The Man of Sorrows I — Nicaea, 325 AD

— Cornelis de Bondt

I — Nicaea 325 AD

Athanasius had departed from Rome on April 21st. Everything has a beginning, he thought as he gazed out over the Mediterranean Sea from the bow of the galley. Princes, emperors, generals, merchants, and even popes — he casually spat a thick glob of phlegm into the sea — they all think it’s about gold, gold, and gold. A triumphant smile briefly formed on his lips, but it quickly turned into a grimace. I wouldn’t exchange all the gold in the world for what I possess. The only thing that truly matters is time. He momentarily directed his gaze at the sun, which had reached its highest point in the sky. And time, he pondered further, I have in abundance; I have more moments at my disposal than there are grains of sand in the desert or drops of water in the oceans. The weather had been favorable, and he had been able to complete the journey within three weeks.

On May 18th, he met Alexander at a tavern by Lake Nicaea. They looked out over the water as the sun set in a fiery red glow. Alexander seemed worried about something, and Athanasius could sense his unrest.

“Arius is up to something,” Alexander said, deep in thought. “My informant told me that he’s on the trail of certain manuscripts written by that accursed historian. Those texts supposedly contain impious descriptions of our Savior.” Alexander sliced a piece of fish with his knife but didn’t take a bite. “The council begins the day after tomorrow, and we need to be much better prepared!” He still left his fish untouched.

Time is something you lack, thought Athanasius. He looked at Alexander and asked, although he already knew the answer, “You mean Tacitus?” Alexander nodded. “Let’s see what Arius has to say,” Athanasius said. “For every leap deserving of that name, one must first take a suitable run-up.”

Alexander remained silent for a while and eventually took a bite of his fish. “You’re right,” he finally said, “as usual. It took seven days to bring down the walls of Jericho, while the Lord could have done it in seven moments. Time is a sacred sacrament.” Athanasius chose to remain silent. He had time. He pondered Tacitus, knowing his important historical works well. He had studied them thoroughly.

However, he didn’t want to reveal too much about it just yet. It wouldn’t hurt to keep Alexander in the dark for a little longer.

“Do you know those texts by Tacitus?” Alexander suddenly asked.

“I’ve heard of them,” Athanasius evaded.

“Have you heard enough to judge whether those texts pose a danger?”

“That’s hard to say.” Athanasius briefly looked at Alexander with the most neutral expression he could muster. “Ultimately, it depends on the speaker, don’t you think? Is it Socrates speaking, or Protagoras?”

“I understand your point. Let’s hope it’s the former. The latter is a messenger of Satan, and despite his ultimately lost position, he’s a formidable opponent not to be trifled with.” 
I would prefer to negotiate with the latter rather than the former, Athanasius thought.

At 7 o’clock in the morning on the 20th day of May in the year 325 AD, the Council convened for the first time in the imperial palace of ‘Great’ Constantine on the outskirts of the city. Athanasius counted exactly 273 participating members in the assembly, including the Emperor, Alexander, and himself. He found this to be a reassuring number, although he wasn’t sure why. Emperor Constantine sat at the head of a gigantic circle of priests, bishops, scholars, and wise men. Interpreters knelt beside various members, servants stood at the edge of the enormous hall, ready to respond instantly to any request, whether it be for drinks, fruit, food, or other refreshments, or to distribute certain messages. There would be a lot to discuss and negotiate. Everyone knew what was at stake, but for now, they had chosen to address the problems and points of contention in veiled terms. But that was only a matter of time, thought Athanasius, with a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

The Emperor took the floor, summarizing the purpose of the Council without immediately naming the issue at hand. Everyone knew it would revolve around the views of Arius, but they held back their positions and waited. After the introduction, which lasted precisely 33 minutes (Athanasius had counted the minutes), the Emperor presented the list of speakers, naming them one by one. The list was merely a formality. The first speaker would be Arius; the rest were essentially of secondary importance.

Arius wasted no time in naming the issue at hand. He was certainly not lacking in courage and stood firmly behind his beliefs and ideals. He succinctly summarized the controversy: “Here and now, it is about the steadfastness, essence, and ultimately the enduring nature of our faith, and thereby the eternity of it; it concerns the foundation of our dear Lord, the Son of God, our Savior: Jesus of Nazareth. And to understand this foundation, we must understand God Himself, which is an impossibility. But from this lack of understanding, we can grasp the essence of the Son.” Arius paused for a moment, calmly surveying the semicircle of priests before finally ending his gaze on the Emperor. With a gesture of his hand, the Emperor indicated for him to continue.

“God Himself, as He truly is, cannot be captured in words in any way. He has no equal, nor anyone comparable (homoios). We call Him ‘uncreated,’ in contrast to the One who is created by nature. […] He who is without beginning created a beginning to the created things through the Son. He created Him as a Son for Himself, by creating Him. The Son does not possess any of the particular attributes of God’s own essence. For the Son is not equal to, nor of the same essence (homoousios) as His Father. God is wise, for He Himself is the teacher of wisdom.” Arius paused again, allowing his words to sink in. He motioned for a servant to bring him a cup of water. Constantine gestured once more, Arius took a few sips, and calmly resumed his discourse:

“There is ample evidence that God is invisible to all. Invisible both to the things made through the Son and to the Son Himself. I will specifically explain how invisibility is seen through the Son: By the power through which God is able to see everything, according to His own measure, so can the Son endure seeing His Father; as is ordained. […] The Father is in His essence (ousia) foreign to His Son, as He exists without beginning. It follows directly that when the Son did not exist, the Father was still God. Therefore, the Son, not being eternal, arose by the will of the Father. […] Wisdom became wise through the will of the Wise Father. […] He Who is excellent is capable of creating someone equal to the Son, but not someone of greater importance, superiority, or magnificence. By God’s will, the Son has the greatness and attributes He possesses. His existence from when, from whom, and from then on is of God. He, though a mighty God, partially praises His Higher.

