Each day this Lent we’re looking at major “turning points” in Christian history – moments or seasons in which the story of God’s people took an important and often unexpected turn.
What is common sense?
“Common” refers to that which is universal. “Sense,” in this context, connotes things we perceive through logic and observation. Common sense is therefore that body of knowledge that “everybody knows to be true” – certainties that don’t require special training or an advanced degree.
For instance, it’s common sense to look both ways before crossing the street. And not to touch a hot stove. And to make sure your ladder is secure before you start to climb. And not to try to pet a snarling dog.
Speaking of dogs, it’s common sense not to ask what hot dogs are made of. You don’t really want to know.
During the reign of Emperor Constantine, about 300 years after the time of Christ, an Egyptian Bible teacher named Arias claimed it was common sense that Jesus was not divine. Sure, he was like God, but he was certainly not equal in essence or status. Arias was an ardent defender of monotheism: There is only one God. That was a good thing. But his monotheism was so extreme that Jesus was reduced to a kind of heavenly superhero – a mere creature (although a very special one) assigned to carry out special tasks.
For pagans who were curious about Christianity, this made good sense. They were used to a pantheon in which a single deity (Zeus) reigned supreme, while myriad lesser gods and goddesses assumed designated roles.
Arias, as it turned out, was a captivating preacher and talented musician. He proclaimed his commonsense theology via catchy tunes. Soon more than half the Christians in the empire were singing along.
Orthodox pastors and teachers were aghast. If Jesus was nothing more than one of God’s creations, how could his sacrificial death be enough to pay for the sins of the whole world?
Lines were drawn. People took sides. Punches were thrown in the streets. These were the days when church fights were a lot more interesting than our occasional squabbles over whether drums should be allowed in worship.
Alarmed that such civil strife might fracture his empire, Constantine opted for a bold plan. He would call together the “upper management” of the Church. Bishops and theologians were invited to journey along the Roman roads to Nicaea, a village in modern-day Turkey. Arias would have an opportunity to present his views, and the Church’s spiritual leadership would grapple with the question of Jesus’ true identity.
Nothing like this had ever happened before. There was no guarantee that such a diverse group – most of whom had never met – could achieve consensus.
The ecumenical council began on May 20, A.D. 325, with 240 bishops and Constantine himself in attendance. Arias eloquently stated his case. Jesus, while undoubtedly important to God’s plan, could not possibly be divine. Christians could not and should not worship multiple gods.
The vast majority of those present disagreed. They noted scriptures like John 1:1 (“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God”) – where Jesus is clearly identified as the Word – as evidence of his divinity.
Now things got interesting. How is it possible that the Father, Son, and even the Holy Spirit are all God?
Anyone who has tried to come with a children’s sermon to explain the Trinity has felt this tension. Perhaps God is like H20, which is one substance that can exist in three different forms: water, ice, and water vapor. Or God is like an egg, which has three parts: shell, yolk, and albumen. Or God is one being who can be in three different relationships, like a man who is simultaneously a dad, a son, and a husband.
It’s worth noting that all three of those perspectives were condemned as heresies at Nicaea, which has no doubt given a few children’s ministers some sleepless nights.
The discussion came down to a single iota – that is, the letter “I” in the Greek language.
Arias taught that Jesus and God the Father were homoiousios, where homoi means “similar” and ousia refers to “substance.” The Father and the Son shared a similar consistency, but they were not identical.
The bishops countered that Jesus and God the Father were homoousios, where homo means “same.” By dropping a single iota, Jesus’ identity was transformed into “very God of very God,” the wording that appeared in the council’s final statement. Jesus is not a piece of God or a creation of God, but is 100% divine.
From this moment on, orthodox Christian theology felt more empowered to speak of God as a living, loving, eternal society – as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
But isn’t the whole notion of Trinity a blatant contradiction? How can God be both three and one?
Theologians have been careful to point out that God is singular in one category (essence – there is only one God) but plural in another category (personhood – God is tri-personal by nature). Such a description is neither a contradiction nor a violation of the principles of logic.
Nevertheless, it is certainly a paradox (something that at first glance seems to be contradictory) and a mystery (a profound truth that we can’t comprehend at present, because we don’t have nearly enough information).
In the end, only Arias and a pair of bishops dissented from the majority view. That’s not to say that Arianism magically disappeared. Because it seemed like common sense, the notion that Jesus is a lesser being persisted for generations after Nicaea, and remains alive and well in unorthodox groups like the Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Did something important happen at Nicaea? Absolutely.
But first we need to dismiss a claim that was popularized in Dan Brown’s novel The Da Vinci Code. According to Brown’s 2003 bestseller, Constantine used the assembly of bishops to orchestrate a secret power move that redefined the meaning of Christianity.
Until A.D. 325, the novelist suggested, there were as many as 80 different “gospels” of the life of Jesus. Constantine ensured that only Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John represented the official party line, quashing alternative views of Jesus and any meaningful leadership roles for women. Brown proposed that Christianity was originally a fertility cult centered on Jesus’ marriage to Mary Magdalene.
Such claims provoke legitimate Bible scholars to tear out their hair. Brown’s conspiracy theories about the “real meaning” of Nicaea are ludicrous, but when you sell 100 million copies of a page-turner and then turn it into a movie starring Tom Hanks, you’re going to generate a lot more attention than the average Sunday School teacher.
Perhaps movie critic Roger Ebert said it best: "I should read a potboiler like The Da Vinci Code every once in a while, just to remind myself that life is too short to read books like The Da Vinci Code.”
How, then, did the Council of Nicaea represent a major turning point in Christian history?
For the first time – and certainly not the last – religion and politics tried to walk hand-in-hand. There is no evidence that Constantine knew more than the basics of Christian theology. But when the emperor himself ordered the Church’s leaders to sit down and figure out what they believed, they had little choice but to obey. That they did. The fruits of their efforts was a document – the Nicene Creed – that is still recited by many congregations the world over every Sunday.
More significantly, Nicaea represented a moment when the Church’s finest thinkers made a choice.
Should they go with common sense – what most people would conclude about the relationship of Jesus and God if they gave them half a thought?
Or should they respect those strange teachings in the New Testament that lead us to grasp that God and God’s ways are mysterious? How can we ever reconcile God’s sovereignty and human free will? How can the first be last, and the last be first? What does it mean that the only way to save our lives is to lose our lives? How can Father, Son, and Spirit be one God in three persons?
The Nicene delegates decided those mysteries are what makes Christianity special – and that it’s more important to embrace them than to try to “figure God out.”
Did they make the right choice?
Seventeen centuries of reflection on their enduring legacy suggests they were blessed with uncommon sense.
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