his greatest work is the long and elaborate discussion
known as the De trinitate, which he put together at different i
dates between 399 and 419. He accepts9 without question the
1 Hymn 3. 2 Adv. Ar. 3, 4; 3, 17. 3 Ib. 1, 15 f.
4 Ib. 3. I. s Ib. 2, 4; 3, 4. 6 Hymn 3.
7 Adv. Ar. I, 60; hymn 1. 8 Adv. Ar. 1, 32; 1, 62-4.
’ E.g. de fid. et symb. 16; de doct. christ. 1,5; de trin. 1, 7.
272 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

truth that there is one God Who is Trinity, and that Father, Son
and Holy Spirit arc at once distinct and co-cssential, numerically
one in substance; and his writings abound in detailed statements
of it. Characteristically, he nowhere attempts to prove it; it is a
datum of revelation which, on his view, Scripture proclaims on
almost every page 1 and which ‘the Catholic faith ’ (Jides
catholica 2·) hands on to believers. His immense theological effort
is an attempt at comprehension, the supreme example of his
principle3 that faith must precede understanding (e.g. praecedit
fides, sequitur intellectus). Here there is only space to single out
the salient features of his exposition.
(i) While Augustine’s exposition of Trinitarian orthodoxy
is Scriptural throughout, his conception of God as absolute be­
ing, simple and indivisible, transcending the categories, formsits
ever-present background. So in contrast to the tradition which
made the Father its starting-point, he begins with the divine
nature Itself. It is this simple, immutable nature or essence (he
prefers ‘essence’ to ‘substance ’, for the latter suggests a subject
with attributes, whereas God for Augustine is identical with
His attributes4) which is Trinity: cf. et haec trinitas unus est deus,
and, trinitatem quae deus est.s The unity of the Trinity is thus set
squarely in the foreground, subordinationism of every kind
being rigorously excluded. Whatever is affirmed of God is
affirmed equally of each of the three Persons.6 Since it is one
and the same substance which constitutes each of Them, ‘not
only is the Father not greater than the Son in respect of divinity,
but Father and Son together arc not greater than the Holy
Spirit, and no single Person of the Three is less than the
Trinity Itself’.7
Several corollaries follow from this emphasis on the oneness
of the divine nature. First, Father, Son and Spirit are not three
separate individuals in the same way as three human beings
who belong to one genus.8 Rather, each of the divine Persons,
from the point of view of substance, is identical with the others
1 Cf. de trin. Bks. 1-4. 1 E.g. serin. 7, 4; ep. 120, 17; loh. tract. 74, 1.
1 E.g. serin. 118, 1; de trin. 15, 2. * De trin. 5, 3; 7, Io .
5 De civ. dei 11, 10; ep. 120, 17. 6 De trin. 5, 9.
7 Ib. 8, 1: cf. ib. 6, 9. 8 loh. tract. 39, 2-4.
 -

THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 273

or with the divine substance itself.1 In this way God is not cor­
rectly described, as Victorinus had described Him, as ‘ threefold’
(triplex: a word which suggested to Augustine the conjunction
of three individuals), but as a Trinity,2 and the Persons can be
said severally to indwell or coinhere with each othcrJ Secondly,
whatever belongs to the divine nature as such should, in strict­
ness of language, be expressed in the singular, since that nature
is unique.4 As the later Athanasian creed, which is Augustinian
through and through, puts it, while each of the Persons is in-
create, infinite, omnipotent, eternal, etc., there are not three in ­
creases, infinites, omnipotents, eternals, etc., but one. Thirdly,
the Trinity possesses a single, indivisible action and a single will;
Its operation is ‘inseparable’.5 In relation to the contingent order
the three Persons act as ‘one principle’ (unum principium 6 ), and,
‘as They are inseparable, so They operate inseparably ’.7 In his
own words,8 ‘where there is no difference of natures, there is
none of wills either’. In illustration of this Augustine argues9
that the theophanies recorded in the Old Testament should not
be regarded, as the earlier patristic tradition had tended to
regard them, as appearances exclusively of the Son. Sometimes
they can be attributed to the Son or to the Spirit, sometimes to
the Father, and sometimes to all Three; on occasion it is im ­
possible to decide to which of the Three to ascribe them.
Lastly, Augustine faces the obvious difficulty which his theory
suggests, viz. that it seems to obliterate the several roles of the
three Persons. His answer10 is that, while it is true that the Son,
as distinct from the Father, was born, suffered and rose again,
it remains equally true that the Father cooperated with the Son
in bringing about the incarnation, passion and resurrection; it
was fitting for the Son, however, in virtue of His relation to
the Father, to be manifested and made visible. In other words,
since each of the Persons possesses the divine nature in a
particular manner, it is proper to attribute to each of Them, in

1 De trin. 6, 9; 7, 11; 8, I. 1 Ib. 6, 9. ’ Ib.; loh. tract. 20, 13.

4 De trin. 5, 10 f.; 8, 1. 5 Ib. 2, 9; c. serin. Ar. 4; enchir. 38.
6 De trin. 5, 15. 7 Ib. I, 7: cf. ib. 2, 3. 8 C. M axim. 2, 10, 2.
9 De trin. 2, 12-34: cf. ib. 3, 4"2 7·
10 Semi. 52 passim: cf. de trin. 2, 9; 2, 18; cp. 11, 2-4.
274 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

the external operation of the Godhead, the role which is

appropriate to Him in virtue of His origin. It is a case of what
later Western theologians were to describe as appropriation.
(2) This leads us to the distinction of the Persons, which
Augustine secs is grounded in Their mutual relations within the
Godhead. While They are identical considered as the divine
substance, the Father is distinguished as Father because He
begets the Son, and the Son is distinguished as Son because
He is begotten.1 The Spirit, similarly, is distinguished from
Father and Son inasmuch as He is ‘ bestowed ’ by Thein; He is
Their ‘common gift’ (Jo h w h ), being a kind of communion of
Father and Son [quaedam patris et filii communio), or else the love
which They together pour into our hearts.2 The question then
arises what in fact the Three are. Augustine recognizes that they
are traditionally designated Persons, but is clearly unhappy
about the term; probably it conveyed the suggestion of separate
individuals to him. If in the end he consents to adopt the
current usage, it is because of the necessity of affirming the dis­
tinction of the Three against Modalism (‘the formula “ three
Persons” was employed, not so that that might be said, but so as
to avoid having to say nothing at all’), and with a deep sense of
the inadequacy of human language.3 His own positive theory
was the original and, for the history of Western Trinitarianism,
highly important one that the Three are real or subsistent rela­
tions. His motive4 in formulating it was to escape a cunning
dilemma [callidissimum machinamentum) posed by Arian critics.
Basing themselves on the Aristotelian scheme of categories,5
they contended that the distinctions within the Godhead, if
they existed, must be classified under the category cither of
substance or of accident. The latter was out of the question,
God having no accidents; the former led to the conclusion that
the Three are independent substances. Augustine rejects both
alternatives, pointing out that the concept of relation [ad
aliquid relatio) still remains. The Three, he goes on to claim, are
* Ep. 170, 7; de trin. 5, 6; 5, 8; 5, 15.
* De trin. 5, 12; 5, 15-17; 8,.i; loh. tract. 74, 1-4.
1 De trin. 5, 10; 7, 7-9; de civ. dei 11, 10; c. sertn. Ar 3-,
* De trin. 5, 4. s See above, p. 11.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 275

relations, as real and eternal as the factors of begetting, being

begotten and proceeding (or being bestowed) within the God ­
head which give rise to them. Father, Son and Spirit arc thus
relations in the sense that whatever each of Them is, He is in
relation to one or both of the others.1 To modem people, unless
schooled in technical philosophy, the notion of relations (e.g.
‘above ’, ‘to the right of’, ‘greater than ’) as having a real
subsistence sounds strange, although they arc usually prepared
to concede their objectivity, i.e. that they exist in their own
right independent of the observer. To Augustine it was more
familiar, for both Plotinus and Porphyry had taught it.1 2 The
advantage of the theory from his point of view was that, by
enabling him to talk meaningfully about God at a new language
level, it made it possible simultaneously to affirm unity and
plurality of the Deity without lapsing into paradox.
(3) Augustine was always puzzled 3 to explain what the pro ­
cession of the Spirit is, or wherein it differs from the Son ’s
generation. He was certain,4 however, that the Spirit is the
mutual love of Father and Son [communem qua invicem se dili­
gunt pater et filins caritatem), the consubstantial bond which
unites Them. His consistent teaching, therefore, was that He
is the Spirit of both alike; as he put it,5 ‘The Holy Spirit is not
the Spirit of one of Them, but of both ’. This he believed to be
the clear deliverance of Scripture. Thus in relation to the Holy
Spirit the Father and the Son form a single principle: inevitably
so, since the relation of both to Him is identical, and where
there is no difference of relation Their operation is inseparable.6
Hence Augustine, more unequivocally than any of the Western
fathers before him, taught7 the doctrine of the double pro ­
cession of the Spirit from the Father and the Son (filioque).
Answering the objection that since both the Son and the Spirit
derive from the Father there should be two Sons, he stated,8

1 For the theory of relations see loh. tract. 39; enarr. in ps. 6S, 1, 5; cp. 170',
238-41; de civ. dci 11, 10; de trin. Bks. 5-7.
2 E.g. Plotinus, enn. 6, 1, 6-8. 3 E.g. de trin. 9, 17; 15, 45.
4 Ib. 15, 27: cf. ib. 5, 12 (ineffabilis quaedam patris filiique communio).
’ loh. tract. 99, 6; de trin. 1,7. 6 De trin. 5, 15.
7 E.g. ep. 170, 4; de trin. 5, 12; 15, 29; 15, 45. 8 C. M axim. 2, 14, 1.
276 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

‘The Son is from the Father, the Spirit also is from the Father.
But the former is begotten, the latter proceeds. So the former is
Son of the Father from Whom He is begotten, but the latter is
the Spirit of both since He proceeds from both. . . . The Father
is the author of the Spirit’s procession because He begot such a
Son, and in begetting Him made Him also the source from
which the Spirit proceeds.’ The point is that, since the Father
has given all He has to the Son, He has given Him the power to
bestow the Spirit.1 It should not be inferred, he warns us,2 that
the Spirit has therefore two sources or principles; on the con ­
trary, the action of the Father and Son in bestowing the Spirit
is common, as is the action of all three Persons in creation.
Further, despite the double procession, the Father remains the
primordial source (cf. de patre principaliter . . . communiter de
utroque procedit}, inasmuch as it is He from Whom the Son
derives His capacity to bestow the Spirit.3
(4) We come lastly to what is probably Augustine’s most
original contribution to Trinitarian theology, his use of
analogies drawn from the structure of the human soul. The
function of these, it should be noted, is not so much to demon ­
strate that God is Trinity (on his view revelation provides
ample assurance of that), as to deepen our understanding of the
mystery of the absolute oneness and yet real distinction of the
Three. Strictly speaking, according to Augustine,4 there arc
‘vestiges’ of the Trinity everywhere, for in so far as creatures
exist at all they exist by participating in the ideas of God;
hence everything must reflect, however faintly, the Trinity
Which created it. For Its veritable image, however, a man
should look primarily into himself, for Scripture represents
God as saying, ‘Let us [i.e. the Three] make man in our image
and our likeness’.5 Even the outer man, i.e. man considered in
his sensible nature, offers ‘a kind of resemblance to the Trinity ’
(quondam trinitatis effigiem b ). The process of perception, for
example, yields7 three distinct elements which arc at the same

1 C. M axim. 2, 14, 7-9; loh. tract. 99, 9; de trin. 15, 47.

1 De trin. 5, 15. 3 lb. 15, 47· 4 E g. de ver. relig. 13.
s E.g. serin. 52, 17-19. 6 De trin. 11, 1. 7 ib. n, 2-5.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 277

time closely united, and of which the first in a sense begets the
second while the third binds the other two together, viz. the
external object {res quam videmus), the mind ’s sensible repre­
sentation of it {visio), and the intention or act of focussing the
mind {intentio·, voluntas; intentio voluntatis). Again,1 when the
external object is removed, we have a second trinity, much
superior because located entirely within the mind and therefore
‘of one and the same substance ’, viz. the memory impression
{memoria), the internal memory image {visio interna), and the
intention or setting of the will. For the actual image, however,
of the Triune Godhead we should look to the inner man, or soul,
and in the inner man to his rational nature, or mens, which is
the loftiest and most God-like part of him.2
It has often been assumed that Augustine ’s principal Trini­
tarian analogy in the De trinitate is that disclosed by his analysis3
of the idea of love (his starting-point is the Johannine dictum
that God is love) into the lover {amans), the object loved
{quod amatur), and the love {amor) which unites, or strives to
unite, them. Yet, wliile expounding this analogy, he himself
reckons4 that it affords only an initial step towards our under­
standing of the Trinity {coepit utcumque . . . apparere), at best a
momentary glimpse of It {eluxit paullulum). His discussion of it
is quite brief, and forms no more than a transition to what he
considers his all-important analogy, based on the inner man,
viz. the mind ’s activity as directed upon itself or, better still,
upon God. This analogy fascinated him all his life, so that in
such an early work as the Confessions 5 (397-8) we find him
pondering the triad of being, knowing and willing {esse, nosse,
velle). In the De trinitate he elaborates it at length in three suc ­
cessive stages, the resulting trinities being (a)6 the mind, its
knowledge of itself, and its love of itself; (b)7 memory or,
more properly, the mind ’s latent knowledge of itself, under­
standing, i.e. its apprehension of itself in the light of the eternal
reasons, and the will, or love of itself, by which this process of

1 lb. 6 f.
ii, 2 E.g. cnarr. in ps. 42, 6; serin. de syinb. 1, 2.
3 De trin. 8, 12-9, 2. 4 lb. 15, 5; 15, 10. s 13, ii.
6 De trin. 9· 2-8. 7 lb. 10, 17-19.
278 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

self-knowledge is set in motion; and (c)1 the mind as remember­

ing, knowing and loving God Himself. Each of these, in differ­
ent degrees, reveals three real elements which, according to
Augustine ’s mctaphysic of personality, arc coordinate and
therefore equal, and at the same time essentially one; each of
them throws light on the mutual relations of the divine
Persons. It is the last of the three analogies, however, which
Augustine deems most satisfactory. The three factors disclosed
in the second ‘are not three lives but one life, not three minds
but one mind, and consequently arc not three substances but one
substance’2 ; but he reasons that it is only when the mind has
focussed itself with all its powers of remembering, under­
standing and loving on its Creator, that the image it bears of
Him, corrupted as it is by sin, can be fully restored.
While dwelling at length on these analogies and drawing out
their illustrative significance, Augustine has no illusions about
their immense limitations. In the first place, the image of God in
man ’s mind is in any case a remote and imperfect one: ‘a like­
ness indeed, but a far distant image. .. . The image is one thing
in the Son, another in the mirror.’3 Secondly, while man ’s
rational nature exhibits the trinities mentioned above, they are
by no means identical with his being in the way in which the
divine Trinity constitutes the essence of the Godhead;4 they
represent faculties or attributes which the human being pos­
sesses, whereas the divine nature is perfectly simple. Thirdly, as
a corollary from this, while memory, understanding and will
operate separately, the three Persons mutually coinhere and
Their action is one and indivisible.5 Lastly, whereas in the God ­
head the three members of the Trinity are Persons, they are not
so in the mind of man. ‘The image of the Trinity is one person,
but the supreme Trinity Itself is three Persons’: which is a
paradox when one reflects that nevertheless the Three are more
inseparably one than is the trinity in the mind.6 This discrep ­
ancy between the image and the Trinity Itself merely reminds

1 De trin. 14, 11-end. 1 Ib. 10, 18.

3 Senn. 52, 17: cf. de Irin. 9. Ι7ί i°. * Ib. 15, 7 f.; 15, 11-13.
» Ib. is, 43- 6 Ib.
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE TRINITY 279

us of the fact, of which the Apostle has told us, that here on
earth we see ‘in a mirror, darkly ’; afterwards we shall see ‘face
to face’.

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. G. Bardy, ‘Trinité ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.); J. Gummcrus,

Die homousianische Partei bis zum Tode des Konstantins (Leipzig, 1900);
J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds (London, 1950); G. L. Prestige,
God in Patristic Thought (London, 2 cd. 1952); A. E. J. Rawlinson (cd.),
Essays on the Trinity and the Incarnation (London, 1928).
Special. R. Amou, ‘Unité numérique et unité de nature chez les pères
après le concile de Nicéc’ (art. in Gregorianum, 1934); G. Bardy, Didytne
Γ Aveugle (Paris, 1910); ‘Macédonius et les Macédoniens’ (art. in Diet.
Théol. Cath.); J. Chevalier, La Théorie augustmienne des relations
fritritaires’ (Fribourg en Suisse, 1940); A. Gardcil, La Structure de
l ’ante et l'expérience mystique (Paris, 2 ed. 1927); K. Holi, Amphi ­
lochius von Ikoniuin und seine Verhàltnisse zu den grossen Kappadoziem
(Tubingen, 1904); J. Lebon, ‘La Position de saint Cyrille de Jérusalem ’
(art. in Rev. d ’hist. ecclés.); F. Loofs, Eustathius von Sebaste (Halle, 1898);
‘Makcdonius und die Makcdonicr’ (art. in Hauck ’s Realencyk.); M.
Schmaus, Die psychologische Trinitatslchre des hl. Augustins (Münster
i.W.» 1927).
 C H A PTER X I

FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY

I. Introduction

A c a s u a l glance might suggest that during the greater part of

the Trinitarian controversy the specifically Christological issue
was left on one side. The council of Nicaea certainly ignored it,
although producing a creed embellished with the emphatic
statement that the Son w a s m a d e f l e s h , b e c o m in g m a n . These
words were later interpreted1 as designed to correct the Arian
attribution of a defective humanity to the Redeemer, but it is
much more likely that the intention behind them was to stress
the reality of His incarnation against Gnosticism and Docetism.
Since all were agreed, however, that the Word was in Christ,
any conclusions about His status in relation to the Godhead
were bound to react upon the view taken of the structure (if
we may so call it) of the Incarnate. The Arians’ denial of His
divinity, for example, was closely connected with, and may
have been a corollary of, their preconceived ideas about the
union of the Word with the human clement in Christ. The
Niccnes, for their part, in affirming the homoousion, inevitably
confronted themselves with the problem of combining deity
and manhood in the Saviour. Hence, although matters were only
• brought to a head with the outbreak of Apollinarianism shortly
after the middle of the century, the Christological implications
of the Nicene debate had been lurking not far below the surface
right from the start.
Our concern in this chapter will be with the Eastern Church.
It was in the East that the issues were constructively fought out;
and while theologians like Hilary had interesting ideas, the
i West generally lacked originality in Christology, and its
1 E.g. Theodore of Mopsucstia, hom. cat. 5, 17.
280
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 281

contribution can be relegated to the next chapter. This means

that Apollinarianism must occupy the centre of the stage here.
Account must also be taken, however, of the Christological
theories which held the field in the earlier half of the century,
and of the emergence of rather different, anti-Apollinarian
trends in the second half. For a large part of the period the
prevalent bias was towards what has been called the ‘Word ­
flesh ’ type of Christology, of which the theologians who reacted
against Origen ’s special teaching in the third century were
exponents.1 Making no allowance for a human soul in Christ,
this viewed the incarnation as the union of the Word with
human flesh, and took as its premiss the Platonic conception of
man as a body animated by a soul or spirit which was essentially
alien from it. In rivalry with this, however, we can trace the
growing influence of a ‘Word-man ’ type of Christology,
based on the idea that the Word united Himself with a com ­
plete humanity, including a soul as well as a body. Behind this
lay the Aristotelian theory of man as a psycho-physical unity,
and also the determination to do justice to the genuinely human
character of the Figure delineated in the Gospels. These two
types have been designated ‘Alexandrian ’ and ‘Antiochene ’
respectively, and although these labels are not always strictly
accurate, they have a certain practical convenience.

2. The Arians and Eustathius

The clash between these two approaches to Christology can
be usefully studied, decades before Apollinarianism entered
upon the scene, by contrasting left-wing Alexandrianism, as re­
presented by the Arians, with the teaching put forward in
opposition to it by Eustathius of Antioch (f 336), one of the
keenest champions of the Nicene settlement.
All our authorities2 agree that the Arians taught that in Christ
the Word had united Himself to a human body lacking a
rational soul, Himself taking the place of one. As a result they
1 See above, pp. 158-60.
2 E.g. Epiphanius, ancor. 33, 4; hacr. 69, 19, 7; Theodore Mops., hom. cat. 5,
7-19.
 282 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

had a straightforward, naturalistic conception of the unity in

Christ, as comes to light in the creed 1 ascribed to Eudoxius,
successively bishop of Antioch and Constantinople: ‘We
believe ... in one Lord . . . Who was made flesh but not man.
For He did not take a human soul, but became flesh so that God
might have dealings with us men through flesh as through a
veil. [He was] not two natures (ού δυο φύσ^ς ), for He was not
complete man, but God in place of a soul in flesh. The whole
is one nature resulting from composition (μια . . . κατά
συνθέσω φυσιχ).' So far there was nothing singular about their
position, which closely reproduced that outlined by Malchion 2
at Antioch in 268, especially in its insistence on the metaphysical
unity formed by the Word and the flesh. What apparently
shocked the earlier critics of the Arians was not so much their
‘Word-flesh ’ Christology as the fact that they exploited it in
the interests of their general theology. Thus we gather from
Athanasius3 that it was to the Logos that they referred the
difficult texts John 12, 27 (‘Now is my soul troubled ’), John 13,
21 (‘Jesus was troubled in spirit"), etc., as well as the Gospel
passages attributing to the Lord ignorance, growth in wisdom,
and the need for help in temptation. This they could do without
inconsistency or embarrassment since His status on their theory
was that of a creature, superior to all others but none the less
; passible and susceptible of change— as one Who was God by
nature manifestly could not be. Further, one of the points they
pressed home 4 against the orthodox was the difficulty of ex ­
plaining His relation to the flesh on the assumption that He was
divine. That concrete metaphysical unity which the facts of
the case demanded could not, they insinuated, be established
between a Logos Who was truly transcendent and human flesh.
On the premisses of the Word-flesh Christology these con ­
siderations were not without force; it was the realization of this
■ that prompted the reaction of which Eustathius was one of the
pioneers. Although tradition reckoned him an out-and-out
I Antiochene, his thought prior to the Nicene struggle exhibited
I ’ Holl, Bibliothek der Symbole, § 191. 1 See above, p. 159.
I 3 C. Ar. 3, 26. 4 Cf. Athanasius, ib. 3, 27.
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 283
sonic markedly un-Antiochene traits. Thus, while always
admitting a human soul in the God-man, he regarded1 it as
having been in some measure deified by its association with the
divine Logos. Christ’s body, too, was ‘ holy ’, so that His divinity
was reflected in His countenance.2 At this stage he was even
prepared to accept the typically Alexandrian communicatio
idiomatum, speaking 3 of John the Baptist embracing the Word
and the Jews crucifying Him, and of the Blessed Virgin as
‘God-bearing ’ (Θεοτόκος 4 ''). He was one of the first, however,
to detect the real drift of the Arian Christology. ‘Why are they
so set’, he inquired,5 ‘on demonstrating that Christ took a body
without a soul, grossly deceiving their followers? In order that,
if only they can induce some to believe this false theory, they
may then attribute the changes due to the passions to the divine
Spirit, and thus easily persuade them that what is so changeable
could not have been begotten from the unchanging nature ’ (i.e.
from the Father). Hence we find him insisting 6 not only that
Christ had a rational soul or mind as well as a body, but that
this was the subject of His sufferings. In this mood he rejected
the communicatio idiomatum, declaring 7 it misleading to say that
God was led like a lamb to the slaughter or that the Word died
on the cross.
The Christology implied in his developed doctrine was
clearly of the Word-man type. In expounding it Eustathius was
led to distinguish a duality of natures in the God-man, and this
has often been pointed to as an anticipation of Nestorianism.
Thus he speaks of ‘the man ’ and ‘the God ’, writing 8 in
Antiochene vein, ‘The sentence, “ I have not yet ascended to
my Father” , was not uttered by the Logos, the God Who
comes down from heaven and abides in the Father’s bosom, nor
by the Wisdom which embraces all created things. It was
spoken by the man made up of diverse limbs, Who had risen
from the dead but had not yet ascended after His death to the

» De etigast. 17 f. (Klostcrmann, 45).

i Ib. 10 (Klostcrmann, 31); frg. 74 (Spanneut, 121). ^
3 Frgg. 64; 70; 68 (Spanneut, 114; 118; 116). 4 See below, p. 322.
s Frg. 15 (Spanneut, 100). 6 Frg. 41 (Spanneut, 108).
7 Frgg. 37; 48 (Spanneut, 107; 109 f). . 8 Frg. 24 (Spanneut, 102 f.).
284 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Father.’ Theories of this type are always faced with the problem
of explaining how the Word and ‘the man ’ formed a real
unity, and Eustathius’s was no exception. His most frequent
suggestion 1 was that the Word ‘dwelt in ’ the humanity, which
served as His temple, His house, His tent. This indwelling was
analogous to the Word ’s indwelling in prophets and inspired
men, but differed, it would seem, in being continuous.12 The
meeting-point was the Lord ’s human soul, which according to
Eustathius3 ‘cohabits with (συνδιαιτωμενη) God the Word’,
so that the Incarnate can be described 4 as ‘a God-bearing man ’
(άνθρωπος θζοφόρος ). Language like this lent itself to mis­
interpretation, but it is clear that, although he could give no
satisfactory account of it, Eustathius was deeply concerned for
the unity.

3. The Christology of Athanasius

If the Arian Christology, with its premiss that the Word was
a creature in status, stood at the extreme left wing of the
Alexandrian approach, Athanasius was its classic representative.
His starting-point is John 1, 14, which he interprets5 as meaning
that ‘the Logos has become man, and has not entered into a
man ’. With his strongly soteriological interest he claims that
only God can save the fallen race, and for him the Word is of
course fully divine. ‘We ourselves’, he states,6 ‘were the motive
of His incarnation; it was for our salvation that He loved man
to the point of being bom and of appearing in a human body.’
The incarnation, it should be noted, did not seem to Athanasius
to have altered His transcendent status in any way, for ‘in
taking flesh He does not become different, but remains the
same ’.7 Indeed, while encompassed in a human body, He
continued to exercise sovereignty over the universe (και
ίξω των 6λων ijv 8). To describe what happened in His becoming
man, Athanasius says that He took flesh or a body,9 or that He

1 E.g. frgg. 19; 41; 44; 45; 47 (Spanncut, ιοί; 108; 109).
2 Frg. 9 (Spanncut, 98). J Frg. 17 (Spanncut, 100).
4 Frgg. 42·, 43; 59 (Spanncut, 108; 109; 112).
* C. Ar. 3, 30. 6 De incam. 4. ’ C. Ar. 2, 8.
» De incam. 17· ’ Ib. 8; 9; 10; etc.
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 285

fashioned a body for Himself in the Virgin ’s womb.’ In this

body He dwells as in a temple2 (the use of this image, sug ­
gested by John 2, 19 f., was not confined to the Antiochenes),
making use of it as His instrument (opyavov 3). But His relation
to it is no casual or accidental one, for He ‘appropriates’
(ίδιοποιαται) it to Himself;4 it is not another’s body, but His
very own 5— if it were another’s, His redemptive purpose could
not have been accomplished. Hence it is a true incarnation, or
‘becoming man ’ (^νανθρώπησις ), of the Logos,6 and it can be
said that ‘ He became flesh, not that He has been changed into
flesh, but that He has taken living flesh on our behalf and has
become man ’.7
Athanasius has therefore no use for Christologies of the
Word-man type. How can they be called Christians, he in ­
quires,8 who say that the Word entered into a holy man, just
as He entered into the prophets, and not that He became man,
taking His body from Mary, and who dare to assert that Christ
is ‘one ’ and the divine Logos ‘another’? The Stoics had con ­
ceived 9 of the Logos as the soul of the universe, and Athanasius
borrows this idea, with the difference that for him the Logos is
of course personal. On his view 10 the Logos is the animating,
governing principle of the cosmos, and the rational soul of man,
which fulfils an identical role in relation to its body, is a close
copy of Him, in fact a Logos in miniature. Christ’s human
nature was, as it were, a part of the vast body of the cosmos,
and there was no incongruity in the Logos, Who animates the
whole, animating this special portion of it. The paradox was
rather that, while present in the body of the Incarnate, animat­
ing and moving it, He was simultaneously present everywhere
else in the universe, vivifying and directing it with His life-
giving power.11
From this account it follows that the Word for Athanasius
was the governing principle, or ήγεμών, in Jesus Christ, the
subject of all the sayings, experiences and actions attributed to
’ Ib. 18. 2 Ib. 8; 9; 20; ep. ad Adelph. η. J C. Ar. 3, 35.
4 De incarn. 8. 5 Ib. 18. & ib
7 Ep. ad Epict. 8. 8 Ib. 2: cf. ib. ii; 12; ep. ad Adelph. 3.
9 See above, p. 13. 10 C. gent. 44; 30-4. h De incarn. 17.
286 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

the Gospel Figure.1 It was, for example, one and the same Word
Who performed the miracles and Who wept and was hungry,
prayed in Gethsemane and uttered the cry from the cross, and
admitted ignorance of the date of the last day.2 Experiences like
these might be thought hard to reconcile with His deity and
impassibility, and indeed the Arians argued that they were. But
Athanasius draws a careful distinction between what belonged
to the Word in His eternal being and what belonged to Him as
incarnate. The Apostle Peter himself (cf. 1 Pet. 4,1), he reminds
us,3 made the point that Christ ‘suffered for us in the flesh ’, the
imiuendo being that it is to His fleshly nature that we should
attribute these human weaknesses and sufferings. ‘These things ’,
he explains,4 ‘were not proper to the nature of the Word as
Word, but the Word . . . was subject of the flesh which
suffered them.’ His treatment of the Lord ’s emotional experi­
ences and apparent mental limitations (e.g. His distress of spirit,
His prayer for the removal of the cup, His cry of abandon­
ment, His confession of ignorance) is in line with this principle.
As far as possible, for example, he gives5 a purely physical ex ­
planation of His distress, fear, etc.; these traits were παθήματα
της σαρκός . If Scripture says that Jesus advanced in wisdom and
grace, its real meaning 6 is that there was a parallel and pro ­
gressive development of His body and disclosure of His deity.
When He is reported to have professed ignorance, it was a case
of feigned, not genuine, ignorance. Being Word, He knew all
things; but since He had become flesh, and flesh is naturally
ignorant, it was fitting that He should make a show of
ignorance.7
Athanasius sums up his position by saying 8 that we arc correct
in our theology if, while distinguishing two sets of actions
which Christ performs as God and as God-madc-man re­
spectively, we also perceive that both sets issue from one and
die same Person (άμφότερα έξ évôç πραττόμ^να). This brings
us face to face with the central problem of His Christology

• E.g. c. Ar. 3,35. 1 Ib. 3. 43; 3. 54·

4 lb. 3. 55· J Ib. 3, 54-8.
7 Ib. 3, 42-6. 8 Ib. 3. 35-
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 287

viz. whether he envisaged Christ’s humanity as including a

human rational soul, or regarded the Logos as taking the place
of one. His anthropology, it should be pointed out, which was
thoroughly Platonic and treated the soul as having no necessary
connexion with the body, was perfectly consistent with the
latter hypothesis. And indeed the alternative view, natural
enough while the two pseudonymous treatises C. Apollinarium
were assumed to come from his pen, is exposed to serious
objections, at any rate so far as his attitude down to 362 is
concerned. In the first place, his regular description of Christ’s
human nature as ‘flesh ’ or ‘body ’ seems to point in this direc­
tion, as docs his failure to make any unambiguously clear
mention of a soul. In reply it has been urged that such language
was traditional, reflecting New Testament usage,1 and that
Athanasius himself drew attention 2 to the Biblical equation of
‘man ’ with ‘flesh ’. Even if the linguistic argument, however,
is inconclusive, the fact must be faced that his thought simply
allowed no room for a human mind. As we have noticed, he
represented the Word as the unique subject of all Christ’s ex ­
periences, human as well as divine. So much was this the case
that he regarded 3 His death as the separation of the Word from
His body, and spoke4 of the descent of the Word to hell. His
attitude was revealed in a very striking way when he came to
deal with the Arians’ contention that the Saviour’s ignorance,
sufferings, etc., should properly be attributed to the Word, Who
on their hypothesis was a creature. Had Athanasius admitted
a human soul, here surely was a golden opportunity for him to
point to it, rather than the divine, impassible Word, as the true
subject of these experiences. But this obvious solution, as we
have seen, never apparently occurred to him; instead he strained
every nerve to attribute them to the flesh.
Athanasius’s Christology, therefore, just as much as that of
the Arians, conformed to the Word-flesh scheme; he differed
from them only in his estimate of the status of the Word. Some
scholars, while conceding his lack of overt interest in Christ’s
1 E.g. John I, 14; Rom - 8 > 3; Hebr. 5, 7; 1 Pet. 4, 1.
2 C. Ar. 3, 30. 3 Ib. 3, 57· * Ep. ad Epict. 5 f.
288 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

human mind, have pointed to the fact that he nowhere ex­

pressly denies the existence of one, and have concluded that he
may well have tacitly presupposed it. In view of what we know
of the Alexandrian tradition, this seems an improbable theory.
It remains a question, however, whether his attitude underwent
a change about 362. At the synod of Alexandria held in that year
agreement1 was reached to the effect that ‘ the Saviour did not
have a body lacking soul, sensibility or intelligence (ού σώμα
άψυχον ουδ ’ άναίσθητον ουδ ’ άνόητον εΐχίν). For it was im ­
possible that, the Lord having become man on our behalf, His
body should have been without intelligence (ανόητον), and
the salvation not only of the body but of the soul as well was
accomplished through the Word Himself.’ Athanasius was
chairman of the synod and, since he endorsed this formula, it
has usually been inferred that from 362 at any rate he recognized
a normal human psychology in Christ. Among the delegates
present at Alexandria was an Antiochene group, the Paulinians,
devoted to the memory of Eustathius and his belief in Christ’s
human soul; their argument that, if the Redeemer was to save
men ’s souls as well as their bodies, He must have assumed a
created soul Himself may have impressed Athanasius. Shortly
afterwards we find him making precisely the same sotcrio-
logical point,2 viz. that our salvation embraces ‘ the whole man,
body and soul’, in as much as ‘the Saviour really and in very
truth became man ’.
This conclusion may well be justified: although those who
accept it are obliged to allow that, on the evidence of his later
writings, Athanasius’s acknowledgement of a human soul must
have been purely formal, for he never succeeded in assigning it
any theological importance. In view of this, however, serious
doubts have been raised whether in fact he underwent the con ­
version suggested. It is possible that he may have understood
the crucial words ου σώμα άψυχον ουδ ’ άναίσθητον ουδ ’ άνόητον
as meaning, not that the Lord possessed a created mind, but
that the Logos Himself was the vivifying principle of His body
and served as the intelligence or soul of the God-man. The
1 Tom. ad Antioch. 7. 2 Ep. ad Epict. 7.
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 289

formula was evidently put forward at Alexandria by adherents

of the Word-flesh Christology in order to counter objections
to it, presumably along the lines that it presupposed a maimed
humanity. Their natural rejoinder was that it was misleading
to represent Christ’s humanity as being on their theory incom ­
plete, since the Word, the archetype of the mind or soul, had
united Himself with His flesh. This surely was the true import
of the sentence which followed, ‘It was impossible that His
body should have been without an intelligence, seeing that it
was the Lord Who became man on our behalf’, where the
accent should be placed on ‘the Lord ’ rather than, as it is com ­
monly placed, on ‘man ’. Apollinarius, we should observe,
understood 1 these words in this sense; and this interpretation of
the whole difficult passage accords much better than the con ­
ventional one both with the Alexandrian Christology in
general and with the Alexandrian conception of the mind or
vous· as the image of the divine Word. On the whole, the case
for the view that Athanasius did not modify his Christology
about the time of the synod of 362 must be reckoned the more
weighty.

4. Apollinarianistn
We come now to the heresy associated with the name of
Athanasius’s friend and coadjutor, Apollinarius of Laodicea
(c. 310-c. 390). It was in fact the most subtle and thorough ­
going attempt to work out a theory of Christ’s Person in the
fourth century, and carried tendencies long accepted in the
Alexandrian school to their logical limit. Because the rejection
of a human mind in Jesus was its salient feature, scholars have
sometimes been tempted to trace its ancestry to Arianism.
Apollinarius himself, they have pointed out, had served as a
reader under Thcodotus, the Arian bishop of Laodicea, so that
the intellectual atmosphere he breathed as a young man may
well have been impregnated with Arian ideas. Yet it is para ­
doxical that so stout an antagonist of the Arians in the matter

1 Ep. ad Diocaes. 2 (Lictzinann, Apollinaris von Laodicea undseine Schule, 1904,

256).
290 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

of the Godhead should have succumbed to their influence in

Christology, and the hypothesis is in fact unnecessary. We have
seen that the refusal to admit, or at any rate to take practical
account of, a human mind or soul in the God-man was a
permanent feature in the Alexandrian tradition and the Word ­
flesh Christology generally. Apollinarius himself, as reported
by Gregory of Nyssa,1 regarded his teaching as a restatement of
the position of the fathers who condemned Paul of Samosata
in 268, and we shall find that this self-diagnosis was not very
wide of the mark.
According to Gregory of Nazianzus,2 the beginnings of the
Apollinarian heresy can be dated as early as c. 352. It was not
until the council of Alexandria (362), however, that its teaching
became a public issue, and not until a decade later that serious
controversy flared up. An enthusiast for the homoousion of the
Son, Apollinarius was a life-long opponent of the dualist, later
to be called ‘dyophysitc’, strain in the Antiochene approach to
Christology. This reflected, he thought, the baneful influence
of Paul of Samosata, whose doctrines were, he believed, being
revived by teachers like Eustathius, the Paulinians, Flavian and
Diodore of Tarsus. T am astonished ’, he writes,3 ‘to find people
confessing the Lord as God incarnate, and yet falling into the
separation (ryj διαιρέσει) wickedly introduced by the Paul-
imitators. For they slavishly follow Paul of Samosata, differ­
entiating between Him from heaven, Whom they declare to be
God, and the man derived from the earth.’ He protests against
those who ‘confess, not God incarnate, but a man conjoined
(άνθρωπον θεω συνα</»θε'ντα) with God ’, i.e. in a merely ex ­
ternal union,4 and against the misleading distinction between
‘two Sons’, the Son of God and the son of Mary.5 Such dis­
tinctions imply that Christ is ‘two ’,6 whereas Scripture is
emphatic that He is a unity (εν; μία </>υσι?7); and in any case,
Scripture apart, such a duality is inconceivable.8 That Apol­
linarius was deeply influenced by soteriological motives is
« Ant inh. 9. ’ Ep. 102, 2. 3 Ep. ad Dion. 1, 1 (Lietz., 256 £).
4 K.M .P. 30 (Lietz., 178). 5 E.g. ad Iot>. 3 (Lietz., 253).
* Frg. 81 (Lietz., 224). ’ Ep. ad Dion. 1, 1-9 (Lietz., 257-60).
« Frg. 2; 9 (Lietz., 204; 206 f.).
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 291

apparent. He was convinced that, if the divine is separated

from the human in the Saviour, our redemption is imperilled.
Considered merely as man, Christ had no saving life to bestow;1
He could not redeem us from our sins, revivify us, or raise us
from the dead.2 How could we worship Him, or be baptized
into His death, if He was only an ordinary man indwelt by the
Godhead?3 As such He must have been fallible, a prey like the
rest of mankind to corrupt imaginings, and consequently un ­
able to save us.4
In order to eliminate the dualism which he considered so
disastrous, Apollinarius put forward an extreme version of the
Word-flesh Christology. He delighted to speak 5 of Christ as
‘God incarnate’ {θεός ενσαρκος ), ‘flesh-bearing God ’ {θεός
σαρκοφόρος ), or ‘God born of a woman ’. By such descriptions
he did not mean that the flesh was, as it were, simply an out­
ward covering which the Word had donned, but rather that it
was joined in absolute oneness of being with the Godhead
{προς ενότητα θεω συνηπται} from the moment of its con ­
ception.6 ‘The flesh ’, he states,7 ‘is not something supcradded
to the Godhead for well-doing, but constitutes one reality or
nature {συνουσι,ωμενη καί σύμφυτος } with It.’ The Incarnate
is, in effect, ‘a compound unity in human form ’ {συνθεσις
ανθρωποειδής 3 }, and there is ‘one nature {μίαν . . . φύσιν}
composed of impassible divinity and passible flesh ’.9 Apolli­
narius interprets 10 the text T sanctify myself’ {John 17, 19) as
implying precisely this: it ‘reveals the indivisibility of a single
living entity ’, i.e. the substantial oneness of the Word with His
flesh (= ‘myself’). The reason for this was that, as he viewed
the matter, the body of Christ could not by itself exist as an
independent ‘nature ’; to exist as such it needed to be conjoined
with, and animated by, spirit.11 He brings out the full signifi­
cance of his teaching in the statement,12 ‘The flesh, being
« De fid. et incani. 9 (Lietz., 202). 1 Anaceph. 9; 13; 20 (Lietz., 243 f.).
J Ib. 28 (Lietz., 245). 4 Frg. 76; ep. ad Diocacs. 2 (Lietz., 222; 256).
» Frg. 108; 109; 49; 52 (Lietz., 232; 233: 216).
6 De un. 2 (Lietz., 186). 7 Frg. 36 (Lietz., 212).
8 Ep. ad Dion. 1,9 (Lietz., 260). 9 Ib. 6 (Lietz., 258 f.).
11 Ep. ad Dion. 1, 8 (Lietz., 259).
10 De u h . 10 (Lietz., 189).
12 Frg. 107 (Lietz., 232).
2Ç2 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

dependent for its motions on some other principle of move­

ment and action (whatever that principle may be), is not of
itself a complete living entity, but in order to become one
enters into fusion with something else. So it united itself with
the heavenly governing principle [i.e. the Logos] and was
fused with it. . . . Thus out of the moved and the mover was
compounded a single living entity — not two, nor one composed
of two complete, self-moving principles.’
The frankly acknowledged presupposition of this argument
is that the divine Word was substituted for the normal human
psychology in Christ. According to Apollinarius’s anthro ­
pology,1 man was ‘spirit united with flesh ’. So in the God-man,
as he expressed it,2 ‘the divine energy fulfils the role of the
animating spirit (ψυχής ) and of the human mind ’ (νοός ).
Linked with this is the problem whether he was a dicho-
tomist (i.e. believed that human nature consists of body and
soul) or a trichotomist (i.e. believed it to consist of body,
animal soul or ψυχή, and rational soul or voûç). What is import­
ant, however, is that on his interpretation the Word was both
the directive, intelligent principle in Jesus Christ, and also the
vivifying principle of His flesh. The common account of his
Christology, viz. that it represented the Word as performing
the functions usually exercised by the will and intellect, docs
not do justice to what was in fact its most distinctive feature.
This was his theory 3 that the Word was the sole life of the God ­
man, infusing vital energy and movement into Him even at the
purely physical and biological levels. If it is objected that this
makes Him different from ordinary men, Apollinarius had no
hesitation in agreeing. He found 4 confirmation of the difference
in the wording of such texts as ‘Found as a man ’, and, Tn the
likeness of men ’; and he suggested 5 that the theological signifi­
cance of the virgin birth lay precisely in the fact that divine
spirit replaced the spermatic matter which gives life to ordinary
men. From his point of view the elimination of a human

1 Anaceph. 16; lorn. syn. (Lietz., 244; 263). 2 Frg- 2 (Lietz., 204).
» E.g. de un. n-13 (Lietz., 190 £.). 4 E.g. frg. 45 (Lietz., 214).
» De un. 13; frg. 142 (Lietz., 191; 241).
- a·

FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 293

psychology had the advantage of excluding the possibility of

there being two contradictory wills and intelligences in Christ.1
It also ensured the Saviour’s sinlessness. A human mind, he ex ­
plained,2 is ‘ fallible and enslaved to fdthy thoughts’, whereas the
Word is immutable. But, further, having the divine life pulsing
through Him, the Incarnate was made immune from psychic
and fleshly passions, and became not only Himself invincible to
death, but also able to destroy death.3 It was because the
Word was, biologically and physically, the vital force and
energy in Him that He was able to raise the dead and
bestow life.4
Thus Christ, on this theory, is an organic, vital unity, just as
a man compounded of soul and body is a unity; there is a
‘unity of nature ’ (ενωσι? φυσική) between the Word and His
body.5 As Apollinarius expresses it,6 ‘He is one nature (/χία
φυσις ) since He is a simple, undivided Person (προσώπου); for
His body is not a nature by itself, nor is the divinity in virtue of
the incarnation a nature by Itself; but just as a man is one nature,
so is Christ Who has come in the likeness of men ’. We observe
that his term for the God-man considered as a Person is prosopon.
He also on occasion uses7 hupostasis, being the first to introduce
it into the vocabulary of Christology; it connotes for him a
self-determining reality. His regular description of the Incarnate
is ‘one nature ’ (/ζία φυσις ), and he never ceases to protest
against the doctrine of ‘ two natures’ taught by the Antiochenes.
In a phrase which was to become famous he declared8 that
there was ‘one incarnate nature of the divine Word ’ [μίαν
φυσιν του θεού λόγου σεσαρκωμένην). It is tempting, especially
in view of his use9 of the two terms in the same context, to
regard ‘nature ’ and ‘Person ’ as synonymous in his vocabulary.
If we do so, however, we shall be in danger of missing the
special significance of his theology and of attributing to it
ideas which were really alien from it. If the Person of the

1 Frg. 2 (Lietz., 204). 2 Ep. ad Diocaes. 2 (Lietz., 256).

’ K.M .P. 30 (Lietz., 176). * Anaccph. 20; 23 (Lietz., 244 f.)
5 Frg. 129; 148 (Lietz., 239; 247). 6 Ep. ad Dion. 1, 2 (Lietz., 257).
’ E.g. de fid. et incam. 6 (Lietz., 199). 8 Ad Ιον. i (Lietz., 251)
’ CL de fid. et incarn. 6 (Lietz., 199).
294 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Incarnate is constituted by the Word, the description of Him

as one incarnate nature connotes the organic unity, on the
biological, physical and spiritual levels, constituted by the
fusion of divine and human in Him. He explains his position
clearly in an important passage:1 ‘The body is not of itself a
nature, because it is neither vivifying in itself nor capable of
being singled out from that which vivifies it. Nor is the Word,
on the other hand, to be distinguished as a separate nature apart
from His incarnate state, since it was in the flesh, and not apart
from the flesh, that the Lord dwelt on earth.’
This close connexion of the flesh with the. Godhead, their
fusion ‘into a single life and hypostasis’ (to quote one of his
disciples2), represents the distinctive core of Apollinarius’s
thought. Certain important features of his Christology flow
logically from it, and can only be appreciated in the light of it.
First, as a result of its fusion with the Word, he regarded
Christ’s flesh as being glorified. It has become ‘divine flesh ’, or
‘the flesh of God ’.3 Christ Himself can be properly described
as ‘the heavenly man ’ because of the union in Him of flesh
with heavenly spirit.4 Doctrines like these caused Apollinarius
to be accused5 of teaching that the Lord ’s flesh was heavenly in
origin and pre-existent. His authentic doctrine, however, is
that the body was derived from the Blessed Virgin; if it is a
divine body, that is because it has never existed apart from the
Word. So he remarks,6 ‘It is plain from all we have written
that we do not say that the Saviour’s flesh has come down from
heaven, nor that His flesh is consubstantial with God, inasmuch
as it is flesh and not God; but it is God in so far as it is united
with the Godhead so as to form one Person ’.
Secondly, as a corollary of this, he affirms7 that Christ’s flesh
is a proper object of worship. The reason for this is, of course,
that it cannot be separated from the adorable Word, to Whom
» Ep. ad Dion, i, 8 (Lietz., 259).
» Timothy of Berytus, ep. ad Horn. (Lietz., 278).
J Frg. 116; 153; 160; anaceph. 29 (Lietz., 235; 248; 254; 246).
♦ Tom. syn.·, frg. 25; anaceph. 12 (Lietz., 263; 210; 243).
s E.g. Gregory of Nazianzus, ep. 101,6; Gregory of Nyssa, antirrh. 1 v τ <·
6 Frg. 164: cf. ad Ιον. 3 (Lietz., 262; 253). 51 5 ’
i Frg. 85; de fid. et incam. 6; ad loo. 3 (Lietz., 225; 197; 253).
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 295

it belongs and in Whose divine qualities it consequently shares.1

Thirdly, like all Alexandrian thinkers; he accepts and exploits
the communicatio idiomatum, stating 2 that ‘ the flesh of the Lord,
while remaining flesh even in the union (its nature being
neither changed nor lost) shares in the names and properties of
the Word; and the Word, while remaining Word and God, in
the incarnation shares in the names and properties of the
flesh ’. As employed by Apollinarius, however, this is not
merely an external interchange of words and titles made pos­
sible by the fact that only one Person is subject. As the fact that
worship may be offered to the flesh reveals, it involves a real
exchange of attributes since both flesh and Word, while re ­
maining distinct, are conceived of as being fused in ‘ one nature ’.
Lastly, inasmuch as the flesh actually participates in the pro ­
perties of the Word, Apollinarius draws the inference that the
divine nature is imparted to the faithful when they consume
the Lord ’s body at the eucharist. ‘The holy flesh ’, he remarks,3
‘is one nature {συμφυής ) with the Godhead, and infuses
divinity into those who partake of it’; and as a result ‘we are
saved by partaking of it as food ’.4 In other words, the believer
is deified by assimilating the deified flesh of the Redeemer,
and so Apollinarius ’s Christology is logically linked with his
soteriology.

5. The Orthodox Reaction

The brilliance and thoroughgoing logic of Apollinarius’s
synthesis arc undeniable. Nevertheless certain of its features
were bound to arouse disquiet. At first there seems to have been
a natural reluctance, partly in view of the respect and affection
in which he was personally held, to embark on controversy. In
the early seventies, however, churchmen were becoming alive
to the implications of his position, and in 377 the storm broke.
In that year a council held at Rome under Pope Damasus
condemned him. Its sentence was confirmed by synods at

’ Frg. 9 (Lietz., 206 f.).

2 C l Timothy of Berytus, cp. ad Hom. (Lietz., 278).
3 Frg. 155 (Lietz., 249). * Frg. 116 (Lietz., 235).
296 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Alexandria and Antioch in 378 and 379 respectively, and by the

council of Constantinople in 381. The Cappadocian fathers, led
by Basil, had marshalled the ease against Apollinarianism,and by
a series of decrees issued in 383, 384 and 388 Theodosius brought
it under the censure of the State and outlawed its adherents.
The chief objections advanced against Apollinarianisin may
be shortly summarized. One of the most damaging and lasting,
based on the divinization of Christ’s flesh which Apollinarius
taught, was that it was virtually docetic, implying that the
Saviour was not a real man but only ‘appeared as a man ’.1 The
libellous, but none the less effective, suggestion that He had
brought His flesh from heaven was, as we have seen, a mis­
representation which was closely connected with this. Secondly,
the underlying assumptions of the whole theory were queried.
Was it necessarily the case, it was asked,2 that two complete
entities, divinity and humanity, could not coalesce so as to form
a real unity? Or that the coexistence of two distinct volitional
principles in one individual was inconceivable?3 Or that the
presence of human free-will in the God-man must have resulted
in His being sinful?4 Thirdly, if it is assumed that Christ lacked
the most characteristic element in man ’s make-up, a rational
mind and will, His alleged manhood was not in the strict sense
human, but must have been something monstrous;5 it is absurd
to call Him a man at all, since He was not a man according to
the accepted definition.6 Fourthly, the rejection of a normal
human psychology clashes with the Gospel picture of a Saviour
Who developed, exhibited signs of ignorance, suffered and
underwent all sorts of human experiences.7 Lastly (this was the
most important, most frequently recurring argument), for all
its concern for sotcriology, the Apollinarian Christology, in the
opinion of its critics, failed to meet the essential conditions of re­
demption. It was man ’s rational soul, with its power of choice,
which was the scat of sin; and if the Word did not unite such
a soul with Himself, the salvation of mankind could not have
« Ps. Athanasius, c. Apoll. 2, 4. a Gregory Nyss., antirrh. 39
3 lb. 45. * Ps. Athanasius, r. Jpo//. i, I5: c £ jb I9
3 Gregory Nyss., antirrh. 29; 45. 6 lb. 23; 33.
’ E.g, ib. 24; 26; 34; Ps. Athanasius, c. Apoll. 1,4 F.
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 297

been achieved. In a famous phrase 1 of Gregory Nazianzen,

‘What has not been assumed cannot be restored; it is what is
united with God that is saved ’. It was Adam ’s νους , he recalled,2
which originally violated the commandment, so that it became
imperative that the Redeemer should possess one too. Accord­
ing to Gregory of Nyssa,3 ‘ By becoming exactly what we are,
He united the human race through Himself to God ’; while
according to an unknown critic4, He used His incorruptible
body to save men ’s corruptible bodies, His immortal soul to
save souls doomed to death. It was necessary for Him to have
both, for ‘it was impossible for Him to give one in exchange
for the other; and so He gave His body for men ’s bodies, and
His soul for men ’s souls ’. As the new Adam enabling us to
participate in His divinity, Christ necessarily possessed human
nature in its completeness.5
Opposition to Apollinarianism obliged churchmen to ponder
the Christological problem. We may select the two Gregories
as instructive examples. Gregory of Nazianzus teaches6 that the
Logos ‘comes to His own image, and bears flesh for the sake of
my flesh, and conjoins Himself with an intelligent soul for my
soul’s sake, cleansing like by like, and in all points, sin excepted,
becomes man ’. Thus there are ‘two natures (δυο φύσ€ΐς ) con ­
curring in unity ’ in the God-man,and He is ‘twofold ’ (διπλού?),
‘not two, but one from two ’; and of course there are not ‘two
Sons’.7 His two natures are distinguishable in thought,8 and
can be referred to as ‘the one ’ (άλλο) and ‘the other’ (άλλο),
but there are not two Persons (άλλο? καί άλλο?); rather, ‘they
both form a unity (ev) by their commingling, God having
become man and man God ’.9 So far from conceiving of this
union as a moral one, or as a union of ‘ grace ’ like that between
God and His prophets and saints, Gregory states10 that the two
natures ‘have been substantially (κατ’ ουσίαν) conjoined and
knit together’. To explain this union he propounds” the theory,

* Ep. 101, 7. 3 lb. 101, 11: cf. or. 30, 21.

J C. Eunoin. 12 (PG 45, 889). 4 C. Apoll. I, 17.
5 Gregory Naz., or. 30, 5 f. 6 Or. 38, 13. 7 ib. 37 , 2.
8 lb. 30, 8. 9 Ep. 101, 4. «ο Ep. 101, 5.
“ Ep. 101, 10: cf. or. 38, 13.
E.C.D.— 10 a
 298 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

reminiscent of Origen ’s,1 that the Lord ’s rational soul provides

a inecting-place for them; because of His natural affinity to the
soul, the Word can ‘mingle’ with it. We notice his predilection
for terms like ‘fusion ’ or ‘mixture ’ which later generations
were to eschew as savouring of Eutychianism. His conception
of the union, however, permitted him to exploit the com ­
municatio idiomatum to the full, and to speak,2 for example, of
the birth of God from the Virgin and of ‘ God crucified’, as well
as to insist3 on the propriety of calling Mary ‘the mother of
God ’ (Θεοτόκος ). A marked weakness of his theory, however,
was its failure, despite its recognition of a human mind in
Christ, to make adequate use of it in understanding such experi­
ences as His growth in knowledge, His ignorance of the last
day, His agony in Gethsemane and His cry of dereliction. The
first he interpreted 4 as the gradual disclosure of the omniscience
of the Logos, while in explanation of the second he suggested5
either that Christ as man posed as being ignorant or that, strictly
speaking, the Son could be said to be ignorant since He derived
His knowledge from the Father. The other experiences he
explained away,6 clearly regarding the Logos and not the
human mind as their subject.
The Saviour’s human experiences received a much more
realistic treatment from Gregory of Nyssa, whose Christology
owed much both to Origen and to the Antiochene school. In
contrast to Nazianzen, who thought of divinity and humanity
as substantially united in the God-man, he conceived of the
Godhead entering into and controlling the manhood, so that
Jesus could be called 7 ‘the God-receiving man ’ (θεοδόχος
άνθρωπος ), ‘the man in whom He tabernacled ’. According to
I
his account,8 the Holy Spirit at the incarnation first prepared
the human body and soul as a special receptacle (οίκεΐον σκεΰος )
for the divinity, and the heavenly Son then ‘ mingled Himself’
with them, the divine nature thereby becoming ‘present in
* See above, p. 155. 1 Cann. dogm. 10, 49; or. 45, 20
» Ep. 101, 4. 4 Or. 43, 38.
5 Ib. 30, 15 f. 6 Ib. 30, 12; 30, 5.
7 In cant. hom. 13; c. Eunom. 5 (PG 44, 1056; 45, 700).
14 Antirrh. 9; 55; in Chr. res. or. 1 (PG 46, 616).
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 299

them both ’. Thus ‘God came to be in human nature ’, but the

manner of the union is as mysterious and inexplicable as the
union between body and soul in man.1 In this ‘mingling ’
[άνάκρασις was his favourite term) the flesh was the passive, the
Logos the active, clement,2 and a transformation (cf. μ€τα-
στοιχ€ΐοΰρ; μίταπ^ττοιήσθαι) of the human nature into the
divine was initiated. In the historical Jesus, however, the char­
acteristics of the two natures remained distinguishable.3 Con ­
sequently, when Christ endured suffering or other human
experiences, it was not His divinity which endured them, but
‘the man attached by the union to the divinity ’; they belonged
‘to the human part of Christ’.4 The Godhead, being impassible,
remained unaffected, although through its concrete oneness
with the humanity it indirectly participated in its limitations
and weaknesses. In the same way Gregory could recognize5 in
Christ a real human will distinct from, and on occasion con ­
trary to, His divine will, although the divine will always
prevailed. Similarly he took 6 the meaning of Luke 2, 52 to be
that Christ’s human soul, through its union with the divine
Wisdom, itself gradually developed in wisdom and knowledge,
in much the same way as His body grew as a result of the
nourishment it consumed from day to day.
Gregory of Nyssa thus tended to hold the two natures apart,
regarding the Logos as the active principle and the manhood as
the passive one, and strongly emphasizing the independent
character of the latter. Yet the union between them, effected at
Christ’s conception, was, on his view,7 unbreakable, designed
to last for ever. The God-man was ‘one Person ’ (ev ττρόσ-
ωπον 8); and because of the close conjunction and fusion (διά την
συνάφζίάν re και συμφυίαν') between the Lord and * the servant
in whom the Lord is ’, the attributes and experiences properly
belonging to the one could correctly be ascribed to the other.9

1 Or. cat. il. 3 C. Eunom. 5; 6 (PG 45, 705; 713); antirrh. 40.
» C. Eunom. 6 (PG 45, 712).
« Antirrh. 21; 24; c. Eunom. 6 (PG 45, 7U)·
’ Antirrh. 32: cf. in Chr. res. or. 1 (PG 46, 616).
6 Antirrh. 28. Or. cat. 16.
e C. Eunom. 5 (PG 45, 697). 9 lb. 5 (PG 45, 705).
300 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Even so, when Gregory called 1 the Virgin ‘Theotokos’,

he seems to have been making a concession to popular
usage, and the customary language of the communicatio idio-
matum about God ’s suffering, dying, etc., clearly did not come
naturally to his lips. On the other hand, if he allows full play
to the human nature during Christ’s earthly life, the situation
changes with His resurrection and glorification. Then begins
‘the transformation of the lowly into the lofty ’.2 The im ­
material essence of the Logos ‘ transelemcnts ’ the material body
born of the Virgin into the divine, immutable nature;3 the
flesh which suffered becomes then, as a result of the union,
identical with the nature which assumed it.4 Like a drop of
vinegar which falls into the sea and is wholly absorbed, the
humanity loses all its proper qualities and is changed into
divinity, s
We may glance briefly at some features in the Christologies of
leading contemporary teachers. In the first place, most of them
were agreed that Christ possessed two natures, and that His
humanity in particular was complete and unmutilated. Accord ­
ing to Amphilochius,6 for example, His divinity was con ­
substantial with the Father and His humanity with us, and the
latter included freedom of will. He had a human mind,
stated 7 Epiphanius, which, while not a hypostasis on its own,
was distinct from the hypostasis of His divinity. Secondly, they
saw in His possession of a complete humanity the explanation
of His physical limitations and weaknesses, sufferings, etc. He
accepted, Didymus affirmed,8 ‘all the consequences of the in ­
carnation’, at any rate so far as His body and the affective part
of His soul were concerned.9 Thirdly, however, despite their
recognition of a human mind in Christ, most of them were
nonplussed by the ignorance attributed to Him in the Gospels.
Basil s attitude was typical; he refused 10 to admit that He could
in fact have been ignorant, and explained M k. 13, 32 as meaning,
1 Cf. ep. 3 (PG 46, 1024). 2 C. Eunont. 5 (PG 45, 697).
1 Antirrh. 25: cf. ib. 53. * C. Eunom. 5 (PG 45, 693).
5 Antirrh. 42. 6 Frg. 22; 16.
7 Haer. ηη, 33; expos, fid. 15. 8 De trin. 3, 21 (PG 39, 901).
» E.g. Basil., ep. 261, 3. 10 Ep. 236, i f.
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 301

not that the Son did not really know ‘that day or that hour’,
but that, although He possessed the knowledge, He derived it
from the Father. Didymus similarly hinted ’ that the Lord put
on a deliberate pose of ignorance. Fourthly, there was general
agreement that at the incarnation neither of the natures was
changed into the other. So Amphilochius claimed 2 that, even
after the resurrection, ‘Jesus Christ preserves without confusion
the distinctive character (ιδιότητα) of His diverse natures’; and
both he 3 and Didymus4 made use of the adverbs άτρέπτως
(‘without change ’) and άσυγχυτως (‘without confusion ’),
which later orthodoxy was to consecrate as safeguarding this
truth. Lastly, there was a ready acknowledgement that the
Incarnate was one Person. ‘The twin natures’, stated 5 Amphi­
lochius, ‘coalesce in one prosopon.’ It is true that the fact that
the seat of this unity was the hypostasis of the Word was not
freely and openly admitted, although we find a hint of it in
Epiphanius ’s suggestion 6 that Christ’s human mind had no
hypostasis of its own but was hypostatized in the Word.
Nevertheless, because of the unity of the God-man, the com ­
municatio idiomatum was a commonplace with these writers.
Epiphanius, for example, while insistent that the Lord’s divinity
was in no way affected by His sufferings, argued 7 that they
could nevertheless be predicated of it, just as there is sense in
attributing to the wearer of a blood-stained garment the stains
which in fact do not sully his body at all.