“Lastly: God is unsayable to the Son since He is in Himself what He is; that is to say, indescribable. For this reason, the Son has no knowledge of each of these things, nor the ability to explain them. For it is impossible for Him to fathom the Father, who is in Himself. For the Son Himself does not even comprehend His own essence (ousia), as His essence is subject to the will of the Father. […] What has a beginning is incapable of comprehending the existence of what has no beginning.”

After these words, Arius nodded to the assembly, indicating that his first speech had come to an end. Immediately, a fierce tumult erupted. To quell the commotion, Constantine rose from his seat, raising his arms. The clamor subsided immediately. The emperor ordered a one-hour break and left the grand hall.

“He hasn’t made his strongest point yet,” said Athanasius. He had walked with Alexander to a secluded spot in the vast palace garden to exchange thoughts undisturbed.

“You mean the fact that God is invisible and His Son is visible,” Alexander replied, gazing into the distance, lost in thought.

“What now?” Athanasius asked.

“As long as a dog sleeps, it doesn’t bite.”

“But this one is already barking.”

“Without biting, but we must remain vigilant.” Suddenly, Alexander placed his arm on Athanasius’ shoulder. “At this moment, it seems he does not have a majority supporting his views, but that can easily change.”

Athanasius sensed his companion’s concern but wasn’t pleased with his familiar gesture. He didn’t really want to react but decided to do so anyway. He turned towards Alexander, causing him to remove his arm from his shoulder, and said, “But what is your plan? Will you bring up the point of visibility, or will you wait and see?” A needless question, he thought.

“I will wait and see, of course,” Alexander replied. He seemed to be moving his arm in Athanasius’ direction again but then refrained. “Figs are picked when they are ripe,” he added finally. Both of them walked back to the palace.

Alexander took the floor as granted by Constantine. On this first day, there would be no direct debates; it was only an opportunity to articulate the different positions. After providing a detailed summary of Arius’ views, he began his counterattack.

“Now that Arius, followed shamelessly by his supporters,” — Alexander glanced towards the group of priests surrounding Arius — “has expressed his accusations, it is time for a rebuttal that, in my deepest conviction, will ultimately lead to their expulsion from our Holy Church.” Alexander took his time to let the weight of his words sink in.

Athanasius noticed that Alexander had used the word ‘accusations,’ which was, in a sense, a caricature of Arius’ beliefs and arguments. Arius hadn’t accused anyone of anything; it seemed audacious to him, as it was, in fact, a confrontation. This was not exactly ‘waiting and seeing’. Had Alexander allowed himself to be overcome by emotions, or worse, was he perhaps in a state of panic? After a sign from Constantine, Alexander continued his discourse, and once again, he used the word ‘accusations.’ Maybe Alexander was following a deliberate plan after all.

“Who has ever heard of these accusations before? This desire to mix falsehood with truth and ungodliness with piety. But they will not succeed in doing so, just as there is no blending of light with darkness or a union of Christ with Belial. Who, having heard the words of John, ‘In the beginning was the Word,’ will not turn against those who declare that ‘there was a time when He was not’?” There were murmurs of agreement but also sounds of protest. Constantine raised his hands in a calming gesture, signaling Alexander to continue his argument.

“How can He be one of the things made by Himself? Or how can He, as the Gospel states, be ‘the Only Begotten,’ when, according to them,” — Alexander pointed towards Arius and his followers — “He is considered ‘one of the rest,’ as He Himself is a ‘creature’ and a ‘work’? And how can He be ‘made out of things that were not,’ when the Father said, ‘Out of the womb, I have begotten You before the Morning Star?’ And again, how can He be ‘unequal in substance to His Father,’ while we simultaneously call Him the perfect ‘image’’ and ‘light’ of the Father and he said, ‘He who has seen me has seen the Father’?”
Alexander approached the dangerous point that Arius could still exploit, which he was likely to do if the moment was ripe. Athanasius noticed that Alexander glanced at him briefly, indicating that he was aware of this. The direct discussions were scheduled for a week later, so there was no immediate danger, but it served as a signal to Arius that Alexander knew what was coming at some point.

Meanwhile, Alexander continued his argument: “If the Son is the ‘World’ and ‘Wisdom,’ or God, how is it possible that there was ever a time ‘when He did not exist’? That is equivalent to claiming that God was once without Word and without Wisdom.”

There was both agreement and disapproval murmuring from the audience. The emperor gestured for silence.

