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By the fifth century Christianity had adopted as its fundamental
belief, without which everyone was to be "damned everlastingly," a
conception of God and of Christ's relation to God, of which even by
the Christian account of his teaching, Jesus was either totally
unaware or so negligent and careless of the future comfort of his
disciples as scarcely to make mention. The doctrine of the Trinity,
so far as the relationship of the Third Person goes, hangs almost
entirely upon one ambiguous and disputed utterance in St. John's
gospel (XV. 26). Most of the teachings of Christian orthodoxy
resolve themselves to the attentive student into assertions of the
nature of contradiction and repartee. Someone floats an opinion in
some matter that has been hitherto vague, in regard, for example, to
the sonship of Christ or to the method of his birth. The new
opinion arouses the hostility and alarm of minds unaccustomed to so
definite a statement, and in the zeal of their recoil they fly to a
contrary proposition. The Christians would neither admit that they
worshipped more gods than one because of the Greeks, nor deny the
divinity of Christ because of the Jews. They dreaded to be
polytheistic; equally did they dread the least apparent detraction
from the power and importance of their Saviour. They were forced
into the theory of the Trinity by the necessity of those contrary
assertions, and they had to make it a mystery protected by curses to
save it from a reductio ad absurdam. The entire history of the
growth of the Christian doctrine in those disordered early centuries
is a history of theology by committee; a history of furious
wrangling, of hasty compromises, and still more hasty attempts to
clinch matters by anathema. When the muddle was at its very worst,
the church was confronted by enormous political opportunities. In
order that it should seize these one chief thing appeared
imperative: doctrinal uniformity. The emperor himself, albeit
unbaptised and very ignorant of Greek, came and seated himself in
the midst of Christian thought upon a golden throne. At the end of
it all Eusebius, that supreme Trimmer, was prepared to damn
everlastingly all those who doubted that consubstantiality he
himself had doubted at the beginning of the conference. It is quite
clear that Constantine did not care who was damned or for what
period, so long as the Christians ceased to wrangle among
themselves. The practical unanimity of Nicaea was secured by
threats, and then, turning upon the victors, he sought by threats to
restore Arius to communion. The imperial aim was a common faith to
unite the empire. The crushing out of the Arians and of the
Paulicians and suchlike heretics, and more particularly the
systematic destruction by the orthodox of all heretical writings,
had about it none of that quality of honest conviction which comes
to those who have a real knowledge of God; it was a bawling down of
dissensions that, left to work themselves out, would have spoilt
good business; it was the fist of Nicolas of Myra over again, except
that after the days of Ambrose the sword of the executioner and the
fires of the book-burner were added to the weapon of the human
voice. Priscillian was the first human sacrifice formally offered
up under these improved conditions to the greater glory of the
reinforced Trinity. Thereafter the blood of the heretics was the
cement of Christian unity.
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