6. The Antiochene Christology

While alive to the dangers of Apollinarianism, the theo ­
logians discussed in the last section worked for the most part
within the same ‘Word-flesh’ framework of ideas and (Grego ry
of Nyssa perhaps excepted) had little positive contribution to
make to the solution of the Christological problem. What was
called for, if dogma was to renew contact with the Gospel

» De trin. 3, 22 (PG 39, 920). » Frg. 9. 3 Frg. 15.

4 De trin. 2, 8; 3, 6 (PG 39, 589; 844). s Frg. 15.
6 Expos, fid. 15: cf. haer. 77, 33. 1 Ancor. 92, 2 f.; haer. 77, 33.
302 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

revelation, was a thoroughly realistic acknowledgement of the

human life and experiences of the Incarnate and of the theo ­
logical significance of His human soul. It was the achievement
of the Antiochene School, in the last decades of the fourth and
first half of the fifth centuries, to supply this. Whatever the
defects of its own doctrine as sometimes expounded, it deserves
credit for bringing back the historical Jesus. The ‘Word-man’
Christology of Eustathius of Antioch has already been noticed.
After his deposition c. 330 his supporters grouped themselves
around the priest Paulinus, loyally maintaining his teaching,
and succeeded at Alexandria in 362 in carrying the point,
although in what we have seen was an ambiguous formula,
that the Lord ’s humanity must have included an animating
principle and a normal human mind. The decisive impulses,
however, towards what is conventionally called the Antiochene
Christology seem to have come from thinkers connected with
the anti-Paulinian party of bishop Mcletius of Antioch. We
have now to consider briefly the two most famous of these,
both great exegetes as well as bishops, Diodore of Tarsus
(j· c. 394) and Theodore of Mopsucstia (f 428).
Although branded as a Nestorian by a synod held at Con ­
stantinople in 499, Diodore was reckoned a pillar of orthodoxy
in his own day. When Julian the Apostate was residing at
Antioch in 362-3, he stoutly defended the full divinity of ‘the
Galilacan’ against the emperor’s sceptical jibes, and Theodosius
eulogized him as a champion of the faith in his decree ratifying
the decisions of the council of Constantinople of 381. The
sparseness of the surviving fragments1 of his writings, and the
uncertainty of the provenance of some of them, make it
difficult to reconstruct his Christology with precision. One
surprising fact which they reveal is that, despite its ‘Antiochene’
pattern and tendency, it did not conform to the ‘Word-man ’
type, and in fact started from and remained marked by ‘ Word ­
flesh ’ presuppositions. This ‘Alexandrian ’ strain is brought out
by such facts2 as (a) that, wliilc recognizing the existence of a
‘ Collected by R. Abramowski, Z.N .T.W . 42 (1949), and by M Briere
Revue de l ’orient chrétien 10 (30), 1946. 1 E.g. frg. 36; 16; 39 (Briere).
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 303

human soul in Christ, Diodore assigned it no practical role in

His growth in wisdom (Lk. 2, 52) or in His descent to hell, and
(b) that he regularly contrasted ‘the Word ’ and ‘the flesh ’
(not ‘the man ’) in the God-man. In harmony with this his
polemic against Apollinarianism seems to have been aimed less
at its mutilation of the Lord ’s humanity than at its monophysite
tendency. In particular, the proposition that the Incarnate was a
single hypostasis aroused his criticism.’ The divinity, he argued,
must be compromised if the Word and the flesh form a sub ­
stantial unity analogous to that formed by body and soul in
man. In reaction to this his own theory strove to hold them
apart, and thus he was led to distinguish2 the Son of God and
the son of David. Scripture, he pleaded,3 draws a sharp line of
demarcation between the activities of the ‘two Sons’. The
union was not the result of any fusion (‘mixture’) of the Word
with the flesh; if it had been, why should those who blaspheme
against the Son of Man receive forgiveness, while those who
blaspheme against the Spirit do not?4 Rather it came about
through the Word dwelling in the flesh as in a temple.5 The
relationship, though similar in kind, differed from that of God
with His prophets, for whereas they enjoyed the fragmentary,
very occasional inspiration of the Spirit, the son of David was
permanently and completly filled with the glory and wisdom
of the Word.6 Yet both were united in worship, since the son
of David shared in the devotion offered to the Son of God,
just as the purple robe of the monarch can be said to share in the
reverence paid to his person.
If we depend on fragments for our knowledge of Diodore,
we have much richer and fuller materials available for under­
standing the thought of his pupil Theodore. Some of these (e.g.
the fragments of his De incarnatione) consist of collections of
extracts from his writings deliberately compiled in order to
discredit him at the Fifth General Council (553), and con ­
sequently must be treated with caution, though not necessarily

1 Frg. 26 (Brièrc). 2 E.g. frg. 42 (Abram.).

3 Frg. 19: cf. frg. 42 (Abram.). ♦ Frg. 20 (Abram.).
s Frg. 20; 35 (Abram.). 6 Frg. 35; 38 (Abram.).
304 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

with the extreme scepticism which has become fashionable in

some quarters. Unlike Diodore, Theodore made opposition to
the Alexandrian truncation of Christ’s humanity his starting-
point, fastening particularly on the Arian and Apollinarian
versions of it. Thus he repeats1 the familiar plea that, since sin
originates in acts of will, Christ must of necessity have assumed
a human soul. But he carries his criticism of the Word-flesh
Christology much deeper than any of the theologians studied
so far. The premiss of that theory in its developed form had
been that the Word was the unique directive principle in Christ,
being His rationality and also the vital force animating His
whole physical structure. Theodore undermines this by point­
ing out2 that, if it were true, the Lord ’s humanity must have
been immune from all the weaknesses and defects (e.g. hunger,
thirst, weariness) of human nature, since these are not intrinsic
to it but spring from the imperfections of the soul normally
presiding over it. He concludes,3 agreeably with the Aristotelian
anthropology 4 favoured by the Antiochenes, that ‘He took not
only a body but a complete man, composed of a body and an
immortal soul’. Thus the Lord ’s created soul had real signifi­
cance in his eyes; it was the principle of life and activity in Him,
and equally of the saving acts which secure our redemption.
He was aware, of course, of the Apollinarian argument that
the soul is naturally sinful, but cited 5 1 Tim. 3, 16 (‘He was
justified in the Spirit’) and Hebr. 9, 14 (‘Who in the Spirit
offered Himself without spot to God ’) as demonstrating
that divine grace kept Christ’s mind and will immune from
sin.
Positively considered, Theodore ’s Christology conforms to
the ‘Word-man ’ scheme. He presupposes a human nature
which is complete and independent, which undergoes real
growth in knowledge and the discernment of good and evil as
well as in physical development,6 and which has to struggle
with temptation.7 He dwells at length on the details of the
« Ho in. cat. 5, 10-14. ’ Ib. 5, 9. J Ib. 5, 19.
4 See above, p. 12. * Ib. 5, 19.
6 De incam. 7 (in H. B. Swetc, Theodore of M ops, on the M inor Eoistles nt
S. Paul, 2, 297 f.). 7 Ib. 15 (Swete, 311). J
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 305

Lord ’s earthly career.1 It is characteristic of him to describe2 the

humanity as ‘the man assumed ’, and occasionally his language3
seems almost to suggest that the Word adopted a human being
who was already in existence. A typical sentence runs,4 ‘Let us
apply our minds to the distinction of natures; He Who assumed
is God and only-begotten Son, but the form of a slave, he who
was assumed, is man ’. He thus gives the impression of pre ­
supposing a real duality. Yet he dismisses5 Diodore’s theory of
two Sons as ‘naive ’, arguing that ‘the distinction of natures
docs not prevent their being one ’. How then does he conceive
of the union between the homo assumptus and the Word Who
assumed him? The metaphor of indwelling (ενοίκησι?) pro ­
vides him with his most satisfying explanation. ‘ He applies the
term “ garment” ’, he remarks6 on Ps. 45, 8, ‘to His body,
which was wrapped about Him, the divinity being within in
virtue of His indwelling ’. Again, he teaches7 that the human
nature is, as it were, a temple or shrine in which the Godhead
dwells, finding authority for this line of thought in the Lord ’s
identification of His body with the Temple in John 2, 19. If we
can rely on a passage8 preserved by his critics, he found it
difficult to allow that the Word pervaded the humanity either
substantially (κατ’ ουσίαν) or by direct activity (κατ’ cWpyetav),
since the Godhead is necessarily present everywhere in both these
ways, whereas the presence of the Word in the homo assumptus
must presumably be special. His conclusion is that the union is
κατ’ ευδοκίαν, i.e. by favour or grace. Yet he clearly envisages
it as somehow superior to the moral union which exists between
God and an inspired man, for he states9 that it is permanent and
(commenting on ‘He became man ’) emphasizes10 that ‘It was
not by a simple act of providence that He lowered Himself, nor
by the bestowal of powerful help, as He has done so often and
still docs. Rather it was our very nature that He assumed, clothed
Himself with and dwelt in. . . . With it He united Himself.’

’ Hom. cat. passim. 2 E.g. ib. 8, 5; in ps. 2, 6 (D c v t c c s s c , 11).

J E.g. hom. cat. 16, 2 (‘one from among us ’). 4 Ib. 8, 13.
5 Ib. 8, 14: cf. de incam. 12 (Swcte, 303).
6 In ps. 44, 9 (Dcvrecssc, 11). ’ Hom. cat. 8, 5.
8 De incarn. 7 (Swctc, 193 f.). 9 Hom. cat. 8, 7. 10 Ib. 7, 1.
 306 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Thus the God-man is a unity, and Theodore points out1 that,

although St Paul (Rotn. 9, 5) might properly have said of
Christ ‘in Whom God is over all’, he preferred to apply the
formula ‘ Who is God over all ’ to Him ‘ by reason of the perfect
conjunction of the two natures’. He draws attention 2 to the fact
that, while Scripture distinguishes the natures, it at the same
time stresses the unity between them in such a way as to
attribute ‘as to one ’ what properly belongs cither to the
humanity or the divinity. ‘The Son is unique’, he affirms,3
‘because of the perfect conjunction of natures operated by the
divine will.’ Again,4 ‘we point to difference of natures, but to
unity of Person ’; and,5 ‘the two natures are, through their
connexion, apprehended to be one reality ’ (unutn . . . quiddam
connexione intelliguntur). Theodore’s doctrine is therefore that
a single Person (πρόσωπον) results from the coming together
of the Word and the humanity, or more precisely that ‘the
natures have in virtue of the union brought about (άπετβλεσαν)
one prosopon'. 6 As some fragments7 preserved by Facundus
of Hermiane express it, ‘one Person has been effected’ by the
union. The Syriac translation, it should be noticed, of an im ­
portant fragment8 represents him as saying that the two
natures, distinct in their hypostases if considered separately, ‘arc
one prosopon and hypostasis’ as a result of the conjunction; but
in view (a) of the fact that the same fragment as quoted by
Leontius9 simply says, ‘When we look to the connexion, we say
there is then one prosopon', and (b) of the fact that the formula
‘one prosopon and one hypostasis’ is unparalleled elsewhere in
Theodore’s writings and has no support in his general teaching
I and usage, we arc bound to regard the Syriac version with
considerable suspicion. His true teaching, it would seem, is that
the Incarnate is ‘one prosopon', and by this he means that He is
the ‘one subject’ Who can be addressed now as God and now
as man. This comes out in the fact that, while he was constantly
alert to distinguish in his exegesis between the two natures, he
1 Hom. cat. 5, 7. 1 Ib. 8, 10 f. J Ib. 3, 10.
♦ De incarn. 11 (Swctc, 302). 5 Frg. in cp. ad Rom. (PL 67, 601).
6 De incarn. 8 (Swctc, 299). 7 PL 67, 587; 753 : cf. horn. cat. 3, 10; 6, 3.
8 De incarn. 8, 62 (Sachau, 69). 9 Cf. Swctc, 299.
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 307

was also aware that Scripture spoke of the two natures to ­

gether. The Bible, as he points out, predicates what belongs
both to the divinity and to the humanity ‘as of one alone ’; 1
it applies different titles to Christ ‘as to a single prosopon'.2 So
prosopon in his vocabulary connoted ‘Person ’ in the fullest sense
of the word. The God-man, he declares, is one prosopon, and he
nowhere speaks of there being two prosopa before, or in
abstraction from, the union of the natures. Such a doctrine has
been attributed to him, but on the basis of texts which have
been tampered with by his later detractors.
This brings us to the central problem of Theodore ’s Christo ­
logy. Cyril of Alexandria singled him out for attack, and ever
since the Fifth General Council (Constantinople) in 553 he has
been branded as a Nestorian before Nestorius, i.e. as guilty of
the heresy of concentrating to such an extent on the complete­
ness and independence of ‘the man ’ and the Word as to have
lost sight of the unity of the Person. In modern times, especially
since the rediscovery of the relatively innocuous Catechetical
Homilies, there has been a decided reaction against this verdict.
It has been emphasized, for example, that he was deeply con ­
cerned, so far as his categories of thought allowed, to establish
the oneness of subject in the God-man. Some of the evidence
for this has been set out in the preceding paragraph. Further,
attention has been drawn to the fact that certain of the formulae
he employed strikingly anticipated those canonized at Chalce ­
don. He can write,3 for example, ‘Thus there results neither any
confusion of the natures nor any untenable division of the
Person; for our account of the natures must remain unconfused,
and the Person must be recognized as indivisible ’; and again,
‘We display a distinction of natures, but unity of Person ’. For
these and similar reasons the traditional estimate has been re­
placed by a more appreciative one which views him primarily
as a theologian who championed the reality of the Lord ’s man ­
hood against Apollinarianism and strove to do justice to His
human experiences. At the very worst he was only a Nestorian

1 Hom. cat. 6, 6; 8, 10; 8, 11 f. 2 Ib. 3, 10.

’ De incarn. 5; 11 (Swctc, 292; 302).
308 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

in the sense that there were certain tendencies in his Christo-

logical thinking which, harmless enough in themselves and in
their context, lent themselves to dangerous exploitation at the
hands of his less cautious disciples.
This reaction has on the whole been healthy; Theodore was
no Nestorian, and the doctrine of ‘two Sons’ repelled him.
Nevertheless the desire to be fair to him, and to give due re­
cognition to his undoubted excellences, should not blind one
to the weaknesses of his position. In the first place, even his
most benevolent critic must admit that there were dangers in
his habitual use of the contrast between the Word and ‘the
man ’, the God and His shrine, the ‘assumer’ and the ‘assumed ’,
Him Who indwells, or puts on, and him who is indwelt, or put
on. These dangers are glaringly illustrated by the way in which
he represents1 the man Jesus as thanking the Father for counting
him worthy of adoption, or discoursing with the Word as if
they were separate Persons. Secondly, for all his insistence on
the unity of the natures, his conception of it as a ‘conjunction ’
(συνάφεια) rather than a ‘union ’ (ένωσές ·) was ultimately
unsatisfactory. It is not really surprising to discover that he
sometimes thought2 of the Holy Spirit as the medium of this
conjunction, thereby veering perilously close to adoptionism.
Thirdly, it is apparent that, while he was alive to the necessity
of a unique subject in the God-man and regularly spoke of ‘one
prosop on', he had not clearly worked out all the implications
of this. On his theory the Godhead and the manhood were
juxtaposed, finding their unity in a ‘common Person ’. Thus he
could say 3 that ‘when our Lord spoke of His humanity and of
His divinity, He applied the pronoun “ I ” to the common
Person ’. This ‘common Person ’, however, docs not seem,
strictly speaking, to be the Person of the Word, but rather the
product of the conjunction of the man with the Word. What
was lacking to his thought, as indeed to the Antiochene
theology generally at this time, was a clearly worked out meta­
physic of personality; in particular, the difference between
1 Comm, in loh. 17, 10; 10, 15 (Vostc, 224; 145).
1 Ib. 16, 14; 17. « (Vosté, 212; 226). 3 Ib. 8, 16 (Vosté, 119).
 FOURTH-CENTURY CHRISTOLOGY 309

‘nature ’ and ‘ Person ’ had not been properly appreciated. When

all is said and done, however, it would be anachronistic to label
Theodore a heretic on these grounds, for it was precisely
towards the apprehension of this distinction that Christology
in this epoch was feeling its way, and it would be unfair to
expect him to provide definitive solutions which the Alex ­
andrian school itself was still unable to furnish.

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. J. A. Dorner, History of the Development of the Doctrine of the

Person of Christ (Eng. trans., Edinburgh, 1878); A. Grillmeier, ‘Die
theologische und sprachlichc Vorbcrcitung der christologischen Formel
von Chalkcdon ’ (art. in Das Konzil von Chalkedon I, Wiirzburg, 1951);
F. Loofs, ‘Christologie’ (art. in Hauck ’s Realencyk.)·, A. Michel, ‘In ­
carnation ’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.)\ R. L. Otdcy, The Doctrine of the
Incarnation (London, 1896); G. L. Prestige, Fathers and Heretics (London,
1940); R. V. Sellers, Two Ancient Christologies (London, 1940); E.
Wcigl, Die Christologie vom Tode des Athanasius his znm Ausbruch des
nestorianischen Streites (Munich, 1925).
Special. É. Amann, ‘Théodore de Mopsueste’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.);
P.T. Camclot, ‘De Ncstorius à Eutychès’ (art. in Das Konzil von Chalke­
don I); R. Dcvrccsse, Essai sur Theodore de Mopsueste (Vatican City,
1948); V. Ermoni, ‘Diodore de Tarse et son rôle doctrinal’ (art. in
Le M uséon, NS 2, 1901); A. Michel, ‘Hypostase ’ (art. in Diet. Théol.
Cath.); J. Montalvcrnc, Theodoreti Cyrensis doctrina antiquior de Verbo
'inhumanato' (Rome, 1948); C. E. Raven, Apollinarianism (Cambridge,
1923); M. Richard, ‘Saint Athanasc et la psychologie du Christ selon
les Ariens ’ (art. in Mélanges de sc. relig. 4, 1947); ‘Hypostase ’ (arts, in
Mélanges de sc. relig. 2, 1945); H. de Riedmattcn, ‘Some Neglected
Aspects of Apollinarist Christology ’ (art. in Dominican Studies 1, 1948);
‘La Christologie d ’Apollinaire de Laodicéc’ (essay m Studia Patristica,
Vol. II, Texte und Untcrsuchungcn LXIV); R. V. Sellers, Eustathius of
Antioch (Cambridge, 1928); F. A. Sullivan, The Christology of Theodore
of Mopsuestia (Rome, 1956); F. Zocpfl, ‘Die trinitarischen and christo-
logischcn Anschauungcn des Bischofs Eustathius’ (art. in Theologische
Quartalschrift, 104, 1923).
 C H A PTER X II

THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT

I. Nestorianism

W e have now reached the decisive period for Christology, viz.

the short span between the outbreak of the Nestorian contro ­
versy in 428 and the council of Chalcedon in 451. We have
studied the emergence and development of two main types of
Christology in the fourth century: the so-called ‘Word-flesh’
type, with its concentration on the Word as the subject in
the God-man and its lack of interest in the human soul, and the
‘Word-man ’ type, alive to the reality and completeness of the
humanity, but more hesitant about the position of the Word as
the metaphysical subject. Each had its strong points, but also its
counter-balancing defects, and it must have been obvious that,
if a solution was to be found, they would both have to make
their contribution. As things turned out, it was their head-on
collision in these critical decades which precipitated the required
synthesis. In a book like this there is only space to plot the
salient features in the acrimonious debate. The reader should
be warned, however, that at no phase in the evolution of the
Church ’s theology have the fundamental issues been so mixed
up with in the clash of politics and personalities. For this reason,
if he desires to appreciate the doctrinal evolution, he should
equip himself with at least an outline account of the historical
situation.
It is first of all necessary to describe the teaching of Nestorius,
who was enthroned as patriarch of Constantinople on 10 April
428. He was an Antiochene in Christology, deeply influenced
by the ideas of Theodore of Mopsuestia, and it was his mala ­
droit, crudely expressed exposition of the implications of the
Antiochene position that set the spark to the controversy.
31°
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 311

Quite early in his reign, it would appear, he was called upon 1 to

pronounce on the suitability of Θεοτόκος (‘God-bearing ’) as a
title of the Blessed Virgin, and ruled 2 that it was of doubtful
propriety unless άνθρωποτόκος ( man-bearing ) was added to
balance it. In any case, he held, χρι,στοτόκος (‘Christ-bearing’)
was preferable as begging no questions. The disputed title, we
recall, was widely accepted in the Alexandrian school; it fol­
lowed from the communicatio idiomatum, and expressed the truth
that, since His Person was constituted by the Word, the In ­
carnate was appropriately designated God. Even Antiochene
theologians like Theodore3 had admitted it with the same
qualifications as Nestorius prescribed. But in delivering himself
on the subject Nestorius used intemperate language which was
calculated to inflame people whose approach differed from his
own. God cannot have a mother, he argued,4 and no creature
could have engendered the Godhead; Mary bore a man, the
vehicle of divinity but not God. The Godhead cannot have
been carried for nine months in a woman ’s womb, or have been
wrapped in baby-clothes, or have suffered, died and been
buried.5 Behind the description of Mary as Theotokos, he pro ­
fessed 6 to detect the Arian tenet that the Son was a creature,
or the Apollinarian idea that the manhood was incomplete.
The provocative flavour of these outbursts is apparent. They
played into the hands of Nestorius ’s bitter rival, Cyril of
Alexandria, who claimed 7 to see in them a revival of the theory,
rejected in the fourth century, of two Sons linked by a purely
moral union. By exploiting this interpretation he was able, as
we shall sec, to secure their author’s condemnation and down ­
fall. Others (e.g. Eusebius, later bishop of Dorylaeum), alarmed
by the assertion that Mary bore a mere man, jumped to the
conclusion 8 that Nestorius was restoring the adoptionism of Paul
of Samosata. On the basis of these judgments the traditional
picture of Nestorianism as the heresy which split the God-man

’ Ep. ad loh. Antioch. (F. Loofs, Nestoriana, 185).

2 E.g. ep. ad Caelest. 1; 3; ad schol. eunuch. (Loofs, 167; 181 f.; 191).
3 CL de incarn. 1$ (Swcte, 310). « Serin. 1 (Loofs, 252).
5 Nulla deterior (Loofs, 245 f.). * Loofs, 273.
7 E.g. epp. 3; 10. » Cf. A.C.O. I, 1, 1 (p. 101 f.).
312 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

into two distinct Persons rapidly formed itself. Nestorius him ­

self indignantly repudiated 1 this account of his teaching, and
in recent times the whole question what in fact it amounted
to has been opened up afresh. The discovery early this century
of the Book of Heracleides, a prolix apologia which he wrote
some twenty years after the main controversy and in which he
avowed 2 himself satisfied with the Christology of Leo canonized
at Chalcedon, has seemed to make a reassessment necessary.
Modern students are sharply divided, some regarding him as
essentially orthodox but the victim of ecclesiastical politics,
others concurring in differing degrees in the traditional ver­
dict. In attempting to reconstruct his views it seems fair to use
the Book of Heracleides, for while he may have expressed him ­
self more temperately in it, there is no reason to suspect that
he had altered his fundamental position.
His guiding principles are at any rate clear. A thorough ­
going Antiochene, he insisted that the two natures of the in ­
carnate Christ remained unaltered and distinct in the union. ‘I
hold the natures apart (χωρίζω τάς φύσει#), but unite the
worship ’ was his watchword;3 and he envisaged 4 the Godhead
as existing in ‘the man ’ and ‘the man ’ in the Godhead without
mixture or confusion. His reasons are not far to seek. First, he
was much concerned to maintain 5 that the incarnation cannot
have involved the impassible Word in any change or suffering.
On Cyril’s theory of ‘hypostatic union ’, he thought, the Word
inevitably became the subject of the God-man ’s sufferings. So
he objected to the Alexandrian habit of speaking of God being
born and dying, and Mary bearing the divine Word — expres­
sions which he considered 6 contrary to the practice of Scripture
and the creed. Secondly, he thought7 it vitally important that
Christ should have lived a genuinely human life of growth,
temptation and suffering; if the redemption was to be effected,
the second Adam must have been a real man. Yet an authentic-
1 E.g. serin. i; 2; 4 (Loots, 259; 275; 299).
2 Heracl. (ed. Nau) 514; 519. 3 E.g. sertn. 1 (Loots, 262).
♦ E.g. nulla deterior (Loots, 249). ’ Heracl. 59 f.; 133-5; etc.
6 Cyril, c. Nest. frg. 35; 40 (Loots, 278; 295-7).
7 E.g. Heracl. 132-7; 91; serin. 1 (Loots, 254 £).
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 313

ally human experience would have been impossible if the Lord ’s

humanity had been fused with, or dominated by, His divinity.
Hence the two, divinity and humanity, must have existed side
by side, each retaining its peculiar properties and operation un ­
impaired. Each was a ‘nature’ (φύσις ), a term which in his
vocabulary connoted, not simply a collection of qualities in the
abstract, but the concrete character of a thing. As he explained,1
he could not think of two natures except as each having its
prosopon (i.e. its external aspect, or form, as an individual) and
its hupostasis (i.e. concrete subsistence). By this he meant to
convey, not that each nature was an actually subsistent entity,
but that it was objectively real.
It should be observed that the Alexandrian school, as repre­
sented by Nestorius ’s antagonist Cyril, was ready to recognize
the distinction of the divinity and the humanity. Cyril, for
example, could write,2 ‘The natures which are brought to ­
gether into this true union are different, but out of the two
there is one Christ, one Son, the difference of natures not
being destroyed as a result of the union ’. His conception of the
union, however, as ‘hypostatic’, analogous to the union of soul
and body 3 (according to the Aristotelian theory favoured by
the Antiochenes, soul and body were related as form to matter),
and his description of the God-man as ‘one nature ’, could not
fail to suggest to Nestorius that confusion of natures which he
held in horror. Yet the latter’s doctrine, expressed as heexpressed
it, left the converse impression of two Persons artificially
linked together. In fact, there could be no more misleading
travesty of his teaching. He was outspoken in his criticism of
the Samosatenc heresy of two Sons, which he considered 4 in ­
compatible with the Prologue of St. John ’s Gospel. For himself
he was absolutely certain that the Incarnate was a unity, a single
prosopoti. ‘God the Word ’, he remarked,5 ‘and the man in
whom He came to be arc not numerically two; for the Person
(πρόσωπον) of both was one in dignity and honour, worshipped
by all creation, in no way and at no time divided by difference

« Heracl. 304 f; 442 f. 1 Ep. 4· 3 Cf. Heracl. 236 f.

* Ib. 67-71. 5 Frg. 198 (Loofs, 224).
314 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

of purpose or will.’ Again,1 ‘Christ is indivisible in His being

Christ, but He is twofold in His being God and man. ... We
know not two Christs or two Sons or Only-bcgottens or Lords,
not one and another Son, not a first and a second Christ, but
one and the same, Who is seen in His created and His in-
create natures.’ Statements like these recur with monotonous
regularity in his writings. They make it plain that what he was
striving to convey was the idea, not of two Persons juxtaposed
in a loose connexion, but of one Person, or prosopon, Who
combined in Himself two distinct elements, or ousiai, Godhead
and manhood, with all the characteristics proper to the Word
and a man, complete and intact though united in Him.
This unity calls for closer examination. In the first place,
Nestorius had no use, as we have seen, for the ‘natural’
(φυσική; κατά φυσι,ν) or ‘hypostatic ’ union envisaged by Cyril,
which seemed to him to extinguish the separateness of the
natures. It was all-important in his eyes that the impassibility of
‘the God ’ should be preserved, and that ‘the man ’ for his part
should retain his spontaneity and freedom of action. Hence,
though speaking on occasion of a ‘union ’ (ενωσι?), the term
he preferred was ‘conjunction’ (συνάφεια), which seemed to
avoid all suspicion of a confusion or mixing of the natures.
Cyril objected2 to it as scarcely implying a real union, but
Nestorius was careful to add such safeguarding predicates as‘per­
fect’ (άκρα 3), ‘exact’ (ακριβή?4), and ‘continuous’ (διηνεκη?5).
‘The man ’, he liked to say,6 with a pointed reference to John 2,
19, was the temple in which ‘the God ’ dwelt. Like Theodore,
he explained 7 the maimer of this indwelling as being κατ’
βύδοκίαν, i.e. by way of favour or good-pleasure, analogous
to the way in which God dwells in His saints. ‘The union of
God the Word with them (i.e. the body and human soul)’,
he wrote,8 ‘is neither "hypostatic” nor “ natural” , but
voluntary.’ By this he seems to have meant9 the drawing

« Cyril, c. Nest. frg. 49 (Loofs, 280). 1 Ep. 11 (Appendix 1).

1 E.g. ep. ad Cyhll. 2; serm. 2 (Loofs, 178; 275).
4 E.g. Cyril, c. Nest. frg. 71 (Loofs, 357). s Serm. 2 (Loofs, 275).
6 E.g. frg. 261 (Loots, 242). ’ E.g. frg. 102 (Loofs, 220).
8 Her ad. 262. 9 Ib. 81; 275; 299.
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 315

together of the divine and human by gracious condescension

on the one hand, and by love and obedience on the other. As a
result of their mutual adhesion, Christ was a single being,
with a single will and intelligence, inseparable and indivisible.1
The second point brings us to the most original feature of
Ncstorius’s Christology. His way of describing this unity was
to say that there was but one (ev, or μοναδικόν) prosopon in
the God-man, using the word in its ordinary sense of an
individual considered from the point of view of his outward
aspect or form. ‘It is Christ’, he stated,2 ‘Who is the prosopon
of union ’; and he criticized3 Cyril for beginning his analysis
with ‘the creator of the natures’, i.e. the eternal Word, instead
of with ‘the prosopon of union ’, i.e. the historical Figure of the
Gospels. The latter was his own primary datum; He was ‘the
common prosopon of the divinity and the humanity ’.4 Since
he assumed 5 that each of the natures continued to subsist in its
own prosopon as well as in the ‘prosopon of union ’, the question
arises of the relation of the latter to the former. The answer6
he seems to suggest is that the ‘ prosopon of union ’ or ‘common
prosopon' is not identical with either the prosopon of the Word
or the prosopon of the humanity, but that it results from the
coalescence, coming together or union of the two natures or
ousiai. W e do not speak ’, he wrote,7 ‘of a union of prosopa,
but of natures’ ; and again, ‘ the two natures were united by their
union in a single prosopon'. The natures, he explained,8 made
reciprocal use of their prosopa, so that ‘ the incarnation is con ­
ceived of as the mutual use of the prosopa, by taking and giving ’.
Again, he stated,9 ‘The union took place in the prosopon in
such wise that the one is the other, and the other the one ’. The
idea he was thus trying to bring out would seem to be that,
just as the Word assumed the form of a servant, manifesting
Himself as man,10 so the humanity had the form of Godhead
bestowed upon it, the result of the exchange being the unique
prosopon ofjesus Christ. Neither the Godhead was changed into
’ Ib. 202: cf. frgg. 201 f. (Loofs, 219 f-). * Ib. 212: cf. ib. 250; 307.
» Ib. 225. 4 Ib. 219: cf. ib. 250; 331; 439. s ib. 305.
6 E.g. ib. 211 f. ’ Ib. 252; 210. » Ib. 289; 307; 334; 362.
’ Ib. 331. 10 Ib. 230.
316 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

human nature, nor was the manhood deified, but each took the
form of the other. Hence the incarnate Lord is indivisibly one
in prosopon, while remaining twofold in nature.1
The corollary of this teaching was Nestorius’s special treat­
ment of the communicatio idiomatum. Strictly speaking, he con ­
tended,2 since the natures remained quite separate and neither
was identical with the ‘ prosopon of union ’, the human attributes,
actions and experiences attributed to Jesus Christ should be
predicated of the human nature, and vice versa the divine
attributes, actions and experiences should be predicated of the
divinity; but in virtue of the union both could be predicated
indifferently of the 'prosopon of the economy ’, i.e. the God-man
Who united both natures in His single prosopon. It was even
possible, he thought,3 in harmony with the usage of Scripture,
to allow a certain interchange of predicates, describing ‘the
man ’ as God, and God the Word as man, so long as it was
clearly understood that this was done όμωνύμως , i.e. as a
mere matter of words. We have already noticed the qualifica­
tion with which he hedged around the description of the
Blessed Virgin as Theotokos. He was prepared 4 to allow simple
folk to use the title, provided they did not regard the Virgin as
divine personally; his own preference was for χριστοτόκος ,
or even θεοδόχος God-receiving ’5). As regards the passion,
he stated 6 similarly that ‘God incarnate did not die, but He
raised up him in whom He became incarnate ’. But he allowed 7
that there was some sense in which the Word could properly
be said to have suffered, viz. the sense in which a monarch
suffers when, for example, his statue is dishonoured.
When we try to assess the character of Nestorius ’s teaching,
one thing which is absolutely clear is that he was not a Nestorian
in the classic sense of the word. As we have seen, the doctrine
of ‘two Sons’ was abhorrent to him, and he flung back the
charge of adoptionism by pointing out8 that no one ever saw

* Cyril, c. Nest. frg. 49 (Loofs, 281). 2 Heracl. 229-34.

J Frg. 78 (Loofs, 217 £); Heracl. 343.
* Cyril, c. Nest. frg. 43 (Loofs, 353). 5 Senn. 2 (Loofs, 276).
6 Scrm. I (Loofs, 252).
’ Cf. Severus Antioch., philalethes (Sanda, 271). e Heracl. 76.
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 317

an inspired man making use in his own prosopon of the prosopon

of God. His repeated assertion that Christ’s manhood was a
hypostasis or prosopon was not meant to imply that it was a
distinct Person, but merely that it was objectively real; and his
insistence on this latter point should count to his credit, his
motive being to do justice to the Lord ’s human experiences.
Indeed, there is no reason to question the sincerity of his
protestations that the Incarnate was a unity. When all this has
been granted, however, grave doubts must still remain whether
the special solution he propounded, viz. the idea that the unity
was to be found in the ‘common prosopon', was really adequate.
All that it in fact amounted to was the truism that Jesus Christ,
the historical Figure, was a single object of presentation, a
concrete psychological unity. The real problem, however,
especially for one who set the independence and completeness
of the natures so much in the foreground, was to explain what
constituted His Person, the metaphysical subject of His being,
and this Nestorius ’s theory hardly touched. He was reluctant
to recognize the Word as the subject, fearing that either His im ­
passibility or the reality of the human nature would be im ­
perilled, but he had no alternative to propose except his purely
external concept of the ‘common prosopon'. It is little wonder
that contemporaries, approaching Christology from the one ­
ness of the Person rather than the distinction of the natures,
jumped to the conclusion that this was a doctrine of an ordinary
man, the human Jesus, linked to the Word by harmony of will
and by divine favour. This was a travesty of what Nestorius
intended to teach, but he had only his own failure to tackle
the problem of the Lord ’s Person at a level deeper than the
merely psychological to blame. As a result, despite his good
intentions, the connexion which his theory established be­
tween the Lord ’s divinity and humanity was at best an
artificial device.
2. Cyril of Alexandria
The opposition to Nestorius found a brilliant, if far from
scrupulous, mouthpiece in Cyril, patriarch of Alexandria.
318 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

While jealousy of the upstart sec of Constantinople caused him

to dip his pen in gall, he was also inspired by motives of a
purely theological character. As he understood it, Nestorius’s
teaching, epitomized in his attack on Theotokos, presupposed a
merely external association between the Word and an ordinary
man. From this point of view the incarnation became an
illusion, a matter of ‘appearance’ and ‘empty words’.1 The
redemption was undermined, since Christ’s sufferings and
saving acts were, presumably, not those of God incarnate but of
one who was a mere man.2 Similarly the conception of Christ
as the second Adam inaugurating a new, regenerated race of
mankind demanded, he thought,3 a much more intimate union
of the Word with die flesh than Nesto rius postulated. Above
all, in his opinion 4 Nestorius had deprived the cucharist of life­
giving force and reduced it to cannibalism, since on his pre­
misses only the body of a man lay on the altar and die flesh
consumed by the faithful was not truly vivified by the Logos.
A deep Christological cleavage lay behind these criticisms, but
it was reinforced by a difference of terminology. In Antiochene
circles the key-word φύσ<.ς , or ‘nature’, connoted the humanity
or the divinity conceived of as a concrete assemblage of char­
acteristics or attributes. Cyril himself accepted this sense of
the word, especially when adapting himself to the language of
his opponents. In his normal usage, however, he preferred to
give phusis the meaning which it had borne at Alexandria at
least as early as bishop Alexander’s day,5 viz. concrete indi­
vidual, or independent existent. In this sense phusis approxi­
mated to, without being actually synonymous with, hupostasis.
For what the Antiochenos called the natures he preferred6 such
circumlocutions as natural property (τ) ίδιότης rj κατά φνσι,ν),
manner of being (ό του πως clvat λόγο?), or ‘natural quality ’
(7; ποιότη? φυσική).
The clue to Cyril s own teaching is the realization that he
• Apol. c. Orient. (PG 76, 324)· 1 E.g. c. Nest. 3, 2; 4. 4; 5, 1.
’ lb. I, 1: cf. adv. anthrop. 10; cp. 45 (PG 77, 236).
4 C. Nest. 4, 5; 4, 6; ep. ad Nest. 3, 7: cf. ep. 17 (PG 77, 113).
5 Sec above, p. 224.
6 Cf. ep. 46; c. Nest. 2. 6; cp. 40 (PG 77, 241; 76, 85; 77, 193).
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 319
was an Alexandrian, nurtured in the school of Athanasius and
Didymus the Blind. With this background the Christological
problem did not present itself to him as that of explaining the
union of two disparate natures. An exponent of the ‘Word ­
flesh ’ scheme, he thought rather in terms of two phases or
stages in the existence of the Logos, one prior to and the other
after the incarnation. The Logos, as he liked to say, ‘remains
what He was’; what happened was that at the incarnation,
while continuing to exist eternally in the form of God, He
added to that by taking the form of a servant.1 Both before and
after the incarnation He was the same Person, unchanged in His
essential deity. The only difference was that He Who had
existed ‘outside flesh ’ (άσαρκος ) now became ‘embodied ’
(ενσώ ματος 2 ). The nature or hypostasis which was the Word
became ‘enfleshed ’ (σε σαρκω μένη)·, henceforth the Word was
‘incarnate’. Thus the clearest, most succinct epitome of Cyril’s
doctrine is the famous formula 5 which he took over, in the
sincere but mistaken belief that it had the authority of the great
Athanasius behind it, from certain treatises of Apolhnarian
provenance, ‘one nature, and that incarnate, of the divine
Word ’ (μία φύσι,ς του θεοΰ λόγου σεσαρκω μενη). ‘Nature’
here has the sense of ‘concrete individual’; as Cyril himself
put the matter,4 ‘after the union one nature is understood, viz.
the enfleshed nature of the Word ’.
Such being Cyril’s guiding principle, he could admit of no
division in the Incarnate. By ‘flesh ’ he meant5 human nature
in its fulness, including a rational soul; he took the refutation
of Apollinarianism for granted. This humanity was real and
concrete. He spoke 6 of the two aspects of Christ’s being as two
‘natures’ or ‘hypostases ’, or even ‘things’ (πράγματα). The
humanity was as real as the divinity, and the modern allegation
that he regarded it as a collection of purely abstract qualities
conflicts with his express language. So, if Christ was one, He
1 Quod unus (PG 75, 1301); c. Nest. 5, 2. 1 Explic. 12 capp. 2.
3 E.g. c. Nest. 2, proocm.; ep. 40; ep. ad Succens. 2, 3: cf. apol. c. Orient.
(PG 76, 349)· 4 G. Nest. 2, proocm.
3 Ad regin. 1, 13; de incam. unigen.; quod unus (PG 76, 1221; 75, 1220; 1289).
6 E.g. apol. c. Theodor. (PG 76, 396); ad Theodos. 44.
320 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

was one out of two (els εκ δυο): die single, unique Christ
out of two different natures’.1 ‘There has been ’, he remarked,2
a coining togedicr (σύνοδο?) of things and hypostases’, and
Christ is ‘one out of both ’.3 But since the Incarnate was none
other than the eternal Word in a new state, His unity was
presupposed from the start. Hence Cyril could 4 have nothing
to do with the Antiochene conception of a ‘conjunction ’
(συνάφεια) based upon a harmony of wills or upon ‘good
pleasure’; such an association seemed to him artificial and ex ­
ternal. Even the analogy of indwelling, which (like Athanasius)
he had used before the controversy, became suspect5 in his eyes
unless it was carefully hedged around. On his view the union
was absolutely real, and he liked to describe it as ‘natural’
(φυσική', κατά φύσιν) or ‘hypostatic ’ (καθ' ύποστασιν ). This
formula, he explained6, ‘simply conveyed that the nature or
hypostasis of the Word, that is, die concrete being of the Word,
being truly united to human nature, widiout any change or con ­
fusion, is understood to be, and is, one Christ’. In other words,
the Lord ’s humanity became a ‘nature ’ or ‘hypostasis’, i.e. a
concrete existent reality (this was the sense in which ‘nature ’
was here used) in the nature or hypostasis of the Word. It
never existed on its own (Ιδικώς ), as the Antiochene position
seemed to suggest, still less could be described at any stage of its
existence as ‘ the man ’, but from the moment of its conception in
Mary ’s womb it belonged to the Word, Who made it His very
own. The body was the body of the Word, not of some man,7
and in the union the two constituted a single concrete being.
So Immanuel was one, not ‘bi-personal’ (διπρόσωπο?8). This
did not entail, however, that there was any confusion or mixing
together of the two natures, hypostases or ‘things ’ which
coalesced in Him. Although opposition to Ncstorius made him
concentrate on the unity, Cyril was insistent that there was no
1 Ep. 45 ad Succens. I (PG 77, 233).
a Apol. c. Theodor. (PG 76, 396). 3 Schol. de incarn. 25.
4 C. Nest. 2, proocm.; quod B.M . sit deip. (PG 76, 60; 265).
» E.g. ep. i (PG 77, 24); schol. de incam. 17.
6 Apol. c. Theodor. (PG 76, 401).
7 E.g. ep. 17 (ad Nest. 3), anath. 11.
8 De incam. unigen.; ep. 46 (PG 75, 1221; 77, 241).
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 321

alteration in, much less intermingling of, the Word and the
humanity. ‘He is a babbler’, he wrote,1 ‘who says that there
was any confusion or mixture’ (φυρμον και συγκρασιν)} the
union was indissoluble, but involved no confusion or change
(ασυγχύτω ς και ατρΐπτω ς ). The divinity and the humanity, he
pointed out,2 were utterly different in essence, and while the
union excluded all division it could not eliminate that differ­
ence. On the contrary, despite the fact that the God-man is
‘one nature ’, each of the elements in His being ‘remains and is
perceived in its natural property ’3. Any suggestion that ‘the
difference of natures was abolished by the union ’ was to be
rejected.4 Rather, the two continued to subsist each in its
‘natural quality ’ (ποιότης φυσική 5 ). For an illustration he
appealed 6 to the live coal of Isaiah ’s vision. When the charcoal
was penetrated by the fire, each retained its distinct identity;
and in the same way the Word remained very Word while
appropriating what was human, and the humanity continued
unchanged while having the operation of the Word ’s nature
conferred upon it. His favourite analogy,7 however, was that
of the union of soul and body; although according to Platonic
ways of thinking these were two wholly disparate essences, they
were nevertheless indivisibly conjoined in the human person.
Thus, while the unity was absolute, the distinction of natures
was always there to be perceived. But it was a distinction
which involved no separation, and which could only be appre­
hended ‘with the eyes of the mind ’, i.e. by an act of intellectual
insight or analysis.8
Cyril thus envisaged the Incarnate as the divine Word living
on earth as very man. Here lay the strength of his position from
the religious and soteriological standpoints; the Jesus of history
was God Himself in human flesh, living and dying and rising
again for men. Understood in this light, his horror of Nestorius’s
rejection of Theotokos is comprehensible. As he saw the matter,

’ Quod units; ep. 45 (PG 75, 1292; 77, 232). 2 C. Nest. 2, 6.

’ Ep. 46 (ad Succens. 2) (PG 77, 241). 4 Ep. 4 (ad Nest. 2).
5 Ep. 40 (PG 77, 193). 7 Schol. de incarn. 9.
6 E.g. ep. 46 (ad Succens. 2); quod unus (PG 77, 241; 75, 1292).
8 E.g. ep. 45 (PG 77, 232).
322 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

the Word was Son of God by nature, but He was also naturally
Mary ’s son too, since the humanity conceived in Mary ’s womb
was exclusively and inalienably His. By the same token he
spumed the Antiochene suggestion that ‘the man ’ might
properly be ‘co-adored’ along with the divine Word; Im ­
manuel, he argued,1 that is, the Lord made flesh, was to be
worshipped with a single, indivisible adoration. It goes without
saying that he expoited the ‘communion of idioms’ in the
fullest sense, stating 2 that it was correct to say that ‘the Word
of God suffered in flesh, and became first-begotten from the
dead ’. Indeed, so close and real was the union that Cyril con ­
ceived 3 of each of the natures as participating in the properties
of the other. ‘We must therefore confess that the Word has
imparted the glory of the divine operation to His own flesh,
while at the same time taking to Himself what belongs to the
flesh.’4 Thus the humanity was infused with the life-giving
energy of the Word, and itself became life-giving. Yet there
were limits to this principle. As he explained,5 the Word did
not actually suffer in His own nature; He suffered as incarnate
(cf. ήν γάρ ό απαθής èv τώ πάσχοντι. σώματί), i.e. in respect of
the human nature which was truly His, while remaining Him ­
self as immune as the fire into which a red-hot bar which is
being hammered is plunged.
At a first glance Cyril’s Christology might seem poles apart
from that of the Antiochene theologians. His adoption of the
Word-flesh scheme and the formula ‘one nature’ certainly
aligned him much more with Apollinarius, and a wide chasm
yawned between his doctrine of ‘hypostatic union ’ and the
Antiochene axiom that the natures must be held apart. Further,
in his earlier phase, before Ncstorius began preaching, although
he formally acknowledged the presence of a human soul in the
God-man, he assigned it no practical functions. Like his master
Athanasius,6 he attributed ’ the Lord ’s trials and sufferings to His
’ C. Nest. 2, io. 2 ^nath. iz.
1 De incarn. unigen. (PG 75, 1244).
4 Ib. (PG 75. 1241): cf. schol. de incarn. 9
» Ep. 4; 45 (PG 77. 48: 236); c. Nest. 5, 4
* See above, p. 286. 7 /„ j0 /,. ev f g f
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 323

flesh; and the only growth in knowledge he would admit1 was

the gradual disclosure of the omniscience of the Word. It is im ­
portant, however, to assess his position in the light of its
development. As a result of study and reflection induced by the
controversy, he came to realize 2 that the rational soul was the
principle of suffering in the Redeemer. In particular, it was this
soul which played the decisive part in His act of obedience and
self-oblation.3 The reality of the human nature after the union
was thus sotcriologically vital to him; if there was ‘one nature ’
after the union, i.e. the nature of the Word, as he delighted to
say,4 that nature was ‘enfleshed ’ (μια φύσι,ς μβτά την ίνω σιν,
η αύτοΰ του λόγου σίσαρκω μόνη) . Having gone so far, it might
have been expected that he would abandon the ‘one nature ’
categories of thought which he had borrowed, under a
misapprehension, from Apollinarius and which created so
much misunderstanding in the opposite camp. There is evi­
dence5 that he did in fact come to see that the recognition of
Christ’s human soul as an active principle was tantamount to
confessing that the humanity was a second nature. In any case
we can understand, in the light of this development, why he
found a compromise with moderate Antiochenisin possible. It
is clear that, if he rejected the ‘two natures’ formula, it was not
for its own sake, but because it seemed to lead logically to a
‘separation ’ of the natures. Once he was satisfied that there was
no danger of this, such a compromise became a matter of
practical politics.

3. From Ephesus Towards Unity

The clash between the points of view outlined in the preced ­
ing sections was at first violent. Cyril was quick to intervene
when he heard of Ncstorius’s caricature of Theotokos, devoting
his pastoral6 for Easter 429 as well as a special letter7 destined for
the Egyptian monks to the refutation of what he deemed gross

’ Ib. I, 15; thesaur. 28. 2 Ep. 46; ad regin. (PG 77, 240; 76, 1413J.
3 Schol. de incarn. 8. 4 C. Nest. 2; ep. 40 (PG 76, 60; 77, 192 f.).
1 E.g. ep. 46, 2. 6 Le. horn. 17. ί Ep. I.
324 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

heresy. A sharp exchange of letters1 took place between the two

patriarchs without either making much headway. Cyril saw
that he must detach the emperor, Theodosius II (408-50),
along with his wife and sisters, from the Nestorian cause, and
composed his treatises De recta fide for their benefit. About the
middle of 430 he made contact2 with Pope Celestine, sending
him a dossier of extracts from Nestorius’s sermons and from the
pronouncements of revered fathers of past generations on the
incarnation. Nestorius had also written 3 to the Pope, somewhat
spoiling the effect of his letters by tactless inquiries about
certain Pelagians who had sought refuge in Constantinople.
Celestine did not take long to make up his mind, and held a
synod at Rome (August 430) which came down in favour of
the title Theotokos and against Nestorius, ‘the denier of the
birth of God ’. These decisions were embodied in letters sent
out to all the parties concerned on 11 August, and Nestorius
was warned4 that, unless he abjured his teaching within ten days
of receiving this notification and adopted that ‘of Rome,
Alexandria and the whole Catholic Church ’, he must be treated
as excommunicate. Cyril was charged with the execution of
the sentence, and his maimer of carrying out the task was
perhaps characteristic. After holding a synod at Alexandria, he
despatched a third, more lengthy epistle5 to Nestorius append ­
ing twelve anathemas which he required him to subscribe.
Deliberately provocative, these anathemas summarize the
Cyrillinc Christology in uncompromising terms. The first
asserts that Mary is Theotokos, ‘for she bore after the manner
of flesh the God-Logos made flesh ’. According to the second,
the Word is united ‘hypostatically’ (καθ' ύπόστασιν) to the
flesh. The third rejects any separation of hypostases after the
union or any attempt to link them by a mere association
(μόιη] . . . συναφεία) based on dignity, authority or power;
they are brought together in ‘a natural union ’ (ενωσιν
φυσικήν). The fourth denies the propriety of distinguishing the

» Cyril, epp. 2 and 4; for Nestorius, see Loofs, Nestoriana, 168 f.; 173-80.
1 Ep. ii. J Loofs, 165-8; 169-72.
♦ Ep. Caelest. 13, 11 (PL 50, 483). s Ep. 17 (cum salvator).
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 325

statements made about Christ, as if some properly applied to

the Word and others to the man. The description‘God-inspired
man ’ (θεόφορος άνθρω πος ) is repudiated in the fifth on the
ground that Christ is very God, the Word having become
flesh and sharing our flesh and blood. It is wrong, states the
sixth, to say that the divine Word is Christ’s God or Lord, and
not rather that after the incarnation He is simultaneously God
and man. The seventh denies that Jesus as man was moved by
the Word or clothed in His glory, as if there were a distinction
between Him and the Word. The eighth condemns those who
speak of ‘the man assumed ’ as deserving to be worshipped
along with the Word (this was the formula Nestorius favoured)
and designated God along with Him, for that suggests a separa­
tion; Immanuel is the Word incarnate, and one indivisible
worship is owing to Him. The ninth lays it down that, so far
from being a power alien to Jesus which enabled Him to work
miracles, the Holy Spirit is His very own. According to the
tenth, our high-priest is not a man distinct from the Word, but
the incarnate Word Himself. The eleventh declares that the
Lord ’s flesh is the very (ίδιαν) flesh of the Word, possessing in
consequence quickening power. The twelfth insists on the fact
that the Word really suffered, was crucified and died in His flesh.
Cyril’s action in promulgating these was most ill-judged.
The Pope had never asked for a fresh definition to be drafted,
and the form he gave them could not fail to shock and alienate
moderate Antiochenos. These included such figures as John of
Antioch, Andrew of Samosata and Theodorct of Cyrus. The
last-mentioned may be taken as illustrating their Christological
attitude, which followed traditional Antiochene lines while
avoiding Ncstorius’s more extreme affirmations. His guiding
principles, we should note, were the completeness and distinc­
tion of the natures (cf. ή λαβοϋσα and ή ληφθέίσα φ υσις 1 ), and
their union in one Person (πρόσω πον). Though in his earlier
days he was ready enough, like other Antiochenes, to speak 2 of

1 Eran. 2 (PG 83, 109).

1 Expos. red. confess. 10; de incarn. 11; 18; 30 (PG 6, 1224; 75, 1433; 1452;
1472).
326 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

‘the Word ’ and ‘the man ’, contrasting ‘Him Who assumes’

with ‘him who is assumed ’, he avoided such language once
the controversy had made the issues clear; in particular, he pro ­
tested 1 against the accusation of preaching ‘two Sons’. Because
of his insistence on the reality of the human nature, he was
able2 to make full allowance for Christ’s human ignorance,
growth in knowledge, feelings of fear, etc. The union between
the Word and the humanity He assumed was the result of His
free decision and loving favour towards men, and for this
reason among others Theodoret objected 5 to Cyril’s description
of it as ‘natural’ or ‘hypostatic’; these terms seemed to imply
some kind of necessity. This union, or βνωσις -, he maintained,
was absolutely real, and he rejected Nestorius’s conception of
two natural prosopa; the correct teaching 4 was that there was one
prosopon, one Christ and Son. It is true that he left the precise
significance of prosopon, for most of his life at any rate, vague
and unexplained, and failed to bring out that the hypostasis of
the Word was the unique metaphysical subject in Christ. It is
true also that he rejected 5 the thoroughgoing use of the com ­
municatio idiomatum advocated in the Alexandrian school; in his
opinion it suggested a confusion or intermingling of the natures.
But not even his worst enemies could with justice interpret his
teaching as what has been traditionally designated ‘Nesto ­
rianism ’. There is even evidence6 that at a late stage (449) he
was prepared to affirm clearly and unambiguously that the
prosopon of the God-man was none other than the Only-
begotten Himself.
Not unnaturally Cyril’s anathemas, which in Antiochene cars
had an unmistakably Apollinarian ring, gravely disturbed
people of this way of thinking. His subsequent behaviour was
at least equally exasperating. On 19 November 430, yielding to
Nestorius’s persuasions, Theodosius issued letters summoning
a general council to meet at Ephesus at Pentecost (7 June) the
1 Ep. 104; 109.
1 De incam. 20; rep. anathem. 4 (PG 75, 1453; 76, 411).
i Rep. anathem. 3 (PG 76, 401-4)· 4 E.g. eran. 3 (PG 83, 280).
5 E.g. rep. anathem. 4 (PG 76, 413).
6 Epp. 145; 146 (PG 83, 1389; 1393)·
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 327

following year. There is no space here to describe the astonish ­

ing medley of rival meetings that in the event took place. It is
sufficient to recall that, taking advantage of the delayed arrival
of the Oriental (i.e. Antiochene) bishops, Cyril held a synod
<1 of sonic sixty like-minded bishops under his own presidency on
22 June in face of the protests of the imperial commissioner, the
count Candidianus. Nestori us, who was already at Ephesus,
naturally declined to participate. This assembly then proceeded
to anathematize and depose him (‘ the new Judas’) in his absence,
after having had the correspondence between him and Cyril
read out as well as a dossier of patristic authorities. It is true
that, when John of Antioch and the Oriental bishops eventually
arrived on 26 June, they too held a session of their own at
which they deposed both Cyril and the local prelate, Memnon,
and repudiated the Twelve Anathemas. It was Cyril’s gather­
ing, however, which the Papal legates endorsed when they
reached Ephesus on 10 July, and which has gone down to
history as the Third General Council. From its own point of
view it was effective, for Ncstorius was never rehabilitated.
After languishing at Antioch for some years, he was finally
exiled to the Great Oasis, and died c. 451. Its more positive
achievement was to canonize the Nicene creed as enshrining
the core of Christological orthodoxy, and Cyril’s Second
Letter to Ncstorius as its authoritative interpretation.
It might seem that an unbridgeable chasm now yawned
between Alexandrians and Antiochenes. Yet there were already
pointers indicating the possibility of a rapprochement. Cyril’s
Twelve Anathemas, we should note, were formally read out at
the session on 22 June, but there was no move to canonize them
along with his second letter. Similarly, although the Oriental
bishops under John condemned Cyril and Menuion, Nestorius’s
name was passed over by them in discreet silence. At a deeper
theological level, too, the parties were moving towards a
measure of understanding. On receiving, on 30 November 430,
Cyril’s letter demanding subscription to the Anathemas,
Ncstorius had passed them on to John of Antioch. In the
latter’s eyes they bore the stamp of Apollinarianism, and he
328 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

charged Thcodorct of Cyrus and Andrew of Samosata to

refute them. The ensuing debate1 was fierce, but there is reason
to suppose that in the course of it Cyril began to understand his
critics’ point of view. On the other hand, Thcodorct, who had
at first been hostile2 to Cyril’s use of ‘hypostatic union ’, came
himself to use3 hupostasis as synonymous with prosopon. In the
same way Andrew of Samosata came, it would seem,4 near to
sanctioning the formula ‘one hypostasis’ in his rejoinder to
Cyril.
In the two years following Ephesus strenuous efforts were
made to heal the divisions in the Church. The way was
made clear by the death of Pope Celestine on 16 July 432, for
the new Pope, Xystus III, was inclined to favour a reconcilia­
tion provided the Ephcsinc decisions were recognized. The
chief obstacles were, on the one hand, Cyril’s Anathemas,
which the Antiochcncs viewed with intense suspicion, and the
condemnation of Ncstorius, which Cyril insisted on and which
they were loth to concede. Eventually, after negotiations in
which the venerable Aeacius of Beroea played a leading part,
an accord was reached. Cyril, who was still suspected of
Apollinarian leanings, furnished 5 explanations of his teaching,
especially in substantiation of his denial of any change or con ­
fusion of the two natures. These were deemed acceptable, and
the leading Antiochcncs were induced, though with consider­
able reluctance, to abandon Ncstorius. The instrument of agree­
ment (known as the Symbol of Union) was contained in a
letter6 sent by John to Cyril; in fact it consisted, apart from
the closing sentence, of a formula, undoubtedly drafted by
Thcodorct, which the Oriental bishops had approved at
Ephesus in August 431 and had despatched to Theodosius. It
ran as follows:7
We confess, therefore, our Lord Jesus Christ, the only-
begotten Son of God, perfect God and perfect man com-
1 The argument of Thcodorct and Andrew can be reconstructed from
Cyril’s apol. c. Theodor, and apol. c. Orient.
1 Rep. anathem. 2 (PG 76, 400). J Eran. 3 (PG 83, 252).
4 Ç'n '· α Ρ°Ι· c · O r,ent· (Ρθ 7<5. 333)· * Ep. 33 (to Aeacius).
6 Cyril, ep. 38. » For the Greek text see A.C.O. I, 1, 4, pp. 8 f.
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 329

posed of a rational soul and a body, begotten before the ages

from His Father in respect of His divinity, but likewise {τον
αυτόν) in these last days for us and our salvation from the
Virgin Mary in respect of His manhood, consubstantial with
the Father in respect of His divinity and at the same time {τον
αυτόν) consubstantial with us in respect of His manhood.
For a union (έ'νωσι?) of two natures has been accomplished.
Hence we confess one Christ, one Son, one Lord. In virtue
of this conception of a union without confusion we confess
the holy Virgin as Theotokos because the divine Word became
flesh and was made man and from the very conception united
to Himself the temple taken from her. As for the evangelical
and apostolic statements about the Lord, we recognize that
theologians employ some indifferently in view of the unity
of person {ώς όφ' όνος προσώπου) but distinguish others in
view of the duality of natures (ώς όπι δυο φυσίων), applying
the God-befitting ones to Christ’s divinity and the humble
ones to His humanity.

Cyril greeted this formulary with enthusiasm in his letter

Laetentur coeli.1 Yet at first sight it seemed to make large con ­
cessions to the Antiochene point of view. Clearly, the Ana­
themas which he had made so much of had dropped into the
background, and even his favourite expressions, ‘one nature’
and ‘hypostatic union ’, had disappeared. Instead he found him ­
self accepting the Antiochene language of ‘one prosopon' and
‘union of two natures’, while one phrase {ώς όπΙ δυο φύσεων)
emphasized the duality of the natures after the union. Theotokos
was admitted, but only with safeguards which satisfied the
Antiochcncs, and it was balanced by the admission of their
traditional description of the humanity as the Word ’s ‘temple’.
A form of communicatio was sanctioned, but a much less thorough ­
going form than the one for which he had contended. On the
other hand, he had gains as well as losses to count. The con ­
demnation of Ncstorius had been accepted, and Theotokos,
even though with safeguards, had been pronounced orthodox;

1 Ep· 39·
330 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

and the bogy of ‘Nestorianism ’, with its doctrine of ‘two

Sons’, was no more. Moreover, the identification of the subject
in the God-man with the eternal Word had been clearly re­
cognized in the repeated, emphatic use of τον αυτόν. All talk of
‘conjunction ’, etc., had vanished, and the union was now
described as Ζνωσι,ς . When we look beneath the terminology
in which he clothed it to what was really important in his
Christology, and recall the victory he had won in the political
,field, we can well understand how Cyril could afford to survey
the accord reached with a reasonable measure of satisfaction.

4. The Case of Eutyches

A brief paragraph must suffice for the fifteen years between

the agreement patched up in 433 and the outbreak of the next
crisis in 448. Neither of the great parties was as a whole content
with the terms of the Union Symbol. On the one hand, Cyril’s
right-wing allies viewed his acceptance of the Two Natures
doctrine with unconcealed dismay. In self-defence he was obliged
to muster arguments1 to show that, for all the at first sight
objectionable language in which it was expressed, it was
essentially the teaching he had always supported. On the
Antiochene side there was an extremist Cilician group which
persisted in declaring Cyril a heretic. More important, the
sentence passed on Nestorius rankled in the consciences of even
those moderate Antiochcnes who had come to recognize Cyril’s
orthodoxy. Theodorct of Cyrus, for example, absolutely re­
fused to endorse it. The Tome which Proclus, the new patriarch
of Constantinople, published in 435 and which listed a series of
excerpts from Theodore’s writings as heretical, affords a good
illustration of the rising tension. Cyril himself, however, stood
for moderation, and while he was alive he restrained his hot­
headed partisans. With his death in 444 the reaction against the
Two Natures doctrine gathered force and is reflected in attacks
launched on the teaching of Theodorct,2 now the leading
theologian of the Antiochene school. Cyril’s successor, Dios-
1 E.g. ep. 40 (to Acacius); 44 (to Eulogius). 2 Cf. epp. 83; 85; 86.