“And how can He be ‘subject to change and diversity’ when He Himself says, ‘I am in the Father, and the Father is in Me,’ and ‘I and My Father are One,’ and through the Prophet: ‘Look at Me, for I am unchangeable’? As the Apostle said, ‘Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.’ And how have they become convinced to claim that He was created for us, when Paul writes, ‘For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth’?”

Alexander took a sip of water (or is he already onto his beer, Athanasius wondered), nodded to the emperor, and continued his argument.

“As for their blasphemous assertion that ‘the Son does not fully know His Father,’ we need not be concerned. From the moment they positioned themselves in a battle against Christ, they contradict His explicit words, for He says, ‘Just as the Father knows Me, I also know the Father.’ Now, if the Father only partially knows the Son, the Son will likewise not fully know His Father. But if this is not a legitimate statement and the Father knows His Son perfectly, then it is undeniable that, since the Father knows His own Word, the Word also knows His own Father, of whom He is the Word.”

Once again, there was noise in the hall. Alexander raised his hands and said with a slightly raised voice, “I am now reaching my conclusion. Please give me the space for it.”

When the murmuring subsided, he began his conclusion: “In response to all our counterarguments, they responded like chameleons, with new arguments and formulations. […] Many heretics before them, taking greater risks than they can handle, have fallen into foolishness. But these individuals, who fight against the Holiness of Scripture with their narrow and untenable objections, have justified that other comparison with themselves: the approaching of the Antichrist.”

Athanasius couldn’t help but mutter The Antichrist. He looked around, but nobody paid attention to him.
“Therefore, they have been excommunicated and banished from the Church. We mourn their loss, especially because they, once taught in the Church’s doctrine, have now deviated. This is not the first time; Judas once followed the Messiah, but later became a betrayer and apostate. And concerning such people, we are not without guidance, for our Savior has warned us: ‘Beware of anyone who deceives you, for many will come in My name, saying: I am the Christ, and they will deceive many.’ Also, Paul, who was educated in these matters by the Messiah, wrote: ‘In the last days, some will fall away from the true faith, misled by seductive spirits and doctrines of demons, distorting the truth.’”

When he uttered these final words, he had his gaze fixed on Arius, but Arius had avoided eye contact. Then he nodded to Constantine and made his way back to his seat.

The emperor adjourned the meeting. Other speakers would take the floor from noon onwards.

Alexander and Athanasius walked through the garden, discussing what had been said and trying to assess the reactions from the different factions. They concluded that there hadn’t been significant shifts yet. Approximately a hundred priests supported Arius, another hundred stood with Alexander, and a smaller portion of the assembly seemed undecided. It was expected that this wouldn’t change throughout the rest of the week. Arius and Alexander were the main contenders, and the rest followed one or the other.

“However, once Arius brings up his point about the visibility of Jesus, the balance will likely tip in the wrong direction,” Alexander said gloomily.

“We’re not there yet,” Athanasius remarked cheerfully. And we won’t get there, he silently added. He had plans. He still needed to work out the details, but he had prepared well.

The remainder of the day and the following days unfolded as Alexander had predicted. The new speakers didn’t contribute anything new; they merely repeated and reiterated the existing positions.

A week later, Constantine announced the new phase of the Council: the speakers would engage in paired debates. This was expected to spark lively discussions, and the emperor would have his hands full to prevent the meeting from descending into intense and destructive chaos. He didn’t have a preference for either side but desired a conclusive resolution. There had to be one undivided Church.

On May 27th, at 7 o’clock in the morning, Emperor Constantine took the floor. He summarized the main point of contention regarding the essence of the Son: was the Son of a different substance (heteroousios) than His Father, in other words, was He created by His Father — Arius’ position; or was He of the same substance (homoousios) and therefore not created by His Father, but eternally existing, just like His Father — Alexander’s position. The emperor had indicated that the two opponents would be the first to engage in debate. The dispute would begin as follows: one rival would determine the theme of the discussion, and the opponent would have the first word. The chosen theme would be the subject of the morning session. In the afternoon, the other opponent would determine the theme, and their rival would have the first word. Fate had determined that Alexander would determine the theme for the morning, and he chose the topic of ‘excellence’ (aretē). However, Athanasius had helped fate along. He had been appointed as the arbiter responsible for the lottery procedure. Alexander had proposed the procedure to Constantine the day before, and the emperor had accepted the proposal. Alexander had sought a way to ensure that he would be the first to choose the theme, which he deemed strategically important. He didn’t want to be immediately confronted with the theme of the visibility of the Son. The discussion on virtue, virtus, the Latin word for ‘excellence’, could provide him with arguments for that other discussion. Athanasius had assured him that he could make it happen.

The procedure unfolded as follows: Athanasius placed two glass balls in a dark blue velvet bag; one ball was white, and the other was black. He held the two balls above his head, making them clearly visible to the entire assembly, and then made a demonstrative gesture of placing them in the bag. He shook the bag, ensuring everyone could hear the balls rolling. The emperor would take a ball from the bag without being able to see which one it was. If he picked the white ball, Alexander would have the privilege of determining the theme first. If he picked the black ball, the honor would go to Arius. Constantine inserted his hand into the bag, stirring the balls around while smiling reassuringly at the assembly, and then retrieved the white ball. He designated Alexander as the first theme-determiner and returned the bag to Athanasius. Athanasius took out the other ball, which turned out to be black, to indicate that the lottery had been fair. Of course, this was not the case at all. Athanasius had constructed the bag in a way that there were actually three balls inside: two white and one black. When the emperor put his hand in the bag, only the white balls were within his reach, while the black one was deeply hidden and immovable in the lining. When Athanasius supposedly produced the remaining black ball, he had swapped the white and black balls in the bag. He had spent a significant part of the night constructing and making the bag.

