Читать книгу Heresy - Frank P. Spinella - Страница 8

Chapter 2

Fifteen miles off the coast of Egypt, Arius peered excitedly through the darkness ahead of his ship, and could already see its glow in the distance. With its powerful reflective mirrors and a height of nearly three hundred cubits, the massive marble lighthouse on the eastern point of the island of Pharos had been guiding ships safely into the harbor of Alexandria for nearly six hundred years. Each time he caught sight of it, whether from land or from sea, by day or by night, Arius could not help but marvel at the wondrous structure, its intricate system of pulleys, gears and winches for hoisting firewood up the interior shaft to its summit rivaling the Pyramids themselves as a feat of engineering. He recalled vividly the first time he’d seen it, as a wide-eyed youth arriving in the great city from his native Libya. It was as impressive to him now as then, never becoming commonplace.

But tonight, Arius viewed the fire burning atop the magnificent beacon differently—as a torch of justice. Arius was returning from exile at the invitation of Achillas, the newly installed Bishop of Alexandria. A full year had passed since Achillas’ predecessor Peter had excommunicated and banished Arius—retaliation, he was convinced, for his support of Melitius, the rival Egyptian bishop who had denounced Peter for fleeing the city during the Diocletian persecution. Melitius decried what he saw as Peter’s cowardice; but for Arius it was Peter’s intellectual dishonesty that gave greater offense. A shepherd who abandons his flock in its time of distress is indeed contemptible; but then to justify his flight by pointing to the words of Matthew’s gospel, “When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next”—how utterly transparent! Would that Peter had read just a few verses further: “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” Was it any wonder that upon his return to Alexandria during a lull in the persecution, Peter had quickly insisted on amnesty for those who, under threat of torture, had renounced their faith to save their skins? But there would be no leniency extended to Arius. Surely a bishop who twists the gospel to his own purposes, Arius had preached to any who would listen, is unworthy of the rank. And for that ill-advised comment, he had permanently incurred Peter’s wrath.

Yet it was Peter’s announced excuse for excommunicating him, branding him a heretic for his theological views, that disgusted Arius the most. Intellectual dishonesty yet again, he thought. Peter may have redeemed himself from any charge of cowardice; reports had already spread beyond Egypt of his courageous martyrdom, assisting his guards in carrying out his sentence by showing them how to smuggle him out of the prison to avoid the throngs of his faithful who were rioting to block his execution. But to Arius, the bishop’s redemption only lent credibility to his disingenuous decree. Peter was beloved by most Egyptian Christians, who might well consider his enemies as their enemies for that reason alone. That could prove to be a challenge, he thought. But for Arius tonight, leaning forward against the rail in the prow of the ship, no challenge seemed insurmountable.

His year away had been painful on many levels, yet Arius never lost hope that he would one day return. Now that Peter had gone on to his reward, new leadership promised greater tolerance in Alexandria, and Arius was anxious to test its limits. Quite a few free-thinking clerics throughout the Nile delta region had expressed some sympathy for his theological speculations, and he was grateful for that; but sympathy was a poor substitute for official recognition. Finally, he would now be restored to the legitimacy he craved. Ah, how sweet the taste of vindication! Since the moment Achillas’ letter had arrived, Arius could barely keep another thought in his head apart from the possibilities unfolding before him. Within the month, he expected, he would be elevated by Achillas from deacon to presbyter, and if he was reading between the lines of Achillas’ letter correctly, perhaps even given charge of Alexandria’s oldest church in the waterfront district of Baucalis, one reputedly established by Saint Mark himself. And after that . . . who could say?

The importance of the task he was about to undertake was firmly etched in Arius’s mind. His time of exile had opened his eyes to a harsh reality: Christianity throughout the Empire was splitting along theological lines to the point that its very foundation was being threatened. Sabellians argued with Monatists, and Novatians with both; factions of all sorts were everywhere undermining the faith. If its leaders continued to press their own disparate views on key theological points and did not adopt a consistent and defensible doctrine, the church would eventually founder from schisms, like a rudderless ship adrift in shallow waters. His old friend and mentor, Lucian of Antioch, had warned Arius of precisely this just before his execution in Nicomedia. That final night of his life, sitting soberly in his prison cell, he urged Arius to use his persuasive oratory skills as a tool for reform and unity. Do not waste your time debating with pompous bishops whose minds are not open to change, Lucian had counseled him; rather, preach the truth to the masses in simple terms, so that even the common believer can understand it. Work for change from the bottom up. Those who can reason for themselves do not want to be told what to believe; they want to trust in their own ability to understand the truth as rational beings. Make the Scriptures make sense, make Christ make sense, and the people will follow.

Now, at long last, an opportunity had come to put Lucian’s sage advice into practice, and Arius was determined to make the most of it. There was no more fertile ground for cultivating his rationalist approach to Christian doctrine than Alexandria, the city of Euclid and Ptolemy, of Philo and Plotinus, of Clement and Origen, home to the greatest library in the world, attracting scholars and truth seekers from far and wide. If any city could lay claim to the intellectual legacy of ancient Athens, surely it was Alexandria. Even among the common folk, one was as apt to hear Greek as Coptic on its streets, as likely to hear discussion of philosophy as of politics. Here the Septuagint, in many ways the very bible of the Christian church, had been penned, and here Arius would make it understood and defend it against the metaphoric interpretations so much in vogue in recent years. Yes, yes, Arius thought with a smile as he inhaled the cool, briny air and watched the distant glow of the lighthouse steadily increase in intensity, along with his excitement. The intellectual climate would be perfect for reception of his message.

He had no way of knowing that twelve hundred miles away, at that precise moment, a favorable change in the political climate was about to begin as well.