J
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 33I

corns, an energetic and ruthless prelate, put himself at the head

of it. He was determined, cost what it might, to reassert the
One Nature doctrine which, he sincerely believed, had the
authority of the fathers behind it and which had only been
compromised by Cyril in a moment of weakness.
Matters were brought to a head by the case of Eutyches,
the aged and muddle-headed archimandrite who, because of
the favour and influence he enjoyed at court, found himself the
rallying-point of all who disliked the accord of 433. On 8
November 448, at a meeting of the Standing Synod of Con ­
stantinople, he was denounced as heretical by Eusebius of
Dorylaeum. Formal discussions began on 12 November, the
chairman being Flavian, the local patriarch, and we should note
that he seized the opportunity to read out a profession of faith
containing the important formulary,1 ‘We confess that Christ
is of two natures (e * δυο φύσεων) after the incarnation, con ­
fessing one Christ, one Son, one Lord, in one hupostasis and one
prosopon ’ . Although ‘out of two natures ’ was to become the
battle-cry of monophysitism, it is clear that Flavian was using
it to imply that the Incarnate had two natures. His identification
of hupostasis and prosopon marked an important step towards
Chalcedon. Eutyches refused to appear at this session, and when
he did appear, on 22 November, it was to hear sentence passed
on himself. The verdict of those present, all supporters of the
Union Symbol, was that he was a follower of Valentinus and
Apollinarius, and he was accordingly deposed. Historically he
counts as the founder of an extreme and virtually Docetic form
of monophysitism, teaching that the Lord ’s humanity was
totally absorbed by His divinity. That such ideas were current
at this time is clear. Thcodoret had aimed his Eranistes the year
before against people who, holding that Christ’s humanity and
divinity formed ‘one nature’, taught that the former had not
really been derived from the Virgin, and that it was the latter
which had suffered.2 Their theory was, apparently, that ‘the
divine nature remains while the humanity is swallowed up
• For the text, see A.C.O. II, 1, 1, p. 114.
a Eran. pracf. (PG 83, 28 f.).
332 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

(καταποθήναί) by it’.1 The nature assumed was not annihi­

lated, but rather transformed into the substance (ουσία) of the
divinity. Though he named no names, it is fairly certain that
Thcodorct had Eutyches in view.
What Eutyches’s actual doctrine was has never been easy to
determine. At a preliminary examination, before the envoys of
the synod, he declared2 that ‘after the birth of our Lord Jesus
Christ I worship one nature, viz. that of God made flesh and
become man ’. He vigorously repudiated 3 the suggestion of two
natures in the Incarnate as un-Scriptural and contrary to the
teaching of the fathers. Yet he expressly allowed 4 that He was
born from the Virgin and was at once perfect God and perfect
man. He denied 5 ever having said that His flesh came from
heaven, but refused 6 to concede that it was consubstantial with
us. At his interrogation before the synod he yielded 7 the point
that Christ was ‘of two natures’ (c k δυο φύσεων), but argued
that that was only before the union; ‘after the union I confess
one nature ’. He repeated 8 that Christ took flesh of the Virgin,
and added 9 that it was a complete incarnation (ενανθρωπήσαι
. . . τελείως } and that the Virgin was consubstantial with us.
Flavian then pressed 10 him to admit that the Lord was con ­
substantial with us. Eutyches consented 11 to do so if the synod
insisted. His reluctance hitherto, he explained,12 had been due
to the fact that he regarded Christ’s body as the body of God;
he had been shy of calling the body of God ‘the body of a
man ’, (evidently he took ‘consubstantial with us ’ as implying
an individual man), but had preferred to speak of it as ‘a
human body ’, and to say that the Lord became incarnate of
the Virgin. This, however, was a passing remark; he soon
returned to his monotonous affirmation of two natures before
the incarnation, one after.
The traditional picture of Eutyches, it is clear, has been
formed by picking out certain of his statements and pressing
« Eran. 2 (PG 83, 153; 157).
« E. Schwartz, Der Prozess des Eutyches (Sitzb. Bay. Ahad. W iss Phil hier
1929. 5). H· 3 Ib. 15; 17; 19. * Ib. 15. 8 Ib. 1 5. ’
6 Ib. 15. 7 Ib. 25: cf. ib. 26. 8 Ib. 23. ’ Ib. 21· 2 a
“« lb. 24. “ Ib. 24: cf. ib. 25. u Ib. 25. ’
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 333

them to their logical conclusion. From his rejection of ‘con ­

substantial with us ’ it has been inferred that Christ’s humanity
was in his eyes mere appearance; hence he must have been a
Docctist. From his affirmation of two natures before and only
one after the union the conclusion has been drawn that either
the two must have been fused into a tertium quid or the humanity
must have been swallowed up by the divinity. In fact he seems
to have been a confused and unskilled thinker (multum im ­
prudens et nimis imperitus, said 1 Leo), blindly rushing forward to
defend the unity of Christ against all attempts to divide Him.
He was no Docetist or Apollinarian; nothing could have been
more explicit than his affirmation of the reality and complete­
ness of the manhood. His hesitations about ‘consubstantial with
us’ were due to his exaggerated suspicion that it might be
twisted to imply the Nestorian conception of the humanity as
being an individual man whom the Godhead assumed. If he
had a horror of ‘two natures’, it sprang from the fact that, like
so many of the Alexandrian way of thinking, he took phusis,
or ‘nature ’, to mean a concrete existence. Even more than Cyril
himself, whose depth of insight and grasp of essentials he lacked,
he had been nurtured on literature of Apollinarian provenance
which he pathetically believed to be fully orthodox, and he
was devoted to Cyril’s formula ‘one nature’, although he
omitted to add his saving qualification ‘made flesh ’. If his con ­
demnation is to be justified, it must be in the light of more far-
reaching considerations. The Church at this epoch was feeling
its way towards a balanced Christology. The type of thought
which Eutyches represented was one-sided to a degree. While
possibly susceptible, if strained in that direction, of an orthodox
interpretation, it upset the required balance; without the em ­
phasis on the other side which the Two Natures doctrine sup ­
plied, Christology might well have drifted into the errors his
opponents attributed to him.
Although Eutyches was excommunicated and deposed, his
disgrace did not last long. He wrote 2 to the Pope, but his letter
did not bear the wished-for fruit. Flavian had already informed
1 Ep. 28, 1: cf. ep. 29 (imperite et imprudenter). 2 Ep. Leon. 21.
1
334 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Leo of his condemnation, and now wrote ’ in greater detail

defining his heresy. As a result, on 13 June 449, Leo despatched
his famous Dogmatic Letter, or Tome,2 to Flavian, and made his
hostility to the One Nature doctrine clear. Eutychcs had greater
success with Dioscorus, who from the start refused to recognize
his excommunication, and with his aid induced Theodosius II
to summon a general council. This met at Ephesus in August
449. It was dominated with brutal efficiency by Dioscorus, and
although the Pope sent three legates they were not given an
opportunity of reading out his Tome. Eutyches was im ­
mediately rehabilitated and his orthodoxy vindicated. The
Union Symbol was formally set aside as going beyond the
decisions of the council of Ephesus of 431, and the confession
of two natures after the union was anathematized. Flavian and
Eusebius of Dorylaeum, and along with them Theodorct and
all the dyophysitc leaders, were condemned and deposed. So
ended the council which became known as the Robber Synod,
or ‘Brigandage’ (Latrocinium 3 ), of Ephesus.

5. The W est and Leo

So far, Tcrtullian excepted, the West had made little or no
contribution to Christological theory, but the importance
which Leo ’s Tome was to assume makes it desirable to glance
at the Latin fathers. In general they reproduce the framework
of ideas, and even the formulae, inherited from Tertullian. If
they seem to lack the speculative interest of the East, this is to
some extent explained by the remarkable success with which
Tertullian ’s theory held both the aspects which reflection was
showing to be necessary to a sound Christology in balance.
For Hilary, for example, the two natures of Christ (he
regularly uses the term natura) arc united in one Person.4 Christ
is true man and true God, one but comprising two natures in
His unity.5 Each nature is complete, the humanity possessing

« Ep. Leon. 22. 2 Ep. 28.

J The phrase was Leo ’s: cf. cp. 95, 2 (to Pulcheria: 20 July 451).
* De trin. 9. 14. ’ Ib. 9, 3.
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 335

a rational soul’— this is insisted upon in reply to the Arian habit

of referring the Lord ’s experiences of emotion and suffering to
the Logos2— and the union entails no change or confusion.3
Further, while Hilary docs not hesitate to speak 4 of the humanity
as ‘the man assumed ’, he regards5 the Person of the Incarnate
as identical with the Person of the Word: ‘He Who is in the
form of a servant is none other than He Who is in the form of
God ’. This Pauline imagery suggested to him the self-emptying
{evacuatio or exinanitio) which the Incarnation must have in ­
volved. This docs not consist, as he sees it,6 in the Word ’s
surrendering any of His powers or ceasing to be what He
essentially is {evacuatio formae non est abolitio naturae), but rather
in His contracting or limiting Himself to human conditions. In
other words, he relinquishes, during His earthly career, the
glory appropriate to ‘the form of God ’. Alongside this, how ­
ever, should be set Hilary ’s treatment of the Lord ’s experiences
of pain, weakness, human emotion, etc. These experiences, he
teaches,7 were perfectly genuine, but they were strictly un ­
natural to Him: ‘He had a body susceptible of suffering, and
so suffered, but His nature was not capable of pain ’. The
point is that, Christ’s body having been conceived by the
Holy Spirit, it was not really earthly but heavenly {corpus
*)coeleste
, and was raised above human weaknesses; hence if
He consented to succumb to them, He was making a con ­
cession, by the free act of His will, to what was expected of
Him.9 Similarly the glory of the Transfiguration and the
walking on the sea were not strictly miraculous, but were
natural to such a body as His.10 Thus, side by side with his
conviction of the reality of the human nature, there was a
strain in Hilary ’s thought which veered close to Docetism.
Ambrose stood even nearer than Hilary to the Latin Christo-
logical tradition. ‘It is one Son of God ’, he stated,11 ‘Who
speaks in both, for both natures arc in one and the same
1 Ib. io, 19. 2 Cf. ib. 10, 50-60. ’ Trad, in ps. 138, 2.
4 E.g. ib. 68, 25. 5 De trin. 9, 14: cf. ib. 10, 22.
6 Ib. 9, 4*. 9. 14; ii. 48; 12, 6. 7 Ib. 10, 23-32; 10, 35.
8 Ib. 10, 18. ’ lb. 10, 24; 10, 35. «0 Ib. 10, 23.
" De fide 2, 77.
336 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

subject’ (in codent). He refers1 to ‘the twin substances ... of

divinity and flesh ’. The human nature of course includes a
rational soul,2 and the distinction between the two natures is
sharply maintained.3 The Person being indivisibly one, he can
make use of the ‘communication of idioms ’, remarking,4 for
example, ‘The Lord of majesty is said to have been crucified
because, participating in both natures, the human and the
divine, He endured His passion in the human nature’.
Along similar lines Augustine taught5 that ‘Christ is one
Person of twofold substance (una persona getninae substantiae),
being both God and man ’. Mediator between God and man,
He ‘conjoins both natures in oneness of Person ’;6 ‘in Christ
there are two substances, but one Person ’.7 The humanity was
absolutely real,8 and of course complete: ‘there was a human
soul in Christ, not just the non-rational part of it, but the
rational part we call the mind ’.9 It was the rational soul,
indeed, which provided the point of union between the Word
and the flesh.10 Yet, while the human nature was real, the fact
that it was born from a pure virgin preserved it from original
sin;11 nor was it susceptible, despite the Gospel statements
which seem to suggest the contrary, to human ignorance.12 It
was characteristic of Augustine to speak of it as ‘the man ’,
referring 13 to ‘the man ’ whom the Son of God carried or
assumed. While this usage, however, indicates that he assigned
the humanity a relative independence, he makes it plain 14 that
it never existed apart from the Word. Thus the two natures arc
united in one Person, the Person of the Word. ‘Into unity with
His Person ’, he wrote,15 ‘the form of God remaining invisible,
Christ took the visible form of a man ’, and in so doing He
‘neither lost nor diminished the form of God ’.16 Because of this
union, he affirmed,17 both sets of predicates can be freely applied
’ De fide 3, 65. 1 De incarn. dom. sacram. 64 ff.; 76.
J De fide 2, ητ, de incarn.dom. sacram. 23. * De fide 2, 58.
5 C. M axim. Ar. 2, 10, 2. 6 Ep. 137, 9. ■> Serm. 130, 3.
• De agon. Chr. 20; 24. ’ Tract, in ev. loh. 23, 6: cf. ib. 47, 9.
10 Ep. 137, 8; 140, 12. “ Enchir. 34; 41.
·> De trin. I, 23; enarr. in ps. 6, 1.
'» De agon. Chr. 12; 20; 21; 22; 25. M De trin. 13, 22.
’» C M axim. Ar. 1, 19. 16 Enchir. 35. π C. serm. Ar. 8.
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 337

to Christ however described, so that the Son of God can

correctly be said to have been crucified and buried, and the son
of man to have come down from heaven. To illustrate the unity
he often invoked 1 the comparison of soul and body, which
together constitute a single man.
The Christology which appears in Leo ’s Tome has no special
originality; it reflects and codifies with masterly precision the
ideas of his predecessors. The following arc the chief points he
was concerned to bring out. First, the Person of the God-man
is identical with that of the divine Word. As he expressed it,2
‘He Who became man in the form of a servant is He Who in
the form of God created man ’. Though describing the incar­
nation as a ‘self-emptying ’ [exinanitio), he claimed 3 that it
involved no diminution of the Word ’s omnipotence; He
descended from His throne in heaven, but did not surrender
His Father’s glory. Secondly, the divine and human natures co ­
exist in tliis one Person without mixture or confusion. Rather,
in uniting to form one Person each retains its natural properties
unimpaired [salva . . . proprietate utriusque naturae et substantiae),
so that, just as the form of God docs not do away with the form
of a servant, so the form of a servant docs not diminish the
form of God.4 Indeed, the redemption required that ‘one and
the same mediator between God and men, the man Jesus
Christ, should be able both to die in respect of the one and not
to die in respect of the other’. Thirdly, the natures arc separate
principles of operation, although they always act in concert
with each other. So we have the famous sentence, ‘Each form
accomplishes in concert with the other what is appropriate to it,
the Word performing what belongs to the Word, and the flesh
carrying out what belongs to the flesh ’.5 Lastly, the oneness of
the Person postulates the legitimacy of the ‘ communication of
idioms’. We can affirm, for example, that the Son of God was
crucified and buried, and also that the Son of Man came down
from heaven.
These four theses may not have probed the Christological
1 E.g. serm. 186, i; tract, in ev. loh. 19, 15.
1 Ep. 28, 3 (Leo ’s ‘ Tome ’). ’ Ib. 4. 4 lb. 3. 5 lb. 4.
 338 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

problem very deeply; it is obvious that they left the issues

which puzzled Greek theologians largely untouched. They had
the merit, however, of setting out the factors demanding re­
cognition fairly and squarely. Moreover, they went a long way
towards meeting the points of view of both the schools of
thought struggling for supremacy in the East. Antiochencs
could recognize their own theology in Leo ’s vigorous affirma­
tion of the duality in Christ, and of the reality and independ ­
ence of the two natures. Some of his sentences, indeed, par­
ticularly the one cited above, were to prove stones of stumbling
to Alexandrian Christologians. Nevertheless these latter, too,
could see the essentials of their standpoint vindicated in the
Pope’s unerring grasp of the identity of the Person of the
Incarnate with that of the eternal Word. As he expressed it in a
Christmas sermon,1 ‘It is one and the same Son of God Who
exists in both natures, taking what is ours to Himself without
losing what is His own ’.

6. The Chalcedonian Settlement

The Robber Synod had been held under imperial auspices,
and Theodosius was resolved2 to maintain its decisions despite
all Leo ’s manœuvres to get the doctrinal question reopened. An
extremely awkward situation looked like developing when,
contrary to all expectation (the orthodox not unnaturally inter­
preted it as an act of Providence), the deadlock was broken by
the Emperor’s death by falling from Ins horse (28 July 450). A
professional soldier, Marcian, succeeded to the throne, cement­
ing his position by marrying the late emperor’s sister, Pulcheria.
Both sympathized with the Two Natures doctrine, and this,
combined with the manifest desirability of securing Church
unity in the empire, caused them to fall in readily with pro ­
posals for a general council. The Pope had striven 3 to persuade
Theodosius to summon one, preferably in Italy, being anxious
to reassert his position vis-à-vis Alexandria as well as to annul
the theological work of the Robber Synod; and nowTheodoret,
« Serm. 27, I. 2 Cf. epp. Leon. 62-4. » Ep. 44; 45; 54; 70.
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 339

back from exile, was reviving 1 the demand. Originally planned

for Nicaea (not Italy, as the Pope wanted 2), the council was
transferred to Chalcedon, as being nearer the capital and thus
more convenient for Marcian. More than five hundred bishops
took part, the Pope as usual being represented by legates; the
proceedings opened on 8 October 451.
The whole object of the council, from the imperial point of
view, was to establish a single faith throughout the empire.
The majority of bishops present, it is true, objected to the
formulation of a new creed; they considered 3 it sufficient to
uphold the Nicenc faith and recognize the binding force of
Cyril’s Dogmatic Letters and Leo ’s Tome. If the council was to
succeed, however, the imperial commissioners knew that it
must produce a formulary which everyone could be required to
sign, and they made their intentions clear.4 Hence the Defini­
tion which was finally agreed took the following form.5 First,
after a preamble, it solemnly reaffirmed the Nicenc Creed as the
standard of orthodoxy, setting the creed of the council of Con ­
stantinople (the creed now recited at the cucharist) beside it as
refuting heresies which had sprung up since Nicaea. Secondly,
it canonized Cyril’s two Letters and Leo ’s Tome, the former as
disposing of Nestorianism and as a sound interpretation of the
creed, and the latter as overthrowing Eutychianism and con ­
firming the true faith. Thirdly, it set out a formal confession of
faith in the following terms:

In agreement, therefore, with the holy fathers, we all

unanimously teach that we should confess that our Lord
Jesus Christ is one and the same Son, the same perfect in God ­
head and the same perfect in manhood, truly God and truly
man, the same of a rational soul and body, consubstantial
with the Father in Godhead, and the same consubstantial
with us in manhood, like us in all things except sin; begotten
from the Father before the ages as regards His Godhead, and
in the last days, the same, because of us and because of our
* Epp. 138-40. 2 Epp. 76 f. (Marcian and Pulcheria).
» A.C.O. II, I, 2, pp. 78-81. 4 A.C.O. II, 1, 2, p. 78.
s For the text, sec A.C.O. II, 1, 2, pp. 126-30.
340 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

salvation begotten from the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos, as

regards His manhood; one and the same Christ, Son, Lord,
only-begotten, made known in two natures without con ­
fusion, without change, without division, without separa­
tion, the difference of the natures being by no means removed
because of the union, but the property of each nature being
preserved and coalescing in one prosopon and one hupostasis —
not parted or divided into two prosopa, but one and the same
Son, only-begotten, divine Word, the Lord Jesus Christ, as
the prophets of old and Jesus Christ Himself have taught us
about Him and the creed of our fathers has handed down.
It should be noted that the imperial commissioners, in their
desire to avoid a split, had to exert considerable pressure before
agreement could be reached. In the first place, apart from the
widespread objection to framing a new creed, three passages in
Leo ’s Tome (c. 3: ut .. . et mori posset ex uno et mori non posset ex
altero; c. 4: agit enim utraque forma ... ; and c. 4: quamvis . . . una
persona sit, aliud tamen est unde . . . contumelia, aliud unde . . .
gloria . . .) excited grave disquiet in the Illyrian and Palestinian
delegations.1 It required the special explanations of the Roman
legates, as well as a dossier of citations from Cyril, to satisfy
them that the Pope was not dividing Christ as Nestorius had
done, but was only recognizing and drawing the practical im ­
plications of the distinction of natures. Secondly, the first draft
of the formal confession, produced at the Fifth Session on 22
October, seems to have lacked the extracts from the Tome
which stand in the final version, and also to have read ‘from
two natures’ (εκ δυο φύσεων) instead of ‘in two natures’ (ε’ν
διίο ^υ'σεσιν2). Although this echoes Flavian ’s declaration of
faith 3 at the Constantinopolitan Standing Synod, it did not
clearly affirm the subsistence of two natures after the union, and
indeed, in the light of Eutychcs’s position, was consistent with a
denial of it. Only by dint of consummate skill and diplomacy
was the assembly induced to accept the necessary amendments.4
In its final shape the Definition is a mosaic of excerpts from
1 A.C.O. II, I, 2, pp. 81 f. 2 A.C.O. II, i, 2, pp. 123 f.
3 Sec above, p. 33 1- 4 A.C.O. II, 1, 2, pp. 123-5.
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 34Γ

Cyril’s two Letters, Leo ’s Tome, the Union Symbol and

Flavian ’s profession of faith at the Standing Synod. Its dis­
tinctive theology is to be seen in the equal recognition it
accords both to the unity and to the duality in the God-man.
We notice, in addition to the formula ‘one prosopon and one
hupostasis ’, which came straight from Flavian ’s profession, the
monotonous repetition of the words ‘the same ’, and the
insistence that, in spite of the two natures, Christ remains
‘without division, without separation ’. To exclude all further
possibility of doubt, we read that He is ‘not parted or divided
into two prosopa'. Clearly the divine Word, even if Cyril’s
favourite slogan ‘ hypostatic union ’ is discarded, is regarded as
the unique subject of the Incarnate, and this is reinforced by the
sanction given to the controverted title Theotokos. This is the
essential truth which the Alexandrian theology had grasped,
for which Cyril had struggled, and which the council of
Ephesus canonized. On the other hand, the long debate had
proved that this truth could not be allowed to stand alone.
Without an explicit acknowledgement of the reality of Christ’s
human life, the Antiochene tradition would remain unsatisfied
at the point where its theological intuition was soundest, and a
door would be left open, as the emergence of Eutychianism
had demonstrated, for dangerous forms of monophysitism. So,
side by side with the unity, the Definition states that, as incar­
nate, the Word exists ‘in two natures’, each complete and each
retaining its distinctive properties and operation unimpaired in
the union. Rejecting ‘natural union ’ with its monophysite im ­
plications, it singles out hupostasis, along with prosopon, to
express the oneness of the Person, thereby distinguishing it once
for all from phusis, which it reserved for the natures.
Chalcedon is often described as the triumph of the Western,
and with it of the Antiochene, Christology. It is true, of course,
that the balanced position attained long since in the West and
given expression in Leo ’s Tome, gave the fathers a model of
which they made good use. It is true, also, that without Rome ’s
powerful support the Antiochene formula ‘two natures’ would
never have been given such prominence. Further, large sections
342 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

of the Eastern church, regarding the council’s endorsement of

that formula and of Leo ’s Tome, as well as its rejection of ‘hypo ­
static union ’, as a betrayal of Cyril and of the Alexandrian
tradition generally, were prepared to drift oft' into schism as
monophysites. These are some of the points that underline the
substantial truth of the verdict. It does less thanjustice, however,
to the essential features of Cyril’s teaching enshrined, as has
been shown, in the council’s confession, especially the recogni­
tion, in language of a clarity unheard of in Antiochene circles,
of the oneness of Christ and of the identity of the Person of the
God-man with that of the Logos. It also overlooks the fact that
Cyril’s Synodical Letters were given just as honourable a posi­
tion as the Tome, and greatly exaggerates the theological differ­
ence between the two. To take but one point, Cyril himself
admitted, as his correspondence1 after the act of union reveals,
that it was possible to speak of two natures without dividing
the one Christ. His predilection for ‘one nature ’ was based, not
on any objection to the Two Natures doctrine properly inter­
preted, but on his belief that it bore the stamp of Athanasian
authority and provided a uniquely useful safeguard against
Nestorianism. As this heresy was unambiguously denounced
in the Definition, it is reasonable to suppose, in the light of his
attitude to the Union Symbol, that he too would have ac­
quiesced in the Chalccdonian settlement and would have been
embarrassed by the intransigence of his over-enthusiastic allies.
Thus, if the Antiochene Christology was victorious at Chalce­
don, it was so only after absorbing, and being itself modified by,
the fundamental truths contained in the Alexandrian position.
In spite of all, however, Chalcedon failed to bring permanent
peace. The story really lies outside this book, but we may note
that, if the West remained loyal to the council, there was an
immediate hostile reaction in the East which was to last for
centuries. Nestorianism proper had been driven beyond the
frontiers of the empire, but monophysitism in its various forms
waged incessant war against the Definition. The chief an ­
tagonists were its strict dyophysite supporters, branded as
» E.g. ep. 40.
 THE CHRISTOLOGICAL SETTLEMENT 343

Nestorians by their critics, and monophysites who as often as

not (cf. Severus of Antioch: *(538) were substantially orthodox
except for their refusal to speak of ‘two natures’. The struggle,
as embittered as it was long and closely entangled with politics,
resulted in the emergence in the East in the sixth century (cf.
the second council of Constantinople, 553) of a ‘Nco-Chalce-
donianisin ’ which subtly shifted the bias of the council, inter­
preting its teaching in a positive Cyrilline sense. The affirma­
tion at the tliird council of Constantinople (680) of the
existence of two wills in Christ, which settled the monothelite
controversy, represented an attempt to restore the Chalcedonian
balance.

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. T. H. Bindley, The Oecumenical Documents of the Faith (rev. by

F. W. Green, London, 4 ed. 1950); P. T. Camelot, ‘De Nestorius à
Eutychès’ (art. in Das Konzil von Chalkedon I); J. A. Domer, History
of the Development of the Doctrine of the Person of Christ (Eng. trans.,
Edinburgh, 1878); A Grillmeicr, ‘Die thcologisclie und sprachliche
Vorbereitung der christologischen Formel von Chalkedon ’ (art. in
Das Konzil von Chalkedon I); F. Loofs, ‘Christologie’ (art. in Hauck ’s
Realencyk.)·, G. L. Prestige, Fathers and Heretics (London, 1940); R. V.
Sellers, Two Ancient Christologies (London, 1940); The Council of Chal ­
cedon (London, 1953).
Special. É. Amann, ‘Nestorius’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.); J. F. Bethune-
Baker, Nestorius and His Teaching (Cambridge, 1908); H. Chadwick,
‘Eucharist and Christology in the Nestorian Controversy ’ (art. in
Journ. Theol. Stud., 1951); R. Dragnet, ‘La Christologie d ’Eutychès ’
(art. in Byzantion, 6, 1931); G. R. Driver and L. Hodgson, Nestorius:
The Bazaar of Hcracleides, Appendix IV (Oxford, 1925); J. Licbaert,
La Doctrine christologique de saint Cyrille d'Alexandrie avant la querelle
nestorienne (Lille, 1951); F. Loofs, Nestorius and His Place in the History
of Christian Doctrine (Cambridge, 1914); A. Michel, ‘Hypostase ’ (art.
in Diet. Théol. Cath.) ’, J. Montalvcme, Theodoreti Cyrensis doctrina
antiquior de Verbo 'inhumanato' (Rome, 1948); M. Richard, ‘L ’Introduc ­
tion du mot “ hypostase” dans la théologie de l’incarnation’ (art. in
.Mélanges de science relig. 2, 1945); L. I. Scipioni, Ricerche sulla cristologia
dei 'Libro di Eraclide' di Nestorio (Paradosis XI, Fribourg, 1956).
 C H A PTER X III

FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE

I. The Soul ’ s Origin

It was in the fourth and fifth centuries that the doctrine of

human nature became an issue of prime importance in the
Church. For the fathers, with their Biblical presuppositions,
the problem was one of history rather than analysis. They
sought to explain man ’s present situation, and also to throw
light on his hope of redemption, by expounding the story
(whether taken literally or allegorically) of his creation and fall.
During the larger portion of our period, when Greek writers
are being passed in review, we shall find that the estimate formed
of man ’s plight is relatively optimistic. This was partly due to
the Hellenic temperament, but partly also to the fact that the
rival philosophy was Manichaeism 1, with its fatalism and its
dogma that matter, including the body, was intrinsically evil.
When we turn to the West and approach the Pelagian contro ­
versy, the shadows deepen, and the picture of man passed on
to the middle ages by Augustine is sombre, even pessimistic.
Before we start our study, however, a brief note on a question
which greatly exercised thought at this time will be useful.
In both East and West alike it was taken for granted that
man is a composite being made up out of body and soul. He
is a ‘rational animal’ (λογικόν ζώον), with a foot in the higher,
or intellectual, as well as the lower, or sensible, world. We
have seen how frequently the union of body and soul, two
disparate substances, was quoted by Alexandrian teachers as an
illustration of the union of divinity and humanity in Christ.2
But where did the soul come from? A few thinkers maintained
the Origenist theory that, created by God, the soul pre-existed
1 Sec above pp. 8 f. 1 Sec above, pp. 293; 321.
344
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 345

the body to which it was assigned as a penalty for its sins.

Didymus the Blind,1 for example, taught along these lines, as
did the followers2 of the Spanish heretic Priscillian (f 385).
Victorinus seems to have held 3 a variation of the same doctrine.
Most of the Greek fathers,4 however, rejected this view, which
was to be formally condemned in the sixth century. Augustine,
too, reacted5 against the pessimistic valuation of the material
order and the suggestion that the body serves as a prison for the
soul which it implies. The prevalent Greek theory 6 was crea­
tionism, i.e. that each individual soul was created independently
by God at the moment of its infusion into the body. Western
writers like Hilary, Ambrose and Jerome shared it, teaching
that the soul was spiritual and immortal, being extended
throughout the whole body, although existing particularly in a
special part of it. Pelagius and his disciples, it need hardly be
said, accepted 7 creationism, which harmonized well with their
general position.
The explanation to which Augustine on the whole leaned,
although with many hesitations, was the traducianist one
associated with Tcrtullian, viz. that each soul is somehow
generated from the parent’s soul. Among the Greeks there arc
hints of it in Gregory of Nyssa. Arguing against the Origenists,
he urged 8 that the soul came into existence simultaneously with
the body and was inseparable from it, and that as it developed
the human seed received no addition from without to bring it
to perfection. Augustine himself was critical9 of the materialist
strain in Tcrtullian ’s brand of traducianism, but observed 10 that
a spiritual version of the same theory fitted in best with his
teaching about original sin. The danger, as he saw it," was how
on this hypothesis the integrity of the personality could be
assured. At the same time, while conscious of difficulties in

1 Enarr. in 1 Pet. I, 1 (PG 39, 1755)·

3 Cf., e.g., Leo, ep. 15,10. 3 In Eph. 1, 4.
4 E.g. Cyril Micros.,cat. 4,19; Gregory Nazianzcn, or. 37, 15; Gregory Nyss.,
de anitn. et res. (PG 46, 125; 128). 3 De civ. dei 11, 23; ep. 166, 27.
6 E.g. Cyril Micros., cat. 4, 18 f.; Epiphanius, ancor. 55; Cyril Alex., in loh.
I, 9 . ’ E.g. Pelagius, lib. de fide 9 (PL 45, 1718).
’ » De hom. opif. 28; 29. 9 E g. ep. 190, 14.
10 E.g. de Gen. ad lilt. 10, 23-cnd. ” E.g. ep. 190, 15.
34<ί FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

each ease, he remained alive1 to the attractions of various forms

of the creationist theory. The truth is that, despite his bias to
traducianism, he could never make up his mind about the
matter, and in his later writings frankly confessed 2 that he was
baffled.

2. Athanasius and the Fall

A sketch of Athanasius’s teaching makes the best introduc­

tion to a discussion of Greek views about the wider problem
of man ’s condition.
As we might expect, the account he gives is a blend of
Platonizing metaphysics and the Genesis story. Its most interest­
ing feature is the contrast presupposed throughout between
man considered as a creature, i.e. in his natural state, and as the
recipient of God ’s bountiful favour. As a creature, man has
been called, like all other finite beings, out of nothingness by
the Word. Like them, he is liable to change and decay, ever
tending to slip back to nothingness, and being contingent is
incapable of knowing the transcendent God.3 But if this is his
natural state, it is in a sense a theoretical one. As a matter of fact
God showed Himself more generous to man than to the rest of
creation. He enabled him to participate in His Word, thereby
making him in His image. This communion with the Word
bestowed supernatural knowledge upon him, made him
rational, and gave him incorruption and immortality. But to
preserve this resemblance or likeness to God, it was necessary
for him to contemplate the Word without remission, and so
God placed him in Paradise, giving him a special law to steady
his will.4 All these gifts, we observe, do not in Athanasius’s
opinion belong to man ’s constitution as such, but come to him
from outside.5
Man ’s primitive state was thus one of supernatural blessed ­
ness; here we see the idea of original righteousness and per­
fection in embryo. What the Bible imagery describes as the
* De lib. arbit. 3, 56-9; ep. 166, 6-12.
2 De anim. et eius orig. 1, 26; 4, 2; retract. 1, 1, 3; c. lui. op. imperf. 2, 178.
’ Cf. c. gent. 35; de incarn. 3; 4; 11. < C. gent. 3; de incam. 3; 4.
s C. Ar. 2, 68.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 347

free intercourse of man with God in the garden, Athanasius’s

mysticism easily allegorizes as contemplation mixed with desire
which ever renews the divine likeness in the soul. Instead of
keeping their gaze fixed on God, however, the first human
beings, Adam and Eve, allowed themselves to be distracted by
the material world which was closer to them, particularly by
their bodies.’ They turned away, in other words, from Him
Who alone is being in the true sense to things which have no
real being of their own. So they fell. Deprived of the grace of
the divine image, they were reduced to the corruption which,
after all, was their nature,2 lapsing into ignorance and idolatry.
‘Thus death wielded its power more and more, and corruption
gathered force against men; the human race went to destruc­
tion, and man, rational and made in the image of the Word,
began to perish.’3
Athanasius therefore teaches that the wretchedness of man ­
kind is directly traceable to our first parents’ lapse. It was
through the fault committed by their free volition that the dis­
integrating forces in any ease latent in our nature were released.
His argument presupposes the unity, or solidarity, of the race
with the first man, an idea with a long history, as we have seen,4
going back through Irenaeus to St. Paul. The disintegration, we
should notice, was not total. If man has lost the immortality of
his body, he retains that of the soul, and his will remains free.5
The obliteration of the image, too, seems to have been pro ­
gressive; it is always open to men, Athanasius seems to think,6
using their free will, to throw oft the entanglements of sensu ­
ality and recover their vision of the Word. The image is not so
much annihilated as lost to sight, like a picture overlaid with
dirt.7 But, as one of the consequences of Adam ’s trespass, ‘sin
has passed to all men;8 indeed, that is implicit in the debacle of
human nature which Adam caused. But Athanasius never hints
that we participate in Adam ’s actual guilt, i.e. his moral culp ­
ability, nor docs he exclude the possibility of men living entirely

1 C.gent. 3. 2 De incam. 4; 7. 3 Ib. 6.

* See above, pp. 167 F.; 170-2. 5 C. gent. 4 ; 31-3.
6 Ib. 34; de incarn. 12. 7 De incam. 14. 8 C. Ar. 1, 51.
348 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

without sin. In one passage,1 for example, lie claims that

Jeremiah and John the Baptist actually did so.

3. The Greek Fathers

Athanasius’s ideas about the perfection and blessedness of man

in his primeval state had a far-reaching influence on the Eastern
church of the fourth century. The Cappadocian fathers, for
example, depict Adam as leading an idyllic, godlike existence
in Eden. Stamped with the divine image, he was free from all
the now normal disabilities, such as death, and he was endowed
with freedom of will, filled with love for his creator and blest
with the most intimate intercourse with Him.2 Like Athanasius,
they call in philosophizing allegory to aid them in interpreting
the Biblical story. For Gregory Nazianzen 3 the Garden is
clearly the Platonists’ intelligible world of ideas,4 its plants
being ‘divine concepts’. Gregory of Nyssa carried speculation
to the point of proposing,5 on the basis of Gen. 1, 26 f., a double
creation. The first consisted in the production of the ideal or
archetypal man, in the Platonic sense, perfect and without sex ­
ual differentiation, comprising in himself all possible men and
women. It was because God foresaw that, being crcaturcly and
therefore mutable, he would sin, that He subdivided him, by a
second creative act, into male and female, thus inaugurating
the actual race of men. The infiltration of philosophy is much
less evident in theologians of the Antiochene tradition, with
their attachment to the literal sense of Scripture. By the image
of God in man Chrysostom understands6 Adam ’s sovereignty
over the rest of creation, including woman; and he interprets7
the reduplication, ‘and in our likeness ’, in the Genesis passage as
meaning that man can, by his own efforts, attain the likeness
of God by mastering his passions. As created he was neither
corruptible nor mortal,8 and Adam and Eve lived an angelic
* C. Ar. 3. 33.
• Cf. Basil, hom. 9 (quod deus non est). 6 f.; Gregory Nazianzen, or. 45, 8;
Gregory Nyss., or. cat. 6. 3 Loc. cit. 4 See above, pp. 10 f.
5 De hom. opif. 16. 6 In Gen. hom. 3, 2; 9, 4.
7 Ib. 9, 3. 8 Ad pop. Antioch, hom. 11, 12.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 349

life free from care.1 Adam ’s wisdom and knowledge were

perfect; he knew the meaning of the divine command and the
penalties attached to its violation, and he enjoyed perfect
freedom.2
From this beatitude our first parents fell, not (these writers
all emphasize the point) through any necessity, and still less
through any action of God ’s, but by the misuse of their own
free will;3 and to that fatal lapse of theirs are to be attributed all
the evils to which man is heir. ‘ Having been deceived, we were
destroyed ’, writes4 Cyril of Jerusalem, . we fell.. . we were
blinded.’ Hence man ’s mortality, his subjection to pain and
sickness, his ignorance, his weakness of will and enslavement
to desire; hence idolatry in religion, and violence, poverty and
slavery in the social sphere.5 The image of God has been de ­
faced. In arguing thus these thinkers are trying to refute
Manichaeism by removing the blame for evil from God. But
do they hold that, along with its tragic after-effects, Adam has
transmitted his actual sinfulness, i.e. his guilt, to posterity? The
answer usually given is negative, and much of the evidence
seems at first sight to support this. The Greek fathers, with
their insistence that man ’s free will remains intact and is the root
of actual sinning,6 have a much more optimistic outlook than
the West. It is easy to collect passages from their works which,
at any rate in the light of later orthodoxy, appear to rule out
any doctrine of original sin. Both the Gregories, for example,
as well as Chrysostom, teach 7 that newly born children are
exempt from sin. The latter, further, interprets8 St. Paul’s
statement (Row. 5, 19) that the many were made sinners by
one man ’s disobedience as meaning only that they were made
liable to punishment and death. It is hardly surprising that the
« In Gen. hom. 16, 5; 18, 4. » Ib. 16, 5 f.
’ E.g. Basil, hom. 9 (quod deus non est), 7. ■» Cat. 2, 5.
/ Cf. Gregory Nazianzcn, or. 19, 13 f.; 14, 25; 22, 13; 45, 8; 45, 12;
Gregory Nyss., or. cat. 6; 8; J. Chrysostom, ad pop. Antioch, hom. ix, 2; in
Con. hom. 16, 5 f.; 17, 2.
6 E.g. Basil, hom. 8, 3; 8, 5; Gregory Nyss., or. cat. Chrysostom, in Gen.
hom. 19, 1; 20, 3.
7 Gregory Nazianzcn, or. 40, 23; Gregory Nyss., de infant, qui praemat. mor.
(PG 46, 177-80); Chrysostom, in M att. hom. 28, 3.
8 In Rom. hom. 10, 2 f.
350 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Pelagian Julian of Eclanum later claimed 1 that their teaching

had foreshadowed his own position.
The customary verdict, however, seems unjust to the Greek
fathers, perhaps because it depends on the assumption that no
theory of original sin holds water except the full-blown Latin
one. It is imperative to get rid of this prejudice. Admittedly
there is hardly a hint in the Greek fathers that mankind as a
whole shares in Adam ’s guilt, i.e. his culpability. This partly
explains their reluctance to speak of his legacy to us as sin, and
of course makes their indulgent attitude to children dying un-
baptized understandable. But they have the greatest possible
feeling for the mystical unity of mankind with its first ancestor.
This is the ancient doctrine of recapitulation, and in virtue of
it they assume without question that our fall was involved in
Adam ’s. Again, their tendency is to view original sin as a
wound inflicted on our nature. If we bear these points in mind,
and also the fact that their treatment of the subject is almost
always incidental, we can perhaps define their position. First,
they take it for granted diat all men were involved in Adam ’s
rebellious act. For Basil, for example, the purpose of the tree
of knowledge in Paradise was that "our obedience might be
tested ’;2 Gregory of Nazianzus envisages3 the whole race as
participating in Adam ’s sin and fall, and expressly claims4 as his
own the weakness which the primal man displayed in the
garden; and Gregory of Nyssa, after saying that we wear skins
‘as if Adam lived in us’, adds5 that men ought to ask for for­
giveness daily since they share in Adam ’s fall. Secondly, along ­
side their assumption of free will, they clearly hold that the Fall
affected our moral nature. Their lists of evils flowing from it
include disorders attributable to the unleashing of lust and
greed.6 Gregory of Nazianzus traces7 his own congenital weak ­
ness of will to it, and Gregory of Nyssa states8 that ‘human
nature is weak in regard to doing good, having been once for
1 Cf. Augustine, in lui. op. imperf. I, 21; 1, 22; 1, 26.
1 Hom. 9, 9. 3 Or. 33, 9. * Ib. 45, 8.
’ De orat. dom. or. 5 (PG 44, 1184).
6 E.g. Gregory Nazianzcn, or. 14, 25; 19, 13 f.
7 Carm. 2, I, 45 (w. 95-107). 8 De orat. dom. or. 4 (PG 44, 1164).
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 351

all hamstrung through weakness’. According to Chrysostom,1

the death imposed as a penalty on the human race entails
concupiscence.
Thirdly, however, there are not wanting passages which
suggest that certain fathers envisaged also the transmission of sin
itself. Basil actually uses the phrase, bidding 2 the rich give food
to the poor so as to wipe out the sin which Adam ‘ transmitted ’
when he ate the forbidden fruit. Chrysostom
seems to have spoken 3 of an ‘ ancestral obligation ’ written out
by Adam amounting to ‘the first portion of a debt which we
have increased by our subsequent sins’. But Gregory of Nyssa
is much more outspoken. Not only does he describe4 the
humanity assumed by Christ as ‘prone to sin ’ (άμαρτητικην),
and sin as ‘congenital to our nature’, but he can write:5 ‘Evil
was mixed with our nature from the beginning . . . through
those who by their disobedience introduced the disease. Just
as in the natural propagation of the species each animal en ­
genders its like, so man is born from man, a being subject to
passions from a being subject to passions, a sinner from a
sinner. Thus sin takes its rise in us as we are born; it grows with
us and keeps us company till life ’s term.’ Such thoughts arc
more frequent in Didymus, who speaks of ‘the ancient sin ’6 of
Adam in virtue of which all men are held under sin (ύπό
αμαρτίαν dalv 7 ). They contract it ‘by transmission ’ (κατά
διαδοχήν), the sexual union of their parents being apparently
the means.8 But this sin which we inherit from Adam, and
which as such is not voluntary, seems to him 9 to call for
purification rather than for punishment.
Though falling short of Augustinianism, there was here the
outline of a real theory of original sin. The fathers might well
have filled it in and given it greater sharpness of definition had
the subject been directly canvassed in their day. A point on
1 In Rom. horn. 13, 1. » Hom. 8, 7.
3 Cf. Augustine, c. lui. 1, 26.
* De vit. M oys.·, in ps. 6 (PG 44, 336; 609).
s De beat. or. 6 (PG 44, 1273).
6
De trim 2, 12; 3, 12; 3, 17; 3, 21 (PG 39, 684; 860; 876; 916).
hi 2 Cor. 4. 17 (PG 39, 1692). • C. M unich. 8 (PG 39, 1096).
9 hi lob 10, 15 (PG 39, 1145).
352 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

which they were all agreed was that man ’s will remains free;
we are responsible for our acts.’ This was a vital article in their
anti-Manichacan propaganda, but it raised the question of man ’s
need of divine grace. The issue is usually posed in the terms
which the later Augustinian discussion has made familiar, and
so viewed their position was that grace and free will co-operate.
Our salvation comes, stated 1 2 Gregory Nazianzen, both from
ourselves and from God. If God ’s help is necessary for doing
good and if the good will itself comes from Him, it is equally
true that the initiative rests with man ’s free will. Chrysostom
similarly teaches3 that without God ’s aid we should be unable
to accomplish good works; nevertheless, even if grace takes the
lead, it co-operates (συ/ζπράττβι) with free will. We first of all
begin to desire the good and to incline ourselves towards it,
and then God steps in to strengthen that desire and render
it effective. But these were superficial answers; Augustine ’s
starting-point was not theirs, and they could not be expected
to have thought the problem through. The orbit within which
they worked was quite different, being marked out by the
ideas of participation in the divine nature, rebirth through the
power of the Spirit, adoption as sons, new creation through
Christ— all leading to the concept of deification (^οποη/σι?).
Their attitude is illustrated by the statement4 attributed to
Athanasius, ‘The Son of God became son of man so that the
sons of men, that is, of Adam, might become sons of God . . .
partakers of the life of God. . . . Thus He is Son of God by
nature, and we by grace.’ Cyril of Alexandria made the same
point:5 We arc made partakers of the divine nature and are
said to be sons of God, nay we arc actually called divine, not
only because we arc exalted by grace to supernatural glory,
but also because we have God dwelling in us ’. Grace thus con ­
ceived is a state of communion with God, and if a man must
use his free will to attain it, there can be no question but that
the blessedness in which it consists is wholly the gift of God.
1 E.g. Cyril Micros., cat. 4, 18-21; Epiphanius, haer. 64, 49; Gregory Na ­
zianzen, 37, 2x; Gregory Nyss., or. cat. 30 f. 2 Q r . 37> 13-15
J In Gen. hom. 25, 7; 58, 5; in Rom. horn. 14, 7; 19, 1; in Hebr. horn. 12,’ 3.
* De incam. et c. Ar. 8. s In loh. 1, 9 (PG 73, 157)
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 353

4. The W est before Augustine

For our knowledge of fourth-century Latin theories of

human nature we shall draw mainly, though not exclusively, on
Ambrose and his anonymous contemporary, the Roman exegete
whom Erasmus designated Ambrosiaster. Both must have in ­
fluenced Augustine, and Ambrosiaster anticipated his teaching
at a number of points.
In the first place, the general Western view was that man ’s
primitive state had been one of supernatural blessedness. Ac­
cording to Hilary,’ he was created immortal, destined to share
the blessedness of God Himself. Ambrosiaster argued 12 that, al­
though Adam ’s body was not intrinsically immortal, he halted its
tendency to decay by eating of the Tree of Life. It was Ambrose,
however, perhaps inspired by his acquaintance with the Cap ­
padocians, who painted the picture in the most glowing colours.
Adam had been a ‘heavenly being ’, breathing etherial air and
immune from life ’s cares and boredoms.3 Accustomed to con ­
versing with God face to face,4 he held his carnal appetites in
sovereign control.5 Along with Eve he radiated perfect inno ­
cence and virtue,6 and was even exempt from the need of food.7
From this happy state, however, he fell, being condemned to
concupiscence and death. The root cause of his lapse, according
to Ambrose,8 was pride: ‘he wanted to claim for himself some­
thing which had not been assigned to him, equality’ with his
Creator’. In Ambrosiaster’s view 9 his sin was akin to idolatry,
since he fondly imagined he could become God. By treating
the Devil as God, Adam placed himself in his power.10 It was
his soul, of course, which sinned, but the act corrupted his
flesh, and sin established its abode there. Thus the Devil took
possession of it, so that henceforth it could be designated a
‘flesh of sin ’.”
Secondly, the solidarity of the race with Adam, with all that

1 In ps. 2, 15 £ ; 59, 4 ; 1 18, litt. 10, 1. 2

Quae st. vet. et novi test. 19.
3 Ps. 118 expos. 15, 36; 4, 5. 4
Enarr. in ps. 43, 75.
3 Expos, ev. Luc. 7, 142.
6
De parad. 24; 63; ep. 58, 12.
7 De parad. 42.
8
Ps. 118 expos, η, 8; ep. 73, 5.
9 In Rom. 5, 14. 10 Ib. 7» J4- Π
Ib. 7, 18.
354 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

that notion entails, received much fuller recognition in the West

than the East. An unknown author writes,1 ‘Assuredly we all
sinned in the first man, and by the inheritance of his nature an
inheritance of guilt (culpae) has been transmitted from one man
to all. . . . Adam is therefore in each of us, for in him human
nature itself sinned.’ To return to Ambrose,2 ‘Adam existed, and
in him we all existed; Adam perished, and in him all perished ’;
and again, even more forcibly,3 Tn Adam I fell, in Adam I was
cast out of Paradise, in Adam I died. How should God restore
me, unless He find in me Adam, justified in Christ, exactly as in
that first Adam I was subject to guilt (culpae obnoxium) and
destined to death? ’ Ambrosiastcr’s teaching is particularly note­
worthy because it relics on an exegesis of Rom. 5, 12 which,
though mistaken and based on a false reading, was to become
the pivot of the doctrine of original sin. In the Greek St. Paul’s
text runs, ‘. . . so death passed to all men inasmuch as (εφ ’ ω)
all sinned ’; but the Old Latin version which Ambrosiaster used
had the faulty translation ‘. . . in whom (in quo) all sinned ’.
Hence we fmd him commenting,4 ‘ “ In whom ” , that is, in
Adam, “ all sinned.” He said, “ In whom ” , in the masculine,
although speaking about the woman, because his reference was
to the race, not the sex. It is therefore plain that all men sinned
in Adam as in a lump (quasi in massa). For Adam himself was
corrupted by sin, and all whom he begat were born under sin.
Thus we are all sinners from him, since we all derive from him.’
What arc the practical implications of this solidarity? The
second of Ambrose’s texts cited above suggests that the race is
infected with Adam ’s actual guilt. His more general doctrine,
however, is that, while the corrupting force of sin is trans­
mitted, the guilt attaches to Adam himself, not to us. Certainly
no one can be without sin (i.e., presumably, the sinful tendency),
not even a day-old child;5 the corruption actually increases, in
the individual as he grows older6 and in the race as generation
succeeds generation.7 But our personal (propria) sins arc to be
1 Pscudo-Ambrosc, apol. proph. Dauid 2, 71.
1 Expos, ev. Luc. 7, 234. 1 De excess. Satur. 2, 6.
4 In Rom. 5, 12. ’ De Noe 9; 81; de poenit. 1 4.
4 De Noe 81. 7 Ep. 4$, 13-15.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 355

contrasted with those we inherit (haereditaria) ; baptism removes

the former, but the rite of the washing of feet the latter.1 In the
De sacramentis (if he is the author of this work) he makes the
same curious distinction, stating 2 that ‘the serpent’s poison ’ is
done away by the washing of feet. This hereditary sin, he
argues elsewhere,3 is a wound which makes us stumble, but
need cause us no anxiety at the day of judgment; we shall only
be punished then for our personal sins. Baptism is of course
necessary for infants, but because it opens the kingdom of
heaven to them.4 It is clear that he envisages the inherited cor­
ruption as a congenital propensity to sin (the phrase he uses is
lubricum delinquendi) rather than as positive guilt. The moment
of transmission he identifies,5 in reliance on Pi. 51, 5 (T was
conceived in iniquities, and in sins my mother bore me ’), with
the act of physical generation. Thus he can claim that Christ
escaped the taint of hereditary sin by His virginal conception.
In Ambrosiaster’s view man ’s body, as a result of the fatal
legacy, is a prey to sin; Satan holds him captive, and can
compel him to do his will.6 The reason is that, as we saw above,
Adam ’s sin corrupted the flesh, and the corruption is passed on
by physical descent {per traducem fit omnis caro peccati 7 ). Man
cannot plead that he is not responsible for the resulting sins;
even if he commits them unwillingly in a sense, it was never­
theless he who originally, presumably in Adam, enslaved him ­
self to the Devil.8 At the same time Ambrosiaster distinguishes
degrees in men ’s subjection to sin. The majority, no doubt, sin
after the model of Adam, despising God; but there are others,
the good, who acknowledge the moral law and, when they sin,
do so while retaining their respect for the divine majesty.9 It is
only the former who are destined for the second death and for
the lower, or real, hell; the latter remain in an upper hell, which
for the just is really a place of refreshment (rtfirigerium 10 ). The
point is that for Ambrosiaster, as for Ambrose, we are not
punished for Adam ’s sin, but only for our own sins. As he
’ De myst. 32; cnarr. in ps. 48, 8. * 3. 5-7-
3 Enarr. in ps. 48, 9. 4 De Abrah. 2, 79.
’ Apol. proph. Dav. 56 f. 6 In Rom. 7, 14. 7 Ib. 7, 22.
8 Ib. 7, 20. ’ Ib. 5, 14. 10 ib. 5, 12; 5, 14.
35 6 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

says,1 ‘You perceive that men are not made guilty by the fact
of their birth, but by their evil behaviour’. Baptism is therefore
necessary, not as abolishing inherited guilt, but as delivering
us from death and opening the gates of the kingdom of
heaven.2
Although we have only cited these two, there is little doubt
that their views were representative. On the related question of
grace, the parallel truths of man ’s free will and his need of God ’s
help were maintained, although we can discern increasing em ­
phasis being laid on the latter. ‘We must be assisted and
directed ’, wrote3 Hilary, ‘by His grace’; but he makes it plain
that the initial move in God ’s direction lies at our own disposi­
tion. God ’s mercy, he points out elsewhere,4 docs not exclude
man ’s desert, and a man ’s own will must take the lead in
lifting him from sin. ‘It is for God to call’, remarks5 Jerome,
‘and for us to believe.’ The part of grace, it would seem, is to
perfect that which the will has freely determined ; yet our will
is only ours by God ’s mercy.6 So Ambrose states,7 Tn every ­
thing the Lord ’s power cooperates with man ’s efforts’; but he
can also say,8 ‘ Our free will gives us cither a propensity to virtue
or an inclination to sin ’. In numerous passages9 he lays it down
that the grace of salvation will only come to those who make
the effort to bestir themselves. Yet in other moods, with a lack
of consistency which is understandable, these writers evince a
deeper sense of man ’s dependence upon God. Ambrose, for
example, states10 that grace is not bestowed as a reward for merit,
but ‘simply according to the will of the Giver’. A man ’s decision
to become a Christian, he explains,11 has really been prepared
in advance by God; and indeed every holy thought we have is
God ’s gift to us.12 Ambrosiaster agrees13 with him that grace
is granted freely, not in reward for any merits of ours; and
1 2 Ib. 81.
Quaest. vet. et novi test. 21 f.
3
Tract, in ps . π 8, litt. i, 2; ib., litt. ιό, io.
4 Tract, in ps. 142, 3; 118, litt. 14, 20. s In Is. 49, 4.
6 C.Pelag. 1, 5; 3,?; ep . I30> 12. 7 Expos, ev. Luc. 2, 84.
8 De lac. 1,1.
9 E.g. tract, in ps. 43, 7; 118, litt. 12, 13; de interpell. lob 4, 4; de Abrah. 2, 74·
10 Exhort, virg. 43. " Expos, ev. Luc. 1, 10.
12
De Cain et Ab. 1, 45. 13 In Rom. 11,6.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 357

Victorinus insists1 most plainly that the very will to do good is

the work of God and owes its existence to the operation of His
grace.

5. The Doctrine of Pelagius

The preceding pages, while revealing the firm hold which

fourth-century Christians had on the truth of man ’s fallen
condition and consequent need of divine help, have also brought
to light the persistence, side by side with it, of a dogged belief
in free will and responsibility. These two sets of ideas were not
necessarily irreconcilable, but a conflict was unavoidable unless
their relations were set down very subtly. This was the situa­
tion which emerged quite early in the fifth century. By 397, as
his Ad Sitnplicianunt, finished in that year, proves, Augustine
was already putting before contemporary Christians his con ­
ception of mankind as a ‘lump of sin ’, unable to make any move
to save itself and wholly dependent on God ’s grace. About the
same time, between 384 and 409, the austere British ‘monk ’
(whether or not he was actually a monk, he was habitually
referred to as monachus) Pelagius, now a fashionable teacher at
Rome, was disseminating a diametrically opposite doctrine of
human nature. A clash was inevitable, and it came when he and
Iris disciple Celestius left Italy in 409 in face of Alaric ’s invasion
and crossed over to Africa, where the latter settled at Carthage.
Pelagius was primarily a moralist, concerned for right con ­
duct and shocked by what he considered demoralizingly pes­
simistic views of what could be expected of human nature. The
assumption that man could not help sinning seemed 2 to him an
insult to Iris Creator. Augustine ’s prayer,3 ‘Give what Thou
commandest, and command what Thou wilt’ {da quod tubes et
iube quod vis), particularly distressed him,4 for it seemed to sug ­
gest that men were puppets wholly determined by the move ­
ments of divine grace. In reaction to this the keystone of his
whole system is the idea of unconditional free will and re ­
sponsibility. In creating man God did not subject him, like
1 In Phil. 2, 12 f. 3 Ad Demet. 16 f. (PL 30, 30 f.).
3 Confess. 10, 40. 4 Cf. Augustine, de dono persev. 53.
358 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

other creatures, to the law of nature, but gave him the unique
privilege of being able to accomplish the divine will by his own
choice. He set life and death before him, bidding him choose
life {Dent. 30, 19), but leaving the final decision to his free will.
Thus it depends on the man himself whether he acts rightly or
wrongly; the possibility of freely choosing the good entails the
possibility of choosing evil.1 There arc, he argues,2 three features
in action — the power {posse), the will {velle) and the realization
{esse). The first of these comes exclusively from God, but the
other two belong to us; hence, according as we act, we merit
praise or blame. It would be wrong to infer, however, that he
regarded this autonomy as somehow withdrawing man from
the purview of God ’s sovereignty. Whatever his followers may
have said, Pelagius himself made no such claim. On the con ­
trary, along with his belief in free will he has the conception of
a divine law proclaiming to men what they ought to do and
setting the prospect of supernatural rewards and pains before
them.3 If a man enjoys freedom of choice, it is by the express
bounty of his Creator, and he ought to use it for the ends which
He prescribes.
The rest of Pelagius’s system coheres logically with this
central thought. First, he rejects the idea that man ’s will has any
intrinsic bias in favour of wrong-doing as a result of the Fall.
Since each soul is, as he believes, created immediately by God,
it cannot come into the world soiled by original sin trans­
mitted from Adam. To suppose that it does savours of the
traducian theory that souls, like bodies, are generated from the
parents, and is tantamount to Manichaeism.4 Even if true, how ­
ever, would not the theory entail that the offspring of baptized
parents are not only free from Adam ’s taint but inherit their
sanctification?5 In any case God, Who forgives human beings
their own sins, surely cannot blame them for someone elsc’s.6
Adam ’s trespass certainly had disastrous consequences; it intro-
* Ad Danet. 2 (PL 30, 16 f.).
1 Cf. Augustine, de grat. Chr. et pccc. orig. I, 5.
’ Ad Celant. 13-15; ad Detnet. 16 (PL 22, 1210 f.; 30, 30 f.).
4 Augustine, op. imperf. c. lui. 6, 8; 6, 21.
’ In Rom. 5, 15. 6 Ib.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD S GRACE 359

duccd death, physical and spiritual, and set going a habit of dis­
obedience. But this latter is propagated, not by physical descent,
but by custom and example.1 Hence there is no congenital fault
in man as he is born: ‘before he begins exercising his will, there
is only in him what God has created’.2 Pelagius ’s baptismal
teaching naturally fitted in with this. For adults the sacrament
was medicinal and regenerative, but its effect on infants was
purely benedictory; what they received at the font was not
eternal life (like Ambrose and Ambrosiaster, he believed they
were eligible for that already), but ‘spiritual illumination,
adoption as children of God, citizenship of the heavenly
Jerusalem, sanctification and membership of Christ, with in ­
heritance in the kingdom of heaven ’.3
Secondly, he equally resists the suggestion that there can be
any special pressure on man ’s will to choose the good. In effect
this means the limitation of grace to such purely external aids
as God has provided; no room is left for any special, interior
action of God upon the soul, much less any predestination to
holiness. Pelagius stated,4 it is true, that grace is necessary ‘not
only every hour and every moment, but in every act’. He also
admitted 5 that grace is bestowed ‘to make the fulfilment of
God ’s commands easier’. By grace, however, he really meant
(a) free will itself, or the possibility of not sinning with which
God endowed us at our creation;6 (b) the revelation, through
reason, of God ’s law, instructing us what we should do and
holding out eternal sanctions;7 and (c), since this has become
obscured through evil custom, the law of Moses and the teach ­
ing and example of Christ.8 Thus grace on his view is in the
main ab extra', it is ‘a grace of knowledge ’9 or, as Augustine put
it,10 a grace consisting in ‘law and teaching ’. The only exception
he allows is the bestowal of the forgiveness of sins (to adults, of

* Ib. 5, 12; 5, 16; ad Demet. 8; 17.

1 Augustine, de grat. Chr. et pea. orig. 2, 14.
3 Augustine, op. imperf. c. lui. 1, 53; de grat. Chr. et pea. orig. 2, 20-3.
4 Augustine, de grat. Chr. et pea. orig. I, 2; 1, 8; 1, 36.
5 Ib. i,
I, 27-30. '6 Augustine,
_ de gest. Pelag. 22; op. 186, 1.
7 Ad Demet. 2 (PL 30, 16 f.).
8 Ib. 4 fF.; 8; Augustine, de grat. Chr. ct pea. orig. 1, 45.
9 In Phil. I, 6. 10 De
~ grat. Chr. et pea. orig. 1, 45.
36ο FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

course) in baptism and penance.1 Grace is, further, offered

equally to all, and Pelagius will have nothing to do with the
idea that God bestows special favour upon some; He is no
‘acceptor of persons ’.2 By merit alone men advance in holiness,
and God ’s predestination operates strictly in accordance with
the quality of the lives He foresees they will lead.3
With these as his presuppositions Pelagius does not shrink
from the corollary logically implied in them that ‘a man can,
if he will, observe God ’s commandments without sinning ’.4
Was it not written in the Bible, ‘Ye shall be holy, for I am
holy ’ (Lei>. 19, 2), and, ‘Be ye perfect, as your Father in heaven
is perfect’ {M att. 5, 495)? It would be impious to suggest that
God, the Father of all justice, enjoins what He knows to be
impossible.6 As a matter of fact, he argued,7 Scripture can
point to many examples of blameless lives. So Pelagius’s
austere doctrine of impeccantia takes shape. It is the whole law
which must be fulfilled, for ‘a Christian is he who is one not in
word but in deed, who imitates and follows Christ in every ­
thing, who is holy, innocent, unsoiled, blameless, in whose
heart there is no malice but only piety and goodness, who
refuses to injure or hurt anyone, but brings succour to all. . . .
He is a Christian who can justly say, “ I have injured no one, I
have lived righteously with all” .’8 He docs not imagine, of
course, that anyone will live such a life from childhood to
death. What he envisages is not a state of perfection acquired
once for all, but rather one which is attained by strenuous
efforts of the will and which only steadily increasing application
will be able to maintain.’
Pelagius s teaching is often described as a species of naturalism,
but this label scarcely does justice to its profoundly religious
spirit. Defective though it is in its recognition of man ’s weak ­
ness, it radiates an intense awareness of God ’s majesty, of the
wonderful privileges and high destiny He has vouchsafed to

1 Augustine, de nat. et grat. 20, 31; 60-4. » De cast. 13.

5 In Rom. 9, 10: cf. ib. 8, 29 f. 4 Augustine, de çest. Pelaç. 16.
’ Qualiter 4 (in Caspari, Briefe, etc. 119). * Ib. 2.
ί Augustine, de nat. et grat. 42-4. « De vita christ. 6 (PL 40, 1037).
• Ad Demet. 27 (PL 30, 42); cf. Augustine, degest. Pclag. 20.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 361

men, and of the claims of the moral law and of Christ’s

example. Yet its onc-sidcdness made it grievously inadequate
as an interpretation of Christianity, and this inadequacy was
heightened by Pclagius’s disciples. Celestius, for example, who
became the practical leader of the movement, made it his
policy to stress the irritating tenets which the more conciliatory
Pelagius himself tried to soften down. Thus he pushed the
denial of original sin into the foreground, teaching that Adam
was created mortal and would have died anyhow, whether he
sinned or not. He proclaimed that children were eligible for
eternal life even without baptism (later he adopted more
cautious formulae), and enlarged on the incompatibility of
grace and free will.1 This rationalizing strain was further in ­
tensified by Julian of Eclanum, probably the ablest thinker in
the Pelagian group. According to him, man ’s free will placed
him in a position of complete independence vis-à-vis God (a deo
emancipatus homo est2 ). Making God ’s goodness his major pre ­
miss, he dismissed 3 Augustine ’s teaching as pure Manichaeism,
and, as against his gloomy estimate of the sex instinct, urged 4
that its moderate indulgence was natural and innocent. Even
apart from such provocative sallies, however, Pelagianism, with
its excessively rosy view of human nature and its insufficient
acknowledgement of man ’s dependence on God, invited
criticism. Celestius was condemned at Carthage early in 412.
Other condemnations followed at Carthage and Milevum in
4 ιό, and at the great African council held at Carthage in 418.
The doctrine was finally anathematized at the council of
Ephesus on 22 July 431.