Arius began his argument: “I stand for a thoughtful consideration, both regarding the divine life and how we best relate to God’s providence, and from there, how to deal with human and political affairs, and how to instruct people in this regard.”

“So, if I understand correctly,” Alexander interrupted him, “you are referring to the skill of citizenship, with the promise of making us good servants of God and also good individuals. And you believe that virtue can be taught?”

“That is precisely what I assert.”

“Well, then it is an admirable skill you have developed if indeed you have achieved this. But, Arius, I will tell you nothing but what I believe, and the truth compels me to say that I have never been of the opinion that virtue can be taught. I observe that when we gather in a meeting where the emperor has decreed the construction of a palace, we then seek advice from architects. The same goes for ships; we consult experts in navigation, and so on, for everything that is to be learned and taught. But if we were to ask someone else, someone who is not a craftsman, no matter how clever, rich, or high-born they may be, we would not accept their advice; we would find it ridiculous. The same applies to our private lives — priests and sages cannot pass on their virtues to others. The Work of God is a Mystery and cannot be taught to us mortal beings. But if you believe otherwise, do not withhold your evidence from us.”

“Of course, I will not withhold this evidence from you. Let me begin with an argument in the form of a story that involves God.” Arius took a sip of water and started: “Indeed, Alexander, when people discuss the architectural excellence of a particular building or virtue in any professional specialty, they are of the opinion that only a handful of experts should be consulted for advice, and rightly so. You have excellently made that point.” Arius nodded briefly. “But what about modesty, justice, and friendship? How should they be distributed among humanity? Should they be treated the same way as crafts, or should they be given to everyone?” ‘To all,’ God said, ‘and let everyone have a share. For communities will never be established if only an individual possesses these qualities, as is the case with skills and talents. And the following law shall apply: Death to him who cannot participate in modesty and justice, for he is a pest to my kingdom.’ […]”

“Now, regarding the other issue, about good people teaching their sons everything possible without making them better than anyone else in a particular virtue they themselves excel in. Consider it this way: Is there or isn’t there one thing that all people should possess in order to form a community? Here, and nowhere else, lies the solution to your problem.” Arius gazed at Alexander for a few moments, but Alexander did not meet his gaze. Instead, he seemed to be contemplating his sandals, scratching his head with his fingers.

“Because if such a thing exists,” Arius continued, “and this one thing is not some skill, but instead justice, temperance, and piety, which I would collectively call the virtue of humanity, and if this is what every human should share and act upon — if this is the case, and good parents teach their children everything except this, then we would be perplexed by the peculiar behavior of these so-called good people.”

Now Alexander did look at Arius. “Well, Arius, I still need one more thing, and then the point is yours. You claim that virtue can be taught, and if there is anyone who can convince me of this, it would be you. However, there is one thing that continues to bother me. You said that God has sent us humans justice and a sense of shame. You also said that justice, temperance, and piety somehow collectively form one thing: virtue. Can you be more precise on this point? Is virtue a singular entity with justice, temperance, and piety as its components, or are all these things different names for one separate entity?”

“That question is easy to answer, Alexander. Virtue is one separate entity, and the matters you inquired about are its components.”

“But tell me this: do some people have a certain component while others have another, or must one necessarily possess all the components equally?”

“Absolutely not! For some people are courageous but unjust, and others are just but lacking in wisdom.”

“So wisdom and courage are also components of virtue?”

“Indeed, and wisdom is the most important.”

“And are all these components distinct from one another?”

“Yes.” Arius nodded firmly.

“Then none of the other aspects of virtue, such as knowledge, are equivalent to justice, courage, temperance, or piety?”

“That is correct.”

“If this is true, Arius, then what is our answer to the following question: Is piety the kind of thing that is good, and is justice not the kind of thing that is pious? Or is it the opposite?”

“That is not entirely clear to me, Alexander. If you wish, we can call justice pious and piety good.”
Alexander made a thoughtful expression. “Don’t do this to me!” he said indignantly. “I have no interest in ‘if you wish’ or ‘if it suits you’. I am trying to align you and myself, and I believe that we test the argumentation best by eliminating the ‘ifs’.”

“Very well,” Arius responded resignedly, “Justice has some similarities to piety. Everything has some way in which it is similar to others. There is a certain way in which white resembles black, or hard resembles soft. But it would not be fair to call things that resemble each other in a certain way as equal, or if they do not resemble each other in a certain way, unequal.”

“Well, since you seem annoyed by this, let us consider another point you raised. Do you agree that there is such a thing as foolishness?”

“Yes.”

“And that it is diametrically opposed to wisdom?”

“That does seem to be the case.”

