Arianism
is the most famous and seems to have been the most resilient of the
Christological heresies. One of the reasons for its resilience seems to have
been the way in which political figures became directly involved in managing
it, in the first place the Emperor Constantine who summoned the Council of
Nicea but also his successors throughout the fourth century, not all of them on
the same side of the argument. You will recall Germain Grisez’s comment that
moral theology must now face its fourth century and this aspect of it is
certainly true: political leaders nowadays will not become excited about
differences in Christology or sacramental theology where they will become very
exercised about issues like abortion and homosexuality. These have a real
political edge that many other matters no longer have although they did in
earlier times.
Another
reason for the resilience of Arianism, however, must be its reasonableness. Can
we say that heresies will be more reasonable than orthodoxy? At least at a
superficial level they seem to be. They are easier to present and understand
because by definition they exclude some of the story, reducing the mystery of
the faith to something that seems more coherent and acceptable by the standards
of human thinking. Not that orthodox faith is irrational – that’s a very common
and persistent modern error – but that the truths to which faith introduces us
are beyond the capacity of the unaided human mind to understand.
Arius’s
difficulty was in seeing how you could at the same time speak of a difference
between the Father and the Son while saying that they were ‘consubstantial’ or
‘of one being’ which he understood to mean ‘they are one and the same being’,
they are ‘the same thing’. It seemed to him like a form of Sabellianism where
there is just one God who presents himself at different times in different
forms. He was right to recognize this as incompatible with what the Christian
faith teaches and there are scriptural texts that seemed to support his view
that the Son is not therefore equal to the Father. Only the Father is
unbegotten. This is a quality that is not shared in by the Son, and so they
cannot be absolutely equal. And because ‘unbegottenness’ is a divine
characteristic, it seemed as a consequence that the Son could not then be God,
at least not in the same sense in which the Father is God. The Son had a beginning whereas the Father
did not. The Son is the first of creatures, perhaps a special kind of creature,
the one on whom all other creatures depend. Again there are scriptural texts,
in the wisdom literature for example, that seemed to support this.
This
is not the place for a lecture in Christology however brief. What I’m doing is
recalling these heresies to see if there are analogous ways in which we might
be erring in understanding and living our Christian, Dominican life. Of course
none of us is claiming to have a human nature hypostatically united with the
Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, so what we are about is very clearly at
the level of analogy: how are we to live our Christian, Dominican life in a way
that is true to the divine and human vocation that it is?
For Arianism, Christ is neither truly divine nor is he
truly human. He becomes a third reality, between the uncreated and the created,
a human God and a divine Man, something in between true God and true humanity.
It was a kind of rational compromise that, instead of struggling with what the
faith required, resolved tensions by coming up with a new category. This is something
we might be tempted to do, to live a style of life that will be ‘in between’
rather than being fully one and fully the other, fully focused on humanity and
its needs and at the same time fully focused on God and His demands.
We might wonder how we can be fully focussed on two
things and the fact that we are seeing them as two things is precisely the
problem. This is the form the mystery of faith takes in regard to our living a
life that is simultaneously human and divine. We tend to think that the divine
and the human must be rivals to each other, that they are natures sharing the
same world or field of forces, so that to allow more say to one must imply
allowing less say to the other. And this is, of course, quite wrong.
Much contemporary new age spirituality seems to work
with a kind of Arianism in the sense that it prefers to speak about ‘the
divine’ than to speak about God, as if ‘divinity’ were a kind of in-between
category, a nature that can be parcelled out to different degrees among different
levels of being. It might even regard this nature as dwelling in us as some
kind of spark of the great divine. This takes us a long way from the radical
distinction between the uncreated and the creature, a distinction that is
crucial if there is to be love between them.
We can compromise in all sorts of ways, some of them
obvious and some of them not so obvious. Sometimes the compromise is at the
expense of our humanity and sometimes it is at the expense of our divine
calling. What I am thinking of are those ways in which we might feel we need to
justify ourselves to the world, either in how we speak or in how we live, but
which have the effect of turning us into something ‘in between’ our twofold
focus, neither fully one nor fully the other. Our celibacy, for example, cannot
be explained simply in terms of our human experience. We may try to do that, to
say how it gives us freedom for the mission, mobility, readiness to be
available, and so on. But we know in our hearts that this cannot be the full motivation
for religious celibacy, that it has something to do also with our love for
Christ a well as our understanding of how His kingdom is being realised in our
lives and of our place within that realisation in the lives of others. Of
course that can be difficult to explain, not only to people who do not share
our faith. A more easily understood explanation, something more accessible
rationally speaking, might seem more sensible but will not do justice to how we
truly understand things.
The alternative is to head off into a pious or
spiritualistic understanding of celibacy (to stay with that example), one that
loses contact with human experience and begins to feel unreal even to
ourselves. We might do the same for poverty or obedience or other aspects of our
lives. It is difficult to say all that needs to be said, whether in words or in
how we live, in order to do justice to the human and divine character of the
life we are living.
Let me quote two Dominicans in support of what I am
trying to say. Jordan of Saxony speaks very well about it in his encyclical
letter to the Order of 1233, speaking about the humanity of our lives but also
the way in which that humanity ought to be being transformed by divine grace,
by charity in other words. Let me quote from him [Tugwell, Early Dominicans, page 124].
"How often do the sordid, aimless meanderings of our affections lead us along crooked paths, not directed in the way of truth and with no eye on our proper goal. We say a lot, we do a lot, we endure a tremendous lot, which would make us so much richer in virtue, so much more fruitful in merit, if only charity abounded in our hearts, directing and ordering everything towards our proper goal, which is God. But as it is, our minds are too often occupied with futile thoughts, our feelings drawn by futile desires; we do not carry through to its end the sifting and purging of our hearts' purposes, so it is hardly surprising that we are so slow to accomplish anything, so sluggish is our ascent towards perfection."
The other witness I want to call is Herbert McCabe. In
a wonderful essay simply entitled ‘God’ he distils the fruits of his lifetime’s
contemplation of the mystery of God. Most striking – to return to Arianism – is
the conviction he expresses there that to say ‘God is love’ is another way of
saying ‘God is Father, Son and Holy Spirit’. This is the crucial concrete
significance of the victory of the Nicene faith over Arianism. The way of
Trinitarian faith is the only way of taking absolutely seriously the statement
in the first letter of Saint John that ‘God is love’. If the Father has no
equal to love, and to return his love, then what the Father shows cannot be love
in the full sense of the word. It might be compassion and kindness but it is
not love. Out of many things Herbert says there I quote just one – [God Still Matters, page 7].
"To say that Jesus is divine and to say that God is capable of love is to proclaim one and the same doctrine. Any unitarian view of God, or Arian view of Christ, immediately destroys the possibility of divine love - I mean divine love in the serious adult sense. ... It is only the doctrine of the divinity of Christ (and thus the doctrine of the Trinity) that makes possible the astounding and daring idea that God can after all genuinely love. He is in love with the Son, and the exchange of divine love between them is the Holy Spirit."
The implication is that if we are Arians then we do
not really believe that God can share His own life of love with us. Of course
we recite the Nicene Creed every Sunday, but that does not mean that our words
are always borne out by our actions, by the ways in which we actually live out
the faith we profess.
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