6. Augustine and Original Sin

Augustine had worked out his own theory of man and his
condition long before the outbreak of the Pelagian controversy.
His starting-point is a glowing picture of human nature as it
1 Augustine, ib. 23 f.; de perfect, justit. hom. passim.
1 Augustine, op. imperf. c. lui. 1, 78-
3 E.g. Augustine, op. cit. 6, 10.
♦ E.g. Augustine, op. cit. 1, 71; 3, 142; 5, 5 f.
3 62 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

comes from the Creator’s hands; he carries to its highest pitch

the growing tendency to attribute original righteousness and
perfection to the first man. Adam, he holds,’ was immune from
physical ills and had surpassing intellectual gifts; he was in a
state of justification, illumination and beatitude. Immortality
lay within his grasp if only he continued to feed upon the Tree
of Life.2 Freedom he possessed, not in the sense of the inability
to sin (die non posse peccare which Augustine regards as the true
liberty enjoyed in heaven by the blessed), but of the ability not
to sin {posse non peccare 3 }. And his will was good, that is,
devoted to carrying out God ’s commands, for God endowed it
with a settled inclination to virtue.4 So his body was subject to
his soul, his carnal desires to his will, and his will to God.5
Already he was wrapped around with divine grace {indu ­
mentum gratiae 6 ), and he was further granted the special gift
of perseverance, i.e. the possibility of persisting in the right
exercise of his will.7
Nevertheless, as the Bible records, he fell. It is clear from
Augustine’s account that the fault was entirely his own. God
could not be blamed, for He had given him every advantage;
the one prohibition He imposed, not to eat the forbidden fruit,
was the reverse of burdensome, and his desires did not conflict
with it.8 His only weakness was his creatureliness, which meant
that he was changeable by nature and so liable to turn away
from the transcendent good.9 Any blame must lie exclusively
with his own will, which, though inclined towards goodness,
had the possibility, being free, of choosing wrongfully. When
it did so, the latent ground of the act was pride, the desire to
break away from his natural master, God, and be his own
master. It there had not been this proud satisfaction with self in
his soul, this craving to substitute self for God as the goal of his
being, he would never have listened to the Tempter.10 And from
’ Op. cit. 5, i; de Ceti, ad lift. 8, 25.
a De Gen. ad lilt. 6, 36; de civ. dei 13, 20.
’ Decorrept. et grat. 33. < De civ. dei 14, 11.
5 Depea. nier, et remiss. 2, 36; de mipt. et concup. 2, 30.
6 Deciv. dei 14, 17; de Gen. ad lift. 11, 42.
7 Decorrept. et grat. 34. « De civ. dei 14, 12.
9 lb· ’2, 8. «0 lb. 14, 13: cf. de lib. arbit. 3, 2.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 363

this character of the first sin flows its heinousness. Trivial

though it might appear, it can be seen on analysis to have in ­
volved sacrilege (through disbelieving God ’s word), murder,
spiritual fornication, theft and avarice.1 It was worse than any
other conceivable sin in proportion as Adam was nobler than
any other man and as the will which produced it was uniquely
free.2 In fact, such was its gravity that it resulted in the ruin of
the entire race, which became a massa damnata, sinful itself and
propagating sinners.3
So Augustine has no doubt of the reality of original sin.
Genesis apart, he finds Scriptural proof of it in Ps. 51, Job and
Eph. 2, 3,4 but above all in Rom. 5, 12 (where, like Ambrosi-
aster, he reads5 ‘in whom ’) and John 3, 3-5.6 The Church ’s
tradition, too, he is satisfied, is unanimously in favour of it,
and he marshals7 an array of patristic evidence to convince
Julian of Eclanum of this. The practice of baptizing infants with
exorcisms and a solemn renunciation of the Devil was in his
eyes proof positive that even they were infected with sin.8
Finally, the general wretchedness of man ’s lot and his enslave­
ment to his desires seemed to clinch the matter.9 Like others
before him, he believed that the taint was propagated from
parent to child by the physical act of generation, or rather as the
result of the carnal excitement which accompanied it and was
present, he noticed, in the sexual intercourse even of baptized
persons.10 As we have seen,11 Augustine was divided in mind
between the traducianist and various forms of the creationist
theory of the soul’s origin. If the former is right, original sin
passes to us directly from our parents; if the latter, the freshly
created soul becomes soiled as it enters the body.12
Nothing is more difficult to understand, Augustine once
wrote,13 than the nature of ‘the ancient sin ’. His account has
two aspects which it is desirable to treat separately. In the first
I Enchir. 45. 1 Op. itnperf. c. lui. 6, 22; 3, 57.
» lb.; de nupt. et concup. 2, ST, enchir. 27.
♦ Enarr. in ps. 50, 10; serin. 170, 2. « 5 De pecc. mer. et remiss. 1,11.
6 lb. i, 26. 7 C. Ini. I, 6-35. 8 E.g. de nupt. et concup. I, 22.
’ Op. itnperf c. Ini. 5, 64; 6, 27; 6, 14.
I10 lb. 2, 42; de nupt. et concup. 2, 36; de pecc. mer. et remiss. 2, 11.

II Sec above, p. 345. 11 D e mor. eccl. cath. 1, 40.

364 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

place, as he sees it, the essence of original sin consists in our

participation in, and co-responsibility for, Adam ’s perverse
choice. We were one with him when he made it, and thus willed
in and with him. As he expresses it,1 ‘In the misdirected choice
of that one man all sinned in him, since all were that one man,
from whom on that account they all severally derive original
sin ’. Sin is a matter of the will (nusquam nisi in voluntate esse
peccatum 2 ), and ‘all sinned in Adam on that occasion, for all
were already identical with him in that nature of his which was
endowed with the capacity to generate them ’.3 Others before
Augustine had stressed our solidarity with Adam, but none had
depicted so vividly our complicity with him in his evil willing.
His attitude is very clearly indicated when he faces the objec­
tion that, if sin lies in the will, infants must be exempt from
original sin since they cannot will freely. His rejoinder4 is that
there is nothing absurd in speaking of their original sin as
voluntary, derived as it is from the free act of their first parent.
As a result, while drawing a distinction between the guilt
(reatus) of original sin and the evil it inflicts on our nature, he
sees nothing incongruous in saddling us with both. Indeed, it is
precisely this guilt, he argues,5 that baptism was designed to
remove.
Secondly, as a consequence of Adam ’s rebellion which, as we
have seen, is ours too, human nature has been terribly scarred
and vitiated. Augustine does not inculcate a doctrine of ‘total
depravity ’, according to which the image of God has been
utterly obliterated in us. Even though grievously altered, fallen
man remains noble:6 ‘the spark, as it were, of reason in virtue
of which he was made in God ’s likeness has not been com ­
pletely extinguished’.7 Nevertheless the corruption has gone far
enough. The most obvious symptom of it, apart from the gen ­
eral misery of man ’s existence, is his enslavement to ignorance,
concupiscence and death.8 In Augustine ’s vocabulary concupi­
scence stands, in a general way, for every inclination making
1 De nupt. et concup. 2, 15. 2 E.g. retract. 1, 15, 2.
» De pecc. mer. et remiss. 3, 14. 4 Retract. 1, 13, 5.
’ C. lui. 6, 49 f. 6 De trin. 14, 6. 7 De civ. dei 22, 24, 2.
• E g. ib. 13, 3; 13, 14; op. imperf. c. lui. 4, 104; 6, 17; 6, 22.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 3<>5

man turn from God to find satisfaction in material things which

are intrinsically evanescent. Far the most violent, persistent and
widespread of these, however, is in his opinion sexual desire,
and for practical purposes he identifies concupiscence with it.
It is misleading to interpret him, as many have done, as in effect
equating original sin with sexual passion. This disorder in our
physical nature, which he describes as both sinful and the fruit of
sin, is itself the product of our primeval wilful rebellion. That
it is not identical with original sin comes out, for example, in
the fact that, although baptism removes the guilt [reatus)
attaching to it, it cannot do away with its actuality [actus) in our
members.1 Yet the equation is easy to make, for Augustine
seems obsessed with the ravages which unbridled sexuality pro ­
duces in human beings. Even chaste people, he remarks,2
married or single, arc conscious of a tragic war within them ­
selves which did not exist in Paradise. Not that marriage,
instituted as it was by God, is sinful in itself; but marriage as
mankind now knows it seems inseparable from sexual pleasures
of which man in his innocence was ignorant.3 It was in view of
this, to avoid the taint of concupiscence, that the Saviour chose
to be bom of a pure virgin.4
Further, as a by-product of our fall in Adam, we have lost
that liberty [libertas) which he enjoyed, viz. of being able to
avoid sin and do good. Henceforth we cannot avoid sin without
God ’s grace, and without an even more special grace we cannot
accomplish the good. Not that Augustine intends to convey by
this that we have been deprived of free will [liberum arbitrium)
itself. His language3 occasionally appears to suggest this, but his
normal doctrine6 is that, while we retain our free will intact, the
sole use to which in our unrcgcncratc state we put it is to do
wrong. In this sense he can speak 7 of ‘a cruel necessity of
sinning ’ resting upon the human race. By this he means, not
1 De nupt. ct concup. I, 28 f.: cf. c. duos cpp. Pclag. 1, 27.
1 C. ltd. 3, 57-
3 De grat. Chr. et pecc. orig. 2, 38; de nupt. ct concup. 1, 20; 2, 25; 2, 36; etc.
* De nupt. et concup. I, 27; enchir. 34; serm. 151, 5.
s E.g. enchir. 30; ep. 145, 2.
6 C. du as cpp. Pclag. I, 5; 3, 24; serm. 156, 12; in ev. loh. tract. 5, 1.
7 De perfect, iustit. horn. 9; op. imperf c. lui. 1, 106; 5, 61.
366 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

that our wills arc in the grip of any physical or metaphysical

determinism, but rather that, our choice remaining free, we
spontaneously, as a matter of psychological fact, opt for per­
verse courses. In Ins latest phase he is, in consequence, driven to
repudiate the Pelagian thesis that certain saints of the Old and
New Testaments managed to live without sin; it is disproved, he
suggests,1 by the fact that all arc bound to say in the Lord ’s
Prayer, ‘Forgive us our debts’. Little wonder that on his view
the whole of humanity constitutes ‘a kind of mass (niassa=
“ lump ” ) of sin ’, or ‘a universal mass of perdition ’,2 being
destined to everlasting damnation were it not for the grace of
Christ. Even helpless children dying without the benefit of
baptism must pass to eternal fire with the Devil,3 although their
sufferings will be relatively mild as compared with those of
adults who have added sins of their own to their inherited
guilt.4

7. Grace and Predestination

With this sombrely pessimistic vision of man’s plight we can
readily understand Augustine ’s opposition to Pelagianism. For
him grace was an absolute necessity: ‘without God ’s help we
cannot by free will overcome the temptations of this life ’.5
The letter of the law can only kill unless we have the life-giving
Spirit to enable us to carry out its prescriptions.6 And grace
cannot be restricted to the purely external aids which the
Pelagians were prepared to allow. Before we can even begin to
aspire to what is good, God ’s grace must be at work within us.
It is, therefore, ‘an internal and secret power, wonderful and
ineffable’, by which God operates in men ’s hearts.7 For
Augustine this power of grace is in effect the presence of the
Holy Spirit, for Whom his favourite description is ‘Gift’
(donttnfi). It is the Spirit, he states,9 Who assists our infirmity.

C. duas epp. Pelag. 4, 27.

Ad Sitnplic. 1, 2, 16; 1, 2, 20; de grat. Chr. et pecc. orig. 2, 34.
Op. imperf. c. lui. 3, 199; serm. 294, 2-4; de pecc. mer. et remiss. 1,5$.
Enchir. 93. 5 Enarr. in ps. 89, 4. 6 Ep. 188, ii f.
De grat. Chr. et pea. orig. 1, 25. 8 Enchir. 37; de trin. 15, 37.
Ep. 194, 16 f.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 367

He distinguishes various kinds of grace. There is, first, ‘pre-

venient grace’ (from Ps. 59, 10: ‘His mercy will go before— in
Latin, praeveniet— me ’), by which God initiates in our souls
whatever good we think or aspire to or will.1 Again, there is
‘cooperating grace ’, by which He assists and co-operates with
our will once it has been bestirred.2 There is also ‘sufficient
grace’ (or the adiutorium sine quo) and ‘efficient grace ’ (the
adiutorium quo). The former is the grace which Adam pos­
sessed in Paradise and which placed him in the position, subject
to his using his free will to that end, to practise and persevere
in virtue. The latter is granted to the saints predestined to God ’s
kingdom to enable them both to will and to do what He ex ­
pects of them.3 But grace of whatever kind is God ’s free gift:
gratia dei gratuita.4 The divine favour cannot be earned by the
good deeds men do for the simple reason that those deeds are
themselves the effect of grace: ‘grace bestows merits, and is not
bestowed in reward for them ’.5 No worth-while act can be per­
formed without God ’s help,6 and even the initial motions of
faith arc inspired in our hearts by Him.7
Viewing God ’s saving activity in this light, Augustine is
brought face to face with the wider problems of free will and
predestination. The former arises because grace (a) anticipates
and indeed inaugurates every stirring of man ’s will in the
direction of the good, and (b), being the expression of God ’s
almighty will, must carry all before it. We cannot evade the
question what room is left, on this theory, for free will as
ordinarily understood. Augustine ’s solution can be set down in
stages. First, in the strict sense of free choice (liberum arbitrium),
he holds that man is always free, that is, he can choose freely
the course he will pursue; but since his will acts on motives and
certain motives may press irresistibly on it, the range of choices
which arc ‘live options’ for him is limited by the sort of man he
is. Fallen man, for example, breathing the atmosphere of con ­
cupiscence, though theoretically free, as a matter of fact only
’ Enchir. 32; de nat. ct grat.35. 2 De grat. et lib. arbit. 33.
3 De corrept. et grat. 29-34. 4 fy- *8 6, 26; 194, 7.
5 De pat. 17. 6 Ib. 21 f.; op. imperf. c. lui. 6, 15.
7 Ad Simplic. 1, 2, 10; de prat,et lib. arbit. 29.
368 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

opts for sinful objects. From this point of view grace heals and
restores his free will, not so much enlarging liis area of choice
as substituting a system of good choices for evil ones.1 Secondly,
Augustine acknowledges that God ’s omnipotent will, operating
on our wills by grace, is irresistible. But he points out2 that He
works through our wills, the effect being that they freely and
spontaneously will what is good. To be more explicit,3 God
knows in advance under the influence of what motives this or
that particular will will freely consent to what He proposes for
it, and arranges things accordingly. Thus grace accommodates
itself to each individual’s situation and character, and Augustine
can claim 4 that, for all the power of grace, it rests with the re­
cipient’s will to accept or reject it. Thirdly, however, we should
recall his distinction between free will (liberum arbitrium) and
freedom (libertas). Freedom is free will put to a good use, and
that man is free in the full sense who is emancipated from sin
and temptation; he is free to live the life God desires him to live.5
Its first stage, which Adam enjoyed, is the ability not to sin; its
culminating stage, to be enjoyed in heaven, is the inability to
sin.6 In this sense not only could there be no opposition between
grace and freedom, but it is grace which confers freedom. Man ’s
free will is most completely itself when it is in most complete
subjection to God, for true liberty consists in Christ’s service.7
The problem of predestination has so far only been hinted at.
Since grace takes the initiative and apart from it all men form a
massa damnata, it is for God to determine which shall receive
grace and which shall not. This He has done, Augustine be­
lieves8 on the basis of Scripture, from all eternity. The number
of the elect is strictly limited, being neither more nor less than
is required to replace the fallen angels.9 Hence he has to twist10
the text God wills all men to be saved ’ (i Tim. 2, 4), making it

' De grat. et lib. arbit. 31-.de spir. et lift. 52; ep. 157, 10; 177, 4; enchir. 105.
1 De corrept. et grat. 45. 3 Ad Sintplic. 1, 2, 13.
• E.g. de spir. el Utt. 60. 5 E.g. enchir. 32; op. imperf. c. lui. 6, II.
6 De corrept. et grat. 33.
’ De mor. eccl. cath. 1, 21; tract, in ev. loh. 41, 8; de grat. et lib arbit. 31.
• De corrept. et grat. 12-16; enchir. 98 f.; etc.
• De civ. dei 22, 1, 2; enchir. 29; 62.
10 De corrept. et grat. 44; enchir. 103.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 369

mean that He wills the salvation of all the elect, among whom
men of every race and type arc represented. God ’s choice of
those to whom grace is to be given in no way depends on His
foreknowledge of their future merits, for whatever good deeds
they will do will themselves be the fruit of grace. In so far as
His foreknowledge is involved, what He foreknows is what He
Himself is going to do.1 Then how docs God decide to justify
this man rather than that? There can in the end be no answer
to this agonizing question. God has mercy on those whom He
wishes to save, and justifies them; He hardens those upon whom
He docs not wish to have mercy, not offering them grace in
conditions in which they arc likely to accept it. If this looks like
favouritism, we should remember that all are in any case justly
condemned, and that if God decides to save any it is an act of
ineffable compassion. Certainly there is a deep mystery here,
but we must believe that God makes His decision in the light
of ‘a secret and, to human calculation, inscrutable justice ’.2
Augustine is therefore prepared to speak 3 of certain people as
being predestined to eternal death and damnation; they may
include, apparently, decent Christians who have been called
and baptized, but to whom the grace of perseverance has not
been given.4 More often, however, he speaks of the predestina ­
tion of the saints which consists in ‘ God ’s foreknowledge and
preparation of the benefits by which those who are to be
delivered are most assuredly delivered ’.5 These alone have the
grace of perseverance, and even before they are bom they are
sons of God and cannot perish.6

8. The W estern Settlement

The council of Carthage (418), as confirmed by Pope
Zosimus in his Epistula tractoria,7 outlawed Pelagianism in un ­
ambiguous terms. The main points insisted upon were (a) that

1 De dono persev. 35; 47; 48; de pracdcst. sand. 19; cp. 149, 20.
1 Ad. Simplic. I, 2, 14-16.
3 E.g. trad, in ev. loh. 43, 13; no, 2; in, 5; de civ. dei 15, 1, 1; 21, 24, 1.
4 De dono perse v. 21. 5 Ib. 35-
6 De corrept. el grat. 23. 7 Cf. PL 20, 693-5.
370 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

death was not an evil necessarily attaching to human nature,

but was a penalty imposed on it in view of Adam ’s sin; (b) that
original sin inherited from Adam is present in every man, and
even newly born children need baptism if they are to be
cleansed from this taint of sin; and (c) that grace is not simply
given us so that we can do more easily what we can in any ease
do by our own free will, but is absolutely indispensable since
the Lord said, ‘Without Me you can do nothing ’. Men like
Julian of Eclanum might strive to prolong the debate, but the
widespread acceptance of these propositions spelt failure for
their efforts. On the other hand, Augustine could not fairly
claim that the Church had ratified his distinctive teaching in its
fulness. So far as the East was concerned, his ideas, as we shall
see, had no noticeable impact. In the West, especially in South
Gaul, there were many, including enthusiastic supporters of the
council, who found some of them wholly unpalatable. Chief
among these were the suggestion that, though free, the will
is incapable in its fallen state of choosing the good, and the
fatalism which seemed inherent in his theory of predestination.
The standpoint of these Semi-Pelagians, as they have been
rather unkindly called since the seventeenth century, can be
glimpsed in Augustine’s correspondence. From Hadrumetum
*
(Susa) came the plea that grace should be regarded as aiding,
rather than replacing, free will. From South Gaul complaints
poured in 12 from men who were otherwise his admirers, Prosper
of Aquitaine and a fellow-layman Hilary, to the effect that his
doctrine of predestination paralysed moral effort and verged on
fatalism, not to say Manichaeism. Pelagius could surely have
been refuted without going so far.3 Admittedly all sinned in
Adam, and no one can rescue himself,4 but the initial movement
of faith [credulitas) is the sinner’s own.5 Grace surely assists the
man who has begun to will his salvation, but does not implant
that will.6 The Augustinian theory scarcely does justice to the
Biblical datum that God wills all men (surely omnes omnino, ut

1 Ep. 214. i- 2 R». 225, 3; 226, 2-6.

j Ib. 226, 8. *Ib. 225, 3; 226, 2.
» Ib. 225, 6. 6Ib. 226, 2: cf. ib. 225, 5.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 371

nullus habeatur exceptus) to be saved.1 The ablest representative

of this school of thought was the famous monk of Marseilles,
John Cassian. Though inflexible in his opposition to Pcla-
gianism, he urges the following points against Augustine. First,
while sometimes (e.g. the cases of St. Matthew and St. Paul)
the first beginnings of a good will clearly come from God,
sometimes (e.g. the case of Zacchaeus) they originate in the
man ’s own volition, and God confirms and strengthens them.2
Secondly, despite the disastrous effects of the Fall, Adam re ­
tained his knowledge of the good.3 Thirdly, the human will is
therefore not so much dead as sick;4 the function of grace is
to restore and assist it, and may be defined as ‘cooperation ’.5
Without God ’s help it cannot bring virtuous acts to comple ­
tion,6 although He sometimes withholds His grace so as to pre ­
vent a man from becoming slack.7 Fourthly, since God wills all
men to be saved, those who perish must perish against His will,
and therefore God ’s predestination must be in the light of what
He foresees is going to be the quality of our behaviour (i.e.
post praevisa merita 8 ).
Despite obvious attractions, and the support of men like
Vincent of Lorins, Scmi-Pelagianism was doomed. It suffered,
inevitably, but unjustly, from a suspected bias to Pclagianism,
but what chiefly scaled its fate was the powerful and increas­
ing influence of Augustine in the West. It is true that some
of his theses, notably his belief in the irresistibility of grace
and his severe interpretation of predestination, were tacitly
dropped, but by and large it was his doctrine which prevailed.
It is outside the scope of this book to trace the stages of its
triumph. It is sufficient to note that at the council of Arau-
siacum (Orange: 529) the following propositions were estab ­
lished:9 (a) As a result of Adam ’s transgression both death and sin
have passed to all his descendants; (b) man ’s free will has conse ­
quently been so distorted and weakened that he cannot now
believe in, much less love, God unless prompted and assisted
’ Ib. 226, 7: cf. ib. 225, 4. 3 Coll. 13, 8, 4; 13, II, 1 f.
3 Ib. 13, 12, 2. 4 Ib. 3, 12, 3-5. s Ib. 13, 13, I.
6 Ib. 13, 9, 5- 7 Ib. 13, 13-14· 8 Ib. 13, 7·
9 For the acts of the council of Orange, sec Mansi, VIII, 711-19.
372 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

thereto by grace; (c) the saints of the Old Testament owed their
merits solely to grace and not to the possession of any natural
good; (d) the grace of brotism enables all Christians, with the
help and co-operation of Christ, to accomplish the duties neces­
sary for salvation, provided they make the appropriate efforts;
(e) predestination to evil is to be anathematized with detesta­
tion; and (f) in every good action the first impulse comes from
God, and it is this impulse which instigates us to seek baptism
and, still aided by Him, to fulfil our duties.

9. The East in the Fifth Century

The development of ideas in the East in the meantime fol­

lowed traditional lines, almost unaffected by what was happen ­
ing in the West. Cyril of Alexandria provides a good illustra­
tion of the more optimistic outlook that prevailed there.
According to him, Adam by his trespass lost the incorruptibility
which, along with his rational nature, constituted the image of
God in him,1 and so fell a prey to concupiscence.2 Death and
corruption thus entered the world, and Adam ’s descendants
found themselves sinning, victims like him of carnal passions.3
In the first place, however, Cyril seems to distinguish 4 ‘ Adam ’s
transgression ’ from ‘the sin which dominates us ’, i.e. the con ­
cupiscence which is the consequence of the former. He carefully
explains5 that the reason why we arc sinful, i.e. prone to sin, is
not that we actually sinned in Adam (that is out of the question,
since we were not even born then), but that Adam ’s sin caused
the nature which we inherit to be corrupted. Secondly, he
assumes6 that the image of God in us is very far from being com ­
pletely destroyed. In particular, our free will, notwithstanding
the force of the passions, has not been suppressed.7 Nevertheless
we cannot recover the divine image in its fulness (viz. in ­
corruptibility) without the saving help of the Word Himself.8

1 In loh. 14, 20 (PG 74, 276); c. anthropomorph. 8.

2 In Rom. 5, 3-12; 18 f. 3 In loh. 19, 19; in Rom. 5, 18.
4 Cf. de ador. in spir. et verit. 10 (PG 68, 657; 672).
5 In Rom. 5, 18 f. 6 De trin. dial. 1 (PG 75, 673 if.).
7 E.g. in Rom. 7, 15. 8 E.g. in Luc. 5, 19.
 FALLEN MAN AND GOD ’S GRACE 373

To judge by its leading representatives, Theodore and

Tlieodoret, variants of such teaching were current in the
Antiochene school too, though crossed with an intensified
emphasis on individualism. Tradition has branded the former
as an Eastern Pelagius, the author of a treatise denying the
reality of original sin;1 but there are few, if any, traces of the
alleged Pclagianizing strain in his authentic works, unless
the Eastern attitude generally is to be dismissed as Pelagian. We
may suspect that the evidence marshalled in support of the
charge by his detractors has been tampered with. Actually he
seems to have shared the widespread view that, as a result
of Adam ’s rebellion, death and sin passed to all mankind.2
Thcodorct also states3 that, having become mortal through his
trespass, Adam engendered children who were subject like
himself to death, concupiscence and sin. Both of them make the
point,4 in almost exactly the same words, that the vitiation of
human nature consists in a powerful bias (ροπή) towards sin,
the implication being that men ’s actual sins are not inevitable
and therefore deserve blame. Theodore is satisfied 5 that, though
inheriting the consequences of our first parents’ sin, we do not
participate in their guilt; and Tlieodoret, correctly interpreting
ω in Roin. 5, 12 as meaning ‘because’, not ‘in whom ’,
argues6 that ‘each of us undergoes the sentence of death because
of his own sin, not because of the sin of our first parent’. If
infants are baptized, the reason is not that they have actually
‘tasted of sin ’, but in order that they may secure the future
blessings of which baptism is the pledge.7 He also holds 8 that,
just as many lead sinful lives in this era of grace, so there were
Old Testament heroes, like Abel, Enoch and Noah, who were
‘superior to the greater sins’.
Theodore lays great stress9 on the existence in men of free
will, an attribute belonging to rational beings as such. Con ­
sequently, while we all have a definite propensity to sin, the

1 Cf. Photius, bibl. cod. 177. 2 Hom. cat. 1, 5; in Rom. 5, 18 f.; 7, 4.

1 Λ ’ p$- 50, 7.
4 Theodore, in Rom. 5, 12; 5, 21; hom. cat. 1; Thcodorct, in pi. 50, η.
5 In ps. 50, 7. 6 In Rom. 5, 12. 7 Haer. fab. comp. 5, 18.
8 In Rom. 5, 19. 9 In ps. 38, 6; in Cal. 2, 15 f.
374 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

soul retains all the time a clear knowledge of the good, and has
the power to choose it. But if we are to pass from our present
condition to the blessed life which God has in store for us, we
shall have to receive it as a gift from Him.1 Theodoret’s view 2 is
that, while all men need grace and it is impossible to take a step
on the road to virtue without it, the human will must collaborate
with it. ‘There is need ’, he writes,3 ‘of both our efforts and
the divine succour. The grace of the Spirit is not vouchsafed to
those who make no effort, and without that grace our efforts
cannot collect the prize of virtue.’ But in the same context lie
acknowledges that our exertions as well as our believing arc
gifts of God, and that this recognition does not nullify free will
but merely emphasizes that the will deprived of grace is unable
to accomplish any good.
1 In Rom. II, 15. 1 In ps. 31, 10 f; 36, 23 f. 3 In Phil. I , 29 f.

NOTE ON BOOKS

General. A. Gaudel, ‘Pcclié originel’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.)·, A. Slom-

kowski, L'État primitif de l'homme dans la tradition de Γ Église avant saint
Augustin (Paris-Strasbourg, 1928); F. R. Tennant, The Sources of the
Doctrine of the Fall and Original Sin (Cambridge, 1903); J. Tunnel,
Histoire du dogme du péché originel (Mâcon, 1904); N. P. Williams, The
Ideas of the Fall and of Original Sin (London, 1927).
Special. E. Amann, * Semi-Pélagicns ’ (art in Diet. Théol. Cath.). J. de
Blic, ‘Le Péché originel selon saint Augustin ’ (art. in Rech, de science
relig., 1926); T. Bohlin, Die Théologie des Pelagius find Hire Genesis
(Uppsala, 1957); O. Chadwick, John Cassian (Cambridge, 1950); R.
Dcvrccssc, Essai sur Théodore de Mopsueste (Studi e Testi, 141, Rome,
1948); J. Ferguson, Pelagius (Cambridge, 1956); É. Gilson, Introduction
à l ’étude de saint Augustin (Paris, 3 ed. 1949); J. B. Mozlcy, A Treatise
on the Augustinian Doctrine of Predestination (London, 3 cd. 1883); G.
Nygrcn, Das Pradestinationsprohlem in der Théologie Augustins (Gottin ­
gen, 1956); G. de Plinval, Pélage (Lausanne, 1943).
 C H A PTER X IV

CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK

I. The Clue to Soteriology

T h e student who seeks to understand the soteriology of the

fourth and early fifth centuries will be sharply disappointed if
he expects to find anything corresponding to the elaborately
worked out syntheses which the contemporary theology of the
Trinity and the Incarnation presents. In both these latter depart­
ments controversy forced fairly exact definition on the Church,
whereas the redemption did not become a battle-ground for
rival schools until the twelfth century, when Anselm ’s Cur deus
homo (c. 1097) focussed attention on it. Instead he must be prepared
to pick his way through a variety of theories, to all appearance
unrelated and even mutually incompatible, existing side by side
and sometimes sponsored by the same theologian.
Three of these are particularly significant, and it will make
for clarity if we set them down at the threshold of our dis­
cussion. First, there was the so-called ‘physical’ or ‘mystical’
theory (we have already come across * it in Irenaeus) which
linked the redemption with the incarnation. According to this,
human nature was sanctified, transformed and elevated by the
very act of Christ’s becoming man. Often, though not quite
correctly, described as the characteristically Greek theory, it
cohered well with the Greek tendency to regard corruption
and death as the chief effects of the Fall. In its strict form it
tended to be combined with the Platonic doctrine 2 of real
universals, in the light of which it was able to treat human
nature as a generic whole. Secondly, there was the explanation
of the redemption in terms of a ransom offered to, or a forfeit
imposed on, the Devil. The former version goes back 3 to
1 Sec above, pp. 172 f. 2 See above, pp. 10 f.
3 See above, pp. 173 f; 185 f.
375
376 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Irenaeus and Origen; the latter began to emerge in our period

with the growing realization of the incongruity of attributing
any rights to the Devil in the matter. Thirdly, there was the
theory, often designated ‘realist’, which directed attention to
the Saviour’s sufferings. Making more of sin and the punish ­
ment due for it than of its tragic legacy, this placed the cross
in the foreground, and pictured Christ as substituting Himself
for sinful men, shouldering the penalty which justice required
them to pay, and reconciling them to God by His sacrificial
death.
Faced with this diversity, scholars have often despaired of
discovering any single unifying thought in the patristic teach­
ing about the redemption. These various theories, however,
despite appearances, should not be regarded as in fact mutually
incompatible. They were all of them attempts to elucidate the
same great truth from different angles; their superficial diver­
gences are often due to the different Biblical images from which
they started, and there is no logical reason why, carefully
stated, they should not be regarded as complementary. In most
forms of the physical theory, for example, the emphasis on the
incarnation was not intended to exclude the saving value of
Christ’s death. The emphasis was simply the offshoot of the
special interest which the theologians concerned had in the
restoration in which, however conceived, the redemption
culminates. Similarly, the essential truth concealed behind the
popular, often crudely expressed imagery of a deal with
Satan was the wholly Scriptural one (cf. Acts 26, 18) that fallen
man lies in the Devil’s power and salvation necessarily includes
rescue from it.
There is a further point, however, which is not always ac­
corded the attention it deserves. Running through almost all
the patristic attempts to explain the redemption there is one
grand theme which, we suggest, provides the clue to the
fathers’ understanding of the work of Christ. This is none other
than the ancient idea of recapitulation ’ which Irenaeus derived
from St. Paul, and which envisages Christ as the representative
‘ See above, pp. 170-72.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 377

of the entire race. Just as all men were somehow present in

Adam, so they are, or can be, present in the second Adam, the
man from heaven. Just as they were involved in the former’s
sin, with all its appalling consequences, so they can participate
in the latter’s death and ultimate triumph over sin, the forces of
evil and death itself. Because, very God as He is, He has
identified Himself with the human race, Christ has been able to
act on its behalf and in its stead; and the victory He has obtained
is the victory of all who belong to Him. All the fathers, of
whatever school, reproduce this motif. The physical theory, it
is clear, is an elaboration of it, only parting company with
it when, under the influence of Platonic realism, it represents
human nature as being automatically deified by the incarnation.
The various forms of the sacrificial theory frankly presuppose
it, using it to explain how Christ can act for us in the ways of
substitution and reconciliation. The theory of the Devil’s rights
might seem to move on a rather different plane, but it too as­
sumes that, as the representative man, Christ is a fitting exchange
for mankind held in the Devil’s grasp.

2. Athanasius

The dominant strain in Athanasius ’s soteriology is the

physical theory that Christ, by becoming man, restored the
divine image in us; but blended with this is the conviction that
His death was necessary to release us from the curse of sin, and
that He offered Himself in sacrifice for us. Both aspects are
sometimes combined in a single context, as when he writes,1
‘It is just that the Word of God . . ., in offering His body as a
ransom for us, should discharge our debt by His death. So,
united to all mankind by a body like theirs, the incorruptible
Son of God can justly clothe all men with incorruptibility.’
Again,2 ‘The Word became flesh in order bodi to offer this
sacrifice and that we, participating in His Spirit, might be
deified ’.
Let us look more closely at die former aspect. The effect of
1 De incarn. 9. 3 De decret. 14.
378 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

tlic Fall was that man lost the image of God and languished in
corruption. Hence the prime object of the incarnation was his
restoration. ‘None other’,1 says Athanasius, ‘ could restore a cor­
ruptible being to incorruption but the Saviour Who in the
beginning made everything out of nothing. None other could
re-create man according to the image, but He Who is the
Father’s image. None other could make a mortal being im ­
mortal, but He Who is life itself, our Lord Jesus Christ.’ The
restoration of the image means, first of all, that men recover
the true knowledge of God which is life eternal. Adam enjoyed
this in Paradise, but when he lost the image through sin his
descendants were reduced to ignorance and idolatry.2 Secondly,
they become partakers of the divine nature (cf. 2 Pet. 1, 4),
since fellowship with Christ is fellowship with God.3 Again and
again we come across formulae like, ‘The Word became man
so that we might be deified ’,4 or, ‘The Son of God became
man so as to deify us in Himself’.5 As an alternative to the idea
of divinization (θεοποίησις ), Athanasius often uses that of
adoption as sons (νίοποιησι?), saying,6 for example, ‘By becom ­
ing man He made us sons to the Father, and He deified men by
Himself becoming man ’, and, ‘Because of the Word in us we
are sons and gods ’. Thirdly, the Word being the principle of
life, the principle of death is reversed in us and the precious
gift of incorruptibility (αφθαρσία) lost at the Fall is restored?
Hence the redemption can be described as a re-creation carried
out by the Word, the original author of creation.8
Athanasius’s language often suggests that he conceived of
human nature, after the manner of Platonic realism, as a con ­
crete idea or universal in which all individual men participate.
From this point of view, when the Word assumed it and
suffused it with His divinity, the divinizing force would be
communicated to all mankind, and the incarnation would in
effect be the redemption. Such is the clear implication of
numerous passages, such as, ‘Forasmuch as the Word became

« De incam. 20. » Ib. 11-16. 3 C. Ar. 1, 16.

♦ De incam. 54. 5 Ad Adelph. 4. * C. Ar. 1, 38; 3, 25.
7 E.g. de incam. 8; c. Ar. 3, 33. « Ad Adelph. 8.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 379

man and appropriated what belongs to the flesh, these affections

no longer attach to the body because of the Word Who
assumed it, but have been destroyed by Him ’,1 and, ‘Seeing
that all men were perishing as a result of Adam ’s transgression,
His flesh was saved and delivered before all the others because
it had become the body of the Word Himself, and henceforth
we are saved, being of one body with Him in virtue of it’.2
The stress laid on the kinship of His body with ours, and on the
consubstantiality 3 which exists between all men, points in the
same direction. There is little doubt that Athanasius’s Platonism
tended at times to lose touch with his Christianity. His more
considered teaching,4 however, is that divinization through the
Word docs not come naturally to all men, but only to those
who arc in a special relation to Him. To be more precise, we
are divinized by intimate union with the Holy Spirit, Who
unites us to the Son of God, and through Him to the Father. As
he says,5 ‘This is God ’s loving-kindness to men, that by grace
He becomes the Father of those whose Creator He already is.
This comes about when created men, as the Apostle says, receive
the Spirit of His Son crying, “ Abba, Father’’, in their hearts.
It is these who, receiving the Spirit, have obtained power from
Him to become God ’s children. Being creatures by nature, they
would never have become sons if they had not received the
Spirit from Him Who is true Son by nature.’
Nothing so far has suggested that Athanasius appreciated
the part played by Christ’s human life, in particular by His
passion, in the redemption. Actually he took the view 6 that
‘Christ’s death on the cross for us was fitting and congruous.
Its cause was entirely reasonable, and there arc just considera­
tions which show that only through the cross could the salva­
tion of all have been properly achieved ’. This brings us to the
second aspect of his teaching, which is summarized in the pas­
sage,7 ‘It still remained to pay the debt which all owed, since
all, as I have explained, were doomed to death, and this was the

1 C. Ar. 3, 33. 2 Ib. 2, 61. 3 E.g. ad Scrap. 2, 6.

4 Cf. de incarn. 27-32. 5 C. Ar. 2, 59: cf. ad Scrap. I, 23 f.
6 De incarn. 26. 7 Ib. 20.
380 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

chief cause of His coming among us. That is why, after reveal­
ing His Godhead by His works, it remained for Him to offer
the sacrifice for all (ύττβρ πάντων την θυσίαν), handing over the
temple of His body to death for all, so that He might rescue and
deliver them from their liability for the ancient transgression,
and might show Himself superior to death, revealing His own
body as immortal as a foretaste of the incorruption of all. . . .
Because both the death of all was fulfilled in the Lord ’s body,
and death and corruption were annihilated because of the Logos
Who indwelt it. For there was need of death, and a death had to
be undergone for all, so that the debt of all might be discharged.’
His underlying thought is that the curse of sin, i.e. death, lay
heavy on all mankind; it was a debt which had to be paid
before restoration could begin. On the cross Christ, the repre­
sentative man, accepted the penalty in His own body, and died.
Thus He released us from the curse, procured salvation, and
became our Lord and king.1 To describe this the traditional
language came readily to Athanasius’s pen. Christ’s death, he
wrote,2 was a sacrifice which He offered to the Father on our
behalf. It was ‘the ransom (λύτρον) for men ’s sins’;3 and Christ
not only heals us, but bears the heavy burden of our weaknesses
and sins.4 On the surface the doctrine is one of substitution, but
what Athanasius was seeking to bring out was not so much
that one victim was substituted for another, as that ‘ the death
of all was accomplished in the Lord ’s body ’.5 In other words,
because of the union between His flesh and ours, His death and
victory were in effect ours. Just as through our kinship with
the first Adam we inherit death, so by our kinship with ‘the
man from heaven ’ we conquer death and inherit life.6

3. Fourth-century Greek Fathers

Next to Athanasius the chief exponent of the physical theory
in the fourth century was Gregory of Nyssa. Here and there,

1 C. Ar. 2, 76: cf. ib. I, 60; 3, 33. 1 Ib. i, 41; 2, 7; de decret. 14.
3 C. Ar. I, 45. « Ib. 3, 31. 5 De incarn. 20.
6 C. Ar. i, 44; 2, 61; 2, 67.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 38t

admittedly, hints of it appear in other writers. Basil, for

example, emphasizes1 that if the Lord had possessed a nature
different from ours, ‘ we who were dead in Adam should never
have been restored in Christ. . . that which was broken would
never have been mended, that which was estranged from God
by the serpent’s wiles would never have been brought back
to Him ’. Through becoming incarnate, writes2 Gregory
Nazianzen, ‘He takes me wholly, with all my infirmities, to
Himself, so that as man He may destroy what is evil, as fire
destroys wax or the sun ’s rays the vapours of the earth, and so
that as a result of this conjunction I may participate in His
blessings’. John Chrysostom explains3 that it is precisely because
the Word has become flesh and the Master has assumed the form
of a servant that men have been made sons of God. But their
most characteristic ideas move, as we shall see, in a different
orbit. For Gregory of Nyssa, however, the incarnation, cul­
minating in the resurrection, is the sovereign means for restor­
ing man to his primitive state. His theory 4 is that the effect of the
Fall has been the fragmentation of human nature, body and
soul being separated by death. By becoming man, and by dying
and rising again in the human nature which He assumed, Christ
has for ever reunited the separated fragments. Thus, just as
death entered the world by one man, so by one man ’s resurrec­
tion the principle of life has been given back to us.5 His argu ­
ment, we observe, depends on the classic antithesis between the
first and second Adams. Like Athanasius, too, he translates the
Biblical idea of solidarity into the language of Platonic realism.
The whole of human nature, he claims,6 constitutes as it were
a single living being (κα^άπερ τίνος οντος ζώου ττάσης της
φύσεως ), so that the experience of a part becomes the experience
of the whole. In this way all mankind is seen to share in what
Christ achieves by His resurrection.7
Thus the Lord ‘conjoined Himself with our nature in order
that by its conjunction with the Godhead it might become

1 Ep. 261, 2. 2 Or. 30, 6: cf. ib. 2, 23-5

’ In I0I1. horn. 11, 1. * Or. cat. 16; antirrh. 55.
» Or. cat. 16. 6 Ib. 32. 7 Cf. antirrh. 16; 55.
382 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

divine, being exempted from death and rescued from the

adverse tyranny. For His triumphal return from death in ­
augurated the triumphal return of the human race to life
immortal.’1 Christ’s death, we notice, was integral to die
scheme, and so Gregory had no difficulty in applying the
Biblical language of sacrifice to it. Christ is the good shepherd
who gives his life for the sheep, at once priest and victim.2 He
is the paschal lamb Who offered Himself on our behalf,3 the
great high-priest Who sacrificed His own body for the world ’s
sin.4 If the underlying idea in this is expiation, Is. 53, 4 sug ­
gested that of substitution, and Gregory was able to speak 5 of
Christ making our sufferings His own and submitting to the
stripes due to us. At the same time, since the Fall placed man in
the power of the Devil, he liked to envisage the redemption as
our emancipation from him. As Gregory developed this aspect,
his chief concern was for God ’s justice; hence his reiteration
that it was through his own free choice that man fell into the
Devil’s clutches. The Devil, therefore, had a right to adequate
compensation if he were to surrender him, and for God to have
exercised force majeure would have been unfair and tyrannical.
So He offered him the man Jesus as a ransom. When Satan saw
Him, born as He was of a virgin and renowned as a worker of
miracles, he decided that the exchange was to his advantage.
What he failed to realize was that the outward covering of
human flesh concealed the immortal Godhead. Hence, when he
accepted Jesus in exchange for mankind, he could not hold
Him; he was outwitted and caught, as a fish is by the bait
which conceals the hook.6 There was no injustice in this,
Gregory tried to show,7 for the Devil was only getting his
deserts, and in any case God ’s action was going to contribute
to Ins own ultimate benefit (Gregory shared 8 the doctrine of his
master, Origen, that in the final restoration the pains of the
damned, Satan included, would come to an end).
Precisely the same theory of the Devil’s right to keep man-
« Or. cat. 25. 2 Antirrh. 16 f.
3 De perf. chr.form. (PG 46, 264). * C. Eunom. 6 (PG 4$ 71-7Ï
5 Antirrh. 21. 6 Or. cat. 22-4. ’ Ib. 26. ’ *'
4 Ib. 26; 35: see below, pp. 473 £; 483 f.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 383

kind in bondage until given adequate compensation found

support with his elder brother Basil. All men, he taught,1 are
subject to the authority of the prince of this world, and only
Christ can claim (cf. John 14, 30) that ‘he hath nothing in me ’.
Hence a ransom is necessary if their deliverance is to be effected,
and it cannot consist in any ordinary human being. The Devil
could hardly be induced to hand over his captives by receiving
a mere man; in any case such a man would require redemption
himself. What is needed is someone who transcends human
nature — in fact, the God-man Jesus Christ.2 Gregory ’s grotesque
imagery of the bait and hook, we observe, is absent here, and
Basil docs not seem to press the theory. In the same context he
oscillates between interpreting Christ’s death as a ransom paid
to the Devil and as a sacrifice offered to God. On the other hand,
the whole conception of rights belonging to the Devil and of
the Son of God being handed over to him was subjected to
an important, extremely damaging critique by Gregory of
Nazianzus. ‘It is worth our while ’, he remarked,3 ‘to examine a
point of doctrine which is overlooked by many but seems to me
deserving of examination. For whom, and with what object,
was the blood shed for us, the great and famous blood of God,
our high-priest and sacrifice, outpoured? Admittedly we were
held in captivity by the Devil, having been sold under sin and
having abdicated our happiness in exchange for wickedness.
But if the ransom belongs exclusively to him who holds the
prisoner, I ask to whom it was paid, and why. If to the Devil,
how shameful that that robber should receive not only a ransom
from God, but a ransom consisting of God Himself, and that so
extravagant a price should be paid to his tyranny before he
could justly spare us!’ Gregory went on to show that Christ’s
blood was not, strictly speaking, a ransom paid to God the
Father cither, since it is inconceivable that He should have
found pleasure in the blood of His only Son. The truth rather
is that the Father accepted it, not because He demanded or
needed it, but because in the economy of redemption it was
fitting that sanctification should be restored to human nature
1 Hom. in ps. 7, 2. 2 Ib. 48, 3 f. J Or. 45, 22.
384 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

through the humanity which God had assumed. As for the

Devil, he was vanquished by force.
The cogency of objections like these must have been felt,
and it is not surprising that John Chrysostom ’s account of the
transaction was less vulnerable to attack. According to this,1
the Devil was strictly within his rights in dealing despitefully
with men; they had sinned, thereby placing themselves under
his jurisdiction. But in sowing the seed of conspiracy in Judas’s
heart and in lifting his hand against the sinless Christ, he ex ­
ceeded his rights. In fact, he brought down well-merited sanc­
tions on his own head, and being thrust forth from his empire
he lost his hold over those whom he kept in bondage. So the
bizarre conception of just claims which could only be circum­
vented by a palpable ruse practised on the Devil by God
Himself faded into the background, and attention was focussed
on his scandalous abuse of his powers.
Neither the physical theory, however, nor the mythology
of man ’s deliverance from the Devil represents the main stream
of Greek soteriology in the fourth century. For this we have
to look to doctrines which interpreted Christ’s work in
terms of a sacrifice offered to the Father. We saw that both
Athanasius and Gregory of Nyssa, while viewing man ’s
restoration as essentially the effect of the incarnation, were
able to find a logical place for the Lord ’s death conceived
as a sacrifice. This aspect is forcibly presented by Athana ­
sius’s contemporary, Eusebius of Caesarea. Christ appro ­
priated our sins, he argues,2 and accepted the punishment we
deserved; His death is a substitutionary sacrifice. And He was
able to identify Himself with our sins and the penalties attached
to them because, as very man, He shared our nature. But
teaching like this fits awkwardly into Eusebius’s system, accord ­
ing to which the function of the Word is to reveal eternal
truths rather than to accomplish saving acts. A much more
representative witness to the soteriology of the period is Cyril
of Jerusalem. Writing for a popular audience, he stresses the
unique importance of the passion. It is the cross which brings
1 In loh. horn. 67, 2 f.; in Rom. horn. 13, 5. * Dem. ev. 1, 10; io, 1.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 3*5

light to the ignorant, deliverance to those bound by sin, and

redemption to all.1 By offering Himself as a ransom Christ has
appeased God ’s wrath towards sinful men.2 Innocent himself,
He has given His life for our sins.3 Again the idea is that of sub ­
stitution based on the Saviour’s kinship with us; as the new
Adam He can take responsibility for our misdeeds. Cyril’s
freshest contribution is the suggestion that the universal
efficacy of His sacrifice is explained by the measureless value
attaching to His Person. ‘It was not someone of no signifi­
cance’, he states,4 ‘ who died for us. It was no irrational beast, no
ordinary man, not even an angel. It was God incarnate. The
iniquity of our sins was not so great as the righteousness of Him
Who died for us. Our transgressions did not equal the good ­
ness of Him Who laid down His life on our behalf.’
Similar teaching appears in Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus and
John Chrysostom. The first of these speaks5 of the Son of God
giving His life to the world ‘when He offered Himself as a
sacrifice and oblation to God on account of our sins’. No mere
man, he explains,6 can offer expiation (cfiAâaflcu) for sinners,
being himself guilty of sin. It is only the God-man Who can
offer to God adequate expiation for us all. According to
Gregory,7 Christ is our redemption ‘because He releases us
from the power of sin, and offers Himself as a ransom in our
place to cleanse the whole world ’. The explanation he gives is
that, as the second Adam, Christ is head of the body, and so can
appropriate our rebellion and make it His own. As our repre­
sentative He identifies Himself with us (eV ς αυτω . . . τύποι το
ήμέτς ρον 3). As a result He has been able, not merely to assume
the form of a servant, but to ascend the cross, taking our sins
with Him in order that they may perish there.9 When He was
crucified, He crucified our sins at the same time.10 Chrysostom
teaches” that mankind stood condemned to death by God, and
was indeed virtually dead; but Christ has delivered us by
handing Himself over to death. Whereas the sacrifices of the
« Cat. 13, i. 3 Ib. 13, 2. ·> Ib. 13. 3-6; 13» 21-3.
4 lb. 13, 33: cf. ib. 13, 2. 5 Horn, in ps. 28, 5. 6 Ib. 48, 3 f-
7 Or. 30, 20. 8 lb. 30, 5. • lb. 4. 78.
10 Ib. 38, ιό. 11 In Gal. connu. 2, 8.
386 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

old Law were incapable of achieving this, Christ has saved us

by His unique sacrifice.1 He has done this, Chrysostom makes
it clear, by substituting Himself in our place. Though He was
righteousness itself, God allowed Him to be condemned as a
sinner and to die as one under a curse, transferring to Him not
only the death which we owed but our guilt as well.2 And the
sacrifice of such a victim was of surpassing efficacy, being
sufficient to save the entire race.3 ‘He died for all men, to save
all, so far as He was concerned; for that death was a fair equiva ­
lent (αντίρροπο?) in exchange for the destruction of all.’4 In dying
His object was to save all; and if in fact not all have achieved
salvation, the reason lies in their refusal to accept Him.

4. The W est in the Fourth Century

Western thought on the redemption conformed broadly to
the pattern we have observed in the East, with even greater
emphasis on the Lord ’s death as a sacrifice. The physical theory
found support chiefly among thinkers who were subject to
Greek influences. Hilary, for example, can write,5 ‘It was we
who needed that God should become flesh and dwell in us,
that is, by taking a single flesh to Himself should inhabit flesh
in its entirety ’. The Platonic conception of human nature as a
universal clearly lies in the background here. We can sec it
again in his statement,6 ‘ For the sake of the human race the Son
of God was bom from the Virgin and Holy Spirit ... so that
by becoming man He might take the nature of flesh to Himself
from the Virgin, and so the body of the human race as a whole
might be sanctified in Him through association with this
mixture’. The same Platonic realism inspires Victo rinus when
he writes,7 ‘When He took flesh, He took the universal idea of
flesh {universalem λόγον carnis)', for as a result the whole power
of flesh triumphed in His flesh. . . . Similarly He took the
universal idea of soul. . . . Therefore man as a whole was
1 In Hebr. hom. is, 2. 1 In 2 Cor. hom. 11, 3 £; in Eph. hom. 17, 1.
1 In Gal. comm. 2, 8. * In Hebr. hom. 17, 2.
» De trin. 2, 25. 6 Ib. 2, 24: cf. tract, in ps. 51, 16.
’ C. Ar. 3, 3.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 387

assumed, and having been assumed was liberated. For human

nature as a whole was in Him, flesh as a whole and soul as a
whole, and they were lifted to the cross and purged through
God the Word, the universal of all universals.’ Elsewhere 1 he
argues that, since Christ’s body is ‘catholic ’, i.e. universal as
opposed to particular, all individual human bodies were
crucified in it, and His sufferings have a universal quality.
The theory of a transaction with Satan enjoyed considerable
currency. In the hands of Ambrose the emphasis is generally on
the Devil’s rights and the compensation justly owing to him in
requital for surrendering mankind. The Devil, he states,2 held
us in possession, our sins being the purchase money by which
he had bought us, and required a price if he was to release us;
the price was Christ’s blood, which had to be paid to our previ­
ous purchaser. Sometimes he suggests 3 that, when Christ paid
over what was owing to the Devil, He transferred the debt to
Himself, with the result that we changed our creditor, although
He has in fact most generously forgiven the debt. Ambrose is
not afraid 4 to dwell on, and elaborate the details of, the decep ­
tion worked on the Devil, who would of course never have
accepted Christ’s blood had he known Who He really was. On
the other hand, we find examples of the milder version of the
theory, according to which the transaction consisted not so
much in the satisfaction of the Devil’s supposed rights as in his
proper punishment for going beyond them. Hilary, for example,
points out5 that Satan condemned himself when he inflicted
death, the punishment for sin, on the sinless author of life.
Quite apart from that, so far from resting on justice, the
sovereignty exercised by the powers of evil over the human
race was only established by their wicked usurpation.6 Ambrosi-
astcr develops the same theme, teaching7 that the Devil sinned
when he slew the innocent One Who knew no sin. When
Christ was crucified, he overreached himself, and lost the
authority by which he held men captive on account of Adam ’s
1 In Cal. 2, 6, 14.
1 Ep. 72, 8: cf. de lac. el vit. beat. I, 12; expos, ev. Luc. 7, 117.
3 Ep. 41, 7 f. 4 E-g· · Luc. 2, 3; 4, 12; 4, ιό.
'*
» Tract, in ps. 68, 8. 6 Ib· 2, 31. ’ In Roni. 7, 4.
 388 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

sin.1 When the principalities and powers who seduced the first
man laid hands on the Saviour, they put themselves in the
wrong, and were justly penalized by being deprived of the
souls they kept in prison.2
It is Christ’s passion and death, however, which particularly
interest these writers. Hilary, for example, states3 that ‘the
Lord was smitten, taking our sins upon Himself and suffering
in our stead ... so that in Him, smitten even unto the weakness
of crucifixion and death, health might be restored to us
through His resurrection from the dead ’. Being ‘the second
Adam from heaven ’, He has assumed the nature of the first
Adam, and so can identify Himself with us and save us. If this
is the language of recapitulation, Hilary passes easily to that of
sacrifice, stressing the voluntary character of what Christ ac­
complished. ‘He offered Himself to the death of the accursed
in order to abolish the curse of the Law by offering Himself of
His own free will to God the Father as a sacrifice. ... To God
the Father, Who spurned the sacrifices of the Law, He offered
the acceptable sacrifice of the body He had assumed ... procur­
ing the complete salvation of the human race by the oblation
of his holy and perfect sacrifice.’4 It was by His blood, he
emphasizes,5 and by His passion, death and resurrection that
Christ redeemed us. The effect of His death was to destroy the
sentence of death passed on us,6 to expiate our sins,7 and to
reconcile us to God.8 Though these are incidental remarks, they
give substance to the claim that Hilary must be regarded as one
of the pioneers of the theology of satisfaction. We come across
similar ideas, expressed in terms of redemption and substitution
rather than sacrifice, in his contemporary Victorinus. He speaks9
of Christ redeeming [mercaretur) man by His passion and death,
pointing out10 that these only avail to procure remission of sins
because the victim is the Son of God. He gave Himself, he
states,11 to death and the cross in our stead, thereby delivering us
from our sins.
1 In. Rom. 8, 4. 2 In Col. 2, 15. 3 Tract, in ps. 68, 23
4 Ib. 53, 13. 5 Ib. 135. 15. 6 De trin. 1, 13.
7 Tract, in ps. 64. 4. 8 Ib. 129, 9. • C. Ar. i , 45.
10 Ib. I, 35. “ In Gal. 1, 2, 20.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 389

Ambrose elaborates a theory of Christ’s death as a sacrifice

offered to satisfy the claims of divine justice. He secs it pre­
figured in the slaughter of Abel,1IIas also in the oblations pre­
scribed by the Jewish Law.2 It is a sacrifice performed once for
all,3 its effect being that through Christ’s blood our sins are
washed away.4 Christ has destroyed the sentence of death which
was against us, and death itself as well.5 Ambrose explains6 how
this was accomplished: ‘Jesus took flesh so as to abolish the
curse of sinful flesh, and was made a curse in our stead so that
the curse might be swallowed up in blessing.... He took death,
too, upon Himself that the sentence might be carried out, so
that He might satisfy the judgment that sinful flesh should be
cursed even unto death. So nothing was done contrary to God ’s
sentence, since its terms were implemented.’ The second Adam
died, he adds,7 in order that, ‘since the divine decrees cannot be
broken, the person punished might be changed, not the sentence
of punishment’ (persona magis quant sententia mutaretur). Here
the idea of recapitulation is combined with that of substitution;
because He shares human nature, Christ can substitute Himself
for sinful men and endure their punishment in their place.
‘What’, he exclaims,8 ‘was the purpose of the incarnation but
this, that the flesh which had sinned should be redeemed by
itself?’ Ambrose describes9 Christ’s sacrifice as propitiatory, but
recognizes10 both the love of the Son Who gave Himself and
the love of the Father Who gave Him. He also brings out the
unique fitness of Christ to be our redeemer, both because of
His sinlessness and because of the excellence of His Person."
The sacrificial interpretation of the Lord ’s death is regular in
the other Latin writers of the period. Ambrosiastcr often re ­
calls12 that Christ died for us and our sins, offering thereby a
sweet-smelling sacrifice. The whole value of this oblation, he in ­
dicates, lay in the love and obedience displayed in it. According

I De incarn. dom. sacram. 4. 2 De spir. sand. 1, 4.

3 Expos, ev. Luc. 10, 8. 4 E.g. enarr. in ps. 39, 2; 14; 17.
5 De fid. 3, 13; 3, 84. 6 De fiuga sacc. 44. i Expos, ev. Luc. 4, 7.
8 De incarn. dont, sacram. 56. 9 De Abrah. 1, 16; de ojfic. 3, 102.
10 De Is. ct an. 46; de lac. I, 25; de spir. sand. 1, 129.
II In ps. 118, 6, 22. 12 tn Rom. 5, 6-10; tn Eph. 5, 2.
 390 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

to Pelagius,1 Jesus Christ ‘was alone found fit to be offered

as a spotless sacrifice on behalf of all who were dead in sins’. God
had decreed death to sinners, and by dying Christ was able at once
to maintain that decree and to exempt mankind from its effects.2
A point which Pelagius tries to bring out3 is that Christ’s life
could reasonably be offered in place of ours because, being
innocent, He did not already deserve death on His own account.
Jerome, too, although his ideas were unsystematic to a degree,
recognized4 that Christ ‘endured in our stead the penalty we
ought to have suffered for our crimes’. No one, he claimed,5
can draw near to God apart from the blood of Christ.

5. Augustine

All these thoughts, with some fresh ones of his own, were
woven together into a loose but effective unity by Augustine.
It was his special role, in this as in other aspects of the faith, to
sum up the theological insights of the West, and pass them on,
with the impress of his genius and authority, to the Middle
Ages. For this reason it is fitting that his doctrine should be set
out in rather greater detail than was necessary in the case of his
predecessors.
First, then, Augustine makes much of Christ’s function as
mediator between God and man. ‘He is the one true mediator’,
he writes,6 ‘reconciling us to God by the sacrifice of peace, re­
maining one with Him to Whom He made the offering, making
one in Himself those for whom He offered it, Himself one as
offerer and sacrifice offered.’ This is indeed Christ’s specific
activity, and Augustine claims on the authority of 1 Tim. 2, 5
(‘there is . . . one mediator between God and men, Himself
man, Christ Jesus’) that He exercises it exclusively in His
human capacity. Tn so far as He is man,’ he states,7 ‘He is
mediator, but not in so far as He is Word, for as such He is co ­
equal with God.’ The whole object of the Word ’s incarnation

1 In 2 Cor. 5, 15. * In Rom. 3, 25· 3 Ib. 3, 24; in Gal. 3, 13.

4 In Is. 53, 5-7. 5 In Eph. 2, 14. 6 De trin. 4, 19.
7 Confess. 10, 68: cf. tract, in ev. loh. 82, 4.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 391

was that He might be head of the Church 1 and might act as

mediator.2 It is through His humanity that Christ exalts us to
God and brings God down to us.3 In taking this line Augustine
does not intend to eliminate the role of the Word, Who is of
course the subject of the God-man ’s Person, but rather to bring
home that Christ’s humanity, as opposed to His divine nature, is
the medium of our restoration. While he can say,4 ‘ Christ is
mediator between God and man as man, not as God ’, he has
also to admit,5 ‘We could never have been delivered by the one
mediator . . . were He not also God ’. What this doctrine seeks
to establish is that in Christ’s humanity fallen man and his
Creator have a common meeting-ground where the work of
reconciliation and restoration can take effect.
Secondly, in expounding what the Mediator actually accom ­
plishes, Augustine adopts several avenues of approach. He oc ­
casionally hints at the physical theory, as when he says,6 ‘ We are
reconciled to God through our Head, since in Him the God ­
head of the Only-begotten participated in our mortality so that
we might participate in His immortality ’; or when he remarks 7
that Christ ‘has delivered our nature from temporal things,
exalting it to the Father’s right hand ’, and that ‘He Who was ■»

God became man so as to make those who were men gods ’.