Athanasius knew the list that was about to come; his thoughts wandered — I’m wasting my time here, he thought, but well, I have an abundance of time, so what’s the problem? Alexander was indeed going through a list of opposing qualities: ‘beauty’ and ‘ugliness’, ‘goodness’ and ‘badness’, ‘foolishness’ and ‘temperance’, and he concluded that each thing has only one opposite. Arius agreed with this. But then the twist came:

“If foolishness is the opposite of temperance, and foolishness is also opposed to wisdom, which of the two propositions should we discard, Arius? Because the two statements are not in agreement.”

“Hmm…” Arius scowled at his shoes. “Unless wisdom and temperance are one and the same thing. Just as it seemed earlier that justice and piety were almost identical qualities. We are onto something, Arius, let’s not falter and investigate this further.”

“That is good.”

Athanasius saw from Arius’s face that he was fine with it all. He wondered if Alexander wasn’t cutting himself with his own fingers. But time heals all wounds, he thought, as a faint smile formed on his lips.
Alexander continued to follow his plan. He discussed a number of contradictions again, but now focused on the qualifications of ‘good’ and ‘bad’, pleasure in life being seen as good and pain as bad. After some back and forth, Arius made a note about the qualification of ‘good’ for pleasurable things in life: “That is true, as long as it concerns honorable matters.”

“How now, Arius? Surely you wouldn’t consider some pleasurable things bad and some painful things good?”

“I don’t know, Alexander, how to comment on the matter when you simplify it as everything pleasurable being good and everything painful being bad. It seems to me that there exist pleasurable things that are not good, and also painful things that are not bad, but rather a sort of third category that is neutral, neither good nor bad. As you just said, Alexander, let us investigate this further.”

Alexander nodded and said, “If, for example, we indulge in pleasurable things like good food, drink, and sex, knowing that they can lead us to ruin, to what extent do we consider these pleasurable things as destructive? Is it because each of them is pleasurable in itself and provides immediate gratification, or is it because over time they lead to diseases, poverty, and other painful consequences? Therefore, bad things are bad not because of the initial, immediate pleasure they bring, but because of the later consequences.”

Arius nodded in agreement, “Yes, indeed.”

“But then, let us consider the opposite: those who believe that some painful things are good. Do they not mean that these things, such as the exertion of the body in athletes and military training, and certain actions performed by physicians like surgery, bloodletting, and strict diets, are considered good despite the pain?”

Once again, Arius nodded.

“Then, ultimately, these things are good because they lead to the alleviation and avoidance of pain?”
Athanasius observed how Arius gradually became convinced by Alexander’s reasoning. However, he still wasn’t convinced how this ultimately strengthened Alexander’s position in the whole matter.

Meanwhile, Alexander continued undeterred: “It is not easy to define precisely what we mean by ‘being overwhelmed by pleasure.’ But if we can’t say anything more than that good and bad things lead to pleasure and pain, then I propose the following: If we were to maintain the previous statement, our position would prove absurd; when we say that someone, knowing that the bad is bad, still does exactly this bad thing while being driven and overwhelmed by pleasure. However, we can avoid this absurdity by not using all those terms interchangeably: ‘pleasure’ and ‘painful’, ‘good’ and ‘bad’, since they all boil down to only two things: the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’.”

“Very well, Alexander, let us then assume that someone who understands that bad things are bad still does them — then the question is: why?”

“Because he is overwhelmed.”

“By what?”

“In that case, instead of saying ‘by pleasure’, we should say ‘by the good’. That could be the only answer. ‘Being overwhelmed by pleasure’ then clearly means that one obtains the greater evil for the lesser good.”

“Let us then return to the terms ‘pleasurable’ and ‘painful’,” Arius suggested. “One could argue that immediate pleasure differs significantly from pleasure and pain at a later time.”

“Exactly!” Alexander nodded enthusiastically. “A good way to clarify everything is through the analogy of weighing.”

Arius appeared captivated by Alexander’s reasoning. Athanasius couldn’t quite gauge his expression.
“When you consider all the pleasures and all the pains,” Alexander continued his argument, “both the immediate and the later ones, and you weigh them on a balance, you can determine which of the two is greater. When you weigh the greater pleasure against the lesser one, or the greater pain against the lesser one, you should always choose the greater pleasure and the lesser pain. And when you compare the pleasurable against the painful, and the painful outweighs the pleasurable — both concerning the direct as the indirect or later pain — one should reject the pleasurable. Conversely, if the pleasurable is outweighed by the painful, one should reject pleasure.”

“So, it all comes down to the technique of weighing,” Arius agreed.

“And since it concerns the art of weighing, it certainly involves a technique and thus knowledge.”

“There is no other way,” Arius affirmed.

“Then we agree that those who make a mistake in weighing pleasure and pain, in other words, good and evil, do so because of a lack of knowledge, and thus ignorance. Therefore, we can conclude that ‘being overwhelmed by pleasure’ is, in fact, the highest degree of ignorance.”

Arius looked at Alexander with an expression that seemed to articulate a newfound insight.
Athanasius observed him with a curious gaze, both surprised and concerned. It was unclear to him whether Alexander’s position had become stronger or weaker.

“It seems that our discussion has turned against us.” Arius now looked Alexander straight in the eyes, and Alexander did not avoid his gaze. “Alexander, earlier you argued that virtue cannot be taught. But now you claim the exact opposite because you attempted to demonstrate that all of this is a form of knowledge — justice, temperance, piety — which would imply that virtue can indeed be excellently taught.”