This is at best a secondary motif, however, for the deification
spoken of is presumably a corollary of the saving work, not
the direct effect of the incarnation as such. Much more frequent
and characteristic is his description of the redemption as
our release from Satan ’s bondage. Augustine is inclined to
dramatize the transaction by using colourful language which
gives a misleading impression of his true thought. He speaks,
for example, of Christ’s blood as the price which was paid over
for us and which the Devil accepted, only to find himself
enchained,8 and again of His body as a bait by which Satan was
caught like a mouse in a trap (cf. tanquam in muscipula escam
accepit9 ). But his authentic teaching was more in line with that
1 Enarr. in ps. 148, 8. » Serin. 361, 16. 3 ib. 81, 6;
4 Ib. 293, 7. 5 Enchir. 108: cf. de civ. dei 9, 15, 1.
6 Ep. 187, 20. 7 De doct. christ. 1,38; sent. 192, I.
8 De trin. 13, 19· « E.g. sertn. 263, j.
392 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

of Chrysostom, Hilary and Ambrosiaster, and may be sum ­

marized as follows.1 (a) The Devil owned no rights, in the strict
sense, over mankind; what happened was that, when men
sinned, they passed inevitably into his power, and God per­
mitted rather than enjoined this, (b) No ransom as such was
therefore due to Satan, but on the contrary, when the re­
mission of sins was procured by Christ’s sacrifice, God ’s favour
was restored and the human race might well have been freed.
(c) God preferred, however, as a course more consonant with
His justice, that the Devil should not be deprived of his
dominion by force, but as the penalty for abusing his position.
(d) Hence Christ’s passion, the primary object of which was of
course quite different, placed the Son of God in Satan ’s hands,
and when the latter overreached himself by seizing the divine
prey, with the arrogance and greed which were characteristic
of him, he was justly constrained, as a penalty, to deliver up
mankind.
There have been scholars who have fastened upon man ’s
release in this way from the Devil as the pivot of Augustine ’s
soteriology. But such a thesis cannot be sustained. Augustine
clearly represents our release as consequent upon and as pre ­
supposing our reconciliation; the Devil is conquered precisely
because God has received satisfaction and has bestowed pardon.2
This brings us to what is in fact his central thought, viz. that the
essence of the redemption lies in the expiatory sacrifice offered
for us by Christ in His passion. This, it seems, is the principal
act which He performs as mediator: ‘Him Who knew no sin,
Christ, God made sin, i.e. a sacrifice for sins, on our behalf so
that we might be reconciled ’.3 According to Augustine,4 all the
Old Testament sacrifices looked forward to this sacrifice, and
he emphasizes5 that Christ gave Himself to it entirely of His
own free choice (non necessitatis sed arbitrii), being at once priest
and victim (ipse offerens, ipse et oblatio). In its effect it is expiatory
and propitiatory: ‘By His death, that one most true sacrifice

1 Cf. de trin. 13, 16-19. 1 Cf. de civ. dei 10, 22; de trin. 4, 17.
3 Enchir. 41. * Enarr. in ps. 39, 12.
» Serm. 152, 9; de civ. dei 10, 20.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 393

offered on our behalf, He purged, abolished and extinguished

. . . whatever guilt we had ’.1 By it God ’s wrath was appeased,
and we were reconciled to Him: ‘He offered this holocaust to
God; He extended his hands on the cross. . . and our wicked ­
nesses were propitiated. . . . Our sins and wickednesses having
been propitiated through this evening sacrifice, we passed to the
Lord, and the veil was taken away.’2 Its fundamental rationale,
as we might expect, is that Christ is substituted for us, and being
Himself innocent discharges the penalty we owe. ‘Though
without guilt,’ Augustine writes,3 ‘Christ took our punishment
upon Himself, destroying our guilt and putting an end to our
punishment.’ Again, ‘You must confess that without our sin He
took the penalty owing to our sin upon Himself’;4 and, ‘He
made our trespasses His trespasses, so as to make His righteous­
ness ours’.5 It was precisely His innocence which gave atoning
value to His death, for ‘We were brought to death by sin, He
by righteousness; and so, since death was our penalty for sin,
His death became a sacrifice for sin ’.6
Thirdly, Augustine ’s teaching stresses the exemplary aspect
of Christ’s work in a way that is without precedent. He has
sharp words,7 it is true, for those who imagine that the cross
provides no more than an ideal for us to model ourselves upon,
but the subjective side of the incarnation and atonement has
immense value in his eyes. Both in His Person and in what He
has done, Christ, our mediator, has demonstrated God ’s wisdom
and love.8 The spectacle of such love should have the effect
of inciting us to love Him in return: nulla est enim maior ad
amorem invitatio quam praevenire amando.9 More particularly, it
should bestir our hearts to adore the humility of God which, as
revealed in the incarnation, breaks our pride. So for Augustine
the humility of the Word revealed in His amazing self-abase­
ment forms a vital part of His saving work. ‘This we do well to
believe,’ he writes,10 ‘nay, to hold fixed and immovable in our
hearts, that the humility which God displayed in being born of
1 De trin. 4, 17. 1 Enarr. in ps. 64, 6. J C. Faust. M anich. 14,4.
4 Ib. 14, 7. 5 Enarr. 2 in ps. 21, 3. 6 De trin. 4, 15.
7 In ev. loh. tract. 98, 3. 8 Ib. no, 6. 9 De cat. rnd. 7 f.
10 De trin. 8, 7.
394 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

a woman and in being haled so ignominiously by mortal men

to death, is the sovereign medicine for healing our swollen
pride, the profound mystery (sacramentum) by which the bond
of sin is broken.’ Pride, we recall, was the cause of Adam ’s lapse,
and so Augustine exclaims,1 ‘Only by humility could we
return, since it was by pride that we fell. So in His own Person
the Redeemer has deigned to hold out an example of this
humility, which is the way by which we must return.’ But in
case this should appear an unduly subjective account of the
redemption, we should remember (a) that, while the Christian
must reproduce Christ’s humility, it is that objective humility
showing itself in the incarnation and passion which first makes
our reconciliation possible, and (b) that for Augustine the
imitation of Christ by us is itself the effect in our hearts of the
divine grace released by the sacrifice on the cross.
As historians have often pointed out, Augustine brings to ­
gether the various strands of his soteriology in a famous pas­
sage2 of his Enchiridion, and this may fittingly be reproduced. It
runs: ‘We could never have been delivered even by the one
mediator between God and men, the man Jesus Christ, had He
not been God as well. When Adam was created, he was of
course righteous, and a mediator was not needed. But when sin
placed a wide gulf between mankind and God, a mediator was
called for Who was unique in being bom, in living and in being
slain without sin, in order that we might be reconciled to God
and brought by the resurrection of the flesh to eternal life. Thus
through God ’s humility human pride was rebuked and healed,
and man was shown how far he had departed from God, since
the incarnation of God was required for his restoration. More ­
over, an example of obedience was given by the God-man;
and the Only-begotten having taken the form of a servant,
which previously had done nothing to deserve it, a fountain of
grace was opened, and in the Redeemer Himself the resurrection
of the flesh promised to the redeemed was enacted by anticipa­
tion. The Devil was vanquished in that selfsame nature which
he gleefully supposed he had deceived.’ This text brings out
’ De fid. et synib. 6. 3 Enchir. io8.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 395

that for Augustine reconciliation and restoration are the primary

features of the incarnation. A few chapters before,1 going into
more detail, he recalled that God made Christ sin for us, that is,
‘a sacrifice for sins by which our reconciliation is made possible ’.
The passage shows, too, that while Christ’s humility is an
example to us, its essential function is to be the inward side of
that act of self-abasement and self-surrender which constitutes
the sacrifice. Finally, it sets our emancipation from the Devil in
the true perspective, regarding it as consequent upon, and thus
subordinate to, the reconciliation itself.

6. The East in the Fifth Century

Greek soteriology in the earlier decades of the fifth century
cannot point to any figure comparable with Augustine. The
general tendency was for theories of the realist type to come to
the fore, the idea of recapitulation often providing the setting.
A good example is Theodore of Mopsuestia, who sets out2 the
ancient doctrine of the substitution of the first Adam by the
second in classic form. Through the latter’s death and resurrec­
tion the link between God and man, shattered as a result of the
first man ’s sin, has been indissolubly renewed;3 by His fellow ­
ship with us ‘the man assumed ’ has enabled us to participate
in His triumph.4 Theodore ’s disciple, Theodoret, teaches that
Christ’s death was a ransom, or rather ‘a sort of ransom ’ (oloy τι
λύτραν), paid on our behalf by One Who Himself owed noth ­
ing,5 a voluntary and freely chosen sacrifice for expiating our
sins and reconciling us to God.6 The precondition of this recon ­
ciliation is that in shedding His blood He has discharged our
debt for us.7 As Isaiah prophesied, we merited and had been
sentenced to punishment on account of our transgressions, but
He, Who was free from sin and spotless, consented to be
chastised in our stead.8
The other types of theory, however, were far from being

1 Ib. 41. 2 In Rom. 5, 13 f. ’ Ib. 8, 19.

* In 1 Tim. 2, 5. 5 In Rom. 3, 24; in Tim . 2, 6.
6 In Dan. 9, 24. 7 In Col. I, 20-2. 8 In Is. 53, 4-8.
396 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

obsolete, although the desirability of bringing them into a cor­

rect relation to the Lord ’s atoning sacrifice seems to have been
appreciated. In particular, the dramatic picture of mankind
being rescued from the Devil continued in favour as a popular
account of the redemption. But the transaction was no longer
represented as consisting in the satisfaction of the Devil’s sup ­
posed rights by the payment of a ransom presumed to be his
due. In the interpretation which was now in vogue with writers
like Cyril (often, we may suspect, they exploited the idea as a
piece of consciously rhetorical imagery), the tendency was to
thrust Satan ’s rights into the background, or even to deny them,
and to stress rather his abuse of his powers and his consequent
amply deserved punishment.1 Pseudo-Cyril (he is probably
none other than Theodoret) writes as follows:2 ‘Death being
the penalty of sinners, He Who was without sin had a right to
enjoy life rather than undergo death. Sin [i.e. the Devil] was
therefore conquered when he condemned his conqueror to
death. He passed on Him precisely the same sentence as he
always passed on us, his subjects, and was therefore convicted
of usurpation. So long as Sin only inflicted death on his own
subjects, his action was fair enough and God sanctioned it. But
when he subjected the innocent and blameless One ... to the
same penalties, he acted outrageously, and had to be expelled
from his dominion.’
We may fittingly close this study with a sketch of Cyril’s
teaching as a whole. It was he who, working on the soterio-
logical insights of his predecessors, produced a synthesis which
remained influential until John of Damascus published his
classic reformulation of Greek theology in the eighth century.
As we have noted, the theory of the conquest of Satan had its
place in his scheme; so had the physical theory which, as an
Alexandrian, he inherited from Athanasius. ‘Is it not most
manifest’, he wrote,3 ‘. . . that the Only-begotten made Him ­
self like us, that is, complete man, so as to deliver our earthly
1 Cf. Cyril Alex, ad regin. 2, 31; Theodoret, de provid. 10 (PG 83, 757-60);
Maximus Confessor, cap. quinq. cent. cent. 1, 11.
1 De incam. dom. 11 (PG 75, 1433 ff· ).
1 De incarn. unigen. (PG 75, 1213).
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 397

body from the corruption which had invaded it? This is why He
condescended to become identical with us by the mystery of
the union and took a human soul, thereby making it able to
prevail against sin and, as it were, colouring it with the tincture
of His own immortality. ... He is thus the root, so to speak,
and the first-fruits of those who are restored in the Spirit to
newness of life and to immortality of body and to the firm
security of divinity. ... So we say the Word in His entirety
united Himself with man in his entirety.’ The purpose of the
incarnation, he proclaimed,1 was that the life-giving Word, by
assuming human nature in all its corruption and decay, might
infuse His own incorruptibility into it, just as fire impregnates
with its nature the iron with which it is brought into contact.
His argument, we observe, was influenced by the Platonic
realism which affected the thought of Athanasius and Gregory ’
of Nyssa. Human nature was treated as a generic whole,
so that when the divine Word assumed it at the incarnation
it could reasonably be said,2 ‘By virtue of the flesh united
to Him, He has us all in Himself’, and, ‘We were all in
Christ; the common person of humanity comes again to life
in Him ’.
This doctrine that by the incarnation human nature is deified
and made to participate in the divine nature was a favourite
theme of Cyril’s; it was, we recall,3 an over-riding motif in his
Christology. But it did not lead him to overlook, or in any way
to under-estimate, the peculiar saving efficacy attaching to the
Lord ’s death. If He had merely lived on earth as man for several
years, he argued, He could have been no more than our teacher
and example. More positively, he was prepared to state4 that
‘Christ’s death is, as it were, the root of life. It eliminated cor­
ruption, abolished sin and put an end to the divine wrath.’
Again he could say,5 ‘When He shed His blood for us, Jesus
Christ destroyed death and corruptibility. .. . For if Lie had not
died for us, we should not have been saved; and if He had not
« Hom. pasch. 17 (PG 77, 785-7)·
» C. Nest. 1; in loh. 1, 14; 16, 6 f. (PG 76, 17; 73, 161; 74» 43^)·
3 See above, p. 322. 4 In Hebr. 2, 14.
s Glaph. in Exod. 2 (PG 69, 437).
398 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

gone down among the dead, death ’s cruel empire would never
have been shattered.’ Thoughts like these link Cyril with
Athanasius, who also held 1 that, although the incarnation exalts
human nature, the death of the God-man was a necessary step
in the process, seeing that men already lie under a sentence of
death. In addition, however, Cyril saw 12 that the Saviour’s
death was a sacrifice, the spotless offering obscurely fore­
shadowed in the Old Testament sacrificial system. Not only
death, but sin which was the cause of death, was the obstacle to
man ’s restoration. This point of view comes out forcibly in
such a text as the following:3 ‘ Now that Lamb, foreshadowed of
old in types, is led to the slaughter as a spotless sacrifice for all
in order to do away with the sin of the world, to overthrow the
destroyer of mankind, to annihilate death by dying for all, to
rid us of the curse which lay upon us. . . . For when we were
guilty of many sins, and for that reason were liable to death and
corruption, the Father gave His Son as a ransom (άντίλυτρον),
one for all. . . . For we were all in Christ, Who died on our
account and in our stead and rose again. But sin being de ­
stroyed, how could it be that death, which springs from sin,
should not be destroyed as well? ’
In this passage the several strains in Cyril’s doctrine, including
the thought of Christ as the second Adam inaugurating a new
humanity, are held together in synthesis. Two further features
of it need to be mentioned if its true character is to be grasped.
First, his guiding idea is the familiar one of penal substitution.
Like almost all the patristic writers we have mentioned, he draws
his inspiration from Is. 53, 4. Christ did not suffer for His
own sins, he states,4 ‘but He was stricken because of our trans­
gressions. ... From of old we had been at enmity with God....
It was necessary that we should be chastised for our contumacy.
. . . But this chastisement, which was due to fall on sinners so
that they might cease warring with God, descended upon
Him. . . . God delivered Him up because of our sins so that He

1 Sec above, pp. 379 f.

2 E.g. in Hebr. 2, 18; 3, 1; 7, 27; 9, 12; 10, 14.
3 In loh. I, 29 (PG 73.192). 4 In Is. 53, 4-6.
 CHRIST ’S SAVING WORK 399

might release us from the penalty.’ In another context he

writes,1 ‘The Only-begotten became man ... in order that,
submitting to the death which threatened us as the punishment
for our sins, He might thereby destroy sin and put an end to
Satan ’s incriminations, inasmuch as in the Person of Christ we
had paid the penalty owing for our sins’. Secondly, Cyril
grasped the fact, more clearly than any of his predecessors, that
what enabled Christ to achieve this was not only His identifica­
tion of Himself with sinful human nature, but the infinite
worth of His Person. ‘It was no ordinary man ’, he reminds us2
(with a pointed reference to Nestorianism), ‘that God the
Father delivered over on our behalf, promoted to the rank of
mediator, enjoying the glory of an adoptive Son and honoured
with lasting association with Himself. . . but it was He Who
transcends all creation, the Word begotten from His own sub ­
stance, so that He might be seen to be amply equivalent for the
life of all.’ As he points out,3 the deaths of even such holy
people as Abraham, Jacob, Moses and Samuel could do nothing
to help the human race in its plight. If in the Person of Christ
one did prove able, by His death, to offer satisfaction on behalf
of all, that was because His dignity and status (i.e. the fact
that He was very God) so far exceeded the dignity and status
of all those whom He was saving taken together. Since He
was God incarnate, precious beyond all human valuing, the
offering made with His blood was abundantly sufficient
(άζίόχρζω ς η λύτρω σι,ς του κόσμου παντός ) to redeem the
whole world.4
’ De ador. in spir. et verit. 3 (PG 68, 293 if).
2 Quod unus (PG 75, 1341): cf. ad regin. 2, 7; ep. 50 (PG 76,1344; 77, 264).
1 De recta fide ad regin. 7 (PG 76, 1208). 4 Ib. (PG 76, 1292).

NOTE ON BOOKS
General. G. Aulén, Christus Victor (English trans., London, 1934); R. S.
Franks, A H istory of the Doctrine of the W ork of Christ (London, 1918);
J. K. Mozley, The Doctrine of the Atonement (London, 191$); J. Rivière,
Le Dogme de la rédemption: essai d'étude historique (Paris, 1905; Eng.
400 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

trans., London, 1909); H. E. W. Tumcr, The Patristic Doctrine of

Redemption (London, 1952).
Special. G. A. Pell, Die Lchre des hl. Athanasius von der Siinde und Erlosung
(Passau, 1 888); J. Rivière, Le Dogme de la rédemption chez saint Augustin
(Paris, 1928); O. Scheel, Die Anschauung Augustins Uber Christi Person
und W erk (Leipzig, 1901); D. Unger, ‘A Special Aspect of Athanasian
Soteriology’ (Franciscan Studies, 194^)·
 C H A PTER X V

CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY

I. Ecclesiology in the East

It is customarily said that, as contrasted with that of the West,

Eastern teaching about the Church remained immature, not to
say archaic, in the post-Niccne period. In the main this is a fair
enough verdict, at any rate so far as concerns deliberate state­
ments of ccclesiological theory. An instructive sample of it,
popular in form and dating from the middle of the fourth
century, can be studied in Cyril of Jerusalem ’s Catechetical
Lectures.1 The Church, he explains, is a spiritual society which
God called into existence to replace the Jewish church, which
conspired against the Saviour. By His famous words to St.
Peter {M att. 16, 18), Christ has given it the promise of in-
dcfcctibility. According to St. Paul {i Tim. 3, 15), it is ‘the
pillar and ground of the truth ’, the Holy Spirit being its supreme
teacher and protector.2 It is also the fold within which Christ’s
sheep are safe from the wolves.3 Its function is to gather to ­
gether the faithful everywhere, of every rank, type and
temperament, and it is called ‘Catholic ’ (i.e. universal) because
it docs so. This title also draws attention to its capacity to teach
every doctrine needful for man and to cure every kind of sin.
Further, the Church is one and holy, the home of wisdom and
knowledge as well as manifold virtues, and it extends through ­
out the entire world. As such Cyril contrasts it with particular
sects, like those of the Marcionites and Manichecs, which
falsely usurp the name of churches. Finally, it is the bride of
Christ and mother of us all, once sterile but now numerous in
her offspring. It is in the holy Catholic Church that men
* Cat. 18, 22-8. 2 Ib. 16, 19. 3 Ib. 6, 36.
401
402 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

receive saving instruction, and are admitted to the kingdom

of God and eternal life.
These are time-honoured commonplaces; it is plain that
Cyril had scarcely pondered the problems involved in the
Church ’s existence. We note in particular the absence of any
discussion either of its hierarchical structure, so prominent in
Cyprian 1 a full century before, or of the relation between the
outward, empirical society and the invisible community of the
elect— a theme which was later to absorb Augustine. Meagre
and superficial though it was, however, it is Cyril’s theology,
with minor embellishments, which the other Greek fathers re­
produce. Chrysostom, for example, states2 that the Church is
the bride which Christ has won for Himself at the price of His
own blood. Unity is its outstanding characteristic, the bond
which holds it together being mutual charity, and the schisms
which split it asunder arc just as pernicious and blameworthy
as the heresies which distort its faith. The Church, he holds, is
Catholic, that is to say, spread throughout the whole world; it
is indestructible and eternal, the pillar and ground of the truth.
After the canonization of the Constantinopolitan creed in 381,
the predicates ‘one ’, ‘holy ’, ‘Catholic’ and ‘apostolic’ cainc
to be regularly applied to the Church. For Cyril of Alexandria3
this unity derived from ‘the harmony of true doctrine ’ which
united the various particular churches composing it, and also
from the fact that there was no division of belief among the
faithful, and that there is but one baptism; and Theodoret
argued 4 that, while there might be a plurality of churches
geographically, they were all one Church spiritually, depend ­
ent on the Lord, Who adorned it with beauty and sweetness
as His bride. According to the sixth-century Maximus,5 the
Church was established by the Saviour as ‘the orthodox,
saving confession of belief’; while earlier Isidore of Pelusium
(t c- 435) had defined 6 it as ‘ the assembly of saints knit together
1 See above, pp. 203-7.
2 E.g. in Eph. horn. 1 1, 5; in 1 Cor. argum.; in M att. horn. 54, 2; in illud ' Vidi
*dam. horn. 4, 2; in 1 Tim. horn. 11, 1.
J In ps. 44, 10. 4 In Cant. Cant. 3, 6, 1-4.
5 Vita at cert. 24 (PG 90, 93). *> Ep. 2, 246: cf. ib. 4, 5.
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 403

by correct faith and excellent manner of life ’, adding that it

should abound in spiritual gifts. Cyril of Alexandria was voic ­
ing universally held assumptions when he wrote 1 that ‘mercy
is not obtainable outside the holy city ’, and claimed 2 that the
Church was a visible society, plain for all to see, and that it was
spotless and without the slightest blemish.
It would be a mistake to infer that conventional cliches like
these represent the sum-total of the Greek fathers’ under­
standing of the nature of the Church. Admittedly their ex ­
pressly stated ccclesiology was neither original nor profound,
the reason being that the subject was not a vital issue in the
East and nothing therefore instigated them to explore it in so
thorough a way as to reach solid conclusions. That they had
deeper, more positive ideas about the Church as a spiritual
society is apparent, although the evidence has for the most part
to be gleaned from contexts which at first sight seem to have
little to do with the Church as such. The clue to these ideas is
the conviction, shared by fathers of every school and of course
stemming from St. Paul’s teaching, that Christians form a
mystical unity with one another through their fellowship with,
and incorporation into, Christ. Not infrequently, of course,
this doctrine is expounded with direct reference to the Church,
as when Gregory of Nazianzus3 and Chrysostom 4 designate it
the body of Christ, or when Theodore of Mopsuestia defines3
Christ’s body as that union of believers which is brought into
existence through baptism and the operation of the Holy
Spirit. More often than not, however, the conception of the
mystical body is expounded for its own sake, without allusion
to the doctrine of the Church and in the setting, say, of
Trinitarian or Christological argument. To make this a pretext
for neglecting it would be unfortunate, for as a matter of fact it
constitutes the core of the patristic notion of the Church and
its most fruitful clement.
In Athanasius, for example, the idea of the mystical body lies

1 In ps. 30, 22. 1 In Is. or. 2 (PG 70 68).

J Or. 2, 3; 32, i i . 4 In 1 Cor. horn. 32, 1.
’ In loh. 16, 14 (Vosté, 212); horn. cat. 10, 16-19.
 404 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

behind the whole of his polemic against the Arians. The nerve
of this was his doctrine of die deification of the Christian in
Christ, and this implies the mystical body. We are in Christ and
have been made sons of God by adoption, for we have been
united with God.1 It is because w'c have been conjoined
mystically with the Word that we are able to participate in His
death, His resurrection, His immortality.2 Regenerated by water
and the Spirit, Christians arc quickened in Christ, and their very
flesh is charged with the Word (λογωθείσης της σαρκός 3 ). Most
illuminating is Athanasius’s explanation of the text John 17, 21
(‘that they all may be one, as Thou, Father, art in Me, and I in
Thee .. The Arians used this to support their case, deducing
from the analogy that the union between Father and Son could
only be one of resemblance. Not so, replied 4 Athanasius; men
arc not only united, as the Arians suggested, by similarity of
nature, but ‘through participation in the same Christ we all
become one body, possessing the one Lord in ourselves’.
The Cappadocians echo the same teaching, and Gregory of
Nazianzus explains5 the ‘novel mystery ’ into which Christians
arc admitted as consisting in the fact ‘that we are all made one
in Christ, Who becomes completely all that He is in us’. The
deification of the Christian is a persistent theme with Gregory
of Nyssa; his polemic against Apollinarianism, for example,
relies6 largely on the plea that man ’s restoration can only be
effected if human nature in its entirety is united to God in the
Saviour. His point of view comes out forcibly in his exposition
of 1 Cor. 15, 28, which the Arians regarded as a gift text. He
argues7 that, when St. Paul speaks of the Son ’s being subjected
to the Father, he is really thinking of us human beings in our
capacity of adopted sons of God. Since we arc all by participa­
tion conjoined with Christ’s unique body, we become one
single body, viz. His. When we are all perfect and united widi
God, the whole body of Christ will then be subjected to the
quickening power. The subjection of this body is called the sub-

« E.g. c. Ar. I, 39; 2, 69 f. - Ib. 2, 69. J Ib. 3, 33

4 Ib. 3. 22. » Or. 7, 23: cf. ib. 39, 13. 6 E g antirrh l6
■> In illud ‘ Tunc ipse' (PG 44. 1317).
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 405

jection of the Son Himself for the reason that He is identified

with His body, which is the Church.’ In what follows he ex ­
plains that, since Christ is present in all the faithful, He receives
into Himself all who are united with Him by communion with
His body, with the result that the multiplicity of His members
can be said to comprise one single body. Chrysostom, too,
without explicitly alluding to the Church, emphasizes1 the
closeness of the union formed between Christians and Christ in
baptism. He secs the cucharist as the mainspring of this unity
stating 2 that ‘We are mingled with this body, we become one
body of Christ, one single flesh ’. Those who communicate at
the altar become ‘the body of Christ: not a multiplicity of
bodies, but one body. . . . Thus we are united with Christ and
with one another.’3
As we might expect, these thoughts reached their fullest
flowering in Cyril of Alexandria. His exegesis4 of John 1, 14
( The Word ... dwelt in us ’— eV ήμίν) was that by His incarna­
tion the Word identified Himself with human nature. A
mystical unity was established between men, the servants of sin,
and Him Who voluntarily took the form of a servant; thus
they were all reconciled to God in one body. Like Athanasius
before him, Cyril interprets5 Christ’s petition that His followers
may be one as Father and Son are one as implying, not simply a
moral union of the kind postulated by the Arians, but a real or
‘physical’ union [φυσικής eVwaews·). As he expresses it, ‘If we
arc all one body with one another in Christ— not only with one
another, but with Him Who comes to us in His flesh — , how
can we help being one, all of us, both with one another and in
Christ? Christ is the bond of unity inasmuch as He is one and
the same, God and man.’ In this passage he stresses the role of
the Holy Spirit in bringing this unity about: ‘We all receive
the same unique Spirit into ourselves, the Holy Spirit, and we
arc all thereby conjoined with one another and with God.
Although we are distinct from one another and the Spirit of the

1 E.g. in Gal. comm. 3, 5. 2 In M att. horn. 82, 5.

3 In 1 Cor. horn. 24, 2. * Cf. in loh. I, 14 (PG 73, 161-4)
» Ib. 17, 21 f- (PG 74. 557-<5 i ).
4θό FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Father and the Son dwells in each, nevertheless this Spirit is one
and indivisible. Thus by His power He joins together the many
distinct spirits in unity, making them as it were a single spirit in
Himself.’ He also connects this unity with the cucharist in a
way which is characteristic of his teaching throughout. It is by
receiving Christ’s sacramental body, he contends,1 that we have
His life and power communicated to us, and that we maintain
and intensify our fellowship with Him. So he declares2 that
‘ the body of Christ in us binds us in unity ... we are brought
into unity both with Him and with one another.’

2. The East and the Roman See

Although the question belongs rather to Church history than
doctrine, something must now be said about the Eastern attitude
towards the Church ’s constitutional structure. The fourth and
fifth centuries were the epoch of the self-conscious emergence
of the great patriarchates; the position of Rome, Alexandria and
Antioch was recognized at Nicaea (325), while Constantinople
and Jerusalem were later accorded the rank of patriarchates at
the councils of Constantinople (381) and Chalcedon (451) re­
spectively. Everywhere, in the East no less than the West, Rome
enjoyed a special prestige, as is indicated by the precedence
accorded without question to it. The only possible rival was the
new, rapidly expanding sec of Constantinople, but the Highest
claim that the second Ecumenical Council (381) could put in
for it (even that claim was ignored by Alexandria, and was to
be rejected by the papal legates at Chalcedon and declared null
by Pope Leo I) was to the effect3 that ‘the bishop of Con ­
stantinople shall hold the first rank after the bishop of Rome,
because Constantinople is new Rome ’. Thus Rome ’s pre ­
eminence remained undisputed in the patristic period. For
evidence of it the student need only recall the leading position
claimed as a matter of course by the popes, and freely con ­
ceded to them, at the councils of Ephesus (431) and Chalcedon

‘ E.g. in loh. 6, 54 If. (PG 73. 577-84)·

2 C. Nest. 4, 5 (PG 76, 193). 3 Canon 3.
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 407

(451). Wc even find the fifth-century historians Socrates1 and

Sozomen 2 concluding, on the basis of a misreading of the
famous letter3 of Julius I to the Eastern bishops (340) pro ­
testing against the deposition of Athanasius and Marcellus, that
it was unconstitutional for synods to be held without the
Roman pontiff being invited or for decisions to be taken with ­
out his concurrence. At the outbreak of the Christological
controversy, it will be remembered,4 both Nestorius and Cyril
hastened to bring their cases to Rome, the latter declarings that
the ancient custom of the churches constrained him to com ­
municate matters of such weight to the Pope and to seek his
advice before acting. In one of his sermons 6 he goes so far as to
salute Celestine as ‘ the archbishop of the whole world ’ (~άση$·
της οικουμένης αρχιεπίσκοπος ) .
The crucial question, however, is whether or not this un ­
doubted primacy of honour was held to exist by divine right
and so to involve an over-riding jurisdiction. So far as the East
is concerned, the answer must be, by and large, in the negative.
While showing it immense deference and setting great store by
its pronouncements, the Eastern churches never treated Rome
as the constitutional centre and head of the Church, much less as
an infallible oracle of faith and morals, and on occasion had not
the least compunction about resisting its express will. It is in ­
structive to notice their estimate of the Apostle Peter, for it was
the promises and charges made to him (see especially M att. 16,
18 f; Luke 22, 32; John 21, 15-17) that were to provide the
theological substructure of the later Papacy. On the one hand,
St. Peter’s position as prince of the apostles was acknowledged
without the smallest reservation. Didymus, for example, hails7
him as the coryphaeus (κορυφαίος ), the leader (πρόκριτος ) who
held the chief rank (τά πρωτεία) among the apostles; the power
of reconciling penitents was given to him directly, and only
through him to the other apostles.8 Chrysostom describes9 him
1 Hist. eccl. 2, 17. » Hist. eccl. 3, 10.
3 Cf. Athanasius, apol. c. Ar. 21-35. 4 See above, p. 324.
5 Ep. it, 1; ii, 7. ft Hom. div, 11 (PG 77, 1040).
’ De trin. 1, 27; 2, 18; 2,10 (PG 39, 408; 725; 640).
8 Ib. I, 30 (PG 39, 417)· 9 Hom. in illud 'Hoc scitote ’ 4.
408 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

as ‘the coryphaeus of the choir, the mouthpiece of the apostolic

company, the head of that band, the leader of the whole world,
the foundation of the Church, the ardent lover of Christ’. Later
writers, like Cyril of Alexandria1 and Thcodorct,2 reflect the
same point of view in almost identical language. In harmony
with this one school of interpretation equated the rock men ­
tioned in M att. 16, 18 with the actual person of Peter. So Cyril
explains3 that Simon was named Peter ‘ because Jesus Christ
proposed to found His Church upon him ’ (eV αύτώ). Epi-
phanius4 and Maximus5 the Confessor can be cited as witnesses
to the same exegesis. On the other hand, there is no suggestion
in the Greek fathers that St. Peter’s position as leader carried
with it a status different in kind from that of the other apostles.
The current exegesis of the Petrine texts on the whole ran
strongly counter to such an inference. Cyril of Alexandria, for
example, is equally ready 6 to refer the rock of M att. 16, i8
to Christ Himself as apprehended by faith, while Epiphanius,7
Chrysostom 8 and Thcodorct9 (cf. σημαίνει. 8è ή πέτρα της
πίστεως το στερρον και άκράΖαντον) SCC it as the symbol of
St. Peter’s faidi. The charge ‘Feed my sheep, etc.’ (John 21,
15-17), so far from being taken as indicating any special
authority or rank, denotes for Cyril10 no more than the formal
confirmation of his pastoral functions as apostle after his denial
of the Lord. Similarly the admonition to establish his brethren
(Luke 22, 32) is usually interpreted 11 as simply illustrating a
general truth of God ’s dealings with men, viz. that restoration
after sin is possible on condition of repentance. What is perhaps
more significant, there are only very occasional hints (e.g. in
the shout, ‘Peter has spoken through Leo ’, with which the
bishops at Chalcedon greeted Leo ’s Tome) that St. Peter’s
authority was mystically transmitted to, and as a result present
in, his successors in the Roman see.
1 In loh. 19, 25; de trin. dial. 4 (PG 74, 661; 75, 865).
1 Quaest. in Gen. interr. no; in ps. 2 (PG 80, 220; 873).
’ In loh. I, 42 (PG 73, 220): cf. in Luc. 22, 32 (PG 72, 916).
4 Ancor. 9. 5 Vita ac cert. 24 (PG 90, 93).
6 In Is. 4, or. 2 (PG 70, 94°)· 7 Haer. 59, 7.
• In M att. hom. 54, 2; in Gal. comm. 1,1.
’ Quaest. in Exod. interr. 68. 10 In loh. 21, 15-17 (PG 74, 749).
n E.g. Chrysostom, in M att. hom. 82, 3; Basil, hom. de humil. 4.
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 409

3. W estern Doctrines: Hilary and Optatus

If Western theology was able to grapple with the problem

of the Church at a deeper level, this was because the struggle
with Donatism focussed attention on it. Where Donatism made
little or no impact, as in Italy and Gaul, ideas about the Church ’s
nature did not differ materially from those fashionable about
the same time in the East. For Ambrose, for example, the
Church was the city of God, Christ’s immaculate body;1 those
who rent it asunder and severed themselves from it were
guilty of the unforgivable sin.2 Hilary teaches that, externally
considered, the Church is ‘the harmonious fellowship of the
faithful’;3 from a more spiritual angle it is the bride of Christ,
His mystical body, the mouth by which He speaks to men.4
Founded by Christ and established by the apostles, it is one, and
teaches the truth with authority; its unity is that of a single
integrated body, not that of a congeries of assorted bodies, and is
based on its common faith, the bond of charity and unanimity of
will and action.5 As these passages disclose, the idea of the Church
as mystically one with Christ was vividly alive in the West;
indeed Hilary, who may have been influenced by his Eastern
contacts, had a particularly strong sense of it. Through baptism,
he argues, believers undergo a spiritual transformation of their
bodies and ‘enter into fellowship with Christ’s flesh ’;6 ‘He is
Himself the Church, comprehending it all in Himself through
the mystery of His body ’, and so they are incorporated into
Him.7 The heretics, he points out,8 claim (again the reference is
to John 17, 21) that the unity which exists between Christians is
merely one of concord and mutual charity, and take their stand
on Acts 4, 32 (‘the multitude of them that behoved were of one
heart and soul’). Actually it is a real unity (unitas naturalis),
founded on the new life imparted at baptism and consisting in
the fact that they have all put on the one, indivisible Christ. The
reality of this union is guaranteed by the eucharistie mystery,

* In ps. 118, 15, 35. * De poen. 2, 24. 1 Tract, in ps. 131, 23.
4 Ib. 127, 8; 128, 9; 138, 29· 5 De trin. 6, 9 f; 7, 4; tract, in ps. 121, 5.
6 In ps. 91, 9. 7 Ib. 125, 6. 8 Cf. de trin. 8, 6-13.
 410 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

by which the Christian ’s incorporation into Christ’s body is

maintained and intensified.1
Hints of the doctrine of the communion of saints appear in
Hilary ’s writings, as when he refers2 to the Church ‘whether
in the sense of that which exists now or of that consisting of
saints which will be hereafter’. His contemporary, Niceta of
Remesiana, expressly defines3 the Church as ‘ the congregation
of all the saints’, stating that one of the benefits believers enjoy
in it is ‘communion with the saints ’, i.e. with the apostles,
prophets, martyrs and just persons of all ages. But Hilary was
also acutely conscious4 that, as at present constituted, the Church
is a mixed society containing sinners (in ecclesia quidem manentes,
sed ecclesiae disciplinam non tenentes) as well as good men.
This was precisely the issue which Donatism raised. For
more than a hundred years this schism split the African church,
spreading bitter discord and violence. While a variety of non-
thcological factors (e.g. nationalist feeling, economic stringency)
complicated the issue, its ostensible origin was the alleged ir­
regularity of the consecration of Caecilian as bishop of Carthage
in 3 1 1. One of the consccrators, Felix of Aptunga, was accused
(falsely, according to the Catholics) of being a traditor, i.e. of
( having surrendered copies of the Scriptures to the civil authori­
ties during Diocletian ’s persecution (303). The Donatists took
the lines of rigorism; the validity of the sacraments, they taught,
depended on the worthiness of the minister, and the Church
ceased to be holy and forfeited its claim to be Christ’s body
when it tolerated unworthy bishops and other officers, par­
ticularly people who had been traditores, in its ranks. In this case
the resulting contamination, they held, * infected not only
Caecilian and his successors, but everyone in Africa and
throughout the whole world who maintained communion
with them. Presupposed in this attitude is the puritan concep ­
tion of the Church as a society which is de facto holy, consisting
exclusively of actually good men and women. With this as their
premiss the Donatists argued that they alone could be the
1 De Irin. 8, 15 f. 1 Tract, in ps. 132, 6. ’ De sytnb. 10.
♦ Tract, in ps. 1, 4; 52, 13; in M att. 33, 8. » Cf. Augustine, ep. 129.
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 41 1

ecclesia catholica, which Scripture attested to be the immaculate

bride of Christ, without spot or wrinkle, since they required
positive holiness from laity and clergy alike. The so-called
Catholics, they urged, could not with justice make out their
claim to be the true Church.
The Catholic reaction to this fanatical brand of puritanism is
well illustrated in the six (later expanded to seven) books which
Optatus, bishop of Milevum, wrote in 366 or 367 to refute the
Donatist leader and publicist, Parmenianus. First, he points out1
that sacraments derive their validity from God, not from the
priest who administers them. In baptism, for example, it is
the Triune Godhead invoked in the trinitarian formula Who
bestows the gift. Whoever it is that plants and whoever that
waters, it is always God Who gives the increase; the person of
the officiant is of necessity continually changing, but the Trinity
is always present in the rite. For this reason he is ready enough 2
to acknowledge the Donatists as brethren (after all, both they
and he have had ‘one and the same spiritual nativity ’’), and to
recognize the efficacy of their sacraments. Secondly, he criticizes
the Donatists’ definition of the Church ’s holiness and their in ­
sistence that membership must be confined to people who are
in a de facto state of goodness. The Church is holy, he contends,3
not because of the character of those who belong to it, but
because it possesses the symbol of the Trinity, the chair of Peter,
the faith of believers, Christ’s saving precepts, and, above all,
the sacraments themselves. The petition, ‘Forgive us our tres­
passes’, which our Lord ‘enjoined, and such texts as 1 John 1, 8
(‘If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves’), as well
as the Parable of the Tares, abundantly prove that Christ is pre ­
pared to tolerate sinners in His Church until the day of judg ­
ment.4 It is wrong, not to say impossible, for us to attempt what
the apostles themselves never presumed to do, viz. to dis­
criminate between the good and bad in Christ’s flock. Thirdly,
he suggests that catholicity and unity are at least as decisive
tokens of the true Church as holiness. The former connotes
’ De schism. Donat. 5, 4; 5, 7. 1 Ib. I, 3 f.; 4, 2; 5, 1.
’ Ib. 2, 1; 2, 9; 2 > 10; 7, 2. « Ib. 2, 20; 7, 2.
412 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

world-wide extension, in accordance with the Saviour’s

promise, so that the Donatists arc ruled out as a sect confined to
‘a fragment of Africa, a mere corner of a minute region ’.1 The
unity of the Church, foretold in Scripture in such passages as
Cant. 6, 8 (‘One is my dove ’), was willed by our Lord, and its
visible manifestation consists in communion with the see of
Peter.2 In Optatus ’s eyes, as in Cyprian ’s,3 schism is tantamount
to apostasy, being a negation of the spirit of charity (catholicum
facit . . . unitas animorum, schisma vero . . . livore nutritur
*). Since
the Church is indi visibly one, schismatics like the Donatists do
not so much rend it asunder as sever themselves from it, like
branches which arc broken off' from the parent tree.5 Like
Cyprian, too, he condemns them in Jeremiah’s words for
leaving the fountains of living water and digging cisterns for
themselves which cannot hold water.6

4. W estern Doctrines: Augustine

It was another African, Augustine, who developed and
deepened these thoughts of Optatus ’s during his prolonged
controversy with the Donatists. According to him, the Church
is the realm of Christ, I lis mystical body and His bride, the
mother of Christians.7 There is no salvation apart from it;
schismatics can have the faith and sacraments (in this he differs
from his admired master, Cyprian,8 preferring the traditional
Western doctrine that the sacraments are valid even if ad ­
ministered outside the Church), but cannot put them to a
profitable use since the Holy Spirit is only bestowed in the
Church.9 In appropriate circumstances grace can certainly be
had outside it by means of God ’s direct, invisible action, as the
case of the centurion Cornelius recorded in Acts demonstrates;
but the strict condition is that the recipient must not attempt to
by-pass the visible means of grace (contemptor sacramenti
visibilis invisibiliter sanctificari nullo modo potest10 ). It goes without
' De schism. Donat. 2, 1; 2, 5; 2, n; 3, 2 f. 1 Ib. I, io; 2, 2 f.
* See above, p. 206. 4 Ib. 1, 11. ’ Ib. 2, 9.
6 Ib. 4, 9. 7 Ep. 34. 3 ’. “ "rm. 22, 9. • See above, p. 206.
• De bapt. 4, 24; 7, 87; semi, ad Cacs. 6. 10 Qnaest. in hept. 3, 84.
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 413

saying that Augustine identifies the Church with the universal

Catholic Church of his day, with its hierarchy and sacraments,
and with its centre at Rome. In fact, its catholicity consists
partly in its claim to teach the whole truth and not selected
fragments of it,1 but even more, it would seem,2 in its world ­
wide extension. The latter characteristic marks it off from the
sects, each of which flourishes in a particular locality.3 Not that
the Church, on Augustine ’s view, is to be confined to the
universal, empirical society visible at any one time. It includes
in its ranks not only present-day Christians, but all who have
believed in Christ in the past and will do so in the future. It is,
moreover, as against the Donatists’ conception, ‘a mixed com ­
munity ’ (corpus permixtum
*
) comprising bad men as well as good,
and the Bible texts which dwell on its absolute perfection and
spotless purity should be balanced by others (e.g. the Parable
of the Tares) pointing to its mixed character, and should be
interpreted as referring to its condition, not here and now, but
at the final consummation.5
Most of these points arc commonplaces of fourth-century
Latin Catholicism. We must elaborate some of them if we are
to appreciate Augustine ’s special contribution to the doctrine of
the Church. First, the heart of liis teaching is his conception of
the Christian society as Christ’s mystical body. Christ has, he
holds,6 a triple mode of existence. He exists as the eternal Word,
and also as the God-man or Mediator; but, in the third place,
He exists as the Church, of which He is the head and the faith ­
ful the members. The whole constitutes a single spiritual entity
or person. ‘There are many Christians ’, he writes,7 ‘but only
one Christ. The Christians themselves along with their Head,
because He has ascended to heaven, form one Christ. It is not a
case of His being one and our being many, but we who are
many are a unity in Him. There is therefore one man, Christ,
consisting of head and body.’ Christ and His members are ‘one
person ’ (tma quaedam persona 3 ), an organic unity in which all
* Ep. 93. 23· 1 Ib. 49. 3; 185, 5; serm. 46, 32 f.
1 Serm. 46, 18. 4 Cf. de doct. christ. 3, 45.
» E.g. c. Utt. Pet. 3,4; brei’ ic. coll. 3, 15-19. 6 Serm. 341.
’ Enarr. in ps. 127, 3. 8 Enarr. 1 in ps. 30, 4.

■■
414 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

have their several functions, and which is figuratively repre­

sented in the one bread of the cucharist.1 And just as an ordinary
body is permeated, quickened and held together by the soul or
spirit, so the life-principle of the mystical body is the Holy
Spirit, Who cannot be received outside the Church.2 But since
the Holy Spirit is love personified, the product of the mutual
love of the Father and the Son, the life-principle of the Church
can be equally well described as love.3 It is precisely this unify ­
ing, quickening love or charity which is the Church ’s essence;
it welds the multiplicity of members together and unites the
body with its Head, the result being ‘one single Christ Who
loves Himself’.4 Faith and hope are naturally combined with
love, for only through faith in the incarnation and cross are men
brought into fellowship with the Mediator,5 and the Church
looks forward with hope to the fulness of the redemption.6
Thus in its inward being the Church is the communion of all
those who are united together, along with Christ their Lord, in
faith, hope and love.
Secondly, Augustine ’s idea of the Church ’s unity follows
logically from his conception of it as a fellowship of love. Its
members must be united since they are members of one body;
just as Adam and Eve engendered us for death, so Christ and
the Church, His bride and our spiritual mother, have en ­
gendered us for eternal life.7 This unity, of course, involves
unity of belief,8 and any breach of this leads to heresy.9 But,
deeper and more important than this, it is also a union of love;
it is absurd to suppose that anyone can belong to the Church
who docs not love God and his fcllow-Christians.10 The anti­
thesis of love is the spirit which promotes schism, rending
Christ s seamless robe and tearing His body apart by an act of
criminal severance (nefaria separatio 11 '). It is therefore their
abandonment of the principle of love which in Augustine ’s
’ Ep· 187, 20 and 40; tract, ev. loh. 13, 17; S erm. 354, 4.
- Serin. 267, 4; 268, 2. 3 Enarr. 2 in ps. 32, 21; de trin. 15, 33-7.
♦ Tract, nt ep. loh. 10, 3.
5 De civ. dei 18, 47: cf. de nat. etgrat. 2; c. lui. 4, 17.
6 Enarr. in ps. 103; serin. 4, 17; ep. 55, 25 f.
’ 22 ' 10; I21 ’ 4; 2l6 ’ 8 ‘ 8 De civ. dei 18, 50, 1.
« Ep. 118. 32. - C. Crete. 1, 34. » Serm. 265. T, ep. 43 , 21.
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 415

eyes puts the Donatists outside the Church: ‘who can truthfully
say that he has the charity of Christ when he docs not embrace
His unity? ’1 They may be orthodox in belief, their baptisms
and ordinations may be technically correct, and their austerities
may be beyond all praise; but all these tilings are made of none
effect by the lack of charity which plunges them into schism.
For Cyprian, as we have seen,2 schism was in effect spiritual
suicide; it meant cutting oneself off from Christ’s body, which
remained in itself as united as ever. On Augustine’s view it was
positive sacrilege, since schismatics really rend the Church
asunder by their lack of charity.
Thirdly, while insisting on the basis of Scripture that the
Church as a historical institution must include sinners as well as
just men and that the two groups will only be separated at the
final consummation,3 Augustine came to make a significant
admission in order to meet the Donatists’ point that Christ’s
bride must be ‘without spot or wrinkle ’ here and now. This
consisted in drawing a careful distinction between the essential
Church, composed of those who genuinely belong to Christ,
and the outward or empirical Church. With his Platonic back ­
ground of thought this distinction came easily to him, for the
contrast4 between the perfect essence, eternal and transcending
sensation, and its imperfect phenomenal embodiment was
always hovering before his mind. From this point of view only
those who are ablaze with charity and sincerely devoted to
Christ’s cause belong to the essential Church;5 the good alone
‘arc in the proper sense Christ’s body ’ (cf. boni, qui proprie sunt
corpus Christi 6 ). The rest, that is to say sinners, may seem to be
within the Church, but they have no part in ‘the invisible
union of love ’ (invisibilis caritatis compages 7). They are inside the
house, but remain alien to its intimate fabric.8 They belong to
the catholicae ecclesiae communio 9 and enjoy the communio sacra ­
mentorum ’, 10 but it is the just who constitute ‘the congregation

1 Ep. 61, 2. 1 See above, p. 20ό. 3 E.g. serm. 88, 22 f.

* See above, pp. 10 f. s De bapt. 5, 38; 6, 3; 7, 99.
6 C. Faust. 13, 16. 7 De bapt. 3, 26.
’ Ib. 7. 99· 9 Ep. 93, 3; 1 12, 3.
10 De unie. bapt. c. Petit. 24; c. Cresc. 3, 35; de bapt. 7, 100.
4i6 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

and society of saints’,1 the ‘holy Church ’ in the strict sense of

the words.
Thus Augustine ’s solution of the age-old problem was to
argue that the authentic bride of Christ really does consist, as
the Donatists claimed, exclusively of good and pious men, but
that this ‘invisible fellowship of love ’ is only to be found in
the historical Catholic Church, within whose frontiers good
men and sinners meanwhile consort together in a ‘ mixed com ­
munion ’. The error of the Donatists, on this hypothesis, was
to make a crude institutional division between them, whereas
the precedent of Israel showed that the division was a spiritual
one and that God intended the two types of men to exist side
by side in this world. As he worked out his doctrine of pre­
destination,2 however, he was led to introduce a refinement on
this distinction between the visible and the invisible Church. In
the last resort, he came to sec, the only true members of the
Church (the ‘enclosed garden . . . spring shut up, fountain
scaled ... the paradise with the fruit of apples’, spoken of so
eloquently in Cant. 4, 12 f.) could be ‘the fixed number of the
elect’. But ‘in God ’s ineffable foreknowledge many who seem
to be within are without, and many who seem to be without
are within ’. In other words, many even of those who to all
appearances belong to ‘the invisible fellowship of love ’ may
not possess the grace of perseverance, and arc therefore destined
to fall away; while many others who at present may be heretics
or schismatics, or lead disordered lives or even are unconverted
pagans, may be predestined to the fulness of grace.3 It is obvious
that this line of thought transferred the whole problem of the
Church ’s nature to an altogether different plane. Augustine
never attempted to harmonize his two conceptions, that dis­
tinguishing the Church as a historical institution from the true
Church of those really devoted to Christ and manifesting His
spirit, and that identifying Christ’s body with the fixed number
of the elect known to God alone. Indeed, it may be doubted
whether any synthesis was ultimately possible, for if the latter
1 De civ. dei io, 6. 2 See above, pp. 368 f.
3 Cf. de bapt. 5, 38 f.; de corrept. et grat. 39-42.
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 417
doctrine is taken seriously the notion of the institutional Church
ceases to have any validity.

5. The W est and the Roman Primacy

By the middle of the fifth century the Roman church had

established, de jure as well as de facto, a position of primacy in the
West, and the papal claims to supremacy over all bishops of
Christendom had been formulated in precise terms. The detailed
narrative of the stages by which this process was accomplished
belongs properly to the field of Church history rather than
to that of doctrine. Here we need only remark that, strictly
theological factors apart, the position of Rome as the revered
ancient capital and sole apostolic see of the West, the all-
embracing influence it exercised liturgically and theologically in
the Western empire, and the special role the popes were called
upon to fulfil in the era of barbarian invasions, all contributed
to the development. The student tracing the history of the
times, particularly of the Arian, Donatist, Pelagian and Christo-
logical controversies, cannot fail to be impressed by the skill
and persistence with which the Holy See was continually
advancing and consolidating its claims. Since its occupant was
accepted as the successor of St. Peter, the prince of the apostles,
it was easy to draw the inference that the unique authority
which Rome in fact enjoyed, and which the popes saw con ­
centrated in their persons and their office, was no more than the
fulfilment of the divine· plan.
In this section our concern is with the function of the
Roman primacy in the theology of the Church. There is little
to be gleaned on the subject from Hilary, who agrees1 that St.
Peter was the first to believe, the captain of the apostolic band
(apostolatus princeps), the foundation upon which the Church
was built and the janitor of the celestial gates, but does not
appear to connect these facts with the contemporary Roman see.
Ambrose ’s teaching is much fuller, and there can be no doubt
of the extraordinary veneration in which he held the Roman
1 In M att. 7, 6; 16, 7.
4i 8 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

church. From the earliest times, he taught,1 it had been the un ­

swerving exponent of the Church ’s creed in its integrity and
purity; to be in communion with Rome was a guarantee of
correct belief. Hence he advises2 that matters touching on faith
and order and the mutual relations of orthodox churches should
be referred for settlement to the Roman pontiff. Yet he no ­
where recognizes the latter as the final interpreter of the laws of
ecclesiastical discipline, much less ascribes supreme jurisdiction
over the Church to him. It is clear that Ambrose’s exegesis of
the great Petrine texts which were to supply that jurisdiction
with its theological substructure was inconsistent, and in any
case fell short of identifying the apostle with the later popes.
If, for example, he sometimes3 interprets M att. 16,18 as implying
that the Church was erected upon St. Peter, even adding that
‘where Peter is, there is the Church ’, his fuller discussion of the
text suggests that the rock mentioned in it was not the apostle’s
person so much as his faith in Christ’s Messiahship or divinity,4
or even the Saviour Himself, the object of his faith.5 Similarly,
while sometimes6 attributing special authority over the Church
to St. Peter himself, he also states7 that the gift of the keys was
not bestowed on St. Peter personally or exclusively, but as
the representative of the apostles and of all Catholic bishops
descending from them.
In Africa meanwhile, the prevailing doctrine was an ex ­
tension of Cyprian ’s.8 Optatus of Milcvum, as we have seen,9
in his controversy with the Donatist Parmcnianus, reckoned
‘the chair of Peter’ as one of the indispensable possessions of the
true Church: claves . . . solus Petrus accepit.10 By this he seems to
have meant, as indeed he proceeds to explain, that the episcopal
commission was first and uniquely conferred upon St. Peter,
and that the other apostles and their successors participate
equally in the selfsame commission. In this way the possibility

j 4; deexcess- Sat- x > 47- 2 Ep. S 6, 7: cf. ib. 13, 7.

* Dcjtd. 4, 56; enarr. nt ps. 40, 30.
* E.g. de incarn. dont, sacrant. 33 f.; expos, en. Luc. 6, 98
^P ° sa eu - L .tiC · 6 > 97; ep. 43, 9. 6 Enarr. in ps. 43, 40.
’ ’b · 37: dc P° en - 7 8 See abovi pp 205 f
9 See above, p. 411: cf. de schism. Donat. 2, 2. w IK , , rt
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY 419

of there being several ‘chairs’, with the disunity which would

inevitably result, was effectively ruled out. For Optatus, there­
fore, communion with the see of Peter was a vital necessity,
although we should note that he laid almost equal stress1 on the
desirability of communion with the Oriental churches and what
he called the septiformis ecclesia Asiae. Augustine’s attitude was
not dissimilar. Following Cyprian, he regarded St. Peter as
the representative or symbol of the unity of the Church and of
the apostolic college, and also as the apostle upon whom the
primacy was bestowed (even so, he was a type of the Church
as a whole2). Thus the Roman church, the seat of St. Peter, ‘to
whom the Lord after His resurrection entrusted the feeding of
His sheep ’,3 was for him the church ‘in which the primacy
[principatus') of the apostolic chair has ever flourished ’.4 The
three letters5 relating to Pelagianism which the African church
sent to Innocent I in 416, and of which Augustine was the
draughtsman, suggest that he attributed to the Pope a pastoral
and teaching authority extending over the whole Church, and
found a basis for it in Scripture. At the same time there is no
evidence that he was prepared to ascribe to the bishop of Rome,
in his capacity as successor of St. Peter, a sovereign and in ­
fallible doctrinal magisterium. For example, when in his contro ­
versy withjulian of Eclanum he appealed to Innocent, his view 6
was that the Pope was only the mouthpiece of truths which the
Roman church had held from ancient times in harmony with
other Catholic churches. Nor was he willing, in practical
matters, to surrender one jot of the disciplinary independence
of the African church which Cyprian had defended so stoutly
in his day. The truth is that the doctrine of the Roman primacy
played only a minor role in his ecclesiology, as also in his
personal religious thinking.
The real framers and promotors of the theory of the Roman
primacy were the popes themselves. Men like Damasus (366-
384), Siricius (384-99), Innocent (402-17) and their successors

« Ib. 2, 6; 6, 3. 2 Enarr. in ps. 108, 1; serm. 46, 30; 295, 2.

ï C. ep. fund. 5 (PL 42, 175).
5 Augustine, epp. 175-7-
420 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

not only strove to advance it on the practical plane, but sketched

out the theology on which it was based, viz. the doctrine that
the unique position and authority assigned by Christ to St.
Peter belonged equally to the popes who followed him as
bishop of Rome. Leo the Great (440-61) was responsible for
gathering together and giving final shape to the various
elements composing this thesis. His conception of the primacy
is admirably set out in the letter1 which he sent to Anastasius,
bishop of Thessalonica, in 446. ‘Bishops indeed ’, he declared,
‘have a common dignity, but they have not uniform rank,
inasmuch as even among the blessed apostles, notwithstanding
the similarity of their honourable estate, there was a certain dis­
tinction of power. While the election of all of them was equal,
yet it was given to one [i.e. St. Peter] to take the lead of the
rest. From this model has arisen a distinction of bishops also,
and by an important ordinance it has been provided that every ­
one should not arrogate everything to himself, but that there
should be in each province one whose opinion should have
precedence among the brethren; and again that certain whose
appointment is in the greater cities should undertake a fuller
responsibility, and that through them the care of the universal
Church should converge towards Peter’s one chair, and nothing
anywhere should be separate from its head.’ His teaching, as
expounded in many contexts, involves the following ideas.
First, the famous Gospel texts referring to St. Peter should be
taken to imply that supreme authority was conferred by our
Lord upon the apostle. Secondly, St. Peter was actually bishop
of Rome, and his magisterium was perpetuated in His suc­
cessors in that see. Thirdly, St. Peter being in this way, as it
were, mystically present in the Roman see, the authority of
other bishops throughout Christendom docs not derive im ­
mediately from Christ, but (as in the case of the apostles) is
mediated to them through St. Peter, i.e. through the Roman
pontiff who in this way represents him, or, to be more precise,
is a kind of Petrus redivivus. Fourthly, while their mandate is
of course limited to their own dioceses, St. Peter’s magisterium,
« Ep. 14, ii.
 CHRIST ’S MYSTICAL BODY

and with it that of his successors, the popes of Rome, is a

plenitudo potestatis extending over the entire Church, so that its
government rests ultimately with them, and they are its
divinely appointed mouthpiece.

NOTE ON BOOKS

P. Batiffol, Le Catholicisme de saint Augustin (Paris, 1920); L. Bouycr,

L ’Incarnation et l ’église-corps du Christ dans la théologie de s. Athanase (Paris,
1943); W. H. C. Frcnd, The Donatist Church (Oxford, 1952); S. L. Grcen-
slade, Schism in the Early Church (London, 1953); F. Hofmann, Der Kirchen-
bcgriff des hl. Augustinus (Munich, 1933); T. G. Jalland, The Church and the
Papacy (London, 1944); B.J. Kidd, The Roman Primacy to A.D.461 (London,
1936); É. Mcrsch, Le Corps mystique du Christ (Brussels and Paris, 3 ed.
1951: Eng. trans., The W hole Christ, London, 1956); A. Robertson, Regnum
Dei (London, 1901); T. Specht, Die Lchre von der Kirche nach dem hl. Augustin
(Paderborn, 1892); H. B. Swctc (cd.), The Early History of the Church and
M inistry (London, 1918); G. G. Willis, Saint Augustine and the Donatist
Controversy (London, 1950).
 C H A PTER X V I

THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS

I. General Theory

In the fourth and fifth centuries little or no attempt was made,

in East or West, to work out a systematic sacramental theology.
The universal, if somewhat vague, assumption was that the
sacraments were outward and visible signs marking the presence
of an invisible, but none the less genuine, grace. Chrysostom,
for example, pointed out1 that, in order to understand the
mysteries (by these he meant baptism and the eucharist), we
must study them with the intellectual eye, attending to what
the Lord promised rather than what sense perceives. According
to Theodore of Mopsucstia,2 ‘every sacrament is the indication,
by means of signs and symbols, of invisible and ineffable
realities’; wdiile the late fifth-century Pseudo-Dionysius stated3
that ‘the sensible rites (τα αισθητά Ιερά) are representations of
intelligible things, and conduct and guide us to them ’. Ambrose
similarly distinguished 4 the external ritual from the unseen
grace or presence. The former, he pointed out, carries with it a
symbolism which corresponds to man ’s twofold nature, and
this explains its efficacy. So in baptism water washes the body,
while the soul is cleansed by the Spirit;5 in the eucharist what
is perceived after the consecration is only a sign of what is
actually there.6 Augustine lays particular stress on this contrast.
‘The sacrament itself’, he declares,7 ‘is one thing, and the power
(virtus) of the sacrament another.’ Elsewhere he writes8 of the
eucharistie bread and wine, ‘So they are called sacraments

In M att. horn. 82, 4. 1 Hom. cat. 12, 2.

De eccl. hierarch. 2, 3, 2 (PG 3, 397)·
De my st. 8; de sacram. I, 10.
Expos, ev. Luc. 2, 79. 6 De myst. 50; 52; 54; de sacram. 4, 14-16.
Tract, in ev. loh. 26, 11. 8 Serm. 272.
422
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 423

because one thing is seen in them, another understood. What is

seen has a bodily appearance, but what is understood has
spiritual fruit.’ In baptism the water serves as the sacrament of
the grace imparted, but the grace itself is invisibly operated by
the Holy Spirit.1
While this was the prevalent idea of sacraments, their number
was not yet definitely fixed. To a certain extent this was due to
the vagueness which still attached to the terms μυστήριον and
sacramentum. Chrysostom could apply the former in one and
the same context2 both to Christ’s humiliation and crucifixion
and to holy baptism. In Hilary ’s vocabulary the latter stood on
occasion for the mystery of the divine unity,3 or of the Lord ’s
divinity,4 or of the incarnation.5 There was a growing tendency,
however, to recognize a specialized sense of the words in which
they denoted the efficacious signs of the Gospel, and to classify
these together. For Cyril of Jerusalem 6 and Ambrose,7 in ­
terested as they were primarily in the training of catechumens,
there were three sacraments in this sense— baptism, confirma­
tion or chrism, and the eucharist. Cyril of Alexandria also
enumerated 8 these three. This list was generally accepted, but
since the conception of a sacrament was still elastic it should not
be regarded as exhaustive. The language of Gregory of Nyssa9
about ordination and of Chrysostom 10 about penance suggests
that these, too, qualified for the title in their eyes. Augustine
illustrates both the wider and the narrower meanings of sacra ­
mentum. ‘Signs are called sacraments ’, he explains,11 ‘when they
have reference to divine tilings.’ On this definition anything
might be a sacrament which is a token, natural or conventional,
of a divine reality. So he can include under the term such rites
as the blessed salt handed to catechumens,12 the baptismal
exorcisms,13 and the formal tradition of the creed and the
Lord ’s Prayer to catechumens,14 as well as the Old Testament

1 Ep. 98, 2. * fh 1 Cor. hom. 7, 1. 3 De trin. 7, 2359, 19.

·* Ib. 10, 48. s Ib. 9, 25 f. 6 Cat. 19-2$.
7 De myst.; de sacram. 8 In loel 32.
9 In bapt. Chr. (PG 46, 581-4). 10 De sacerdot. 3, 6.
“ Ep. 138,7. 11 Dr cat. rud. 50. 13 Senn. 227.
«♦ Ib. 228, 3.
424 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

events and personages mysteriously foreshadowing Christ and

His salvation.1 On the other hand, he speaks2 of ‘the few most
salutary sacraments of the Gospel’, and contrasts3 the manifold
rites of the old Law with ‘ the sacraments, very few in number,
very easy to take note of, and most glorious in their signifi­
cance’, by means of which Christ has united His people to ­
gether. The instances he gives are baptism and the cucharist;
and these are the two he cites elsewhere4 when stating that ‘ the
Lord Himself and the apostolic discipline have handed down a
few signs, easy to enact and august in their meaning ’.
It should not be inferred, however, that thought about the
sacraments was entirely lacking in definiteness of outline. We
should notice the emergence in this period of certain ideas
which, though not yet fully worked out, were to pave the way
for the mature medieval doctrine. In the first place, it is now
taken as axiomatic that in the administration of the sacraments
God or Jesus Christ is the principal agent, the priest being merely
His instrument. ‘God ’s gifts’, protests5 Chrysostom, ‘are not
such as to be the result of any virtue of the priest’s; they are
wholly the work of grace. The priest’s function is simply to
open his mouth, and it is God Who accomplishes what is
done. . . . The eucharistie oblation remains the same, whether
Paul or Peter offers it. The oblation which Christ gave to His
disciples is identical with the one now offered by the priests.
The latter is no whit inferior to the former, for it is not men
who consecrate it, but He Who consecrated the original obla ­
tion.’ So ‘when the priest baptizes, it is not he who baptizes, but
God Who compasses your head with His invisible power’.6 In
the West, as we saw 7 in the preceding chapter, these principles
received forceful acknowledgement as a result of the Church ’s
clash with Donatism. Baptism, Optatus argues,8 is the gift of
God, not of any human minister; it is the Holy Trinity Who
sanctifies the catechumen, so that while the minister may be
changed the Trinitarian formula must remain inviolate. So
1 Enarr. in ps. 83, 2. 1 De ver. rel. 33. 7 Ep. 54, 1.
♦ De doct. enrist. 3,13. 5 In 2 Tim. hom. 2, 4.
4 In M att. hom. 50, 3. 7 See above, p. 411.
• De schism. Donat. 5, 7.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 425

Augustine teaches1 that the truth of a sacrament is not im ­

pugned by the unsuitability of its minister, for its actual author
is God Himself. For example, in spite of the diversity of those
who administer it, baptism remains one and the same sacra­
ment since it is Christ Who in fact bestows it.2
Secondly, it is clear that much thought was given in this period
to the efficient cause linking the spiritual gift with the outward,
perceptible sign. According to Cyril of Jerusalem,3 once the
Trinity has been invoked (he uses the term βπίκλησι?), the
baptismal water possesses sanctifying power in view of the fact
that it is no longer mere water, but water united with the Holy
Spirit, Who acts in and through it. So Gregory Nazianzen
bases4 the efficacy of baptism on the Spirit, and Basil declares5
that ‘if the baptismal waters have any grace, they derive it, not
from their own nature, but from the presence of the Holy
Spirit’. Ambrose follows Basil in teaching 6 that the efficacy of
the sacrament springs from the presence of the Holy Spirit in
the water. The Trinitarian formula, however, is also indis­
pensable: ‘unless the catechumen is baptized in the name of the
Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, he cannot receive
the remission of sins or imbibe the gift of spiritual grace ’.7 For
Augustine the operative factor seems to have been the candi­
date’s belief in the Trinity as expressed in his answers to the
threefold baptismal interrogations. ‘Take away the word ’, he
remarks,8 ‘and what is the water but water? When the word is
added to the element, it becomes a sacrament.’ He goes on to
explain that it is not merely the uttering of the word, but the
word considered as a vehicle of faith, that endows the water
with saving power; and the context, with its references to Rom.
10, 8-10 and 1 Pet. 3, 21, makes it plain that he is thinking of
the triple questionnaire and the confession of faith made in
response to it.
As regards the Holy Communion, the eucharistie prayer had
previously been conceived as effecting the consecration, but
1 C. lilt. Pet. 2, 69. 2 De unit, eccles. 58. 3 Cat. 3, 3 f.
* Or. 39, 17. 5 De spir. sanct. 35.
6 De spir. sanct. 1, 77; de myst. 8.
7 De myst. 20; de spir. sanct. 2, 104 f. 8 Tract, in ev. loh. 80, 3.
E.C.D.— 14 a
 420 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

attempts were now made to define the causal efficacy more

precisely. One widespread theory was that consecratory power
lay in the repetition by the priest, acting in Christ’s stead, of the
words used by Christ at the Last Supper. Chrysostom, for
example, states’ that the priest, standing in the Lord ’s place,
repeats the sentence, ‘This is my body ’, and its effect is to
transform the elements on the altar. Gregory of Nyssa reflects2
the same strain of thought; and in the West it established itself
with Ambrose3 as one of its most noteworthy exponents. On
the other hand, such a document as Scrapion ’s liturgy exhibits4
traces of the idea that what consecrates the gifts is the descent of
the divine Word upon them. At the same time we see emerging
the theory, already adumbrated in the Didascalia,5 that their
transformation is the work of the Holy Spirit. Cyril of Jeru ­
salem, for example, envisages6 a liturgy in which ‘we entreat
God ... to send forth the Holy Spirit upon the offerings that
He may make the bread the body of Christ and the wine the
blood of Christ; for whatsoever comes into contact with the
Holy Spirit is hallowed and changed ’. Chrysostom himself on
occasion depicts7 the priest as calling upon the Spirit to descend
and touch the elements, making no pretence of harmonizing
this doctrine with the theory of consecration by means of the
words of institution. Theodore of Mopsuestia seems to combine
the two conceptions, stating 8 that ‘ when the priest declares them
[i.e. the bread and wine] to be Christ’s body and blood, he clearly
reveals that they have become such by the descent of the Holy
; Spirit’, although his general teaching 9 is that the eucharistie
mystery is accomplished by the descent of the Spirit. In a similar
way, as regards penance, the doctrine10 takes shape that when
the Church ’s minister absolves sinners with the power of the
keys bestowed by Christ, it is really God Himself Who acts.

1 De prod. Ind. horn. I, 6: cf. in 2 Tint. hotn. 2, 4. » Or. cat. 37.

3 De myst. 50; 52; 54; de sacratn. 4, 14-23.
4 3 3· *5 (Funk, II, 174-6): cf. Pscudo-Athanasius, ad nuper baptiz. (PG 26,
5 6, 22, 2: cf. 6, 21, 2 (Funk, I, 376; 370).
C<i/. 23, 7. ’ Hom. in coetn. app. 3: cf. de sacerdot. 3, 4.
8 Hom. cat. 16, 12. ’ Cf. in loh. 6, 63 (Vosté, 109).
«° Cf. Parian, ep. ad Symp. 1, 6; Ambrose, de poenit. 1, 34-9; Cyril Alex., in
Luc. 5, 24, 7, 28.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 427

These two ideas, that the grace contained in sacraments is

God ’s gift and has nothing to do with the officiant as such, and
that its production is tied to the divinely prescribed formula
rehearsed by the minister, go a long way towards the so-called
ex opere operato doctrine of sacraments, i.e. that they are signs
which actually and automatically realize the grace they signify.
A closely related point which deserves notice is the attitude of
the Church in the fourth and fifth centuries to sacraments cele­
brated by heretics and schismatics. A wide variety of opinion
prevailed in the East. Athanasius roundly states1 that the baptism
of Arians, Manichacans, Montanists and Paulianists is utterly
void; they may carry out the rite, but since their faith is defective
they give the words another meaning. Didymus insists2 on re ­
baptizing Eunomians and Montanists, the former because they
baptize only into the Lord ’s death, and the latter because they
do not baptize into three divine Persons but confuse Father, Son
and Spirit. At Jerusalem Cyril rejected 3 the baptism of all
heretics alike, but Eusebius of Caesarea treated 4 the Roman
tradition 5 about rebaptism as more ancient. Basil distinguishes6
between heretics, whose baptism he regards as worthless, and
schismatics, about whom he is not prepared to dogmatize. In
the West, as we have seen,7 the controversy with Donatism
resulted in the conclusion that sacraments administered at any
rate by schismatics must be held to be valid. In this debate the
particular sacraments which interested Augustine were baptism
and ordination. The man who has received cither, he states,8
retains even as a schismatic the power to transmit its grace to
others, so that rebaptism and reordination are out of the ques ­
tion. The reason for this is that both sacraments impart a
permanent character {dominicus character) which is no more lost
if its bearer goes astray in schism than in the stamp branded
on sheep.9 But if constrained in this way to admit the validity
of Donatist sacraments, Augustine was sufficiently the heir
of Cyprian and the African tradition to feel it necessary to
1 C. Ar. 2, 42 f. 2 De trin. 2, 15. 3 Procat. 7.
♦ Hist. eccl. 7, 2. s Sec above, p. 206. 6 Ep. 188, I.
» See above, pp. 411; 412; 424. 8 C. ep. Parm. 2, 28.
’ Ep. 185, 23; 173. 3: cf. c. ep. Partn. 2, 29.
428 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

emphasize their defects at the same time. Hence he distinguishes

between the validity of a sacrament and its efficaciousness, and
points out’ that Cyprian ’s mistake lay precisely in his failure to
draw this distinction. A sacrament, on this view, can exist and
possess technical validity without its recipient’s obtaining the
grace properly associated with it; this grace can only be enjoyed
within the Church. So he explains2 that ‘ the Church ’s baptism
can exist outside the Church, but the gift of blessed life is only
found inside the Church ’. Schismatical baptism is thus perfectly
valid, but it altogether fails to produce its appropriate effects
unless and until its recipient is a full member of the Catholic
Church.3

2. Baptism

From these general considerations we turn to the particular

sacraments. Cyril of Jerusalem provides a full, if not always co ­
herent, account of the conception of baptism which commended
itself to a fourth-centuary theologian in Palestine. The name he
applies to the rite is ‘baptism ’4 or ‘bath ’ (Χοντρόν 5 ). It is ‘the
bath of regeneration 6’ in which we are washed both with water
and with the Holy Spirit.7 Its effects can be summarized under
three main heads. First, the baptized person receives the re­
mission of sins, i.e. all sins committed prior to baptism.8 He
passes from sin to righteousness, from fdth to cleanliness;9 his
restoration is total, and can be likened to a cure which causes
not only the patient’s wounds but the very scars to disappear.10
In elaborating this transformation Cyril fully exploits the tradi­
tional images of the purification of the soul, the putting off of
the old man, deliverance from slavery, etc. Secondly, baptism
conveys the positive blessing of sanctification, which Cyril
describes11 as the illumination and deification of the believer’s
soul, the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, the putting on of the
new man, spiritual rebirth and salvation, adoption as God ’s son
by grace, union with Christ in His resurrection as in His
1 De bapt. 6, i. ’ Ib· 4. I· 1 Ib. i, 18; 5, 9; 6, 7.
* Procat. 1 6; cat. 3, 15. ’ Procat. 7; 11; cat. 3, 3; etc.
6 Procat. ii. 7 Cat. 3, 3 f. « Ib. 3, 15. ·> Ib. i, 4.
10 Ib. 18, 20. 11 Procat. 2; 6; cat. 1, 2; 3, 2; 3, 13-15; 20, passim.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 429

suffering and death, the right to a heavenly inheritance. If the

remission of sins is granted equally to all, he points out,1 the
infusion of the Holy Spirit is made proportionate to the re ­
cipient’s faith. Thirdly, and closely connected with this,
baptism impresses a seal (τήν St’ υδατο? σφραγίδα) on the
believer’s soul. Just as the water cleanses the body, the Holy
Spirit seals (σφραγίζει.) the soul.2 This sealing takes place at the
very moment of baptism 3 (the passages cited link it directly
with the immersion), and as a result of it the baptized person
enjoys the presence of the Holy Spirit.
These ideas are fairly representative of Greek and Latin
teaching about baptism in the fourth and fifth centuries. There
is no need to dwell at length on the aspect of the remission of
sins. Didymus, for example, declares4 that the authentic
baptism, as contrasted with the Pool of Bethesda which pre­
figured it, delivers us from all our sins, working the cure of all
spiritual ailments; while according to Cyril of Alexandria5
‘baptism cleanses us from all defilements, making us God ’s
holy temple ’. In the West Optatus, taking the Flood as the
type of baptism, suggests6 that the sinner who is plunged in the
baptismal water is washed of the filth of sin and restored to his
pristine purity; and Jerome acknowledges 7 that sins, impurities
and blasphemies of every sort are purged in Christ’s laver, the
effect being the creation of an entirely new man. As Augustine
expresses it,8 ‘Baptism washes away all, absolutely all, our sins,
whether of deed, word or thought, whether sins original or
added, whether knowingly or unknowingly contracted’. Not
that it should be supposed that baptism safeguards the baptized
Christian from sinning in the future. Towards the end of the
fourth century the heretic Jovinian argued this thesis, contending 9
that once baptized a man could no longer be tempted by the
Devil to sin. It fell to Jerome to refute him,’0 adducing numer­
ous Scriptural passages to show that the baptized are not only

1 Ib. I, 5· 1 Ib · 3. 4· 3 Ib. 4, 16; 16, 24.

* De trin. 2, 14 (PG 39. 7°8). 5 In Luc. 22, 8.
6 De schism. Donat. 5, 1. 7 Ep. 69, 2 f.
8 C. duas epp. Pelag. 3, 3, 5. ’ Augustine, de haer. 82.
«° Adv. Ιον. 2, 1-4.
430 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

exposed to temptation but are quite capable of succumbing to it.

The widespread diffusion of infant baptism inevitably called
for a rationale. As we have seen,1 the Greek fathers were
reluctant to attribute sin, at any rate in the sense of guilt,
to newly bom children. Gregory of Nazianzus, who discussed
the problem, gave2 as a good reason for their being baptized
the desirability of their being sanctified and dedicated to the
Spirit from earliest infancy; he stressed the importance of their
being initiated and receiving the ‘seal’. In the West Ambrose
judged 3 baptism necessary for infants, not as relieving them of
inherited guilt, but as opening the kingdom of heaven to them;
and Pelagius, as we saw,4 adopted a similar line. With the
establishment of the strict Latin doctrine of original sin such
explanations became obsolete. Thus for Augustine 5 any child
bom into the world was polluted with sin, and baptism was the
indispensable means to its abolition. Jerome echoed his ideas,
teaching 6 that once children have been baptized they are free
from sin, but until then they bear the guilt of Adam.
As regards the positive effects of baptism, it is important to
notice the place which continued to be assigned, in spite of the
increasing prestige of confirmation, to the gift of the Holy
Spirit. The fathers, it would seem, were greatly confused about
the manner in which Christians received the Spirit, and echoes
of the older doctrine are to be found side by side with the new.
Athanasius, for example, maintains7 that the Spirit is granted
to those who believe and are reborn in the bath of regenera­
tion; Hilary, too, teaches8 that the presence of the Spirit within
the soul begins when the convert is regenerated by baptism, and
that through Him we are renewed in body and soul. Jerome is a
convinced exponent
* of the view that baptism and the Spirit
arc inseparable, while Chrysostom explains10 that only through
the power of the Spirit can the baptismal water produce its
effect. According to Theodore,11 we obtain the gift of the Holy
* See above, p. 349. » Or. 40, 17; 40, 28.
3 De Abrah. 2, 79. 4 Sec above, p. 359.
5 E.g. de peccat, mer. et remiss. 1, 34. * Dial. adv. Pclaa. 3, 17 f.
7 Ad Snap. 1, 4. « Tract, in ps. 64, 15; in M att. 11,24
’ Dial. c. Lucif. 6; 9. 10 In Act. hom. 1, 5. n [ n Ca j 2 l6
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 431

Spirit at the same time as we receive baptism, for it is He Who

regenerates us and is the first-fruits of our perfection. Augustine
similarly states’ that ‘the Holy Spirit dwells, without their
knowledge, in baptized infants ’. Not infrequently the fathers
describe the bestowal of the Spirit in terms of the New Testa­
ment image of the seal. Didymus, for example, states2 that we
are conformed to the primal image as a result of our reception
of the seal of the Spirit in baptism, and elsewhere3 associates
scaling with regeneration as part of the activity of the Spirit
which the Christian experiences. Chrysostom similarly speaks4
of the seal of the Spirit in baptism as a distinctive sign like the
badge worn by soldiers. The Christian ’s sealing with the Spirit,
he claims,5 corresponds to the sealing of the Jew with the rite of
circumcision.
More frequently, however, the positive effects of baptism are
delineated in other ways. Through baptism, according to
Athanasius, man is united with the Godhead;6 it is the sacra­
ment of regeneration by which the divine image is renewed.7
The participant becomes an heir of eternal life,8 and the Father’s
adoptive son.’ For Gregory of Nyssa similarly the baptized
person receives God and is in Him; united with Christ by spiritual
rebirth, he becomes God ’s son by adoption and puts on the
divine nature.10 Chrysostom speaks” of the Christian ’s having
Christ in himself as a result of baptism and so being assimilated
to Him; stepping out of the sacred bath, the catechumen is
clothed with light and, fully regenerated, enjoys possession of
justice and holiness.
* 2 Cyril of Alexandria states’3 that perfect
knowledge of Christ and complete participation in Him are
only obtained by the grace of baptism and the illumination of
the Holy Spirit. The baptismal initiation makes us the image of
the archetype, i.e. of Him Who is Son of God by nature, and
so sons of God by adoption.
* 4 According to Theodore,’5 baptism
1 Ep. 187, 26. 2 De trin. 2, 15 (PG 39, 717).
J Ib. 2, 12 (PG 39, 680). 4 In 2 Cor. hom. 3, 7.
5 In Eph. hom. 2, 2. 6 C. Ar. 2, 41. 7 De incam. 14.
8 Ad Serap. 1, 22. ’ C. Ar. I, 34.
10 Or. cat. 40; c. Euttom. 3 (PG 45. 609)· ” In Gal. comm. 3, 5.
12 Ad illumin. cat. 1, 3. ,J Glaph. in Exod. 2 (PG 69, 432).
μ In Rom. 1, 3. 15 In loh. 3, 3-5; 17,20 f.; in Gal. 3, 21.
432 FROM. NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

is our second birth, as a result of which we belong to Christ

and are associated with the privileges of His glorious life, being
His body and His members. Having received it, we can call
God our Father, for we have been adopted as sons and have
been promised immortality. The language of the Latin fathers
is not dissimilar, although it lacks the emphasis on deification
which is characteristic of the Greek. For Hilary,1 for example,
in addition to obliterating our sins baptism is the sacrament of
divine birth, making the recipient God ’s temple and immune
from death, as well as His adoptive son. According to Ambrose,12
it imparts rebirth, in the sense of resurrection, renewing us
through the impact of the Holy Spirit and making us God ’s
sons by adoption; dying with Christ in the font, we become
partakers of His grace. Ambrosiaster makes the point3 that,
whereas those who were baptized before Christ’s passion re­
ceived only remission of sins, those baptized after His resurrec ­
tion arc justified by virtue of the Trinitarian formula and,
having received the Spirit, are admitted to divine sonship.
Augustine emphasizes4 that the baptized, even infants, are en ­
dowed with the graces of illumination and justification, and arc
grafted into Christ’s body; released from death, they are re­
conciled to God unto eternal life, and from being sons of men
receive the status of sons of God.

3. Confirmation or Chrism
In the fourth and fifth centuries confirmation, or consigna­
tion, while still closely associated with baptism, was also clearly
distinguished from it. Cyril ofJerusalem, for example, devoted
his twenty-first catechetical lecture to it, and Didymus treated5
it as different from baptism; Ambrose’s account6 of it followed
his description of the major rite, while for Augustine 7 too it

1 De trin. 1, 21; 6, 44; tract, in ps. 65, 11.

2 De sacram. 3, 3; de spir. sanct. 3, 63-8; de excess. Sat. 2, 43.
’ In Rom. 4, 23-5.
* De peccat, mer. et remiss. 1, 10; 1, 39; c. duas cpp. Pelag. 2, 11.
’ De trin. 2, 14; 2, 15 (PG 39, 712; 720). * De myst. 29 f; 42
7 c. Utt. Pet. 2, 239. *
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 433

was a sacramentum distinct from the latter. The general pro ­

cedure was that, on coming up from the baptismal water, the
newly baptized Christian was anointed with scented oil, at the
same time receiving the laying on of hands. In the East the
anointing was always the essential feature, and if Athanasius1
and Cyril of Jerusalem 2 speak of the bestowal of the Spirit by
the apostles’ hands, they do not connect this with chrismation
as they know it. The laying on of hands retains some import­
ance in the Apostolical Constitutions, 3 although here it is fused
with episcopal consignation; and where writers like Cyril of
Alexandria4 and Thcodorct5 mention it, they are probably
simply referring to the bishop ’s action in consignation. In the
West, however, the laying on of hands continued, side by side
with chrism, to be an important element in the process of
initiation. Optatus saw it6 as normal and regular, finding its
prototype in the blessing pronounced by God the Father on
Jesus at His baptism. Jerome, it is true, played down 7 its import­
ance, ascribing the gift of the Spirit in His fulness to baptism, but
Augustine taught8 that in practising it the bishops were merely
following the precedent of the apostles.
The general theory was that through chrismation, with or
without the laying on of hands, the Holy Spirit was bestowed.
According to Cyril ofjerusalem,9 justas Christ after His baptism
received the Spirit in the form of a dove, so the oil with which
the newly baptized Christian is anointed symbolizes the Spirit
Who sanctifies him. Through the words of blessing it has
become ‘the chrism of Christ, capable of producing the Holy
Spirit through the presence of His divinity ’. Hilary describes10
how, after passing through the baptismal waters, the Spirit
descends upon us (again he recalls the descent of the dove on
Jesus), and we are suffused with the unction of celestial glory. t
In his liturgy Serapion 1* has a special prayer beseeching God to
grant divine and heavenly power to the oil of chrism, so that

1 Ad Scrap, i, 6. 2 Cat. 14, 25. 3 3, 16, 3 f. (Funk, I, 211). I

4 De ador. in spir. et Utt. 11 (PG 68, 772).
» In Hebr. 6, I ; quaest. in Num . 47. 6 De schism. Donat. 4, 7. 1
7 Dial. c. Lucifer. 9. 8 De trin. 15, 46. « Cat. 21, 1-3. I
10 In M att. 2,6. 11 Euchol. 25, 2 (Funk, II, 187). f
434 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

those who have already taken the bath of regeneration may also
receive the Spirit. Didymus takes up 1 Cyril’s idea that the
anointing with oil corresponds to Christ’s reception of the
Spirit, but also identifies the outward unction with the anoint­
ing mentioned in 2 Cor. 1, 21 and 1 John 2, 20. Gregory of
Nyssa goes so far as to insist2 that, if the Christian is to lay hold
on Christ and possess the Spirit, he must first be anointed with
myrrh. For Cyril of Alexandria3 the rite is the symbol of our
participation in the Holy Spirit, and Thcodoret speaks4 of the
anointed receiving the invisible grace of the Spirit in the myrrh
‘as in a type ’. In the West, where the imposition of hands
loomed larger, Scriptural authority was found for the practice
in the passages in Acts referring to the laying on of the apostles’
hands, and the effect was naturally taken to be the bestowal
of the Spirit. Innocent I, for example, writing to Decentius of
Gubbio, argued 5 that consignation, as distinct from the unction
administered by presbyters after baptism, belongs properly to
the bishop, being the medium by which he bestows the
Paraclete.
While this was the main idea associated with chrismation,
other interpretations of the rite continued side by side with it.
In general it was regarded as an edifying symbol of the Chris­
tian ’s membership of Christ and fellowship with His death and
resurrection. So Basil, commenting on M att. 6, 17, exclaims,6
‘Wash thy soul for sins [i.e. be baptized]; anoint thy head with
holy chrism so that thou mayest become a partaker of Christ’.
Before him Cyril of Jerusalem had recognized 7 chrismation as
the act which confers the status of Christian on us. An unknown
fifth-century writer explains8 that unction after baptism is a token
of the Christian ’s participation in the sufferings and glory of his
Lord, while Augustine declares9 that it signifies our membership
of Christ s body. The forty-eighth canon of Laodicea states10
that it is unction with chrism which makes us sharers of Christ’s

' P 1 /nM · 2 » (PG 39, 557; 560). 2 Adv. M aced. 16.

’ 25, 6 Ç 7 ° ’ 5<5ï)· 4 In C™ 1 · ·* 2 (PG 81, 60).
, Cod. can. eccl. et const, s. sed. apost. 23, 3. 6 Hom. de ieiun. 1, 2.
Cat. 21, 5. · Quaest. et resp. ad orthodox. 137 (PG 6, 1389).
9 Enarr. m 26 ps . 2 , 2. «’ Mansi, II, 571
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 435

kingdom; and it is a commonplace of patristic teaching 1 that it

betokens the baptized convert’s admission to the kingship and
priesthood of the Messiah.
From what has been said so far it should be clear that there
was considerable confusion between the theology of consigna­
tion, or chrismation, and that of baptism. Both rites, it would
appear, were regarded as conferring the gift of the Spirit and as
uniting the believer to Christ. So long as the great sacrament of
initiation remained an unbroken whole, there was no serious
disadvantage in this, and the confusion created no difficulty.
Once unction and the laying on of hands, however, were
detached, the problem of the precise relation of the two rites
became increasingly urgent. Hints of the solution which later
theology was to provide arc found in Serapion, who suggests2
that one effect of the gift of the Spirit in chrismation is the
strengthening (cf. άσ^αλισ0εζντε? rfi σφραγΐδι ταύττ]) of the
candidate, and also in Didymus ’s idea3 that the Spirit’s function
when bestowed is to ‘fortify ’ (ρώσ??) us. Parallel to this is the
line of thought, found in Cyril of Alexandria,4 that it signifies
the ‘perfecting ’ (τελείωσή) of those who have been justified
through Christ in baptism. In the same sense Dionysius the
Arcopagitc describes5 chrismation as ‘an anointing which per­
fects’ (τεΑζίωτική χρΐσις ), while for Augustine 6 it is the unction
which ‘will make us spiritually perfect in that life which will be
ours hereafter’. Ambrose attempts7 to distinguish the regenera­
tive activity of the Spirit in baptism from the bestowal of His
sevenfold gifts in the consignation which follows. Because of
this growing emphasis on strengthening, the name confirma­
tion (confirmatio) came to be generally substituted in the West
for consignation, appearing first in the second canon 8 of the
first council of Orange (441). The fully developed theology is
set out in an influential homily 9 on Pentecost ascribed to

1 E.g. apost. const. 3, 16, 4; Chrysostom, in 2 Cor. hom. 3, 5; Augustine,

serm. 351, 12; enarr. in 26 ps. 2, 2. 2 Euchol. 25, 2 (Funk, Π, 186).
J De trin. 2, 14 (PG 39, 712). « In loel 32.
s De eccl. hierarch. 4, 3, 11 (PG, 3, 484). 6 Enarr. in 26 ps. 2, 2.
f De sacram. 3, 8-10; 6, 6 f. 8 Mansi, VI, 435.
’ Hom. in Pentecost, (cd. J. Gagnacus, Paris, 1547, pp. 77-9)·
 436 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

Faustus of Riez. According to its author, the blessings of re­

generation (i.e. baptism) are sufficient for those who are going
to die straightaway, but the help provided by confirmation is
desirable for those whose life lies before them. The Holy Spirit,
already given in baptism, strengthens the faithful in confirma­
tion for the perils and combats of this life. Confirmation is thus
a kind of blessing (benedictio) which equips Christ’s soldiers with
the weapons they need, imparting an increase of grace. ‘In
baptism we are regenerated for life, but after baptism we are
confirmed for the struggle; in baptism we are nourished, but
after baptism we are strengthened.’

4. Penance

The documents of the fourth and fifth centuries abound in

references to the Church ’s practice of remitting sins committed
after baptism; many of these were prompted by the desire to
refute Novatianist rigorism. In the East both Basil and Gregory
of Nyssa give detailed accounts of the penitential system
familiar to them. The former describes1 the length of penance
imposed (from one to four years for bigamy or trigamy, ten
years for abortion, eleven for murder, etc.), and establishes the
principle, known to Western canonists as non bis in idem, that
persons in holy orders convicted of fornication should be re­
duced to lay status but not excluded from communion. The
latter lays bare 2 the roots of sins in the soul, endeavouring to
bring them all under the heads of the three capital sins of
apostasy, adultery and murder. Gregory Nazianzen joins issue 3
with the Novatianists in justifying the efficacy of repentance
and the possibility of post-baptismal pardon; while Epiphanius,
although agreeing that there is only one ‘perfect repentance ’,
viz. that of baptism, and that Hebr. 6, 4-6 precludes any second
restoration in this sense, argues
* that the sequel (6, 9 f.) proves
that God is ready to welcome the guilty back in consideration
of their good works, i.e. repentance. In Apostolical Constitutions,
2, 10-16, the duties of bishops, their obligations and rights in
‘ Ep. 188. 1 Ep. can. > Or. 39, 17-19. < Haer. 59, 1 f.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS

regard to sinners, and the procedure for the reconciliation of the

latter, arc succinctly sketched. At Constantinople, according to
Socrates,1 the bishop for a time delegated his functions in this
matter to a penitentiary priest, who imposed penances on people
after they had confessed their sins, and the office was only sup ­
pressed in the episcopate of Ncctarius (381-97) as a result of a
scandal.
In the West we find Ambrose criticizing 2 the severity of the
Novatianists in refusing to remit post-baptismal sins. The
Church ’s power to do so, he contends, rests on precisely the
same authority as its power to baptize. He carefully examines3
the Scriptural passages (e.g. 1 Sam. 2, 25; Hebr. 6, 4-6; 1 John
5, 16) commonly cited as proof of the irremissibility of sins,
and puts forward what he considers their true interpretation.
For example, St. Paul’s harsh language in Hebr. 6, 4-6 must be
harmonized, he argues, with the leniency he exhibits else­
where. Thus one should take him as meaning either that
baptism as such cannot be repeated, or that the restitution of
sinners is impossible with men, but not necessarily with God.
Ambrose’s contemporary, Pacian of Barcelona, provides much
valuable material in his letters to Symphronianus. The latter
had summarized the essentials of the Novatianist position in
three points: (a) after baptism there can be no place for penit­
ence; (b) the Church cannot remit mortal sins; and (c) it under­
goes irreparable injury in receiving sinners back after reconcilia­
tion. In reply 4 Pacian examines the relevant Bible texts and,
pointing to the power of the keys committed to the Church,
claims that a constructive attitude to sinners accords best with
the spirit of the Gospel, and that in principle all sins can be re ­
mitted. Augustine, whose allusions to penance are countless,
divides5 it into three categories. First, there is the penitence
which precedes baptism, as a result of which sins of every sort
and degree arc remitted to the sacrament; secondly, there is the
remission which Christians obtain daily for their venial sins by

' Hist. ecd. 5, 19: cf. Sozomen, hist. ecd. 7, 16. 3 De poen. 1, 33-9.
J lb. i, 4O-9 6 ; 2 > 6 - 1 ?· 4 fy- 3. 8 ad fin.
5 E.g. serin. 352, 2-8; serin, ad catech. 15 f.
 438 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

means of prayer, fasting, etc.; and, thirdly, for really serious

sins after baptism there is the formal penitential discipline, in
which the Church raises the sinner from the moribund state in
which he lies just as Christ raised Lazarus. These ‘grave and
mortal sins’, as he expresses it,1 ‘arc remitted by means of the
keys of the Church ’, for ‘the Church, founded as it is on Christ,
received from Him in the person of Peter the keys of the
kingdom of heaven, that is, the power of binding and loosing
sins ’.2
Certain features of the sacrament of penance as it existed in
this period should be noticed. First, it retained the character
which it possessed in earlier centuries of being a discipline
which could only be undergone once and could not be repeated.
‘Just as there is one baptism ’, observes3 Ambrose, ‘so there is
but one public penance’; and Augustine alludes4 to ‘the prudent
and salutary provision ’ whereby one, and only one, exercise of
penance has been permitted in the Church. The malicious
allegations 5 brought against John Chrysostom that he en ­
couraged its frequent reiteration at least serve to confirm that
Eastern practice was in line with Western on this point.
Secondly, penance, in the strict sense of the Church ’s official
reconciliation of sinners, continued to be a formal and public
act. The formidable process involved (a) the sinner’s exclusion
from communion and admission by the imposition of hands,
after confession, to the order of penitents, and, where necessary,
his being taken to task by the bishop; (b) his performance of a
prescribed course of self-humiliation and prostration known
technically as exomologesis, the period depending on the gravity
of his sins and varying at different times and places; and (c) his
formal absolution and restoration. Attempts have been made6
to trace at any rate the beginnings of private penance and
absolution to this period. Yet there is no clear evidence in
favour of this, and much that tells against it. What the fathers
describe seems always to be public penance, and such a writer

1 Serm. 278, 12. 2 Tract, in ev. loh. 124, 5. 3 De poen. 2, 95.

4 Ep. 153, 7. s Cf. Socrates, hist. eccl. 6, 21.
6 E.g. by P. Galtier: see Note on Books.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 439

as Augustine, as we have seen, is quite positive that the only

form of penance apart from this is that which sinners practise
daily for their more venial sins by prayer, almsgiving, etc. It is
true that he not infrequently mentions1 ‘certain medicines of
rebukes’ (correptionum medicamenta), and cites2 M att. 18, 15 as
authorizing private remonstrance with the offender. But these
arc references to exhortations intended to bring him to a right
frame of mind and to submit himself to public penance. It rests
with the bishop, of course, to whom the penitent opens his
heart to determine what treatment his guilt requires,3 and he
may sometimes decide, even in the case of a sin like adultery,
that public penance is for one reason or another impracticable
or inexpedient, and that the sinner must be dealt with in
private.4 But nothing goes to show that this correptio secreta,
or private taking to task of the guilty party by the ecclesiastical
authority, culminated in sacramental absolution. The first reli­
able evidence for private penance as a sacrament is found in
canon 2 s of the third council of Toledo (589), which castigates
it as an execrabilis praesumptio.
Thirdly, while the broad distinction between graver and
lesser sins was recognized, there seem to have been different
opinions as to which sins fell into the former category and so
called for public penance. Basil’s list6 of such sins is fairly
comprehensive, including abortion, murder, sexual offences,
bigamy, etc.; but Gregory of Nyssa, as we have seen,7 makes an
attempt to reduce serious misdeeds to the three capital sins of
apostasy, adultery and murder. Pacian, too, states8 that, while
other crimes may be atoned for by good works, these three
demand a more serious remedy. Augustine on occasion cites9
the traditional list, but elsewhere defines10 the peccata mortifera as
‘those which the Decalogue of the Law contains, and with
regard to which the Apostle says (Gal. 5, 21), “ Those who do
such tilings shall not possess the kingdom of God ” ’. In practice,
it would seem, the severity of penance and the fact that it could
1 E.g. de fid. et op. 48. 2 Loc. cit.; serm. 82. 3 Cf. serm. 351, 9.
* E.g. serm. 82, 11. s Mansi, IX, 995. 6 Ep. 188.
7 See above, p. 436. 8 Paraen. 4.
« Serm. 352, 8; de fid. et op- 34· ,0 Serm. 351, 7.
 440 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

only be undergone once meant that many deferred it until their

death-bed, thereby reducing the publicity to a minimum. In
Africa, too, if Augustine1 can be taken as a guide, the correptio
secreta of the bishop provided a practical method, albeit non-
sacramental, of dealing pastorally with sins which, though fall­
ing short of extreme heinousness, were sufficiently grave to
trouble tender consciences.

5. The Eucharistic Presence

In examining the later doctrine of the cucharist it will be

convenient, as in Chapter VIII, to begin with the ideas currently
entertained about the Lord ’s presence in the sacrament.
Eucharistic teaching, it should be understood at the outset, was
in general unquestioningly realist, i.e. the consecrated bread and
wine were taken to be, and were treated and designated as, the
Saviour’s body and blood. Among theologians, however, this
identity was interpreted in our period in at least two different
ways, and these interpretations, mutually exclusive though they
were in strict logic, were often allowed to overlap. In the first
place, the figurative or symbolical view, which stressed the dis-
' tinction between the visible elements and reality they repre­
sented, still claimed a measure of support. It harked back, as we
have seen,2 to Tcrtullian and Cyprian, and was to be given a
renewed lease of life through the powerful influence of
Augustine. Secondly, however, a new and increasingly potent
tendency becomes observable to explain the identity as being
the result of an actual change or conversion in the bread and
wine. The connexion between these theories and the different
ideas about consecration referred to in the first section of this
chapter hardly needs to be pointed out.
As an example of the former tendency we may cite the
Apostolical Constitutions, which describes3 the mysteries as ‘anti­
types (αντίτυπα) of His precious body and His blood ’, and
speaks of commemorating Christ’s death ‘by virtue of the
1 E.g. de fid. et op. 48. 2 See above, pp. 212 f.
J 5» U. 7; 6, 23, 5; 7, 25, 4 (Funk, I, 273; 3Ô1; 412).
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 441

symbols (συμβόλων χάριν) of His body and blood ’. In the

liturgy we give thanks for the precious blood and for the body,
‘of which we celebrate these antitypes ’ (αντίτυπα). Yet at the
same time the formula at communion is ‘the body of Christ’
and ‘the blood of Christ’. Serapion, while referring to the
elements as ‘the body and the blood ’, speaks1 of ‘offering this
bread ’ as ‘a likeness (ομοίωμα) of the body of the Only-
begotten ’, and ‘offering the cup ’ as ‘a likeness (ομοίωμα) of the
blood ’. The theologians use the same language as the liturgies.
So Eusebius of Caesarea, while declaring2 that ‘we are con ­
tinually fed with the Saviour’s body, we continually participate
in the lamb ’s blood ’, states3 that Christians daily commemorate
Jesus’s sacrifice ‘ with the symbols (διά συμβόλων) of His body
and saving blood ’, and that He instructed His disciples to make
‘the image (την ζίκόνα) of His own body ’, and to employ
bread as its symbol. His contemporary, Eustathius of Antioch,
commenting on Prot>. 9, 5, says4 that ‘by bread and wine he
[i.e. the author] refers prophetically to the antitypes of Christ’s
bodily members’. Even the pioneer of the conversion doctrine,
Cyril of Jerusalem, is careful to indicate5 that the elements
remain bread and wine to sensible perception, and to call them
‘the antitype ’ of Christ’s body and blood: ‘the body is given
to you in the figure (τύπω) of bread, and the blood is given to
you in the figure of wine ’.6 Gregory of Nazianzus, who of
course accepts the current realism, exhorting7 his hearers to ‘ eat
the body, drink the blood ’, similarly describes8 his sister as
mingling her tears with the ‘antitypes’ of Christ’s precious
body and blood treasured in her hands; while Macarius of
Egypt (J· c. 390) speaks’ of bread and wine as being offered in
the Church as ‘a symbol of His flesh and blood ’. Athanasius,
too, while not employing such terms as ‘symbol’ or ‘anti­
type ’, clearly distinguishes10 the visible bread and wine from the
spiritual nourishment they convey.
It must not be supposed, of course, that this ‘symbolical’
1 Euchol. 13, 12-14 (Funk, II, 174). 2 De solemn, pasch. 7.
3 Dem. cv. 1, io, 39; 8, 1, 380. * Frg. 2 (PG 18, 685).
» Cat. 22, 9; 23, 20. 6 Ib. 22, 3. 7 Or. 45, 19.
8 Ib. 8, 18. 0 Hom. 27, 17. 10 Ad Scrap. 4, 19.
 442 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

language implied that the bread and wine were regarded as

mere pointers to, or tokens of, absent realities. Rather were they
accepted as signs of realities which were somehow actually
present though apprehended by faith alone. For a truly
spiritualizing interpretation we must look to the heirs of the
Origenist tradition. Eusebius of Caesarea, for example, while
usually content with the ‘symbolical’ doctrine, is also pre­
pared to deduce1 from John 6 that what our Lord said about
eating His flesh and drinking His blood must be understood
in a spiritual sense. The flesh and blood which He required
His disciples to eat and drink were not His physical flesh
and blood, but rather His teaching. Evagrius Ponticus echoes
this approach when he writes,2 ‘We eat His flesh and drink
His blood, becoming partakers through the incarnation both
of the sensible life of the Word and of His wisdom. For by
the terms “ flesh ” and “ blood ” He both denoted the whole of
His mystic sojourning on earth, and pointed to His teaching,
consisting as it did of practical, natural and theological insights.’
Almost everywhere, however, this conception of the sacra­
ment was yielding ground to the more popular, vividly
materialist theory which regarded the elements as being con ­
verted into the Lord ’s body and blood. A good example is
furnished by a fragment3 attributed to Athanasius: ‘You will
see the lévites bringing loaves and a cup of wine, and placing
them on the table. So long as the prayers and invocations have
*
1 not yet been made, it is mere bread and a mere cup. But when
ιΊ
the great and wondrous prayers have been recited, then the
I il
bread becomes the body and the cup the blood of our Lord
Jesus Christ. . . . When the great prayers and holy supplications
are sent up, the Word descends on the bread and the cup, and it
becomes His body.’ Cyril of Jerusalem argues4 that we become
‘of one body and one blood with Christ’, citing 1 Cor. 11, 23-5
to prove his point; for since He Himself has said, ‘This is my
body, this is my blood ’, who can doubt that the bread and the
wine arc truly His body and blood? But he goes further,
1 Ecd. theol. 3, 12. 2 Basil, ep. 8, 4.
3 Frg. ex sertn. ad baptiz. (PG 26, 1325). ♦ Cat. 22, 1.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 443

attempting to explain the nature of the effect of the consecrat­

ing words on the elements. He uses1 the verb ‘change ’ or
‘convert’ (μεταβάλλει), pointing out that, since Christ trans­
formed water into wine, which after all is akin to blood, at
Cana, there can be no reason to doubt a similar miracle on the
more august occasion of the eucharistie banquet. The explana­
tion he gives2 is that, in response to the celebrant’s prayer, God
sends the Holy Spirit on the oblations so as to make them
Christ’s body and blood, for whatever the Spirit touches is
sanctified and transformed (μεταβε'βληται). The idea of con ­
version was taken up by Gregory of Nyssa, who expounds3 it in
a striking way of his own in an attempt to solve the problem
how Christ’s unique body, which is distributed daily to
thousands of the faithful, can be received in its entirety by each
communicant while remaining entire in itself. His theory is to
the effect that, when the Word incarnate nourished Himself
with bread and wine, He assimilated them to His flesh and
blood. Thus they were transformed into the nature of His
body. What happens now in the eucharist is analogous,
although with a characteristic difference. Whereas in the days
of Christ’s earthly sojourning bread and wine were transformed
by the digestive process, now they are metamorphosed in ­
stantaneously into the body of the Word. We should observe
that he describes ‘the nature of the visible objects’ as being
‘ transelemented ’ (μεταστοιχει,ώσας ). What he envisages would
seem to be an alteration in the relation of the constituent
elements (στοιχεία) of the bread and wine, as a result of w ’hich
they acquire the ‘form ’ (εΓδο?) of the Lord ’s body and blood,
and corresponding properties.
Other writers did not follow Gregory in his speculative
attempts to elucidate the manner of the change, but from this
time onwards the language of conversion became regular in the
East. Gregory Nazianzcn speaks4 of the priest calling down the
divine Word and, using his voice as a knife, cleaving asunder
the Saviour’s body and blood. While admitting * that the
1 Ib. 22, 2. 1 Ib. 23, 7. 3 Or. cat. 37.
* Ep. 171. 5 In M att. horn. 82, 4.
 444 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

spiritual gift can be apprehended only by the eyes of the mind

and not by sense, Chrysostom exploits the materialist implica­
tions of the conversion theory to the full. He speaks1 of eating
Christ, even of burying one ’s teeth in His flesh. The wine in
the chalice is identically that which flowed from His pierced
side, the body which the communicant receives is identically
that which was scourged and nailed to the cross.2 Thus the
elements have undergone a change, and Chrysostom describes3
them as being refashioned (μεταρρύθμιζαν) or transformed
(μετασκεύαζαν). In the fifth century conversionist views were
taken for granted by Alexandrians and Antiochcnes alike. Ac­
cording to Cyril,4 Christ’s words at the Last Supper, ‘This is
my body, this is my blood ’, indicate that the visible objects arc
not types or symbols (evidently he understands these words in
a negative sense), but have been transformed (μετατπχασ&κ)
through God ’s ineffable power into His body and blood. Else­
where5 he remarks that God ‘infuses life-giving power into the
oblations and transmutes them (μεθίστησιν αυτά) into the virtue
of His own flesh ’. Theodore of Mopsuestia argued 6 very
similarly that ‘He did not say, “ This is the symbol of my
body ’’, and, “ This is the symbol of my blood ” , but, “ This is
my body and my blood ” , thereby instructing us not to look to
the nature of the oblations, for that has been changed, by the
eucharistie prayer, into flesh and blood ’. Nestorius, too, con ­
tended 7 that what we receive in the cucharist is Christ’s body
and blood, which are of one substance with our own. Both
Nestorius and Cyril were thus agreed that there is a real con ­
version; what divided them, as we have seen,8 was the latter’s
insistence that on Ncstorius’s principles the eucharistie flesh
could not be life-giving, suffused with the energy of the Word,
but could only be the flesh of an individual man. Obviously,
however, the conversion theory lent itself to exploitation at the
hands of monophysites, some of whom concluded 9 that the

’ In Iolt- hom. 46, 3. 2 fa i Cor. hom. 24, 1-4.

3 In prod. lud. hom. I, 6; in M att. hom. 82, 5. 4 In M att. 26 27
3 In Luc. 22, 19. 6 In M att. 26, 26 (PG 66, 713): cf. cat. 6.
f Hcracl. 39 (Nau). 8 See above, p. 318.
’ Cf. Theodoret, eran. 2 (PG 83, 168).
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 445

bread and wine were changed into a different substance after

the epiclesis just as the Lord ’s body was transformed into His
divinity after His ascension. Hence we are not surprised to
find the moderate Antiochene, Thcodoret, leading a reaction
against it. It is not the case, he urged,1 that after the consecration
the oblations lose their proper nature: ‘they remain in their
former substance, appearance and form, visible and tangible as
before’. Since he admitted, however, that the bread was now
called body and habitually used realistic language of the sacra­
ment, he was faced with the problem of explaining what the
consecration effected. His explanation 2 was that, while a change
{μεταβολή) certainly took place, it did not consist in the trans­
formation of the substance of bread and wine into that of
Christ’s body and blood, but rather in their being made the
vehicles of divine grace. As he put it, in designating them His
body and blood Christ did not change their nature, but added
grace to their nature. This was in effect a dyophysite theory
of the cucharist parallel to his Christological theory, since the
bread and wine were thought of both as remaining in their
own nature and as being able to mediate the nature of the
Lord ’s body and blood.
In the West the conception of the eucharistie gifts as symbols
continued in vogue in this period. The canon of the mass in
the Ambrosian De sacramentis, which dates from the fourth
century, may be taken as an illustration. This is an imitation
of the Last Supper, in word and act, solemnly performed
before God, and the repetition of the Lord ’s words is regarded
as establishing the sacramental association of the bread and
wine with the divine realities they represent. So the oblation
is ‘a figure {figura) of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus
Christ’.3 According to Jerome, the wine in the chalice is ‘the
type {typus) of His blood ’,4 and the eucharistie mystery is ‘the
type of His passion ’ {in typum suae )passionis
*. In the con ­
secrated bread the Saviour’s body ‘is shown forth ’ {ostenditur);
by means of the elements He ‘represents’ {repraesentat) His body
« Loc. dt. 2 Op. dt. I (PG 83, 53-6).
» Cf. de sacram. 4, 21. 4 In lerem. 3, 10. s Adv. lovin. 2, 17.
44ό FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

and blood.’ Ambrosiaster similarly states12 that ‘we receive the

mystic chalice as a type ’ {in typum) of the divine blood, and
Hilary 3 that ‘ we veritably consume the flesh of His body under
a mystery ’. About this time, however, through the agency of
Ambrose, the idea of the conversion of the elements was being
introduced into the West. Thus he remarks4 that ‘through the
mystery of the sacred prayer they are transformed into flesh
and blood ’. The word he employs {transfigurantur), as Tertul­
lian had pointed outs long before, connotes the actual change of
something from what it previously was to a fresh mode of
being. Ambrose does not discard, it should be noted, older
forms of expression, and can speak of Christ’s body as being
‘signified ’ {corpus significatur) by the bread and of the wine
being ‘called’ {nuncupatur) His blood after the consecration.6 The
sacrament is received ‘in a likeness’ {in similitudinem), but con ­
veys the virtue of the reality it represents.7 It is the conversion
idea, however, which is most characteristic of his teaching. The
consecration, he argues,8 is a miracle of divine power analogous
to the miracles recorded in the Bible; it effects an actual change
in the elements {species mutet elementorum), being a quasi­
creative act which alters their natures (cf. mutare naturas) into
something which they were not before.
If Ambrose’s influence helped to mediate the doctrine of a
physical change to the West, that of Augustine was exerted in a
rather different direction. His thought about the eucharist, un ­
systematic and many-sided as it is, is tantalizingly difficult to
assess. Some, like F. Loofs, have classified him as the exponent
of a purely symbolical doctrine; while A. Hamack seized upon
the Christian ’s incorporation into Christ’s mystical body, the
Church, as the core of his sacramental teaching. Others have
attributed receptionist views to him. There are certainly pas­
sages in his writings which give a superficial justification to all
these interpretations, but a balanced verdict must agree that he
accepted the current realism. Thus, preaching on ‘the sacra-

1 Ep. 98, 13; in M arc. 14, 17 f.; in M att. 26, 26. 2 In 1 Cor. ii, 26.
1 De trin. 8, 13. * De fid. 4, 124. 5 C. Prax. 27, 7.
6 De myst. 54. 7 De sacrarn. 6, 3. 8 De myst. 51-3.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 447

nient of the Lord ’s table’ to newly baptized persons, he re ­

marked,1 ‘That bread which you see on the altar, sanctified by
the Word of God, is Christ’s body. That cup, or rather the
contents of that cup, sanctified by the word of God, is Christ’s
blood. By these elements the Lord Christ willed to convey His
body and His blood, which He shed for us.’ ‘You know ’, he
said in another sermon,2 ‘ what you are eating and what you are
drinking, or rather, Whom you are eating and Whom you arc
drinking.’ Commenting on the Psalmist’s bidding that we
should adore the footstool of His feet, he pointed out3 that this
must be the earth. But since to adore the earth would be
blasphemous, he concluded that the word must mysteriously
signify the flesh which Christ took from the earth and which
He gave to us to eat. Thus it was the eucharistie body which
demanded adoration. Again, he explained 4 the sentence, ‘He
was carried in his hands’ (LXX of i Sam. 21, 13), which in the
original describes David ’s attempt to allay Achish ’s suspicions,
as referring to the sacrament: ‘Christ was carried in His
hands when He offered His very body and said, “ This is my
body ” ’.
One could multiply texts like these which show Augustine
taking for granted the traditional identification of the elements
with the sacred body and blood. There can be no doubt that he
shared the realism held by almost all his contemporaries and
predecessors. It is true that his thought passes easily from
Christ’s sacramental to His mystical body. It does so, first,
because the consecrated bread and wine themselves, composed
as they are of a multitude of once separated grains of wheat and
grapes, arc a manifest symbol of unity;5 and, secondly, in a
more profound sense, because the fact that the faithful partici­
pate in the eucharist is a sign of their membership of the
Church.6 His controversy with the Donatists led him to em ­
phasize this aspect, but it docs not represent cither the whole,
or even the most important part, of his teaching; in any case,

1 Senn. 227. 2 Ib. 9, 14. J Enarr. in ps. 98, 9.

4 Ib. 33, i, 10. 5 Serm. 272.
6 Cf. ib.; de civ. dei 22, 10; tract, in ev. loh. 26, 13.
 448 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

the two bodies, the mystical and the sacramental, remained

distinct in his thought.1 It is true, also, that he occasionally used
language which, taken by itself, might suggest that he regarded
the bread and wine as mere symbols of the body and blood.
Thus, when the African bishop Boniface inquired how baptized
children can be said to have faith, Augustine ’s reply 2 was to the
effect that baptism itself was called faith (fides), and that current
usage allowed one to designate the sign by the name of the
thing signified. For example, although Christ was of course only
slain once, it is proper to speak of Him as being slain daily in a
sacramental sense. ‘ For if sacraments did not bear a certain re­
semblance to the things of which they are sacraments, they
would not be sacraments. In most cases this resemblance results
in their receiving the names of those things. So, just as the sacra­
ment of Christ’s body is after a certain fashion Christ’s body,
and the sacrament of His blood is after a certain fashion His
blood, so the sacrament of faith is faith.’ The argument here,
however, presupposes Augustine ’s distinction between a sacra­
ment as a sign and the reality, or res, of the sacrament to which
reference has been made above.3 Considered as physical, pheno ­
menal objects, the bread and wine are properly signs of Christ’s
body and blood; if conventionally they are designated His body
and blood, it must be admitted that they are not such straight­
forwardly but ‘after a fashion ’. On the other hand, in the
eucharist there is both what one sees and what one believes;
there is the physical object of perception, and the spiritual
object apprehended by faith,4 and it is the latter which feeds
the soul. Even in the passage cited, Augustine ’s language is
fully consistent with his recognition of its reality and actual
presence.
This leads us to the vital question how he conceives of the
eucharistie body. There is no suggestion in his writings of the
conversion theory sponsored by Gregory of Nyssa and
Ambrose; there is indeed no reason to suppose that he was
acquainted with cither the Oratio catechetica or the De mysteriis.
* See above, p. 413. 2 Ep. 98, 9. 3 See pp. 422 f.
4 Cf. serm. 112, 5; de doct. christ. 3, 13.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 449

His thought moves, as we should expect, much more along the

lines laid down by Tertullian and Cyprian. For example, he
can speak 1 of ‘ the banquet in which He presented and handed
down to His disciples die figure (figuram) of His body and
blood ’. But he goes further than his predecessors in formulating
a doctrine which, while realist through and through, is also
frankly spiritualizing. In the first place, he makes it clear that
the body consumed in the eucharist is not striedy identical with
Christ’s historical body, and represents2 Him as saying, ‘You
must understand what I have said in a spiritual sense. You are
not going to eat this body which you see or drink that blood
which diose who will crucify me are going to shed.’ The
historical body ascended in its integrity to heaven.3 In any case,
the eucharistie flesh is not like ‘flesh rent asunder in a corpse
or sold in the meat-market’.4 This crude idea was characteristic
of the Caphamaites. Secondly, and more positively, the gift
which the eucharist conveys is a gift of life. This is a spiritual
gift, and the eating and drinking are spiritual processes.5 The
eucharistie body is not the sensible flesh; rather we receive the
essence of this flesh, viz. the spirit which quickens it.6 Some­
times he carries tliis spiritualizing tendency to its limits, as when
he says,7 ‘ Why make ready your teeth and your belly? Believe,
and you have eaten ’; or again,8 ‘To believe in Him is to eat
living bread. He Who believes eats, and is invisibly filled,
because he is reborn invisibly.’ His real point, however, is that
Christ’s body and blood are not consumed physically and
materially; what is consumed in this way is the bread and wine.
The body and blood are veritably received by the communicant,
but are received sacramentally or, as one might express it, in
figura.

6. The Eucharistic Sacrifice

During this period, as we might expect, the eucharist was re­
garded without question as the Christian sacrifice. But before
1 Enarr. in ps. 3, I. 1 lb. 98, 9.
3 Serm. 131, 1; tract, in ev. loh. 27, 5. 4 Tract, in ev. loh. 27, 5.
» Serm. 131, 1. 6 Tract, in ev. loh. 27, 5. 7 fl,. 2 $, 12.
8 Ib. 26, I.
 450 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

we probe the ideas involved in this, we must glance at the

effects which communion was supposed to have on individual
communicants. The general belief may be summed up by say ­
ing that anyone who partook by faith was held to be united and
assimilated to Christ, and so to God. Hilary, for example,
argues1 that, since he receives Christ’s veritable flesh, the
Saviour must be reckoned to abide in him; hence he becomes
one with Christ, and through Him with the Father. He is thus
enabled to live here below the divine life which Christ came
from heaven to give to men.2 Ambrose writes3 similarly, ‘For­
asmuch as one and the same Lord Jesus Christ possesses Godhead
and a human body, you who receive His flesh are made to
participate through that nourishment in His divine substance’.
Both these theologians teach 4 that among the fruits of com ­
munion arc the gift of eternal life, the remission of sins, and
the imparting of heavenly joy. We have already examined 5 the
place occupied by incorporation in Christ’s mystical body in
Augustine’s eucharistie thought. According to Cyril of Jeru ­
salem,6 ‘We become Christ-bearers, since His body and blood
are distributed throughout our limbs. So, as blessed Peter ex ­
pressed it, we are made partakers of the divine nature.’ The
essence of communion, states7 John Chrysostom, is the uniting
of the communicants with Christ, and so with one another:
‘the union is complete, and eliminates all separation ’.8 Thus
we feed on Him at Whom angels gaze with trembling. . . .
We arc mingled with Him, and become one body and one
flesh with Christ.’9 In Theodore’s view 10 the consecrated bread
and wine have the power of conveying immortality.
In short, the cucharist for the fathers was the chief instru ­
ment of the Christian ’s divinization; through it Christ’s
mystical body was built up and sustained. We must now con ­
sider how they understood ‘the bloodless sacrifice’ celebrated
by means of the ‘symbols ’ of Christ’s body and blood in com-

’ De trin. 8, 13. 2 Ib. 8, 15-17. 3 De sacram. 6, 4.

4 E.g. Hilary, tract, in ps. 127, 10; Ambrose, de ben. patriarch. 39; in Luc. 10,
49; de sacram. 5, 14-17. 5 See above, p. 447. 6 Cat. 22, 3.
1 ^° r ' ^ Om ' 2' 8 1 Tim. Ι ,0,η · *5 · 4·
• In M att. horn. 82, 5. 10 cat. ig t passim.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 451

memoration of His death.1 While much of the language they

use is conventional, we find an elaborate statement of the
sacrificial aspect in Cyril ofJerusalem. In agreement with tradi­
tion he speaks2 of it as ‘ the spiritual sacrifice’ and ‘ the unbloody
service’, but he also describes3 it as ‘the holy and most awful
sacrifice’ and ‘the sacrifice of propitiation’ (της θυσίας . . . του
Ιλασμοΰ), in the presence of which God is entreated for the
peace of the churches and our earthly needs generally. Indeed,
intercession may be offered for the dead as well as die living
while the dread victim lies before us, for what we offer is
* Christ slain on behalf of our sins, propitiating the mercifùl God
on behalf both of them and of ourselves’. Later in the century
Chrysostom develops Cyril’s teaching, referring4 to ‘the most
awesome sacrifice’ (την φρίκωδ^στάτην . . . θυσίαν), and to ‘the
Lord sacrificed and lying there, and the priest bending over the
sacrifice and interceding ’.5 He makes the important point6 that
the sacrifice now offered on the altar is identical with the one
which die Lord Himself offered at the Last Supper. He em ­
phasizes tliis doctrine of the uniqueness of the sacrifice in com ­
menting 7 on the statement in Hebrews that Christ offered
Himself once: ‘Do we not offer sacrifice daily? We do indeed,
but as a memorial of His death, and tliis oblation is single, not
manifold. But how can it be one and not many? Because it has
been offered once for all, as was the ancient sacrifice in the holy
of holies. This is the figure of that ancient sacrifice, as indeed it
was of tins one; for it is the same Jesus Christ wc offer always,
not now one victim and later another. The victim is always the
same, so that the sacrifice is one. Are we going to say that,
because Christ is offered in many places, there are many Christs?
Of course not. It is one and the same Christ everywhere; He is
here in His entirety and there in His entirety, one unique body.
Just as He is one body, not many bodies, although offered in
many places, so the sacrifice is one and the same. Our high-
priest is the very same Christ Who has offered the sacrifice

« Apost. constit. 6, 23, 5 (Funk, I, 361). 2 Cat. 23, 8-10.