“On the other hand,” Alexander responded, “if virtue encompasses everything except knowledge, as you, Arius, continued to insist, then virtue cannot be taught at all. It seems to me that we should further investigate this at a later time. The subject is of such fundamental nature that we shouldn’t leave it to the ignorant and illiterate.”

Arius took the opportunity to give a closing statement. He made a respectful gesture toward his opponent and said, “Alexander, I commend your enthusiasm and the way you present your arguments. I realize that we differ in essential aspects of our perspectives, but I tell you this: I am a sincere servant of God. I admire you more than anyone else, and I respect your views.”

With this, the first debate concluded. Constantine adjourned the meeting, announcing that the second part of the debate would commence at two o’clock. Afterward, everyone went their separate ways.
Alexander and Athanasius decided to take a long walk along the coast, outside the city, to discuss the proceedings calmly and undisturbed, without the presence of potentially unwelcome ears.

As the two men walked along the lake, several kilometers outside the city, there were no other hikers around, allowing them to speak freely. Athanasius expressed his concern about Alexander’s current position. He had voiced his worry and straightforwardly asked Alexander if he found the outcome of this first part of the debate desirable. “After all, if the weighing of good and evil is a matter of technique and knowledge, it strengthens Arius’ position regarding the essence of the Son. Our Holy Confession thus becomes a human creation.”

“That was a consideration I had to make,” Alexander replied. “Against this disadvantage, there was a greater advantage: I forced Arius to completely reconsider his stance on virtue. That is not only a psychological advantage but also a tactical one. He has come to the realization that his viewpoints are not unshakable.”

“That applies to you as well!”

“But the so-called reversal of my view on the teachability of virtue was orchestrated. It was part of my strategy; we were playing a game that I had devised.” A triumphant smile formed on Alexander’s face.

“You’re referring to that text by Plato about Protagoras,” Athanasius said. “It’s strange that Arius was not aware of that text. That was a risk. What if he had known it?”

“I have my informants…” Alexander grinned.

“Ah, so you knew he didn’t know that text. Well played.” Athanasius thought a compliment wouldn’t hurt. But he also realized he needed to pay closer attention. He shouldn’t underestimate Alexander; the man was more cunning than he had initially thought.

They continued walking in silence for a while until they reached a spot with a beautiful view of the lake. They sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree and gazed out over the water. The sound of the rippling waves echoed from afar, while the seagulls’ cries filled the nearby air. “Arius and his accomplices are debating the strategy to follow,” Alexander said with a faint smile, pointing upwards.

“I’m afraid Arius’ arguments carry more weight,” Athanasius said solemnly.

“We shall see.”

“You don’t seem very worried.” Athanasius glanced sideways at Alexander, who remained focused on the lake. “You obviously know what theme he will bring up,” he continued.

“Yes, that seems quite clear to me,” Alexander replied calmly.

“I’m curious about your plan,” Athanasius probed. Why is he so uncommunicative at this point, he wondered, does he not trust me?

“You will find out in due time,” Alexander said. He knows something I don’t, Athanasius thought. Those informants of his, most likely.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Alexander continued, “but you also play a role in the game I have designed, and for that, certain matters need to remain hidden from you at this moment.” Alexander turned his head towards Athanasius, looking at him with seriousness.

“Ah, I too am an actor in a tragedy without knowing the script…”

“Your irony does not become you,” Alexander remarked, “the matter is too serious for that.”

Athanasius shrugged and stood up. “Let’s go back.”

At precisely two o’clock in the afternoon, Emperor Constantine opened the meeting for the second time. He briefly explained the proceedings and gave Arius the floor to indicate the theme of this second part of the dispute. Arius stated that the theme would be ‘The Visibility of the Son.’ Now it was Alexander’s turn to give an initial response.

Alexander addressed the emperor, saying, “I waive my right to a first response. I would like to hear from Arius what he intends to convey with this theme.” He nodded to the emperor, who gestured with his arm, indicating that Arius could speak.

Athanasius was astonished. On the walk back to the palace, Alexander had hinted at something through a metaphor: ‘A bear, in addition to its powerful jaws filled with razor-sharp teeth, also has its strong legs with terrifying claws.’ So why would he willingly muzzle himself? Does he have so much confidence in the outcome of this dispute? Athanasius wondered in bewilderment.

Meanwhile, Arius had begun his speech: “Let us start at the beginning, with God the Father. As I have argued on a previous occasion, God is invisible. I believe I can confidently state that the entire assembly agrees with me on this.” He glanced around the gathering, and a slight, approving murmur arose. A good start is half the battle, Athanasius thought. Alexander seemed engrossed in some manuscript. Surely part of his game, Athanasius presumed.

Arius continued: “This invisibility is not without reason; it is not like the color of a garment that the wearer chooses, a matter of taste based on passing whims. No, this invisibility is inherent in the mystery of the eternal, the timeless. It forms the essence of the unfathomable wisdom and omnipotence of the Father. A visible God is a touchable God, a God who represents the taste of humans; in fact, such a God is a human, all too human God. A visible God is a limited God, a defined God, a God that can be measured. A God with a specific, recognizable form. But God has no discernible form; God is boundless and all-encompassing. The Holy Scripture, in the Book of Exodus, states: ‘Thou shallt not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.’ This is not due to a mundane passing whim, nor is it about establishing a prohibition for the sake of prohibition itself. No, it logically follows from the essence of the Father, His transcendent limitlessness in both time and space.” Arius took a few moments to let his words sink in among the attentive gathering. Constantine nodded politely, seemingly content, as Athanasius perceived from his facial expression. There was murmured agreement. Now the emperor gestured for Arius to continue.

“As I mentioned before, I believe there is no disagreement on this point in this assembly.” He masters his rhetorical techniques admirably, Athanasius noted. “But —” Arius continued, “how different it is with the Son.” Now there was both approving and disapproving murmuring. The emperor gestured for silence with a few arm movements. “But how different it is with the Son,” Arius repeated. “The Son is visible to us, visible in his birth as a human, visible in his crucifixion, and visible in his resurrection.” Athanasius noticed that Alexander still showed no signs of responding. “Death is an ending, a limitation of life, just as the resurrection proved to be a limitation of death. Our Savior’s entire life is marked by earthly existence and thus humanity. That is precisely what God, His Father, had determined!” Arius now spoke with raised voice. There was unrest again, but it subsided after the emperor raised his arms. “The visibility of the Son is just as inevitable as the invisibility of the Father. Not a consequence of a choice based on passing whims, but a logical consequence of the Father’s Holy Plan. The Son had to be visible in order to fulfill His mission on earth. The Son rode into the Holy City, visible to everyone, on a donkey. The Son hung on the Cross, visible to everyone. The blood flowing from His head wounds caused by the crown of thorns was visible to everyone. The blood and water flowing from His side, pierced by the Holy Lance, were visible to everyone.”

The dramatic tone with which Arius supported his argument did not fail to have an impact. The commotion grew louder, and it took the emperor more time to restore order in the assembly. Opponents of Arius shouted slogans such as ‘Whore of Satan!’ and ‘Godless son of Belial!’ Alexander did not involve himself, or so it seemed to Athanasius. He wondered when Alexander would finally intervene. When Arius resumed his speech, he spoke in a calmer tone, skillfully alternating his delivery, which Athanasius found admirable.

“In no way do I intend to insult, belittle, or diminish the status of the Son here. The Son is Holy! The Son is our Savior! The Son is the Son of God, our Father! He is a fundamental part of God’s Holy Plan!” He looked challengingly in the direction of his opponents, noticeably avoiding Alexander. “How is it possible to interpret these confessional words as coming from the mouth of Satan? Such an accusation is truly diabolical; it plays into the hands of Belial, it defiles this Holy assembly with discord and strife, jeopardizing our sacred mission. Something that is completely unnecessary.” He now looked directly at Constantine. Is he trying to win the emperor over as an ally now? Athanasius wondered. He judged the direction in which Arius was moving with his argument to be a tactical mistake. His words only fueled his opponents instead of silencing them. Apparently, Alexander thought so too, or perhaps he had been waiting for this.

Alexander stood up, nodded to the emperor, and looked at Arius for a few moments without saying anything. Then he began to speak: “Arius, I agree with you that we should conduct ourselves as sensible individuals within this assembly and not be tempted into disorderly name-calling. It should be about the arguments, not the force with which they are spoken.” He spoke in a calm tone. He’s playing the wise man who stands above the parties, Athanasius noted. Arius wanted to say something, but Alexander beat him to it: “However, this does not mean that you can assert anything you like in this assembly. Even you should adhere to what is decent and pious. I will now provide a rational reply, and I hope that the assembly will allow me to do so.” He looked at both the supporters of Arius and his own. Alexander has also familiarized himself with the principles of rhetoric sufficiently, Athanasius observed. Alexander spoke in the tone of a teacher: “You claim that the Son is visible to us humans, and you gave several examples, making it seem like you can make a simple point. Look, here is the Son: He is visible. But it is not as simple as it seems. Those examples testify to the same ‘whim of the day’ — as you called it — that would be inappropriate when it comes to the fact of God’s invisibility. But the visibility of the Son is not an everyday visibility. It is a visibility that is just as fundamental as the invisibility of the Father. The visibility is temporary; it has a purpose.”

Alexander let his words sink in for a moment but immediately continued when Arius seemed about to say something: “The visibility is purposeful,” Alexander repeated himself, “it is not frivolous or unfounded. It serves the incarnation of the Son, which is necessary for taking on the sins of us humans. Thus, visibility serves the Holy Plan of the Lord. Visibility and invisibility form a unified, divine whole. The separation that Arius wants to make is artificial and forced, ultimately aiming to legitimize his own errors.”

Arius raised his arm and exclaimed indignantly, “You are attempting to discredit my motives and use a tu quoque argument against me. That is infamous! You can genuinely disagree with my views on reasonable grounds, but not through such fallacies.”

“That is precisely what I am trying to do: provide a rational rebuttal based on reasonable grounds. I firmly reject your accusation of using fallacious reasoning,” Alexander responded. The meeting became tumultuous again, with members from both sides expressing themselves loudly.