3 Loc. cit. 4 De sacerdot. 6, 4. » Ib. 3, 4.
* In 2 Tim. horn. 2, 4. 7 In Hebr. horn. 17, 3.
 452 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

which cleanses us. The victim Who was offered then, Who
cannot be consumed, is the self-same victim we offer now.
What we do is done as a memorial of what was done then....
We do not offer a different sacrifice, but always the same one, or
radier we accomplish the memorial of it.’ Christ ‘offered sacrifice
once for all, and thenceforth sat down ’, and the whole action of
the eucharist takes place in the heavenly, spiritual sphere;1 the
earthly celebration is a showing forth of it on the terrestrial plane.
Gregory of Nazianzus also brought the eucharistie action
into close relation with the Lord ’s redemptive death. It was, he
thought,2 an outward (cf. την £ξω) sacrifice which represented
as antitype the mystery of Christ’s offering on the cross. In a
similar strain Theodore taught3 that the sacrifice of the new
covenant was a memorial of the one true oblation, an image
or representation of the eternal liturgy which is celebrated in
heaven, where Christ, our high-priest and intercessor, now
fulfils His ministry. What He offers to the Father in the eucharist
is His very self, once delivered to death on behalf of us all. In
Thcodorct4 the emphasis is rather on the mystical body; in the
•ι
eucharist Christ ‘does not offer Himself, but rather as the Head
of those who offer, inasmuch as He calls the Church His body,
and through it exercises His priesthood as man and as God
Η receives what is offered ’. He, too, solves5 the paradox of the
■*
uniqueness of Christ’s sacrifice and the multiplicity of the
Church ’s offerings by pointing out that in the latter ‘we do not
offer another sacrifice, but accomplish the memorial (μνημην)
of that unique and saving one ... so that in contemplation we
recall the figure of the sufferings endured for us ’. As regards the
effects of the eucharist, all the Eastern writers agree that it is a
sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving to God for His measureless
benefits, and especially for that of our redemption. It is also,
however, as Cyril of Jerusalem had indicated, a propitiatory
sacrifice for the dead as well as the living. ‘It is not in vain ’,
remarked 6 Chrysostom, ‘that we commemorate those who

1 In Hebr. hom. 13, 1; 14, 1. 2 Or. 2, 95.

3 Hom. cat. 15, 15 f. 4 In ps. 109, 4. J In Hebr. 8, 4 f.
6 In 1 Cor. hom. 41, 4.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 453

have gone from us at the divine mysteries and intercede for

them, entreating the Lamb Who lies before us and Who bore
the sin of the world.’
Western writers before Augustine have little to contribute
to the theory of the eucharistie sacrifice, although all of them
naturally take it for granted. Hilary, for example, describes1
the Christian altar as ‘a table of sacrifice’, and speaks2 of
‘the sacrifice of thanksgiving and praise’ which has replaced
the bloody victims of olden days, and of the immolation of the
paschal lamb made under the new law. According to Jerome,3
the dignity of the eucharistie liturgy derives from its associa­
tion with the passion; it is no empty memorial, for the victim
of the Church ’s daily sacrifice is the Saviour Himself.4 Ambrose’s
teaching is rather more explicit. It comes out in such a passage
as this:5 ‘Now we see good things in an image, and hold fast to
the good things of the image. We have seen the chief of the
priests coming to us; we have seen and heard Him offering His
blood for us. We who are priests imitate Him as best we can,
offering sacrifice for the people, admittedly feeble in merit but
made honourable through that sacrifice. For even though
Christ no longer seems to be offering sacrifice, nevertheless He
Himself is offered in the world wherever Christ’s bodv is
offered. Indeed He is shown to be offering in us, since it is His
word which sanctifies the sacrifice which we offer.’ Externally
viewed, this oblation consists in the repetition by the priest of
Christ’s efficacious words;6 but internally it consists in His per­
petual intercession for us before the Father, ‘ offering His death
on behalf of us all’.7 With this conception of the eucharist as the
earthly representation of Christ’s eternal self-offering in the
heavenly places is conjoined the suggestion8 that He is also
immolated on the altar, so that what we receive in communion
is the paschal lamb slain on the cross. Ambrose further teaches9
that the sacrifice of the altar is an efficacious one, for just as
Christ offered Himself veritably on Calvary to procure the
* Trad, in ps. 68, 19· 2 Ib. 68, 26. 3 Ep. 114, 2.
* Ib. 21, 26. s Enarr. in ps. 38, 25. 6 Cf. de myst. 54.
7 Enarr. in ps. 39, 8: cf. ib. 38, 25.
8 In Luc. I, 28; enarr. in ps. 43, 36. ’ De offic. min. 1, 238.
454 FROM NICAEA TO CHALCEDON

remission of sins, so in the eucharist He offers Himself in imagine

to obtain the same end.
Augustine ’s conception of the eucharistie sacrifice is closely
linked with his ideas on sacrifice in general. ‘A true sacrifice’,
he writes,1 ‘is whatever work is accomplished with the object of
establishing our holy union with God ’. Essentially it is an
interior transaction of the will, and what is conventionally
termed the sacrifice is the outward sign of this: ‘die visible
sacrifice is the sacrament, i.e. the sacred symbol (sacrum signum),
of the invisible sacrifice’.2 The supreme and uniquely pure
sacrifice, of course, is the offering of Himself which the Redeemer
made on Calvary.3 This is the sacrifice which all the sacrifices
of the Jewish Law foreshadowed; it is the memorial of it that
Christians celebrate to-day in the eucharist.4 ‘This sacrifice’, he
remarks,5 ‘succeeded all those sacrifices of the Old Testament,
which were slaughtered in anticipation of what was to come....
For instead of all those sacrifices and oblations His body is
offered, and is distributed to the participants.’ The Christian
supper presupposes the death on the cross.6 The self-same
Christ Who was slain there is in a real sense slaughtered daily by
the faithful, so that the sacrifice which was offered once for all
in bloody form is sacramentally renewed upon our altars with
the oblation of His body and blood.7 From this it is clear that, if
the eucharistie sacrifice is essentially a ‘similitude’ or ‘memorial’
of Calvary, it includes much more than that. In the first place,
it involves a real, though sacramental, offering of Christ’s body
and blood; He is Himself the priest, but also the oblation.8 In
the second place, however, along with this oblation of the
Head, it involves the offering of His members, since the fruit
of the sacrifice is, precisely, their union in His mystical body.
As Augustine puts it,9 ‘The whole redeemed community, that
is, the congregation and society of saints, is the universal
sacrifice offered to God through the great high-priest, Who
offered Himself in His passion for us, so that we might be the
1 De civ. dei io, 6. 2 Ib. 10, 5. 3 E.g. enarr. in ps. 149, 6.
4 C. Faust. 6, 5; 20, 18. 5 De civ. dei 17, 20, 2.
6 Serm. 112, I. 7 Bp- 98, 9: cf. c. Faust. 20, 18 ; 20, 21.
• De civ. dei 10, 20. • Ib. 10, 6.
 THE LATER DOCTRINE OF THE SACRAMENTS 455

body of so great a Head. . . . When then the Apostle exhorted

us to present our bodies as a living victim . .. this is the sacrifice
of Christians: we who are many arc one body in Christ. The
Church celebrates it in the sacrament of the altar which is so
familiar to the faithful, in which is shown that in what she
offers she herself is offered.’ Or again:1 ‘The most splendid and
excellent sacrifice consists of ourselves, His people. This is the
sacrifice the mystery whereof we celebrate in our oblation.’
1 Ib. 19, 23, 5.

NOTE ON BOOKS

Baptism and Confirmation. A. d ’Alès, Baptême et confirmation (Paris, 1928;

Eng. trans., 1929); D. Stone, Holy Baptism (London, 4 ed. 1905);
G. W. H. Lampe, The Seal of the Spirit (London, 1951); A. J. Mason,
The Relation of Confirmation to Baptism (London, 2 cd. 1893).
Penance. É. Amann, ‘Penitence’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.); P. Galtier,
L ’Église et la rémission des péchés (Paris, 1932); R. C. Mortimer, The
Origins of Private Penance in the Western Church (Oxford, 1939); B.
Poschmann, Die abcndlandische Kirchcnbusse (Munich, 1928); O. D.
Watkins, A History of Penance (London, 1920).
Eucharist. K. Adam, Die Eucharistielehrc des hl. Augustins (Augsburg, 1908);
P. Batiffol, L ’ Eucharistie: la présence réelle (Paris, 1905); P. T. Camelot,
‘Réalisme et symbolisme dans la doctrine eucharistique de s. Augustin ’
(art. in Rev. sc. phil. et théol., 1947); G. Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy,
(London, 1945); H. M. Feret, ‘Sacramentum — res dans la langue théo ­
logique de S. Augustin ’ (art. in Rev. sc. phil. et théol., 29, 1940);
A. Gaudcl, ‘Messe: 1c sacrifice de la messe dans l’Église latine’ (art. in
Diet. Théol. Cathf, C. Gore, The Body of Christ (London, 1901); F.
Kattenbusch, ‘Messe ’ (art. in Hauck ’s Rcalencyk.)", J. H. Srawley,
‘Eucharist (to the end of the Middle Ages)’ (art. in Hastings’ Encyc.
Relig. Eth.f, D. Stone, A History of the Doctrine of the Holy Eucharist
(London, 1909).
 C H A PTER X V II

THE CHRISTIAN HOPE

I. The Tension in Eschatology

F r o m the beginning there has been a twofold emphasis in the

Christian doctrine of the last things. While stressing the reality
and completeness of present salvation, it has pointed believers
to certain great eschatological events located in the future. So
in the apostolic age, as the New Testament documents reveal,
the Church was pervaded with an intense conviction that the
hope to which Israel had looked forward yearningly had at last
been fulfilled. In the coming of Christ, and in His death and
resurrection, God had acted decisively, visiting and redeeming
His people. He had ‘ delivered us out of the power of darkness
and translated us into the kingdom of the Son of His love ’.1
Christians now shared by anticipation in Christ’s risen life
through the indwelling of the Spirit, and had already ‘ tasted ...
the powers of the age to come ’.2 In other words, history had
reached its climax and the reign of God, as so many of our
Lord ’s parables imply, had been effectively inaugurated. Inter­
woven, however, with this ‘realized eschatology ’ (to use the
jargon of modern scholarship) was an equally vivid expectation
that the wonderful outpouring of grace so far accomplished
was only the beginning and would in due course, indeed
shortly, receive its dramatic completion. The Lord Who had
been exalted to God ’s right hand would return on clouds of
glory to consummate the new age, the dead would be raised
and a final judgment enacted, and the whole created order
would be reconciled to God. The Christian hope, as delineated
by the Biblical writers, was thus a twofold consciousness of
blessedness here and now in this time of waiting, and blessedness
« Col. i, 13. 2 Hebr. 6 > 5·
459
 4όο EPILOGUE

yet to come; and the final denouement was conceived realistic­

ally as a scries of events to be carried out by God on the plane
of liistory.
Although our chief concern in this chapter will be with the
futurist elements in this eschatological faith, a word must be
said about its other and, in some ways, more characteristic
aspect. It is not infrequently alleged that after the first genera­
tion Christianity underwent a radical transformation. The as­
surance of living in the Messianic age and enjoying the first-
fruits of the Spirit, so powerfully evident in the Epistles, is held
to have yielded place to the conception of God ’s kingdom as a
region or state, located exclusively in the future, which is re­
served as a prize for those who have struggled manfully in this
life. Here and there traces of this weakened consciousness of
God ’s present redemptive action undeniably appear, along with
the implied alteration in the eschatological perspective. Clement
of Rome, for example, speaks1 of St. Peter and St. Paul, and
other nameless Christians as well, being granted a place in
heaven as a reward for the trials they endured on earth; while
for the author of 2 Clement2 entrance into the kingdom is
earned by good works and charity. Justin, too, regards3 the
kingdom of heaven as a prize for virtuous conduct to be
obtained after death; its blessings will be enjoyed by those ‘who
have lived in accord with Christ’s splendid precepts’.4 In a
similar strain Tcrtullian represents5 Christ as having pro ­
claimed a new law and a new promise of the kingdom of
heaven; He will come again in glory to conduct His saints to
the enjoyment of eternal life and of the heavenly benefits in
store for them. In thought of this type the Christian ’s confident
and joyous assurance that the age to come has already broken
into the present age has faded into the background. He looks
upon God, not as the divine Father to Whom he has free
access, but as the sternly just distributor of rewards and penalties,
while grace has lost the primarily eschatological character it
had in the New Testament and has become sometliing to be

‘ Ad Cor. 5 f. 2 9: cf. 6. 3 Dial. 117, 3.

4 1 apol. 14, 3. 5 De praescr. 13.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 461

acquired. It is unnecessary to multiply instances, for the tempta­

tion to degenerate into a pedestrian moralism in which the
‘realized’ element in its authentic eschatology finds no place was
one to which Christianity was as much exposed in the patristic
as in every other age.
Nevertheless it is misleading to concentrate on such one ­
sided expressions of the Christian faith. In the early centuries,
as indeed in other epochs, wherever religion was alive and
healthy, the primitive conviction of enjoying already the bene­
fits of the age to come was kept vividly before the believer’s
consciousness. In part this was the result of the Church ’s
attachment to Scripture and the apostolic tradition, in which
salvation was expounded in terms clearly suggesting that God
had intervened once for all in human history. It was thus
inevitable that the fathers, when interpreting their present
experience of grace, should look back to those mighty acts of
revelation as well as forward to the future climax which they
foreshadowed. Even more decisive, however, were the doctrine
and practice of the sacraments. ‘In baptism ’, as a modem
writer’ has put it, ‘the faithful receive the guarantee of the
promised inheritance; they arc sealed for the final redemption
of soul and body at the Parousia. In the cucharist the eschato ­
logical bread of heaven is made available within the present
order.’ The account of the sacramental teaching of the early
Church given in the preceding chapter supplied detailed il­
lustrations of the ways in which these rites were regarded as
imparting to Christians a foretaste of the blessedness in store
for them. True enough, the resurrection and judgment, along
with the Saviour’s second coming, lay ahead in die temporal
future. But already, through baptism, the faithful catechumen
participated in the resurrection; he had died and risen again
with Christ, and now lived the life of the Spirit.2 The age of
fulfilment had thus effectively dawned; and, as further proof of
the fact, the new people of God were already feasting in the
cucharist on the eschatological banquet prophesied by Isaiah
1 G. W. H. Lampe (see Note on Books).
1 E.g. Cyril Hicros., cat. 20, 5 f.
 402 EPILOGUE

(cf. 25, 6 ’), the banquet which Wisdom herself spread out.2 By
their incorporation into Christ they were enabled to enjoy,
while still on earth, a foretaste of the supernatural life. So the
tension characteristic of the New Testament remained, as it
must always remain, a feature of the eschatology of authentic
Christianity.

2. Second-century Conceptions
Four chief moments dominate the eschatological expectation
of early Christian theology — the return of Christ, known as
the Parousia, the resurrection, the judgment, and the cata­
strophic ending of the present world-order. In the primitive
period they were held together in a naïve, unrcflective fashion,
with little or no attempt to work out their implications or solve
the problems they raise.
We are living in the last times, writes3 Ignatius; and accord ­
ing to Hennas4 the tower, which in his symbolism signifies the
Church, is nearing completion, and when it is finished the end
will come. The hour of the Lord ’s appearing is uncertain, but it
will be heralded by the manifestation of Antichrist disguised as
God ’s Son.5 ‘Barnabas’ is satisfied6 that the scandal of the last
days is actually upon us, and thinks7 that the creation story in
Genesis gives a clue to the timing of the Parousia. The six days
of creation represent six thousand years, for Scripture reckons
one day of die Lord as equal to a thousand years. The universe
must therefore last six thousand years, of which the greater
portion has already expired. When it is stated that God rested
on the seventh day, the meaning is that Christ will appear at
the beginning of the seventh millennium in order to dethrone
the Lawless One, judge the ungodly and transform the sun,
moon and stars. Even so, the precise date remains veiled, and
in this the early writers are all agreed.8 It is hardly a fair quest­
ion whether they seriously expected the Lord to return in their

1 Eusebius, dem. ev. 10, 31-3.

1 Origen, comm, in Cant. 2, 4 (Baehrens, 185 f.); Cyprian, test. 2, 2.
3 Eph. 11, l: cf. Barn. 4, 9; 6, 13. < Vis. 3, 8, 9. ’ Did. 16.
6 4. 3; 4. 9; 21, 3· 7 Ii-
* Cf. did. 16, 1; 2 Clem. 12, 1; Hermas, vis. 3, 8, 9.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 463

own lifetime, for their standpoint was not the empirical one of
modern men. When He came, however, it would be in majesty
and power, and He would be clothed in purple like a king.1
The Parousia will be preceded, states2 the Didache, by the
resurrection of the dead. The author appears to restrict this to
the righteous (cf. ού πάντων 8e), but the normal teaching was
that good and bad would alike rise. Ignatius cites3 Christ’s re ­
surrection as a prototype of that of believers, and ‘Barnabas’ re­
produces4 the Pauline argument that the Saviour arose in order
to abolish death and give proof of our resurrection. We should
observe that both he and the author of 2 Clement insist5 on the
necessity of our rising again in the self-same flesh we now
possess, the idea being that we may receive the just requital of
our deeds. Clement, too, teaches6 that Christ’s resurrection fore­
shadows ours, and is a pioneer in devising rational arguments,
of a type later to become classic, to make the idea of a resurrec­
tion plausible. The transition from night to day, he urges, and
the transformation of dry, decaying seeds into vigorous plants
supply analogies from the natural order, as does the legend of
the phoenix from pagan mythology; in any case it is consistent
with divine omnipotence, and is abundantly prophesied in
Scripture (e.g. Pss. 28, 7; 3, 6; 23, 4; Job 19, 26). The insistence
of these writers is probably to be explained by the rejection of
a real resurrection by Docetists and Gnostics, who, of course,
refused to believe that material flesh could live on the eternal
plane. Polycarp had them (or possibly Marcion) in mind when
he roundly stated 7 that ‘he who denies the resurrection and the
judgment is the first-born of Satan ’.
With the Parousia and resurrection, we notice, the judgment
is closely linked, and the dogma that Christ will come again as
judge of quick and dead ’ had already acquired the fixity of a
formulary.8 Here and there, it is true, there arc hints of the idea
of an individual judgment immediately after death. Clement,
for example, speaks’ of St. Peter and St. Paul as having
» Barn. 7, 9 f.: cf. 2 Clem. 17, 5. 2 16, 6. 3 Trail. 9, 2.
4 5, 6. 5 Ib. 21, 1; 2 Clem. 9, 1-4. 6 1 Clem. 24-6.
7 Phil. 7, I. 8 E.g. Barn. 7, 2; 2 Clem. 1, 1; Polycarp, Phil. 2, 1.
» 1 Clem. 5, 4-7; 6. i; 5°, 3-
 404 EPILOGUE

departed straight to ‘the holy place ’, finding there a great

company of martyrs and saints ‘made perfect in charity ’; and
the Smyrnaean elders know 1 that the dead Polycarp has already
received ‘the crown of immortality’. Generally, however, the
judgment is conceived of as universal and in the future; God,
Who sent His Son as Saviour, will send Him again as judge.2
He will separate the good from the bad, and will sort out the
confusion in which they have lived on earth.3 ‘Each will
receive’, writes4 ‘Barnabas’, ‘according to his deeds. If he be
good, his righteousness will go before him; but if he be evil, the
recompense of liis evil is in store for him.’ Destruction and death
will be the lot of the wicked, the impenitent, false teachers, and
those who have rejected God; they will perish eternally.5 The
righteous, on the other hand, have ‘incorruptibility and life
eternal’ laid up for them;6 their reward is ‘life in immortality ’,7
and they ‘ will be made manifest in the visitation of the kingdom
of God ’.8 They will dwell with the angels, and will have ever­
lasting joy to crown their sufferings and trials.9 At the same
time, according to 1 Clement,10 heaven and earth will melt
away like lead melting in a furnace; while Hermas proclaims"
that the present world must perish by blood and fire. The
cosmic order as we know it must be transformed, and so made
fit for God ’s elect.12

3. The Development of Dogma

About the middle of the second century Christian eschatology

enters upon a new, rather more mature phase. The general
pattern, indeed, remains unaltered, all the key ideas which form
part of it being accepted without question. To take but a single
example, Justin teaches13 on the basis of Old Testament prophecy

’ M art. Polyc. 17, 1. 2 Ep. Diog. η, 5 f.

J 1 Clem. 28,1; 2 Clem. 17, 4-7; Hcrmas, sim. 3; 4, 1-3; Polycarp, Phil. 7, I f.
4 4. 12.
5 E.g. Hcrmas, vis. 3, 7, 2; mand. 12, 2; sim. 4, 4; 9, 18, 2; Ignatius, Eph. 16, 2.
6 Ignatius, Polyc. 2, 3. 7 1 Clem. 35, 2. 8 Ib. 50, 3.
• Hcrmas, vis. 2, 2, 7; sim. 9, 27, 3; 2 Clem. 5, 5; 7, 2 f.; 11, 5; 19, 4; 20, 2.
10 "5.3- ” 4. 3· 12 Ib. 1, 3.
” 1 apol. 52; dial. 40, 4; 45, 4; 49. 2; etc.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 465

that, in addition to His coming in lowliness at His incarnation,

Christ will come again in glory with the angelic host; the dead,
both just and unjust, will be raised,1 and in the general judg ­
ment which follows the former will receive an eternal reward,
while the latter will be consigned, body and soul, to eternal
fire and torment;2 and a universal conflagration will bring the
world to an end.3 Theologians like Irenaeus, with his strongly
Biblical bias, reproduce the same themes, though with appro ­
priate embroidery. On the other hand, new emphases and fresh
lines of thought begin to appear, partly for apologetic motives
and partly as the result of growing speculation. The clash with
Judaism and paganism made it imperative to set out the bases
of the revealed dogmas more thoroughly. The Gnostic tend ­
ency to dissolve Christian eschatology into the myth of the
soul’s upward ascent and return to God had to be resisted. On
the other hand millenarianism, or the theory that the returned
Christ would reign on earth for a thousand years, came to find
increasing support among Christian teachers.
We can observe these tendencies at work in the Apolo ­
gists. Justin, as we have suggested, ransacks the Old Testament
for proof, as against Jewish critics, that the Messiah must have a
twofold coming. His argument4 is that, while numerous con ­
texts no doubt predict His coming in humiliation, there are
others (e.g. Is. 53, 8-12; Ezek. 7E; Dan. 7, 9-28; Zech. 12, 10-
12; Ps. 72, 1-20; no, 1-7) which clearly presuppose His coming
in majesty and power. The former coming was enacted at the
incarnation, but the latter still lies in the future. It will take
place, he suggests,5 at Jerusalem, where Christ will be re­
cognized by the Jews who dishonoured Him as the sacrifice
which avails for all penitent sinners, and where He will eat
and drink with His disciples; and He will reign there a thousand
years. This millenarian, or ‘chiliastic’, doctrine was widely
popular at this time. ‘Barnabas’ had taught6 that the Son of
God, appearing at the beginning of the seventh millennium,

« Dial. 80, 5; 81, 4. 2 Ib. 45, 4; 120, 5 f.; 1 apol. 8; 28.

J 1 apol. 45; 60; 2 apol. η. 4 1 apol. 50-2; dial. 14; 31; 32; 34.
» Dial. 40; 51. 6 IS, 4-9-
 466 EPILOGUE

would reign with the just until a new universe was called into
existence at the commencement of the eighth; and the heretic
Cerinthus had expatiated 1 on the material, sensual enjoyments
with which the saints would be rewarded in Christ’s earthly
kingdom. Papias looked forward 2 with wide-eyed wonder­
ment to the literal fulfilment in that epoch of the Old Testa­
ment prophecies of unprecedented fertility of field and vineyard.
Justin writes3 in a kindred strain of the idyllic millennium, when
Jerusalem will be rebuilt and enlarged and Christians, along
with the patriarchs and prophets, will dwell there with Christ
in perfect felicity. He confesses that he knows pious, pure-
minded Christians who do not share this belief, but like others
he considers it plainly authorized by the predictions of Isaiah,
Zechariah and the prophets, not to mention Revelation, and it
clearly counts in his eyes as an unquestioned article of orthodoxy.
In treating of the resurrection the Apologists stress its reason ­
ableness. Justin, for example, after appealing to the truth that
nothing is beyond God ’s power, finds 4 an analogy to it in the
way in which the human sperm develops into a living body,
complete with flesh and bones; while for Tatian 5 and Theo ­
philus6 the resuscitation of a dead man is no whit more marvel­
lous than his original coming into existence out of inanimate
matter. Athenagoras argues7 that the idea of God ’s raising the
dead conflicts in no way with His knowledge, His power or His
justice. A resurrection is indeed logically demanded by the fact
that man is a composite being made up of body and soul; since
the end God has assigned him is plainly unattainable in tliis
world, a future life is necessary, and body as well as soul must
participate in it.8 He presupposes the idea of a natural im ­
mortality, thinking that God created man to live for ever.9 The
Apologists generally, in spite of a good deal of confusion, are
on their guard 10 against the current Platonic theory of im ­
mortality, with its assumption that the soul is increatc in con ­
trast to the Christian dogma that it has been brought into being
1 Cf. Eusebius, hist. ecd. 3, 28, 2; 7, 25, 2 f.
2 Cf. Irenaeus, haer. 5, 33, 3 f. J Dial. 80 f. * 1 apol. 18 f.
5 Or. ad Grace. 6. 6 Ad Autol. 1,8. ’ De resurr. 1-10.
8 Ib. 18-25. ’ Ib. 12 f. « E.g. Justin, dial. 5".
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 467

by the divine fiat. In a similar way, in order to rebut objections

to the last judgment, they point to 1 parallels in pagan mytho ­
logy. Further, since they desire to combat fatalism, they insist
strongly on free will and responsibility, deducing 2 from them
the reasonableness of a system of rewards and penalties. In the
last resort, however, they justify this article by the theodicy
implied in Theophilus’s dictum,3 ‘When I call Him Lord, I
call Him judge ’. What they have in mind, like their pre ­
decessors, is usually the general judgment at the Parousia, but
Justin seems to allow 4 for a particular judgment at death which
assigns the souls of the righteous to a more comfortable, and
diose of the wicked to a less comfortable, place of waiting.
The great theologians who followed the Apologists, Irenaeus,
Tertullian and Hippolytus, were primarily concerned to defend
the traditional eschatological scheme against Gnosticism. The
monotonous thesis of the latter was that, matter being in ­
trinsically evil, the flesh could not participate in salvation, which
must therefore be the prerogative of the soul;5 and so, if the
resurrection is a fact, it must be an exclusively spiritual one,
consisting in the illumination of the mind by the truth.6 Im ­
prisoned in the body, the soul alone is saved; and the char­
acteristic terms used by Gnostic teachers were those which ex ­
pressed its return to the Pleroma7— avarpfyetv, άναδραμεΐν,
ascendere, resipere.8 Against tliis Irenaeus vigorously affirms that
the realm of bodies is subject to the Word, and that salvation
must affect the entire man, body as well as soul.9 God ’s power
must be sufficient to effect the resurrection, seeing that He
formed man ’s body in the beginning.10 Being superior to nature,
He has the might, and since He is good He has the will; and it
accords with His justice that the body which cooperated with
the soul in well-being should be conjoined with it in its re ­
ward.” Further, Christ’s rejoinder to the Sadducees plainly
’ E.g. Justin, 1 apol. 8, 4; Theophilus, ad Anfol. 2, 36-8.
2 E.g. Justin, 1 apol. $7; 2 apol. 7; 9; dial. 141. 3 Ad Auto I. 1, 3.
4 Dial. 5, 3- 5 Eg. Irenaeus, haer. 1, 6, 2; 1, 27, 3; 5, 1, 2.
6 Id. 2, 31. 2 · 7 Sec above, pn. 23 f.
8 Id. I, 3°» 3; 2, 12, 4; Clement Alex., paed. 1, 6, 32, 1; Hippolytus, c.
Noct. ii. ’ Haer. 5, 2, 2 f.; 5, 20, 1.
10 Ib. 5, 3, 2. «« Ib. 2, 29, 2.
 468 EPILOGUE THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 469

implies the resurrection of the body;1 and the cures and resuscita­ tion. The same doctrine appears in Hippolytus,1 although he is
tions He carried out demonstrate His power as well as presaging more explicit about the penalties inflicted on the wicked and the
our resurrection.2 But the most convincing proof is the in ­ blessedness enjoyed by the righteous. Secondly, they are all
carnation itself, since if the Word assumed flesh He must have exponents of millcnarianism. Irenaeus, for example, treats2 the
done so in order to save it.3 Tertullian reacts very similarly hope of a resplendent earthlyjcrusalem as traditional orthodoxy,
against the Gnostic disparagement of the flesh, dwelling 4 on the and protests against attempts to allegorize away the great texts
facts that it is God ’s handiwork, that Scripture extols it (he cites of the Old Testament and Revelation which appear to look for­
Is. 40, 5; Joel 2, 28; t Cor. 3, 17; ό, 15; 6, 20; Gal. 6, 17), and that ward to it. Tertullian likewise, after establishing the reality of
God cannot abandon what His beloved Son took to Himself. Christ’s heavenly kingdom, adds 3 that this by no means ex ­
The divine power, exhibited in the periodical renovation of the cludes an earthly kingdom also. In fact, the latter is due to come
natural order, guarantees the possibility of the resurrection;5 before die former, and it will last for a thousand years, centred
and, since body and soul are so intimately united in all their in the new Jerusalem (he cites Phil. 3, 20) which will come
activities, the divine justice requires that both should come down from heaven. But he also shows signs of a tendency to
together to judgment.6 Both for him,7 however, and for his spiritualize the doctrine, for elsewhere he speaks4 of the new
contemporary, Hippolytus,8 the decisive proof consists in the Jerusalem as really signifying the Lord ’s flesh. Hippolytus
massive evidence of Scripture. defended millcnarianism in his Commentary on Daniel and De
Two further points in the teaching of these thinkers merit Christo et Antichristo. Opposition to the doctrine, however, was
attention. The first is their heightened interest in the lot of the gathering force, the leader of the reaction at Rome being the
soul pending the resurrection and judgment. Irenaeus criticizes9 priest Caius. In face of this Hippolytus departed from Irenaeus’s
the Gnostic idea that it passes to heaven immediately after exegesis of the key-passage, Rev. 20, 2-5. The thousand years
death, pointing to the example of the Saviour, Who descended there mentioned, he now explained,5 are not to be taken as
to hell (i.e. the place of the departed) for three days. His con ­ referring literally to the duration of the kingdom, but are a
clusion is that, since no disciple is above his master, ‘the souls symbolical number which should be interpreted as pointing to
[of Christians] go to an invisible place designated for them by its splendour.
God, and sojourn there until the resurrection. . . . Afterwards,
4. Origen
receiving bodies and rising again perfectly, i.e. with their
bodies, just as the Lord Himself rose, they will so come to the While the theologians we have been studying repeat and
sight of God.’ Only the martyrs, it seems, are excused from this elaborate the familiar eschatological themes, there is a further
place of waiting.10 Tertullian, too, basing himself on Christ’s theme, that of the deification of the Christian, which is inter­
descent, teaches11 that, with the exception of the martyrs, all woven with their teaching and which was to have a profound
souls remain in the underworld against the day of the Lord, influence on subsequent theology. According to this, the final
which will not come until the earth is destroyed, the just being flowering of the Christian hope consisted in participation in
meanwhile consoled with the expectation of the resurrection, the divine nature and in the blessed immortality of God. The
and the sinful receiving a foretaste of their future condcmna- eternal salvation of the righteous, stated 6 Justin, will take the
« Haer. 4 , 5, 2. 2 lb. 5. 12, 5; 5, 13, i. 3 lb. 5, 14.
4 De resurr. cam. 5-11. s lb. 12 f. 6 lb. 14-16. 1 C. Grace. (PG 10, 796-800). 1 Haer. 5, 33-6: esp. 35, 1.
7 lb. 18-cnd. 8 E.g. de antichr. 65 f. 9 Haer. 5,31,1 f. 3 C. M arc. 3, 24: cf. ib. 4, 39. 4 De resurr. cam. 26, 11.
10 lb. 4. 33» 9- 11 De anim. 55-8: cf. c. M arc. 4, 34. 5 Cap. c. Caium (GCS 1, Pt. 2, 246 f.). * j apol. 10; 52; dial. 124.
470 EPILOGUE

form of that incorruptibility and impassibility which fellow ­

ship with God will impart; and on Tatian ’s view,1 when the
divine image and likeness have been restored in a man, he
becomes capable of ‘seeing perfect things ’, and after the resur­
rection will receive a blessed immortality. The grace of the
Spirit, Irenaeus taught,2 already at work in us, will, when fully
given, ‘make us perfect according to the Father’s will; for it
will restore man to God ’s image and likeness’. After the resur­
rection God will cause Him to share in His own privilege of
incorruptibility. This will be the effect of the vision of God
which, out of sheer goodness, the Father will bestow on the
elect; for ‘those who see God are within God, sharing His
glory ’.3 In the third century Origen developed these and
kindred ideas, interpreting the kingdom of God either as the
apprehension of divine truth and spiritual reality,4 or (this in
explanation of Luke 17, 21) as the indwelling of the Logos or
the seeds of truth implanted in the soul,5 or as ‘the spiritual
doctrine of the ensouled Logos imparted through Jesus Christ’.6
‘The intelligence (voûç) which is purified ’, he wrote,7 ‘and
rises above all material tilings to have a precise vision of God is
deified in its vision ’; and since true knowledge, on his view,
presupposes the union of knower and object, the divine gnosis
of the saints culminates in their union with God.8 But Origen ’s
reflections on eschatology are so far-reaching that they deserve
a closer scrutiny.
First, let us take his teaching about the resurrection of the
body; he preferred this form, for reasons which should become
clear, to resurrection of the flesh. In harmony with his Platonism,
Origen believed in the spirituality and immortality of the soul,
but he was sincerely determined to defend the Christian dogma
against pagan jibes.9 He was acutely conscious of its difficulties,
as popularly presented,10 and of the obvious objections to it;11
and he accepted Celsus’s point that it was a mistake to appeal to
1 Or. c. Graec. 13 f. » Haer. 5, 8, I. 1 Ib. 4, 20, 5 f.
♦ Sei. in ps. 144, 13. s In loh. 19, 12, 78.
6 In M att. 10, 14 (Klostcrmann, 17)· 7 In loh. 32, 27 318
» Ib. 19. 4. 23 f. ’ Cf. c. Cels. 5,’i 4; 8, 49.
«° E.g. ib. 5, 18; 7, 32. ” E.g. sei. in ps. 1, 5.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 47I

the divine omnipotence.1 His task was the twofold one of ex ­

pounding the truth against (a) the crude literalism which
pictured the body as being reconstituted, with all its physical
functions, at the last day, and (b) the perverse spiritualism of
the Gnostics and Manichces, who proposed to exclude the body
from salvation. The explanation he advanced 2 started with the
premiss that the ‘material substratum ’ (το υλικόν υποκείμενον)
of all bodies, including men, is in a state of constant flux, its
qualities changing from day to day, whereas they all possess
a ‘distinctive form ’ (το χαρακτήριζαν είδος , or το σωματικόν
fîSoç) which remains unchanging. The development of a man
from childhood to age is an illustration, for his body is identi­
cally the same throughout despite its complete physical trans­
formation; and the historical Jesus provides another, since His
body could at one time be described as without form or
comeliness (Is. 53, 2), while at another it was clothed with the
splendour of the Transfiguration.
From this point of view the resurrection becomes compre ­
hensible. The bodies with which the saints will rise will be
strictly identical with the bodies they bore on earth, since they
will have the same ‘form ’, or eidos. O n the other hand, the
qualities of their material substrata will be different, for instead
of being fleshly qualities appropriate to terrestrial existence,
they will be spiritual ones suitable for the kingdom of heaven.
The soul ‘needs a better garment for the purer, ethereal and
celestial regions’;3 and the famous Pauline text, 1 Cor. 15, 42-4,
shows that this transformation is possible without the identity
being impaired. As he explains the matter,4 when the body was
at the service of the soul, it was ‘psychic’; but when the soul is
united with God and becomes one spirit with Him, the self­
same body becomes spiritual, bodily nature being capable of
donning the qualities appropriate to its condition. To make
plain what he means by ‘distinctive form ’, Origen equates
it with the principle of energy which, according to Stoic
principles,5 maintains the body ’s identity in the flux of
’ C. Cels. 5, 23. 1 Sei. in ps. 1, 5. 3 C. Cels. 7, 32.
■» De princ. 3, 6, 6: cf. c. Cels. 3, 41 f_; 56 f. s See above, p. 13.
W EPILOGUE

ever-changing matter. It is a ‘seminal reason ’ (Aoyoç σπερμα ­

τικός ) inherent in each body which enables it to be resuscitated,
although with a different set of qualities, exactly as the seed
buried in the earth, as the Apostle showed, survives death and
decomposition and is restored as a blade of wheat.1 Later
critics2 charged him with affirming that ‘in the resurrection
the bodies of men rise spherical’ (σφαιροειδή). He may well
have done so, on the Platonic theory 3 that the sphere is the
perfect shape, but the evidence is not compelling.
Secondly, in his treatment of the judgment we meet with the
same characteristic tension between the desire to retain tradi­
tional dogma and the desire to reinterpret it in a manner palat­
able to intelligent believers. ‘God ’s righteous judgment’, he
declared,4 ‘is one of the articles of the Church ’s preaching ’; in ­
deed, it is a cardinal motive for moral conduct and a convincing
evidence of free will. Immediately after death, Origen seems to
believe,5 a provisional separation is made between human souls,
and to prepare them for their eternal destinies they pass to an
intermediate state, of longer or shorter duration, which serves
as a probationary school (cf. quodam eruditionis loco . . . auditorio
vel schola animarum). The judgment itself will be enacted at the
end of the world, and a definitive separation will then be made
between good and bad.6 This is the day of wrath of which the
prophets spoke, and it has no doubt been postponed so that the
full consequences of men ’s actions may be revealed.7 The Gos­
pel, too, fixes the Master’s return ‘at the consummation ’.8 Each
will be judged according to his deeds, and this is why the judg ­
ment is reserved to God; only He can accurately assess the good
and evil mixed together in men ’s lives.9 The framework of all
this is the traditional imagery of the law-court, and Origen
admits10 that the whole Church accepts the picture of a glorious
Second Coming, with Christ sitting on His throne and separat-

1 De princ. 2, 10, 3: cf. c. Cels. 5, 18 f.; 7, 32; 8, 49.

1 Cf. Justinian’s letter to Mennas in Mansi, IX, 516D and 533C.
1 Cf. Plato, rim. 33 b. ♦ De prine. 3, 1, I. 5 Ib. 2, i i , 6.
6 Ib. 2, 9, 8; c. Cels. 4, 9. ? In Rom. 2, 4. 8 lit M att. 14, 12 f.
’ In Rom. 2, I f.: cf. ib. 2, 4; 9, 41; in M att. 14, 8.
10 In M att. comm. ser. 70.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 473

ing the good from the bad. Even when he starts rationalizing it,
he hastens to reassure1 his readers that he has no wish to belittle,
much less deny, the truth of the popular accounts of the
Parousia. He is aware, however, that that account, with its
spatio-temporal presuppositions, bristles with difficulties, and
he propounds 2 a spiritual reinterpretation of it. According to
this, all the vivid imagery of the Gospel predictions is ex ­
plained away as symbolism. The real meaning of the Parousia,
we are told, is the manifestation of Christ and His divinity to
all mankind, good and bad, which will result in the disclosure
of their true character. The Saviour will not appear in any
given place, but will make Himself known everywhere; and
men will present themselves before His throne in the sense that
they will render homage to His authority. They will see them ­
selves as they are, and in the light of that knowledge the good
and the bad will be finally differentiated. Needless to say, there
is no room here for millenarianism, and Origen castigates3 the
follies of literalist believers who read the Scriptures like the
Jews and cherish dreams of dwelling in an earthly Jerusalem
after the resurrection, where they will eat, drink and enjoy
sexual intercourse to their hearts’ content.
Thirdly, believing as he does4 that the kingdom inherited by
the righteous is the contemplation of divine truth, Origen
translates the sufferings of the damned into similarly spiritualized
terms. ‘Each sinner’, he states,5 ‘kindles his own fire . . . and
our own vices form its fuel.’ In other words, the real punish ­
ment of the wicked consists in their own interior anguish, their
sense of separation from the God Who should be their supreme
good. Further, all such punishment, even the pains of hell,
must have an end. Origen appreciates6 the deterrent value of
the Scriptural description of the penalties of sin as eternal. He is
satisfied, however, that in fact they must one day come to an
end, when all things arc restored to their primeval order. This is
his doctrine of the apocatastasis, in which his eschatology, as
1 In M att. 12, 30. 2 In M att. comm. ser. 70: cf. in M att. 12, 30.
3 De princ. 2, 11, 2. 4 Ib. 2, 11, 7.
5 Ib. 2, 10, 4: cf. Jerome, in Eph. 5, 6.
6 C. Cels. 3, 79; 6, 26; in lerem. hom. 19, 4.
474 EPILOGUE

indeed his whole theological system, culminates, and which

postulates 1 that the conclusion of the vast cosmic evolution will
be identical with its beginning. Two guiding principles, the
free will of man and the goodness of God, dominate his
formulation of it. The former leads him to conceive 2 of suc­
cessive cycles of worlds, with the infinity of rational creatures
passing through different phases of existence, higher and lower,
according as from time to time they choose good or evil. On
the other hand, St. Paul has shown (i Cor. 15, 25) that all
things will eventually be brought into subjection to God, Who
will be all in all as at the beginning. So far as rational creatures
arc concerned, however, this will not be achieved by force or
necessity (for their free will demands respect), but by dis­
cipline, persuasion and instruction.3 God ’s chastisement, we
observe, has a medicinal purpose, and will cease when this has
been accomplished.4 Even the Devil, it appears, will participate
in the final restoration. When Origen was taken to task on this
point, he indignantly protested, according to his later champion
Rufinus,5 that he had held no such theory. But the logic of his
system required it, since otherwise God ’s dominion would fall
short of being absolute and His love would fail of its object;
and the doctrine is insinuated, if not explicitly taught, in his
writings 6 as well as taken for granted by his adversaries.7

5. Later Thought: Resurrection of the Body

For the later fathers, both Greek and Latin, the resurrection
remained an unquestioned article of the Church ’s faith; they
assumed its universality, and also the identity of the risen with
the natural body. The majority resisted the temptation to
speculate, contenting themselves with reaffirming the tradi­
tional dogma and defending it, chiefly by means of appeals to
the divine omnipotence. There is no need to provide samples

1 E.g. de print. I, 6, 2.
2 Ib. I, 6, 3; 3, 6, 3 (in Jerome, ep. 124, 3; 124, 10): cf. Jerome, c. loh. Hieros.
19. 3 Ib. 3, 5, 7 f.: cf. ib. 3, 6, 6; 1, 6, 4.
* E.g. in Ezech. hom. 1,2. 5 De adult, lib. Orig. (PG 17, 624 f.).
6 E.g. de princ. 1, 6, 3. 7 E.g. Jerome, c. loh. Hieros. 16.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 475

of their teaching. On the other hand, there were two groups of

theologians in this period whose thought about the resurrection
merits attention — (I) those who led a revolt against Origen ’s
rational analysis of it, claiming that his theories amounted to a
virtual denial of any real resurrection; and (II) those constructive
thinkers who strove, some of them along cautiously Origenistic
lines but omitting what was most characteristic of Origen ’s
teaching, to understand the mystery at a deeper level than the
crude popular faith allowed.
(I) The best-known representatives of the anti-Origenist
reaction in the East were Eustathius of Antioch 1 and Epi-
phanius.2 In fact, however, both these teachers were indebted
for the bulk of their arguments to the classic onslaught de ­
livered against Origen by Methodius of Olympus (f c. 311)
several decades earlier.
Reduced to essentials the latter’s critique fastened, first, on
the radical dualism between soul and body presupposed by
Origen, which he showed 3 to be inconsistent with the theory
that the soul sinned in its pre-incarnate state, and, secondly, on
Origen ’s idea that the permanent element which is restored at
the resurrection is the ‘bodily form ’, not the body as such. If
this is so, argued Methodius, there is no real resurrection since
what is raised is not the body; and indeed, since Origen had
used the same concept of the ‘form ’ or ‘seminal reason ’ to
explain the appearance of Moses and Elijah at the Transfigura ­
tion, Christ would not seem, on his account, to have been ‘the
first-begotten from the dead ’.4 In Methodius’s eyes this ‘form ’
is no more than a mould quite external to the body, like the
tube through which water passes;5 and so far from surviving
the flesh, it perishes before it, just as the form of a bronze statue
is the first to disappear when the metal is melted.6 His own
positive views, though not entirely clear, arc firmly based on
the resurrection of Christ Himself considered as restoring the
work of creation which sin had marred. Christ, however, was
raised in exactly the same body as He bore upon the cross, as
1 De engast. c. Orig· 22 (PG 18, 660). 1 Haer. 64, 63-8; ancor. 87-92.
3 De res. 1, 29-33· * Ib. 3, 5. s Ib. 3. 3- 6 Ib. 3. 6.
47<5 EPILOGUE

His dialogue with doubting Thomas demonstrates.1 Our resur­

rection bodies will indeed have heightened qualities, for they
will return to the impassibility and glory which the human
form possessed before the Fall; but they will be materially
identical with our present earthly bodies.2 As for the objection
that once the particles of a body have been dispersed, they
become inextricably mingled with other substances, Methodius
has no difficulty in pointing 3 to cases where men, or even
nature itself, succeed in separating substances which seem hope ­
lessly mixed up with each other; and the power of the Almighty
is, of course, infinitely greater. The most unsatisfactory feature
of his account is his assumption 4 throughout that the soul must
be a corporeal substance.
A century had to elapse before the most prominent of Western
critics of Origen ’s ideas about the resurrection took the field.
This was Jerome, who until 394 was an ardent adherent of
Origenism, supporting 5 among other doctrines the master’s
theory of the disappearance of the natural body and the trans­
formation of the elect at the resurrection into purely spiritual
beings. After that date, however, he made a complete volte-face,
and began to stress,6 with crudely literalistic elaboration, the
physical identity of the resurrection body with the earthly
body. Not all Christian teachers, as we shall see, shared this
literalism, still less delighted in the paradoxical corollaries
which its champions sometimes liked to draw from it. But the
critics of Origenism, from Methodius to Jerome, were suc­
cessful at least in securing that, whatever view was taken of the
resurrection body, it had to be regarded as in some way
identical with the natural body itself and not merely with its
‘form ’.
(II) Cyril of Jerusalem provides a good example of a con ­
structive attempt to deal with the problem. He was familiar?
with the hackneyed scientific objections, based on the putrefac­
tion of corpses, the fact that they may be consumed by fish or

* De res. 3, 12-14. ’ Ib. 3, 16. ’ Ib. 2, 27 f.

4 Ib. 3, 18. 5 E-g. in Eph. 5, 29; adv. lovin. 1, 36.
6 E.g. c. loh. Hieros. 33. 7 Cat. 18, 2 f.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 477

vultures or animals, their annihilation by fire, and so on, but

thought that God ’s omnipotence could be relied upon to reunite
the dispersed particles. He conceived, however, of the resusci­
tated bodies as being transformed and, in a way, spiritualized.
As he expressed it,1 it is this very body which is raised, but it
does not remain such as it was. The bodies of the righteous, for
example, will assume supernatural qualities, while those of the
wicked will become capable of burning eternally. The formula
he thus employed, τούτο, ού τοιοΰτο, based on the Pauline dis­
tinction (1 Cor. 15, 44) between the ‘psychic’ body and the
‘pneumatic ’ body, and the cautious type of explanation im ­
plied in it, seem to have enjoyed a wide currency.2 Didymus
was developing it later when he argued 3 that the resurrection
body will be a celestial one; life will not destroy our earthly
tabernacle, but will absorb it, imparting superior qualities to it.
On the other hand, Gregory of Nyssa advanced a more daring
solution along lines reminiscent of Origen. Like his master, he
distinguished 4 between the material elements composing the
body, which are forever in flux, continually coming into being
and passing away, and the bodily ‘form ’ (efôos·) or ‘type ’,
which never loses its individuality. This ‘form ’ is known by
the soul, and indeed sets its stamp upon it during its mortal life;
consequently the soul can always recognize the physical ele­
ments which belong to it, however much dispersed they may
be, and at the resurrection will draw to itself such of them as it
requires; the mere quantity of matter which entered into the
composition of the body will be of no importance. Gregory
was careful, we observe, to allow the terrestrial body its proper
place in the resurrection, but he also pointed out5 that this will
involve our restoration to the primitive state lost through
Adam ’s sin. The resurrection body will be exempt from all the
consequences of sin, such as death, infirmity, deformity, differ­
ence of age, etc.; and so human nature, while remaining true

« Ib. 18, 18 f.
2 Cf. Amphilochius, frg. 10 (PG 39, 108); Epiphanius, expos, fid. 17;
Isidore, ep. 2, 43', etc. 3 Ai 2 Cor. 5, 1; 5, 2 (PG 39, 1704).
♦ De horn. opif. 27; de anim. et resurr. (PG 46, 73-80; 145 £).
5 De anim. et resurr. (PG 46, 148 f.).
478 EPILOGUE

to itself, will ascend to a spiritual, impassible state.

In the West Hilary ’s teaching closely resembles that of Cyril
of Jerusalem. In raising the bodies of the departed, he suggests,1
God will reconstitute the identical matter of which they were
once composed, but will alter their quality and will impart to
them a splendour and beauty appropriate to their new condi­
tion. Ambrose justifies2 the rising again of the body as such on
the ground that it shares in the actions initiated by the soul and
so should come with it to judgment, and points out3 that the
term ‘resurrection ’ itself implies that what is raised is the very
body which died and was buried. Nevertheless, while the body
remains identically the same, it will undergo a transformation
and spiritualization at its resuscitation.4 For Augustine 5 the re­
surrection of all men at the last day is an undoubted dogma of
the Christian faith; and he is convinced 6 that ‘this identical
flesh will be raised which is buried, which dies, which is seen
and touched, which must eat and drink if it is to go on existing,
which is sick and subject to pain ’. Norwithstanding this
identity, however, the bodies of the elect and the damned alike
will be clothed with incorruptibility, in the case of the latter
that their chastisement may be everlasting.7 To solve the hoary
problem of bodies which have been devoured by fire or wild
beasts, or reduced to dust or dissolved in liquid, Augustine
simply appeals8 to the omnipotence of the Creator; but he also
dismisses9 as extravagant and unnecessary die supposition diat
every fragment of bodily matter must be restored to exactly
the same position as it formerly occupied. The resurrection
bodies of the saints will be perfect and entire, with all their
organs, and only what is ugly or deformed will have dis­
appeared;10 and he favours the view 11 diat, when children are
raised, dicy will have die mature bodies of adults. His inter­
pretation12 of the Apostle’s promise that die risen body will be
spiritual is, not that its substance will have undergone change,

1 Enarr. in ps. 2, 41. 2 De excess. Sat. 2, 88. 3 Ib. 2, 87.

♦ Enarr. in ps. 1, 51;expos, ev. Luc. 10, 168; 170.
5 E.g. enchir. 84-7; serin. 241, I. 6 Serin. 264, 6. 7 Enchir. 92.
8 De civ. dei 22, 20, 1. » Enchir. 89.
10 De civ. dei 22, 19. «« Senn. 242, 4. » De civ. dei 13, 20.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 479

but that it will be in complete subjection to the spirit, and will

thus rise superior to all sluggishness, weakness and pain.

6. Later Thought: Parousia and Judgment

The resurrection must, of course, be preceded by the Lord ’s

Second Coming, a dramatic event which looms large in the
preaching and thought of the fourth- and fifth-century Church.
For the most part its setting is the awe-inspiring but magnificent
imagery supplied by Old Testament prophecy and New Testa­
ment apocalypse, but there is little to suggest that it was taken
otherwise than literally.1 Only occasionally, as we shall see
when we consider the Last Judgment, are there hints that more
reflective writers were inclined to spiritualize die crudely
realistic pictures associated with it. On the other hand, the
influence of millenarianism had all but disappeared in the East
and was rapidly on the wane in die West. Men like Methodius,12
it is true, had done dieir best (he was writing towards die end
of the third century) to keep the old-fashioned beliefs alive in a
modified form; but Origen ’s critique of them proved decisive.
His disciple, Dionysius of Alexandria, a generation before
Methodius, used the full weight of his authority to discredit
them, linking his attack widi a rejection 3 of the authenticity of
Revelation', and in the fourth century only Apollinarius4 could
be found to champion them among Eastern writers. For
Ainbrosiastcr,5 however, the collapse of the Roman empire was
the sign of the approaching end of the world. Antichrist would
then appear, only to be destroyed by divine power, and Christ
would reign over His saints for a thousand years. Jerome had
little use 6 for the millcnarian ideal of an earthly kingdom.
Augustine confessed7 that he was attracted by it at one period;
but later, repelled by the gross dreams of carnal indulgence

1 E.g. Cyril Hieros., cat. 15; Chrysostom, in M att. hom. 79, 1 f ; Cyril Alex.,
in Zach. 105; Hilary, in M att. 25-8.
1 E.g. symp. 9, r, 9. 3: 9. 4; 10» 5 (Bonwctsch, 114; 117; 119; 127).
3 Cf Eusebius, hist. eccl. 7, 24 f. 4 Cf. Basil, ep. 263, 4.
s In 2 Thess. 2, 8 f. ; in 1 Cor. 15, 52.
6 In Is. 18, init. (PL 24, 627 f ). ’ De civ. dei 20,7,1 : cf serm. 259, 2.
 48o EPILOGUE

conjured up, he changed his attitude and favoured an allegorical

interpretation of the vision of the seer of Patmos. The first re­
surrection, according to this,1 is our restoration from the death
of sin and our summons to the Christian life, while the reign of
Christ and His saints is to be understood as the Church carrying
out its apostolate here on earth. The thousand years are to be
explained either as the final millennium preceding the judgment
or, preferably, as the total duration of the earthly Church.
Closely associated with the Parousia is the Judgment, which
occupied an equally, if not more, impressive place in the im ­
agination of the period. ‘Each of us ’, declares2 Athanasius, ‘will
have to render an account of his deeds in this life on the day of
judgment’; and Gregory Nazianzcn describes3 how God has
noted all our conduct down in a book. Other writers elaborate
the theme ofjudgment in greater or less detail. For its justifica­
tion they appeal fairly generally to the principle that, since
there is no proper distribution of rewards and punishments in
this world, it is only fair that there should be one in the next.
So Chrysostom can say,4 ‘If God is such as He indeed is, it
follows that He is also just, for if He is not just He cannot be
God. But if He is just, He requites each man as he deserves. But
we see that people do not all receive their deserts here. We must
therefore look for another requital, so that each may duly
receive what he merits and God ’s justice may stand revealed.’
As in the case of the Parousia, the Biblical descriptions of the
judgment seem to be usually taken at their face value, but some
Eastern theologians, without going the whole way with Origen,
show signs of trying to understand it in a spiritual fashion.
Cyril of Jerusalem, for example, referring to Rom. 2, 15 £,
explains 5 the inquisition in terms of one ’s own remorseful self­
accusation, ‘It will be in the light of your own conscience that
*
you will be judged ’; while for Basil the judge ’s countenance
is the divine illumination which sheds light on our guilty hearts.
At the judgment our only accusers will be our own sins, which
‘ De civ. dei 20, 6, 1 f.; 20, 7, 2; 20, 9, 1. 2 Apo ^ c . Ar
» Or. 19, 15. r
4 Dediab. tent. hom. 18: cf. Cyril Hicros., cat. 18, 4; Ambrosiastcr, in Rom
2 · 3-0 · 5 Cat- 2 5· 6 Hom. in ps. 33, 4.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 481

will rise up before us in our memory.1 The true meaning of the

judgment, writes2 Gregory Nazianzcn, is the heaviness or,
alternatively, lightness of the weight which presses upon each
man ’s conscience; on ‘the day of visitation 4 (Is. 10, 3) we shall
be arraigned by our own past thoughts and deeds, and shall be
hauled away condemned by our own selves.3
Latin thought is on the whole closely aligned with Greek,
although its general flavour tends to be more archaic. We
should notice, however, the peculiarly Western tradition 4 ac­
cording to which, while all will appear before Christ at the last
day, only those wayward Christians whose lives have been a
mixture of good and evil will in the strict sense be judged. Of
the other two groupings into which men fall, the righteous
need no judgment, and the wicked have been judged already.
This doctrine found support in texts like Ps. 1, 5 (Lat. vers, ‘the
wicked shall not rise again in the judgment’), and John 3, 18
(‘he that believcth on Him is not judged, but he that believeth
not is judged already ’). Ambrose’s conception 5 of the judg ­
ment as taking place in the sinner’s own conscience and as the
result of God ’s knowledge of the heart reflects the influence of
Greek thought. So does liis idea6 that the judges ranged on the
bench and the open books symbolize our consciousness of
guilt, and that the thrones of the divine Judge and the apostles,
His assessors, arc to be taken metaphorically, and that the
sentence pronounced merely signifies the ratification in eternity
of the respective merits of each individual. But it is Augustine,
as usual, who best represents die balanced thought of the West.
God ’s judgment, he affirms,? is a permanent feature of history,
but since the fact of it is not always obvious God must have a
day on which His combined wisdom and righteousness will be
vindicated before every eye. For confirmation of this, and to
fill in die picture, he turns8 to the New and the Old Testaments.
Both teach that the judgment belongs to Christ;9 and if
1 Ib. 48, 2. 3 Poem. mor. 34, 254 f. ’ Or. 16, 8.
4 E.g. Hilary, tract, in ps. 1, 15-18; Zeno, 2 tract. 21; Ambrose, enarr. in ps.
I, 51 and 56; Ambrosiaster, in 1 Cor. 15, 51-3. s Ep. 2, 9 f.; 73, 3.
6 Enarr. in ps. I, 51 £; expos, in Luc. 2, 60; 2, 82; 10, 49.
’ De civ. dei 20, 1-3. 8 Ib. 20, 4 f. ® Ib. 20, 30.
 482 EPILOGUE

Augustine is prepared to allegorize His coining, from certain

points of view, as consisting in His reign in the Church, he also
looks forward
* to His triumphal advent at the end of time. All
mankind, the righteous as well as sinners, will be subjected to
this judgment,2 and he expressly rejects3 the idea that certain
categories will be immune. By the book which will be opened
he understands4 the conscience of each individual, whose sins
will come flooding in on his recollection; but in general he
seems content to accept the literal significance of the picturesque
language of Scripture.
So far we have been considering the general, or final, judg ­
ment, but what of the soul’s lot immediately after death? On
this matter great uncertainty, not to say confusion, seems to
have prevailed among the Greek fathers. Cyril of Alexandria is
typical. When discussing the parable of Dives and Lazarus, he
decides5 that the story must prefigure the future judgment at
the resurrection; but in other passages6 he presupposes the im ­
mediate entry of the souls of the righteous into heaven and the
immediate chastisement of those of the wicked. Perhaps the
most consistent is Chrysostom, who explicitly allows for7 two
moments of divine retribution, one at death and the other at
the resurrection. So he can speak 8 of a ‘tribunal’ before which
the dead are instantaneously haled; and he reads9 the parable of
Dives and Lazarus as implying that sanctions arc applied to
good and bad immediately they depart this life. The Latin
fathers have more definite ideas on the subject. The righteous,
according to Hilary,10 rest in Abraham ’s bosom, while the
wicked begin to pay the penalty which the Last Day will
ratify. Ambrose is quite clear ** that there arc ‘storehouses’
{promptuaria: cf. 2 Esdras 7, 32 )whcrc the souls will await the
doom which will be pronounced at the judgment, and while
they wait will receive a foretaste of its quality. No theologian
1 Ep. 199» 41-5· 1 De civ. dei 20, 21, 3; ep. 193, 11.
1 De agon. Christ. 29; tract, in ev. loh. 19, 18; 43, 9.
4 De civ. dei 20, 14. 5 In Luc. 16,19.
6 E.g. de ador. in spir. et verit. 6; hom. pasch. i, 2; in ps. 48, 16.
7 In 2 Tim. hom. 3, 3· 8 In 1 Cor. hont. 42, 3.
’ De Laz. hom. 1, 11; 2, 2 f.; 5, 3; 6, 6; 7, 4.
10 Tract, in ps. 51, 22 f.; 57, 5: cf. ib. 2, 48. n De bon. mort. 45-7.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 483

so far, however, had taken the step of describing this pro ­

visional allocation of rewards and punishments as a judgment.
The first to do so unambiguously was Jerome, who stated 1 that
‘what is in store for all at the day of judgment is fulfilled in
individuals on the day of their death ’, but was also on occasion 2
prepared to identify the day of judgment with the day of a
man ’s falling asleep or departing this life. Augustine ’s explicit
teaching3 was that in the intermediary period between laying
aside the body and later resuming it human souls either undergo
torture or enjoy repose, according to their previous conduct in
this world. His language4 indicates that he regarded this as the
consequence of the divine judgment, while reserving 5 the term
‘day of judgment’ in the strict sense to the great assize at the
end of the world.
As regards the fate of the wicked (that of the blessed will be
treated in the next section), the general view was that their
punishment would be eternal, without any possibility of re­
mission. As Basil put it,6 in hell the sinful soul is completely cut
off from the Holy Spirit, and is therefore incapable of repent­
ance; while Chrysostom pointed out7 that neither the bodies of
the damned, which will become immortal, nor their souls will
know any end of their sufferings. Neither time nor friendship
nor hope nor the expectation of death, not even the spectacle of
other unhappy souls sharing their lot, will alleviate their pains.8
Yet Basil has to confess9 that most ordinary Christians have
been beguiled by the Devil into believing, against the manifest
evidence of Scripture, that there will be a time-limit. Among
these must be included Gregory of Nazianzus, who on oc ­
casion seems to wonder10 whether eternal punishment is alto ­
gether worthy of God, and Gregory of Nyssa, who sometimes
indeed mentions11 eternal pains, but whose real teaching 12 en ­
visages the eventual purification of the wicked, the conquest
’ In loel 2, 1. 2 E g. in Is. 13, 6-9.
3 De praedest. sand. 24: cf. enchir. 109.
4 E.g. serm. 109, 4; de civ. dei 20, 1,2. 3 De civ. dei 20, 1, 2.
6 De spir. sand. 40. 7 Ad Theod. laps. 1, 9 f. 8 In ps. 49, 6.
9 Reg. brev. tract. 267. 10 E.g. or. 40, 36.
" De castig. (PG 46, 312).
12 Or. cat.'26; 35; de anim. et resurr. (PG 46, 72; 104; 105, 152; 157.)
 4 84 EPILOGUE

and disappearance of evil, and the final restoration of all tilings,

the Devil himself included. The influence of Origen is clearly
visible here, but by the fifth century the stern doctrine that
sinners will have no second chance after this life and that the
fire which will devour them will never be extinguished was
everywhere paramount.1
Western thought, which also succumbed to the influence of
Origcnism at the end of the fourth and the beginning of the
fifth century, exhibits subtler nuances than Eastern. Older
writers, like Hilar}',2 maintained the traditional doctrine of the
eternity of hell-fire; but shortly afterwards we find Ambrosi-
aster tcacliing 3 that, while the really wicked ‘will be tormented
with everlasting punishment’, the chastisement of Christian
sinners will be of a temporary duration. Jerome develops the
same distinction, stating 4 that, while the Devil and the impious
who have denied God will be tortured without remission,
those who have trusted in Christ, even if they have siimed and
fallen away, will eventually be saved. Much the same teaching
appears in Ambrose, developed in greater detail. In Augustine’s
day a wide variety of opinions were in vogue,5 some holding
that the pains of hell would be temporary for all men without
distinction, others that the intercession of the saints would
secure their salvation, others that salvation was guaranteed for
those, even heretics, who had been baptized and had partaken
of the Lord ’s body or at any rate had received these sacraments
within the Catholic Church, others that all who had remained
Catholics, even if they had lived disgracefully, must be saved,
others that only those sinners who had neglected to practise
almsgiving when alive were destined to eternal chastisement.
The motive behind these ideas, Augustine claims,6 is a mis­
placed conception of God ’s compassion, and Holy Scripture
contradicts them: ‘the everlasting death of the damned, i.e.
their alienation from the life of God, will abide without term ’.
He concedes7 that the undying worm of which the prophet
« E.g. Cyril Alex., in loh. 3, 36; 9, 29; Theodorct, in Is. 65, 20.
2 E.g. tract, in ps. 51, 19; 55, 4; in M att. 4. 12. 3 In 1 Cor. 15, 53.
4 Ep. 119, 7; m Is. 56, 24. 5 De civ. dei 21, 17-22.
6 Endiir. 112 f. 7 rfd 20, 22; 21, 9, 2; 21, 10, 1.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 485

speaks (Is. 66, 24) may be interpreted metaphorically of the

gnawing of anguished remorse, but holds that the inextinguish ­
able fire is real and material. The pain endured will vary in
severity in proportion to the guilt of the sinner, and that of
children dying unbaptized will be ‘most mild of all’;1 but for
all the chastisement will be eternal. Nevertheless he is led by
certain texts of Scripture (1 Cor. 3, 13-15; M att. 12, 32) to allow
that certain sinners may attain pardon in the world to come.
These arc people who, although Christians at heart, have re­
mained entangled in earthly loves,2 and it is natural that after
this life they should undergo purification by ‘purgatorial fire’.3

7. Life Everlasting

It is fitting to conclude this book with some account of the

ways in which the fathers conceived of the blessedness to be
enjoyed by the saints in the world to come. Origen ’s picture of
it is expressed in intellectual and mystical terms. When they
reach heaven, he explains,4 the redeemed will apprehend the
nature of the stars and the reasons for their respective positions.
God will disclose the causes of phenomena to them; and
at a later stage they will reach things which cannot be seen and
which are ineffable. Finally, when they have made such pro ­
gress that they arc no longer bodies, nor even perhaps souls but
pure intelligences, they will contemplate rational and intelligible
substances face to face. In this blessed state their free will is
destined to continue unaltered; but if it be asked what will pre ­
vent it slipping back on occasion to sin, the Apostle supplies the
answer with his sentence, ‘Love never failcth ’. When the
creature has learned to love God purely and wholeheartedly,
that very love, which is greater than anything else, will prevent it
from relapsing.5 Thus ‘there will then be only one occupation for
those who have come to God through His Word, namely, the
contemplation of God, so that, being formed in the knowledge
of the Father, they may all become in the strict sense Son, just
1 Enchir. 93i m; n 3; de civ. dei 21, 16. 2 De civ. dei 21, 26, 2.
3 Enchir. 69. 4 De princ. 2, 11,7. s In Rom. 5, 10.
486 EPILOGUE

as now it is the Son alone Who knows the Father. ... It is no

error to say that no one knows the Father, be he apostle or
prophet, except he has become one with Him, as the Father and
the Son are one.’1 This doctrine should not be caricatured, as
Jerome caricatured 2 it, as a species of pantheism, as if Origen
understood St. Paul’s dictum that God would be all in all as
implying the absorption of all creatures in the divine substance.
He is never weary of repeating3 that the end will be like the
beginning, so that it would be paradoxical to suppose that he
thought of the apocatastasis as involving the abolition of the
original distinction between God and created spirits.
The creed which Cyril ofjerusalem expounded contained the
clause ‘eternal life ’, and he pointed out4 that the attainment of
this was the goal of every Christian ’s striving. The Father is
Himself our veritable life, and thus ‘eternal life ’ can be suc­
cinctly defined as being for ever with the Lord.5 Other fathers
expatiate in glowing language on the life of heaven. Basil
states6 that after the resurrection the elect will be counted
worthy to behold God face to face; they will blossom like
flowers in that brilliant demesne,7 enjoying friendship with one
another and with God. He compares8 the calm and unending
delight they will derive from contemplating God with the
sudden, rapturous flashes of awareness of His being which
occasionally come upon mortals in this life. According to
Gregory Nazianzcn,9 heaven is a perpetual festival, illuminated
by the brightness of the Godhead of which here we can only
catch obscure, fleeting glimpses, and it will be our joy to gaze
upon the Trinity of divine Persons; the understanding can
scarcely grasp the magnitude of the blessings that await us, for
we shall become sons of God and shall in fact be deified. In
Gregory of Nyssa the stress on deification is even greater; in
addition to immortality, our human nature will find itself
adorned with divine qualities of glory, honour, power and
1 In loh. i, 16. 2 Ep. 124, 10; 124, 14.
’ E.g. de prine. i, 6, 2; 3, 6, 3. 4 Cat. 18, 28.
5 lb. 18, 29. 6 Hom. in ps. 33, 11.
7 lb. 28, 3: cf. hom. 1 in p$. 14, 1.
• lb. 32, I. ’ Or. 24, 19; 43, 82; 7, 23
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 487

perfection.1 Chrysostom affirms2 that the most intense delight

of the saints will be to see God, i.e. to possess a clear and perfect
knowledge of Him. The absolute intelligibility of the Godhead
was, however, a tenet of the Eunomians,3 and so Chrysostom
was careful to distinguish his doctrine from theirs. Thus, while
claiming4 that the elect will see God as far as it is possible for
them to see Him, he denied that they will be able actually to
comprehend the divine essence. ‘What God in His innermost
being is ’, he declared,5 ‘neither prophets, nor even angels or
archangels, have seen.’ This is a privilege which has been
uniquely bestowed on the Son and the Holy Spirit, and which
no creature could ever usurp. According to Cyril of Alex ­
andria,6 the process of deification which is our redemption will
attain its climax after the Parousia and the resurrection, when
the union of the elect with their Lord will be indissoluble. Our
intelligence (νους ) will then be filled with a divine, ineffable
light, and the partial knowledge we have enjoyed hitherto will
give place to ‘a more blinding gnosis’. Freed from all shackles
‘without needing any figure, riddle or parable, we shall con ­
template, as it were with face uncovered and unencumbered
mind, the beauty of the divine nature of our God and Father’;7
and this ‘perfect gnosis of God ’, this ‘species of divine know ­
ledge ’, will fill us with happiness.8 Our resuscitated bodies,
having discarded their corruptibility and other infirmities, will
participate in the life and glory of Christ.9
Thcodorct points out10 that, since there are many mansions in
the Father’s house, the felicity of the blessed will be graded in
proportion to their merits. This idea reappears in the Latin
fathers;’1 in Ambrose it is coupled with the suggestion 12 that
there is a gradual progression towards the full possession of
blessedness. Like the Greeks, they depict heaven as a realm of

1 De anitn. et resurr. (PG 46, 156 f.).

2 In Rom. horn. 32, 3; in 1 Cor. horn. 34, 2. > See above, p. 249.
* D e beat. Philog. 6, 1. « Hom. in lolt. 15, 1 f. 6 In M ai. 4, 2 f.
’ In loh. 16, 25: cf. glaph. in Exod. 2 (PG 69, 432).
8 In loh. 14, 4: cf. glaph. in Exod. 2 (PG 69, 429).
• In Luc. 5, 27; in 1 Cor. 6, 15. 10 In Cant. Cant. 1 (PG 81, 61).
” E.g. Hilary, tract, in ps. 64, 5; 64, 17 f.;Ambrose, ep. 7, 11; expos, in Luc.
prol., 6; 4, 37; 5» 61. 12 Expos, in Luc. 5, 61.
4 88 EPILOGUE

unsullied happiness, where the elect are exempt from corrup ­

tion, decay and death as a result of their union with Christ. For
Ambrose 1 it is a region of supreme rest, eternal light and im ­
perishable glory. His chief thought,2 however, is of the blessed
fellowship which the saints have with one another and with
God, and of the mutually sympathetic charity which binds them
together. Indeed, what they experience is not simply union
with God, but adhesion to Him. The prospect of meeting and
conversing with the saints in heaven played a great part in
Western ideas about the future life at this epoch. It was char­
acteristic of Ambrose,3 and Jerome dwelt4 on it with eager
eloquence, pointing out that in heaven he would meet the
Blessed Virgin, St. Anne and other blessed ones whom he had
never known on earth. While brought to its fulness after death,
this intimacy between the saints and their ardent lovers on
earth has its beginning even now.5 Hence Niccta was able to
promise6 his catechumens that in the Church they would attain,
among other privileges, to ‘the communion of saints’, and a
mention of this supernatural blessedness soon found a place in
the Western creed.
As with so many other doctrines, it was Augustine who
set the seal on Western teaching regarding eternal life. In
searching for the supreme good, he came to the conclusion 7
that no finite end can satisfy the heart of man. The Platonists
were right at least in this, that ‘in knowing God they discovered
where lay the cause of the created universe, the light by which
truth is perceived, and the fountain from which blessedness is
drunk ’.8 In fact, it is God, Who is unchanging goodness, Who
is our summum bonum, and both our moral perfection and our
final happiness consist in knowing and loving the divine
Trinity.’ And it is this beatitude which the redeemed, both men
and angels, enjoy in heaven, their true fatherland. Augustine is
at a loss to give a precise and meaningful description of it, for it

1 De ob. Theod. 30; 32; de bon. mort. 47.

2 De ob. Theod. 29; 31; 37; 39.
1 E.g. de ob. Vai. 71; 77; de instit. virg. 113. * E.g. ep. 39, 6.
5 Ib. 39, 7. 6 De symb. 10. 7 De beat. vit. 11; confess. 1,1.
• De civ. dei 8, 10, 2. ® Tract, in ev. loh. 26, 5; de trin. 8, 4-8.
 THE CHRISTIAN HOPE 489

transcends all sensible experience, but he is satisfied that ‘ in the

body they will see God ’. All his life he was exercised by the
problem whether this beatific vision would be mediated to the
saints by means of their actual physical eyes. In his earlier days
he had rejected1 the idea with scorn, but in later life he came to
think it plausible.2 He now realized that their eyes would be
transfigured and glorified as a result of their resurrection, and
with them they might well sec God everywhere present in the
new heaven and earth, just as men here and now distinctly
apprehend the life of other persons in and through their bodies.
The chief enjoyment of heaven, or the city of God, will lie in
praising God: ‘He shall be the end of our desires Who shall be
contemplated without ceasing, loved without cloy, and praised
without weariness’.3 There will be degrees of honour there,
based on merit, but there will be no jealousy; and free will will
not only continue to be exercised by die saints, but will be the
more truly free because liberated from delight in sinning.4 In
fact, eternal life will for die redeemed be a perpetual Sabbath,
when they will be filled with God ’s blessing and sanctification.
The Psalmist’s words will at last find fulfilment, ‘Be still, and
know that I am God ’.3
1 E.g. ep. 92, 6. 1 De civ. dci 22, 29, 3-6. 3 Ib. 22, 30, 1.
4 Ib. 22, 30, 2 f. 5 Ib. 22, 30, 4.

NOTE ON BOOKS

L. Atzbcrgcr, Geschichte dcr christlichen Eschatologie inncrhalb dcr vorni-

canischen Zcit (Freiburg i.B., 1896); H. Chadwick, ‘Origen, Celsus and the
Resurrection of the Body ’ (art. in Harvard Theol. Rev., 1948); O. Cull-
mann, Christ and Time (Eng. trans., London, 1951); H. Eger, Die Eschato ­
logie Augustins (Greifswald, 1933); L. Gry, Le M illénarisme dans ses origines
et son développement (Paris, 1904); W. L. Knox, ‘Origen ’s Conception
of the Resurrection Body ’ (art. in Jottrn. Theol. Stud., 1938); G. W. H.
Lampe, ‘Early Patristic Eschatology’ (essay in Scottish Journal of Theology
Occasional Papers, No. 2); A. Michel, ‘Résurrection ’ (art. in Diet. Théol.
Cath.);]. Rivière, ‘Jugement’ (art. in Diet. Théol. Cath.).
 INDEX

Aeacius (Homocan leader), 251 millcnarianism, 479; redemption,

Aeacius of Beroea, 328 387 £»389. 392
Achamoth, 24, 27, 235 Ammonius, Bishop, 133
Ad Diognetum, 190 Amphilochius of Iconium: on Chris­
Adam, 20, 148, 167-9, 170-83, 187, tology, 300 f.; on Trinity, 266
347-58, 362-5, 367 f., 370-3, 377- Anastasius, bishop of Thessalonica,
379, 388, 394 f; Second Adam. 420
297, 312, 318, 377, 380 f„ 385, Ancyra, Synod of (35S), 250, 259
388 f., 395, 398 Andrew of Samosata, 325, 328
Adoptionism, 1 15-19, 140, 316 f. See Angels, 18, 95, 257
Paul of Samosata Anomocism, 249
Adultery, 217, 218, 219, 436, 439 Anselm, 375
Acncsidcmus, 10 Antichrist, 462, 479
Actius, 249, 256 Antioch, 282, 302, 327, 406; cate­
agennetos (αγέννητος ), 46, 84, 92, 224,chetical school of, 55, 60, 230;
226, 228, 229, 230, 244, 266 council of (268), 117, 158 f., 235,
Agrippinus, bishop of Carthage, 218 282, 290; (325). 231; (jp). 238,
Albinus, 14, 15, 128 247 Cw). 238; (379), 296; exe ­
Alexander, bishop of Alexandria, gesis of, 60, 72, 75-8, 348; Second
224 f„ 227, 230, 232, 234, 255, 318 Creed of, 247 f.
Antiochene Christology, 281, 282,
Alexandria, 17, 18, 19, 25, 53, 54, 60,
338, 406, 444; allegorical exegesis 283, 288, 290, 293, 298, 301-9, 310,
311, 312, 318, 319, 320, 322, 323,
of, 19 f., 70, 72 f., 213; catechetical
ii 1 school of, 126 f., 132; council of 325. 327. 329. 333. 338, 341. 342
Antoninus Pius, Emperor, 84
(362), 253, 259, 288, 289, 290, 302;
synod of (378), 296 Apocalypse of Peter, 59, 60
Alexandrian Christology, 153-8, 281, Apocatastasis, 473, 486
284, 288, 289, 290, 295, 302, 304, Apocrypha, 53-6
309, 311, 312, 313, 318-23, 326, Apollinarius, Apollinarianism, 280,
327. 333. 338, 341. 342 281, 289-95, 296, 301, 304, 307,
Ambrose: on baptism, 355, 425, 430, 311. 319. 322, 323, 327. 328, 333,
432, 435; Christology, 335 f.; 404; on millcnarianism, 479
Church, 409; confirmation, 432 f., Apostasy, 217, 218, 436, 439
435; eucharist (consecration), 426;Apostles, authors of N.T., 60; com ­
(presence), 445 f., 448, 450; (sacri­ position ofcrccd by, 44; pattern of
fice), 453 f.; grace, 356; last judg ­episcopate, 204 f.; source of tradi­
ment, 481-4; life everlasting, 487 t; tion, 30 f· . 35-47
Apostolical Constitutions, 436, 440
original sin, 353-5; penance, 437 f.;
redemption, 387, 389; resurrection,Apulcius, 8
478; Roman see, 417 f.; sacramentalAquarians, 215
grace, 422; sacraments, number of,Arians, Arianism, 45, 47, 226-33, 236-
240, 244-51, 255 f., 262, 274, 280,
423; Scripture, 62, 74; soul’s origin,
345; Trinity, 269; washing of feet, 3 11, 404, 405, 427; Christology of,
281 f., 2S3, 284, 286, 287, 289, 304,
355
Ambrosiastcr: on baptism, 356, 432; 335
eternal punishment, 484; eucharist Aristides (Apologist), 84, 145, 190
(presence), 446; Fall, 353, 354, Aristides the Sophist, 8
355 f· ’. 356; judgment, 355; Aristobulus, 19
490 ___
 INDEX 491
Aristotle, Aristotclianism, io, n f., Aurelian, Emperor, 8
14 f., 84, 116, 231, 268, 274, 281, Aurelius, Emperor Marcus, 14
304. 313
Arius, 223, 224, 226-31, 243, 246, 249, Bahram I, 8
255. See Arians, Arianism Baptism: teaching of Ambrose, 355,
Artemas (al. Artemon), 1 16 f., 140, 422, 423, 430, 432; Ambrosiastcr,
160 356, 432; Athanasius, 427, 430, 43 1 ;
Asclepiodotus, 116 Augustine, 364-6, 423» 425» 427 £,
Asclepius, 8 429 £, 431» 432; ‘Barnabas’, 194;
Athanasius, 231, 238, 269, 319, 407; Basil Caes., 427; Chrysostom, 405,
Arians, his critique of, 233, 243; on 430» 431; Clement Alex., 207, 318;
baptism, 430 £; chrismation, 433; Clement Rom., 194; Cyprian, 176,
Christology, 282, 284-9, 322; 206, 210 f.; Cyril Hicros., 423, 425,
Church, 403 £; Dionysius Alex., 427, 428 £; De rebaptismate, 210;
134; eucharist, 441, 442; Fall and Didache, 89; Didascalia Apostolorum,
original sin, 346-8; grace, 352; 219; Didymus, 427, 429» 43 G
heretical baptism, 427; hotttoousios, Eusebius, 427; Gregory Naz., 425,
meaning of, 239, 245 £, 253-5; 430; Gregory Nyss., 431; Hermas,
judgment, 480; Paul of Samosata, 194; Hilary, 409, 432; Hippolytus,
119; redemption, 377~8o, 381, 384, 208; Ignatius, 194; Irenaeus, 195;
397» 398; Scripture (Apocrypha), Jerome, 429, 430; Justin, 33, 89 £,
54 £; (authority), 42, 47; (canon), 194 £; Novatian, 209 £; Optatus,
60; Son (Word), relation of to 41 1, 424, 429; Orange, council of,
Father, 239, 243-7, 252-5; Spirit, 372; Origen, 208; Pelagius, 359,
homoousion of, 255-8, 259; tradi­ 366, 430; Pope Stephen, 210; Tcr-
tion, 31, 42, 45, 47; Trinity, 233, tullian, 39, 209; Theodore Mops.,
258, 263 £ 403, 430-2; Theophilus, 195; Zosi-
Athenagoras: on divine transcend­ mus, 370
ence, 85; free will, 166; resurrection ‘Barnabas’: on baptism, 194; Christo ­
of body, 466; Spirit, 102, 103 £; logy, 143 £; Church, 190; Fall, 163;
Word, 99 f. God as Creator, 83; redemption,
Atonement. See Redemption 164-6; resurrection of body, 463;
Atticus, 14 Scripture (canon), 52, 56; (exe­
Attis, 7 gesis), 66, 70; tradition, 31; Trinity,
Augustine, 9, 270, 359, 370; on bap ­ 91 £
tism, 429, 430, 432; Christology, Baruch, Book of, 22, 25
336 £; Church, 402, 412-17; con ­ Basil of Ancyra, 238, 250, 259
firmation, 432 £; correptio secreta, Basil of Caesarea: on Apollinarian-
439 f.; eternal life, 488 £; eucharist ism, 296; baptism, 425; chrism,
(presence), 440, 446-9, 450; (sacri­ 434; Christology, 300 £; Fall and
fice), 454 £; Fall and original sin, original sin, 350, 351; judgment,
174» 357» 361-6, 430; free will, 367- 480 £; life everlasting, 486; pen ­
369; grace, 352, 357, 365, 366-9; ance, 436, 439; punishment of sin ­
judgment, 481 £, 484 £; man ’s ners, 483; redemption, 381, 383,
nature, 344 £, 361; penance, 437 385; Spirit, 45 £, 260 £, 262, 266;
£, 439 £; predestination, 366-9; tradition, 45 £; Trinity, 252, 265 £,
redemption, 390-5; resurrection, 268
478 £; Roman primacy, 419; Basilidcs, 25, 26
sacraments, 422, 423, 425, 427 £; Baucalis, 226
Scripture (Apocrypha), 55 £; (exe­ Bible. See Scripture
gesis), 75; (inspiration), 63 £; Boniface (African bishop), 448
(O.T. and N.T.), 69; (sufficiency),
43, 46; soul’s origin, 345 £; Spirit, Caecilian, bishop of Carthage, 410
double procession of, 275 £; tradi­ Caius, Roman priest, 469
tion, 47; Trinity, 252, 271-9; virgin Callistus, Pope, 121-5, 144, 201, 217,
birth, 365 218
Augustus, Emperor, 6 Candidianus, 327
 492 INDEX
Canon. See Scripture 78; (inspiration), 62, 63; sufferings
* Canon of truth See ‘ Rule of faith ’ of damned, 483; tradition, 45
Caphamaites, 449 Church, as Christ’s mystical body,
Carpocratcs, 25 189 £, 192, 200, 202, 203, 207, 401-
Carthage, Council of (418), 361, 369; 417, 446-8; doctrine of invisible,
synod of ^97), 56 191, 202 £, 402, 413-16; teaching of
Cassian, John, 46, 371 Ambrose, 409; Athanasius, 403 £;
Categories, Aristotle’s, 11, 274 Augustine, 402, 412-17; ‘Barna­
‘Catholic’, meaning of, 190 bas’, 190; Chrysostom, 402, 405;
Celestine, Pope, 324, 325, 328, 407 Clement Alex., 201 £; Clement
Celestius, 357, 361 Rom., 190; Cyprian, 203-7, 4 02 '.
Celsus, 15, 213, 470 Cyril Alex., 402 £, 405 £; Cyril
Cerdo, 57 Hicros., 401 £; Gregory Naz.,
Cerinthus, 466 403 £; Gregory Nyss., 404; Her­
Chalcedon, Council of (451), 339- mas, 189, 191; Hippolytus, 200 f;
342, 406 Ignatius, 189; Irenaeus, 191-3;
Chrism, chrismation, 207, 423, 432- Justin, 189 £; Optatus, 411 £; Ori­
43.6 gen, 202 £; Polycarp, 189; Tcrtul-
Christ, as Second Adam, 297, 312, lian, 200 £; Theodore Mops., 403;
318, 377, 380 £, 385, 388 £, 395, Thcodorct, 402
398; human soul of, 146, 148, 153, 2 Clement, 27, 35, 56, 91, 144, 165 £,
155-7. 159-61, 281 £, 283 £, 287-9, 191, 194, 460, 463
290, 292 £, 296 £, 298-301, 302-4, Clement of Alexandria, 27; on bap ­
310, 319,322 £, 329, 335, 336, 339; tism, 207 £; Christology, 153 £;
pre-existence of, 87, 91, 92, 93, 94, Church, 201 £; cucharist, 213; Fall
95, 96. See Christology and original sin, 179 £; Scripture
Christology: teaching of Ambrose, (Apocrypha), 54; (authority), 42;
335 £; Apollinarius, 289-95, 296; (exegesis), 4 £, 74; (N.T.), 56;
Arians, 281 £, 283, 284, 286, 287, tradition, 43, 44, 47
289, 304, 335; Athanasius, 284- Clement of Rome: on baptism, 194;
289; Augustine, 336 £; Chalcedon, Christology, 144; Church, 190;
council of, 338-42; Clement Alex., cucharist, 214; God as Creator, 83;
153 £; Clement Rom., 144; Cy ­ Parousia, 464; penance, 199, 217;
prian, 144; Cyril Alex., 317-23,324- redemption, 164; resurrection of
326; Didymus, 300 £; Diodore, body, 463; Scripture, 52, 58, 65;
302 £; Eustathius, 281-4; Eutychcs, tradition, 31, 32, 34, 35; Trinity,
331-4; Gregory Naz„ 297 £; 90 £
Gregory Nyss., 298-300; Hilary, Cleomenes, 120, 123
334 £; Hippolytus, 149 £; Irenaeus, Communicatio idiomatum, 143, 283,
147-9; Justin, 145-7; Leo, 334, 295. 298, 300, 301, 311, 316, 322,
337 £; Malchion, 158 £; Metho ­ 326, 329. 336
dius, 160 £; Nestorius, 310-17; Ori­ Communion of saints, 459, 488
gen, 154-8; Tatian, 145; Tertullian, Concupiscence, 364, 365, 366, 373
150-52; Theodore Mops., 304-9; Confirmation, 209, 210, 423, 430,
Union Symbol, 328 £ 432-6
Chrysostom, John: on baptism, 424, Constans, Emperor, 238
430, 431; Church, 402, 403, 405; Constantine, Emperor, 5, 231, 233,
cuchanst (presence), 405, 426, 444, 237
450; (sacrifice), 424, 451-3; Fall and Constantinople, 310, 318, 324, 406,
original sin, 349, 351; grace and 437; council of (jfiz), 88, 238, 263,
free will, 352; image of God, 348; 296, 302,406;(553), 303, 307, 343;
judgment, 480, 482; life everlast­ (65o), 343; creed of, 339 £, 402;
ing, 487; penance, 423, 438; Pe­ Standing Synod of, 331, 340, 341;
trine texts, 407 £; redemption, 381, synod of (360), 238, 251
384, 385 £, 391 £; sacraments, 422, Constantius, Emperor, 238, 253
423; Scripture (Apocrypha), 54; Cornelius, Pope, 209 £
(authority), 42 £; (exegesis), 76, Cornutus, L. A., 19
 INDEX 493
Correptio secreta, 439 f. tion, 432 £; cucharist (presence),
Councils or synods: Alexandria (362), 426, 441, 442 £, 450; (sacrifice),
253» 259. 288, 289, 290, 302; {378), 451, 452; Fall and original sin, 349;
296; Ancyra (35«), 250, 259; An ­ homoousion, 249 £; judgment,
tioch (268), 1 17. 158 f., 235, 282, 480; life everlasting, 486; resurrec ­
290; (325), 231; (341), 238, 247 f; tion of body, 476 £; sacraments,
(344), 238; (379), 296; Carthage 423; Scripture (Apocrypha), 54 £;
(397). 56; (418), 361, 369; Chalce­ (authority), 42, 46; Spirit, 256, 258
don (451), 339-42, 406; Constanti­
nople (360), 238, 251; (381), 88, Damasus, Pope, 295, 419
238, 263, 296, 302, 406; (553), 303, Decentius of Gubbio, 434
307; Elvira (303), 219; Ephesus Dccian persecution, 204, 218
(43 1 ), 49, 326 f, 328, 331, 361, 406; Dedication Council (34/), Creed of,
(449). 334Î Hippo (393), 56; Jamnia, 247 £
52; Nicaea (325), 5, 44, 45, 46, 138, Definition, Chalcedonian, 339-42
231-7, 280, 281, 406; Nicé (359), Demeter, 7
238; Orange (441), 435; (529), Demiurge, 1 1,16, 27, 67 £, 84, 86 £,
371 f; Philippopolis (342), 238; 235
Rome (377), 295 f.; Serdica (343), Demons, devils, 167-9, *7 5, 180-2,
242; Sirmium (357), 238, 250; 185 £, 194
Toledo (559), 439 De rebaptismate, 210
Creeds: Athanasian, 273; of Antioch De sacramentis, 445
(341 ), 238, 247 f.; Constantinople Devil (Satan), 167, 171, 176, 179,
(360), 238, 251; (381), 339 f„ 402; 180 £, 183, 187, 208, 229, 353, 363,
Ecthesis macrostichos, 119, 238, 248; 366, 394» 429, 474, 484; theory of
Nicaea, 45, 231-7, 238, 339; Nicé, ransom to, 173 £, 185 £, 375-7,
238, 251; Old Roman, 144; Philip ­ 382-4, 387, 391-3, 395 £, 399; ulti­
popolis, 238, 248; Serdica, 242; mate restoration of, 382, 474, 484
Sirmium, 238, 248 f. Didache, 60; on baptism, 89; God as
Cross, Sign of the, 39, 211; symbol­ Creator, 83; cucharist (presence),
ism of, 66, 169 197; (sacrifice), 196; Parousia and
Cybele, 6, 7 resurrection, 463; penance, 199; re­
Cyprian: on baptism, 210 f, 427 f.; demption, 164; tradition, 44
Christology, 144; Church, 203-7, Didascalia Apostolorum, 219, 426
402, 412, 415, 418, 419; cucharist Didvmus: on baptism, 427, 429;
(presence), 211-13, 440, 449; (sacri­ Christology, 300, 301; confirma­
fice), 215 f; original sin, 176; tion, 432, 434. 435< original sin,
penance, 217 f.; redemption, 178; 351; resurrection of body, 477;
Roman see, 205 f, 418, 419; Scrip­ soul’s origin, 345 ; Trinity, 263,266 f.
ture (Apocrypha), 54; (authority), Diocletian, persecution of, 410
42; tradition, 42 Diodore of Tarsus: on Christology,
Cyril of Alexandria, 4, 45, 307, 333, 290, 302 £, 305; Scripture (exe­
340; anathemas of, 324 f, 326, 327, gesis), 75-8
328, 329; at Ephesus, 326 £; on Dionysius of Alexandria, 74, 133-6,
baptism, 429, 431; chrism, 433 £, 230,23 1 ,479; on homoousios, 135,235
435; Christology, 307, 311, 312, Dionysius the Areopagite, 43 5
313 f·, 315, 317-23, 324 £, 329 £, Dionysius of Corinth, 45
331, 333. 34b 342. 444', Church, Dionysius of Rome, 133-6, 224, 225,
402 £, 405 £; eucharist,3i8,444; Fall 235, 241
and original sin, 372; judgment, Dioscorus, 331. 334
482; life everlasting, 487; Petrine Docctism, 141, 142, 147, 197, 198,
claims, 408; redemption, 321,396-9, 280, 330, 463
487; Roman sec, 324, 407; sacra­ Donatism, 409, 410-12, 413, 415, 416,
ments, 423 ; Scripture (exegesis), 74; 424, 427, 447
(inspiration), 63; tradition, 48 £
Cyril of Jerusalem: on baptism, 425, Ebionism, 139 £
428 £; Church, 401 £; confirma­ ‘Economy ’, 104, 108, 109, no, 112,
494 INDEX

1 14, 122; ‘economic Trinitarian ­ Father and Son, relation of, 224,
ism ’, 108, 109, 241 225 f., 23 x, 233, 243; hotnoousios,
Ecthesis macrostichos, 119, 238, 248 meaning of, 233, 235 f.; Origen,
Elvira, Council of (303), 219 160; Paul of Samosata, 140; re­
Ephesus, Council of (431), 49, 326 f., demption, 384; Spirit, 255 f., 263;
328, 331, 341, 361, 406; Robber tradition, 45; Trinity, 256
Synod of (449), 334 Eusebius ofDorylaeum, 311, 331, 334
Epictetus, 14 Eusebius of Nicomedia, 227, 230,
Epicurus, Epicureanism, 10 237 f.
Epigonus, 120, 121 Eustathius of Antioch, 238; on Chris­
Έπίνοιαι, 128 tology, 281, 282-4, 288, 290, 302;
Epiphanius: on baptism,436; Christo ­ eucharist, 441; homoousios, meaning
logy, 300 f.; Homoeousianism, of, 236; resurrection of body, 475
249; Petrine texts, 408; resurrection Eustathius of Sebaste, 259 f.
of body, 475; Scripture (Apo ­ Eutyches, Eutychianism, 298, 331-4,
crypha), 54; (exegesis), 74; (in ­ 339» 341
spiration), 63; Spirit, 263; tradition, Evagrius Ponticus, 263, 264, 268 f.,
45 E Eve^zo, 167, 179, 180, 182, 347, 348,
Eschatology, 459-89
Eucharist (presence): teaching of Am ­ 353
brose, 422, 426, 446, 448, 450; Exontologesis, 216, 217, 438
Apollinarius, 295; Apostolical Con ­ Exuperius of Toulouse, 56
stitutions, 440 f.; Athanasius, 441,
442; Augustine, 422 f., 424, 440, Facundus of Hcrmianc, 306
446-9, 450; Chrysostom, 405, 426, Fall: teaching of Ambrose, 253-5;
444, 450; Clement Alex., 213 f.; Ambrosiaster, 353, 354, 355 f.;
Cyprian, 211 f., 449; Cyril Alex., Athanasius, 346-8; Augustine, 174,
318, 444; Cyril Hicros., 426, 441, 361-6, 430; ‘Barnabas’, 163; Basil,
442 f., 450; Eusebius Cacs., 441 f.; 350. 351; Cassian, 371; Chryso­
Eustathius, 441; Evagrius, 442; stom, 349, 351; Clement Alex.,
Gregory Naz., 441, 443; Gregory 179 f.; Cyril Alex., 372; Cyril
Nyss., 426, 443, 448, 450; Hilary, Hicros., 349; Gregory Naz., 349 f.;
446, 450; Hippolytus, 411; Ig ­ Gregory Nyss., 349-51; Irenaeus,
natius, 197; Irenaeus, 198; Jerome, 170-2; Justin, 167 f.; Methodius,
445; Justin, 33, 198; Nestorius, 318, 182 f.; Origen, 180-83; Pelagius,
444; Origen, 213 f.; Serapion, 441; 358 f.; Tertullian, 175-7; Theodore
Tertullian, 211, 212 f., 446, 449; Mops., 373 f.; Thcodorct, 373
Theodore Mops., 426, 444, 450; Father, Gnostic doctrine of, 24, 25;
Thcodorct, 445; (considered as a original meaning of, 83, 85, 100,
sacrifice): teaching of Ambrose, 1 12, 120, 121, 227; teaching of
453 f.; Augustine, 454 f.; Chryso­ Alexander Alex., 224 f.; Apolo­
stom, 424, 451-3; Clement Alex., gists, 95-104; Apostolic Fathers, 90-
214; Clement Rom., 196; Cyprian, 95; Anus and Arians, 227-31, 249,
215 f.; Cyril Hicros., 451, 452; 487; Athanasius, 243-7; Augustine,
Didache, 196 f.; Gregory Naz., 452; 272-9; Cappadocians, 263-9; Cle­
Hilary, 453; Ignatius, 196; Irenaeus, ment Alex., 127 f.; Dionysius
196, 197; Jerome, 453; Justin, 170, Alex., 133-6; Dionysius Rom., 133-
196, 197; Theodore Mops., 452; 136; Eusebius Cacs., 225 f.; Hippo ­
Thcodoret, 452 lytus, 1 10-15; Irenaeus, 104-8;
Euclid, 1 16 Modalists, 119-23; Niccne creed,
Eudoxius, 282 232-7; Origen, 128-32; Tertullian,
Eunomius, 249, 256; Eunomians, 427, 1 10-15; Victorinus, 270 f.
487 Faustus of Riez, 436
Euphranor, 133 Felix of Aptunga, 410
Euscbians, 238, 240, 241, 246 Flavian of Constantinople, 331, 332,
Eusebius of Caesarea: on baptism, of 333. 334. 340, 341
heretics, 427; eucharist, 441, 442; Fornication, 217, 218
 INDEX 495
Free will, 166, 171, 175» 179» 180-2, Heretics, Baptism of, 206, 207, 210 f.,
183, 349. 350, 351, 352. 355. 356, 410 f., 412, 415, 427 f.; exegesis of,
357 f., 362, 364, 365, 366-9. 370, 39-41
373. 374. 467. 472. 475. 4»5 Hermas: on baptism, 194; Christo­
logy. 143 f·. Church, 189, 191;
Gabriel, Archangel, 18 eschatology, 462, 464; God as
Gaius, Emperor, 19 Creator, 83; origin of evil, 163;
Galen, 116, 117 penance, 198 f., 217; redemption,
Generation, Eternal, 105 f., 125, 128, 164; tradition, 33; Trinity, 92, 93-
130, 224 f., 243 95; Shepherd of, 59, 60
Gnosticism, Gnostics, 5,9, 22-8,36,37, Hermogenes, 175
38, 57. 59. 69, 86 f., 109, no, 139, Hilary of Aquitaine, 370
141 f., 147, 179, 180, 191 f·, 195. Hilary of Poitiers: on baptism, 430;
198, 235, 280, 463, 465, 467, 471; chrism, 433; Christology, 280,
Christian Gnostics, 22 f., 25, 67, 334 f·; Church, 409 f.; communion
70 f. of saints, 410; eucharist (presence),
Grace, 357-6 i , 365 f· . 366-9, 370, 371, 409 f., 446, 450; (sacrifice), 453;
372, 374. 412. 460, 470 grace, 356; homoousios, meaning of,
Gregory of Nazianzus, 260; on Apol- 253, 254 f.; judgment, 482; man,
linarianism, 290, 296 f.; baptism, original state of, 353; redemption,
425, 430; Christology, 297 f.; 386, 387, 388, 392; resurrection of
Church, 403, 404; Eden, Garden body, 478; Roman see, 417; ‘sacra­
of, 348; eternal punishment, 483; ment’, meaning of, 423; Scripture
eucharist (presence), 441, 443; (Apocrypha), 55; (exegesis), 74;
(sacrifice), 452; Fall and original soul’s origin, 345; sufferings of
sin, 349 f.; Godhead, simplicity of, damned, 484; tradition and Scrip ­
268; grace and free will, 352; ture, 47; Trinity, 252, 253-5, 269
heaven, 486; judgment, 480, 481; Hippo, Synod of (393), 56
penance, 436; redemption, 381, Hippolytus, 22, 139; on baptism, 208;
383. 385, 452; Scripture (Apo ­ Christology, 144, 149 t; Church,
crypha), 54; (authority), 46; (in ­ 201; eschatology, 467, 469;
spiration), 61; Spirit, 259, 261; eucharist (presence), 211; (sacri­
tradition, 45 f.; Trinity, 252, 264-8 fice), 214; Modalists, 120-22,
Gregory of Nyssa: on Apollinarian- 123 f.; Monarchians, 120; penance,
ism, 290, 296 £, 404; baptism, 431; 216, 217; redemption, 178; Scrip ­
chrism, 434; Christology, 296 f., ture (Apocrypha), 54; (inspiration),
298-300, 301; Church, 404 f.; 63; Trinity, 110-15
creation of man, 348; Devil, restora­ Holy Spirit, Homoousion of, 252,
tion of, 484; eternal punishment, 255-63; inspirer of Scripture, 61-4,
483 f.; eucharist (consecration), 75, 88, 91; procession of, 262 f.,
426; (presence), 443, 448; Fall and 265, 275 f.; teaching of Alexander,
original sin, 349-51; ordination, 255; Arius and Arians, 255, 256;
423; penance, 436, 439; redemp ­ Athanasius, 255-8, 259; Athena ­
tion, 380-2, 384, 404; resurrection goras, 102, 103; Augustine, 75,
of body, 477 f.; ‘sacrament’, mean ­ 272-9. 366 f.; Basil Caes., 259, 260,
ing of, 423; Scripture (inspiration), 261, 264-6, 483; Clement Alex.,
61; soul’s origin, 345; Spirit, 261, 207; Clement Rom., 91; Cyprian,
262 f.; Theotokos, 300; tradition, 207; Cyril Alex., 325; Cyril
45; Trinity, 252, 261, 264-8 Hicros., 256, 258; Didymus, 263;
Gregory Thaumaturgus, 133 Epiphanius, 263; Eunomius, 256;
Eusebius, 255, 263; Eustathius of
Hadrian, Emperor, 84 Scbastc, 259, 260 f.; Evagrius,
Hadrumetum (Susa), 370 263 f.; Gregory Naz., 259, 260, 261,
Hegesippus, 45 262, 264, 267; Gregory Nyss., 261,
Hefl, 473. 483 £ 262, 263, 265, 266, 267; Hennas,
Hcracleitus, 121 94; Hilary, 335; Hippolytus, in ­
Hcraclcon, 25, 70 f. ns; Ignatius, 92; Irenaeus, 105,

■■i
490 INDEX

171, 470; Justin, 102, 103; Mar­ cucharist (presence), 445; (sacri­
cellus, 241; Monarchians, 1 1 5-19; fice), 453; grace and free will, 356;
Novatian, 126; Origen, 74, 129. heaven, 488; judgment, 483; Ori­
130-2, 255, 298; Sabcllians, 119 f-î gen, 426, 486; punishment of
Tati an, 102; Tcrtullian, 176; Theo ­ sinners, 484; redemption, 390; re­
dore Mops., 308; Theophilus, 102, surrection of body, 476; Scripture
103, 104, 168; Tropid, 256 £; Vic- (Apocrypha), 55; (exegesis), 75;
torinus, 270 £ (inspiration), 62 f.; soul’s origin, 345
Homicide, 217, 219 crusalem, 140, 406, 465, 469
Homocans, 251 John of Antioch, 325, 327, 328
Homocousion, Homocusians, 238, John of Damascus, 55, 396
246, 248 £, 250, 252, 253, 254, 255, Jovinian, 429
264, 269 Judaism, influence of, 17-22; Judaiz-
Homoousion, όμοούσιος , 46, 130, 134» ing Christianity, 139 £
135» 233» 234-7» 238, 239, 240, 243, Judgment, Last, 461, 462, 463 £, 465,
245, 246, 249, 250, 252, 253, 254» 467, 468, 469, 472, 473, 479-85
255» 259, 204, 207, 270, 28ο, 290; Julian, Emperor, 5, 253, 302
homoousion of the Spirit, 255-63, Julian of Eclanum, 350, 361, 363,
267 370, 419
Hypostasis, ώτόστασι?, ιό, 18, 129,135, Julius I, Pope, 242, 407
136, 140, 155 £, 224, 229, 239, 241, Justin (Apologist): on baptism, 33,
242 £, 247, 248, 250, 253, 254, 89 £, 194 £; Christology, 145-7;
264 £; use of, in Christology, 293, Church, 189, 190; Docctists, 141;
294» 300» 301, 306, 313. 318» 319» cucharist (presence), 198; (sacri­
320, 324, 328, 331, 340, 341 fice), 170, 196, 197; eschatology,
‘Hypostatic union ’, 312, 313, 314, 460, 465, 467, 469 £; Fall and ori­
320, 322, 324, 326, 328, 341, 342 ginal sin, 167 £; Logos, 96-8;
penance, 198 £; redemption, 168-
Idolatry, 217, 218, 219 170; resurrection of body, 466;
Ignatius: on baptism, 194; Christo ­ Scripture (O.T. and N.T.), 52, 56,
logy, 141, 142 £; Church, 189; 58, 65 £, 68; tradition and Scrip ­
eschatology, 462, 463; cucharist ture, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35; Spirit, 102,
(presence), 197 £; (sacrifice), 196; 103; Trinity, 88, 96, 102 £
redemption, 164, 165, 166; Scrip­ Justin the Gnostic, 25
ture (N.T. canon), 56, 58; Scrip­
ture and tradition, 31, 33, 35; Lactantius, 178
Trinity, 88, 92 £, 96 Laodicea, Forty-eighth canon of, 434
Impeccantia, Pclagius’s doctrine of, 360 Laying on of hands, 195, 207, 209,
Innocent I, Pope, 56, 419, 434 210, 211, 433, 434, 435, 438
Irenaeus: on Christology, 142, 147-9; Leo I, Pope, 312, 333, 334, 406, 420;
Church, 191-3; eucharist (pre­ Tome of, 334, 337-42, 408
sence), 198; (sacrifice), 196, 197; Libellatici, 218
Fall and original sin, 170-2; Gnos ­ Logos: teaching of Philo, 20-2;
tics, 22, 27, 28; God as Creator, Stoics, 13 £, 21, 285; emiiathetos,
86 £; last judgment, 465; millenari- 13 £, 21, 96, 99, in; prophorikos,
anism, 469; redemption, 172-4, 14, 21 £, 96, 99, 100; spermatikos,
188, 376; Scripture (inspiration), 13» 9<5, 145· See Word
61; (N.T.), 56, 58; (relation of Lucian of Antioch, 75, 230
O.T. and N.T.), 68 £; tradition Lucianists, 230
and Scripture, 36-41, 43, 44, 47;
Trinity, 88 £, 90 Macarius of Egypt, 441
Isidore of Pelusium, 402 Macedonians, 259 £
Isis, 6, 7 Macedonius of Constantinople, 259
Malchion, 158 £, 282
Jamnia, Council of, 52 Man, doctrine of, 166 £, 171-3, 175 £,
Jerome: on Arian triumph, 238; bap ­ 344-9, 353-66, 370-74. See Fall,
tism, 429 £; confirmation, 433; Free will
 INDEX
497
Mani, 8 £ of, 70 £; canon of 31, 35, 5<s_
Manichaeism, 8 £, 344» 349» 358, 401, 6o, 88; inspiration of, 63; relation
427» 471 to θ. » ^4-9» 71» 72; relation to
Marcellus of Ancyra, 118 £, 122, tradition, 30, 33, 34, 40
407; on homoousion, 238, 239; Nicaea, Council of (325), 5 , 44, 46(
theology of, 240-2, 250 138, 231-7, 280, 281, 406; creed of
Marcian, Emperor, 238 f. 45» 231-7, 238, 280, 339
Marcion, 57 f., 59, 67 £, 71 £, 84, 87, Nice, Synod of (359), 238; creed of,
142, 175, 463; Mardonism, Mar- 25 1
cionitcs, 68, 141, 401 Niccta of Remesiana, 410, 488
Marcus (Valcntinian Gnostic), 26 Noetus of Smyrna, 120 £, 123
Mary, Blessed Virgin, 139, 140, 144, Nous (Gnostic aeon), 23, 25
145, 150, 167, 173, 177. 285, 294, Novatian, 115 f., 125 £, 134, I52 £,
298, 3θθ» 320, 322, 331, 332; title 158, 206, 209; Novatianist schism
Theotokos applied to, 48, 283, 298, 204, 436 f.
300, 311, 312, 316, 318, 321, 323,
324, 329, 340,341 Old Testament, canon of, 52-6;
Maximilia, 62 Gnostic exegesis of, 67 £; inspira­
Maximus the Confessor, 402, 408 tion of, 60-4, 91; interpretation of,
Mclitius of Antioch, 249, 302 64-78; Marcion’s attitude to, 57, 67;
Melito of Sardes, 45, 54, 145 relation to N.T., 31, 32 £, 34, 35,
Menander the Gnostic, 25 66-9, 71, 72
Methodius of Olympus: on Fall and Optatus ofMilcvum, 411, 412,418 f.
original sin, 182 £; homoousios, 424, 429, 433
meaning of, 235; millenarianism, Orange, first council of (441), 435;
479; redemption, 187 £; resurrec ­ (529)» 371 f·
tion of body, 475 f. Ordination, 423, 427
Middle Platonism, 14 £, 16, 20, 21, Origen, 5; influence of, 132-6, 158-
127,131 161, 224-6, 230 £, 241, 484; on
Millenarianism, 465 £, 469, 473, 479, apocatastasis, 473 £, 486; baptism,
480 208; chrismation, 208; Christology,
Mithras, 6, 7 154-8, 281; Church, 203 £; Devil,
Modalism, Modalists, 115, 119-26, restoration of, 382, 474, 484;
129, 133, 136, 140, 274. See Callis­ cucharist (presence), 213 £; (sacri­
tus, Marcellus of Ancyra, Sabcllius fice), 214 f.; Fall (pre-cosmic), 180-
Monarchianism, Dynamic, 115-19 183; homoousios, meaning of, 130,
Monarchy, Divine, 104, 115, 134 234» 235; judgment, 472 f.; life ever­
Monophysitism, 331, 341, 342, 444 lasting, 485 £; millenarianism, 473,
Monothclite controversy, 343 479; penance, 217; punishment of
Montanism, 59, 62, 63, 199, 200, 427 sinners, 473 £; redemption, 184-7,
Montanus, 59, 62, 239 376; resurrection of body, 470-3,
Muratorian Fragment, 59 475, 476, 477; Scripture (Apo ­
Murder, 436, 439 crypha), 54; (authority), 4, 42;
Mystery religions, 7, 22 (exegesis), 72, 73 £, 75; (inspira-

Naasscnc tractate, 22, 25 soul’s origin, 128, 155, 344 f;

Nazaraeans, 139 Spirit, 129, 130, 255, 263; tradition
Ncctarius, 437 (rule of faith), 43; Trinity, 127,
Neo-Chalccdonianism, 343 128-32, 133
Nco-Platonism, 15-17» 20, 127, 128, Original sin: teaching of Ambrose,
136, 231, 270 353 £; Ambrosiastcr, 353-5; Atha­
Nestorianism, 324, 326, 330, 333, 339, nasius, 346-8; Augustine, 361-6;
342. See Ncstorius Basil Cacs., 350, 351; Chrysostom,
Ncstorius, 48, 307, 310-17. 318, 320, 349» 351» 352; Clement Alex.,
322, 324. 325. 326, 328, 340, 407, 179 £; Cyril Alex., 372; Cyril
444; condemnation of, 328, 329,330 Hieros., 349; Gregory Naz., 349,
New Testament, allegorical exegesis 350, 352; Gregory Nyss., 349, 351;
 498 INDEX

Irenaeus, 171-3; Justin, 166-70; dition and Scripture, 31, 33; triadic
Methodius, 182 £; Origen, 180-2; formula of, 90
Pelagius, 358 £; Tatian, 168; Tcr- Porphyry, 17, 275
tullian, 175-7; Theodore Mops., Praxeas, 121, 124
373 £; Thcodoret, 373 £; Theo ­ Preaching of Peter, The, 190
philus, 168 Predestination, 359, 360, 366-9, 370,
Ossius, 231, 236, 237 371, 372, 416
Ousia, ουσία, 129, 140, 142, 145, 158, Priscilla, 62
159» 233, 234, 247, 248, 249, 250, Priscillian, 345
253, 254, 264-8 Proclus, 330
Prosopon, ττρόσωττον, H2, 1 14 £ t 124,
Pacian of Barcelona, 437, 439 265, 293, 299, 306, 307, 313, 314,
Pamphilus, 160 315, 316, 317, 325, 326, 328, 329,
‘Panthcos’, 8 331» 34θ» 34 1 ; ‘prosopic union ’,
Papias, 33, 37, 466 308, 315-17
Parmcnianus, 411, 418 Prosper of Aquitaine, 370
Parousia, 461, 462, 463 £, 465 £, Pseudo-Basil, 266
472 £, 479-83 Pseudo-Dionysius, 422
Patripassianism, 120 Ptolemaeus, letter of, to Flora, 25,
Paul of Samosata, 117-19, 140, 158- 67 £
160, 290,31 1 Pulcheria, Empress, 338
Paulinians, 288, 290, 427 Purgatory, 484 £
Paulinus, 302 Pyrrho of Elis, 10
Pelagius, Pclagianism, 324, 344, 345, Pythagoras, 7
357-61, 369, 370, 371, 373, 390,
419, 430 Recapitulation, theory of, 170-4,
Penance, Sacrament of, 193, 198 £, 178, 187 £, 376 £, 388, 389, 395
201, 211, 216-19, 360, 423, 436-40 Redemption, 147, 163-88, 375-99;
Persephone, 7 considered as enlightenment, 163 £,
Persona, 112,113, H4f., 125,169,171, 165, 168 £, 178, 184 £, 187, 384;
174 £, 336, 337 exemplary aspect of, 393 £; Gnos ­
Peter, St., foundation of episcopate, tic view of, 1 4 1 f. ; ‘ physical ’ theory
205 £; prototype of papacy, 407 £, of, 172-4, 375» 376, 377-81, 384»
412, 417, 418-21 386, 391, 396-8; ‘ransom ’ theory
Philippopolis, Council of (342), 238; of, 173 £, 183, 185 £, 375 £, 377,
creed of, 248 382, 383, 384. 387 £, 390» 391-3»
Philo, 19-22, 62, 63, 66, 70, 73, 96 395; ‘realist’ theory of, 164 £, 170,
Phoebadius of Agen, 269 173 £, 177 £» 186, 376, 377, 379 £»
Photinus, 241 f. 382, 383, 384, 385, 386, 389 £,
Photius, 154 392 £, 395, 398; teaching of Am ­
Phusis, φύσις , 224, 2 82, 290-5, 297, brose, 387, 389; Ambrosiastcr, 389;
299» 301, 310-42 Athanasius, 242,377-80; Augustine,
Pierius, 133 390-5; ‘Barnabas’, 163, 164, 165,
Plato, 10 £, 12,15, 17, 20, 84, 85, 102, 166; Cappadocians, 380-4, 385;
103, 169 Chrysostom, 381, 384, 386; Cle­
Platonism, 10, 14, 15,72, 74» 85, 129, ment Alex., 183 £; Clement Rom.,
131, 213, 231, 281, 287, 321, 346, 164; Cyril Alex., 396-9; Cyril
348, 375, 377» 378, 379» 381, 386, Micros., 384 £; Eusebius Cacs.,
397, 466, 470, 472, 488 384 £; Hermas, 163 £; Hilary, 386-
Pliny, 143 388; Ignatius, 164, 165; Irenaeus,
Plotinus, 16 £, 127, 270, 274, 275 172-4; John of Damascus, 396 £;
Plutarch, 8 Justin, 166-70; Methodius, 187 £;
Pneumatomachians, 259 £ Origen, 184-7; Pelagius, 390; Tcr-
Polycarp, 68; on Church, 189; Docc- tullian, 177; Theodore Mops., 395;
tists, 141, 463; eschatology, 463; Thcodoret, 395 £; Victorinus,
forgiveness of sins, 199; Scripture 386 £, 388
(Apocrypha), 54; (N.T.), 54Î tra­ Relations, Augustine’s theory of, 274 £
 INDEX 499
Resurrection of the body, 461, 462; 90-5; Athanasius, 243-7; Augus­
teaching of Ambrose, 478; Athena ­ tine, 272-6; Basil Cacs., 264 f.;
goras, 466; Augustine, 478 f.; Callistus, 124 f.; Clement Alex.,
‘Barnabas ’, 463; Clement Rom., 127 f.; Didymus, 263 f.; Dionysius
463; Cyril Hieros., 476 f.; Didache, Alex., 133-6; Dionysius Rom., 133-
463; Didymus, 477; Epiphanius, 136; Evagrius, 263 £; Gregory
475; Eustathius, 475; Gregory Naz., 265, 267; Gregory Nyss.,
Nyss., 477 f; Hilary, 478; Hippo ­ 265, 267; Hippolytus, 110-15, 123;
lytus, 468; Ignatius, 463; Irenaeus, Irenaeus, 104-8; Modalists, 119-23;
467, 468; Jerome, 476; Methodius, Nicene creed, 232-7; Novatian,
475 f· ; Origen, 470-2, 475, 476; 125 f.; Origen, 128-32; Sabellius,
Tatian, 466; Tcrtullian, 468; Theo ­ 124; Serdican creed, 242 f.; Tcr­
philus, 466 tullian, 1 10-15, 125; Victorious,
Roman Creed, Old, 144 270 f.; Zephyrinus, 124
Rome, Church or See of, 4, 44, 46, 56, Soul, Origin of, 128, 155, 158, 344-6
57» 120, 123-6, 191, 192 f., 205 f., Sozomen, 407
341. 357» 406-8, 411, 413, 417-21 Stephen, Pope, 206, 210
Rome, Council of (377), 295 f. Stoics, Stoicism, 10, 12 f., 14, 15, 19,
Rufinus, 55, 1 8 1, 474 21, 83, 84, 99, 1 14, 129, 146, 166,
* Rule of faith ’ (recula fidei), 39,40, 43, 175, 471; Stoic idea of Logos, 285
44, 88 f., 142, 192 Substantia, meaning of, 114, 136
Symphronianus, 437
Sabellius, Sabellianism, 119, 121-3,
124, 133, 224, 236, 238, 239, 240, Tatian: on Christology, 145; free will,
241, 246, 253, 254, 255, 256, 269 166,168; resurrection of body, 466;
Sacraments, 193-9, 4 3 -55;
* number Scripture (N.T.), 58; Spirit, 102;
of, 423 f. Word, 85, 98 f.
Sacramentum, 193, 423, 433 Tcrtullian: on baptism, 209; Christo ­
Sacrificati, 218 logy, 144, 149. 1503. 334'. Church,
Satornilus, 25 200, 201; Ebionites, 139; eschato ­
Scepticism, 10 logy, 460, 467, 468, 469; eucharist
Scripture, canon of, 52-60; exegesis (presence), 211, 212, 440, 446, 449;
of, 30, 32, 40, 57, 66, 69-78; in ­ (sacrifice), 214; Fall and original
spiration of, 60-4; relation to tradi­ sin, 174-7, 180; penance, 217, 218;
tion, 29-51 redemption, 177; Scripture (Apo ­
Second Coming. See Parousia crypha), 54; (relation of O.T. to
Semi-Arians, 249 f. N.T.), 69; soul’s origin, 175, 345;
Semi-Pelagians, 370 f. theology, 4 f.; tradition and Scrip ­
Seneca, 14 ture, 36-40, 41, 43, 44, 47; Trinity,
Septuagint, 18, 53 109,110-15, 121, 124, 125, 241,269
Scrapion of Antioch, 141 Theodore of Mopsucstia: on baptism,
Scrapion of Thmuis, 256, 426, 433, 430-2; Christology, 302, 303-9.
435. 441 310, 31 1, 314, 330; Church, 403;
Serapis, 6 cucharist (presence), 426, 444, 450;
Serdica, Creed of, 242 (sacrifice), 452; free will, 373 f.;
Severian of Gabbala, 76 original sin, 373; sacraments, 422;
Severus of Antioch, 343 Scripture (exegesis), 75, 77 f.; (in ­
Sextus Empiricus, 10 spiration), 61, 64
Simon Magus, 22 Thcodoret: 334; on chrism, 433 f.;
Sin. See Original Sin Christology, 325 f, 328, 330, 331 f.,
Siricius, Pope, 419 338 f.; Church, 402; cucharist (pre­
Sirmium, Council of (357), 238, 250; sence), 445; (sacrifice), 452; grace,
creed or * Blasphemy ’ of, 248 f. 374; life everlasting, 487; original
Smyrna, 58, 189, 464 sin, 373; Petrine texts, 408; re­
Socrates, 239 f., 407, 437 demption, 395 f.; Scripture (Apo ­
Son, Sonship: teaching of Alexander crypha), 55; (exegesis), 76, 78;
Alex., 224 f.; Apostolic Fathers, tradition, 49
500 index
Theodosius I, Emperor, 296, 302 tian, 1 15 f., 126; Origen, 128-32;
Theodosius II, Emperor, 324, 326, Paul of Samosata, 117-19; Praxeas,
334. 338 121; Sabellius, 121-3; Tatian, 98 f.,
Thcodotus (banker), 1 16, 121, 140 102; Tertullian, no f., 113 f.;
Thcodotus (leather-merchant), 116 f., Theophilus, 99, 102, 104; Victori­
140 ous, 270 f.; Zephyrinus, 125
Thcodotus, bishop of Laodicea, 289 Tropici, 256 f.
Thcognostus, 132 f. Trypho,19
Theophanies, O.T., 96 £., 273 Typology, 69-75, 76
Theophilus of Antioch, 27; on bap ­
tism, 195; Fall, 168; free will, 166; Unction, 195, 207, 208
judgment, 467; resurrection of Union Symbol, 328 f., 330, 33L 334.
body, 466; Scripture (O.T. and 34-
N.T.), 69; Spirit, 102, 104, 106; ύπόστασις . See Hypostasis
Trinity, 85, 109; Word, 99 Uriel, 18
Theoria, 76 f. Ursacius, 248
Theotokos. See Mary, B.V.
Toledo, Third council of (5^9), 439 Valens (Arian bishop), 248
Tradition, authority of, 30, 36; Valens (presbyter), 199
fathers as interpreters of, 48-51; Valentinus (Gnostic), 23-5, 27, 150
meaning of, 30 f.; oral, 37, 45; Victor, Pope, 116
relation of apostles to, 29 f., 36-42; Victorious: on grace, 357; redemp­
relation to Scripture, 29-51; tion, 386 f., 388; soul’s origin, 345;
written, 45 f.; teaching of Athana ­ Trinity, 270 f., 273
sius, 31, 45, 47; Basil Cacs., 45; Vincent of Lcrins, 43, 371; on tradi­
Clement Alex., 34, 43; Clement tion, 49-51
Rom., 32 f., 34, 35; Cyprian, 42;
Cyril Alex., 48 £; Epiphanius, Wisdom, 18, 21, 86, 95, 106,109, III,
45 f.; Eusebius, 45; Gregory Naz., 1 17, 132, 224, 228, 283, 299, 462;
45; Irenaeus, 36-9; Justin, 33; Sophia, 23, 24
Papias, 33; Polycarp, 33; Origen, Word: teaching of Apologists, 84-6,
43, 47; Tertullian, 36, 39-41; Vin ­ 95-104; Antiochene fathers (268),
cent of Lérins, 49-51 158 f.; Arius, 226-31; Augustine,
Traditor, 410 336 f.; Chalcedon, 338-42; Cle­
Traducianism, 175, 345 f. ment Alex., 127, 153 f.; Cyril
Trinitas, Tcrtullian ’s use of, 1 13 Alex., 317-23; Dionysius Alex.,
Trinity, Holy, baptism in name of, 134 f.; Eusebius Cacs., 160, 225 f.;
194, 195, 41 1, 424, 425, 432; co ­ Hippolytus, m-15, 149 f.; 201,
inherence of Persons in, 264 f.; first 202; Ignatius, 92; Irenaeus, 104-7;
use of term, 102, III; position of Justin, 145-8; Leo, 337 £; Mar­
Spirit in, 255-63; teaching of Alex ­ cellus of Ancyra, 240-2; Modalists,
ander Alex., 224 f.; Ambrose, 269; 1 19 £; Nestorius, 311-17; Nova ­
Arius, 229; Athanasius, 256-8; tian, 152 f.; Origen, 128-32, 154-8,
Athenagoras, 99 f; Augustine, 271- 184, 186, 187; Paul of Samosata,
279; ‘Barnabas’, 91 £; Basil Cacs., 140; Tertullian, 111-15, 150-52;
264, 265, 266, 268; Callistus, 123-5; Victorious, 270. See Logos
Clement Alex., 127 f.; Clement ‘Word-flesh Christology ’, i4<5 t I(5r,
Rom., 90 f; Didymus, 263; Diony ­ 281, 282, 285, 287, 289, 290, 291,
sius Alex., 133-6; Dionysius Rom., 301, 302, 304, 310, 319, 322
133-6; Eusebius Cacs., 225 f; Eus­ ‘Word-man Christology ’, 281, 283
tathius, 259, 260; Evagrius, 263, 285, 302, 304, 310 ’ ’
264, 268, 269; Gregory Naz., 259- Xystus III, Pope, 328
268; Gregory Nyss., 261-8; Her­
mas, 93-5; Hippolytus, 1 10-15; Zeno of Citium, 12
Ignatius, 92 f., 96; Irenaeus, 104-8; Zephyrinus, Pope, 1 17, 120, i2I I23 _
Justin, 96-8, 102 f.; Marcellus of 125
Ancyra 240, f.; Noetus, 120; Nova- | Zosimus, Pope, 369 f.
 {Continued from front flap)

the present volume fills a long-recog

ni/.ed need m making use of the tre­
mendous advances in sc holarship since
that lime. Here is an indispensable
work foi the beginning student and the-
specialist.

“ Extremely well done. — R o b e r i

M. G r a m , The Federated I heological
Faculty, University of Chicago

“ At last! Fifty-five years ago the

Cambridge scholar |. F. Bethune-
Baker wrote an / ntroduction Io the
Early H istory of Christian D octrine
which has e\er since been indispensa­
ble to every undergraduate studying
theology and almost as necessary to his
teachers. But patristic scholarship has
not stood still since 1903. and even so
excellent a book must one day be su-
perseded. I his book is certain to re ­
place Bethune-Baker in common use.
. . . Exposition is Dr. Kelly ’s strength
as well as his aim. He is delight fulls
luc id and readable for so stiff a sub
ject: everything is worked smooth I \
into a single flowing text, with foot
notes reserved almost exclusivelv foi
reference. — I he I unes (London^
Lite ra ry S u p pie inent

The author: J. X. D. Kells is Princi­

pal of St. Edmund 1 fall at Oxlord Uni
versity. lie has been universitx lecturer
at Oxford in patristic studies and also
('.anon of Chichester Cathedral.

\o. 8655 A