Emperor Constantine stood up, making a calming gesture with his arm, and said, “Brothers! I request that both of you engage in a debate on substantive grounds. The topic is the visibility of the Son and how it either articulates or contradicts the complete equality between the Father and the Son, and to what extent the holy texts of the Evangelists play a role in this.” He gracefully and regally sat back down. He has practiced that, Athanasius thought. Fortunately, no one could hear or read his thoughts.
Alexander raised his hand apologetically. “As I argued before, the visibility of the Son is purposeful, and it is temporary, embedded in an eternal plan.”

At this point, Arius interrupted him, saying, “I argued the same earlier, that the visibility is part of God’s plan, but it fundamentally distinguishes the essence of the Son.”

“Exactly the opposite,” retorted Alexander, “the incarnation of the Son required visibility but solely as part of the Holy Plan to wash away the sins of humanity. As described in the Holy Gospels, the Son ascends to Heaven after the resurrection, returning to the eternal — invisible — essence of the Trinity.”

“The sanctity of those Gospels, and which Gospels are involved, is yet to be determined by this Council. You cannot claim the sanctity of texts that have not been established as such,” Arius replied, looking around the room.

“That may be a legal argument, but it does not make it invalid,” said Arius, also surveying the room.

“There are numerous texts claiming to be Gospels, but I am confident in asserting that not all of these texts will be included in the Holy Canon. The determination of the equality or inequality of the Father and the Son also has a legal component. Ecclesiastical doctrine is also a legal doctrine.”
Alexander responded with feigned astonishment, saying, “That is precisely what I claim.”

“No, you are asserting the opposite!” Arius exclaimed.
Alexander looked at him with a condescending gaze. “Certainly not. Let me explain. We do not disagree on the legal legitimacy aspect, and we still need to express our opinions on the sanctity of numerous texts. As for the proposed gospels of Judas, Maria Magdalena, and Toamo, I believe they will not attain the status of sanctity, and I believe I can speak on behalf of the majority of the assembly. However, the sanctity of the Gospels according to Matthew, Luke, Mark, and John seems undisputed. Therefore, the legal determination is merely a formality.”

“If all legal determinations are considered formalities, then we might as well disregard them,” Arius sneered.

“You seem to suggest that we should disregard the texts I mentioned, the four Gospels I named,” Alexander observed with feigned resignation.

“I mean that for now, we should consider these texts, whose sanctity is formally yet to be established, as any other relevant text,” Arius calmly replied.

Suddenly, Athanasius understood the trap that Arius had set for Alexander. Everything served the strategy that was now becoming clear to him, and it was audacious, he had to admit. He wondered if Alexander realized what was about to happen, but he could not imagine that he didn’t. Alexander’s response confirmed this: “Do you possibly have other texts in mind besides the ones we have planned for this assembly?”

“Yes, I am referring to texts from the eminent Roman historian Publius Cornelius Tacitus,” Arius said, looking around the assembly, ending his gaze at Emperor Constantine.

Athanasius understood that the emperor was the lever with which Arius could definitively make his point. By connecting these texts as a fundamental element of Roman history to this Council, Constantine could smoothly incorporate the Christian religion into Roman legislation. The emperor had no religious motives for declaring Christianity the state religion; his motives were primarily political. The conflict between the two views on the Son of God, homoousios or heteroousios, was of no concern to him. Everything now depended on the significance of those texts. Nevertheless, Athanasius could not detect any signs of panic or concern in the emperor’s expression. He wondered if he still had something up his sleeve. From the question that Alexander subsequently asked, Athanasius deduced that this must indeed be the case.

“And where are these texts now?” Alexander asked, “Do you have them in your possession? Can we have access to them? In that case, we should indefinitely postpone the Council.” Postponement seemed like a weak move to Athanasius. Alexander had to have more.

“I do indeed have them in my possession, just not here in Nicaea. However, they are on their way, and I expect to receive them within one to two weeks,” Arius said.

“What is the nature of these texts?” Constantine had risen from his seat and turned to Arius.

“The texts provide a description of the human Jesus, the visible man, and since they are not part of Christian doctrine, they can be considered independent and therefore objective,” Arius replied, adopting the tone of an autonomous, sovereign scholar.

Athanasius and Alexander had silently made their way to the coastline. It was only when they reached the fallen tree trunk with its purifying view over Lake Nicaea that they began to speak. ‘Isn’t postponement too feeble a tactic to bring this matter to a satisfactory conclusion?’ Athanasius had asked. ‘If postponement is the only option available to us, then yes,’ Alexander had agreed. ‘Even if your informants can intercept or destroy the texts, you still have no assurance that no copies will surface. That would only mean further delay,’ Athanasius continued. Alexander had simply responded, ‘Yes.’

“So, the problem must be eradicated root and branch,” Athanasius concluded.

“And do you know how this could be accomplished?” Alexander inquired with interest.

“Yes,” Athanasius answered simply. “But your name must not be connected to it in any way. If you give me your approval to address this issue at its core, I assure you that it lies within my capabilities, and what you desire from me will inevitably come to pass.”

“And I assume you won’t tell me how you intend to do this?” Alexander said.

“Just as you believed certain matters needed to be kept out of my sight, for valid reasons, there are also certain matters that need to unfold outside of yours; also for valid reasons.”

“Very well,” Alexander said. He retrieved a carafe of wine and two cups from the pouch he had carried around his waist, poured the cups, handed one to Athanasius, and raised his own. “To the Holy substance of the Son.”